Personal Demons (25 page)

I slide up the wall to a stand. “Are you hearing me, Frannie? I’m more than ‘sort of dangerous’!”

She flinches a little but doesn’t move from the bed. I watch, expecting terror to dawn on her face at any second, but instead, her expression turns furious and black pepper floods the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“I mean before. You let me . . .” she spins off the bed and glares at me, gripping the pillow so tight I’m sure it will rip. “I love you,” she spits in accusation.

She said it.

And it’s there—warm chocolate underlying the scorch of black pepper in my nostrils. In that instant, all my insides turn to pure energy, and I feel my brimstone heart explode.

But it doesn’t matter, because this is the part where she runs.

Her eyes widen as what she just said dawns on her. She slides back onto the bed and sits there, for a long, agonizing minute, staring at me, her jaw slack and disbelief stamped all over her face. “I . . . I didn’t . . .” Her eyes drop to the sheets.

There’s nothing I can say. I can’t reach out to tell her I love
her too. So I hang my head and wait for the slam of the door as she bolts.

But the door doesn’t slam. Instead, she says, “So, what’s the deal? Do you have to go back?”

I look up and a sardonic bark of a laugh leaves my throat. Of all the things she could have asked . . . “Eventually.”

She grabs her shirt from the floor, tugging it over her head, then glares at me. “I knew you’d leave.”

My lips pinch together in a grimace, and I shake my head. “
That’s
what you’re worried about? For the sin of Satan, Frannie, I’m a demon. You should be
hoping
I’ll leave.”

“Fine,” she says, shoving her composition book into her book bag. And that’s when I notice the shake in her hands. “I’ll save you the trouble,” she snarls.

She throws her book bag over her shoulder and searches the floor as my insides churn.

“Damn it!” she yells in frustration. “Where are my goddamn flip-flops?”

I bend down and scoop them off the floor, holding them out to her.

She storms over and rips them out of my hand. But then she hesitates, staring at my horns. She starts to lift her hand as her eyes drop to mine, the curiosity back. “Can I . . .” But then she drops her hand and shakes her head, as if trying to clear it.

“What?” I hear the hope in my voice and despise myself even more for it.

“Nothing.” She wheels and strides toward the door. But before she reaches it she spins back. She stares hard into my eyes
for a long minute then pulls a deep breath. “So, now that I know what you are, am I going to Hell for falling for you anyway?” A shaky smile plays at the corners of her mouth as she wipes a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand.

And, suddenly, warm chocolate overpowers her black pepper. Just for a second, the heart throbbing in my chest doesn’t feel like brimstone. I can’t believe that she knows what I am—the real me—and she loves me anyway. But then the reality of that sinks in.

“Frannie, no . . . this isn’t right,” I groan. I let my knees buckle and slide down the wall to sit, my head in my hands. She shouldn’t still love me. This can only end badly.

She walks back to the center of the room, drops her book bag, and perches on the corner of the bed. “Do you care about me at all?”

I pull my head out of my hands and look up at her on the bed. I know what I should say, and my mouth opens to form the word “no.” But instead, what I hear escape very softly from my lips is, “Yes.” And hearing myself say it shocks me out of my stupor. I spring to my feet and channel all the ice from my dying brimstone heart into my words. “I mean
no.
I was just doing my job.”

“I don’t believe you,” she says, fiery incredulity in her words and her face.

She should be screaming. Running. Anything but this. I spin around and throw a general growl out at the world—and catch my reflection in the mirror on the bathroom door.

What the Hell?

I walk to the mirror and stare at myself as I work harder to
push off my human form. When nothing changes, I turn back to her.

“Frannie. Look at me and tell me
exactly
what you see. What’s different?”

“Well . . . the horns are kinda new, and your eyes are glowing a little more than usual. And I hate to say it, but you stink.” She scrunches her face and pinches her nose. “Can you turn off the rotten eggs? I like cinnamon better.”

“That’s all?”

“Is there supposed to be more?”

Tail . . . hooves . . . fangs.
“Well . . . yeah.”

“Like?”

“Nothing.” I grab my T-shirt off the floor and yank it on. “We’re going for a ride.”

We run through the rain, my hand in Luc’s, and slide into his car. I’m afraid to ask, but I do anyway. “Where are we going?”

“There’s only one person—and I use that term loosely—that might know what the hell is going on,” he says as he starts the car.

As Luc drives the storm picks up, and by the time we pull up to Gabe’s house it’s a full-on deluge, fat drops of rain sheeting the windshield and pounding on the roof like a thousand tiny hammers. And the whole way, all I can think about is that I told him I love him.

What was I thinking?

He’s a demon. I still can’t get my mind around what that even means. He had
horns.

And I told him I love him.

Oh God! Where did that even come from?

I don’t love him, do I?

No. Love doesn’t exist.

But neither do demons.

I glance at Luc as he cuts the engine and turns to look at me. I’m terrified of him, but as stupid as I know it is, my terror has nothing to do with him not being human.

Oh God.
Do I love him?

He pulls me out of the car and up the walk onto the porch to ring the bell. All the windows are dark.

“Maybe he’s not home,” I say, hoping. ’Cause I’m not ready to do this with the two of them.

“He’s here,” Luc answers just before the door opens and the sight of Gabe takes my breath away.

