Redemption (34 page)

Conor shook his head.

“There’s no guarantee it will work,” he said hoarsely. I knew what he was referring to. The risk was great, and I still wasn’t sure it was worth it.

“Do you love me, Conor?” I asked him suddenly.

His head snapped up and his eyes met mine. His gaze was conflicted.

“I do,” he admitted. There was no doubt in his voice. My heart clenched.

“Then let me go,” I said softly as I moved to stand before him. I looked up into his face.

“If you love me, then let me make this decision. Let me go now. Let me make this sacrifice for you and for Monroe. Give me that."

 His hand came to rest on my cheek, and I didn’t pull away. I wouldn’t this time.

“I’m not sure I can,” he said as he bent over me.

Our faces were so close I could smell the mint on Conor’s breath. It was such a familiar, comforting feeling that I found myself smiling.

“Yes, you can,” I said as I placed my hand along his cheek as well.

Conor’s eyes darkened. I saw the guilt there. I knew he felt he'd failed me because he hadn't been there to stop my aunt and Damon. He was young. I didn't blame him. I let my eyes show him that.

“Let me go,” I added gently.

He closed his eyes a moment as if needing the time to make a decision. They opened again reluctantly.

“You better come back, Red,” Conor said darkly.

I grinned. The smile made his frown slip away. I didn’t promise to come back, but I let my eyes be the open book he’d told me I was. They promised I’d try. Conor moved so close our noses touched.

“I love you, Red," he whispered.

“I know you do."

I couldn’t say it back, but he didn’t seem to expect me too. I started to pull away, but he held me tightly and brought his other hand up to rest on the other side of my face,

“Give me this much,” he said huskily before placing his lips firmly on my own.

The contact was so unexpected I froze as his lips moved over mine. The pressure was pleasant and warm, and I thought about the words he’d just said.
Give me this much.
I kissed him back. That much I could do. My hand slid to his shoulder and I gave everything I had to that kiss. Fire burned between us. I did it because I knew he needed it. I did it because I wasn’t sure I could ever kiss him again. Not in that way. Conor pulled away.

“Come back,” he pleaded softly.

I nodded as I backed away. I turned to find Marcas watching me with an unreadable expression. I let my eyes lock with his. I wasn’t going to feel bad for that kiss.

“Let’s go,” I said as I moved next to Marcas.

He turned and walked back down the corridor. I followed him. Neither one of us said a word as we moved until we reached the stairway that led to the street above.

“Do you love him?” Marcas asked unexpectedly.

I looked up at his back. He had changed clothes and wore a new leather jacket. He climbed the stairs. I followed. 

“In my own way,” I answered quietly.

Marcas stopped at the street and peered cautiously into the night. I moved in close to him and fisted my hands into his jacket. I was nervous and the contact made me feel better. He shifted and my hands fell away.

“You don’t like to be touched, do you?” I asked him lightly.

I didn’t want him to know that it hurt when he pulled away. I didn’t even like the man for God’s sake, but he was all I had at the moment and I was scared.

“No, I don’t like to be touched."

 I looked out into the street. It was empty. The one time I had the chance to see Italy and, of course, it’d be at night.

“No contact at all?” I asked.

I couldn’t let it go. Everyone needed some kind of affection. Was it different for Demons? Was it always all about hatred and sin? Marcas stepped out into the street and turned toward me. His face looked pale in the darkness, and I could tell he was irritated.

“Do you want to touch me, Blainey?"

 My gaze shot to his. What a bastard thing to say! And just when I was beginning to feel we were making some type of progress. Not friends maybe but at least more civil.

“Not in the way your tone suggests, Craig. Not if my life depended on it,” I answered crossly as I moved into the street next to him. He turned away.

He started across a stone path next to the building we had been in and I stumbled as I followed. There were lights throughout the city, but the alley he was moving into was dark. I couldn’t see a thing. Starting to reach out to him again, I stopped. I wasn’t going to touch him now.

“You could see in the dark if you tried,” Marcas said from in front of me.

My eyes narrowed. “How?”

 I’d always been almost blind in the dark. My mother used to joke that I was night blind. Marcas quit walking and turned around. I almost bumped into him. He reached a hand out and steadied me before placing a hand on each side of my head. Warmth flowed into me.

“Close your eyes, Blainey,” Marcas ordered.

 I looked up at him in the dark.

“I thought you didn’t like to be touched."

His hands were in my hair, and I felt him pull it slightly in agitation. It made my toes tingle.

“Just shut up, Blainey, and close your eyes."

This time I complied.

“Imagine a light. When you see it, watch it grow and expand around you,” Marcas said quietly. His voice was hypnotic, but even if it hadn’t been, the task would have been simple enough. I’d always had a great imagination. Light blossomed in front of me, and I pulled it toward me with my mind. I stepped into it.

“When you have it pulled around you, open your eyes,” Marcas continued.

 I put my hands up and placed them over his. Gently, I pushed his away. If he didn’t like to be touched, then I didn’t either. Our hands fell apart, and I opened my eyes.

“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed as I glanced around me. The alley was still dark, but I could see everything in it plainly. I looked at Marcas. Every line of his face was visible to me.

“What did you do?” I asked him in awe. He turned away.

“I didn’t do anything. You did. It’s part of being a Naphil.”

 He had started to walk away, and I rushed to catch up with him.

“I’ve never been able to do any of this before,” I said reasonably.

He had to have done something. Maybe it was part of being bound to him. His powers? Marcas kept walking.

“You didn’t try before,” Marcas said simply. “But it’s not the first time someone’s tried to show you how.”

