Pretty Dark Sacrifice (6 page)

“I’m not going back. I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. I’ve already made an appointment with your counselor. We have to be there at nine sharp. I’ve taken the morning off.”

“You arranged it, you can cancel it.”

“I could, but I won’t. I’m putting my foot down on this. You’ll go back to school on Monday and walk the stage in June with your class. End of discussion.” Her mother put her hand on Quinn’s. “Trust me, you’ll thank me for it later. You can’t hide from life, Quinn.”

How could she explain that it wasn’t life she was hiding from, it was death. His death. Quinn pulled her hand away and picked a pineapple chunk from the pizza. Her mom crunched on her lettuce. She might be able to make her go on Monday, but she wouldn’t be able to watch her every day.
Play the game, Quinn, then you can do what you want when she thinks she’s won and her back is turned.

“So, your dad called again today,” her mom said, changing the subject. “He’s finally booked a flight and will be here Wednesday. He wants to take you out for your Eighteenth.” Her voice was laced with nerves and annoyance.

“Tell him he’s about four weeks too late.” Quinn noticed a slight darkening of the kitchen as the dozen overhead bulbs flickered and dimmed. The Qeres dagger strapped to her leg pulsed and burned against her calf.

“Anyway, I’m sure something will come up.” Quinn flexed her fist. “Like a paper cut or a flat tire or something. Anyway, I’d rather he stayed away.”

“Yeah, well, he is your father whether you like him or not.” Cracks in her mom’s civility were starting to show. “Taking you to dinner is the least he can do since he didn’t even bother to show up to see you in the hospital. He should have dropped everything and hopped a plane.”

“I’ve learned to keep my expectations low,” Quinn mumbled through a mouthful of crust. Truth was, even low expectations didn’t keep her heart from breaking every time her father disappointed her. He wouldn’t want to leave his new baby to visit his daughter in the hospital. No, that would be cruel. “Tell him to stay home with his real family. It’s not like we aren’t used to not having him around.”

Two shadows slithered up and over the counter, attaching to each of her mother’s arms. Quinn swallowed. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as she flexed her fingers, unsure what to do. Bile rose in her throat, and her heart beat like a thousand wings inside her chest.

“Tell him yourself. I’m tired of being your messenger.” Her mother stabbed at the lettuce, the fork poking holes in the plastic container, scraping against the granite below.

“Mom?”

“We didn’t talk for almost a year, and suddenly, he’s calling me all the time.” Her mother’s jaw clenched. “He talks to me as if we are old friends catching up. Going on and on about the restaurant, his new baby, and his life with that woman.” Bitterness hissed from her mother’s mouth. “Does he really think I want to hear him call that whore he cheated on me with his wife? Where was the steady job when we were together? And a baby?” Her mother’s expression hardened.

The shadows solidified into familiar forms. Two leathery beasts, a foot in length, whipped long tails from side to side, as they climbed up her mother’s back to perch on each shoulder. Claws sank into flesh. Double forked tongues licked at wave after wave of secret confessions erupting from the deepest, darkest place within her mother.

Anger drew Quinn’s hand to the pommel of her dagger, but she hesitated. She didn’t even know what it did. What if she missed, hit her mom instead?

If she could extend her shield, maybe she could cut them off from her mother’s increasing scorn. Focusing her thoughts, she ignored the stinging comments flying from her mother’s mouth and imagined her light barrier expanding, encircling both of them in a giant golden ball. Nothing happened.

“He never even wanted to be a father. Maybe I should have had an abortion like he wanted.” Her mother’s hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened.

Knots tightened in Quinn’s stomach, and she froze. It might have only been a passing thought, but the demons seized on it, bringing it to light. That was their MO. Exploit negative human emotions, feed on them, magnify them, create chaos and darkness. Azrael had explained it all to Quinn, how the demons grew in power, a vicious cycle. The more pain and chaos within humanity, the more demons crossed the veil. The more demons that crossed the veil, the more negative emotions were exploited, and the weaker the veil between worlds became.

