by Julie Kenner
“What about another demon?” Rachel said. “Maybe we should catch one and ask it. Or, you know, ask it really persuasively. Like bamboo-under-the-toenails persuasive.” She frowned. “Then again, a demon might actually like that.”
“It’s a good idea,” I admitted. “And if I have the chance to capture and interrogate a demon, I’ll do just that. But in the meantime, I have a better idea. Father Carlton.”
“Who?” Rachel asked.
“The priest,” I said, my stomach twisting with the memory. “The priest the demons tricked me into killing.”
“But if he’s dead . . . ?” Rose asked.
“He must have staff,” Rachel said, excited. “An assistant. A what-do-you-call-it? An altar boy, or a deacon or something.”
“But how do we find them?” Rose asked. “Just call churches and ask if they have a dead priest named Father Carlton? What if he wasn’t even from Boston?” She turned to me. “Clarence told you the portal opened here, right? So Father Carlton could have flown here from Kansas for all we know.”
“She has a point,” Rachel said, frowning.
“Deacon,” I said.
Rachel frowned. “Yeah, but we can’t talk to the altar boys or the deacons or anybody who might have helped him until we know where he came from.”
“No, I mean the man. Deacon. Deacon Camphire.” I looked between Rose and Rachel. “I need to find him. He knew about Father Carlton and what he was doing. So he probably also knows what church Father Carlton came from.” That wasn’t the only reason I wanted to find Deacon, of course, but it was a biggie.
Rachel poised the pen on her paper, then hesitated. “If you find him, and he’s still in his demon state . . .”
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “But I need to find him anyway. We tried, but we didn’t have any luck. What about you? You were in his house. Can you find your way back?”
“I don’t remember leaving,” she said, as calmly as if she were commenting on the weather.
“And that’s relevant because . . . ?”
“Protections,” Rachel said. “Spells. Deacon’s done something to his house, so that you don’t remember anything about it once you leave.”
“That’s completely fucked-up,” I said. “I’ll never find him.”
“Your arm?”
“Only works for objects,” Rose said. “I already tried that suggestion.”
“But not a problem,” Rachel said. “Because, see? We have our plan, and all we have to do is slide Deacon into the proper place.” She did just that, writing “Find Father Carlton’s peeps.” Then, under that, she added “DEACON-R” and “BOSTON CHURCHES-R” in perfect block lettering.
“R?” I asked.
“Me,” she said, snapping the cap back on the pen.
I shook my head, confused. “You’re going to call the churches and ask about Father Carlton—I get that. But you don’t know where Deacon’s house was. So how do you think you’re going to find him?”
“Easy,” she said, with a Cheshire cat kind of grin. “Follow me down to the bar, and I’ll show you.”
SIX
“And you’re going to do what?” I asked, as Rachel led us through the kitchen and into the pub.
“Patience,” Rachel said, sliding easily behind the U-shaped oak-hewn bar, but not giving me a clue as to what she was planning. I tapped my foot, growing more and more frustrated. After all, I was the kick-ass demon killer. Yet I was the one standing around with my thumb up my ass not having any idea what was going on. What was wrong with that picture?
She motioned for us to take our seats, then sighed, exasperated, when we were interrupted by a sharp tapping on the front window.
“Hang on,” she said, then went to the door. I followed her, wary. Yes, I remembered what she said about not being vulnerable while she was inside the pub, but as far as I was concerned, that particular enchantment remained unproven.
“Jarel,” she said, peering through the glass. She flipped the locks and opened the door. “We’re not open right now.”
A scraggly red-haired man in a silver-studded biker jacket and filthy black jeans stepped closer. “Since when you stop opening at ten, Rachel?”
“Sorry, Jarel,” she said. “We’re short-staffed.”
He leaned forward, peering at me, then into the bar and at Rose. “Looks like you got enough folks in here to serve me a pint.”
