Never Save a Demon

by J. . D. Brown

  Sam’s gaze went to the couch and he bit his lip. The katana rested near the kitchen entrance, where it had fallen through the portal with him earlier. He picked it up and tucked it under the couch, angling the long blade so the tip of the pommel would be visible when she eventually looked for it. He stood to admire his work when the bathroom door creaked open.

  Lyn joined him in the living room. She smelled of soap and her blonde waves were a touch darker than their usual pale-yellow—like damp earth framing the pale oval of her face. She had changed into something blue, her arms and legs fully covered despite the heat waiting for them outside.

  “Your arm,” he said, lifting a hand to touch his own wound.

  “It’s fine. I bandaged it. I can wrap yours if you like.”

  Sam shook his head. The muscle stung if he strained his bicep, but he knew it would heal when her wound did.

  “Were you going to tell me that could happen, the matching injuries?”

  “I didn’t know it could.” A white lie, but what difference would it make?

  The blue of her eyes moved up and down, scanning him. She drew a breath and her hesitance nettled his nerves.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “I guess so, but I failed rocket science in school.”

  “What?”

  Her mouth curved. “Quantum leaping. You’re going to have to teach me the dumbed-down version.”

  Sam chuckled. “Come here.”

  She folded her hands in front of her and stepped up to him, stopping within arm’s reach.

  He drew a breath and then took her hands in his. Her nerves fluttered, but Sam took the feeling in stride. “Close your eyes and imagine where you want to go. The exact location, like the parking lot in front of the hospital. I’ll do the rest.”

  Lyn closed her eyes. “Okay.”

  Sam let go of her left hand and called the veil. The ether tore open and spools of bright orange sunshine spilled through. The light streaked across her cheeks and caught the reflection of a tiny tear sparkling against the fine lines of her lashes. He wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise.

  Sam braced himself against the guilt and anguish flooding her mind as she focused on their destination and, undoubtedly, their reason for going. He squeezed her hands gently. “Take a big step toward me.”

  “I’ll crash into you.”

  “You won’t. Trust me.” He took a large step backward, going through the veil. Lyn kept her eyes closed. She drew another deep breath and then followed. They stood on a sidewalk in front of two large glass sliding doors. Traffic sounded in the distance and the summer heat permeated his skin. Sam’s chest ached as he touched a fingertip just under the fan of her lashes and swept the lingering tear away. “You can open your eyes now.”

  She did, and her breath caught as she took in their surroundings. “Wow. That was some leap.”

  Sam smiled. He had no idea how he was going to get through the next hour with her emotions drowning him, and he cursed Dantalion for his timing, but he was determined to manage it. Besides, it wouldn’t do to turn up in Hell on the brink of tears.

  “You ready to go inside?”

  Lyn looked at the glass doors, and his heart felt like an anvil in his chest. “Will you call Angie for me? She doesn’t even know I’m back.”

  Sam nodded. “Of course.”

  She removed her phone from her back pocket and handed it to him. “Hold down the button at the bottom, it’ll bring up voice command. She’s listed as ‘that sexy bitch.’”

  Sam took the phone. Lyn squared her shoulders, drew a deep breath, and marched into the hospital.

  She was brave. He’d give her that. Lord knows Sam didn’t handle loss quite so well. He sighed at the device in his palm and pressed the button. “Call ‘that sexy bitch.’”

  Sam sat in the back corner of the lobby with his knees to his chest. He wiped his nose on his arm and sniffled. Lyn’s broken heart wouldn’t stop leaking through his eyes and the curtesy tissue box one of the nurses gave him ran out twenty minutes ago. Every fiber of his being wanted to go to her, to comfort her, to alleviate himself from this embarrassing behavior. But he clenched his jaw and fought the urge. Twenty-three hours to go. Not that he planned on waiting that long. There was just one last thing he needed to do.

  “Excuse me, I’m here to identify a body. Beatrice Rose Conway, please.”

  Sam glanced in the direction of the reception desk as Angie approached a group of nurses.

  “She’s downstairs.” He spoke loud enough for the Guardian to hear without moving from his seat. Angie scanned him.

  “Never mind,” she told the nurses and then approached him. “You let her go down there by herself?”

  “Had to. I was waiting for you.”

  “Well, I’m here now, so bye.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Angie snorted and walked away. Sam wanted to wring the angel’s neck. He was not in a good mood. Instead, he swallowed his temper and followed Angie to the elevator.

  “Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m going back to Hell and staying there forever’ I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I am,” said Sam. “Leaving Lyn forever that is.”

  Angie pressed a button on the wall then glared at him. “Great. Like I said before, bye.”

  Sam crossed his arms so she wouldn’t see his fists clench. “I just needed to warn you before I go. She’s still in danger. Lucifer and Dantalion are going to dangle her over my head for the rest of her life.”

  “So don’t screw up,” said Angie.

  Sam snorted. “I don’t plan to. But not screwing up means the Gate opens. Not screwing up means war on Heaven’s soil. Not screwing up means the Archangels will be too busy fighting to give a damn about Lyn, and you know just as well as I do how entwined the Daughters are in this. No offense, but one little reborn Guardian isn’t enough to keep her safe. You need to convince Barachiel she’s worth saving. Tell me you can do that, Angie. Because once this war starts, there will be no distance on earth far enough for her to run.”

  Angie stared at the elevator door, brow furrowed, arms crossed. She refused to look at him.

  Sam slammed his fist against the wall. “Damn it, Angie!”

  Gasps sounded from the lobby and a man in a dark uniform hedged their way.

  “Everything all right?” asked the security guard.

  “Death in the family,” said Sam. “Fuck off.”

  The guard lifted a hand to his belt. “Ma’am?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Angie whispered. The elevator chimed and the door opened. Angie stepped calmly into the crane.

  Sam clenched his jaw and followed her. He slouched against the back corner. His impatience simmered as the door closed between them and the guard.

  “I’ve devoted my life to her family,” said the angel. “She wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for you. So you can fuck off.”

  Sam scoffed. “Maybe you’re just doing a poor job, don’t you think?”

  Angie faced him. “You want Lyn to be safe? Leave, Sam. Just disappear. You’re the worst thing that's happened to her.”

  Sam studied the angel. She was red in the face, and her sin flowed from her heart like blood in water. It was a sin that only applied to Yahweh’s kingdom. It didn’t exist for humans or demons, but Sam was all too familiar with it. It was how he knew for sure Angie was an angel. “Would you fall for her?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Falling—the punishment for loving a mortal—would you do it?”

  “This conversation is over.”

  Sam side-stepped across the small space and then pivoted to corner her. “Let me give you some advice; falling isn’t the worst thing that can happen to an angel. The loss of someone you love, though—well that’s enough to make even the strongest of us burn in Hell. You’ve watched a lot of Daughters die, haven’t you? But none of them were quite as special as Lyn, were they? If you reall
y want to keep her safe, go to Barachiel. Get your wings back. Then at least, when she eventually draws her last breath, you’ll know you did your best.”

  Angie glowered up at him, her fists clenched at her sides. The elevator opened and she huffed loudly before marching past him.

  Sam heaved a sigh. He had no choice but to trust the angel. He waved his right hand through the air and stepped off the elevator through a portal.

  19

  I Can’t Drown My Demons.

  They Know How to Swim.

  I dentifying a body is nothing like CSI, Lyn thought. A nurse directed her to the office of a grief counselor instead of a morgue, where she identified Gran’s body via Polaroid photographs instead of the dramatic unveiling of a tagged corpse.

  Once she confirmed the body was indeed her great-grandmother, the counselor—a stout Asian woman with thickly rimmed glasses and graying hair—started saying confusing things like, “Due to the nature of the death,” and then Detective Jackson joined them.

