Redemption (22 page)

“Okay, then. Dinner’s ready when you want it. Dad had business out of town, and Robert is about to help me with this mess,” she warned before heading for the stairs. Monroe grinned.

“Robbie, watch out! She’s reverted to Robert!” Monroe yelled before pushing me toward the kitchen. I stumbled forward. Once inside, Monroe pushed me onto a bar stool.

“So, what are we going to do about all this?” Monroe asked.

I looked at my phone and shrugged. I’d been trying to reach my sister since we left the library. I wasn’t getting any answer at the Abbey.

“I honestly don’t know,” I mumbled.

I pulled a grocery list pad in front of me, and began doodling on it with a pen nearby.

“None of this makes sense,” I added as Monroe pulled the notepad away and replaced it with a dumdum. She popped a piece of Hubba Bubba in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“My mom may wonder why she needs to pick up ‘Marcas’ at the super market.” she said knowingly, and I looked at the notepad she held up warily. Marcas’ name was scrolled on the first four lines. What the hell? Then it hit me.

“Marcas!” I cried out before jumping down off the bar stool.

Monroe watched wide-eyed.

“We get it. You’re obsessed. Do you have to clue in my mom and brother?”

 I shook my head.

“I need to find Marcas! He can tell me what’s going on,” I said.

Monroe looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.

“You want to go searching for a Demon vampire?” Monroe asked. I nodded and Monroe put a hand against my forehead.

“Are you ok? Running any fever? Seeing two Roe’s instead of one?”

 I ignored her. She didn’t take that well.

“What the fuck, Dayton? He could kill you!” she cried out before covering her mouth with her hands when she realized she’d raised her voice. I looked over at her and frowned.

“He’s had two chances to try already, and he hasn’t done anything,” I pointed out. Monroe snorted.

“And if he’s the one your sister is suddenly warning you about—"

I shook my head. I couldn’t keep living in a hole, always hiding.

“If that’s the case, then he
is
the one I want to find.”

My words were more courageous than I felt.

Chapter 18

They are the children of a cursed race, Demons partly by blood. Whatever mortality they have comes from their father. I hope it’s enough.

~Bezaliel~

“You’ve totally lost your marbles, you know that!” Monroe hissed as we rounded the corner of Everett’s. I wasn’t sure I disagreed, but I didn’t know what else to do.

“You should have let me call Conor,” Monroe added vehemently.

 I stopped at the entrance to the alleyway, my gaze searching the darkness.

“He would have tried stopping us."

 
"And that would have been a bad thing?"
I heard Monroe mutter under her breath, and I smiled. Probably would have been the wiser thing to do but I had already walked the plank so why not take the plunge?

“What do we do now?” Monroe asked at my back.

I shrugged. I wasn’t really sure.

“Call him I guess."

 Monroe snorted.

“It’s like we’re looking for a dog, not a Demon. Here Marcas, Marcas. Here boy! That’s a good boy!” Monroe quipped.

 I stepped into the alley. I couldn’t help but snicker. Imagining Marcas as a big loveable puppy wasn’t remotely possible.

“That’s right, Monroe. Goad the Demon,” I said snidely. Monroe "hrruumphed."

“You got a better idea?”

I didn’t. I just walked instead of answering, moving deeper into the shadows. I could hear Monroe cursing as she followed behind me. I told her she should have left her platform shoes at home, but she claimed that would be sacrilegious.  I was quite thankful for my trusty old pair of Nikes. As soon as I reached the back entrance of the club, I stopped. Monroe ran into me.

“Ow!” she complained.

I barely heard her. My attention was riveted on the spot of the wall where Marcas and I had first encountered each other. There were crimson stains on the pale bricks, and I touched it hesitantly. Blood? I could almost see his face inches from mine, my blood on his fingertips.

“Marcas,” I whispered. Something told me there was no reason to yell. He’d hear me anyway.“Where are you?”

 Monroe had grown silent behind me. We stood there for several minutes. Monroe grew restless.

“We should go, Day. There’s nobody here,” she said.

 I looked back down the way we had come. I was just about to agree with her when I
felt
him. I glanced around me wildly. The alley was empty.

“What is it?” Monroe asked hesitantly.

I narrowed my eyes and looked harder into the dark.

“He’s here,” I said without thinking.

Monroe stiffened. “Where?”

 I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. I just knew he was there. I felt his presence like an electrical current, warm and slightly uncomfortable.

“Where are you?” I asked the alley again, louder this time. Still no reply. His presence was near.

“I need answers!” I pleaded.

The energy shifted. It seemed he’d created more distance between us. The current wasn’t as strong.

“Let’s go,” Monroe begged.

There were voices coming from outside the club. Marcas’ energy disappeared. He’d left me.

“Let’s go,” I agreed.

We moved out of the alley and ran to my car. I cast one more glance behind me as we drove away. There were red spots shining from the alleyway. I didn’t go back to find out why. I wanted out of this. I wanted to leave the Abbey and be rid of the whole mess. I had hoped Marcas could tell me how.

“That was counterproductive,” Monroe said after we’d re-entered her driveway. Neither one of us had spoken since the club.

I looked at her as I parked and pulled the keys from the ignition.

“He was there, Roe. I felt him,” I said confidently as I climbed out of the car.

She climbed out on the other side and looked at me over the top of the Pontiac.

“Felt?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know how to describe it. I just knew he’d been there.

“Geez, Day. This isn't
Star Wars
. If he was there, why didn’t he come out?” Monroe asked as she motioned toward the house. I followed her through the garage and into the kitchen.

“I don’t really know,” I whispered as she walked over to the fridge and pulled out two cola cans and a plastic container of leftovers. Fried chicken.

