by Julie Kenner
Or, for that matter, if the journey would ever end, because it seemed to go on and on and on, and just when I was certain that this was all an elaborate setup to trap me here in neverland, I landed with a hard thud on a glassy black surface. A room, actually, and it was all black. Solid, but with sharp edges. Like lava cooled smooth, then chipped away to make planes and edges, as smooth and sharp as glass.
I saw my own image reflected at me from every surface, my face illuminated from some unknown source. What I didn’t see, however, was a dagger, and I immediately looked toward the walls, my eyes searching for the remnant of the vortex through which I could travel back. Because I had a strong feeling that I didn’t want to be there. That this black room was danger. That it was death. Or, at least, as close to death as I could come.
There was no tangible basis for my fear, and yet it bubbled inside me anyway, and I wanted out of there. Wanted out so much that I started to move back toward the vortex, now little more than a glowing pinprick in the far wall.
I reached it, and as I stretched out my hand toward it, a face emerged from the wall like a plaster sculpture, formless at first, then gaining shape.
Gabriel.
Terrified, I jumped back. Or, rather, I tried to jump back. I don’t know how he managed it, but he had my wrist, his fingers tight around me, and I could feel the power that was this being, the raw energy of which he’d been made manifest.
Deacon, it seemed, was wrong about that whole “Gabriel can’t hold you with the Oris Clef ” thing.
“Please,” I whispered, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Please.”
You dare to beg?
His voice, low and steady, filled my head though not the chamber.
You, who would sacrifice humanity out of fear.
I closed my eyes, shamed because he was right. Because I did fear the torment. I would burn. Dear God in heaven, I’d burn for eternity. “You ask too much.”
I do not ask.
And even as he spoke, I felt another jerk, and we were gone from the room, gone from the black glass, moving instead through a misty, smoke-filled world. Noxious fumes surrounded us, burning my eyes and making breathing difficult. Pillars of scorched concrete and steel reaching up toward a smoke-filled sky. And beneath our feet, the bones of those who had succumbed to the horror.
Hell, I thought. The angel was taking me to hell.
Except I knew this place. This wasn’t hell. It was Boston.
I could feel the angel’s presence behind me. His disgust at all that lay before us. And, yes, at me.
You would let this happen?
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t process. I stood there, useless, as the ghostly images of people raced past. A group, all fleeing in terror. One fell. A child. And before the group could turn back, the child was pounced upon, the demons digging in, making a meal of the innocence.
A harsh cry pierced the air, and they all turned—demons and humans—toward the sound. Two figures stood there, one lithe with dull black hair and listless green eyes. A familiar face that had seen horror all too often. My face. Or, at least, the face that looked back at me from the mirror.
Beside me stood a woman, thin and athletic, with shocking pink hair and an expression that welcomed the kill. She held blades in both hands, and she spun them, the smile that crossed her face one of cruel anticipation. She spoke, and though I couldn’t hear her words, I knew she was egging me on. Time for fun. Time for the kill.
Rose.
This. This was what she would become.
Come with me, Gabriel urged, his voice harsh, yet somehow also gentle. Come with me, and you can stop this.
I swallowed, terrified of what I saw, of what I knew could come to pass. My mind whirled; my head filled with those dark images and the expression of cruel delight on Rose’s face.
But what he asked of me—oh God, what he asked . . .
“Please. I need to think. I need time.”
There is no time. There is only—
But I didn’t get to find out what the only was because I was jerked backward, landing with a hard thump on the obsidian floor. Deacon stood beside me, his face hard, his eyes red with fury. “He isn’t really here,” he said. “He is an illusion. He can’t take you. He can’t hurt you.”
She will come with me, Gabriel said, and though he wasn’t there, he seemed to fill the room, his body huge, the warrior tats on his face emphasizing the anger in his eyes.
“She does not need to die.” Deacon’s voice rose with fury, and his wings burst free, ripping the shirt so that it hung in tatters around him. “There is another way.”
You risk all even by searching. Come with me, Lily. Come with me and do what must be done.
I licked my lips, torn, but it was no longer in my hands. Deacon snatched me up and barreled back toward the vortex. I felt Gabriel’s tug as he tried to keep us there, but Deacon was right; he couldn’t manifest, and without form, his strength wasn’t sufficient to overcome Deacon, especially in the height of his fury.
I felt a sharp snap as we burst free of Gabriel’s grasp, then rocketed the rest of the way through the swirling mist that made up the vortex, finally bursting through on the other side, landing in a tumble on Rachel’s couch. Landing so hard, in fact, that we knocked it backward.
I leaped upon him, a thousand emotions swirling inside me. “Are you crazy? Why did you come? The time thing,” I shouted, my fists pounding into his chest. “We could have missed it. We could have lost everything.”
I stopped pounding, and he pressed me close, my face against his bare chest, the tattered shirt having fallen away in the vortex. He was trembling from the effort to control himself, and his voice came out a growl, a low rumble that seemed to echo through my body. “It’s not too late,” he said. “Gabriel’s wrong. There’s another way. A way for both of us. Together, we’ll shut the gate.”
