Immortal (19 page)

As Ad came into the kitchen, it didn't take a genius to figure out what had fucked things up—and this time, it wasn't something metaphysical.

Although he was willing to bet there had been some mind blowing going on.

Ad put the ancient book down on the table and arranged the chairs back where they belonged. Then he took a load off and waited. Up on the second floor, he could hear all kinds of movement going on, people walking around, doors closing. After a while, a single pair of heavy footfalls clomped down the stairs.

“I'm in here,” he called out.

When Jim sauntered into the kitchen, the savior was all about the no-big-deal and the nothing-special. “You ready for dinner yet?”

“We need to talk,” Ad countered.

Jim went over and popped the refrigerator. “About what.”

“Your girl.”

Three, two one . . . except nope, the guy didn't bother with any kind of denial about that possessive pronoun.

“What about her.” Jim closed the ice box door and went to work on the cupboards. “We got any food?”

“Sea salt–and-vinegar potato chips, fresh bag, at your eleven o'clock.”

“Fucking perfect.”

Ad waited until the guy had sat down across the way and cracked the seal on the chips. “I don't want you to take this the wrong way—”

“So don't say it.”

“—but we can't ignore the fact that Sissy might be possessed.”

Down went the bag to the table and that heavy jaw stopped chewing. “What.”

Ad rubbed the center of his own chest—because even raising the issue was enough to give him the heebs. “I think Sissy brought something out of Hell with her. I think it's inside of her, and the longer it's in there, the more it's going to take root and grow.”

Jim shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. She was an innocent when she went in and—”

“There's a reason people like her aren't allowed up in Heaven.”

“Excuse me.”

“They're contaminated.”

Jim got up, his chair squeaking across the bare floorboards. “I'm not hearing—”

“Then explain to me how she can read this.” Ad opened the ancient book up to a random page. “This isn't Latin, Jim. It's Devina's language, and I think Sissy can read it because—”

“No!” The savior crushed the bag in his fist. “You're fucking out of your mind.”

“It's what her rages are about.”

“She's not angry.”

Ad got to his feet, and jacked his torso forward. “She nearly burned the fucking house down, Jim. Quit thinking with your dick and get real.”

Jim pointed a finger across the table, his hand shaking. “I'm going to forget that you said any of this.”

“Then you're going to lose everything. Including her. Devina is a parasite—she gets into people through an injury to the soul, and once she enters, she divides and conquers. It's Vin diPietro all over again—”

“No, no, fuck that. There's nothing wrong with her—I'd sense it like I sense Devina—”

“You didn't sense shit in the last round, did you. Or any of the others when Devina was at work. And that's another reason why I think Sissy's the soul.”

Jim stared at him hard. “I don't get it—I thought you were cool with her.”

Ad rubbed his tired, aching head. “Goddamn it, Jim—”

“I'm serious. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He'd been afraid of this. He'd been totally fucking afraid of this. “You need to get real here, Jim. Not fight with me, okay? Of course I'm cool with Sissy, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of my being logical—and you sure as shit can't let that happen.” He kept his voice as level and even as he could. “I'll say it again. I think Sissy is the soul in play, and you need to get very clearly here, or we are gonna be in a world of hurt. Especially her.”

As Jim stared across at his remaining wingman, he was having a hard time hearing anything over the pounding rush of blood in his ears. Except . . . no, this was wrong, all wrong.

He shook his head back and forth. “No. She's not involved in this. Sissy's not a part of this. I got her out and she's okay and now we move on to the next soul.”

“Go talk to Nigel if you don't believe me. Go up there and ask
him if she's allowed behind the castle walls. Why the hell do you think she's down here with us? It's because she doesn't belong anywhere anymore.” Ad cursed and sat back down. “I'm not saying any of this is her fault—shit happens, and she just got dealt a really fucking lousy hand. But let's not have your emotions get in the way here, k?”

In response, all Jim could do was pace around the kitchen, shaking his head some more and trying to find holes in Ad's dumb-ass, misconstrued, cocksucking idea.

“She can't be the soul,” was all he came up with. “She just can't.”

