Turned

by Julie Kenner

  “You just think about it, okay? Because I can’t see you being evil.”

  I frowned. Because I could see it. Hell, I’d looked into the future through Gabriel’s eyes, and I’d seen it bright and clear, me standing there, ushering the demons over to this world.

  “I’ll keep an open mind,” I finally said, forcing myself not to think about the rest of it. About how Deacon had wanted that role for me so desperately when he was in his demonic form and wanted me to steer far away now that he was himself again. Those were anomalies that weighed against Rachel’s suggestion, even though, at the moment, I was rather liking Rachel’s idea. Or, at least, I was liking the idea of surviving.

  I tilted my head, something curious occurring to me. “When did I tell you about the Oris Clef ?”

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes shifting from left to right, then finally landing on Rose. “Don’t say anything to her, okay? I don’t want to get her in trouble.”

  “Rose told you?” Anger fluttered within me. She’d stood right there when I’d deliberately not told Rachel, then she went and blabbed anyway?

  “She’s a kid,” Rachel said. “And she’s scared for you.”

  I brushed it away, because Rachel was right, of course. “I’m scared for me, too,” I said. “I’m scared for all of us. And I’m horribly afraid that I’m missing something huge. Something that I’m not seeing or . . .” I trailed off with a shrug. “I don’t know. My brain is fried.”

  “So what’s bothering you?” She laughed, the sound a little hollow. “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

  “Lucas Johnson, for one thing. He was so hot to get this thing,” I said, pointing to the Oris Clef at my neck. “And now he’s just disappeared.”

  “But you knocked him out of Rose’s body.”

  “He has a new one, though. I saw him, too. When you were attacked. He was standing on a rooftop, watching, like he had front-row seats to a basketball game or something.”

  “You’re sure it was him?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then you’re probably right. He’s probably up to something.”

  Despite the fact that I did not want to have to mess with Johnson again, my shoulders sagged with relief that she agreed with me. “Yes,” I said eagerly. “It’s not like him to hang back, especially when everything is coming to a head so soon.” Even if I did want to use the Oris Clef—and tempting though it might be, I wasn’t saying I did—I had to figure that Johnson was waiting somewhere, all poised and ready to yank the thing away from me.

  So why hadn’t he tried yet? I didn’t get it. And I don’t like things that I didn’t get.

  I reached up to hold the Oris Clef, so warm in my hand. Like Deacon, it could feel the coming of the convergence, and I wished it could show me the future. The true future.

  “I don’t think I could control it,” I said to Rachel.

  “Sweetie, you’re stronger than you think.”

  I drew in a breath, then shifted so I could look back at Rose. I’d been the big sister for so long, but I didn’t want to be anymore. I wanted someone to tell me what to do for once, and I turned back to Rachel, then reached for her. I took her hands, then looked at her, my mouth open to tell her please just help me figure it out.

  I never got the question out. Instead, I snapped into her. I heard her gasp, felt her pull away, but not before I got a glimpse of something dark. Something hidden.

  “Dammit, Lily! You’re not supposed to get in people’s heads!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I swear it was an accident.” But even as I spoke, I wished that I’d found the time to learn to be stealthy like Madame Parrish had suggested. As it was, I had only that one image, and in truth, it worried me. Because Rachel had once been a disciple of the dark, just like her uncle Egan. She’d given it all up, and I believed her. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t relapse.

  These were dark times after all, and the pull of the dark was powerful. Rachel might want a clean break, but that didn’t mean she would get one. The dark could suck you in, after all.

  I understood that better than anyone.

  NINETEEN

  I was near the front of the pub, ostensibly checking the locks, but really trying to think about anything but what was happening. Anything but the choices I had to make.

  “They’re out there,” I said, as Deacon approached. “Can you see them?”

  “I can smell them,” he said, peering out the curtain beside me. “They’ll come in, soon. They want what you have, and they can’t wait much longer. Either that, or they want to rip you apart so that you can’t stop what’s coming.”

