Last Rite
Authors: Lisa Desrochers
To Suzie, for believing
CONTENTS
20. Not-So-Divine Intervention
Here, one must leave behind all hesitation; here, every cowardice must meet its death.
—Dante Alighieri,
Purgatorio
1
Run Like Hell
FRANNIE
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen myself dead, but this time it’s different.
The pain in my head starts to soften as the image becomes clearer.
White clouds, blue sky
. My stomach lurches.
Lightning in my veins.
I don’t have time for one of my stupid visions right now.
Consuming me
. I breathe back the nausea …
burning alive
… and force the image out of my head.
I glance sideways at Gabe, whose eyes flit between the narrow dirt road in front of us and the rearview mirror. I thought I drove fast, but I can’t even make myself look at the speedometer as he weaves through the pitch-black woods to God only knows where.
The headlights of Rhen’s silver Lincoln and Marc’s hearse light up the inside of Gabe’s Charger. They’ve followed us, first on the highway and now through the woods, for the last hour, since we left Haden.
When I turn to look over my shoulder at our demonic tail, I see Luc, in the backseat. It takes him a second to realize I’m looking. When he does, he presses his hand to the bloody bandage over his left forearm and lowers his eyes.
My stomach knots and I wonder again what happened in the park with Lilith. He went after her. Did he kill her? No. He couldn’t have. She would have transferred her soul into his body and taken control if he had.
I look at him more closely. His eyes are tortured, but they’re clear. I know in my gut that this is Luc. No Lilith.
But he’s not
my
Luc.
Not anymore.
In my room, when I asked him if he was coming with us—told him I wanted him to—he said no. But Gabe made him come. He said it was too much of a risk to leave Luc behind. When Luc still refused, Gabe lifted a hand, white lightning cracking over his skin. For a second I really thought Luc was going to let Gabe kill him. But, finally, he moved away from the window and pushed past both Gabe and me without ever looking at either of us.
Just like he won’t look at me now.
I realize I’m still staring when a flaming streak of red Hellfire takes out the back window of the Charger. Gabe speeds up, fishtailing on the dirt road. Luc reflexively levels his fist out the back window before remembering that isn’t gonna get him anywhere. He ducks behind the seat and his eyes lock on mine for a heartbeat, flickering with something that I can’t read, before he lowers them again.
I close my eyes and breathe away the knot of panic in my chest. My heart leaps into my throat as my eyes snap open to a flash of red, and I jerk them toward the road in time to see a blast of Hellfire streaking toward us. I duck and throw my arms over my head as the windshield explodes in a shower of glass. Gabe floors it as I lift my head, but the demon in the road vanishes just as we rev through the spot where he was standing. Marc.
At the sight of him I feel suddenly cold.
Taylor
.
At the memory of what he did to her my stomach lurches. I bite my lip and wrap my arms around myself, pushing the image away.
Gabe shoots a look in the rearview mirror at Luc. “It appears Marchosias has figured out we’re leaving.” The Charger spins in a 180 when he slams on the brakes and we skid to a stop. He and Luc bound from the car.
In front of us, a microscopic jet sits on a long, narrow runway next to an old wooden barn. Luc rips my door open and I see he has my duffel bag in one hand. He yanks me from the car with the other as Gabe repeatedly launches bolts of white-hot lightning toward some unseen target in the dark of the trees lining the tarmac.
As Luc herds me toward the plane, I notice lightning shooting from that direction into the woods as well. He’s careful to keep himself positioned between the trees and me as we move, but the thirty feet between the jet and us might as well be a mile. Blasts of red Hellfire erupt all around us, leaving shallow craters in the pavement. The air crackles as a red streak scorches past my head, and the smell of singed hair and brimstone is suddenly heavy in the damp night air. I swat at the small flame that erupts in my hair as something thuds heavily behind me. I turn to see Luc on his hands and knees. My duffel bag is singed on the ground and there’s a smoldering hole in the right side of Luc’s T-shirt.
“Luc!” My stomach twists into a painful knot as I run to his side and kneel. Adrenaline hammers through my ears, louder than the boom of exploding Hellfire all around, but all I care about is Luc.
A grimace pinches his face, but what I see in his dark eyes isn’t pain or panic. It’s fear—for me.
I pull him from the ground. “Go!”
Gabe covers us with booming white eruptions from his palms, faster than machine-gun fire, and the red blasts stop for a moment.
Luc starts to reach for my bag, but I push him toward the plane.
“Go!” I yell again, shoving him and scooping the bag into my arms. We bolt for the plane and I push him up the stairs in front of me. He lands hard in the backseat with a wince, and I throw myself into the seat next to him.
“Let me see,” I say, reaching for his shirt.
