Immortal

Page 22

“No offense, but he refers to you as the enemy.”
“Not when he’s with me, he doesn’t.”
Sissy frowned and looked out the front windshield. The spring day was a beacon of summer soon to come, and people in other cars had their windows down.
How she envied them.
The demon shook her head. “Like I said, I don’t care whether or not you believe me—because sooner or later, Jim’s going to fuck you over.”
“I’m not getting involved with him,” Sissy heard herself say.
“You two had sex. You’re involved. Unless you expect me to believe a girl who saves it until she’s how old suddenly decides to just bang a guy? Personally, I find that prudish bullshit nauseating, but like he has his nature, you have yours.”
Well, then hers was changing. She couldn’t remember ever having this kind of temper.
“Did he tell you what he did to the men who killed his mother?”
Sissy glanced over again, and found herself staring at the demon’s perfect profile as dread nailed her in the chest.
“No. He didn’t tell me about her.” Matter of fact, she hadn’t heard him say one thing about his past. Then again, it wasn’t like they’d been on any traditional dates—or had a break in the drama that had lasted long enough for some quiet, reflective conversation.
“He slaughtered them. Hacked them up into little pieces—while they were alive. And don’t take my word for it. Do a search under his name.”
“Listen, this is none of my business—”
“Look him up.” The demon gave her a hard smile. “Iowa. Type his name into Google and it’ll all come up. The killings were so violent they made the national news, but he wasn’t prosecuted. He supposedly didn’t live that long—except that was a lie. The body found in that car crash wasn’t really his. The U.S. government covered it all up so they could have him and use him like the weapon he is.”
“I’m sorry, what the hell are you saying?”
“Jim Heron, the hero who ‘saved’ you from me”—the demon had to take both hands off the steering wheel to do the air quotes—“made his living killing people for the country. You think I’m a sick bitch? Ask him how he got paid for over two decades. It wasn’t gathering intel. It was putting bullets in people’s heads. That tattoo on his back? He has it because he’s proud of his work.”
The demon hit the brakes at a stop sign and looked over, her black eyes glittering. “The man who took your virginity is no angel. He’s a murderer without a conscience. Which is precisely why he and I get along so well.”
Sissy opened her mouth to say something. To deny it. To …
Except instead of speaking, she just resumed staring out the window.
A little later, the Mercedes came to a halt in front of the old mansion, and all Sissy could do was look up at the window that was across the hall from her bedroom.
Picturing how they’d spent the night, she wanted to vomit.
“That’s right,” the demon said in a voice that warped. “Know that I speak the truth. And don’t be a fucking pussy. Do something about it.”
“Like what,” she whispered.
“Fight fire with fire.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your anger is the most powerful weapon against him. Use it. Teach him a lesson. Show him that what he’s done to you and to me is a sin for which he must atone.”
“Isn’t that stuff supposed to be left to God.”
“Yes, and God provides us our destinies. Yours is to fight back.”
“I can’t trust you.”
“But you can trust yourself. You’ll know what to do. When the time is right, you’ll know exactly what to do. Now get the fuck out of my car.”
The demon didn’t have to ask twice. Sissy popped the handle on the door and slid free of the seat.
The Mercedes took off before she’d shut things, leaving her alone with nothing but all those images of Jim doing things to that other woman’s body.
That fucking bastard.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jim took Angel Airlines to his destination, leaving Ad to drive the Explorer—but whether in flight or on the ground, where he went wasn’t that far from Home Depot.
Sissy’s parents’ house fit in with the tidy neighborhood, the two-story set back on its lot, that pastel Easter flag still by the front door even though the holiday had long passed. No Subaru parked in the driveway, no lights on, but it was a sunny morning.
He walked right in.
And as soon as he was through the front door, he stopped and listened. No sounds of anyone moving, nobody talking on a phone, no TV on. He strode quickly around the first floor, then jogged up to the second. He popped his head into her old room. In her sister’s. In her parents’. Went to a window and looked out at the shallow backyard.
Goddamn it.
On his way back to the stairs he stopped at her room again, checking to see if anything was gone or had changed. Having a photographic memory was a bonus.
Nothing was out of place that he could tell.
Downstairs, he stalled in the foyer, putting his hands on his hips and staring at the floor as his brain chewed over the alternatives.
A second later, he took out his phone and called Ad. When the guy answered, Jim muttered, “Not here. I’m rerouting to the cemetery.”
Hanging up, he put his palm forward and closed his eyes, envisioning the perimeter of the house marked by a notification spell—so that if she did end up here, he’d know it.
What he really should have done was put some kind of a tracer on her. Too bad Eddie wasn’t around. That guy would have been able to tell him how to do it.
When he popped open his lids, a subtle blue glow shimmered on the walls, floors, and windows, like the place had been spray-painted. It was all he could do.
Just as he turned to leave, he caught sight of that armchair in the living room, the one he’d found Sissy’s mother in, back before Sissy’s body had been discovered in the quarry, back when there had still been some kind of hope for this family that the daughter they were all desperate to have back might still come home.
Before he ducked out, he leaned in and glanced over at the bookcase full of family photos. With a quick jab into his pocket, he snagged his phone and went over, putting the thing up and focusing the lens on his favorite picture of Sissy.
Click.
Then he was off, his wings carrying him over the residential neighborhood and toward the area of town where the Pine Grove Cemetery took up acres and acres of land. He remembered exactly where Sissy’s grave was and soared above the treetops and the grave markers, cutting across the Chutes and Ladders lane system that the cars had to stick to.
