Surrender to Dawn Page 4

  I saw her immediately, her small, wizened body swallowed by a floral-print armchair. She looked up, her eyes soft, then put the book she was reading down in her lap and held out her free hand to me. "Lily," she said. "Child, it is very good to see you."

  "You, too."

  "And Rose." She held out her hand for my sister, then tilted her head to the side. "Do not worry, little one. You have a warrior's body now. Soon enough, you will have a warrior's heart to go with it."

  I licked my lips and forced myself to stay quiet. The truth was, Rose might be in a demon assassin's body, but that didn't mean I wanted her stepping up to the demon-killing plate. I liked to believe that in a pinch, Kiera's body would take care of her, but I didn't want her getting into the pinch in the first place. This was my little sister—the one I was supposed to protect. And I wasn't keen on tossing her into the fire.

  Rose, though, had apparently been thinking along more warrior-oriented lines. A little fact that made me frown.

  Madame Parrish laughed. "Her life is complicated, Lily, but it is hers. You must give her the freedom to live it. To fight alongside you if need be."

  "I'll take it under advisement," I said. I knew that despite her gifts, Madame Parrish could no longer get inside my head—I'd managed to block anyone from doing that. But Rose was an open book to her. And as for me . . . Well, just because my thoughts were my own didn't mean that the crafty psychic didn't have common sense. She could read my moods well enough even without any psychic hoo-doo.

  "Are you practicing?" she asked me.

  "Practicing?"

  "Seeing, without letting the seen know that you are there?"

  "Ah." I cleared my throat. I have the ability—inherited from Alice—to get inside people's heads. It happens when I look into their eyes while touching them, and it's a little bit freaky. Thoughts and images all jumbled up. But it's useful, too, especially for the sneaking-around and figuring-things-out part of my new life.

  The only problem is that the person whose head I'm in knows that I'm in there. Which means that stealth isn't part of the equation.

  I'd asked Madame to help me fix that little problem. Her prescription? Practice.

  Oh, joy.

  "I've gotten some practice in," I admitted, which was true. But I wasn't all the way up to stealth yet. "I've been a little busy."

  "Don't back off from the practice," she said. "There will come a time when you will be pleased you have gained this skill."

  "Oh." I licked my lips, wondering what she knew that I didn't. "Uh, why?"

  But she just smiled.

  I cleared my throat. "Right. Well. Anyway, that's not why we're here."

  "Of course not," she said, gesturing to the small couch. "You are afraid you have lost someone."

  Beside me, Rose leaned forward eagerly. "You know where he is?"

  Madame shook her head at the question, but her eyes never left me. "I don't."

  "But—"

  She leaned forward, putting her hand on mine and effectively silencing my question. "Sometimes, things lost can find their way back home again."

  I leaned back, letting that settle in my head.

  "You mean—" Rose began, then silenced herself when Madame pressed a finger to her lips.

  "I am sorry, girls. I don't believe I have much help to offer you today."

  She'd helped enough, though. At least I knew that Deacon could come back. That one more time, he might win the battle that raged inside him.

  I hoped he believed in himself enough. More than that, I hoped he won soon. Because I needed his help.

  I started to push myself up off the couch, then stopped, the weight of another question pressing me back down. At the end of the world, it was all on my shoulders, and I wanted to know why. "Why me?"

  Her smile was gentle. "Does there have to be a reason?"

  "No," I admitted. "But I think there usually is. The world's a big place, you know. With a lot of people. And out of all of the billions, how come I'm the one who's stuck fighting demons and saving the world? How come I'm the one who has to make impossible choices?"

  "We all fight in our own ways," Madame said, making me feel a bit like an arrogant heel. "But I do understand your question." Her eyes cut to Rose. "What do you think, child? Why has your sister been handed this burden?"

  "Me?" Rose squeaked. "I don't know. Why on earth would I know?"

  Madame's brows lifted, and for a second I had the feeling that she wanted to argue, which made no sense. If I had no clue why me, then why on earth would Madame think that Rose had a clue?

