Taken By Storm (29 page)

"I just don't like the hard floor, so I stack them."

"You're seriously holed up here."

"You're living with a bunch of people in a cabin."

"Touché." I turn the rolled up sleeping bag on its side and sit on it. It holds its form surprisingly well. Mira does the same next to me, looking a little wild-eyed.

Gryfflet tells us a bunch of things I already knew, about Mississippi and the Grand Ole Opry and how those things have been signs of gradual decay. The demons getting ballsier or titsier or whatever you want to call it.

But he's not telling me the one thing that really matters. "How the fuck to we stop it?"

He halts mid-tirade, looking at me as if I've just asked him to calculate the square root of pi to the millionth digit by hand.

"I'm working on it," he says.

"Then riddle me this, witch," I say. "What does Gregor Gaskin have to do with all this?"

"You don't know?"

"If she knew, would she be asking?" Mira drawls, pulling out a protein bar from a pouch on her belt. I need a pouch like that.

Gryfflet looks back and forth between us. "Gregor's a hells-zealot."

Mira almost chokes on the first bite of her protein bar. For a moment, her features are painted with the same shock that I feel, but after that it fades to resignation.
 

"And I thought he was just a mercenary," I mutter.

"Thing about mercenaries is they want to live long enough to enjoy the spoils of their labors." Gryfflet's tone takes on a hint of dryness. "Usually a year or so isn't enough to really reach full potential of hedonism."

I should stop being surprised about cornerstones of my life crumbling into nothingness, especially because we're talking about Gregor here, and I thought I knew the full extent of his evil already. I'm not sure if the surprise is more that he's a hells-zealot — the memory of him ordering twenty or so of his comrades to be massacred in order to make a buck springs to mind — or if the surprise I'm feeling is just about the mere fact that there was any hope for Gregor left alive and squirming in me.

If there was, it's squished now.

"Theoretically." I make sure to emphasize the word when I look into Gryfflet's blue-grey eyes. "Theoretically, if we were able to restore the balance, would that stop the demons from being able to make this into their new hell? Bring back the sun? Chase them out of even Mississippi?"

"I don't think that's possible," Gryfflet says dubiously. "There's too much."

"Yes, but we're perky and motivated and don't feel like dying." That earns me a smirk from Mira, and I grin at her. "Gimme something, Gryfflet. Unless you dragged us out here just to confirm that there's no hope left in the world and we're all going to die screaming."

"We'll probably die screaming anyway," he mutters.

"Speak for yourself," Mira says around a mouthful of protein bar.

"Humor me, witch." I lock eyes with him, letting him see mine. I hope he's taking a good long look at exactly how far I'll go.

"Theoretically, if we could first figure out the actual source of the imbalance and destroy it, we'd have a shot."

It's not much, but it's something.
 

"The shades?" Mira crumples her wrapper and shoves it in her pocket.

"That wouldn't explain Mississippi." I give Gryfflet a wide smile that's all lips and teeth. "Well, my duplicitous witch frenemy, you've got homework. Find out why the balance is about to tip us into the lava. I'll find Gregor and wrap his guts around a tree. We'll all kill a bunch of demons together, and when we're done, we can sing Kumbaya."

To my surprise, Gryfflet nods. "On it."

Maybe just having a purpose is all this guy needs. As long as his purpose is not stringing me up as a piñata for any Mediators or hellkin in the vicinity, I think we can jive.

Mira and I stand up, ready to head back to the cabin and all the emotional turmoil I can stomach.

We're at the door when I think of something. "One more thing you can tell us, frenemy. Explain how you poisoned me and how long it's going to take for my friend Mira here to flit from sea to shining sea."

About a month is his answer.

In the car on the way back, Mira's almost bouncing. "I almost don't care if we're in the middle of the battle for Minas Tirith," she says. "I'm going to get my little Mexican ass to Mexico. You can come too. We'll eat tacos and I'll speak terrible Spanish, but it'll still be better than yours."
 

As full of stereotypes as she sounds, I know what pictures decorate the walls in her home, and I heard that bitter twinge in her voice when she told me her cousin Wane had gone off to Oaxaca. I let her play. I'm not about to rain on her parade when there's probably several thousand demons about to rain on everyone's. It's not tacos and tequila that pulls Mira to Mexico.

She's got roots there that she never in her life thought she'd be able to explore.
 

I promise myself then and there, driving with Bonnie Raitt belting out Are You Ready for the Thing Called Love and the windows down even though it's December — I'm going to make sure Mira lives to see Mexico.

Even if I'm not there to go with her.
 

I'm exhausted when we get home, and as bubbly as Mira was in the car, the second we walk through the door, she's quiet again.

Again we dole out the bad news to everyone present. I'm sure Alamea at least has a hint of this. She's playing her own game, sending me off to meet with Gryfflet, but it didn't get me dead, so I guess I can forgive her for now.

Mason gives me a questioning look when I say I'm going to bed. I ignore it and go into the bathroom to wash up. The door's cracked, and when it pushes open, I'm surprised to see Evis on the other side.
 

He looks at me with concern written across his face while I scrub mine with a washcloth.
 

