Doomsday Can Wait (25 page)

His parents had been—

The kid tugged on his hand. I didn't let go. I closed my eyes and opened my mind.

Killed by lions. In a suburb in—

My fingers tightened.
Cleveland.

I wondered how those in charge had managed to ex-plain that.

When he tugged again, I let him go, and the instant before our hands separated, I caught a word:
Barbas.

I needed a quick session at Starbucks with my laptop. Then,  hopefully, the great and wonderful World Wide Web would make all things clear.

"You okay, lady?"

I opened my eyes.
Lady?
I was twenty-five.

"How old are you?" I asked.

Luther glanced away. "Eighteen."

Sawyer snorted, and the kid's cheeks darkened. "I am!"

He wasn't. But we didn't need to go there right now.

"Who are you?" Luther glared at Sawyer. Was he just being a kid, problems with authority and all that, or was his inner lion sensing Sawyer's inner . . . menagerie?

"Sawyer."

"Sawyer what? Or is it what Sawyer?"

"Just Sawyer."

"Like Beyonce?" Luther sneered.

Sawyer glanced at me. "Nephilim?"

I shook my head. "Singer."

His forehead creased. "Siren?"

"Is this guy for real?" Luther asked. "Been caught in a time warp, man?"

"In a way," I murmured, but the kid wasn't listening. He had other, better questions.

"Who sent you?"

I'd like to hear the answer to that myself.

"Who do
you
think sent us?" Sawyer murmured.

Oh, brother. Question with a question. That oughta get the kid talking.

"Is there someone chasing you?" Sawyer continued. "Do you have something to hide?"

Luther's eyes, which appeared more hazel now than amber, flickered. "This is my place. You can both just get the hell off."

"Is it your place? If I ask around, what will I find?" Sawyer moved closer to Luther. And Luther moved closer to me.

"Sawyer," I murmured. "I don't think he wants you to be so close."

"I don't care what he wants," Sawyer began.

The kid grabbed my knife. From the way he'd been retreating toward me, as if he needed my protection, as if he were backing down, I hadn't expected the move, and I stood there gaping like an idiot.

The kid was quick as a cat—wonder why?—and would have buried my knife in Sawyer's stomach. Except Sawyer was quick as ... a lot of things.

He snatched Luther's wrist before the boy could even start a downward arc and squeezed. The knife dropped to the ground; the pointy end stuck in the dirt the way Luther had wanted it to stick into Sawyer.

"You're somethin'." Luther's voice lowered; the lion purred just below the surface. "Somethin' different."

I tensed. How did he know that? Sure, Sawyer didn't look like a regular person, but he didn't look like an unperson either. I suddenly understood why Sawyer had brought us here.

"Seer?" I murmured.

Sawyer shook his head.

DK.

Which brought back the original question.

"Why do you think he's different?" I asked.

The two tussled, the kid trying to break loose, Saw-yer expending a minimum of effort not to let him. Lu-ther showed me his teeth and said nothing.

Sawyer twisted the boy's arm behind his back and said, "Answer her."

"Hey!" I protested. "No need to get rough."

"He could get out of this if he tried." The kid's head went up; his face reflected his confusion.

I was starting to get the feeling that Luther had no idea what he was. How frightening would that be?

"Why did you think that I was different?" Sawyer repeated.

"I can feel it, okay?" Luther's voice was strained. The more he tried to break free, the tighter Sawyer's grip be-came on his arm. "I've been feeling it my whole life."

"What, exactly, do you feel?"

Sawyer must have loosened his hold a little because when Luther spoke again, his voice had returned almost to normal. Oh, the fury still rumbled, but the pain was gone.

I walk by someone, and there's a hum, like bees or flies, but there ain't none. Sometimes they stare at me and then eyes . . ." He shuddered. "It's like there's a de-mon in there."

Silence fell over us all. Luther sighed. "I know I'm crazy." His shoulders slumped. "Just like they always told me."

Sawyer let him go. "They were always wrong."

Poor kid. I saw Ruthie's hand in this. I understood why I'd had to take this trip—to Detroit, to Indiana— and why I'd had to bring Sawyer.

