Chaos Bites (32 page)

It was all glamour, courtesy of the fairy.

I climbed out of the truck, eyeing the statues in the yard. Gargoyles could turn to stone at will. They could also turn back, take to the air, and protect the innocent from demons.

Since I was no longer innocent, did in fact have a few demons in me, I walked warily between the bizarre figures. Half lion–half eagle, part man–part hawk, woman and wolf, several of them shifted in my direction, the light of the moon flashing off their flat, black eyes. They were watching me. I couldn’t blame them.

The door opened; light spilled out, casting the silhouettes of a short female and a tall male onto the ground.

“Liz,” Luther said. “Thank God.”

Summer snorted. It was good to be back.

I tromped across the porch, the weathered boards that weren’t really there creaking beneath my weight. “No castle?” I lifted my hand to the gorgeous night sky, painted every shade of blue and orange and pink. “Turrets, moat, patrolling sentries?”

“There’s nothing left to protect.” Luther turned away. As usual his jeans sagged off his bony behind, the waistband of his boxers—red and black plaid—playing hide-and-seek with the frayed tail of a unlv rebels T-shirt.

I was close enough to catch Summer’s wince, and for an instant I felt sorry for her. Then she opened her mouth. “What did you do to him this time?”

“Him, who?” I asked, but I knew. With Summer, it was always about Jimmy.

“He was mad, sad.”

“Jimmy hasn’t been happy for a long time now.”

Had he
ever
been happy? Yes. So had I. Before we knew the truth.

“Because of you,” she said.

“What else is new?” I tried to move past her and into the house, but she remained in the doorway. I could make her move, but then there’d be a catfight, and when you’re talking supernatural cats, it usually got ugly. So even though I wanted to pop her in her perfectly pert nose, I didn’t.

“We need to work together,” I said. “We’ve got the same goal. Find the kid, find Jimmy.”

“In that order?”

I met her eyes. “Yes. Sanducci can take care of himself. Faith . . .”

“Can’t,” Summer finished.

Luther, still standing in the hall, muttered a word I didn’t much care hearing from his mouth, but I decided to let it pass. I had bigger problems than a teenage boy’s cursing.

Summer let me in. I nodded my thanks. Best to make nice for the time being.

For a change she wasn’t wearing her circulation-inhibiting jeans and slutty, fringed halter top, though the alternative wasn’t much better. White shorts so tiny I couldn’t guess their size; they made her slim, smooth, perfect legs appear longer than they could possibly be. The pink shirt bared her flat stomach, revealing a belly button ring I had a hard time not yanking out.

Inside, the decor reflected the western ranch motif of the exterior. The walls were the color of the sky at dawn, the tile the shade of the earth. The paintings appeared to be Georgia O’Keeffe. The houseplants were cacti—huge, fat, gorgeous specimens.

“I like this,” I said.

“I don’t care,” she replied. So much for making nice. “Any news?” Summer shook her head. “Did you try Jimmy’s cell?” I had, but I figured he was avoiding me.

“What do you think?” she snapped. “Every call goes directly to voice mail.”

I sighed. “Making nice only works if we both make it.”

“You’ve been making nice?”

“I haven’t slugged you yet.”

“The night’s young,” she muttered, and I laughed.

Sometimes our banter took a turn like this, and we ended up smiling at each other. Then we’d remember we didn’t get along; we’d remember why, and the verbal and physical jabs would return. I liked to think that in different circumstances Summer and I might have become friends. As things stood, Jimmy would always lie between us.

“What are you going to do?” Summer asked. “How are we going to find them? Who do you think took them?”

“We don’t know that anyone took Jimmy.”

“I do.” She tilted her chin. “He wouldn’t stop answering his phone, unless he
couldn’t
answer it.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. But I was more concerned with Faith at the moment. Someone had already tried to kill her. I was terrified that she hadn’t been taken and hidden, but taken and killed. The only thing keeping me from gibbering in a corner, besides the fact that I rarely gibbered, was the memory of my vision. In it, Faith had been alive.

“You think the same guys who came for her the last time came this time?” Luther asked, and despite the steadiness of his voice I knew how scared he was by the tremor in his lips.

