Torn (25 page)

“Ma petite,”
Zane said, stepping forward and slightly in front of me. “What is the trouble?”

“She is,” Kiera said, talking to me rather than Zane. “I get what you did,” she said. “I saw it. I understand it.” Her forehead creased. “And when Clarence changed, I smelled the demon on him.” She worked her jaw, and I knew she was battling back the anger and the betrayal. “I didn’t smell it before—the bastard hid it somehow—but I caught the whiff at the end.”

She whipped sideways, and now her weapon was aimed at Deacon. “Him, though. Him, I’ve smelled it on from the beginning.”

“Kiera, wait.” I took a step forward. I couldn’t tell her exactly what was going on—not without Johnson learning the score—but I had to at least tell her something. “I promise you. He’s on our side.”

“Your side? Or mine?”

“Ours,” I said firmly. “I swear.”

“You know what?” Kiera said. “I don’t trust you. Sorry, girlfriend. I just don’t. So I think it’s time for us all to sit down and—”

I never learned what we were supposed to sit down and do, though, because Kiera was thrust forward when the floor burst upward, concrete cracking, metal beams jutting forth. The whole room was roiling, as if we were caught at the epicenter of the earthquake to end all earthquakes.

“What the fuck?” Kiera asked, as I reached down to pull her to her feet.

“Him,”
Rose said, and this time, she looked like my sister—small, and frail, and scared.

“Penemue,” Deacon said, his voice deadly. “I think it’s safe to say he realizes his lieutenant is dead.”

“Shit!” I turned away. I had to get the portal open. Had to get our plan in action. Because we all couldn’t travel through my arm, and if I didn’t use Clarence’s know-how in time, Penemue was going to squash us all like bugs. About that, I was damn certain.

I ran back to the circle that Clarence had drawn for the last two bridges, then began to walk the line. Bits of cement were falling from the ceiling, and the entire building was shaking, as if a large hand had grabbed it and was going to roll the whole building like dice.

I tried to ignore it—the plaster, the cement, the demonic creature clawing its way free from hell. I tried to focus, to concentrate, and to mutter the words that came into my head, trusting that they were right.

As I walked, I could feel the power, the vibrations from the circle. Vibrations that were
not
caused by the basement falling down around our ears.

A gaping hole had opened up near Kiera, and I yelled at her to get closer. To get in the damned circle.

She lifted her crossbow. “I can hold him off!”

“The hell you can. We’re going. Now! Come on!”

As Deacon, Zane, and Rose joined me in the circle, I sliced my arm, letting the blood drip over the symbol carved on the floor. As the walls of the portal began to rise around us, Rose reached over and grabbed my knife, then pressed it to Deacon’s neck. “There will be no double cross,” he said.

I nodded, hoping to hell he was wrong about that one, and screaming at the top of my lungs for Kiera to hurry, hurry,
hurry
!

She ran, racing toward us, as five long tentacles burst out of the floor.

“Kiera!” I called. “Come on!” She was close, so close, and I thrust my hand out through the portal’s walls, my fingers closing around her hand even as one of the tentacles wrapped itself around her leg. “Pull!” I shouted to Zane, even though he’d already gotten that memo and had me around the waist and was pulling with all his might and then—
yes!
—we were in the portal, and Penemue was left behind, and we were hurtling, together, through the blackness.

I couldn’t quite believe it, but I’d actually done it, and the moment we landed with a jolt on the slick glass floor of the temple, I was even more amazed. After everything that had gone wrong in my new life as Alice Purdue, one thing had finally gone right.

Astounding.

I looked up to find that Zane had already stepped to the curtain of water. He slid his hand through, and the voice boomed out again.
“Do you give your life willingly?”

He turned, and I held my breath, afraid his fear had overcome him after all.

As I waited, the air in the temple began to swirl, lazily at first, and then picking up speed. A small cyclone, slowly growing.

I held my breath, afraid the demon would arrive before Zane got the vessel. Afraid that Zane would step back and choose life after all.

As I watched, he closed his eyes. A moment passed, then another. And with every second, the whirlwind increased, and my fear escalated.

“Good-bye,
ma chérie
,” Zane said.

And then he slid through the wall of water and disappeared from sight.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The wall of water disappeared, leaving only the vessel behind. On the far side of the chamber, the air still twirled as Penemue attempted to follow us into the temple. I ignored the whirlwind, focusing only on the vessel.

I rushed forward and grabbed it, watching as Rose shifted, edging forward to look, her nostrils flaring and her eyes narrowing.

“That is not the key,” she said, and as she spoke, Deacon thrust backward, away from the knife she still held at his throat. He slammed the back of his head hard into her nose, and I winced when I heard the bone shatter.

I forced myself not to react, though. That wasn’t my sister. And in a few minutes, it wasn’t even going to be her body.

“You lying little cunt!” Johnson screamed, and at that point I was actually at a bit of a loss what to do. This was all about Deacon. All about demonic essence rushing in where it didn’t belong. All about demons fighting for territory in bodies that would burn out too fast from their energy.

And it was all about knocking Rose’s soul out of her body and capturing it safely in the vessel.

I had to trust him. Right then, I had no choice but to trust Deacon because he was the one who held my sister’s life in his hands.

An eerie yellow glow whipped around Deacon, and I remembered what he’d told me—that before he could leap into Johnson’s body, he had to put a protection around his own. For this to work, there could be no empty shell for Johnson to thrust his essence into.

From what I could see, Johnson knew exactly what that glow meant, and as he turned toward me, I saw a hint of fear in his eyes. I relished it, clinging to his fear and letting victory wash over me.