Ad took a deep breath, like he was about to re-explain particle physics to a lay person. “Don't be naive, Jim. Every round has had an internal logic to it, a way that you found the soul, a progression from one to another. Sissy's been there from the start—and your reaction to finding her dead way back in the beginning . . . shit, that's like the first clue. It's as if she's been precisely made to trigger shit for you, and you've followed the whole thing through—from meeting her down in Hell, to finding her body, to getting her out. And now she's here with you and you're falling big-time for her—it's all adding up.”

“No.”

That was all he had. Just . . . no.

“The stakes are getting higher, Jim. Not just for the war and all of us, but for you. That's why it has to be her. This is a big test for you.”

His hands shook so badly that when he tried to get his half-empty pack of Reds out of his pocket, he dropped them on the floor.

And like they were trying to point him in the same direction, too, they landed right next to all the shit he'd swept off the counter when he'd started working Sissy out.

So good. She was so fucking good—the way she touched him, the way she felt, everything from her taste to her smooth skin to the way she came for him.

It was the opposite of Devina. Everything about Sissy was the opposite of that devil.

“It's just not possible,” he mumbled as he struggled to light up.

“The Creator engineers everything.”

“She's not evil.”

But . . . she had lied to him. About why she'd looked him up. Although, shit, maybe not. Maybe that was just paranoia talking on his part. Hell, it was entirely possible that she'd left to come home just because . . . and she had looked him up just because. . . .

Stop thinking with your dick.

With a sense of utter dread, he went over to the table and looked down at that horrible fucking book. Ad had opened it in the middle, and as Jim forced his eyes to focus . . . he tried to find Latin in what was written. Tried desperately to see something he recognized.

Except God only knew what the wording was. It seemed like some combination of symbols and the Russian alphabet.

But it was not . . . Latin.

“Let me tell you what the endgame looks like,” Ad said grimly. “Sissy's infection gets worse . . . and that's how Devina infects
you
. It's going to be through Sissy that this fucks you up.”

The logic of it all started to scare him. “But I'm not one of the souls. And Sissy can't be. She's already dead.”

“I didn't see an exemption in the rules for that, did you?”

Well, no. He hadn't. But . . .

“Okay, fine,” Ad said, gesturing with his hands. “Say neither one of you can be a soul in the war. You're still supposed to be fifty percent evil, right—that's why Devina agreed to your being the savior. The more angry, the more infected, you are? The better it
is for her. And I should know, because I got the cancer, too.” The other angel pointed to his own chest. “It's in me . . . too. Eddie was the only one out of the three of us who was pure, because he'd never been with Devina, even after she went for him. That's why she was so afraid of the guy. That's why she took him out.”

“I'm not gonna lose Sissy to that bitch again,” Jim said numbly.

“I know, and I can't decide whether that works in our favor—or against us. And speaking of the devil, Devina came by just now.” Ad said the second half carefully, like the guy knew Jim was two inches from a very steep cliff. “She told me you were looking for her.”

Jim ran through the math again, step by step. And he hated the conclusion he came to. There was nothing in the rules that stated someone like Sissy couldn't be the soul . . . and Ad did have a point. The internal logic to the war was undeniable, but only the kind of thing he could recognize in hindsight.

Shit, he thought. He hoped Ad was wrong, he really did.

“Stay here.” He put out his cig. “And watch Sissy for me, okay. I'll be back.”

“Don't do anything stupid.”

“You just worry about her. I'll take care of everything else.”

As he strode out of the kitchen, he could hear Ad cursing, but he wasn't going to worry about that crap. He needed to take care of business—and that meant taking a little trip upstairs.

And not to the second floor of this house.

When Jim arrived up in Heaven, he found the place was still lush as Central Park in the summer, the ground green, the sky blue, the castle walls the color of coffee with three creams in it. But the fact that there were only two flags flying up on the parapet was a painful sight.

Jim thought back to the first time he'd woken up with his back flat on the perma-lawn, the sizzle of the electrical shock that had toasted him still coasting through every nerve ending in his body. At least now, he'd made the trip here enough times so that he landed on his feet.

Before he went off looking for the archangels, he turned to the Manse of Souls . . . and imagined his mother in there. Safe. No longer in pain. Nothing to weigh her down or worry her. He hadn't seen her since the day she'd died, and, man, he sure could have used a ten-minute TO in there with her. Even if neither one of them said a thing, it would be good to see her one last time in the event he lost this fucking war—

“I'm sorry. I cannot allow you passage therein.”