  Lyn didn’t hear a single thing the detective said, but she must’ve answered him anyway because he seemed to have a lot to write on his little notepad. At some point, someone had let it slip that there was a hole the size of a baseball in Gran’s chest.

  Odd. She didn’t remember seeing that in the photographs.

  Lyn’s cheeks weighed heavily with the streaks of dried tears. Her eyes felt hot and grainy, and her chest hurt. Her ribs felt as though they were shrinking, constricting her lungs. Had the room gotten smaller? No, that wasn’t possible, was it? I should be better at this by now. It’s not like it’s my first time.

  “Miss Conway?”

  She blinked at the detective. “Yes?”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee?”

  Lyn’s lips moved, but no sound came. Flashbacks of her past fought against their proverbial chains, threatening to break free. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and reverted into herself where she focused her energy on pushing the memories into submission. Her fists clenched at her sides.

  “Miss Conway? Are you all right?”

  Lyn wanted to scream. No, I’m not all right! Everyone I love is dead—killed by literal demons—all because I failed to do my job and keep them safe!

  The office door opened. Lyn blinked as the most wonderful woman in the world entered.

  “Angie!”

  “Oh, Lyn.”

  Her BFF threw her arms around her, and it was the most comforting thing she had felt since, well, forever.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, who are you?”

  Angie stood with one arm around Lyn’s shoulders. She planted her other hand on her hip and fixed Jackson with one of her don’t-you-take-that-tone-with-me looks. “I’m her best friend. Who the heck are you?”

  “Detective Jackson, Paradise Police Department.”

  The speed at which Angie’s protective chola expression melted into a look of horrific shame was enough to make Lyn giggle. Angie really did have a gift for making her feel better.

  “Oh. Shoot. I’m so sorry, officer. I just … family emergency and …”

  “It’s all right,” said Jackson. “But I do need a name.”

  Angie turned bright red. “Angela Garcia.”

  Jackson wrote the name down and then closed his notepad. “Miss Conway, I’ll be in touch. You have my number. Please use it. And again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Lyn nodded as the detective left. The counselor mentioned something about seeing a therapist, but Lyn wasn’t paying attention. Angie took over the small talk—discussing recommendations with the counselor even though her bestie knew Lyn loathed therapy and wouldn’t go. Lyn used her moment in the background to digest the fact that someone had mentioned a hole in Gran’s chest.

  Like, a hole? Seriously?

  Lesser demons didn’t pull Alien chest-buster stunts like that. Once they possessed a host, they stayed in that host until it died or until something forced it out. Lyn could only think of two other people who knew about the demon in Gran’s chest. While Angie definitely was not a suspect, Lyn also couldn’t believe Sam would do such a thing.

  Why not though? Just because he kissed her? He was a Greater demon. A sociopath from Hell. Plus, he did tell her he could rip it out …

  Lyn felt nauseous. Sam had been messing with her mind the entire time. For all she knew, he was in cahoots with the Duke. She still had no idea how she managed to escape Dantalion, but she knew she hadn’t been rescued by the one and only person who pretended to be so concerned with her wellbeing.

  Whatever. Now that she was back in the real world, Lyn had an agenda to return to.

  First order of business: Kill Sam.

  Second order of business: Kill Dantalion.

  Actually, the two were interchangeable, and she had no idea how she was going to achieve either one, but she’d find a way. For Gran. For her family.

  “So,” said Angie after thanking the counselor. “How about we play hooky, order tacos, and binge watch every series on HBO for the rest of the day?”

  “I don’t have HBO,” said Lyn. And she wasn’t sure she wanted the misfortune of associating delicious tacos with such a horrible day.

  “But I do.” Angie hooked her arm around Lyn’s and walked her out of the office.

  “Where’s Sam?” Lyn asked as they entered an empty elevator.

  “Oh, he left.” Angie pressed the button to the ground floor.

  Lyn furrowed her brow. Left? Or ran? He’d better be on the run, if he knew what was good for him. The elevator lifted and Lyn noticed her friend staring. “Not one word about Gran,” she sighed. “Or the Duke, or my birthday. Not today.”