I closed my eyes and drew in a shuddered breath, because of course he was right about what was troubling me. It wasn’t only the potential for lost time that had thrown me into turmoil; it was what I’d seen. What Gabriel had shown me. And what I feared that I had no choice but to do. Not if I wanted to save the world, and my sister, Rose, along with it.
“You still shouldn’t have taken the risk,” I said, because I was rattled and needed to pick a fight.
“You were in trouble,” he said simply, and I felt his muscles clench, heard the firm cadence of his voice. “You were in trouble, and I couldn’t stand for that.”
“Me being in danger? Or you potentially losing your chance for redemption?” Because his vision had been clear. Close the gate together, and he would be redeemed. I manage that on my own, and no matter what good Deacon had done—no matter what help he’d been to me—Deacon was pretty much screwed on the absolution end of things. To my mind, that pretty much sucked. But no one had asked my opinion.
“Both,” he said, unabashedly honest. He drew in a breath, his face and muscles tight, fighting for control. “I protect what’s mine, Lily.”
I thought of Rose and closed my eyes. “So do I,” I whispered.
Edgy, I pulled out of his arms, then turned around and yelped. Because I found myself standing face-to-face with Morwain.
“Mistress,” he said, completing a head-to-floor bow.
“What the fuck?”
“I called him,” Rose said. For the first time, I realized she was in the room, too. She’d been curled up in a chair by the window, and had stood, her expression worried. “Deacon saw. Into the portal, I mean. He could see Gabriel. Or sense him. Or something.” She looked to Deacon, as if he could fill in the explanation, but Deacon only nodded. She waited a beat and turned back to me. “But we knew he couldn’t go help you. Because of that whole time thing. And I remembered what he said,” she added, nodding to Morwain. “And so I called him, and—”
“You trusted a demon to anchor us?” I spoke to Rose, then rounded on Deacon. “You let her? Are the two of you nuts?”
/> “Mistress—”
“No,” I said, unsheathing my knife and pointing it at him. “Just, no.”
He bowed his head and took two steps back.
“We didn’t think we had a choice,” Deacon said, casting a dark glance toward the still-open book.
“And I was watching him the whole time,” Rose said, tapping the blade of her knife lightly against her hand.
“Great,” I said. “That makes me feel so much better.” I cocked my head toward Morwain. “I’m going downstairs. Do something with him, will you?”
I knew I was being moody and unreasonable, but considering what Gabriel had shown me, I thought I had a right to be. I left them to deal with the demon in the living room, then went down the stairs to the pub. The two televisions mounted to the wall were tuned to news channels, and the announcers were outlining the various freakish things happening all over the globe. I frowned, wanting Rachel to turn it off, but I figured that would cause a riot. Most of the patrons in the bar were looking at the televisions with expressions of smug anticipation. And, honestly, I wanted to smash their little demonic faces in.
Rachel looked at me curiously, obviously anxious to know what had happened with the book, but she didn’t ask questions. Instead, she pulled me a Guinness, then passed it to me with a sympathetic expression. I slid into a booth, leaned back, then silently surveyed the little kingdom over which Rachel and I ruled. A kingdom filled with demons. Demons who were, even then, casting curious glances my way. Some looked at me with fear in their eyes. Others with hate.
I thought of Jarel. There were badasses in there, all right. And some of them wanted to lay me out. Some of them were vile. Dangerous. Utterly despicable, and they’d been coming to this pub for centuries.
The protections that Rachel described had protected the family and, I assumed, the place itself, and I tried to imagine what would happen if there were no protections on the pub. Would it even be standing? I doubted it. Just as I doubted that any of Boston would survive the coming hordes. Not Boston. Not the people in it. Not Rose.
I pictured the corpses that Gabriel had shown me, black and charred. The child upon whom the demons had fallen. I closed my eyes and tried to block the image, but it wouldn’t go. That was what they were facing, the humans who dared to cross the demons once they covered the earth like locusts.
And no matter how much I told myself that I could stop it if I stepped in to be the queen, I knew that I couldn’t. Not really.
Even if I could retain some sense of self—and that was one big, hairy if—who was to say that every demon would follow my rule? Some would seek to depose me. Some would flat out defy me.
And in the end, humanity would die.
Die, and suffer.
I took a long pull of Guinness, wondering if I numbed my body now, would the feeling last for eternity? Because I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want to. I was fucking terrified.
But when I closed my eyes, I saw Rose standing there, a blade in her hand and an expression of delighted anticipation on her face.
I knew that I had no choice.
I saw Deacon coming in from the back, his long strides bringing him toward me. I slid out of the booth and moved in the opposite direction, away from Deacon and toward the front door of the pub.
He caught me only moments after I had slipped outside, his hand closing over my elbow.
“Don’t,” he said, his expression full of dark fury and deadly purpose.
I jerked my elbow free. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t do what you’re thinking of doing.”
I turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes. Or the fear. “I have to.” I tried to push past him back into the pub, but he grabbed me, then shoved me up against the rough brick wall, his body pressed close.
“No,” he said, his voice as tight as a wire. “No, you don’t.”
“Let me go.”