  Then Madame Parrish smiled and held out her hand for Rose. "It's all right, child," she said. She shifted her smile to me. "As I said, there does not always have to be a reason. And sometimes, it takes a while for the reason to appear."

  Another cryptic response. Honestly, I probably should be used to them by now.

  I stood to go, signaling for Rose to do the same. “I know you won't tell me how you know the things you know," I began. "But—"

  I cut myself off, realizing I was about to ask one of those Big Questions that aren't supposed to be voiced.

  She took a sip of tea, then looked up at me. For a moment, my vision faltered, because she appeared to be other than herself. Her face no longer looked fragile. In fact, I had the odd sensation that it was marked—tribal tats fading in around intense black eyes. A face so familiar and yet—

  Gabriel.

  I stumbled backward, realizing I was seeing— imagining?—the archangel Gabriel's face superimposed over Madame Parrish's face.

  But as soon as I made the connection, the illusion faded, and I was looking only at the psychic, her eyes tired and her own familiar face as lined and fragile as crumpled tissue paper. "I don't know," she said.

  I held my breath, almost scared to speak. "What don't you know?"

  "How this will all turn out."

  I nodded, confused and unreasonably disappointed. I licked my lips. "I saw—Are you—?"

  "But I do know that I have faith," she said, ignoring my stammered question. "In the future, Lily, and in the choice that you must make."

  4

  “So where to now?" Rose asked, curling up in the corner of the Oldsmobile we were traveling in. I'd left the Buick in the alley, figuring we'd be safer in a different vehicle. Not that I was overwhelmingly worried about the police, but time was running out, and I really didn't need the hassle.

  "The Bloody Tongue," I said, referring to the pub in which I, as Alice, now owned a half interest along with Rachel. Rose needed to sleep, and I needed to think, and I was no longer concerned about Rachel. After all, it had been over a week since Deacon and Rose and I had disappeared, and my worry that Rachel was still in Deacon's house had faded. Rachel's no doormat, and when no one came back in a reasonable time, she would have left, plain and simple.

  And that meant that she'd be at her own condo or the pub. Considering the late hour, I guessed she was at home asleep, and I intended to take advantage of the apartment above the pub and tuck Rose in to do the same.

  We'd catch Rachel when she came into work the next morning; and then we could all figure out what to do next, my primary goal being to find Deacon so that we could find that key.

  Rose nodded, then pulled her feet up onto the bench seat and rested her chin on her knees. She closed her eyes and catnapped as I steered the car onto the highway, trying to remember how to get from the flats back to Boarhurst. "So what did Madame Parrish mean?" Rose asked, about the time I was peering at exit signs.

  I glanced sideways. "I thought you were asleep."

  She shrugged. "Can't."

  "You need to try." I might not need sleep anymore, but she did. Or, at least, I assumed she did. With her in Kiera's body, I wasn't entirely sure about the rules anymore.

  And, honestly, even if she didn't have to sleep, I didn't feel like I was doing my part as a responsible big sister unless I at least made her try.

  "I tried. I dozed. Now I'm a
wake. And you're avoiding my question."

  I sighed. "What was the question?"

  It was her turn to sigh, loud and put-upon. "I asked what she meant. About having faith in you." A single tear trickled down her cheek. "Is she talking about what Gabriel said? That you have to get tossed in? To hell, I mean?"

  I shook my head. "Absolutely not. She was just talking. Like a pregame pep talk."

  "But—"

  "We have to have faith," I said. "Plain and simple." Faith that I’d find another key, or that I'd have the strength to do what needed to be done and not give in to the chocolate-dark pull of the demon within.

  I reached up to finger the Oris Clef. I wasn't sure I could do that. More, I wasn't sure I had Madame's faith. The darkness in me loomed up when I least expected it, and I feared that one day I would no longer have the strength to fight it. That it would consume me as it had already consumed Deacon, and the Lily I wanted to be would be gone, replaced by something vile. Something hateful and demonic and dark.

