Personal Demon
Page 95
He looked around, then leaned out and snapped his fingers. “Taxi.”
A blue compact steered out of the line of traffic and pulled to the curb. Sonny sat in the driver’s seat.
Jaz pulled open the back door. When I balked, he prodded me.
“Come on, Hope. It’s a no-stopping zone.”
I locked my knees and scanned the sidewalk, hoping…
“Jaz.” Sonny’s voice. Sharp.
“No problem, bro. Now, Hope, don’t—”
He grabbed me around the waist, catching me off guard. I twisted, but he was already folding me inside.
The back of my head smacked into the roof and I let out a yelp, louder than the tap warranted. No one around us even paused. A drama queen, making a big deal out of a knock on the head. And if my boyfriend seemed a bit rough? Not their business.
As I hit the seat, I scrambled around, hands balling into fists, Jaz’s gun pointed at me.
“Hope. Please.”
I considered my options and saw none I liked.
In the front seat, Sonny grabbed his hair and pulled it off. A wig. He tossed it onto the seat and ran his hands through his hair—dark and wavy.
The light ahead turned yellow. Sonny slowed, earning a honk from the driver behind. As we waited, he rubbed his hands over his face, brisk and hard, as if he had indeed been sleeping. I glanced at Jaz, but he was looking out the side window.
The car started forward again. Gripping the wheel were hands as dark as Jaz’s. I blinked and looked out the window, expected to see the sun gone again, but it still blazed brightly.
I strained to get a look at Sonny in the mirror. For a moment, I saw nothing. Then he moved and I bit back a gasp. It looked like Jaz’s face in the mirror. At the next light, he turned, and I saw that the dark eyes weren’t as deep-set as Jaz’s, the lips fuller, mouth not as wide, the face thinner, and somber in a way that was as “Sonny” as Jaz’s infectious grin was him.
“Hope, meet Jason,” Jaz said, startling me. “My little brother. He prefers Sonny, though, so you can stick with that.”
Sonny raked his fingers through his hair again. “I hate it when it’s this short. And I swear it feels like straw.
Dye it blond. Dye it back. Can’t be good.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch. It’s going to be a lot shorter soon.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Jaz looked at me. “Hair’s a problem. Small changes in color, texture, length, we can manage. Otherwise, it’s dye and wigs. Build is even worse. Again, small changes only. Lifts, posture, clothing, it can only do so much. If a guy is five foot eight? Six foot four? Forget it. Luckily, people aren’t that observant. If you’re off by an inch or ten pounds, no one notices.”
All this he relayed as conversationally as he’d tell me how he got to work each morning. When he finished, he eased back in his seat and scratched his jaw, gaze slanted my way, expectant.
He did it. They did. Killed them. Their gang. Their friends. And now he sat here, chattering away, same old Jaz.
As I listened to him, the bile threatened to return. I sat as still as I could, ignoring his hopeful glances.
He adjusted his seat belt. Squirmed in his seat. Tapped his fingers against his leg. Once he reached over as if to touch me, then pulled back.
He wanted me to ask questions. He wanted to tell me more. I was disappointing him.
Good.
If I could push him far enough, maybe I’d piss him off. Then the mask would crack and I’d see what lurked beneath. I knew that wasn’t safe—I should be mollifying him, not thwarting him. But I couldn’t help it. I needed to see the monster. I needed to stop seeing Jaz.
“Glasses?” Sonny said after a few minutes.
“Oh, right.”
Jaz reached under the seat and pulled out a bag. Inside were oversized dark sunglasses with side pieces. He handed them to me.
“Put them on, please.”
And what if I don’t, I thought.
But common sense won out and I took the glasses. I’d play the game while I looked for my chance to escape.
No, not escape. If I ran away, we’d lose them. If they could do what I’d just seen—a supernatural power, not a trick or disguise—then they could hide anywhere, as anyone. I had to stay with them until I could get help.
