MySoultoSave (24 page)

“Is he still out there?” she finally said.

A sympathetic look crossed Tex’s face. “I don’t think so,”
he said. “He was walking away when I came in.”

He’d actually left. She had no idea why that hurt so much.
After all, she’d told him to get out. Screamed it at him. So this shouldn’t
bother her, and she definitely wasn’t going to cry again. He’d betrayed her
trust and she wanted him gone.

And then she said, “Maybe we should go look for him.”

“Logan.” Tex put a hand over hers. “Don’t beat yourself up
over this. He knew exactly what he was doing and he did the right thing by
leaving.”

Despite her best efforts, a few fresh tears escaped. “I
guess so,” she said. “I’m just not sure I did the right thing, letting him go.”

“You’ll get through this. I promise.”

“Sure,” she whispered. Resolving to gain as much control as
she could, she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I really have to wash
my face,” she said. “Will you…stay with me for awhile?”

Tex smiled. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

She stood and made her way to the bathroom—and tried not to
wish that when she got back, it would be Jaeryth waiting for her instead of
Tex.

Chapter Twenty

Eventually, Jaeryth found his way back to the ruined house
where they’d encountered the swarm of Tempters. Yellow police tape formed an X
over the door, and of course, the human attacker was gone. Perhaps Logan had
managed to save him after all. Or the police could have simply collected a
body.

With no other destination in mind, and lacking the energy to
so much as make a decision, he shuffled toward the dilapidated structure,
intending to find a place to sleep. The door appeared loose in its frame. He
tried it, but it was firmly locked.

Resigned to sleeping outdoors, he moved around the house and
discovered a depression in the dirt ground along the foundation. At least he
would be out of sight and slightly sheltered. He lowered himself down, crooking
an arm beneath his head for a pillow, and exhaustion soon claimed him.

His own violent shivering woke him beneath a red-tainted
dawn sky. At some point he’d curled into a fetal position, and his entire body
was stiff and sore. He stretched out gingerly and managed to stand. The meager,
uncomfortable sleep had made him less tired, but now hunger and thirst weakened
him.

He considered returning to Logan to beg her forgiveness. But
she’d made it clear that he was no longer welcome—and his presence would only
make her an easier target. Surely Ronwe, and perhaps even Samael, knew by now
that he’d stopped the human from shooting her. He couldn’t go back.

Instead, he headed deeper into the slums, past the point
where Logan had decided they should turn back. The entire place seemed cold and
lifeless. The few residents stirring at this hour remained indoors, and
occasionally he caught a glimpse of a flickering television or a passing shadow
behind curtained windows.

As he walked, the surroundings shifted gradually from
individual houses to duplexes and small apartment buildings, and he soon found
himself in a business district of sorts. Shops lined both sides of the street,
though most of them appeared closed. And at the end of the block, he discovered
a diner.

It wasn’t the same diner he and Logan had visited. This
building was red-painted wood instead of chrome and glass, and it had a
name—Rosie’s Eggs ‘N More. There were signs of life here. Through the windows,
he could see people seated in booths, enjoying their breakfasts. He watched a
waitress pass by the glass door carrying a tray piled with plates of food. The
sight of it made his mouth water.

This was as good a place as any to stop and rest. There was
a steel pole at the corner where the sidewalks joined. He sat at the base of
it, in the patch of grass bordered by the cement paths, drew his knees up and
crossed his arms over them. The sun had more or less risen, and some of the
coldness had worn from the morning. Altogether not unpleasant.

Several moments after he’d settled in, an older woman in
jeans and a long blue coat exited the diner. He had seen her briefly through
one of the windows and she’d glanced in his direction. She carried a tall,
lidded foam cup in one hand and something wrapped in a napkin in the other. And
she was headed straight for him.

Perhaps he’d done something wrong in sitting here. He
certainly didn’t know the woman and he couldn’t imagine another reason for her
to approach. Wishing to avoid a confrontation, he placed his hands on the
ground to push himself up.

The woman reached him before he could stand. “You look like
you could use some breakfast.” She held out the cup and the napkin-wrapped
bundle. “Here you go.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry. I have no money.”