  I snorted. “I don’t know if I can stop it anyway.” I swallowed. “I mean, I know I can. I just don’t know if I—”

  He pressed a finger to my lips. “We’ll find it.”

  I grimaced. Unless he had some magic spell I was unaware of tucked up his sleeve, I was thinking that wasn’t damn likely. The night had passed without attacks from the demons—and that was good—but it had also passed without us finding Margaret’s dagger. And that was bad.

  Also on the bad side, the demons appeared to be shifting their approach. They’d left us alone for the night, but on this last day we were no longer going to be so lucky. Time kept rushing forward, and with it, the end of the world.

  “Are you ready to fight?” he asked, nodding toward the door. I wasn’t. I was tired of fighting. Terrified, too, that if I killed any more demons, I would no longer have the strength—no, the desire—to fight the allure of the talisman around my neck. An allure that was getting stronger with each passing minute.

  I wanted to shield myself. From the call of the dark. From the demons. From every damn thing, but I didn’t know how. It wasn’t like I could put a little force field around myself and—

  Oh.

  “Protections,” I said triumphantly. No help for the battle I’d have to fight at the bridge, but at least we’d continue to be safe inside the pub.

  “Broken,” he countered. “We already talked about that.”

  “We need new ones,” I said, then signaled for Rachel to come over. “They’re going to come in,” I said without preamble. “Can you do a protection spell? Can you replace the ones that were broken?”

  She seemed to go a little pale. “I—I’m not sure. Over this whole place?”

  “It doesn’t have to last forever,” I said. “Just a few hours. I know you don’t want to—I know I’m making you do something you gave up—but you said it yourself, right? It’s only black magic if you use it for the dark.”

  She licked her lips. “Just a few hours?”

  I glanced at Deacon. For better or for worse, we needed to be out of here and on the bridge soon. So yeah, this was a temporary gig. “Absolutely,” I said.

  I felt a little guilty that she looked so trapped, but not enough to ask her not to at least try. Maybe it wouldn’t work, but we needed something to go right for us, and we wouldn’t know unless she tried. After a moment, she nodded. “All right. But this is a solitary spell. Don’t disturb me. I’ll let you know when the building is secure.”

  I glanced at Deacon and noticed the way his head was cocked, as if he was listening for something. I knew what, because I was listening, too. And I heard them as well. “Fine,” I told Rachel. “But hurry.”

  As she went off to gather supplies, I turned to Deacon. “They’re going to completely surround the place. Are we going to be able to get out when we need to?”

  “Portal,” he said, and I blanched.

  “But the time thing. If we miss the convergence—”

  “We won’t. Rachel and Rose stay here, safe in the protection spell. Between the two of them, they can anchor us.”

  “You’re sure?”

  His eyes darted to Rachel. “If she’s strong enough to do a protection spell with the convergence this close, she’s strong enough to be an anchor. And Rose has her own strength.”

  That she had, and knowing that she would
be safe within the pub would help me fight, too. And I was going to have to fight—I knew that. Penemue or Kokbiel—or both—would be there trying to get the Oris Clef.

  And as for me?

  Hopefully, I’d be trying to use a dagger that Margaret had hidden so that her daughter could save the world. But I had my doubts.

  Without thinking, I closed my hand around the Oris Clef, feeling its call, its promise. Maybe Rachel was right. After all, the black arts were only black if you used them that way. If I used my position for the good of humanity rather than its degradation . . .

  I closed my eyes, picturing the transition as I’d seen it in Gabriel’s mind. The portal opening. The demons barreling toward us through the vortex that would open to allow passage between the worlds. And me standing at the threshold, my knife tight in my hand as I slice my palm, as I grasp the Oris Clef with my bloodied hand and recite the words that would make me queen.

  My bloodied hand . . .

  The image swirled in my head, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Deacon watching me warily. “What?” he asked.

  “My blood,” I whispered. “It’s always been about my blood.” I looked wildly around for the book I thought we’d left on the bar. “Where is it? Where’s the book?”