"We're working on the problem," I tell him. "If there's a way for us to keep the demons from taking over, we'll find it."

For some reason, I don't have a problem lying to my brother, though I think he knows damn well I'm being overly optimistic.

He shakes his head and shuts the door. "Mason tried to put his stuff in your room."

I freeze with the washcloth over my face. Slowly, I lower it. "He did what?"

"I told him Mira sleeps in there now."

That explains the look Mason gave me, but… "Wait."
 

Evis raises his eyebrow at me in a perfect imitation of…me. Then he opens the door and leaves.

Mira's in bed when I get into the room, even though it's only eleven thirty. My arms feel strangely floaty. Evis couldn't have meant — nope. There's no way Mira feels like that for me.

I crawl under the covers and snuggle up to my body pillow. Suddenly the bed feels very small. I don't really know what to say, and I can't tell if she's still awake or not. I wonder if Evis told her too.

Probably not.

I lie there for a long time, the whirling of my mind beating the exhaustion of my body. So far I haven't spent any time alone with Mason since he turned up. I haven't even had time to process how I feel about it. But lying here in bed, thinking that he tried to just dump his stuff in here without asking me how I felt about it, a small something breaks free and floats away in my heart.

I don't know why he chose to come back now. Maybe he felt something, whispers of what's coming. Maybe he just wanted to get laid — though looking like he does, finding sex cannot be a problem. Maybe he missed me and is just totally crap at expressing it.

That small part that broke free and is floating around in my chest, I think it's my give-a-shit.
 

Whatever brought Mason back here, it'll never change the fact that he left.

Saturn, Jax, Carrick, now Evis, all the others who have fought and died and lived beside me, they stayed. I look to my right, at the back of Mira's head. She stayed. She's risked everything for me. I'd trust her with my life, my mission, my bunny.

I still can't tell if she's awake or not.
 

"Mira, are you awake?"

"Fuck off."

I snort. She looks over her left shoulder.
 

"What?"

I hesitate, not entirely sure of what I want to say. A sudden panic makes my heart quiver, wondering if Evis is full of it.
 

"I just wanted to say that —" My voice hitches on the word
that
like a pubescent boy, "— even though Mason's back, it doesn't change the fact that it's over."

Mira doesn't answer, but I see the outline of her face and can hear the way her breathing has quickened. She doesn't ask any questions, and she doesn't make any movements except to quietly turn her head back and pull the comforter up a little higher to her chin.
 

"Goodnight, Ayala," she says.

I roll over, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in the ear pressed against my pillow.

Just as I'm closing my eyes, I hear her voice once more.

"Thank you."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I make Jax turn off the news after a mere twenty minutes.
 

There aren't yet any reports on the main channels about demon sightings during the hours the sun is up, but it's only a matter of time. I'm in a surly mood when I start breakfast, throwing together French toast and scrambled eggs. It's been a few days, and I want to go down to Nashville and drive around. Get a feel for what's happening.

It's always possible that Gregor could completely skip town again, but I don't think he's the type. I think he likes to be around to actually watch the world burn when he sets it on fire.
 

Also, if I have to sit in the same room with both Mason and Mira all day, I might set myself on fire.

Mason keeps giving me this stepped-on kitten look, and Mira's not looking at me at all while I cook. Evis is playing Call of Duty and keeps letting Jax headshot him because he keeps looking over his shoulder at the three of us, and I don't think Carrick has a clue what's going on.

Now is certainly not the time for a love triangle. Especially when it makes me end up overcooking the eggs.

I decide to take Evis with me to Nashville, and Mira hightails it to her car, claiming the need to stock up on more groceries.
 

If there weren't a very real possibility of the world ending before Yule, I might make fun of her. But I like to eat. Also, you can't really make fun of a Doomsday Prepper when Doomsday is on the calendar for reals.

The woods around us are still alive with a few chirping cardinals and the hoots of owls. I cling to those sounds as I get in the car, and I think Evis does too.

I text Alamea to let her know we're heading her way, more as a courtesy than anything. When she responds and wants us to meet her at her safe house, it comes as a surprise.

The clouds over Nashville now hang with a sinister oppressiveness that feels directly tied to the weight at the center of my chest. It's probably just a psychological effect because I know what they mean, but seeing the shades of grey swirl above our heads as I drive south on I-65 into town makes me feel as though it's a living embodiment of two things swirling together that shouldn't. Like both halves of the yin and yang.
 

My brother next to me is perfect proof that nothing is black and white, but some things should be. Earth is ours. The demons have six hells. We only have one planet of our own.

Then again, of all the things life has been accused of being,
fair
was never one of them.

Alamea's safe house is in East Nashville not too far from Mira's house. It's strange driving through a familiar area.
 

Park behind the house in the alley
, Alamea's text instructs.

I do as I'm told. Evis and I get out of the car, and both of us shiver as a tingle washes over us. This place is warded heavily enough for me to feel it. I don't want to know what it'd be like for someone who wasn't invited.

We're met at the door by someone I don't know, a woman with brown eyes and light brown skin. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun.