The old, grizzled cabbie turned his torso to me, starting to say, “That’ll be—”
I interrupt him, handing him a wad of cash I was too anxious to fully count, “Here. Keep the change.” I may have just tipped him double the fare, but my mind was elsewhere as I stepped out and froze, staring at the door below us.
Maybe Crixis was in there, talking to Ames, giving her the scoop without fully giving her every detail. Maybe—
My mind halted as the cabbie drove away, as Crixis came up the steps with a solemn look on his face.
Oh, no.
Chapter Twenty - Crixis
I left Liz and the others after Liz made me promise—promise, like I was a child speaking to my parent—that I would not compel her sister Amelia. Odds were, anyway, Amelia was not there, if she was not answering her phone or responding to the ten thousand texts Liz had sent her, but I promised her all the same.
I would play nice for as long as I could, even though I wanted nothing more than to scream in the face of all this civility. Being civil was difficult only in that it was so boring, often useless in situations like this.
These people had no idea what it meant to make hard calls. Yes, Kass had steeled herself for impaling her Daywalker boyfriend, but she wasn’t in love with him. She was only infatuated. It might’ve been a tough call, but it was nowhere near the choice that had to be made soon. I could thank her angelic mother for that knowledge.
Oh, how I loathed knowing bits of the future. If there was one thing an old being like me did, it was live in the past. The past, not the future. The future was meant to be unseen, to be unclear and hazy until you reached it. I was annoyed at Kass’s mother for showing me things I was not meant to see. Things that, at one point in time, I would’ve laughed at, but now, after my ridiculous and frankly irritating change of heart—and in an effort to play nice—I couldn’t take any pleasure in what was to come.
As foolish as it was, as backwards as it was, I wouldn’t take any pleasure in the upcoming days. I adored mayhem, loved mental anguish when it was not my own, but what would come next would not bring me any enjoyment. It would be akin to torture.
Ah, listen to me. I sounded weak and pathetic. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had thoughts similar to those.
After getting the address and general directions from Liz, I moved to a corner, and when no one was looking at me, I vanished, running as fast as my legs could until I found the street Amelia lived on. London was not my favorite city in the world. I did not like the wide streets or the number of people who walked and biked. I did enjoy the view of the Thames, however.
I walked down the side of the street with the right numbers, stopping when I reached an open door. These houses, apartments, condos—whatever they were called—had their front door lower than the sidewalk. You had to go down quite a few steps to reach it. This one, the one with the red door hanging open six inches, was of course Amelia’s apartment. It would seem Liz’s trepidation was well-placed.
Flashing inside, I surveyed the space. From the front door, I walked directly into a living room, complete with an old TV and a couch with afghans on it. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. From what I heard, Amelia was younger than Liz, but judging from her decorating skills, she was an eighty-year-old woman.
I waited a few moments, seeing if my ears heard any movement inside the house. There was nothing. I was alone here, hearing nothing but neighbors who, by the sound of it, were getting intimate in a bed against the shared wall. Sometimes having inhuman hearing was not a good thing.
Moving to the kitchen, I surveyed the small space. The very opposite of the kitchen that was in Kass’s house. Where hers was large, updated, with granite countertops and cabinets made of real wood, this was small, dingy, with laminate tops and painted cabinets decades old. Like its owner hadn’t cleaned it in weeks.
Filthy human. I could never live like this.
I wandered through the hall, checking the small powder bath on the backside of the kitchen. Floral tiles on the wall and floor were all I noticed before taking my head out of there and heading up the adjacent stairs. Tiny bedrooms, another bathroom—this one full—complete with beds whose sheets were made. Besides the dirt on the floor and the little mess in the kitchen, nothing looked out of place. Heading up to the third floor, I slowed.
