Personal Demons (22 page)

Sitting on a pitted lava outcropping over the Lake of Fire, I let the music of Hell welcome me home for the last time. I stare out over the lake at the glossy black hulk of Pandemonium, perched above all of Hell on Flame Island. I admire the orange and red roiling molten lake swirling around the large crags of brimstone, pointing like accusing fingers at Heaven. Its accompanying light show—flickering scarlet and indigo with blue and white flame eruptions—is like Hell’s fireworks. And as the clouds of sulfuric gas emanating from those eruptions engulf me, I breathe them in, savoring the smell of brimstone as it stings my human nose. It’s easy to forget how beautiful home is, at least to us demons.

But then I remember Frannie’s soul—how it took my breath away. True beauty. Nothing like any soul I’ve ever seen in Hell before. Will it still look the same when Belias is through with it?

Pushing that thought away with the ache in my heart, I close my eyes and lay back on the sharp lava rocks. But all I see, feel, taste, smell, as vividly as if Frannie were right here, is her—the essence of the girl who made me question all that I am. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I feel a trickle of moisture evaporate into a puff of steam at the corner of my eye. What I’m sure I
do
feel is my brimstone heart breaking as I lay back and wait for the summons. Because there are no second chances in Hell.

I stare out the windshield as Gabe drives me home, lost in his thoughts. I lean my head on the window as we drive by Taylor’s, and out of nowhere, I feel the lightning strike my brain.

Not again.

And, sure enough, as I groan and close my eyes against the pain, I see Taylor’s dad, laid out on his bed . . . not breathing. My head spins. I’m going to be sick.

“Stop the car!” I yell, and I open my eyes to see that he already has. I push the door open and puke on the pavement. When I turn back to Gabe, he’s not scared or concerned. He’s totally calm. I bolt out of the car and run back to Taylor’s, pounding my fists, one on the door and the other on the bell, till the door opens.

Taylor’s face twists into a scowl. “Fee . . . what’s the deal?”

“Where’s your dad?” I pant.

“Sleeping . . . why? What’s going on?”

“You need to check on him. Right now!”

“Oh, that’s not such a good idea. Seriously, Fee. What’s up?”

I push past Taylor and climb the stairs to her parents’ room. She catches me halfway up the stairs by the back of my shirt and nearly pulls me over backward, but I hold tight to the rail and continue my forward progress, pulling her behind me.

“You can’t go in there, Fee. Stop acting so insane!”

I drag her up the rest of the stairs and push open the bedroom door. And there he is, just like I saw him—except I can see his chest rise and fall. He’s just sleeping.

“Oh, God.” I turn back to Taylor, who’s already pulling me out the door. “Sorry . . . I thought . . .” But as I glance back at him, I see the empty pill bottle on the carpet. I pull against Taylor and take another step into the room. There are three more bottles on the nightstand—all empty.

“Taylor,” I say, pulling free of her, “call 9-1-1.” I run to the side of the bed. “Mr. Stevens, wake up!” I shake him. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Taylor just stands there. I push past her to the phone on the other nightstand and dial 9-1-1. As I explain the emergency, Gabe steps into the room and puts his arm around Taylor. She barely seems to notice, standing rooted to the floor staring at her dad, her eyes wide.

The ambulance arrives five minute later and, as they load her dad in, she turns to me. She doesn’t say anything, but the question is clear in her eyes. It’s a question I can’t answer. I just
shrug. Taylor climbs in with her father, and, as they pull out, sirens blaring, I let loose a flood of unexpected tears. Gabe pulls me to him and walks with me to his car.

“You did a good thing, Frannie.” He doesn’t question how I knew. He doesn’t question anything. He just holds me.

“It’s my fault,” I manage through the sobs.

He lifts my chin with his finger and looks me in the eye. Then his lips trace a course from my forehead, down my temple, across my cheek and brush across my lips. “You need to stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens,” he says, his voice low.