"You're coming with us.'" Sawyer said.

"You think I'm stupid." The kid sneered.

Like the beast he was, Luther went for Sawyer's throat. Like the beast
he
was, Sawyer sensed the movement and jerked back. Luther's fingers tangled in the rawhide strip that held Sawyer's earth-filled talisman and broke it in two.

I had to close my eyes against a sudden bright light, and when I opened them again, Sawyer was a wolf.

CHAPTER 24

Luther stared at Sawyer; Sawyer stared at Luther, then Sawyer lifted his lip in a silent snarl.

"Dude," Luther said. "Cool."

Sawyer's lip lowered back over his sharp, pointy teeth.

"What is he?" Luther asked.

"Skinwalker."

"Werewolf?"

"Not exactly."

Quickly I explained that Sawyer was more than a werewolf much, much more than a witch.

"What are you?" he asked.

"Psychic." I kept the sex-empath, ghost-channeling, psychometric part to myself. "What we call a seer. I can see—hear—what they are."

"What
are
they? Demons?"

"Half demon, half human."

The kid got a faraway expression in his eyes. "They don't seem human."

He was right about that.

I reached out and took the talisman from Luther's hand. He blinked as if he hadn't realized he'd been holding it. "Sorry," he said.

I tied the thing around Sawyer's neck and then stood back to watch the transformation. Sawyer's shifting of shape was different from any I'd ever witnessed.

His dark fur twinkled, as if dusted with diamonds, then his outline re-formed, growing larger, taller, pushing against a circle of light until he burst free a man.

A very naked man. His clothes and shoes lay in tatters on the ground. Luckily, he'd bought a few sets.

He straightened, unashamed of his nakedness. Luther looked away, then quickly back, then away again.

"You said you can see what they are," Luther began. "Can you see what I am?"

"Marbas."

He choked. At first I thought he was coughing, then I realized he was trying to hold back a sob. "I
am
a demon. I'm evil. I did those things I dreamed about."

"What things?"

He closed his eyes. "Terrible things."

I brushed my palm over his shoulder, as if I were offering comfort and
bam
—I nearly sobbed myself.

For the most part foster care is given by caring individuals who truly want to help. And then there are those who prey on the weak. Perhaps Nephilim, perhaps not.

Luther had been molested. They'd found his foster father in pieces all over the backyard.

Good for Luther.

But the kid didn't remember doing it? That was. .. strange.

I tried again, touching him lightly on the hand. He'd only changed at night, when deep dreams had allowed him to open to the magic. He had no control over the shift. Yet.

"You aren't evil," I said. "You didn't kill those bullies, and you could have. Killed them, buried them, and moved on. No one would have ever known. That's what evil would have done."

"Really?" The kid's voice was hopeful.

"Really." I glanced at Sawyer, who dipped his chin, answering the question I hadn't even asked. "Sawyer can help you understand what you are and how to use it."

"Sawyer?" Luther's voice trembled. "Not you?"

After what I'd just seen, I understood his reluctance to work with a man. If it were that big of an issue, maybe I could get Summer to help him. Once I found her.

"That's not my job," I said. "He's training and I'm—

" Luther lifted his head. His eyes were shiny, but no tears had fallen. Crying was a weakness kids like Lu-ther, kids like me, couldn't afford. "You're what?"

I opened my mouth to explain and Sawyer jumped in. "We'll talk in the car."

I glanced at Luther, afraid we'd have another light on our hands, and if he got really upset, we might have a lion on our hands. How in hell would we get
that
in the car?

But he rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Okay."

He disappeared into the ridiculous excuse for a build-ing, and I turned to Sawyer. "How did you know he was here?"

"That's what I do, or at least what I did before my mother confined me to the Dinetah."

"That's right. Ruthie told me you were good at recruiting new federation members."

"There's no need for recruitment. We are what we are we're born for a reason. I bring out special talents, refine and train them."

I remembered how he'd brought my talent out. "You can't—"

His nostrils flared, fury sparked in his eyes. "The child is a Marbas. He has shifted; he has killed. He doesn't need to be opened to the magic, he just needs to be taught to control it. To bring it out when he wishes to and not when his anger or fear releases the beast against his will."