An art studio of some sort; easels and empty canvases scattered around. A mug sat on top of the windowsill that overlooked the street. I flashed to it, inhaling its scent. Tea. Room-temperature tea. How odd. I set it down, studying the room from a different angle, spotting a small black square beneath a pile of finished, and apparently scrapped, paintings. In a flash, I had the object in my hands, and when my face was in its view, its screen lit up to reveal dozens of missed calls and unread texts. Its battery was at fifteen percent, flashing red in the upper right-hand corner, which meant it had been sitting, forgotten for a while.
A pallet of paint, dried up, sat on the easel, the propped-up canvas only housing a single brush stroke—a line of red paint, straight down the center, sharply stopping after moving to the right jaggedly. Like the Order came for her while she painted. Even a human’s ears should have heard the front door open. The house had no back door, not that I saw. There was only one way they could’ve come in. Amelia must’ve been truly lost to her art to be oblivious to the creaking steps.
I held her phone against me, fighting a frown. This would push Liz over the edge.
Flashing to the first level, I peeked outside, closing my eyes and listening to the nearby area. Cars going by, people talking, but no one making any calls that someone was in the house. No surveillance. Either they didn’t care, or they knew Liz would come here instead of her place and find her sister gone, presumably kidnapped. There was only one organization that could’ve taken her.
Liz already had it out for the Order after Michael made her feel like a fool; this would intensify her hatred, fuel her anger. She was such a tiny person; it might be fun to watch her anger bubble over.
I waited a while for the others to arrive. Traffic must’ve been bad, for I would’ve put them here fifteen minutes ago. But soon enough the taxi pulled up, and I waited until they filed out of the car, watched Liz pay the driver before stepping out. After the car was gone, I made my way outside, saying, “You know, I could’ve just compelled him to—”
“No,” Liz cut in, her voice shaking. “We’ve probably ruined some jobs today. I will not destroy any others.” Her light eyes peered past me, at the open door. She was too fearful of what my answer would be, so she simply darted toward the door, running inside as fast as her little legs could take her.
I held the phone to my chest, watching the group of three before me fumble with the luggage. I suppose I could’ve offered to help, but why would I? They were plenty capable. I spun on my heel and went back inside, the three Purifiers behind me.
Although I supposed they were not Purifiers anymore. There was no Council; only the Order. Once the Order was dealt with, there would be no overreaching group of people to oversee them. The kids could do whatever they wanted with their lives.
Well, Max could, at least.
With my inhuman hearing, I heard Liz search the house, her footsteps heavy. Gabriel closed the front door behind him, flicking the lock absentmindedly while Max dropped the luggage in the living room and muttered, “Seems smaller in here than it does out there.”
I rolled my eyes, keeping my snide comments to myself. Playing nice was the most difficult thing I had to do in my entire life. It wasn’t like I couldn’t play nice; I could, if the situation called for it. This situation, the future, would call for it nearly all the time. How boring. How—
Liz was on the third floor, and I flashed upstairs, behind her suddenly, causing her to jump. “Please,” she said, turning to me, holding a hand over her stomach, “don’t do that. You’ll give me a heart attack.” She looked…strange. She finally spotted the phone in my hands. “Is that—”
> I nodded, never once taking my gaze off the way she held herself. I gave her the phone.
“Oh, no,” Liz spoke, her eyes watering. “They have her. They—” She couldn’t finish, for she was suddenly clutching her mouth and running down the stairs, ending in the second floor’s bathroom.
Once I reached her, I watched as she bent over the toilet, vomiting. The smell made me want to vomit myself, and I fought my urge to turn away. A human getting sick was one of the worst things to witness, because I hadn’t even gotten a measly cold since I turned. It was one thing I did not miss.
As Liz stood on shaky legs after flushing, she went to the sink, carefully setting the phone on the counter, and turned on the faucet. She swished some water in her mouth, spitting it out, wiping around her lips with her palm, but she still looked queasy. When the water was off, she looked at me and said, “We have to get her back.”