We both popped the drink cans open simultaneously and took a bite of the battered white meat. I chewed quickly, my hunger decreasing as I devoured the food. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I looked at Monroe. She was eerily quiet.

"Do you have any dumdums?" I asked.

She looked up.

"You're thinking of candy now?" she asked incredulously.

I put my hand to my forehead. Sweat was beaded along my brow. There hadn't been enough sugar in the food or the coke.

Monroe's eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you ate?"

 I shrugged. It wasn't lack of food. I'd always eaten a lot of dumdums during the day. Maybe it was my blood sugar. She sighed.

"I have some in my car," she said calmly.

I shook my head and walked over to her refrigerator, grabbing a spoon out of a drawer nearby before dipping it into a bag full of sugar Mrs. Jacobs kept in her refrigerator door. I filled the spoon and shoved it in my mouth. Monroe shrieked.

"Geez, Dayton!"

I ignored her, the sugar dissolving wonderfully on my tongue. I felt instantly better, and I walked back over to the bar. Monroe stared at me. I stared back. I could tell the sugar thing had disturbed her, but I'd always eaten a lot of sweets.

“We should call Conor,” Monroe said finally.

I shook my head. “No!” 

Monroe’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?” she persisted.

I put my coke down and walked toward the stairs at the back of the kitchen. I just wanted to go to bed and that was a loaded question. Monroe followed.

“Does this have anything to do with Conor’s new potential beau status?” she asked me as we thudded up the stairs. I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t going to let it go.

“Who uses words like beau anymore?” I asked her as I marched into her bedroom.

Monroe closed the door behind us and pushed past me to plop onto her bed. Her room was three times the size of mine and crowded with vintage furniture, posters, and knickknacks. I settled on a black bean bag chair next to the white comforter covered bed. The sheets underneath were as black as the bean bag. Monroe had a thing for mixing black and white. She felt it was retro.

“Don’t change the subject,” she warned as I leaned back enough I was staring at the ceiling. I
so
didn’t want to go there.

“I don’t know, Roe. I just don’t want to call Conor on this one. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

 Monroe stood up and pulled her comforter back before walking over and pulling out a drawer on the other side of the bed. She and her brother had to share a room once when the Jacobs had renovated their house. Their parents had purchased a trundle bed rather than trying to move two beds into one room. Monroe had kept the bed. It came in handy when I stayed over.

“I think you’re conflicted if you want my opinion. Here, you take the top mattress, I’ll take the trundle. You’re the guest,” Monroe offered.

I moved to the bed. Normally, I’d argue, but exhaustion made me unreasonably compliant.

“I’m not letting you off that easy, but you look ready to faint so we’ll rest on it for now.” Monroe said. I smiled at her sleepily.

“I’ll take the reprieve,” I said before taking a pair of black fold over yoga pants Monroe handed me from her dresser.

I shed my jeans and pulled them on before climbing into the bed. The loose red shirt I had on over a black cami was comfortable enough I didn’t ask her for a shirt. Sleep came almost immediately.

The bedroom was dark when I woke up to find him sitting there watching me, his face highlighted by the full moon outside Monroe's open bedroom window. It should have upset me, but it didn’t.

“We need to talk,” he murmured into the darkness, his voice louder than it should seem. Not because he spoke loud, but because the moment was too intimate, too clandestine not to make even the smallest voice sound like a yell.

I glanced over at Monroe warily, but she never stirred. He’d had his chance to talk to me. I’d sought him out. He’d disappointed me.

“Talking is overrated. Can’t you just disappear?” I asked him coldly.

I was tired of working on everyone else’s schedule rather than my own. And it was late. I wasn’t anyone’s servant. Not a chance. No matter how hard it was for me to shake the heavy weight the lack of truth placed on my shoulders. Marcas leaned forward, and I watched in both awe and fear as his eyes shone brightly in the darkness.

“You can’t even begin to understand how much I’d love to do just that. I even tried, but the pull is too strong. My brother's groupies have more than destroyed any chance of me going anywhere,” Marcas said through gritted teeth, and I bit my lip to keep from cursing. My mouth wasn’t going to help my situation any.

“I want you gone,” I whispered groggily instead, my eyes shining with dread.

 I just wanted them all to leave me alone so I could pick up the pieces of what little life I had left and move on. It’s why I’d sought him out tonight, for answers and to find out how I could end all of this. Marcas shook his head.

“You think either of us has that choice right now? Because if you think we do, you’d be dead wrong,” Marcas said sourly. I blinked. I was fully awake now. 

“What do you mean?” I asked. Of course we had a choice.

“Oh, quit pretending you don’t know!” Marcas spat, and I backed away from him until I was pushed up against the headboard of Monroe’s bed in an awkward sitting position.

I refused to look at him. Know what? What was I supposed to know?

“You can’t run away from this. You can turn a deaf ear and a blind eye, but when you open yourself back up, it’s still going to be there,” Marcas pointed out.

I continued to stare at my lap. What was he talking about? The club?

“What am I running away from?” I asked.

Everyone around me was crazy! Plain crazy! And my aunt was the most mentally impaired of them all. Sleep had helped me draw one final conclusion. I didn’t have to stay at the Abbey and be a part of this crazy Sethian/Demon idea. This whole thing was ludicrous. Marcas and his brother could go back to Hell. Literally. Marcas didn’t answer. Minutes ticked by and I finally risked a glance only to find him watching me cautiously. Did he think I was falling apart? I wasn’t weak, damn it. Nervous break downs were NOT my style. I just didn’t want to be a part of whatever was going on. I wanted to be normal. The whole thing was making me angry.