"But—"

"You think I’d touch him?"

"You touched me."

"You'll never forgive me for that, will you?"

"You want to be forgiven?" I asked.

He thought a minute, then shook his head. "I did what needed to be done." He glanced at the sunny sky. "As you will. We're more alike than you know."

"We're nothing alike."

He didn't answer, which was answer enough. Sawyer believed what he believed. He didn't care if I agreed with him or not. Which, come to think of it,
Was
a lot like me.

"How did you know he was here?" I repeated.

Sawyer tapped his temple.

"Voices?"

He shook his head.

"Then what?"

"As the boy said, it's a buzz. Bees, flies. You feel the power along your skin."

"You feel DKs?"

"And seers."

"But he felt Nephilim." I frowned. "How can that be?"

"All DKs have the ability to a certain extent. They know evil; they can sense it, feel it, some smell it. But they don't know what it is without their seer. That sixth sense means less mistakes."

"They see evil people," I murmured.

Sawyer's face creased. "What?"

Why I bothered to make pop culture references around him, I had no idea.

I supposed things could get confusing. Demons in a crowd, which one is "the one." You think you know, but then again maybe you don't. But if you can feel, sense, smell it. then you can kill it without a qualm. Worked for me.

"In theory"—I bent to pick up my knife and return it to the sheath at my waist—"a DK could just stick a Nephilim with silver, see if they burn."

"And if they don't, the DK is dead. Better to wait for the information from your seer and kill them right the first time. The federation was set up the way it was be-cause their method works and has for a very long time."

"If it worked, they'd all be dead."

"They will be." he said.

"You really think so?"

"No."

Why did I try to talk to Sawyer at all?

Luther reemerged with a backpack as battered as his shoes. I remembered very clearly showing up at Ruthie's with everything I owned in a similarly sized package.

I didn't even consider what legal issues might exist in transporting a  ward of the state—and probably not even this state, but who knew? Someone might be searching for Luther, and then again no one might be. Sadly, when troublesome kids went missing, they were often written off as lost.

In my mind, Luther was already part of the federa-tion, which made him my responsibility. I'd deal with the legalities if we managed to save the world from the prophesied invasion of the demon horde. If we didn't, I doubted there'd be anyone left to care about Luther, which probably wasn't too far removed from the present situation.

"Is there someone who might miss you?" I asked, just to be on the safe side.

Luther rolled his eyes.

"How is it," Sawyer asked as he led the way back to the Impala, "that you came to be here, in this town, this road, this house?"

"I just drifted, you know?"

Jimmy and I had both drifted when we were much younger than Luther. There was something in this kid's eyes that reminded me a lot of Sanducci the first time I'd seen him. The big mouth that masked the fear, the need peeking out from behind the bravado.

"When I got here, this seemed like a good place to wait."

"For what?" Sawyer asked.

Luther shrugged, his shoulder bones shifting beneath his threadbare shirt, reminding me of the shoulder bones of a lion, sliding beneath loose skin as he moved across the savannah.

More and more I was getting the sensation that everything happened for a reason, in its own time, or whatever other cliche applied. Life was fate, if you weren't of the opinion that God had a plan.

Right now I knew with rock-solid certainty that Luther had been waiting for us.

Ahead, the powder-blue Impala shimmered between the low-hanging, leaf-heavy limbs of the trees. A few scratches marred the once perfect paint. Summer and I were going to have words, but then that had been a given from the beginning.

We got back on the road to Brownport, and after pulling on some clothes, Sawyer explained things to Luther. I don't think I'd ever heard him string together that many words at one time. He laid it all down—past, present, and future prophecy. What the kid was, what he would become. He took it pretty well.

"Sweet," Luther said, and then he went to sleep.

I stopped at the first Starbucks I found, grabbed my laptop and went inside. Luther didn't stir. We opened the windows and let him sleep.

I ordered two iced lattes, handed them both to Saw-yer, and set up shop where we could keep an eye on the kid. Then I accessed the federation Web site with the code Summer had given me and typed
Marbas
into the search column.