A nice theory, but not even close to my reality. Because Clarence and crew didn’t want me sweet; they didn’t want me nice. And they’d had me training on real, true, badass demons. Sacrificing their own kind so that I’d become more like them. More badass. More evil.
Apparently, it had worked. Because the darkness writhed within me.
I wanted to be over the top, and I wanted to end them all.
“We can’t simply waltz in and kill Clarence,” Deacon said.
“ ‘We’?” I replied. “No, no, no. This one’s personal. This is all me.”
“Fuck that.”
“Fuck
you
,” I countered, demonstrating my keen skill at argument. “He’s my handler. I can get close to him. Close enough to shove my blade through his heart.” My plan was to go back to Alice’s apartment, call Clarence, and pretend like I was the good little soldier. It didn’t matter much if he believed me; it only mattered that he came over. But if Deacon was standing there beside me when he walked into the apartment, we lost the element of surprise, and what could have been a nice, clean kill would become a bloodbath.
And as much as the thought of seeing Clarence waste away in a pool of his own blood left a nice warm feeling in my gut, for this job, I preferred the subtle approach. Grab him by the short hairs, and drag my blade across his fat little throat.
“Besides,” I said, “I have to get close to him, and you know it. Unless I get inside his head, this thing’s over before it’s even begun.”
The problem with swearing on all that is holy that you are going to go forth and lock the door to hell is pretty fundamental: Doors require keys. And without knowing where this particular key was, we were pretty much screwed.
Deacon and I both knew damn good and well that there was no way Clarence was going to reveal the incantation for finding the legendary key that would permanently lock tight all of the nine gates to hell.
To be honest, we didn’t even know if Clarence knew the incantation, but I had to poke around and find out. And if he did know it, then we could use the spell to raise a map to the key’s location on my skin. A rather handy but bizarre side effect of being Prophecy Girl.
“The moment he knows you’re poking around in his head, he’s going to gut you like a fish,” Deacon said. “And he may be shaped like a frog, but I’m betting he can move fast. He gets you down and injured, and you might find yourself in pieces or trapped in a tiny pine box forever.”
“I think I can handle Clarence,” I said, even though I knew he was right. Yet another of the perks of my über- chick persona was immortality. And the idea of spending eternity awake but six feet under was definitely the stuff of my nightmares.
For that matter, if I came up against a demon with telepathic powers, I could also end up the victim of permanent brain-fry. And since Clarence had just such a skill set, I had to consider the possibility that he’d be able to whup my ass without lifting a finger.
“You’re important, Lily. Don’t risk yourself.”
The irony was inescapable, and I bit back a laugh. “Important,” I repeated. “I think Clarence once told me that very thing.”
“I’m not him,” he said. “And I’m not using you.”
I was about to argue but kept my mouth closed. The truth was, despite the inexplicable bond I felt with Deacon, I still didn’t trust him. For that matter, I didn’t trust anyone. I’d learned my lesson with Clarence, and until I had a peek into someone’s mind, I had to assume their agenda was their own, and I was only a pawn.
Needless to say, that wasn’t a role I much liked.
“You have to trust me sometime,” Deacon said. He was looking straight at me, and I could see my reflection in the black lenses of his glasses.
“No,” I said. “I really don’t.” I’d work with him. Truth be told, I’d do a hell of a lot more with him. But that didn’t mean I had to trust him.
“Dammit, Lily,” he said, grinding my name out like a curse.
That frustration in his voice irritated me, snapping the final taut string that had been holding my patience in place.
“No,” I snarled as I slid out from under Rose and moved across the small room to stand in front of him. I hadn’t taken off my knife, and the pressure of the thigh holster against my leg gave me a sense of confidence. Of power. “You told me you had a vision of the two of us closing the Ninth Gate. Well, good for you. But in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve already played the we-need-you-to-save-the-world game once, and I lost big-time.”
I’d been told my mission was to stop a demon priest from opening a portal to hell. Instead, I’d been duped into stopping a real priest from sealing that very thing. And in only two short weeks, that portal was going to be filled with incoming demon traffic, busier than a freeway during morning rush hour.
“I screwed up,” I said. “I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
“Trusting me isn’t a mistake,” he said.