  We drove in silence for a while as I maneuvered the streets of Boarhurst, finally parking the car two streets over from the pub.

  "We should just take the T," Rose said. "I mean, it sucks for the people whose cars you keep stealing."

  "If I manage to save the world, we can consider it part of my fee. And if I screw it up, I think one stolen car is going to be the least of their worries."

  She made a face, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "You're so touchy."

  "Imagine that," I said, though I knew she was right. I didn't want to be touchy, but I really couldn't help it.

  "Yeesh," she said, then moved two steps ahead of me. I hurried to catch up, telling myself that I was just being smart and careful rather than legitimately concerned. But as my gaze took in the deep shadows cast between the low, thick buildings, I had to admit that the truth leaned much more toward the concerned side.

  "Rose," I whispered, my hand going to my knife and my eyes trying to peer deep into the shadows. "Slow up."

  To her credit, she immediately shifted from petulant teenager to wary warrior. "What?" she asked, and I saw with approval that her own knife was already drawn.

  "Maybe nothing," I admitted. "But I have a bad feeling.”

  Her lips pressed together, and her forehead furrowed. It was, I realized, an utterly Rose expression.

  "So what do we do?"

  "Keep going," I said. "But be watchful."

  That, it turned out, was utterly useless advice, because "keep going" was an impossible directive, as our way was suddenly barred by the two humongous men in serious need of dental work who'd eased out of the shadows in front of us.

  "Well, well," one of them said. "Looky what we got."

  I stepped forward, protecting my sister. She moved closer, her hand on my shoulder.

  "Get out of my way," I said, wishing I had Kiera's nose. She could smell demons. Me, I just smelled their BO.

  "Rose?" I asked. "Are they?"

  "How the heck should I know? They look mean enough."

  One of them chuckled, low and menacing. "Mean? Nah, we ain't mean. We're gonna be damn nice to you ladies. Just you wait and see how nice we are."

  "Thanks," I said, drawing my blade. "But I'm going to decline your gracious invitation."

  I couldn't see behind me, but I could hear, and what I heard was motion that didn't sound like Rose, especially since she was standing stock-still, the tightness of her fingers telegraphing her fear.

  I watched our two harassers' faces and saw the telltale flicker in the shorter one's eye as he looked up, and the tiny nod of his head as permission was granted.

  Oh no, you don’t either.

  I spun around, pushing Rose down as I aimed, then let my knife fly. It landed hard in the chest of the man who'd been sneaking up behind us, his own knife drawn.

  Or, to be more accurate, the demon who'd been sneaking up. I'd gambled, and it had paid off, because the beast I'd nailed was melting into a pile of black goo, and I could feel the hit of demonic essence and strength that filled me whenever I took a demon out, that lovely little side bennie of being Prophecy Girl.

  I whipped back around, yanking the switchblade from my back pocket as I moved. I saw the hesitation flicker in the bigger one's eyes, and I stepped forward, smiling. "That's right, buddy," I said. "You picked the wrong girl to mess with."

  "You are not worthy to wield it," the second one said, sneering at the Oris Clef around my neck as Rose scampered forward and pushed the blade that she'd recovered into my free hand.

  "No? You think you are?" I smiled, slow and confident. Because this was what I wanted. What I'd wanted since Penemue. He might be too much for me to take on, but those guys? I could take those guys. I'd take them. I'd kill them. And when their essences oozed out, I'd soak them up and revel in the dark.

  Hell, yes.

  "Just try it," I whispered.

  Dude number one apparently had some iota of intelligence, because he actually took a step away from me. But no way was I getting harassed by two demons on the street and letting them escape. That simply wasn't happening, and he must have figured it out, because he stopped heading backward and instead put on a burst of speed and rushed forward toward Rose, even as Number Two rushed me, whipping a sword out of a hidden sheath on his back and swinging it at me so fast and violently that I couldn't get any velocity going with my knife.

  "Lily!"