Confusion flashed across her face and she cocked her head,
as though listening for something. Then she smiled and said, “Well, this is a
gift. It doesn’t cost anything.”

“A gift?”

“That’s right.”

He reached out slowly and accepted the items. The cup was
warm against his hand and the bundle was heavier than it appeared. “Thank you,”
he said. The words seemed insufficient, but he could think of nothing else to
say.

“There’s cream and sugar in the coffee. I hope that’s okay.”
Once again, she appeared to listen. She unzipped the small purse that hung at
her side, produced a five-dollar bill and handed it to him. “Now you have money
too.”

His brow furrowed. This was not typical behavior. Still, the
woman had shown him kindness and he would not be rude. “Thank you, again.” He
strove to come up with a better expression of gratitude, and finally added,
“Have a nice day.”

Her smile returned. “You too,” she said, and walked away.

He stared after her for a moment, until his snarling stomach
demanded that he investigate the bundle. Inside the napkins, five sausage links
rested atop two slices of buttered toast cut into triangles. After his first
night of near starvation at Logan's house, he had learned quickly to recognize
food. He set the coffee aside and took a bite of sausage. His body reacted
instantly, clamoring for more, and he devoured three of them almost without
stopping for breath.

Determined to savor the rest, he sat cross-legged and spread
the napkins on his lap, a makeshift table where he laid out the food. He sipped
at the sugar-laden coffee and nearly moaned in pleasure.

When he’d calmed the beast in his stomach, his thoughts
returned to the woman and her odd behavior, and a terrible suspicion dawned on
him—that she
had
been listening, to something not visible in the mortal
plane. He concentrated on allowing his vision to see further. When his
perceptions shifted, he let out a groan. “Not you again.”

The round-faced Shepherd who had appeared to him at Logan’s
house sat on the grass across from him, mirroring his position. “Now, demon,”
it said. “Is that any way to greet your guardian?”

“Guardian!” Abruptly he remembered that no one else could
see or hear the Shepherd. At least there were no other humans around. He
lowered his voice and said, “Get away from me, you meddling insect. I told you
I don’t want your help.”

“You’re not hungry? Well, then give me the food back.”

He sighed. “Fine. Thank you. Now leave me alone, pest.”

It grinned at him. “I am called Daan. Not insect or pest.”

“And I am called
go away
.” Jaeryth started on a piece
of toast in defiance of the Shepherd’s attempt to take it back. “You angelic
beings are such a pompous lot,” he muttered. “Tempters have no names.”

Daan crossed its arms. “I am not pompous.”

“You are annoying.”

“At least I’m not cranky.”

Jaeryth ignored it. He finished his food, down to the last
crumb of bread, and stared at the grease-stained napkins. The anger that Daan’s
appearance had invoked faded quickly and fresh hopelessness filled him. Why had
he bothered to eat? He was only prolonging the inevitable. Even if he managed
to live, Samael would come for him—if not now, then once Logan manifested as a
full prophet. He refused to believe Ronwe would succeed in his mission. She was
too powerful now and she had Tex to protect her.

But perhaps there was a way for Jaeryth to turn himself in
after all. The woman from the diner had given him money. He could use it to
return to Philadelphia, and there he could seek out Ronwe. The head demon would
no doubt delight in contacting Samael and arranging for him to be delivered to
Hell. And if he failed to find Ronwe, at least the city offered endless
possibilities for death. Surely he could manage to destroy himself there.

And it would keep him away from the temptation of Logan.

He picked up the coffee and stood. “All right, insect…Daan.
You want to help me? I need to find a bus station.”

“Are we going on a bus?” Daan scrambled eagerly to its feet.
“That sounds fun.”

“
I
am going on a bus.”

“Then I am too. You should not be alone.” The Shepherd
hesitated for a moment, and then gestured past the diner. “This way, demon.”

His shoulders slumped. “Jaeryth,” he said. “My name is
Jaeryth.”

Daan smiled. “Now we’re making progress.”

“Oh, bliss.”