He pivoted toward Nigel. The guy was like a painting properly restored, nothing dusty or too pale about him now, his limbs apparently having healed up fast and without lingering issues—at
least going by the easy way the guy walked over the cropped grass. He was wearing one of his natty 1920s-style suits, the cream of the fine linen glowing like a night-light in the strange, ambient illumination of the place.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Jim said.

“Of course. As if I could be anything but.”

“I need to know if it's true that a soul that's been released from Hell can't get in there.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “That there's some kind of contamination problem. Or whatever.”

Shit. Just . . . shit.

And great. Nigel's face grew sad as he murmured, “This is about Sissy.”

“No, the fucking Easter bunny.”

“Ah, yes, the mythical rabbit with the basket of pastel eggs. You are correct—that fuzzy little gob, as some would call it, would not be welcomed up here. And unfortunately, you are also right. Any soul who has been down below is not permitted entrance behind the walls or even access to the grounds.”

“Discrimination.”

“No, you said the word. Contamination.”

“She was innocent, Nigel. She didn't ask for any of this.”

“And you have my sympathy. Both of you.”

“Fucking hell.” Abruptly, he pictured what they'd had to do to Vin diPietro in the first round. “What if she was cleansed. What if we . . . took anything that was evil out of her.”

Shit, he couldn't imagine doing that violent, deadly procedure on Sissy.

“Do you truly wish to attempt that on her?”

No. “I'm going to fucking kill that demon.”

Nigel grabbed his arm in a strong hold. “Please remember this. If you remember . . . only one thing out of it all . . . you must keep
this with you.” Those incredible eyes bored into Jim's, their odd color imprinting on his mind to such a degree, he felt as though Nigel had implanted a tangible object in his brain. “The kind of anger you feel now is what Devina nurtures. If you give in to it, you give yourself unto her. It is the root of all evil, the balance to the purity of love. This is the expression of her very nature. Whatever you do, do not ride this wave, especially if it takes you to her, and even if you believe it gives you the focus and strength to beat her. Ultimately, it shall be that which undoes you.”

Jim looked out over the lush landscape. This was too much, he decided. The whole damn thing was too much, but it wasn't like he could get off this ride. Not until it was over, one way or the other.

“Colin come around yet?” he blurted out.

“I do not know that to which it is you refer.”

There was a long silence. And then Jim said, “I need to ask you for a favor.”

“And I am prepared to grant it to you.”

“You don't know what I'm going to ask for.”

“Yes, savior. I do.”

Sissy woke up to broad, warm hands traveling over her stomach, her waist, her hip. As they rolled her over gently, she knew who it was. Recognized the scent of him and the way he touched her and arched against her and got in close.

Her eyes opened, but it was too dark to see anything, the sun having set. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A while.”

“I didn't even know I was that tired.”

“Let me in,” Jim said with a kind of desperation she didn't associate with him. “Please let me in.”

His lips found hers and it was the most natural thing in the world to split her legs so he could find his place between her thighs. She had taken a shower and gotten between the sheets naked—exactly for this.

She had hoped he would come to her.

His kiss was a drug and she fed off of it, stretching out underneath his great weight as his erection brushed right against her core. She was instantly ready for him, and he seemed to want to check that as one of his hands went between them. He groaned as he felt her heat, and then he repositioned himself.

He joined them with a thrust of his pelvis, that fullness returning to her. And he was careful—up to a point. As his thrusts gained momentum, the bed started to rock, the creaking loud in the dark room. She didn't care if Adrian heard them. Maybe she should have, but it felt so good.

The closer he got to his own orgasm, the harder he pumped, the tighter his hips became. Her release sent her soaring first, her sex contracting around him, gripping his shaft—

“Oh, fuck,” he gritted out as he tucked his head and jerked against her.

Their bodies took over, working together, amplifying everything. And when they finally went still, she felt closer to him than she'd ever been to anyone in her life.

He propped his upper body up on his elbows and stared down at her. In the dimness, with the only source of light the little line around the door he'd come through, she could tell he was grim.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I've got to go out and take care of something.”

“Okay. Can I help?”

“Yes. By staying here with Adrian until I get back.”

“Where are you going?”

“It's nothing to worry about.”

Cold seeped in through her skin. “You're going to see her, aren't you.” Sissy pushed him off her and pulled the sheets up to her chin. “Aren't you.”

