Soul Crossed (10 page)

“Your bomb?” I ask.

“Well, not exactly mine. I can’t do direct damage. I convinced someone else to do it. A guy I’ve been seeing from the club. He’s my assignment.”

“Good. So now he can be the Antichrist, and I can move on.”

“No such luck. Lucifer already has his soul—he died in the blast—but the whole point was for him to kill off this one goody-two-shoes. Marina Klein.”

“So, you didn’t get her?” I find myself interested despite all the warning bells going off in my head.

“No. But see, the weird thing is that she was pretty close to the blast. By all rights she should have been shredded to a pulp. When I went to check, right away, she was on the verge of death. Her arm was torn clear off. Blood and guts everywhere. I would have stayed to watch, but there was this cute fireman.”

“I don’t understand.” I realize as I say it that I am falling right into her trap, but I want to know. “How can she still be alive?”

“Only one possibility.” She wants me to ask. I see it in her eyes, and I am afraid. I see Grace in my mind. Grace, miraculously unharmed after being ripped from my arms by the force of the blast. I don’t recall a drop of blood, a single scratch.

Keira can wait no longer. She drives in the knife. “An Angel saved her.”

“An Angel?” I ask.

“Grace is an Angel.”

I’m on the stoop when the headlights pull into the lot. I wait by the door with my arms wrapped around my knees. The night is cold, but I’ve brought the blanket with me. I hope Fireman John won’t mind. I doubt he had time to notice that I took it. I’m drained from all of the energy I expended healing people at the club, but I am determined to accomplish my task. I’ve had a taste of what will happen if I fail. Tonight’s event would be like a trip to Disneyland in comparison.

I know Cam is still awake because I saw a light go out inside not five minutes ago. He told me about the way his mom constantly puts him down. I picture him pretending to sleep now so he doesn’t have to face her. Even knowing what he’s capable of, I can’t help feeling sorry for him.

I jump to my feet when she gets to the porch, and she stares like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. I toss the blanket back to the ground.

“Hello, Mrs. Frasier. I’m Grace Howard.”

She continues to stare.

“I’m so sorry to barge over here this late, but I didn’t know when else I could catch you. See, I’m a friend of your son’s, and I really wanted to meet you.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning. Come back some other time.” She turns the key in the lock and hurries into the house. But I’m too fast for her, and I’m through the door before she can protest.

“I’ll make some tea,” I offer, heading for the little kitchen. In truth, I have no idea where anything is, but I’ll figure it out. I just have to make enough noise to get Cam out here.

“Cam! Get out here!” Scratch that off the list. He’s out in seconds, dark hair hanging in his face, wearing only pajama bottoms that show just how thin he really is. If he’s embarrassed, he doesn’t show it. He actually seems rather amused. Maybe she isn’t as bad as he made her out to be. That’s good news.

“Mom. You’ve met Grace,” he says, offering me a smile. I beam back at him.

“Are you doing drugs?” she asks, pulling at the skin beneath his eyes. He smacks her hand away.

“No.” The smile is gone.

“This isn’t his fault, Ma’am. It’s mine. He didn’t even know I was here.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten us?” She drops into a chair, and I see how exhausted she is. Her green eyes droop, dark circles underneath. Her hair is graying at the roots and looks like she hasn’t washed it in days.

“It’s just that Cam and I have become good friends, and I still haven’t met you.” I’m not really sure how to break into the whole Kumbaya thing yet, but I figure I’ll get there.

She eyes Cam, then looks me up and down. Standing, she draws herself up to her full height and closes the space between us.

“You seem like a nice girl, Grace. So let me give you some advice. Run. Get as far away from my son as possible. He’s poison, and it will seep into your veins, eating away at you from the inside out.”

Appalled, I step back from this horrible woman. I turn to Cam, expecting him to cry. But “bored” is a better description of his expression. He meets my gaze and speaks as though his mother isn’t in the room.