“No,” I said. “It wasn’t them.”

I didn’t point out that those guys would have killed her. I think he knew it anyway.

And I knew I needed more help than I had to make certain we got Jimmy and Faith back alive.

“Can I have a few minutes to myself?” I asked. I  certainly didn’t plan on raising my first dead man with an audience.

Summer glanced at Luther, who had moved into the living room and now sat on a leather sofa the shade of sand pretending to watch
MTV Cribs
. He lifted one shoulder then lowered it. “I’m not movin’.”

“I didn’t mean that.” I turned to Summer. “Can you show me which room is mine?”

“You’re
staying
here?”

“Ruthie said I should.” She hadn’t, but Summer didn’t know that.

“Well, she didn’t tell me,” Summer muttered, then stomped as loudly as she could in bare feet down a hall that led toward the back of the house. As we walked, the corridor lengthened in front of us, doors appearing on either side.

I’d seen her do this before. She could change a cottage into a castle in the blink of an eye. She could also add rooms and floors without even waving her hand.

We turned into another long corridor, and she stopped, throwing open a door to our right. The room looked like a cell on Prison Block A.

I assumed Summer could also decorate with her imagination. Hence the cold gray walls, the metal cot with the über-thin, stained mattress, and an army-green blanket that appeared as soft as a Brillo Pad.

“Thanks.” I was unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

She smirked and turned away. I stepped into the room, which gave off an unpleasant chill, and shut the door, then I reached for a lock that wasn’t.

“Lock!” I shouted, and in the next instant one appeared.

Summer could no doubt unlock the door just as easily, but oh, well, this shouldn’t take long. At least it hadn’t for Mait.

Since I’d absorbed his powers, I hadn’t felt any different from before. Sure, I could stretch out my hand and make stuff come to me, but I didn’t feel any stronger in a mystical, necromancer-y kind of way. And shouldn’t I?

What if it was a lie—the gift of raising the dead? I’d only seen Mait do so in a dream. Certainly Ruthie had corroborated his talents, but Ruthie couldn’t be right about everything, all the time, could she? Had I risked my soul for nothing?

Panic threatened and since panic would help no one, I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, trying to calm myself. Just the familiar, meditative act made my training kick in. My mind opened. I reached for the power, and it was mine. Power flowed through me, along with all the knowledge. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

So simple. Such strength. I could raise everyone we’d lost. Ruthie, Xander. What was to stop me?
Who
could stop me? Who would dare?

I slapped myself in the face. The sting brought me back.

“Focus,” I said. “You did this for Sawyer and
only
Sawyer.”

But what if it worked?

I shoved the tempting thought aside and did what I’d sacrificed so much to be able to do.

Mait had touched the graves, but that was because he hadn’t known those he was raising. I knew Sawyer—probably better than anyone. All I had to do was think of him and call him home.

“Come back,” I whispered, and then I waited.

For his touch, his voice, his scent. Nothing happened.

I tried again. Open. Reach. Beg. “Please, come back to me.”

I remained alone in an empty room.

I
was
doing this right. Unlike the time when I’d attempted to raise his ghost—a spell boosted by magic and therefore easily screwed up with the wrong twitch of a finger or the switching of a single word—the power to raise the dead was part of me. I could feel the ability to lift Sawyer out of death and back to life in my mind, my heart, my very soul.

From somewhere in the house came a vicious growl, followed by several heavy thumps and the breaking of glass.

I was at the door in an instant. I jerked on it three times before I remembered the lock. Then I was running down the hall and skidding into the living room where three people now stood instead of two.

“I knew I could do it,” I murmured.

“Are you insane?” Summer asked, her tone almost conversational.

I ignored her, so damn glad to see Sawyer my legs wobbled.

“Thank God,” I whispered, and started forward.

“Wait,” Luther murmured. Something in his voice stopped me. Luther’s shining amber eyes were fixed on Sawyer; his nostrils flared, every muscle tensed. The kid’s kinky curls stirred in an impossible breeze. “Ruthie says, ‘Skinwalker.’ “

“We know.” I didn’t pause to wonder why Ruthie was telling us twice—something she never did—but moved toward Sawyer again. I stopped a few feet away when the breeze that wasn’t brought me his scent.

