Soul Survivor (22 page)

Raul took another long sip of coffee before placing it down on the tray in front of him. “There's so much religion here. So much community—I fell in love with the place. Luis and I grew up in New Orleans, but when I first visited Utah, it just seemed so pure. The complete opposite of the drunken party town I grew up in.”

I was still staring into the glass case, when I saw her reflection—the Banshee's. I gasped and swiveled around to find her almost directly behind me. Murky tears cascaded from her eyes. I glanced past her at Damien and Raul, who were still engaged in some sort of conversation. “What is it?” I whispered. “C'mon, speak!” Neither man seemed to hear or notice me talking to nothingness.

She glanced to the door, then back to me again, her eyes widening. My gut wrenched. “Is it Drew?” She didn't respond, but more tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Oh, my Hell,” I said, louder than I meant. Both men turned to look at me. I rushed to Damien, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. “I-I just remembered, I have a thing. A meeting. Back at the hotel. We have to go—”

“But—”

“We need to go
now
.”

Damien looked at me curiously, but knew better than to argue. “Okay.” He nodded and took Raul's hand once again. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Nunez-Buckley. If we have any other questions we'll be in touch. Or if you think of anything that might be relevant, don't hesitate to call.” Damien passed him a business card.

“Absolutely,” Raul said, taking the card between two fingers. “Ms. Lamb . . . do you have a card as well?”

“Don't push your luck.” Damien put his arm around my shoulders and ushered us out into the night.

 

 

“Because I thought you were finally acknowledging
us
.” He was back to his calm self. No longer yelling, he was cool as he turned to straighten the room, tidying what sparse items we had in there. “Go home, Monica.”

“W-what? This
is
my home!”

D
amien raced us back to the hotel in record time, swinging wildly into a parking spot near the front. Before his car was even in park, I was hopping out and running through the front doors.

I rushed for the elevators, pressing the button again and again as though that would help the car come faster. After a few seconds, I abandoned the elevator, making a run for the stairs.

“Monica!” Adrienne's voice echoed in the lobby and I halted mid-sprint, turning to look for her.

She was standing in the middle of the lobby, hands out at her sides as if saying,
What the fuck
?

I ran toward her. “Where's Drew?” I called out.

“He's right over there.” She gestured flippantly to the restaurant right off the lobby. “We saw you charge through here like a bat out of . . . well, you know.”

“Oh, my Hell.” I collapsed against the wall. “He's okay? Nothing's wrong?”

“He's fine.... We're just having a late dinner. What happened?”

“I-I saw the Banshee,” I gasped, catching my breath as I bent over with my hands on my knees. “And I c-could have sworn Drew was in danger.”

Damien came running up behind Adrienne. “Goddamn, Mon. Everything okay in here?” He looked to Adrienne, who nodded.

“Of course he's fine. What do you think, I can't do a simple protective detail?”

Damien chewed the inside of his cheek and put a hand on my shoulder. “See? He's fine.”

“I want to see him for myself,” I said, glaring at Adrienne.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let's go.”

We headed to the restaurant, where I saw Drew staring at us through the window in front of their table.

As we walked, Adrienne talked behind me, more to Damien, I believe. “You're telling me that she's the only one who can see this fairy of death? All we're going on with this is Monica's interpretation of some red-headed hag?”

“I know what I saw, Adrienne. Drew is a target. And being that he's
your
boyfriend, I'm surprised that you're not more concerned by this.”

Her sigh was exaggerated and audible from behind me. “It just seems a little—excessive, that's all I'm saying.”

“I'm glad to hear you say that,” Damien said, looking through his phone and checking an email. “I got a call from Andowe just now. He wants us to pay a visit to Sonja's exboyfriend. Tonight would be preferable.”

“What?” I hissed, spinning to face them. “You can't leave Drew here alone. It's not safe.”

“We won't leave him alone.” Damien slid a hand around my waist and pushed me along. “You'll keep an eye on him, right, Monica?”

Adrienne clicked her tongue and Damien flicked a glance back to her. “That would be okay, right, Adrienne?”

“Oh, sure. Just peachy.”

“That is, if you think you can handle it, babe?”

“Don't be stupid. Of course I can handle it.” But as I looked through the window at Drew, that little gnawing in my gut was unsettling.

 

After Drew finished his meal, we were back in his room watching television. “You know”—he cleared his throat—“you really don't have to stick around with me. I'll probably just pass out.”

I shrugged knowing this would be the hardest part—convincing him to let me stick around while Adrienne and Damien were out. He was spread out on one bed and I was on the other with my back propped against the headboard. “I know—but what else would I be doing back in my room? I'd just be watching the exact same TV as you are. . . .”

“Really?” he said, glancing at me with a smile. “You'd be watching
American Choppers
?”

“Um, yeah. I love a good hog.” My face split into a smile and Drew's grin widened.

“You always were a terrible liar.” He laughed and threw a pillow, which I caught between two hands. I tossed the pillow behind my back for extra support.

“Okay, fine. I wouldn't be watching this exactly. But I'd just be in my room watching
something
.” He shook his head, directing his focus back to whatever American flag motorcycle they were building this time. “You ever ridden on a bike?” Drew asked.

I nodded. “A few times. It was fun. Cold . . . but fun.”

“Yeah, that's part of the reason why that crowd wears so much leather.”

I snuck another glance at Drew's face. He was unshaven, reddish stubble peppering his jaw and chin. He looked relaxed around me for the first time in months. Granted, a large part of that reason was probably that we were on separate beds. But still. It was a nice change.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “You and Damien, huh?”

I could hear the pain in his question and it made my stomach twist. But then again, he was the one who had made his choice. He'd chosen the angel. I nodded. “Yeah. Me and Damien,” I answered even though I wasn't even sure if I was speaking the truth. We'd hooked up once. In our worlds, that does not make a relationship. Not even close.

