Sansan pursed his lips, studying him. Since when did any of us receive road maps?
With a growl, he snapped, “Most of us don’t wake up in bodies that aren’t their own. Most of us know about our lives and what we are supposed to be doing.”
A rich laughter echoed in Jonah’s mind, rolling through his head like a clap of thunder. It went on and on, until finally, Sansan was wiping away tears of mirth in the reflection. Jonah, you have yet to do a single thing you were supposed to do, the angel said, shaking his head, a smile still lurking on his mouth. But it was a sardonic smile, not one of true amusement.
“Stop calling me Jonah,” he growled.
Why? You no longer even think of yourself as Adamm. You are Jonah, Sansan said, quirking a brow at him. And stop fretting so. I’m here to help you…I’m not going to let you wander the streets clueless when you leave here. You’ll have a place to go, a home…and a purpose. You’ll see that in time.
Chapter Four
Weeks later, the angel’s words echoed in Jonah’s mind.
A purpose…Jonah stood staring at the family across the street from him, his eyes burning. He knew, without a doubt, what that purpose was now.
And he lifted his eyes to heaven, murmuring, “You might as well send me to hell now. How can I save somebody from the life I lived when I didn’t even care enough to stop myself?”
Sansan didn’t answer though. He hadn’t spoken to Jonah since guiding him to this house days ago. According to the angel, this was his house. It felt familiar, oddly enough, even though Jonah knew he hadn’t ever seen the place in his life. He’d spent the past week prowling through the house, trying to make sense of everything. Anything.
But nothing made sense. Not until now.
It had been more than a month since he had woken in this body, and it wasn’t until now that he understood.
That was his sister’s house across the road. Or rather…Adamm’s sister. That was another life ago, even though it felt like it had just happened yesterday. Plain and simple, that wasn’t his life anymore and Jonah could lay claim to anything that belonged to Adamm.
Lyssa had just now disappeared into the house, but the ache in his chest remained. He couldn’t stop thinking about the shy, awkward girl she had been.
She wasn’t a girl any longer.
She was thirty-two and she had a child.
Thirty-two. A mother.
The boy was twelve now so he would have been nine when Adamm died—when Jonah died—what the hell ever. He still didn’t understand what had happened. Nothing made sense, nothing. Not since he’d taken that bullet in the throat and lain on the ground with the knowledge that he was about to die.
And he had died. He remembered that…sort of. Cold. Dark. Then the bright light.
Sansan.
It seemed like only a few days had passed since that had happened, but it had been three years since Adamm’s death.
Reaching up, he pinched the bridge of his nose and wished the headache pounding behind his eyes would fade. Maybe some aspirin or something might help. At least with the headache.
Nothing was going to help the ache in his chest.
A nephew. He had a nephew and Lyssa had never bothered to let him know.
The boy was gifted, as both Adamm and Lyssa had been. And like Adamm, he was making some very, very bad choices. His parents adored him, and Lyssa understood the magic—none could have understood any better than her.
But none of that made any difference. The boy was running wild, and nothing Lyssa or her husband had done was stopping him.
Jonah wondered if they even realized just how dangerous a road their son was walking.
Jonah did. All too well.
It had been late the night before when something familiar had flooded the air around Jonah. Thick, black, foul magic stained the air. Although, as Adamm, he had never used a spell like this, Jonah understood it, recognized it. The boy was calling power to himself.
But power called was never good power, never innocent and uncorrupted.
The boy was using the blood of animals he had killed to build the spell on.
Jonah had smothered the spell before the boy had finished it. And he had listened to the rage that grew inside the boy as the spell seemed to fail.
Oh, it had worked well enough. But before it could find a target to steal power from, Jonah had crushed it, tearing the stream of power apart before it had sought out a source.
He hadn’t even understood why he’d done it, not until later. Jonah had just known he had to quash that power. Later, though, after he’d thought things through, he had understood.
Because of Dominiqua. Or another like her. Somebody would have felt that wild magic and it was a risk Jonah was unwilling to take.
Lyssa’s son wasn’t going to walk the road Adamm had walked. Not if it could be stopped.
“This is why I’m here,” he whispered as he studied the pretty house across the street.
His sister was in there. In there, with her husband who held her as she cried. All Jonah had to do was concentrate on her and he could feel her, an awareness that he’d never had before. Although his body never moved, he was now in the room with them, watching his sister. Watching as she came apart, and unable to do a damn thing to help.
Right now, she was sitting by her husband and crying.
“It didn’t work,” Mike murmured into her hair, holding her. Jonah hovered in the corner, unseen, listening and watching.
“But it will, sooner or later,” she cried, her hands clenching and tightening in Mike’s shirt. “Damn it, it will. Why, damn it? Why did he have to get that from me?”
“Sweetie—”
She hiccupped softly as she reached up, placing her fingers over Mike’s mouth. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m a witch…I gave birth to one. And he’s evil, just like Adamm was. Maybe I am evil. Maybe I’m not. But I’m to blame. He wouldn’t have this magic if I hadn’t been the one to give birth to him.”
Evil—
“Honey, he’s not going to end up like Adamm did…we won’t let him,” Mike said furiously, his eyes glinting.