  From near the dartboard, Rose glanced over. “I took it back upstairs.”

  “Right.” I squeezed Deacon’s hand. “Stay with them. Make sure the protections work.”

  “What are you—”

  But I was gone, racing toward the back, shouting at Rachel to finish the protections and stay there with Deacon.

  “Wait!” she called, running after me.

  “Rachel!” I paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Bit of a time crunch here . . .”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think I know where the missing key is. Just keep it up, okay? We need to have this place safe again.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Protections!” I shouted over my shoulder as I tromped up the stairs, my fingers and all other appendages crossed tightly. Mentally crossed, at any rate.

  I burst into the apartment and found the book on the kitchen table. Thank goodness. I just prayed that I was right.

  The worn image of a dagger on the cover was barely visible, but to me, it was about the most beautiful thing ever. “Please,” I whispered. “Please be right.”

  I drew in a breath, then sliced my hand. I held it over the book and let my blood drip on the image of the dagger. At first, I thought nothing would happen. Then the image started to fill out, the lines becoming solid, then the picture taking on form, bubbling up from the cover of the book.

  “The key . . .”

  Rachel’s awed voice from the doorway made me jump, and I turned to frown at her. “Dammit, Rachel! I told you to stay downstairs.”

  “I know,” she said. “But my mother hid the dagger for my sister. I should be here.”

  “Downstairs?”

  “All taken care of,” she said. She took a step closer, her eyes wide with wonder, her finger reaching out as if to stroke the blade.

  “Lily!” Rose’s anguished cry echoed up from downstairs.

  “Shit!” I said, immediately pushing past Rachel, who cried for me to hurry, then gave me a sharp and slightly painful shove in the direction of the door.

  But I didn’t make it.

  There was something wrong. Something very wrong—and very familiar.

  Paralytic.

  I’d been hit with it before, by Deacon, actually, back when he thought we were on opposites sides. Now, apparently, Rachel had gotten me.

  “What?” I said, but that was all I got out before my mouth failed me, and I dropped to the floor, trying to fight the drug. Trying to just keep breathing.

  Rachel bent over in front of me and took the knife.

  “Stupid girl,” she said, in a voice not Rachel’s but which I recognized nonetheless—Lucas Johnson. “I could wait—I could risk—you having the Oris Clef. I could even encourage it. Tempt you. Tease you. Keep you from searching for the missing key. Keep you from thinking like a damned foolish martyr. So long as the portal opens there’s a chance for us. The hordes cross, and we are in a new world order.

  “Even if I failed at the bridge and you claimed the throne, you’d never be strong enough to keep it. How could you be when everything you are, everything you ever will be comes from me? I’m stronger because I made you. Planned you. I fucking controlled you. And you never even had a clue.”

  Disgust and self-loathing welled within me, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing except lie there and wait for him to cut me to pieces.

  “And after my coup—after I cut you up and put the bits of your body in little boxes hidden all over the earth—the world will be remade in my image and the image of him that I serve, Kokbiel, the most powerful.” He smiled. “Lucky me that I don’t have to wait on that part now.” He held up the knife. “A key that will lock the gates? Sorry, daughter-dear, but I can’t let you use this. But the blade seems sharp enough.” He bent close to me. “Perhaps we’ll get some use out of it before I destroy it for good.”

  He squatted beside me, and I tried desperately not to let the terror I felt show in my eyes. This was it—the thing I had feared most of all since the moment I’d learned I was immortal. That I would be alive and non-functional. Alive, yet boxed up. Spread apart. Suffering from my injuries and with no chance of healing or restoring myself.

  And it was all over at the hands of my sick, twisted, demonic father, and I couldn’t even open my mouth to scream.

  “It’s almost time,” he said, pressing the blade above my shoulder joint, “so I’ll make this quick. You can thank me for that later.”

  I didn’t feel the blade as he sliced in, but I did hear the loud grunt as he fell backward, suddenly off balance. And though I couldn’t turn my head, I was at the perfect angle to see why—the blade protruding from Rachel’s chest. Just to the left of her heart.