“Without question,” I replied, holding back my frown. “I suspect everyone is jet-lagged, though. We will get her, and stop the Order, first thing tomorrow.” Yes, tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow, not now…
“Tomorrow? No, no, we go…” Liz’s words caught in her throat. She practically turned green again, bending back to the toilet and throwing up once more. “…now,” she muttered, straight into the toilet.
I didn’t address her weak retort. Instead, I said, “Do not take offense, but when was the first time you and Michael—” She glared hard at me as she stood and flushed the vomit down the toilet.
“When we what?” Liz practically hissed, venom in her voice.
“When you made love,” I finished, not liking the vulgarity of saying the word sex. I was old-fashioned in that, I supposed. Being as old as I was, I was bound to have some quirks that just refused to fade with time.
Liz’s skin went from green to pink. “What? I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” How odd. I could only imagine that, as a woman, it would be the first thing on her mind. “Why would it concern you? Why…” Her eyes widened as far as they would go. “I’m not—no, I couldn’t be. It hasn’t been long enough. This is just nerves.”
With a shrug, I told her, “I would check on it, just to be certain. If you are—”
“If I am,” she cut in, firm, “it changes nothing. We still take care of the Order.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But we do it tomorrow, and we will do it knowing whether or not you carry Michael’s child.” I moved aside. “Go to the store. Get what you have to. I will keep an eye out here.”
Liz bit her lip, looking like a frightened child herself at the mere possibility she was pregnant and not the thirty-something councilwoman she was. Although, I corrected myself, she was no more a councilwoman than the three downstairs were Purifiers. They all lost their titles the moment they went against the Order.
She said nothing as she pushed past me, bounded down the stairs and grabbed her purse. She yanked on the door, swearing to herself when she realized it was locked, flicked the deadbolt and stormed out.
As I slowly made my way downstairs, I was met with three pairs of curious expressions. Kass was the one who spoke, her arms crossed over her chest, “What was that about? Where is she going?” None of them were sitting; they each stood and looked wholly uncomfortable in the living room.
“There is something Liz has to take care of,” I said, knowing it wasn’t my place to say. “She will be back soon.” It wasn’t my place to discuss the secret she had, what was possibly growing her belly, just like it wasn’t my place to tell Kass what would happen tomorrow. There were things everyone had to go through blindly, and loss, loss was one of them.
Yes, the loss would nearly destroy her.
I moved into the kitchen, surveying the contents of the refrigerator. “Are you hungry? I could make something.” Before Maurice, it’d been years upon years since I touched a stove and food. After living with him for some time, I’d grown accustomed to making a few things. The home health aide I got for him better make his waffles just the way he likes them, or when I get back, by God, I’ll—
Whoa. Swearing by God’s name? What kind of pusillanimous man was I turning into? Ugh. These blasted Purifiers were tainting me with their righteousness and their need to constantly do the right thing. It was disgusting. I hated it. I felt like I wanted to kill something, someone, just to prove to them I wasn’t some tamed pet.
But, alas, all I said next was, “I could make a pork roast.”
Chapter Twenty-One - Kass
I could not get over how housewife-y Crixis was acting. Then again, I did see him wearing an apron while over Maurice’s, so maybe it shouldn’t surprise me so much. Still—Crixis making a pork roast? Who would’ve thought?
Who would’ve known his murderous self could act like such a comely homebody? I couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of my eye as he moved back and forth in the kitchen.
Max sat next to me on the small couch, the remote in his hand. He flicked TV stations every few minutes, trying to find something for us to watch so we could not think about our impending doom. Everything was either news or boring.
“I wonder what’s wrong with Liz,” Max mumbled, giving up his quest to find something watchable. “Did you see her when she left? She looked…” His gaze fell to his lap.
“She looked freaked,” I said with a nod. Freaked, worried, anxious, and a little mad. “She’s been gone for a little while, too. Wonder where she had to go.” I saw Crixis in the kitchen, standing up. I’d ask him, since he seemed to know. I left Max alone in the living room, since Gabriel was upstairs showering.