“Not for sex.”

“So you say.” Flashbacks of her conversation with the demon replayed in her mind. “And I'm supposed to just sit around here until you get back?”

“Sissy, I'm telling you. It's not like that.”

“You had sex with her forty-eight hours ago.”

“And that's never happening again. Why would it?”

Sissy put her hands to her face and rubbed up and down. Maybe this was a dream?

The bed moved as he shifted around, pulling his sweats back into place. And then there was a blue glow. “I want to show something to you.”

She looked over at his phone. Then frowned and took the thing from him. The screen was filled with a picture of a picture of her—the one that sat with all the other family photos in the bookcase in her parents' living room.

“I took it today when I was trying to find you. I was scared to fucking death.”

God, she'd looked so different back then, Sissy thought as she stared at herself.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

Absently, she put her palm out—and found her arm getting stretched up to his neck by him. “Feel this?”

It was a charm. On the end of a necklace.

She frowned. “That's mine.”

“I know. Your mother gave it to me.”

“When?” she breathed.

“I went to see her after I had to leave you down there. It was before I figured out a way to get you back. I knew how badly she must
have been suffering, so I went to your house and found her sitting in that armchair in the living room. She was staying up for you.”

As the glowing picture started to get wavy, she brushed at the tears in her eyes. The reality of her mother waiting by the door, not because Sissy was out after curfew . . . but because something terrible had happened . . . was more than she could take.

“I promised your mother I would bring you back,” Jim said gruffly. “She gave me this, and I was going to give it to you, but I'd like to keep it. That way you know you're with me. Wherever I go, whatever I do. You're right there with me.”

“It barely fits you,” she murmured, tracing the way the thin chain had to stretch around his thick neck.

“I'm not going to fuck you over, Sissy. Not going to happen.” He leaned in for a kiss and she let him have one. “And you want to know what I want to do?”

“What.”

“After this is all over, I want to take you out on a date. A dumb-ass dinner date. Or, shit, I don't know. Walk on a beach—not that there are any around here. I just . . . if I win this war, on the other side of it all, I want you on the back of my bike. Maybe it's only going for a ride. I don't care. Just you and me, nothing else. Promise?”

She didn't know which one of them to believe. The lying demon . . . or the trained killer who seemed the least likely person on the planet to get sentimental—who was nonetheless wearing a tiny dove around his throat and had stopped in the middle of everything to take a picture of a photograph of her.

“That's what you were going to ask,” she said.

“I'm sorry?”

“Down in the parlor, right after you came back while we were having dinner. You were going to ask Adrian to take a picture of us, weren't you.”

“Yeah.”

“Can angels be photographed?”

“You wanna see?”

He took the phone from her and realigned the shooter so that the fuzzy dark shadows that were the two of them came into vague focus.

“Brace yourself for the flash,” he said. “Three, two, one . . .”

The bright light blinded her and made her blink, but when her eyesight returned and she looked onto the little screen, there they were, their heads close together, him looking at her, not the camera's eye, her gaze focused myopically straight ahead.

And there, around both of their heads, like some kind of benediction, were the halos.

“You can trust me, Sissy. I'm at war with the bitch, not in love with her.”

She thought back to when he'd been down in Hell, tortured by those demons, violated by the masses. How could anybody love or be attracted to someone who could do that to them? Jim was a lot of things, but he didn't strike her as a masochist on that kind of scale.

God, she didn't know who to believe.

But she did like the picture of the two of them together. She really . . . liked the way they looked. If it weren't for those damn halos, she could almost believe they were just a normal couple.

“Can I keep this?”

“Yeah, you can have my phone.”

Cradling it to her heart, she scootched down and put her head on the pillow. “When will you be back.”

“After I put that cunt in her place.”

Well, at least he showed no signs of looking forward to seeing the demon; that was for sure. And the sex the pair of them had just had? Nothing to sneeze at.

“Be safe,” she said.

“Always.”

She heard him walk for the door—but then he turned and came right back, capturing her face in his hands.

“I'm going to take care of you.” His voice had the strangest tone to it. “I swear on my mother's soul. I'm going to make things right.”

And then he kissed her and left, closing the door behind himself quietly before striding down the hall. It was a while before she figured out what had been behind that odd inflection, and she shivered.

It was fear.

Jim Heron was terrified, for some reason.