  She gasped and grabbed for it, yanking it out and snarling as Rose raced forward, slowing only long enough to take my blade from my thigh holster.

  “You son of a bitch,” she said, kicking out and catching Johnson under the chin. “You used me. You raped me. And Lily.” She spun around, her heel knocking him solid across the face. “You’ve been playing with her like a damn puppet. Our whole family. Well, no more.”

  She kicked, and Johnson tumbled backward, then climbed to his feet, clearly not yet comfortable enough in the body to have his fighting game down.

  But he did have a knife, and he lunged at Rose. She shifted left, evading, then lashed out with another kick. I wanted to cry out to her, to scream that she needed to finish the job, not vent her frustrations, but I was frozen, helpless, and could only watch as Rose was finally able to get her revenge against Lucas.

  And it was some nasty revenge. She was a woman on fire, fury driving her, Johnson barely even able to get in a decent thrust.

  “I hate you,” she said, the simple words carrying so much meaning. “I hate you, and you are dead.” And with that, she slammed my knife into his heart, then pried her own knife from his weakening hand. She thrust it in, too, and when he fell back to the ground, she shoved it the rest of the way with her foot.

  And then, as the body started to turn to goo, she pulled out the knives and spat on him.

  Honestly, I wanted to applaud.

  Rose stood gasping for breath, her expression a mixture of pride and amazement. Then she looked at me, and worry flooded her eyes. She crouched beside me. “Oh God, oh God. She died—she must have truly died—and he slid in to use her body. And then you healed him, and, oh God, he’s been using her body ever since, and Rachel’s been gone, and we never even knew.” She licked her lips, tears spilling from her eyes. “We never even knew.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, and as Rose lifted my hand and sliced my wrist, the world faded away, and I was gone, too.

  TWENTY

  “C ome on! Come
on! We have to hurry! Come on!”

  I woke up to Rose’s face above mine, and the taste of blood lingering in my mouth. My blood. I blinked and sputtered and slowly, painfully, drew in a deep breath.

  “Johnson?” I managed, my voice sounding croaky and off. “He’s really dead? I didn’t imagine it?”

  Rose nodded, busying herself with pushing me into a sitting position, but when she looked up at me, I saw pain in her eyes. “He raped me,” she said. “He tormented me and he hurt me and he raped me. But when I killed him, he was—” Her gaze darted over to the greasy stain on the floor.

  “It wasn’t Rachel anymore,” I said gently. “And you killed the son of a bitch who was abusing her body. Who’d abused you. I say congrats and good riddance.” And, I thought, of all the ways that this could have turned out, having Rose actually destroy the man who’d fucked with her for so long was some serious poetic justice.

  “Are you mad?”

  I experimentally tried to move my legs and was pleased to see they were cooperating. “About what?”

  “Who he was. What he did to you. Maybe you wanted to kill him.”

  I almost laughed. Because as much as that would have been a nice warm, fuzzy moment for me, the last thing in the world I wanted was to absorb the essence of Lucas Johnson. “No,” I said. “I’m not mad. I am worried, though. How long was I out?”

  “Only a minute or so,” Rose said. “I wasn’t sure how long it would last, so I tried the blood thing since you use it to heal folks, and, oh, Lily, we really need to hurry. The demons—”

  “What about them?”

  “She only did a protection on the front. On the back of the pub, she did an invitation. Or he. At any rate they’re coming in. I got a few when I was coming up the stairs but Deacon’s down there all alone, and he’s helpless and—”

  “What?” Deacon and helpless used together in the same sentence really didn’t compute.

  “The same stuff that got you,” Rose said. “Only Rachel—I mean Johnson—was aiming it at me. He said he was done with me, and that it would end me slowly, and I’d probably last just long enough to hear you scream when he took the key from you. And then he was aiming this thing at me, like a blowgun or something, and Deacon jumped, and he was in front of me, and the dart got him instead of me. And I guess Johnson didn’t want to try again, and so he turned and ran.”