I put on the glasses and the world went dark.
“WATCH YOUR STEP.”
Jaz took my arm. I resisted the urge to shake him off and let him guide me up three steps. The glasses were blacked out on the inside, as effective as a blindfold.
The click of metal on metal. Keys. Or lock picks. Jaz’s thumb beat a tattoo on my upper arm as we waited.
I caught a whiff of garbage left in the sun too long. The pressure of Jaz’s fingers on my arm warned me we were about to move, then, “Okay, one more step up.”
I presumed we were at a hideout until I walked through the doorway and a wave of chaos memory hit. The crack of buckling metal, as a figure leapt onto a car hood. The stink of burning streamers. The flash of a demonic dog’s head rearing up in a doorway.
“The banquet hall,” I murmured.
“You’re good.” Excitement crept into his voice as his fingers tightened. “What do you see?”
I shook my head. He led me forward at least twenty feet.
“If I know where I am, I can take off the glasses, can’t I?”
“Not yet.”
He stopped. The chaos in the air seemed brittle. Tension. A moment of silence, then Jaz broke it with a small cough.
“I’ll…” he began.
“Take it from here,” Sonny said.
“Yeah.”
Strain tightened Jaz’s voice. All traces of excitement gone. Cold fingers of dread crept up my spine. I desperately sent out feelers, but I couldn’t read him. I never could. It was as if his nonstop chaos vibe interfered.
“Guard the door, okay, bro?” he said. “I’ll be down after I…take care of this.”
Take care of it?
I wheeled, fists lashing out in the direction of his voice. One made contact. Jaz gasped. Blind, I kept turning, veering toward the door, hand flying up to wrench off the glasses—
Cold metal pressed into the base of my skull.
“Stop, Faith.”
It was Sonny, his voice as cold as the gun barrel. I pictured Guy on the gurney. Heard Dr. Aberquero’s voice: “Single gunshot to the base of the skull, through the central nervous system.” To my shame, I let out the first note of a whimper.
A blue compact steered out of the line of traffic and pulled to the curb. Sonny sat in the driver’s seat.
Jaz pulled open the back door. When I balked, he prodded me.
“Come on, Hope. It’s a no-stopping zone.”
I locked my knees and scanned the sidewalk, hoping…
“Jaz.” Sonny’s voice. Sharp.
“No problem, bro. Now, Hope, don’t—”
He grabbed me around the waist, catching me off guard. I twisted, but he was already folding me inside.
The back of my head smacked into the roof and I let out a yelp, louder than the tap warranted. No one around us even paused. A drama queen, making a big deal out of a knock on the head. And if my boyfriend seemed a bit rough? Not their business.
As I hit the seat, I scrambled around, hands balling into fists, Jaz’s gun pointed at me.
“Hope. Please.”
I considered my options and saw none I liked.
In the front seat, Sonny grabbed his hair and pulled it off. A wig. He tossed it onto the seat and ran his hands through his hair—dark and wavy.
The light ahead turned yellow. Sonny slowed, earning a honk from the driver behind. As we waited, he rubbed his hands over his face, brisk and hard, as if he had indeed been sleeping. I glanced at Jaz, but he was looking out the side window.
The car started forward again. Gripping the wheel were hands as dark as Jaz’s. I blinked and looked out the window, expected to see the sun gone again, but it still blazed brightly.
I strained to get a look at Sonny in the mirror. For a moment, I saw nothing. Then he moved and I bit back a gasp. It looked like Jaz’s face in the mirror. At the next light, he turned, and I saw that the dark eyes weren’t as deep-set as Jaz’s, the lips fuller, mouth not as wide, the face thinner, and somber in a way that was as “Sonny” as Jaz’s infectious grin was him.
“Hope, meet Jason,” Jaz said, startling me. “My little brother. He prefers Sonny, though, so you can stick with that.”