“How can we stop it? Damn it, you’ve seen the things he’s been doing, what he’s tried,” Lyssa whispered, shivering, her eyes dark and glassy. “He’s just like Adamm.”
Just like Adamm.
Evil.
Jonah returned to his body, cutting off the awareness of his sister and making himself study the boy in the yard. Grayson was pale skinned, his hair dyed coal black. He had black polish on his nails, had his mouth painted black and his clothes were more of the same.
Plenty of kids loved the Goth dress, the mannerisms, the music…they loved to play a part, played at walking down a dark, deadly road.
Grayson was doing more than just dressing the part. He was ready to take that walk for real and once he started down that road, it would be so much harder to come back.
Inside the boy, Jonah could feel a hunger, an urging. Stronger than his own had been, even.
Grayson wanted power. He craved it. All Adamm had ever wanted was to keep his sister safe, and later, their makeshift family.
Safety was the last thing on Grayson’s mind. He craved power, he craved strength. He craved darkness. But part of him was also confused, scared. Trying to understand why he had been born with magic, finally convincing himself that this was the path to go down.
As Grayson yanked weeds from the garden, he fumed and steamed, furious his spell hadn’t worked, furious he hadn’t succeeded in keeping it from his mother. Shamed by the tears and the lecture that had followed.
Grayson was convinced, though, that dark magic was better.
I’ll show her, damn it. When I’ve got the power to get money, we can pay off the damned bills her fucking brother left us with…we’ll be rich. She’ll understand then…
Bills?
Jonah narrowed his eyes, focusing on Lyssa again, sifting through her mind. Unaware of his presence, she got up and s
tarted to pace. She had paid for a funeral for Adamm, had paid off the debts he had incurred with various lowlifes…and had put herself into the hole as she did it.
His mouth tightened. Worry about that later. His first priority, he knew, was the boy.
When we have all the money, when we have everything we want, she’ll understand, Grayson continued to think.
Jonah didn’t know why he did it.
But he spoke, forming the words in his mind, projecting and pushing them out.
No, she won’t understand, kid.
He wasn’t sure who was more startled—himself or Grayson.
The boy’s body jerked, tensed. His eyes went wide and Jonah heard the echo of his own voice as it sounded inside the boy’s head.
Grayson’s mouth dropped open and his eyes wheeled around, looking for the source of the voice he had heard. Who in the hell is this?
Doesn’t matter…what matters is that you listen. Stop this, while you can, Jonah told him.
Stop what? The magic?
Jonah snorted. No, stop playing Go Fish. Yes, kid. The magic. Stop it. It’s more dangerous than you realize.
Dangerous? Grayson felt fear, but he shoved it down fast, so fast that Jonah caught only a glimpse of it. I can’t stop the magic, even if I wanted to. It’s what I am. It makes me special.
No. It makes you stupid, Jonah responded.
What the fuck do you know? Grayson demanded. His eyes narrowed as he looked and down the street. Who in the fuck are you?
Jonah moved out of view as the boy started to search the street for him. Just because you got a little magic doesn’t mean you can make up your own rules, kid. There’s going to be somebody out there who has stronger magic. And they’ll want you, lie to you, use you.
Grayson smirked. I haven’t met him yet. Nobody can use me. I won’t let them. And nobody is as strong as I am…I can do anything.
No, Jonah whispered. You can’t. And you have met him—how do you think your spell was messed up last night?
As the boy started to swear, low and vicious, Jonah pulled away, retreating inside his house.
***
Lily yawned, propping her feet on the rail of the porch, a happy little smile on her lips. A cold breeze came whipping down the street and probably would have driven most people inside.
But most people hadn’t lived trapped in darkness for century after century.
Sitting there, with the thin light of the early spring sun shining down on her face was as close to perfect as Lily had ever come.
This is so nice, she thought to herself. She hadn’t ever lived with such peace before. No wars, no raging, no power struggles…well, there had been one she’d sensed a few nights ago.
Youth versus experience—power struggling to become more, stopped by a greater magic. The struggle, quickly over, had jerked her from her sleep and she had followed the source before remembering—she wasn’t a part of that world anymore.
She was a nurse, a healer. And the power struggles of others didn’t need to concern her anymore.
Says…who, exactly?
Lily jumped, her eyes flying open as she searched for the speaker. She couldn’t see him anywhere. But she knew who it was, the third angel…Sansan. His voice was unmistakable, like harp-song, lovely, haunting, ethereal.
“I’m sorry?” Her voice shook. She hated the fear living inside her. Hated looking at Sansan and wondering if her time was up. If she’d already failed this final test.
You were put here to right wrongs. Just because they weren’t your wrongs doesn’t mean you can overlook them. Especially if you have the power to stop others from turning to darkness, like your mother did.
“That’s not my fight,” she said softly. “I don’t know how to help the child.”
Sansan laughed. First, you have to care enough to try…and then the rest will come. But do not think you have no interest, no concern for the others around you. Indeed, if people were more concerned with the welfare of others, this world wouldn’t be such a dark place. Creatures like your mother wouldn’t be able to sink their hold so deeply into others.