“Closed,” Rachel said firmly, then started to push the door. His foot went into the space, blocking the door from closing all the way. I stepped forward, wondering if I was going to need to intervene between Rachel and the obnoxious customer.
But Rachel had it under control. “Give it up, Jarel. We’re closed. But if you come back at five, the Guinness is on the house.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s something.”
He retreated, and she locked up, then pulled the velvet curtains over the windows to block any further interruptions.
“Loyal clientele,” I said.
“Demon,” she said. “Pretty nasty one, too. But he always pays his bills on time.”
I glanced back at the door and sighed. Unless he’d come at me with a knife, I wouldn’t have picked him out of a lineup as a demon. Apparently Rachel really did know what she was doing. About spotting demons, anyway. About this Deacon-finding thing, I was still dubious.
“He’s one of the ones I was going to point out to you later today,” she added.
“What?”
“To kill,” she said easily. “To make you stronger.” She glanced back toward the door. “He’s the kind who’d rip your head off if he thought you had a chance of closing the gate. Kill him. Get stronger. And make the world a better place.”
“Maybe,” I said, temptation welling within me. On the one hand, the mere thought of a demon kill got me all jazzed up. On the other hand, did I really need to be running around risking my hide for a hit? Even if I might be making the demon-ridden streets that much safer.
“Just saying,” Rachel said.
“Let’s just focus on Deacon,” I said as I once again took my seat. “What exactly are you going to do?”
“Scry,” she said, and I nodded sagely because I didn’t want to admit that I had no idea what she was talking about.
Rose, thank goodness, wasn’t so prideful. “Huh?”
“Scrying is a way of seeing things psychically. It’s not a common ability, but it is one of my gifts. All the women in my family have been able to scry.” She looked at me. “Except for Alice. Her visions took a different form.”
I nodded wryly. At first, I’d assumed the sight was part of my new Prophecy Girl persona, but I learned soon enough that not only had it come from Alice but my demonic handlers had no knowledge that I had the gift. And even before I’d realized they’d duped me, I’d kept the sight secret. What can I say? I’d always been a bit of a rebel, and even though I thought I was working for heaven, I couldn’t just leave my old personality on the doorstep, could I?
At any rate, it was because of Alice’s sight that I’d been able to peek into Rachel’s head, and I trusted her (more or less) despite her past ventures into the dark arts. And it was because of the sight that I knew that Deacon—though once confined to the darkest pits of hell—craved redemption with a passion intense enough to consume both of us.
And it was because of the sight that I’d been able to see the future through Gabriel’s eyes—a future in which all of the demons in the world bowed down before me.
A future that could come to pass, I knew. But one that I told myself I didn’t want, despite the dark bits inside me rising to challenge that assessment. Or, rather, because of those dark bits.
I shivered and prayed for both strength and the lost key. Because if I could get that damn gate closed and locked with Deacon’s supposedly missing key, then the temptation to use the Oris Clef would vanish.
At least, I hoped it would.
“So what do you
do?” Rose asked.
“You’ve seen it done in movies and things, I’m sure,” Rachel said. “Crystal gazing.”
“Yeah?” Rose leaned in to peer over the bar into the work area where Rachel now stood. “You have a crystal ball back there?”
Rachel shook her head. “I take a slightly different approach.”
As we watched, she pulled down five different brands of vodka, followed by three different brands of gin. She put the bottles on the bar in two rows, then turned her attention to me. “Run and dim the lights, would you?”
I did, then returned through the velvety black, which was broken only by the single brass lamp that sat behind the bar, its low-wattage light casting a dim orange glow.
“Perfect,” Rachel said.
“So you can find Deacon?” Rose asked. “How about the key? Can you find that, too?” She shifted in her seat to face me. “I mean, if he’s all ookey-demoney, then maybe we should skip Deacon altogether and just shoot for the big prize.”