She wasn’t there, either.
Landing next to her granite gravestone, his heart tightened up at the sight of the plastic-wrapped bouquets and green potted flowers that had been placed around where her earthly remains had been buried.
Where the hell was she?
Then again, maybe that was the answer. Looking down at his feet, he pictured Devina’s Well of Souls and his empty stomach rolled.
He quickly texted an update to Adrian … and sent out a beacon to the enemy. If that fucking demon had screwed with his woman?
The last thing Devina was going to have to worry about was whether or not she won the war.
Pacing up and down on the grass, he waited … and waited. Just like the bitch to take her sweet time—
As his phone rang, he took it out and answered the damn thing. “Yeah?”
“She’s here. At home.”
“What?”
Ad’s voice stayed quiet, like maybe she was in the next room and he didn’t want her to hear him. “Yup. Says she got bored and decided to head back.”
“Don’t let her go anywhere.”
“Roger that. She’s just going to help me with the plywood—”
Jim cut the other angel off and left Sissy’s grave in the blink of an eye.
“No, I’ve got it.” Sissy gave a hard yank and pulled a section of plywood out of the back of the Explorer. “See? No problem.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not totally crippled.”
“And girls are strong, too.”
She and Ad took a break to glare at each other. And then they both grabbed hold of a side of the sheet and walked over the grass, heading for those blown-out windows.
“It was a miracle you got all this in the back of the SUV,” she grunted.
“Yup,” he strained. “But a couple of bungee cords and that back hatch did just fine being mostly open.”
“Have you called the landlords?”
“Not yet.”
It was slow going, what with his limp and the fact that her hands kept slipping. Who knew boards weighed this much?
Over at the parlor, they put the plywood down and leaned it against the house. She was glad she wasn’t the only one panting—boy, they still had five more left to unload, several of which had to go around the corner of the house on the far side.
“You really should have waited for us,” Ad muttered between deep breaths.
“Like I said, I’m sorry.”
“Jim’s due back any minute.”
“Let’s get the next sheet.”
Back at the Explorer, she reached and locked onto the wood. Giving it another yank, she—
“Shit!” Pulling back her hands, she looked down at her palm. The rough edge had cut into her skin, streaking across and leaving a bloody trail … that was silver, not red.
“Are you okay?”
Spinning around, she looked up into Jim’s eyes—and promptly forgot what was wrong with her. He was standing on the lawn about three feet away, still in what he’d been wearing when they’d left. But he was totally and completely different.
Rising up behind both of his shoulders were an angel’s trademark, the shimmering beauty of what she’d seen on Christmas trees and Christmas cards and on TV suddenly very real. All she could do was blink.
Wings. Iridescent angel wings—
“Why did you leave without saying something?”
It took her a second to figure out he was talking to her. “Ah … I just did.”
“I’m gonna ask nice. Please … don’t do that again. You scared the shit out of me.”
Overhead, a cloud drifted across the sun, cutting the glare and the warmth. But Jim remained resplendent, somehow creating his own illumination, like he was a kind of destination in and of himself. A place where she wanted to end up—
Like a neon sign that was suddenly plugged in, images of Jim making love to Devina flashed in her mind’s eye, popping up and eclipsing the vision before her.
Reigniting her anger.
“Look, can we talk?” he said.
“I’ve got to take care of my hand.”
“I’ll come with you.”
As she headed into the house, she saw him make a motion to Ad—like he wanted to be sure they had some privacy. Fine. Whatever.
She didn’t have anything to hide. Then again, the same wasn’t true for him.
Back in the kitchen, she started the water running and got out the dish soap—no reason to get fussy about cleaning things off. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she had to bother, but old Neosporin habits died hard.
“You can’t do that to me,” he said roughly.
“I’m fine,” she hissed as she put her palm under the faucet.
“Sissy—”
“You know what I did while you were gone?” She squeezed some Ivory soap out onto the cuts and hissed again. “I looked you up. On the Internet.”
She glanced behind herself to find that he was totally still. And his wings were gone now—guess they only appeared when he needed them to travel—and somehow that seemed right.
She refocused on rubbing her hands together until the soap frothed up. “Your computer is pretty fast—and that’s a good thing. There’s a lot on you. But it made for quick reading.”
As he went over and sat down at the kitchen table, she had the sense that his eyes never wavered from her—and it was obvious he was surprised.
“What made you decide to look me up,” he said.
“Just a whim.” She cut off the water and went for some paper towels to dry things off. “Is it true that they couldn’t find all the body parts? Of those men who … killed your mother? I mean, I know you murdered them, right?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Some things are never a long time ago.”
“So what do you want me to say.” When she didn’t reply, he shrugged. “You brought this up for a reason.”
“What did you do afterward?”
“You read the articles.”
“They say you died. Clearly, that wasn’t true. So what did you do? I can’t believe the military took someone that young in—were you in foster care until you joined? Or were there other arrangements made?”
In the silence that followed, she realized that she was hoping he came clean and told her everything. Which was dumb. Like that was going to change anything?
His stare narrowed. “Where is all this coming from?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just all of a sudden, out of the blue, decide to look me up? Doesn’t make sense.”
“Kind of like you shutting down after you had sex with me, huh. Doesn’t make sense.”
He began patting pockets, and then cursed and got up. “Gimme a minute.”
When he came back into the kitchen, he had his cigarettes and his lighter—and he waited until he had a live one between his lips and had taken his first drag before he answered her.