Blood rushed to her cheeks and she closed her eyes in shame. Yes, her mother was adept at exploiting the desires of those who cared more for themselves than for others, so very adept.
“It’s a very young power. He can’t be much more than a babe. There was another power I felt, someone older, powerful—that one stopped the boy from calling power to himself. If he had succeeded, he would have fallen under my mother’s notice.”
Indeed, he would have, Sansan said. Nothing the Queen of Demons loves more than to corrupt the young. And the gifted young…she loves even more.
Lily had the odd feeling of being watched, his gaze shrewd and penetrating. Awareness bloomed within her. You want me to protect the boy from her. Fear started to swell inside her as remembered pain rose to her mind. “Protect a child, from her…and I am mortal now.”
A warmth settled around her, like a gentle hug. Child…mortal, yes, you are. But never without protection of your own. You are protected now, from her. And you are not without your own strengths and powers. Your mother cannot harm you.
Lily pressed her lips together, tears burning her eyes. What is to stop her? “She lost with me—she hates failure. The rage of that failure will eat at her, consume her. When she realizes I’m here—”
You are not without protection, Lily. We did not bring you here to abandon you. And we know Lilith well, very well.
A startled cry left her lips as the warmth around her dwindled down to one fine point, burning hot, like a laser drilling through her flesh. It was at her right shoulder, just atop her shoulder blade, burning through flesh. Tears stung her eyes and she clapped her hand over it. The moment she touched her flesh, the pain stopped. And the flesh, once smooth and unmarred, now had a ridging on it. Craning her head around, she looked down and saw a marking, slightly raised, dusky rose in color. It looked like the wings of an angel.
That is my mark—you are one of my charges, and guarded by me. Lilith will not be able to look at you without seeing my mark. And she will not dare defy me…she knows I operate under a power greater than any she could ever imagine, Sansan said as she rubbed the mark with her finger, wondering at it.
And before she could even form another thought, she felt his presence retreat and she was alone once more.
Alone, with nothing but her thoughts. And her fears.
They wanted her to do something about that boy. They wanted her to keep her mother from finding the boy.
“Why not ask me for the moon?” she muttered. “It might be an easier task.”
***
It was with tremendous anxiety that Lily headed out of her house, following the curving concrete path that wrapped around her neighborhood. Her mouth was dry and her heart trembled within her chest. You would have thought she was doing much more than taking a simple walk. She paused by the mailbox, reaching up and touching her fingers to the mark on her shoulder. He had said she was protected—and her mother feared him, greatly. Almost as much as she feared the High Power.
His was a name that went unspoken by the demons, for fear of drawing His divine attention to them.
His angel’s mark was just like His own mark would be. And if Lily kept reminding herself of that, the jumping in her belly stopped. For a little bit.
But then the dark, gnawing fear would always rear its ugly head. Lilith had spent thousands of years torturing her recalcitrant daughter, making sure the lilum’s fear of her ran deep and true.
Lily still woke at night, screaming in silence, as she remembered the bite of the whip along her back, remembering times when her mother had chained her to floor and turned her sisters loose on her. The beatings had been preferable to that. Her sisters loved inflicting pain and fear and had taken great pleasure in raping her, biting at her flesh until she bled, ripping at her wings.
A succubus’s wings would always grow back—Lily knew well. They had torn her
s completely off, more times than she could recall.
A fine sweat formed on her flesh as she lost herself in the painful memories. A pulse of heat formed under her fingers as she rubbed the mark. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the fear aside and opened her eyes.
“I can’t live in fear,” she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t let my memories control me.”
Shoulders squared, she started down the sidewalk, focusing on the sources of power she sensed.
It was really was just a boy, she mused, staring at the sullen youth yanking weeds out of one of the pretty little flowerbeds that dotted the yard. The boy had dyed his hair a dull, lifeless black, and as he lifted his face, his mouth twisted in a snarl, she saw he had taken to painting his mouth, as well, with black lipstick. Around his neck, he wore an emblem, one that was older than time itself.
So old, even time itself should have forgotten it. But power wouldn’t be forgotten. Power didn’t allow such a thing to happen.
Lily had certainly never forgotten it. Although the pendants had already been ancient when she was born, she knew their story. All the lilum knew of Szardi’s magic.
Szardi—the priest who had worshipped their mother and used his magic to fashion the pendants as an offering to her. It was a gift that had pleased her mother to no end. Although in the end, Szardi had suffered the same fate as any other mortal man who had the bad luck to catch Lilith’s attention. He had died not long after he’d finished the last of the pendants. His magic still lived on, though. Most likely aided by her mother’s power, somehow.
The pendant was a hooked shape, like a claw set into a pair of wings that looked more reptilian than anything.
Her mother’s mark. Though he had no sign of her foul touch or that of her sisters, he bore their mark. That combined with his magic was bad news, very bad.
Her instincts screamed at her—run. She needed to be gone from here, before her mother or one of her sisters came a-calling. Lilith would recognize her daughter, even though the demon magic no longer lay about her like a mantle. Some of her sisters would likely know her as well.
The Redeeming Page 5