The emotion was short-lived, though, since it fast became clear that Johnson wasn’t going down easy.

And if he was going down, he was damn sure going to try to take me with him. And to prove it, he launched himself at me, the knife he still held aimed at my heart.

“No!” Kiera burst forward, knocking me out of the way. I stumbled as Johnson’s knife got her deep in the gut. As Kiera’s scream of pain and fury echoed in the chamber, he pulled the blade out, then turned on me, and for a moment I froze, undone by the image of my sister coming at me with a knife.

Then he lunged, and the image faded, replaced by hard, cold reality.

I shifted, avoided the blade, but he thrust a leg out and sent me tumbling—and knocking the vessel out of my hands. I yelled and stretched, and though my fingers skimmed the outside, it was no use.

I couldn’t catch it.

The vessel landed hard, shattering into hundreds of pieces.

It was broken, and I was furious. I lunged, my rage overwhelming. I’m not at all sure what I was going to do. Maybe choke the bastard out of my sister. But I never got the chance. Because Rose stood there, and threw her head back, and screamed.

Her skin began to move, as if the bones beneath were rearranging. As if I were watching a scene from a horror flick. There was a battle going on, and it was happening right inside Rose.

From the ground, I heard a small gasp, and I hurried to Kiera’s side, finding the wound and pressing hard against it. I used her blade to slice my wrist, but I feared my blood wouldn’t heal; that it would only buy her a bit more time. The injury was too bad, and she had only seconds left.

“I’m so sorry,” Kiera said, her words barely audible.

“Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Was wrong . . . about you.”

“It’s okay,” I said, stroking her short hair. “It’s okay.”

She smiled, almost serenely, as if there were no pain in her world anymore.

“Kiera?”

“It’s nice, Lily. There’s light. It’s peaceful.”

And then she was gone. My partner—my friend—gone from this world, and I was cradling nothing more than a shell.

I felt the tears sting my eyes, and realized that despite everything, I was smiling.
There’s light,
she’d said. And that, I thought, was worth something.

I cradled her head, realizing that I’d lost more than just Kiera today. The vessel was broken. I’d risked Rose’s life, and I’d lost—dear God, I’d lost.

I’d gone out trying to protect her, and once again, I’d failed miserably.

I no longer even tried to hold back. I let loose, and I cried.

As I watched, the body in which that horrific battle was playing out fell to the ground, a bruised and battered mess.

And, very clearly, dying.

I shifted Kiera’s head to the ground, then crawled to Rose, my fingers skimming over her face, over her hair.
Dear God, what have I done?

I looked up to find Deacon back in his body. “Stab her,” he said, his voice deathly urgent. “Stab her now before he can return.”

I lifted my knife, then held it there, unable to do it. Unable to end my little sister.

“Dammit, Lily, trust me.”

Terror flashed in Rose’s eyes, but whether it was Johnson or my sister, I didn’t know.

Tears flooded my vision, and Deacon’s voice seemed to fill the chamber.

“Now, Lily! You must do it now! Trust me!”

I hesitated only a moment longer. Because dammit, I
did
. I trusted Deacon. More, I knew I had to keep Johnson from coming back.

No matter what I did now, I’d failed. My sister was truly dead.

And with tears streaming down my face, I plunged my knife straight down and into Rose’s heart.

I collapsed on the ground beside her, watching as the blood oozed from my sister’s body. I felt as dead as she was, and even the scent of blood didn’t entice me. I simply lay there, lost, the depth of my failure weighing heavy on my heart.

Beyond Rose’s body, Kiera twitched. Then kicked. Then sat up. Her fingers went to the knife wound, her eyes going wide as she looked down to find it healed.

I sat up, my heart pounding. I held my breath, afraid to hope. Afraid to believe.

But then she looked at me, and I saw it in her eyes before she even said a word. “Lily?” my sister asked. “What happened to me?”

Relief flowed through me, warm and thick like a blanket. I looked up at Deacon, because I really didn’t know the answer. All I could do was crawl across the floor to her side and draw her in close to me.

“I pushed her out,” he said. “I pushed her out, and while I held Johnson inside her old body, Rose found this new home.”

“And Johnson?”

He looked up into the air. “His essence is still out there. I’m guessing he’ll find his body and put himself back together.” He met my eyes. “Right now, though, he’s not a problem.”

I looked up at Deacon through tear-filled eyes. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”

But it wasn’t over. Because even as I clung to my sister, the whirlwind picked up speed, finally bursting open to reveal not Penemue, but Gabriel.

“Now it ends,” he said, thrusting out his hand and conjuring a force that yanked me across the room and into his waiting arms.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Gabriel held me tight, his grip strong, his massive body giving off wave after wave of energy. My chest was pressed up against his side, and though he held me with only one arm, there was no way I was getting free. He had me, and he had me good.

“Dammit,” I said as I struggled. “What do you want with me?”

“What do I want?” he asked, his voice low and rum bly, like an oncoming train. “Ask what it is I do not want.”

I stopped struggling, his words both curious and worrisome. “All right,” I said slowly. “What is it you don’t want?”

“Look,” he said, pressing his free hand to my face and staring deep into my eyes. “And see.”

The shock of the vision overtook me immediately. There was no barrier, no struggle. He wanted me inside his head, knowing what he knew. Seeing what he saw.

And what I saw was horrible, awful, and oddly, strangely, terribly enticing.

Except they did not, because the gate was thrust open by one who held the
Oris Clef
. The one who controlled it, controlled them. A figure, hand raised high, and a knife to draw the blood and press it to the
Oris Clef
. To draw the power and claim the right as holder of the key.