I push him away. “I was going to talk to Dad. Have the church help them.” But I got so wrapped up in my own drama that I forgot. The wave of guilt crashes over me and I let it. I want to feel like crap. It’s the least I deserve.

We pull into my driveway, and Gabe looks around warily, reminding me of Luc doing the same thing the other night. As Gabe steers me up the walk, I slide on my sunglasses so Mom won’t see my red-rimmed eyes.

“You going to be okay?” Gabe’s voice is soft and sympathetic. It almost makes me cry again. I swallow back the lump in my throat.

“Yeah.”

“Okay . . . so you’re not going anywhere else?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good. Lock the door behind you.” He wraps me in a hug, his eyes still darting around.

“Why does everyone want me to lock everything? What’s wrong?”

Pulling away from me, he diverts his eyes, staring at the shrubs next to the front porch. “Nothing, really. Just better safe than sorry these days.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” I say, pushing him further away.

He pulls me back to him, and when he kisses me I press into his hard body. I trail my hands along his chest and down his sides. “Come in with me,” I say, suddenly not wanting to be alone.

He blows out a sigh then quirks a lopsided smile. “I’d love to, but I need to have a conversation with Lucifer. Promise me you’ll lock the door and stay inside.”

“Whatever,” I say, feeling disappointed and weary, and wondering if I have the energy to climb the stairs. “Will you come back?”

“When I can.” He pulls away and looks me in the eyes. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I will be.”

“Get some rest.” He leans in and kisses me, then opens the door, pushing me gently through. “I’ll be back,” he says. He smiles, but his eyes are still dark and darting.

I close the door and call out into the unusually quiet house. No answer. Wow. Since no one’s home, I do what Gabe asked and lock the door.

I only make the third stair before my shaky legs won’t carry me any further. I turn and sit, hugging my knees to my chest. How could I have forgotten to talk to Dad? The one thing I could do to help Taylor and I blew it. Depression settles over me and I tip to the side, lying across the hardwood stair, and think about what a shitty person I am.

But I stopped it.

That’s something, I guess. It’s the first time I’ve seen it and been able to change it. There’s a little comfort in the thought.

After forever, I drag myself up the rest of the stairs. When I get to my room I crank my stereo and flop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. When I close my eyes, Luc is there. And it’s not just the image: I can feel his dark energy, smell his cinnamon. I’m furious with myself when I feel tears seep out of the corners of my eyes. I won’t cry—not over him.

I haul myself up, wander to the window, and lift the blind. Gabe is long gone, but I swear I see the sun glinting off the windshield of a 1968 Shelby Cobra GT through the trees.

Luc?

I imagine running out there and throwing myself at him. But then I flash on Mystery Girl lounging across Luc’s bed and think about calling the police instead. Report him as a stalker.

I peek again. Still there, parked two doors down on the other side of the street. In front of the Brewsters’. In the same place he was parked the night I walked back from Taylor’s. What the hell does he want from me?

With a sudden burst of energy born from rage, I yank my door open and fly down the stairs and out the front door in a flash. The grass is cool under my bare feet as I storm across the lawn. As I cross the street to Luc’s car, I hear loud music pounding and shaking the pavement under my feet. The glare of the sun off the window makes it hard to see into the car, but he’s there, sitting in the shadows. The music volume lowers as the window rolls down. I lean on my hands on the car door, and I’m just about to lay into him when my breath catches and I pull back.

It’s not Luc. But I swear it could be his brother.

“Oh, sorry,” I say when I get my bearings. “I thought you were someone else.”

The stranger smiles at me, eyes glowing. “I’ll be whoever you want me to be,” he purrs. His voice is velvet and there’s something entrancing about it—about him. His intense black eyes won’t release me.

I stare into them as the haunting rhythm of Incubus’s “Love Hurts” plays from his stereo, asking if there’s a spell that I’m under keeping me from seeing the real thing.

“You look so much like a . . . friend of mine,” I say, but my voice sounds to me like an echo from some distant source.