“Now you see why I don’t introduce her to many friends.” He smiles like it’s a joke.

“Mrs. Frasier,” I say, “Surely you don’t mean that. He’s your son! Whatever happened before, it was an accident.”

“He told you then? How he murdered his sister?” When she asks, the lines around her mouth harden into trenches. She collapses back into the kitchen chair.

“Yes, I told her, and can you imagine? She didn’t run away. She’s still my ‘good friend.’” He’s triumphant in his pronouncement.

“Mrs. Frasier,” I say, kneeling near her and placing a hand on her arm. She stares at it, but doesn’t flinch away. “Cam was three when his sister died. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Did he tell you how he laughed?” she says, a crazy look in her eyes. “That’s right. He laughed afterward while I screamed and cried and threw myself on Sarah’s body, trying to gather the insides back into her head.”

“He…he didn’t understand,” I say, but my voice is weak. Still, he was only a child.

“He pointed the gun at his father and pulled the trigger three times when he asked for the gun back. Thank God there were no more bullets.”

“That’s enough, Mother.” Cam pulls me away from her, trying to keep me away from the hate. Or maybe from the truth.

“If you still think he isn’t a monster, then you deserve each other.” She leaves the room, and a door slams in the distance.

Rehearsal is certainly different today. For one thing, I’m no longer afraid to touch Grace. I just don’t know whether to kiss her or destroy her.

I’ve been watching her all day, distracted. It’s not hard to see it now that I know. The light gold aura that surrounds her, the musical sound of her laugh, even the sparkle in her eyes no longer seem to be mysterious symptoms of my imagination. One question catches in my mind, above all else.

Does she know what I am?

If she does—and that seems likely to be the case—then she’s been playing me all along. I’ve been a part of her plan. A pawn easily dispatched by her charms. I fight back the rage and emptiness that these thoughts bring. I tell myself that this can’t be true. That by virtue of her nature, it is impossible for her to act in such a devious way. Still, to her I am just a Demon. A soul already lost to Hell.

I focus my wrath on Keira. She’s the one who did this to me. She carried out her threat. I should have never been worried about Grace. She can take care of herself. Just like she said.

She recites her lines like she really feels the love Juliet feels. She smiles at me, relaxed. Is it that she thinks she’s got me under her spell? I recall our kiss three nights before. My body responds to the mere memory of the passion I thought we shared.
Was it real
? I want to scream.

If. If she
doesn’t
know what I am, I have an advantage. I realize this as she pronounces her undying love for Romeo. I look to the rear of the house, searching the shadows for a glimpse of Cam at the control booth. I see the glint of his eyes like a cat in the night. He wants her. I know that. She must know that, too. If he really is The One, then there is little doubt of her purpose in being here. But so far, I see no progress on her end. Hell, if I told him tonight he ought to kill some homeless guy, I’m fairly certain he would do it just for the target practice. The guy spent the weekend dragging me around, gathering supplies to build his ultimate instrument of torture.

Even if she doesn’t know, I still let her fool me. I didn’t see what was right in front of my face. From now on I’m going to have to pay better attention.

“Lets do the balcony scene, people!” Miss Adams calls. It’s like she’s offering us all a treat.
Watch Romeo make a fool of himself confessing his love!

But I’m a good actor.

Why am I what I am? I wish I could change it. Does she wish that, too?

If only it were that easy. If only I could somehow disown the Devil. But I’ve made my bed, and now I’m bound to it for eternity.

“Miss Adams?” I ask, unable to do this right now. “I need a bathroom break.” Shelby snorts with laughter from somewhere offstage, but I ignore it.

“Very well, Mr. Gaynes. Take five.”

I run to the farthest men’s room in the school and lean over the sink. Keira appears behind me, arms folded and leaning against the stall.

“Aw. Are you still wallowing in self-pity?” she asks, pushing her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. I tremble with fury.

“I hate you.” I fill my words with as much menace as I can find.