“God, Quinn! I can’t believe I said that aloud. I didn’t mean it. He didn’t really, we didn’t … ”

Placing a hand over her mother’s, Quinn shushed her. She gritted her teeth and tried to calm her racing thoughts. She wouldn’t let them get to her, wouldn’t let them turn her mom into a sadistic picnic for them to grow fat upon.

Breathe. In, out. Focus on what you want. It’s all about intent, about what you want.

Light crept from Quinn’s fingers, over her mother’s wrist, and inched upward. The skin of the first demon sizzled and popped as the barrier grazed its long, leathery tail. Smoke rose from its burned flesh, and it howled, taking to the air. Wings twisted into shadowy smoke and back to demon form as it flew in circles over the counter, angry at being separated from its prey.

She had done it. The bubble of light glowed and pulsed around both of them. Deprived of a meal, the demons zoomed upward and disappeared through the ceiling. The kitchen brightened, and Quinn slumped against the counter.

“What was that?” Her mother pulled her hand away from Quinn and looked around. “I thought I saw … ”

“Saw what, Mom?” Quinn held her breath.

“Nothing. I don’t know. My head, it’s all fuzzy.” She rubbed her temple.

She didn’t remember; maybe it was for the best. If only Quinn could forget, too. “You must be tired, Mom, that’s all. I know I am.”

“Yes, must be all the stress.” Her mother frowned but didn’t argue. “I love you, Quinn.” She placed her hand over Quinn’s and met her gaze. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

Once Quinn left the kitchen, Azrael’s familiar hum greeted her at her bedroom doorway.

“There were demons attached to my mother,” Quinn accused, as if it were Azrael’s fault. “Where were you?” Quinn asked.

“Close enough to step in had things gotten out of control.”

“I don’t like you taking chances with the people I love like that.” Quinn pushed past him and into her room. “What if my powers hadn’t worked?”

“But they did. You took care of them with grace and strength. Soon, you won’t even need me.” Was that sadness or sarcasm? Quinn wasn’t sure.

“I think it’s time.” Azrael ruffled his feathers.

“Time for what?”

“To take you to Arcadia to claim your birthright.”

“Not this again.” Quinn rolled her eyes and plopped down on the end of her bed.

“Yes, this again.”

“I told you, I won’t leave until I know what happened to Aaron.”

“Stubborn girl,” Azrael mumbled. “I can tell you what happened to him. He is dead. Drowned in an attempt to save your life.” Quinn stared open-mouthed at Azrael. “You chose to accept your role, and that means doing your duty. Even Eve did not whine this much. The Light did not spare you to watch you act like a spoiled child and waste your life on the memory of some boy.”

“His name is Aaron, and why should I believe a word you say? All you do is talk about this great power, about me being Eol Ananael, but what does that even mean? According to you, there are thousands upon thousands of demons crossing the veil all over the human realm. There’s only one of me. Banishing one demon when I’m mad doesn’t make me a savior. I don’t even know how to control this power. I can barely save myself, how can I save anyone else?”

“If you go to Arcadia and claim your birthright, you will have the entire heavenly host at your back.”

“I’m not going. End of discussion.” It surprised her how much like her mother she sounded. But this wasn’t just about finding Aaron—her life was here, her friends. All of this was so new, but she refused to admit to Azrael how scared she was. “I want to be alone now, please.” She forced her will upon him so there would be no doubt she meant it.

He nodded, stepped through the wall, and disappeared outside.

Exhausted, she closed the floral drapes, blocking out the rays of moonlight and blanketing herself in shadows and grief. She couldn’t bear the reminder of the one moment of happiness she and Aaron had together, staring up at the harvest moon, the heat of his breath on her cheek.

