Keeper Chronicles: Awakening (21 page)

Dylan coughed and tried to roll over. Gabe didn’t need to see anything else. He ran back into the house, one hand holding the cloth, and went straight for the fire extinguisher her father had kept on the wall past the living room. He stumbled past the couch lungs burning. It wouldn’t put out the entire blaze, but it might give the fire department enough time to finish the job before the whole house caught.

Despite the cloth, his chest burned and each breath ached. His vision resolved into vague, blurry shapes. An orange rectangle. A long black something. A smallish red blob. There. He reached for the blob and felt the cylindrical form of the fire extinguisher.

With a quick yank, he pulled the pin, squeezed the trigger, and aimed the foamy white mess at the rippling orange blobs. A few squeezes and he could see that the flames were inching out from one of the rooms in the back. He followed the orange blobs, using the extinguisher sparingly, until he found the source in the back storage room.

Unleashing the rest of the smoke and foam and gas of the extinguisher, he covered the room until the heat faded and the orange spots disappeared. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.

Gabe collapsed to the floor, overcome by the smoke as each ragged breath felt like a fire demon danced in his lungs and throat. If he didn’t get out, he’d choke and die. Killed not by the gobbling flames but by the smothering blanket of smoke. Clawing and scraping, he pulled himself out of the room and into the hallway. Each movement burned. Each stretch of muscle agony.

He made it two more lengths before darkness claimed him as the wail of sirens shrieked in the distance.

PART III: SACRIFICE

Chapter Twenty-One

On the other side of the bunker, piled in the bed like a litter of kittens, snored the four witches knocked out by a concoction Mia had made from the few ingredients available in the bunker. Mia and Nicholas had been gone helping at the fire ever since, a few hours at least from her count, insisting that Colette stay behind and rest. As if that were possible.

Colette wished she could blame her sleeping problem on the cold, hard floor of the bunker, but really she’d slept in much worse places. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that van crunching into bones of those two children, their screams like a symphonic melody in her ears. That, more than anything, disturbed her: she enjoyed the killing. Enjoyed sucking the life force out of those children with a glee unmatched by anything Colette had felt in her own life.

The door to the bunker squeaked open, and Colette sat up hopefully. “Nicholas?”

“Colette, why aren’t you sleeping?” He hurried to her side and crouched beside to her. The dim neon lights flickered off the concrete walls, sharpening his features and giving him a sickly pallor. Ash and soot stains darkened his brow and neck and hands. He looked like he had run into the fire.

“Just a bit sore still,” she said, deflecting with an answer she hoped he’d accept. Her hands and legs had been shredded from crawling around on the ground possessed by the demon; while it’d take a day or two to heal completely, it’d never be enough to really bother her. She’d lived with worse. “Did you find the demon?”

He shook his head. “It was already gone. I searched the area, but there were so many tracks and people at the party it was impossible to single out any specific one. The fire ruined the rest of the evidence.”

The fire. She’d forgotten about that. “Your machines—were they destroyed?”

“No. The fire was mostly contained in the basement thanks to the Keeper, but they had to take him to the hospital.”

“Is it serious?”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “I don’t think so, but there were too many human witnesses not to do something. And then his mother intervened as well.” Nicholas hesitated. “I’m more worried about you. Let me see.”

Starting with her hands, he unwrapped the bandages and gently examined all the cuts and scrapes. Her hands, burning lightly still, looked like she’d stuck them in a garbage disposal. Knees and shins too. No normal human could handle that much pain without needing morphine, but thanks to her Keeper heritage the healing had already begun to progress. “Need something for the pain?”

“No. Just distract me. Tell me everything that happened.”

And he did. His willingness to let things go when she needed him to was one of the reasons she loved him. “What I don’t understand is why there was another woman drained upstairs. This demon feeds on chaos. Your spell confirmed that. The fire was additional proof.”

“Maybe you were right; there are two demons here, not one.”

Sitting down on the concrete, he kicked off his shoes and climbed under the blanket next to her. He looked up at the ceiling as he mused. “That thought’s not been far from my mind this night; however, so much doesn’t fit. For one, both would have to be first order to pull this off, but firsts are rare. Two coming through so close to each other is almost impossible.”

“What if one came in a few months earlier?” she suggested. “Maybe it wasn’t as close as you think.”

Silence for a moment. “So why did none of the local Keepers notice the influx in random demons? We’ve seen these people at work, and they’re not that incompetent. Someone would’ve noticed; more than likely, someone would’ve been killed. Even firsts can’t control their hunger in the beginning. It takes a few kills before something like awareness forms or an ability to strategize.”

“We can track that, right? Look further back in the local murder and missing person’s reports.”

He folded his hands behind his head, and she used the movement as an excuse to snuggle in closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Yes, of course. There’s one other thing that might help,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Before he collapsed inside the house, the Keeper pulled Dylan out. Someone had hit him on the head. I’m betting that’s our demon.”

“So why aren’t we questioning him now?”

“They took him to the hospital, too. Earliest we can get to him is tomorrow. Maybe the next day depending on how fast he recovers.”

Colette’s eyelids grew heavier. She let them shut for a moment—just a test—when the urge to take her husband’s arm into her mouth and suck the marrow from her bones shot her bolt awake.

“Colette?” Nicholas shifted to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

She scooted away from him.

His voice was worried. “Colette...you have to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Can you give me something to help me sleep?” She paused. “Without dreaming. I don’t want to dream.”

“Sure. It’s back at the house. Give me a minute, and I’ll go fetch some.”