A damn good plan, actually. Too bad Rachel shot it down. “Only people.” She lifted a shoulder. “Well, only living energy, which means humans and demons who have taken on a living form within this dimension.”
“Oh.” I clasped my hands together and tried not to think about the thought that was pounding inside my head: If Deacon had gone over into some other dimension, then this all might end without my ever seeing him again.
From somewhere behind the bar, Rachel pulled out a small black candle. She placed it in front of the collection of bottles, lit it, then turned behind her to switch off the brass lamp. The single flame danced in the dark, the light reflecting on the glass bottles and the clear liquid within. Rachel closed her eyes, then drew her hand over the flame, so close I knew that her palm must be burning, but no pain reflected on her face. Instead, she tilted her head back, then leaned forward and opened her eyes.
When she did, they appeared to burn, as if the flame she had touched had traveled through her to her eyes. She spread her hands so that her fingers seemed to call to the bottles, and her entire being was focused solely on the liquid within.
Rose and I might as well have not existed, and I reached blindly for Rose’s hand, then squeezed tight, wondering if I should stop the ritual. I was afraid Rachel was sliding back into the dark arts from which she had broken away. And if she did that, I feared that she, like Deacon, would get sucked back into her past.
I leaned forward, prepared to reach out and shake her and try to break the trance, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted too desperately to see Deacon. And as much as I hated myself for letting Rachel put her toe back into the dark to satisfy my own needs, I wasn’t willing to make her stop. Not when I knew that I stood on the precipice of sacrificing so much more of myself than a toe.
I squeezed Rose’s hand, hating myself, and wondering how a person as selfish as me could be expected to save the whole goddamned world.
“He is alone,” Rachel said, in a voice not her own. “He is alone. And he is waiting.”
“What for?” I whispered, not even certain she could hear me.
Apparently, she could. Her head turned slowly toward me, as the rest of her body stayed utterly still. “For you,” she said. And then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell to the floor.
“Holy crap!” Rose called.
I silently seconded that assessment, even as I vaulted over the bar, almost knocking down her little arrangement of vodka and gin bottles as I did. “Rachel!” I scooped my arms under her shoulders and forced her upright. “Rachel, dammit, answer me.”
Her body shook as if she were coming off a really bad high, her teeth chattering as I hugged her close, trying to get her warm. “Blanket,” I said to Rose, who was halfway across the pub before the word was even out of my mouth.
“Rach! Rachel! Are you okay? Dammit, you shouldn’t have done that!”
“F-fine,” she said. “W-will be f-fine.”
“It’s black magic,” I hissed, “and you gave that shit up. I should never have let you—”
Her hand closed tight around my wrist. “My choice,” she said, and this time, her voice and her eyes were clear. “My choice.” She drew in a noisy breath, her lungs rattling as if they were filled with gunk. “And it’s only black if you use it for black.” She reached up to cup my face. “I was using it for you. I was using it for good.”
Her eyes closed, and her shoulders slumped again in exhaustion.
I held her close, hoping like hell that she was right.
SEVEN
“Where is he? Where is he?” Rose called, as she raced back with a blanket. “Did she find him? Does she know where he is?”
“Bridge,” Rachel said, her voice soft and breathy.
“Quiet,” I said, pressing a damp bar towel to her forehead. “Just sit for a minute.”
“Holy crap,” Rose said, skidding to a stop near the bar. “Holy crap, holy crap. Is she okay?”
“I think so,” I said.
“I’m fine,” Rachel said, struggling to get up.
I held her down. “Forget it. You’re going to sit right here on the floor and drink a brandy. You look like shit.”
“Thanks a lot.” She pressed her fingers to her temple and winced. “But I will take a brandy.”
I nodded to Rose to pour one, which was a mistake because she proceeded to stare at the bottles, her mouth slightly open as she perused each of the labels.
“There,” Rachel finally said, pointing helpfully toward the far side of the bar.