“Tell me you’re not giving up on this. On us.”
I didn’t say a word, and I watched as something akin to fear flickered over his face.
He backed away, his muscles going slack, his body suggesting defeat even though his eyes still burned with purpose. “Dammit, Lily, is this really what you want to do?”
“What do you think?” I hissed, wanting to shove away, to hit him. Wanting to claw and fight and draw blood just so the pull of the dark would take me down, down, down, and I wouldn’t have to think anymore. Because I was tired of thinking. Tired of plotting. And no—no, I didn’t want it, but what choice did I have?
“Find the key,” he said, understanding me though I hadn’t uttered a word.
“It’s gone, Deacon. Don’t you get it? We found the book—we found where Margaret hid the knife. And it’s gone. Poof. Gone. Just like that.” I snapped my fingers. “And do you know what gone means? Gone means that I’m screwed. Gone means that if I want to save Rose, I have to—I have to—” I bit the words off with a curse, unable to say it out loud. “Fuck,” I said instead, then stalked toward the door.
This time, he let me pass, which was a good choice on his part, as I was gunning for a fight. I marched across the public area, then through the kitchen and into the back. I weaved my way through the old stone corridor until I reached the heavy metal door that led to the alley. I pushed through it, then sucked in a lungful of air. Even in the afternoon, the alley was dark, hidden in perpetual shadows. Once, the place had creeped me out. Now it felt good. It felt like home.
I leaned my back against the filthy brick wall and scoured those shadows, searching for any creatures that might be looking to rumble. I saw none and had to wonder what was wrong with the local demon population. Wasn’t there some big demon crime boss desperate to take my almost crown away? Some sick fuck of a demon who wanted my immortal head mounted on his wall? Somebody who’d step up to the plate and let me kick the shit out of him, then slide my knife deep inside. Because damned if I didn’t want a nice solid shot of the dark right then. The more the dark absorbed me, the more likely I was to pick the Oris Clef.
My fingers closed over it, and I felt a raw energy surge through me. A hint of the power it had to offer. I sighed, welcoming it. I might not want it—might not believe I could control it—but at least it didn’t terrify me the way the thought of going with Gabriel did.
Pain. Forever.
Honestly, that couldn’t be good.
I closed my eyes, squeezing back tears, because I knew I had to do it. I’d seen what would happen. To the world. To Rose.
I didn’t have a choice.
And still I feared that when the time actually came to act on that choice, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
The door crashed open again, and Deacon emerged, dark and foreboding and focused on only one thing. Me.
“Whatever you’re thinking, Lily, you can’t do it. The knife is still out there. It’s not gone, Lily. Margaret would have ensured that it was there—somewhere—for Alice to find.”
“Yeah?” I said, the tears that had been welling now spilling out of my eyes. “In case you forgot, I’m not Alice. I don’t know where the knife is, and I don’t know what to do to find it.”
I squeezed my eyes and clenched my fists so hard that my fingernails cut into my skin. “You did it for nothing,” I whispered. “You gave up a chance for redemption for nothing at all. Because I can’t help you.” I reached out and pressed my hand to his face. I wanted to feel him. Longed for more than just the rough stubble of his beard upon my hand. “We’re both screwed. You’re smart. You have to know that. So why do you care so much?”
“Why do I care?” he growled, stalking forward until my back was pressed against the wall, and I couldn’t move without generating friction between our bodies. “Why do I care?” he repeated. “After all this, can you really be that much of a fool? Do you not know the way you affect me? Did you not see? You’re freedom for me, Lily. Freedom from the dark. With you, I can pull it back. I can control it. I can fight it.”
His hands pressed against the wall, only inches from my face. “You’re mine. Lily,” he said, his breath brushing my hair. “It’s not about redemption anymore, Lily. It’s about you. And I’ll not have you sacrificing yourself. Not like this. Not when there’s another way.”
“I don’t believe there is another way,” I said. “And I do understand.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “And trust me when I say that you don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly.”
And with that, he moved his hand from the brick and pressed it to my face, all while looking deep in my eyes. I wasn’t expecting the contact, and the snap of connection startled me. I tried to look away, but he breathed a single word—No.
And then I was in.
“You wish to understand?” he said. “Follow where I lead.”
“No!” I screamed. “I’ve seen it already! I felt it. I lived it!” And I didn’t think I could bear it again.
But he wasn’t listening. He took me down, down into the depths, the heat. The pain.
The flesh roasting, curling up off the bone. The animals, gnawing—ever gnawing—at the bodies of the living. Splinters, shoved into skin and eyes and tender places. Bugs crawling beneath the flesh, worms living with in. Rotting. Acid. Burns. And the stench and cry of the damned all around.
It was worse than before, as if that were even possible, and I realized that what I’d experienced with Penemue had been what the demon himself experienced. Not pleasure—because how could that word ever apply?—but a pain that he commanded, brought into himself, and reveled in.
Oh God, oh God, he’d soaked up the pain. Craved it. Wanted it.
And Deacon feared and despised it, and he’d suffered all the more for it. Even as I did now. Even as I suffered though I was hiding behind the protection of Deacon’s thoughts.