She watched him go and tried to get the taste of marrow out of her head. The spell wasn’t new to her; however, she’d never gotten this close to merging with a demon. Before, they’d stopped the spell after only a few minutes. Nothing prolonged. There was no telling how long she’d have these feelings, share the demon’s memories and emotions.

The first time she’d ever performed the spell had been after her sister was murdered by a second order. The Phare de la Couronne light outside Marseille had been managed by their family for generations. No breaches. Ever. The demon that killed Amilee broke through outside Genoa and headed west. They’d had no warning. The day had been beautiful, sun bright and sky clear after the storm the night before. Amilee wanted to go swimming, but Colette refused. When the demon came through, rioting across the beach, Colette had been painting her toenails in her room getting ready for a date that night. It’d been over in minutes. Five people dead, and no real witnesses. Amilee had been dismembered, her body parts strewn around the beach. When Nicholas came through tracking the demon, her coven had agreed to help her prepare and conduct the spell. He’d learned the thing’s direction and appearance thanks to the spell, and she’d gone with him. They’d been Hunting together ever since.

At the time, she’d thought nothing would ever be worse than experiencing the death of her sister first hand—using her own hands to rip off Amilee’s head and arms and legs. She’d been wrong. What happened today at that van had been worse. That had been madness, violence. This new demon enjoyed each kill with an intensity unlike anything Colette had ever experienced. Especially the children.

“I’m back,” Nicholas whispered as he slid the door shut behind him.

Colette wiped away the tears that had formed in her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Do you have it?”

He knelt next to her and put the glass up to her lips. “Drink it all.”

The foul-tasting liquid burned a trail down her throat, but she didn’t stop. Once she’d finished, she melted back into the pillow and closed her eyes.

Sleep claimed her within minutes.

****

When she woke the next morning, she felt like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. “Nicholas?” she whispered, trying not to wake anyone in the room. No answer. The burning in her hands and legs had subsided overnight, so she propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. The room was empty. Sitting up, Colette unwound the wrapping on her hands: healed. Same when she unwrapped her legs. Whatever he’d put in that potion had sped up her natural healing.

Too bad it couldn’t take away the memories.

She wound up the bandages and threw them away before getting dressed. Her legs were stiff and awkward, like it’d been days since she’d moved instead of just a few hours. Going to the supply shelves, she grabbed a can of peaches and opened it with her knife. She finished that, two cans of spam, a pack of crackers, and a cold can of beans before her hunger subsided to a manageable level.

Taking a minute to arm herself, Colette left the bunker to find Nicholas and the others. If he had been right about Dylan seeing something, they needed to interrogate him before he forgot anything important. The cold November air, damp with ocean spray, stung her cheeks red as she walked the short driveway leading from the storage room back to the bed-n-breakfast. The house itself, a rustic white colonial with a wraparound porch and cute widows, seemed undamaged for the most part, save dark stains along the foundation and up the side. Colette climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the door.

“Hello?” she called out, stepping inside. The house reeked of smoke. “Anyone here?”

The soft padding of footsteps echoed in answer. A moment later, Mia appeared. Usually dressed cutely with her hair in pigtails, the girl wore bright yellow boots and rubber gloves, her black hair knotted on top of her head. At her waist hung a tool belt full of cleaning supplies into which she holstered a bottle of what looked like window cleaner. “Hey, good morning. How’d you sleep? Are you hungry?”

“I slept fine.” Colette twisted her hands together. Admitting she needed help was never easy for her, neither was saying thanks. “Listen, I owe you for last night. You kept your head when the others didn’t, and I appreciate it. It could have ended a lot worse.”

“Last night? Oh, you mean with the demon. That was two nights ago.”

“Two nights?”

“Yeah, you’ve been asleep for about a day and a half altogether. Nicholas and Rebekah are at the hospital questioning Dylan. Should be back in a few hours.”

Colette ran her hand through her hair. So that was why her wounds had healed. “And Gabe?”

The girl frowned and looked down at her feet. “At the hospital. In a coma.”

A coma? That was odd. With their superior healing, most injuries not severe enough to cause death were healed within a day or two. “That offer of breakfast still stand?”

Mia perked up. “Sure. I’ve got some batter left. How’s pecan pancakes sound?”

“Perfect. Can you make a dozen?”

“Dime sized—sure.”

She shook her head. “No, I meant full size.”

The witch looked skeptical, but she cooked up the promised amount. Colette ate every single one after covering each in butter and syrup. At first she ate mindlessly and rapidly, the hunger from so much healing and sleeping still fierce. As she neared the bottom of the stack, however, she took her time and savored the flavor. Mia was an excellent chef, and good food wasn’t something they often got on hunts. Of course, most of her hunts ended within days. Almost an entire week has passed since their arrival. Two more women murdered, a Keeper’s house nearly burned down. Gabe in a coma. They needed to kill this thing and quickly.

As she ate the final pancake, an image formed in her mind of the old Keeper’s body—sucking the marrow out of his bones. It tasted like syrup. The thick, warm liquid squished in her mouth, coating her tongue and the back of her throat. She ate another bite, then another, each one humming through her body, filling her with memories and energy. He tasted divine.

“Colette?”

Mia’s voice startled her from the vision. Colette opened her eyes to find herself face first in the final pancake, syrup and butter and batter all over her mouth and hands. The taste of him lingered on her tongue. The taste of human flesh and blood. She barely made it over to the trash can before everything she ate came up in violent heaves.

When her stomach finally settled, she sank down to the floor and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Colette held her aching stomach and counted her breaths, trying to force her body back into a normal rhythm using a meditative technique she’d picked up on a hunting trip in Japan. She opened her eyes to find Mia crouching in front of her, a damp cloth in her hands.