“Oh. Right.” A few moments later, Rose handed Rachel the glass. And not long after that I rocked back on my heels, examined her face, and pronounced the woman healthy enough to tell us what the fuck had just happened.
“It drains me,” she said, then shrugged as if she were embarrassed. “It never drained my mother. She used to gaze into the dishwater every morning. Some days it would show her what would happen to us that day. Some days she’d see years into the future.” She pointed at me. “She never told us, but I think she knew that Alice was going to die.”
“Really? Why?”
“Nothing specific. Just a feeling I had. She used to treat Alice like she wasn’t entirely permanent.” She shook her head, as if she was trying to sort her thoughts. “Probably my imagination. But I do know for sure that she saw something mysterious about Alice at least once.”
“How do you know that?” I’d been living in Alice for a while, but she’d died before I moved in, so I still didn’t feel like I knew the girl. Everything I’d learned had been through her friends, her mail, or her medicine cabinet.
“Mom’s the reason Alice got that,” Rachel said, pointing her finger at my left breast.
“Excuse me?”
“Not the boob,” Rachel said. “The tattoo.”
“Really?” Alice had a tiny dagger tattoo on her breast that I’d wondered about since day one. “Why? What did she see?”
“No idea,” Rachel said. “But Alice would have been about thirteen. Mom and I were doing dishes, and she saw something. And Mom left the dishes in the sink and stormed up to Alice’s bedroom and took her to a tattoo parlor right then.”
“Wow,” Rose said.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Rachel agreed. “I didn’t even like tattoos, but I remember begging to get one, too. I guess I thought it was cool or something, but Mom said no.”
“Did Alice ever tell you what your mom saw?”
“I don’t think Mom even told Alice,” Rachel said.
“And she saw whatever it was in the dishwater?” Rose said, her lip curling. “You have so got to be kidding me.”
Rachel laughed, then reached for Rose’s hand. “I promise you, I’m not. Mother could scry with any shiny surface, though. I think she just liked to show off with the bubbles.”
“And you?”
“Bottles only.” She exhaled, then climbed to her feet, and I got the distinct feeling that the discussion about Alice’s breasts was over. My curiosity
, however, had been mightily piqued.
I turned my attention back to Rachel, ready to steady her if she toppled over. “I’m okay,” she said, then slid out from behind the bar and moved to a nearby table. “But it does take a lot out of me.”
“So back to Rose’s original question,” I said. “Where is he?”
“The bridge,” Rachel said dully. “The Zakim Bridge.” She turned her face toward me. “But don’t go, Lily. He’s not . . . He’s not himself.”
Her words twisted in my heart. He’d taken back his demonic form so that he could save me. But that wasn’t who he was anymore, and it sure as hell wasn’t who he wanted to be. And if there was even the slightest chance that his nature hadn’t consumed him, I had to go to him. I had to tell him what I was going to do.
And, yeah, I had to offer him the chance to help me. And to help himself.
“He’ll hurt you,” Rose said. “You saw the way he looked at us.”
I had, but I also saw the fight within him. “He needs me,” I said, simply. I didn’t completely understand it, and for a while I’d even tried to fight it, but Deacon and I were bound. Our destinies as entwined as our bodies had been. He was in my heart, and if there was even the slightest chance to save him, I knew that I had to try.
“There’s not even a guarantee he’s still there,” Rachel said. “I didn’t find him at home—I didn’t even see where home is. And I doubt he’s going to hang around on a bridge forever.”
“That’s why I need to go now,” I said. “You’ll stay with Rose?”
“Hello? I should go with you.” She drew her blade. “You need someone to watch your back.”
“I’ve got my own back,” I said. “And I want Rachel watching yours.”
“You said I stayed with you!”
“I did,” I admitted. “But that was before Rachel told me about the protections on the pub.”
“But I’m not family.”
“They’d have to go through me to get to you,” Rachel said. “And they can’t do that.”
“Screw this,” Rose said sulkily.