 I stopped dead in my tracks. What did he mean? Marcas came to the end of the alley and stopped, but he didn’t turn around. I didn’t move.
Look for the light, Day
.

“Jesus!” I mumbled under my breath. My father. The dream.

“Is that how you knew to show me?” I asked.

 I knew he’d seen my dream. I’d known it on the plane, and I had been grateful to him for not commenting on it.

“Demons can already see in the dark. Angels can too. Because you are half mortal, you have to work a little more at it. But the power is still there,” Marcas answered.

I gave that some thought before moving to catch up with him.

“What does my dream mean?” I asked him as we started to move again. We stuck to the alleyways. I wondered if I’d even get to see Italy.

“It’s not my dream to decipher,” he answered.

I rolled my eyes. Why couldn’t anything ever be simple? If he saw the meaning, why couldn’t he just tell me? And why the hell didn't my dad find a simpler way of getting in touch with me? Was the dream even from him? Marcas came to the end of an alley and turned again. I was getting tired of walking.

“Is there a faster way to get where we’re going?” I asked Marcas wearily.

“We could fly,” he said from in front of me. I shuddered.

“I don’t know which would be worse, the height or you having to endure touching me."

Marcas ducked under an overhanging roof.

“Do you, by any chance, have an off button?” Marcas asked.

I followed him under the roof without having to stoop at all.

“Didn’t you know? I’m one of a kind, Craig, with a few necessary malfunctions,” I grumbled as we moved into a small courtyard. The house it belonged to was small. A cross was hung carefully on the arched wooden door. Marcas moved up along the walk to the small porch beyond. I followed carefully.

“The cross doesn’t bother you?” I asked Marcas as we moved to stand in front of the door. He reached up and knocked.

“You read too much,” Marcas answered as the cross on the door shook suddenly.

My eyes widened, and I moved closer to the Demon. My hand found its way into his jacket. To hell with his dislike for touch! There was no telling what would open the door. Marcas didn’t shake me loose. Someone yelled in Italian from within and Marcas answered. The door creaked open.

“Speak English,” Marcas said coldly to the figure that appeared.

I peered around Marcas and found myself staring at an old, stooped woman with gray-peppered black hair twisted into a severe bun. She wore a dark blue house dress and had a rosary hanging plainly around her neck. She was scowling.

“What do you want, Demonio?” The woman asked harshly.

There was evidently no love lost between the two of them. Marcas put his hand on top of the door and shoved it open. The woman backed up hurriedly while sprouting a nice string of what I assumed was Italian curse words. He moved into the house and I moved with him.

“Be gone, you lousy Demonio!” she shouted. Marcas’ eyes glowed red.

“Now, Maria, I’ve heard much nicer things from you before," Marcas crooned.

 The woman spat at his feet. Her ire was evident, but the fight was slowly draining out of her. There was no denying that Marcas had the upper hand.

“What do you want?” she asked again as Marcas moved further into the house.

I let go of his jacket but stayed close to his side. Maria switched on a light and I blinked. It was too bright, too fast.

“Close your eyes,” Marcas said softly. “Imagine the light you wrapped yourself in earlier suddenly shutting itself off."

I complied quickly. I opened my eyes and the light looked normal again. Maria had gone stock still, and her complexion was pale. Her eyes were focused on me.

“Holy mother of God!” she swore as she crossed herself. She glared at Marcas. Her fingers entangled themselves in her rosary.

“What have you done?” she asked him forcefully.

She held her hand out to me, and I looked at it warily. 

“It’s all right,” she soothed. “I won’t hurt you, Angel.”

 My head snapped up. What had she said? I looked up at Marcas.

“She has the Sight. It’s a blessing some are bestowed which allows them to see what creatures like us are,” Marcas explained. Maria clucked.

“It’s a curse, Demonio. Not a blessing. I see too many of your kind lately,” she snarled as she urged me to take her hand again. This time I placed my right hand in hers. It was papery but soft and dry. I’m sure mine were soaked with sweat. Maria’s eyes widened.

“A half-breed,” she muttered.

She pulled me to a scarred kitchen table and urged me to sit.

“It can’t be,” she said to herself.

I sat down. Marcas moved in behind me.

“She’s the daughter of Bezaliel,” Marcas said.

Maria looked up at him wide-eyed. She glanced at my face again. She shook her head and moved away from the table muttering to herself in Italian. She reached into a cupboard and came back to the table bearing two china tea cups. I noticed she didn’t offer one to Marcas. I nodded my thanks.

“And she’s not a monster? Her mother?” the woman asked as she took a kettle and placed it on a small stove.

The house was small. There appeared to be only three rooms and they were all open to each other. Rosaries hung everywhere. Fresh herbs hung above an old fashioned stove and crocheted throws were flung over threadbare furniture, the original colors of the sofa and chair unrecognizable due to age. At the moment, they appeared grey. 

“A Sethian descendant,” Marcas answered. Maria paused.

“Pure?”

Marcas nodded. Maria started sprouting things in Italian again. I would be amused if I wasn’t so confused. What were we doing here? The kettle whistled and Maria moved back to the table. She sat opposite me. She stared at me for some time before glancing up at Marcas.

“What are you doing with a Naphil?” she asked suspiciously. “I would have hoped you had learned your lesson, Demonio.”

I glanced up at him. Lesson? Marcas avoided my gaze.

“She’s bound to me,” he answered.

Maria swore. She reached across the table and grabbed my left hand. I tried pulling it away, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Look at me,” Maria demanded.

I did as she asked. I didn’t see a way to get around it. Marcas sure as hell wasn’t any help. Maria took one look in my eyes and cursed again, her eyes glancing down at the wedding and engagement rings on my finger.