“Since you won’t let me look in your head, I have absolutely no way of knowing if you’re bullshitting me or not.”
He stopped pacing and turned slowly toward me. Too slowly, actually, and I longed to see his eyes, to have a hint as to what he was thinking. Beneath the thin shirt, his muscles tensed. An animal readying for the kill.
I took an involuntary step back, my hand going automatically to my blade even before I realized what I was doing.
“You are not going inside my head again,” he said, his voice slow and deadly.
“If I want to, you can’t stop me.”
“Believe me, Lily,” he said. “I could stop you.”
“Wanna prove it?” I said, feeling pissed off and grumpy, and yeah, I wanted to hurt him. Wanted to pick a fight. The demons inside me were stirred up, gunning for some action. Violence. Pain. Sex. One at a time, or all at once in a singularly wild erotic moment. I didn’t care. I just needed the release. The catharsis.
“Back off, Lily,” he said, his jaw firm and his muscles tense. He turned and deliberately looked toward Rose. “Back off and get a grip.”
I exhaled, loud and long, frustrated and ashamed. “At the end of the day, I don’t know a damn thing about you except that you’re a demon. A Tri-Jal.” I knew that, and yet I also knew that I wanted him. Knew that I’d seen the two of us together, wild and naked, in his mind. But I’d seen blood there, too. And pain. And the promise of a redemption that he hadn’t yet achieved. “You’re asking me to take a lot on faith.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I am.”
“I don’t have a lot of faith left in me.”
“Lily . . .”
“Dammit, Deacon. Let me in. Let me see. Let me have one true thing in this completely whacked world I live in now. One thing that I can feel and touch and say, ‘Yes, I know this is real.’ ”
He moved so fast I never saw the hand that reached out and jerked me toward him. He slammed me back against the wall, his arms caging me even as my palm closed around the hilt of my knife. He was hot and hard and right there, and I could hear the blood rushing through me, could feel my body tighten in reaction to his proximity. I heard myself gasp and hated myself for it. At the same time, I wanted nothing more than for him to close his mouth over mine and make me forget everything else that was going on in this freaked-out world we were living in.
“You want true?” he whispered, leaning in close to my ear, his breath making me shiver. “Then hear this. I’m going with you. I’ll wait in the back. I’ll hide in a fucking closet if that’s what it takes. But if it looks like Clarence is going to get the best of you, then I’m coming in and I’m taking him out. And that, Lily, is the truth.”
His hand dropped down to cover mine, which was over my still-sheathed knife. “You didn’t draw your weapon, Lily,” he said. “I’d say you have some faith left in you.”
I drew in a breath, long and deep, determined to regain a sense of control. “You can come,” I said, knowing that I was conceding this round. “But we take Rose, too.”
“Risky,” he said. “She’s your Achilles’ heel, and Clarence knows that better than anyone.”
I looked toward the bed, toward my little sister, curled up, broken and battered. Her once-dewy skin was sallow, and dark bags hung beneath her closed eyes. Her blond hair was dark with oil and stringy from not having been combed or washed. She looked like a street urchin instead of a princess, and I wanted the princess back. She deserved it, and I was determined to make it happen.
“She comes,” I repeated, “but we make sure he doesn’t realize she’s there. I’m not leaving her alone.”
He cut a glance across the room to the bed, then moved toward her and slid an arm under her back and another under her knees.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying her.”
“Now? We’re going now?”
“You have a better idea?”
I shook my head. He was right, of course. The time for hiding in dark rooms was over.
From his arms, I heard a small mewling sound.
“Rose?” My throat was thick, my voice barely functioning.
Deacon turned, shifting her body toward me. Even despite those damned glasses, I could feel his eyes on me, watching me, gauging my reaction.
I moved closer, unable to speak from the hope that was filling my chest and my throat.
“Lily?” Her voice was weak. “Lily, what happened?” Her eyes fluttered open, her features slack but aware, and I drew in a breath, realizing the tightness in my chest was because I’d stopped breathing.
“Rose. Thank God.” She was okay. She was Rose. Whatever he’d done to her, she’d fought it off. It hadn’t stuck. This was my baby sister, and she was going to be just fine.