I can’t be here with both of them. Not when I’m this confused. ’Cause three days ago I was just as terrified at the realization that I might love Gabe.

I turn to Luc. “Is this a good idea?”

“He might know what’s happening.”

“Happening to who?” Gabe asks, reaching for my hand and pulling me through the door.

“Me,” Luc says, following behind.

Gabe turns on the light, and stares Luc down. “So . . . ?” he asks, closing the door behind us.

“I can’t change,” Luc says, his voice heavy and low.

Gabe looks shocked, like he actually knows what Luc is talking about and it means something. “Show me.”

Luc steps back from me, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sprouts small, black horns. I stare, fascinated, and resist the urge to reach up and touch them.

“Try harder.”

“That’s it. That’s all I got.”

“And he’s not as hot as before,” I add. Luc looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes—hope, maybe.

Understanding dawns on Gabe’s face. “I was wondering . . .”

Luc’s horns are gone. “Wondering what?”

“Do you remember telling me that you didn’t want Frannie to get hurt?”

Luc’s eyes shift to mine. “Yes.”

“And I told you I believed you.”

“Yes.”

“It was starting then. Your thoughts were hanging right out there for any old angel to hear. I can’t hear a demon’s thoughts.”

Luc’s eyes narrow. “You’ve been in my head?” he growls.

Gabe snorts. “Yeah. And I have to tell you, your plan sucked. You loved her, whether you knew it or not—a fact that shot the rest of your sad plan to Hell, so to speak.”

My eyes snap to Luc.

He loves me too?

Luc glares at Gabe and turns to stare out the window.

My mind is reeling, thoughts, images, and emotions all flying around at random. I’m hearing and thinking things I know are impossible—but I also know they’re true. And there’s a tiny piece of my core that feels relieved, like it knew this was coming.

Luc—Lucifer—hot—horns—demon. It somehow seems more real now, with Gabe standing here, than it did in Luc’s apartment.

Gabe.

I hear my breath catch in some distant place as the pieces of the puzzle click together in my head. Gabe—Gabriel—his glowing smile—and all his warnings. And, what he just said . . .
for any old angel to hear.

No.

I look at Gabe, unable to clear the stunned expression from my face.
Angel?

He looks at me, eyes cautious, and answers my unspoken question aloud. “Yes.”

“No!”

Why is that so much harder to accept than Luc being a demon?

Because there are no angels—no Heaven—no God.

The room spins, and I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees, trying to pull air into my collapsing lungs. But my throat tightens more as I think about Matt, completely cutting off my airway.

If there’s a God, why did he take my brother?

My legs go out, and the last thing I feel before I black out is Gabe swinging me into his arms.

When I open my eyes, Luc’s worried face is the first thing I see. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, holding my hand. Gabe is pacing behind him. I pull a shuddering breath and try to sit, but Luc lowers me gently back down on the couch, adjusting the throw pillow behind my head.

“I don’t understand any of this.” My voice is little more than a rasping whisper.

Luc gazes down at me, promising everything with his eyes. “Ask me anything.”

My thoughts are a hopeless, twisted jumble and what comes out is a ramble. “You’re here . . . both of you . . . what . . . why?” I finally manage through a dry mouth with a shaking voice.

His voice is soft, like he’s talking to a frightened child—which, I guess, he is. “Because that’s where
you
are.”

“Me . . . you’re here for
me
. . . ?” I feel the blood drain from my head again, and stars dance in front of my eyes.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I whisper.

A sardonic smile quirks Gabe’s lips as he sits on the arm of the couch at my feet. “I’m here to protect you from him.” He nods toward Luc.

My whole body shakes and I feel like I could puke. “Protect me from . . . Luc?”

Gabe turns to Luc, the disdain clear on his face. “You didn’t tell her? You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Luc looks tormented as he stands abruptly and moves to the window. His hand grips the window frame so hard I’m surprised the wood doesn’t splinter, and his gaze drops to the floor.

Gabe eases in next to me on the couch. He folds me into his arms and I sink into him. “He’s here to tag your soul for Hell.”

“Tag my soul . . .” I feel my head start to swim again as stars flash brighter in my eyes. Then my throat starts to close off when I think about why I belong in Hell. “Because of . . . what happened?”

Gabe pulls me tighter to him. “No. It has nothing to do with that.”

Luc turns back from the window and looks at Gabe and me with the question in his eyes.

I pull my gaze away from him and settle deeper into Gabe. “Then, why me?”

Gabe pierces Luc with a steel gaze, and Luc looks suddenly unsure. “I never knew for sure,” he finally says. “All I knew is that I needed to tag her.”

“Hmm, so Beherit must have a lot of faith in you, then,” Gabe says, sarcasm overflowing.

Luc stares death at Gabe. “Shut the hell up. It’s not my place to know.” But then he looks at me in Gabe’s arms, and his gaze drops to his hands.

“Touchy, aren’t we.” Gabe’s expression softens. “You have a good guess, though.”

Luc nods but doesn’t say anything.

Gabe pulls me closer. “You’re special, Frannie. You have special . . . skills. Certain gifts that both sides would kill—literally—to get their hands on.”

“Both sides . . . like, Heaven and Hell?”

He nods.

“I don’t have any gifts.”

“But you do.” He looks at Luc. “Doesn’t she?”

Luc’s eyes shift tentatively from the floor to mine. “You see things, Frannie.”