He smiles Luc’s wicked smile. “I hope he’s a close friend.”

I feel my thoughts slip into a black fog. “Um . . . close . . . yeah . . .” And my mind goes totally blank as I walk around the car and open the passenger door.

I grab Frannie’s arm just as she slides into Belias’s car. His hand darts out and grasps her other wrist as he jerks the car forward, pulling Frannie along, then stops.

I’m acutely aware that if Belias and I play this tug-of-war with Frannie, it will tear her apart—literally. But I’m just as aware that if I let her go, she’s his, and I won’t get her back. I let my power flow, weighing the risks. If I hit Belias with it while he’s holding Frannie it could kill her. And even if it doesn’t, any retaliation would. My only hope is that he gets that Hell loses either way. Because right now, Frannie is untagged. If she dies here, at our hands, there’s not much question her soul goes the other direction—which would mean dismemberment and the Fiery Pit for both of us.

I glance down at the ball of power illuminating my right fist,
then look up at him, the threat clear on my face. “Belias, be reasonable. We’re on the same side and she’s my assignment. Just let me take care of this.”

His eyes glow red and the smell of brimstone permeates the warm spring air. “You had your chance. King Lucifer is very disappointed. Told me so Himself when He offered me Beherit’s job.”

“Yeah? Well, get in line,” I say weighing my options. Phasing out of here with Frannie is impossible. Her mortal body wouldn’t survive the shift. So there’s only one choice.

Everything inside me screams as I force my fingers open and let go of her arm.

Belias’s face pulls into a grin that would cause any mortal to wet themselves. “Wise choice,” he says, releasing Frannie’s wrist and reaching across to pull her door closed.

At that second, I summon my infernal power—more than I ever thought I could handle—and level a blast at Belias. A red streak of lightning-hot Hellfire shoots from my fist, lighting up the car and hitting him square in the face. It knocks him back into the door. Clenching my teeth against the pain of that much energy coursing through my body, I lean in and scoop Frannie out of the seat. As she falls out into my arms, she shakes her head and looks up at me, stunned but okay.

I take off running up the street, Frannie in my arms, but Belias phases in front of us, face dark and smoldering—literally. “Nice trick,” he says through gritted teeth, “but you forgot something.” He raises his right fist, glowing red and hot, and points it at me. “I can do that too.”

I glance down at Frannie, cradled in my arms. “Don’t be stupid,
Belias. You’ll kill her, which will only earn you a one-way trip to the Fiery Pit. No kudos, no credit, no promotion. They’ll be no hiding what happened. King Lucifer will know before you ever report back.”

His grin falters slightly as he lowers his fist. But then I catch his glance over my shoulder and draw my power back, throwing a field over Frannie, just as Avaira’s blast hits me in the back. And,
fuck
, that hurts!

I stagger but manage to stay upright. Shaking off the pain, I look down at Frannie’s face. Her eyelids flutter and her breathing is shallow. Black dread creeps through my chest.

How could I have let this happen?

From my arms under Frannie, I push a little heat. Just enough to make her skin flush and cause her to sweat. Without taking my eyes off Belias, the bigger threat, I say nonchalantly, “Good job. You two really
are
that stupid. I’ve always suspected that’s why you could never make First Level, Belias. Just not smart enough. Take a look at what your girlfriend did.” I roll Frannie slightly in my arms so he can see her eyes and the sweat starting to roll off her forehead, as well the steam I’m providing as a prop. “You’ve killed her. She’s toast.” And the thing is, I really hope I’m bluffing, but I’m not totally sure, because the scent of clove and currant is unmistakable—her soul on the surface, waiting for an angel to come collect it.

Belias’s expression turns to rage, but it’s not directed at me. He’s looking over my shoulder at Avaira. “Damn it, Avaira. That wasn’t the plan!”

“Sorry.” I can hear the smirk in her sultry voice. “It was just too easy. I didn’t think I hit him that hard.”