Two seconds later, she proved me a liar.
“Lily,” she said, her voice sharp and panicked. “Lily, what’s happening?”
“Deacon!” I cried, because I didn’t know. Rose’s body was convulsing in his arms, her eyes rolling back in her head until only the whites remained. I screamed her name, screamed at Deacon to do something. And then I slammed my mouth shut in horror when I heard her speak again.
“Sweet Lily,” my sister said, in a voice not her own. “I’m fucking your sister. Again.”
THREE
Irecoiled in horror from the vile words. And Deacon, who I’d never seen rattled, tossed her forward, dropping her on the bed even as he stepped sideways, his body moving between the bed and me.
“This time, I’m filling her up, from the inside out.” I knew that tone. That sound. That lazy cadence.
I knew him, and the urge to eviscerate the beast inside Rose nearly overpowered my reason.
Lucas Johnson.
He was right there, deep inside the person I loved most in all the world.
“Get out!” I screamed. “Get the hell out of my sister!”
Without thinking, I leaped toward the bed, then kicked and flailed as Deacon grabbed me around the waist and held me back. “It’s still Rose,” he said, his voice icy calm. “Hurt him, hurt your sister.”
On the bed, my sister’s body shifted, sitting up on her knees, then tossing her head back and breathing deep. Her breasts rose beneath the sacrificial silk gown they’d put her in, nipples straining against the material. I watched, revolted and helpless, as the demon inside her forced her hand to slide down, over her breast, then down farther until he cupped her crotch. “Pretty, pretty,” he said. “And so soft and sweet. I bet she’s all wet inside. What do you think, Lily? Is your sister wet for me?”
I hacked back a wad of phlegm and let it fly, hitting him—hitting Rose—square on the face.
The hand on her crotch lifted, and he used the back of Rose’s hand to wipe away the spitball. “Now, Sugar-lips,” he said, “is that any way to treat your kith and kin? We’re close now, you and me. Real close.”
“Get out of her,” I said again, slowly and carefully. “Get out of her right now, or I swear I will end you.”
“You try that, Sweetpea. You go ahead and try.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of worry in his voice. I was no threat to him, and we both knew it. Even so, he took his hands off my sister’s body.
Why?
I watched through narrowed, wary eyes, wondering what was to come. Why he had given in so easily?
His actions gave me no clue. Instead, he eased back against the headboard and breathed in deep. “Haven’t been inside a girl in at least a thousand years,” he said. Then he chuckled. “Well, ’course we both know I’ve been
inside
a girl. But this—this here’s different. This way, I’m touching her everywhere.”
I heard a low, feral growl, then realized it was coming from my throat. Deacon’s arms around my waist tightened, making sure I didn’t do something stupid.
“Aw, see, now you’re going to hurt my feelings,” Lucas said. “Make me feel unwelcome.”
“What do you want?” Deacon asked.
Rose’s head lifted, slowly and deliberately, until her eyes—with Lucas behind them—faced Deacon dead on. “I don’t converse with traitors,” he said. Then he smiled, and the expression was all Rose. “I find that kind of behavior unbecoming,” he said, but this time he used my sister’s voice.
Hot tears trickled down my cheeks, and, behind me, I felt Deacon’s body stiffen with rage. I reached up and held fast to his arms around me. It was my turn to hold him in place.
“Goddammit,” I hissed, “answer the question. What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?”
I was afraid to answer, fearful that he wanted Rose. That he wanted to crush the life from her. That he wanted her fully, body and soul, and he wanted to thumb his nose at the fact that I’d failed her on so many different levels.
“I said, what do you think I want?” he snarled.
I squeezed my eyes closed, releasing more tears, but refusing to put voice to my biggest fear. “I don’t know. How the hell can I know what a monster like you is thinking?”
“I want the key, you ignorant bitch. The key, the key, the fucking key.” His voice took on a manic, singsong edge.
“Yeah? Well, join the club.”
“Not the key you seek. I seek the
Oris Clef
—the key to
open
the gates—all the gates. The masses await, and on the night of convergence, Kokbiel will rise above all others, allowing entry only to those who swear fealty to his grace.”