Not trees and grass, wind and water with a hint of smoke, but ashes, embers, hot coals and flames.

“Sawyer?” I whispered.

His head cocked as if he recognized the name, or maybe my voice, and I took a good look at him. He had tattoos in all the right places, and I could see each one since, as usual, he was naked. But his skin was pale, his eyes dark—the gray irises vanished beneath the dilated ebony of his pupils—his hair, usually straight and sleek, was tangled with sweat. He appeared almost feral, even before the low, savage snarl rumbled free.

Quick as a snake he struck, snatching me by the throat and slamming me against the nearest wall. My head cracked; I saw stars. My feet dangled several inches off the ground as Sawyer held me aloft with just one hand. He’d always been freakishly strong.

“Put her down!” Summer ordered.

He flicked his other wrist and tossed her through the front window.

A movement caught my eye. Luther. Sneaking up from the rear, in his hand a silver knife that would do nothing but piss Sawyer off. He appeared pissed off enough already.

“No,” I croaked, only to have Sawyer tighten his fingers until I saw shiny black dots. Luther froze.

“Who—” Sawyer tapped my head against the wall for emphasis. “—are you?”

His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been screaming for days and only just gotten back the power of speech.

“Liz,” Luther answered. “She’s Liz Phoenix. Don’t you remember?”

Luther spoke as if he were talking to a wild, crazed animal, and the way Sawyer appeared right now, I thought that was a damn good idea.

Sawyer peered into my face, and recognition flickered in his eerie black eyes. I tried to smile, to speak, but both were impossible. What I really needed to do was breathe.

“I remember you,” he murmured.

Then he tore out my throat.

CHAPTER 35

I guess I deserved it. Tit for tat. I kill you; you kill me. Revenge. Payback. Whatever.

It wasn’t as if I could die. Not yet. I had too many things left to do.

The arterial blood spray hit Sawyer right between the eyes. I wondered if he would have let me go otherwise.

I crumpled to the floor, blacked out for a second or two. A boom like a cannon brought me back. I caught the scent of ozone, sensed movement, then the dead silence was broken by a lion’s roar. I tried to get up, to stop Luther from following. Sawyer wasn’t himself. He’d been dangerous before; he’d be lethal now.

And I’d brought him back to life.

My attempt to gain my feet only made my throat wound bleed worse, and I fainted this time for real.

I don’t know how long I was out. I’d figured I would go dreamwalking, where I’d find answers to my most desperate questions—and I had a lot of them. But in the darkness there was only more darkness, and when I awoke even more questions.

“What have you done, Liz?” Both Luther and Summer stood over me.

I was so glad to see the kid in one piece I reached for his hand. He put both behind his back.

I swallowed. My throat appeared to be working just fine. “What I had to.”

I patted my neck. Sore, but I’d healed enough to move, though the blood was still slick and plentiful. Not only was I going to need a shower and new clothes, but if Summer hadn’t been a fairy, she’d need a wet vac and new wallpaper.

“You sold your soul to raise him,” Summer said. She had glass in her hair; her shorts were torn. Other than that—not a mark on her. Bitch.

“I didn’t sell anything.” I sat up, holding on to my head with both hands when it pounded like a snare drum. “I took.”

Understanding flickered in Summer’s eyes. “You fucked a Nephilim.”

I didn’t bother to answer. I didn’t
want
to answer. I didn’t really need to.

“You
are
crazy.”

“We need him.”

“Not like that we don’t,” Summer muttered.

I didn’t answer because I feared she was right.

“I never would have figured you for a whore,” she said.

“No? I pegged you as one right away.”

Summer snarled, the “otherness” beneath her pretty face escaping. Luther stepped between us.

“Stop,” he said, and the voice was Ruthie’s.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Summer shoved Luther’s shoulder, but she was looking at me. “You and Jimmy do the horizontal bop, shove your demons beneath the moon, and you turn around and snatch another one? Why the hell did you bother? Did you just
have
to do him to prove you still could?”

I began to understand her hostility. Not that she’d ever been exactly friendly, but she was really on a roll tonight. Sanducci must have told her that we’d confined our demons.