“I’m fine,” he responds, brushing my hand away. They’re the first words he’s spoken since we left my room, and I barely hear them over my hammering heart and the echo of the war being waged outside.
Gabe appears in the seat in front of us. He pulls the door shut and settles in at the controls.
“So … who’s flying this thing?” I ask when I realize there’s only one more seat—and it’s empty.
He turns and raises his eyebrows at me, almost apologetically.
Red and white light flashes outside, illuminating the night sky in bursts, like Fourth of July fireworks. I look out the window at a glowing form in the dark: a girl with thick copper curls and iridescent white skin. She stands next to the plane, launching bolts into the woods. Trees on the edge of the airstrip detonate in a shower of sparks as her white lightning strikes, and the returning red streaks are sporadic and poorly placed.
“Who is that?” I ask Gabe breathlessly over the roar of the engine.
“Celine,” Gabe responds, but then we’re rolling away from the girl, down the narrow runway, and I decide I probably shouldn’t distract him for more details. As I watch, the girl spreads her wings and takes flight, moving with us along the airstrip. Marc chases us out onto the runway, throwing red flashes after us. Rhen stands in the smoke and shadows at the edge of the trees, arms crossed, watching as we rocket away.
And that’s when I remember he doesn’t want us dead … or even in Hell. He wants me to make him mortal. He thinks it will help somehow with his uprising against Lucifer.
It feels like the earth belches us straight up into the air, leaving my stomach behind. The ground falls away at an alarming rate.
“Are there any airsick bags on this thing?” I ask, just as a red blast—Marc’s last-ditch effort—hits the plane.
Red electricity skitters over every metal surface, and our tiny bird lurches sharply before everything goes dark.
I’m thrown forward, then slammed back as we suddenly change direction from what felt like straight up to what I’m sure is straight down. The sensation of falling is sickening, like the initial drop of a roller coaster, leaving my stalled heart stuck firmly in my mouth.
In the dark, I see Gabe begin to glow and realize his hands are no longer on the controls. He’s holding them up and, just over the roar of the straining engine, I hear him say something that I can’t make out.
The force of the fall has me plastered to the seat, but I feel Luc’s fingers lace into mine. I turn my head and my heart lurches again when our eyes connect. There’s a sudden overwhelming rush of emotion as I realize he could die, right now, because of me. I turned my beautiful demon mortal with my Sway, and, once again, I’ve put him in danger. Staring into his eyes, what flashes before mine isn’t my life. It’s his—his very short life and all the pain I’ve caused him in that brief time.
Gabe’s glow lights up the tiny cabin and, suddenly, the whine of the engine stops. I glance forward and see he has one hand back on the controls. With the other, he reaches forward and flicks a switch.
The plane lurches to the side, throwing me against Luc. I look back at him and his gaze doesn’t waver. I want to reach up and touch him, stroke his face and tell him I love him, but my hands are plastered to my sides, heavy as anvils. Desperation sucks at my aching chest. It can’t be long. Any second we’re going to become a crater in the ground. Any second, I’ll have killed him.
My heart strains against the force of the fall—against the force of the memories. A tear slips from the corner of my eye and drips sideways, landing on Luc’s arm. Only then does he close his eyes, his face pinching in a pained grimace. When he opens them again, they’re moist, and deep, and beautiful.
All of this lasts only a heartbeat, but lost in Luc’s eyes, it feels like forever.
A growl rips from Gabe, and I’m sure this is it. This isn’t the image I saw after the lightning in my head—
white clouds, blue sky
—but it’s close enough.
But, at that instant, there’s a screech of twisting metal and the engine roars to life. The falling sensation stops, and I glance forward to see Gabe pulling up on the controls. His glow fades and the control panel lights flicker then illuminate as power returns. Once we start climbing again, Gabe flashes an anxious glance over his shoulder. “Sorry. It’s going to be bumpy.”
Luc drops my hand and pulls his eyes away from mine, and whatever it was that just happened between us is over.
“No shit,” I mutter.
* * *
We climb in silence, me grasping the edge of the seat cushion so hard I rip the seam. Finally, we level out and I chance a sideways glance at Luc, pressed against my side in the backseat. He’s doing his best to ignore me while I’m doing my best not to throw up on him.
“Let me look at that,” I say again, pointing at his side.
His jaw clenches and he stares straight ahead. “It’s nothing.”
From here, through the hole in his shirt, I can see reddened flesh with white patches that are sure to become blisters soon.
“Please,” I say, catching his eyes.
He holds my gaze for an instant, then gives in, raising his arm so I can get a closer look. The singed edges of his T-shirt are already starting to stick to the wound. I carefully peel the fabric back and lift it to expose the burned area, and my breath catches when I notice the souvenirs of his latest trip to Hell. Smooth pinkish scars still cover most of his chest and back.