  "Run!" I cried, as Number Two thrust again with the sword. I couldn't turn around to help Rose, not without risking having my head removed from my body, and so I determined instead to bring this battle to a speedy conclusion. A slow dance with the vile beast might have been more satisfying—it certainly would have fed the darkness that was writhing within me—but I needed to wrap this up and help my sister.

  He came at me again, leading with his sword, and I thrust my hand up and blocked it with my knife. Or tried to, anyway. The demon was damn strong, and my knife went clattering into the street. The sword came at me again, polished metal glinting in the streetlights. I did the first thing I could think of—instead of retreating as would be expected, I ran straight toward the fast-moving blade, then clapped my hands tight over the steel. I held it there, the muscles in my arms straining as he tried to thrust it forward and impale me.

  As he did, he moved closer to me—too close. And I kicked out, hard and fast, right in his shriveled demon nuts.

  The anatomy might not always be the same, but in his case it was close enough. He yowled, and as he did, his hold on the sword relaxed just enough for me to shift my hands, grab the blade, and pull.

  I yanked it free, then spun it around, shifting my grip to the hilt and lashing out at him, all in one fluid motion that would have made my demonic trainers proud. I got him in the neck, and the blade sliced through skin, muscles, bone, and tendons, sending his head flying into the street.

  He wasn't dead, though, not really. In order to kill a demon so that he can't come back, he has to be killed with a blade the wielder has made his or her own—in other words, a blade that has spilled its wielder's blood. The sword never cut me, so I dove for my own knife, then slammed the point into the barrel chest of demon Number Two.

  Immediately, the black goo started to flow, and as it did, I tilted my head back, sucking in the essence. He was dark, that one, and I trembled from the power he'd possessed, thick and rich like maple syrup.

  "Bitch!" The voice rang behind me, and it wasn't directed at me. I turned to find Rose holding her own, Kiera's speed and strength working to her advantage. But she didn't have Kiera's instincts or timing yet, and she wasn't going to survive much longer.

  "Hey! Ugly!"

  To his credit, the demon responded to his name, and when he turned, I let my blade fly. It lodged in his throat, the wound not sufficient to kill. Rose, however, didn't waste a moment. She yanked the blade out, then plunged it back in again, this time, right into the vile beast's heart.

  The demon dropped
to the ground, a bubble of black demon blood forming at its mouth.

  "Shouldn't he melt?" she asked. I took the blade, pulled it from his heart, then plunged it in one more time.

  "Yeah," I said, as the body started to ooze away—as the essence roiled through me. "He should."

  We stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Rose simply catching her breath, and me riding the high of the kill, sucking in the darkness that, I knew, gave me too much of a dark thrill.

  I was like an addict, wanting the power of the hit. But how much more power would there be if I was the demon queen? I reached up and fingered the Oris Clef.

  I could almost feel it gathering power as the convergence drew near, and I couldn't help but think of what it offered me. And of what I would be so horribly foolish to take. I could barely control the essence that surged through me after a kill. The power that came with being queen? I didn't think I could handle that at all.

  "Wow," Rose said, her eyes on the dissolving body.

  "Wow," I agreed.

  We started walking toward the pub.

  "So, I did good, right? I mean, I'm alive, and I stabbed him and everything."

  I frowned at the idea of "good" and "I stabbed him" coexisting in my sister's personal universe. But as I bent down to pick up the sheath and sword, I had to acknowledge that she was right. I squeezed her hand. "You did great."

  She grinned, completely proud and practically humming with energy. I couldn't help it—I pulled her close and hugged her.

  "What?" she said, hugging me back before wriggling free.

  "Nothing," I said. "Just glad we're both safe." But it was more than that. I thought back to the way she used to look. The paper shell that had been my sister. There was life in her now, like there had been before Lucas Johnson, and that was worth all the hell I'd been through.

  "What now?" she asked, as we finally reached the back door to the pub.

  “Now you sleep."

  "No way!" she protested, as I rummaged in my pocket for the key. "I mean, it's the end of the world. Shouldn't we sleep later?"