  Angie winced. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Really.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Honest. I was just going to ask what flavor ice-cream you want on your pizza.”

  “Red wine,” said Lyn as they stepped off the elevator.

  “Red wine flavored ice-cream?”

  “No, just red wine. Lots of it. Buckets of it. I’d rather sleep for the next forty-eight hours than eat.”

  “You got it. I’ll stop by the liquor store on the way to your place.”

  “Actually,” said Lyn, as she glanced around the lobby and realized Sam really was gone. “I need a ride. And your house is fine. I don’t feel like dealing with He Who Shall Not Be Named right now.”

  “You don’t feel like dealing with Voldemort?”

  Lyn gave her friend a sideways glance and giggled. “Yeah, that’s it. Voldemort.”

  “It’s going to be okay, you know?” said Angie as the two of them walked past the glass sliding doors. “I’m here for you. Always.”

  “I know, Ang, and I love you for it.”

  Angie peeked at Lyn from the corner of her vision and swallowed. “I love you too, sweetie.”

  Lyn woke from a nap in Angie’s bed. A flouncy white canopy stared down at her from the tall posts. She had been begging her BFF to buy a grownup frame since high school, but Angie wouldn’t part with her beloved princess ensemble.

  Lyn rubbed her eyes and rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand. The shorthand pointed to the six. The Garcia’s were probably enjoying a three-course meal in the dining room while discussing funeral arrangements for Gran.

  Her throat thickened and fresh tears blurred her vision. She missed Gran so much. She was even sorry she never met Gran’s new suiter, Carlos—which reminded her to call Sheryl. And Gracie. All of Gran’s things would have to be cleaned out from her room at the ward.

  Lyn’s head hurt just thinking about it. She hated this part of the process most; the crying into pillows, the inability to concentrate, feeling alone in a house full of people. It reminded her of her foster home days, which wasn’t fair since Angie was her best friend in the entire world. She should’ve been comfortable in the Garcia’s house, but she wasn’t.

  Probably because Angie’s parents never really liked her.

  Lyn sat up
and looked around. She needed something to do, but the room was already freakishly clean. She couldn’t even alphabetize Angie’s bookshelf because it was already done. Lyn grumbled. She suddenly wished she could call Sam, but that dummy didn’t have a phone.

  Although …

  Lyn went to Angie’s desk. Everything about her BFF’s room had been exactly the same since forever, so she already knew there was a pair of sewing shears in the bottom-right drawer. Lyn grabbed the scissors then tiptoed into the hallway. The scent of pork roast and buttered potatoes made her stomach grumble. Note to self; raid the leftovers after this. She went to the bathroom and quietly locked the door behind her.

  The Garcia’s had huge bathrooms with His & Hers vanity mirrors, towel warmers, a claw-foot tub, and a separate shower stall. All that was missing was a bidet.

  She went to one of the sinks and lifted her hand over the chrome bowl, palm-side up, and then caught her reflection in the mirror. Dark bags circled her eyes and her hair was a Halloween corn maze. All she needed were the scarecrow overalls. Not that it mattered how she looked.

  Lyn didn’t even know if this would work—if Mr. Hypochondria-Our-Souls-Are-One ever really cared what happened to her—but she was about to find out. Lyn opened the scissors and dragged the sharp edge across her palm.

  She jumped at the stinging pain. Blood welled from the incision and dripped into the sink. Fighting the urge to make a fist, she put the scissors down and used her fingertips to stretch the wound open. Shit, that hurts!

  Lyn didn’t know if the ominous presence behind her was real or imaginary, but her Daughter of Eve senses tingled, and she closed her eyes to the scent of fire and brimstone permeating the room. A strong, broad chest pressed firmly against her spine, pushing her stomach against the sink as a masculine hand swept her hair away from her neck. The light touch of his fingertips encircled the base of her throat and she tilted her jaw to one side as the low rumble of his breath feathered against her earlobe.