“Ooh, big scary Demon eyes!” She mocks me, and I pounce. She’s pushed me too far. I am on top of her in an instant with all my strength and the metal wall of the stall she is leaning on bends and clatters to the ground, us on top of it.

I hold her wrists above her head and snarl in her face. I didn’t even know I could make a sound like that. She smiles at me like she’s enjoying it, and I let go, scuttling away from her into the corner.

“I was beginning to wonder if you even had it in you,” she says, standing and dusting herself off. “So, now that the fun and games are over, what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan,” I say, rubbing my hands down over my face.

“Well, from where I sit, you have two options. You seduce her and cause her fall, or you kill her. Either way Lucifer will be delighted. Personally, I prefer option two because then I can help.”

“I’m not going to kill her. I wouldn’t even know how. I mean, can you even kill an Angel?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

“Sure.”

“What happens to a dead Angel?”

Keira shrugs. “She ceases to exist.”

“But how?”

“You need the right tool for the job. Just like religious objects can kill us—if the wielder believes in their power. Otherwise a cross is just a cross, you know?” She sits next to me though I’m sure she knows perfectly well that I want my space. “For Angels, it’s the opposite. You need Satanic objects. A knife used to sacrifice a virgin, for example. I have a nice little collection of my own. They’re very rare you know. In three hundred and fifty years I’ve only gotten five. I’ll lend you one if you like, but never touch without permission. One of them is dangerous to us, too.”

“Then why do you keep it?” I have to ask.

“Because it’s the only one of its kind. A cross from the earliest time of the Vatican, welded to a sacrificial dagger. The guy who did it was a real freak.” Her eyes light up, and I feel sick.

“Forget it,” I say. “I don’t want your stupid knives.”

“I figured you’d rather have sex with her.”

“If Grace has sex with me, she’ll be kicked out of Heaven?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. Angels consorting with Demons? Never good on their end. We tend to corrupt them pretty easily.”

“But how come I don’t die when she touches me?” I ask, flexing my hand as I recall Shelby’s cross.

“It’s all about belief, remember? She probably thinks there’s still some good in you.” Keira enjoys mocking me. But it makes me wonder.

“Do you think she knows what we are, then?” I ask. Keira considers this for a while.

“No,” she says slowly. “If she did know I don’t think she could have been sending off those feelings the other night when you two were making out. Man, you are one lucky S.O.B. The Antichrist
and
a fallen Angel? You’re gonna be living it up for eternity, my friend.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, lowering my hands from my face.

“Well, Lucifer knows how to punish when you screw up. But when you do things right? He also knows how to throw one Hell of a party.”

News of the explosion is all over the school. Everyone has a different theory, from terrorism to a broken gas main to the wrath of God. I can tell that Josh has been affected by it. His usual sly grin and light step have been replaced by the heavy look of someone newly acquainted with tragedy. I want to comfort him, but I sense that he’s uncomfortable with making our new familiarity common knowledge, and I can respect that. I’d rather not have Shelby and Fatmeh and heck, half the student body glaring at me in jealous anger anyway.

I can’t help wanting to find a private moment, though. I long to bury my head in his chest and tell him everything. The thought of sharing the burden of my assignment with someone else makes me giddy. I know that’s only a dream. Not only am I certain there’s some rule against it, I imagine he’d run screaming from my arms, sure I am a lunatic. I doubt this is knowledge that a mere human can handle.
I
can barely cope.

I assumed the rehearsal would be a welcome release, a safe opportunity to relieve some of that pent-up emotion threatening to boil over in my chest. I guess Josh is still too disturbed. I don’t blame him when he runs from the room.

It’s time to leave, and I am worried about Josh. He never returned from his trip to the bathroom. I take the opportunity to walk out with Cam. I have to make more of an effort.

“I had fun yesterday,” I say. He seems distracted.

“Me, too. I’ve never been to a Catholic service before. It was fascinating. The whole consuming the blood of Jesus thing.”