Sonny raked his fingers through his hair again. “I hate it when it’s this short. And I swear it feels like straw.
Dye it blond. Dye it back. Can’t be good.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch. It’s going to be a lot shorter soon.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Jaz looked at me. “Hair’s a problem. Small changes in color, texture, length, we can manage. Otherwise, it’s dye and wigs. Build is even worse. Again, small changes only. Lifts, posture, clothing, it can only do so much. If a guy is five foot eight? Six foot four? Forget it. Luckily, people aren’t that observant. If you’re off by an inch or ten pounds, no one notices.”
All this he relayed as conversationally as he’d tell me how he got to work each morning. When he finished, he eased back in his seat and scratched his jaw, gaze slanted my way, expectant.
He did it. They did. Killed them. Their gang. Their friends. And now he sat here, chattering away, same old Jaz.
As I listened to him, the bile threatened to return. I sat as still as I could, ignoring his hopeful glances.
He adjusted his seat belt. Squirmed in his seat. Tapped his fingers against his leg. Once he reached over as if to touch me, then pulled back.
He wanted me to ask questions. He wanted to tell me more. I was disappointing him.
Good.
If I could push him far enough, maybe I’d piss him off. Then the mask would crack and I’d see what lurked beneath. I knew that wasn’t safe—I should be mollifying him, not thwarting him. But I couldn’t help it. I needed to see the monster. I needed to stop seeing Jaz.
“Glasses?” Sonny said after a few minutes.
“Oh, right.”
Jaz reached under the seat and pulled out a bag. Inside were oversized dark sunglasses with side pieces. He handed them to me.
“Put them on, please.”
And what if I don’t, I thought.
But common sense won out and I took the glasses. I’d play the game while I looked for my chance to escape.
No, not escape. If I ran away, we’d lose them. If they could do what I’d just seen—a supernatural power, not a trick or disguise—then they could hide anywhere, as anyone. I had to stay with them until I could get help.
I put on the glasses and the world went dark.
“WATCH YOUR STEP.”
Jaz took my arm. I resisted the urge to shake him off and let him guide me up three steps. The glasses were blacked out on the inside, as effective as a blindfold.
The click of metal on metal. Keys. Or lock picks. Jaz’s thumb beat a tattoo on my upper arm as we waited.
I caught a whiff of garbage left in the sun too long. The pressure of Jaz’s fingers on my arm warned me we were about to move, then, “Okay, one more step up.”
I presumed we were at a hideout until I walked through the doorway and a wave of chaos memory hit. The crack of buckling metal, as a figure leapt onto a car hood. The stink of burning streamers. The flash of a demonic dog’s head rearing up in a doorway.
“The banquet hall,” I murmured.
“You’re good.” Excitement crept into his voice as his fingers tightened. “What do you see?”
I shook my head. He led me forward at least twenty feet.
“If I know where I am, I can take off the glasses, can’t I?”
“Not yet.”
He stopped. The chaos in the air seemed brittle. Tension. A moment of silence, then Jaz broke it with a small cough.
“I’ll…” he began.
“Take it from here,” Sonny said.
“Yeah.”
Strain tightened Jaz’s voice. All traces of excitement gone. Cold fingers of dread crept up my spine. I desperately sent out feelers, but I couldn’t read him. I never could. It was as if his nonstop chaos vibe interfered.
“Guard the door, okay, bro?” he said. “I’ll be down after I…take care of this.”
Take care of it?
I wheeled, fists lashing out in the direction of his voice. One made contact. Jaz gasped. Blind, I kept turning, veering toward the door, hand flying up to wrench off the glasses—
Cold metal pressed into the base of my skull.
“Stop, Faith.”
It was Sonny, his voice as cold as the gun barrel. I pictured Guy on the gurney. Heard Dr. Aberquero’s voice: “Single gunshot to the base of the skull, through the central nervous system.” To my shame, I let out the first note of a whimper.