Reese was right; he’d been gone for five weeks and three days. The possibility of him being alive was less than zero. She pressed her fists to her eyes to stop the flow of tears. Grabbing the crumpled map, she unfolded the edges and ironed out the wrinkles with a palm, examining the grid that marked the fifty-mile search radius.

But if Aaron was dead, why couldn’t she let go? There had to be somewhere they’d missed.

“Aaron, where are you?” she whispered, turning her attention back to the map. Of course, she didn’t get a response. If it were that easy, a glowing arrow would have appeared to point the way. “I should let go.” Her hand shook, poised to make the final mark, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Letting go meant accepting that he wasn’t coming back. Instead, she dropped the pen on the floor and crawled under the covers and placed her hand on the map.

“Aaron, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She patted the paper, letting the rhythm of his name and her whispered wishes lull her to sleep.

Despair crushed the air from her lungs, and a pit of hopelessness opened inside. Tendrils of familiar fog reached for her, and she lowered her defenses, letting them suck the shame and regret from her heart until there was nothing left, and she fell, headfirst, into a dream.

***

It was well past midnight, and they were finally alone. This time the dream placed them in her room, not in the hospital. They sat cross-legged, knees touching beneath the floral duvet spread across their laps, Aaron’s back to the door, hers leaned against the wooden headboard.

“Happy birthday.” Aaron placed a small wooden box in front of her. Strange symbols had been delicately carved on its mahogany surface.

“It’s beautiful, but my birthday was weeks ago.” Quinn took the box in her hands and examined the etched symbols. She tried the latch, but it wouldn’t open.

“It’s locked.” Quinn frowned. “What’s in it?”

Quinn shook her head, and then jiggled the box. A tingling started in her fingers, and she gasped as the carved runes began to glow, first blue, then gold. She cocked her head. “What do they mean?”

“Don’t you know?” Aaron took the box from her, and the carvings dimmed.

She wanted to examine it more, but out of nowhere, an inky wave crashed into Aaron, washing him out into a sea of darkness, the box along with him.

The small cemetery of St. Angeles held a handful of mourning dresses, heavy perfumes, and dark suits. Close friends and family come to pay their respects to an empty grave. Quinn squeezed a crumpled tissue in her fist. A pair of large black-rimmed sunglasses hid the deep bruises under her eyes from a restless night and dulled the bright rays that glistened off the blanket of morning dew. Birds hopped along the wrought iron finials that adorned the churchyard fence, chirping to one another, oblivious to the grief and mourning around them.

Jenna and her twin brother Cade had insisted the memorial be held here, in a place Aaron loved. They’d even convinced her dad to let them add the small, modern marker among the crumbling, moss-covered graves around it. The first in over fifty years, it looked strangely out of place, new marble shining in the morning sun.

Aaron James Collier

Beloved son, brother, and friend.

Heaven has a new Angel.

If Aaron was dead, he wasn’t an angel. According to Azrael, humans don’t become Angels. Their essence merely moves to another plane of existence.

“Into your hands, O merciful God, we commend your servant.”

Marcus clenched and unclenched his fists, biting back a soft sob as Jenna’s dad, Pastor McClure, prayed. Reese, tall and slender in a black dress and heels, her long dark hair twisted into a knot, stood between him and Jenna. Three peas in a pod, clustered together for support, a pod Quinn had once been a part of. None of them even glanced her way as they comforted one another. Apart, separate, alone but for her invisible protector standing by her side. Her friendships were decaying like the bodies beneath her feet, and she only had herself to blame. Quinn lifted her chin and stuffed her emotions back inside.

Every other eye was closed and every head bowed, but Quinn’s faith lay at the bottom of a river, buried with the knowledge of her guilt. Instead, she kept her eyes on the gathering shadows. Tendrils of fog hung from the bare branches of the trees beyond the rusted gate, like cobwebs over bone. The Qeres dagger strapped to her calf and hidden inside her knee-high boot pulsed against her skin. Muscles tense, she longed to grab her blade and ram it down their shady throats. Her barrier thrummed and dimmed.