It took far too much willpower for me to not imagine his body all naked and wet in the shower. Those thoughts were way too new to me, and frankly at a time like this, unwelcome. I didn’t need to think about that when I had an attack on the Order to plan. Really, Liz should’ve been here too. Planning was her department.
My legs drew me into the kitchen, where Crixis was cooking both a pork roast and a few side dishes. We’d eat like kings tonight, for after tomorrow, well, there might not be another one, if we failed. I didn’t believe that we’d fail, per se, it’s just with my pessimism, I wanted to be ready for failure, just in case.
I leaned on the small table, nearly knocking the newspaper that sat atop it off. “So,” I started, shooting him a dirty look. Crixis didn’t even pause to look at me. “What’s going on with Liz?”
“Right now,” he said, speaking to the stove, “I believe it’s none of your business, you nosey little Purifier.”
“I’m not a Purifier,” I said. “I quit before we even knew the Order was the Council.” Which was also beside my point. “What could be more important than figuring out the plan? I spent most of the plane ride asleep, so—”
That got Crixis to slowly turn to me, his green eyes heavy and serious, very non-murderous. It startled me to see him like this. “Believe it or not, Kass, there are some things that are more important than what happens tomorrow.”
I scoffed, revealing my cynical and jaded self, “Not if we die storming the castle, there’s not.”
“You won’t die storming the castle.”
I did not particularly like the look that crossed Crixis’s face when he replied. Too serious, too solemn, too grave. He looked so very different than his usual, murderous self, and it was hard for my mind to realize the Crixis before me was the same Crixis who killed Koath.
He added, “Life moves forward, Kass, even when you don’t realize it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it is that. Life just goes on.”
I also didn’t like the way heaviness hung on his words, like he was trying to give me a life lesson or something. I didn’t need a life lesson. I didn’t need any lessons. He wasn’t Raphael. That lying Daywalker was gone, replaced by a murdering one instead. I definitely didn’t need any lessons from Crixis. Whatever Crixis thought he was saying? Wouldn’t help. Not even a little bit.
When I didn’t respond, Crixis added quietly as he returned
to cooking, “Someday you’ll understand.”
Gritting my teeth, I muttered, “You know, I think I liked you better when you went around trying to kill me. This Crixis? He’s annoying.” I turned and, without waiting for him to speak, walked away. I didn’t meet Max’s inquisitive stare as I walked past him in the living room. He’d pulled the thick blanket off the side of the couch and draped it over his legs, making himself quite at home in Liz’s sister’s house, considering neither Liz nor her sister were here.
Besides, if he wanted to ask about my encounter with Crixis, well. He heard enough. He surely eavesdropped. It’s what I would’ve done.
I headed through the narrow hall and up the dimly lit stairs, gripping the railing a bit tighter than I should’ve. I might’ve cracked it a little, but whatever. Crixis was so sure we’d survive tomorrow, but I wasn’t. One cracked rail wouldn’t matter, not if the Order got what they wanted. And if they didn’t, Liz would just have to apologize to Amelia for me. I was no good at apologies anyway.
How could Crixis be so confident? Going against the Order, the Council, was the most important thing we’d ever done. It would also be the hardest. Stabbing John without knowing what he was, while hardcore crushing on him, was easy compared to this. Out of everything I’d been through, we’d been through, this was the finale. The final countdown, the last roll call. This was the end of it all, and he was so fricking confident that we’d survive. How?
The guy was immortal, so clearly he wouldn’t die. The rest of us? Not immortal. Very mortal, actually, in spite of my recently risen-from-the-dead status. I hadn’t seen my mother since then, hadn’t had any visions, either. Dying and coming back, for as great as it was, turned my life upside-down. A part of me missed what I had before. A weird type of innocence. My visions had become normal to me, my usual routine. Now I was just fumbling around like everyone else.
The Order (Nightwalkers Book 8) Page 12