As he followed Daan, he considered throwing himself in front
of a bus instead of boarding one. At least then he’d be spared the Shepherd’s
company.

* * * * *

Logan wasn’t sure how she made it through most of Tuesday.
Time passed so slowly, it might as well have stopped. Tex had somehow gotten
her excused from Miss Turner’s home visit, though her caseworker would be there
the next day. She had to pull herself together by then.

He’d also offered to reschedule band practice, but she
insisted on going through with that. The band was all she had left. She wasn’t
going to let them down just before what could be their big break.

At least half a dozen times she’d looked out the front
window, hoping to see Jaeryth standing on her porch as though nothing had
happened. She finally had to tell herself firmly that he wasn’t coming back.

She just couldn’t convince herself that she didn’t want him
to.

As if that wasn’t enough of a complication, she had this
prophet business to sort through. Tex had reluctantly explained the awakening
to her after she’d threatened to quit singing if he didn’t. He said that
prophets weren’t exactly born with their abilities. Whatever talents they had
grew gradually, until they went through some big event that cemented them on
either side—light or dark. Dark prophets committed an unforgivable sin. Usually
murder. And light prophets performed a miracle.

Apparently once they were manifested, both angels and demons
stopped trying to “recruit” them. So she’d be safe from the Tempters when she
established herself as a full prophet. But that didn’t help her much, since she
was pretty sure she couldn’t walk on water or resurrect the dead.

Funny how it was so much easier to become a dark prophet.

Tex picked her up at the usual time and she struggled to
appear normal at practice. Her singing only floundered a few times. She
explained her detachment by claiming exhaustion, and though Blue didn’t appear
to buy it, no one questioned her further. They cut the session short, and when
she got home, she went straight to sleep.

She barely got up in time for the home visit. Miss Turner
came and went with little comment. Tex must’ve told the woman she was sick or
something, because the caseworker was almost sympathetic. Once Miss Turner
left, Logan sat alone at the kitchen table and stared dully at nothing in
particular.

This wasn’t fair. She didn’t ask to be a prophet. How was
she supposed to change millions of people’s lives when she had enough trouble
changing herself? This responsibility was too much for an ex-addict who
happened to be able to carry a tune. She couldn’t bring light to the
world—especially when her own was looking so dark.

She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there when
someone knocked at the door, and her heart thumped and swelled.
Jaeryth.
She just about ran to answer it, banging her shin on the edge of the couch as
she passed it. The pain didn’t even register. She threw the door open and
disappointment instantly dulled her senses again.

“Blue.” She hadn’t even heard the car coming in. “What’s
up?”

“Nice to see you too.” Though the other woman smiled, her
eyes brimmed with concern. “You look like you slept in a gutter.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Blue frowned. “All right, I’m intervening,” she said. “Go
take a shower and get dressed. I’ll wait.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes you do. Move it, woman.”

“Fine.” With a heavy sigh, she shuffled off toward the
bedroom. Blue could be stubborn as hell and she just didn’t have the energy to
fight. She’d just get through whatever this was as quickly as possible.

Ten minutes later, showered and changed, she plodded back to
find Blue sitting on her couch. “I’m dressed,” she said. “Now what?”

“Now we get out of here for awhile.”

She allowed Blue to lead her to the car, then climbed in and
sat motionless while they pulled out. After a moment of silence, Blue said, “I
got a letter from Jacob this morning.”

Vague interest stirred in her. “You did?”

“Yeah. He apologized to me, said he needed to clear his
head. He wasn’t happy performing—he likes to sing, but audiences were never his
thing.” She slowed and stopped at a red light, and a smile surfaced. “He still
loves me. He’s coming back when his tour is done and he’s going to stay.”

“That’s wonderful,” Logan said with real enthusiasm. “Blue,
I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks. But mostly I wanted you to know that if it wasn’t
for you, I never would’ve gotten that letter.”

“Huh?”

“Your confusion is encouraging.” The light changed and Blue
eased across the intersection. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “Before you came
along, I was planning to quit the band. I didn’t think anyone could take
Jacob’s place. Besides, I’m only a bassist. I could stop playing in the middle
of a set and no one would notice.”