Drew played with the drawstring on his hoodie and put on a brave smile. “That's good. I like Damien—he's a good guy.”

The lump caught in my throat. Drew's acceptance was like the final dagger in our chance for love. The fact that he wasn't even going to fight for me.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “He is a good guy.”

“I mean, he's still not good enough for
you,”
Drew added quietly, looking up from his hands to meet my eyes. “But he's better than most of the assholes I see you with.”

Warmth swelled in my chest and I tried to surreptitiously wipe away an errant tear that sprung from my leaky eyes. “Monica.” Drew swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting up. “If he makes you happy, why are you crying?”

His green eyes burned into mine and I bit my lip to stop the cascade of tears from spilling over my cheeks more than they already had. “Because I miss you,” I whispered. “I miss my best friend.”

I closed my eyes and heard rather than saw him come over to the bed I was on. I felt the weight as he sat next to me. Felt his arm slide around my shoulders and pull me into his strong chest. His stubble pricked into my face as he held me close and I didn't mind the scratchiness of it one bit. “I miss you, too,” he whispered. “You're going to come back and work at the coffee shop after all this, right? I mean, you didn't really quit, did you?”

I swallowed and nuzzled into his chest more, shrugging beneath his warm hands. “I don't know. I have to think about it. We may be better off not working together every day. It doesn't mean I wouldn't still be your number-one customer. . . .”

“For my sake, I hope you stay.”

I shrugged again. “I might. But I should start thinking more long-term.”

He sighed. “You know—I've been debating selling the cafe.”

That caught my attention. I jolted up, staring at him, my mouth gaping open. “What? That's . . . that's crazy. You love that place!”

With his thumbs, he brushed away my stray tears and angled my chin to look at him. “I love the community. I don't know that I love the business. Hell.” He chuckled. “I don't even really like coffee all that much. Besides”—his voice was barely a whisper—“if you're no longer there, it won't feel the same, anyway.” He looked down and smiled. “You know,” he said with a sigh, “I've always wanted to see Alaska. It's been a dream of mine to live way out there. I love the snow—damn, but I hate Vegas heat. I hate crowded cities.”

“So, why not? Why don't you go?”

Drew shrugged, a wistful look creeping along his features. “Adrienne hates the cold.”

I decided to let that one go and instead nuzzled closer, enjoying the closeness after feeling stripped of our friendship for so long. “What have you been doing here during the days while we were all working this case?”

I felt his eyes roll. “God. I feel like I've done everything this city has to offer. I've been hiking, rafting. Saw the sites, saw the town. There's a great bookstore you'd love. I'll take you there tomorrow—if you have time, of course.”

I nodded. “I bet I can make time.”

There was another pause before he interrupted the silence again. “Monica, what's going on lately? I know I'm not a ‘consultant' like you or a detective like Adrienne and Damien, but . . .” He trailed off and sighed. His chest rose and fell from beneath my cheek. “Something's up. I know it. And I can't help but feel like everyone's keeping some huge secret from me.”

I pulled back and looked up into his green eyes. They regarded me with warmth, but also skepticism. As though he might not believe whatever was next to come from my mouth. Could I tell him? I know it's against every rule Saetan and Mia, Queen of the Succubi, have set up for us . . . but he was surrounded by all of us so much more than most humans were. I opened my mouth, not knowing what exactly I was about to say.

The door pounded on the other side, making us jump apart. Drew swiped a hand down his face, guilt weighing heavy in his features. He stood, walking over to the door.

“Wait.” I held out a hand to stop him, grasping for his wrist. “Don't answer that!”

“Why not?”

Why not? A damn good question . . . one I didn't have an answer for.

“Monica!” Kayce's voice on the other side of the door made my heart jump into my throat.

Drew gestured to the door. “See? It's just Kayce.”

“No!” I whispered, squinting my eyes closed. She could of course hear everything on our side of the door. “Drew, don't let her in here,” I whispered as quietly as I could, crossing my fingers that maybe she didn't hear that. I could easily be overreacting about the phone call I'd heard, but my trust with her was waning. She was the last person I wanted to see at the moment.

He rolled his eyes, ignoring me. “Monica, don't be ridiculous.” He took the chain off the door and it swung open. Kayce's eyes flashed with anger as she looked around the room, gaze landing on me. She looked as though she could have spit bullets right into my skull.

“Oh, hey, Kayce.” I did my best to put on a casual smile.

“ ‘Oh, hey?' ” she mimicked. “Are you fucking serious? Why didn't you want him to open the door.”

I glanced from her to Drew and back again. “We were . . . having a moment.”

Drew looked at me with wide eyes, mouth gaping open at me. “We were . . . uh . . .” He coughed into his fist, not daring to meet either of our eyes. “Uh . . . well, that is we were . . .”

“Oh, my god,” Kayce said, rolling her eyes and slamming the door behind her. “I don't give a shit that you two were about to make out or
whatever
.” Her head snapped to look at me. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

“Yeah, Kayce . . . this really isn't a good time.”

“Why not?” Drew butted in. “We're just watching TV.”

My teeth ground together. Why did he always have to stick his nose where it didn't belong?

“Besides”—Kayce held up Aaron's iPad in her hand—“this is kind of important.”

“Fine,” I said, falling onto the bed. “But we'll talk in here.”

“Okay.” Kayce hesitantly took a seat on the bed across from me, glancing at Drew.

He cleared his throat, obviously feeling the tension between us. “Okay. Well, I'm just going to hop in and take a quick shower while you two . . .” His words faded; then he rolled his eyes and headed for the bathroom. “. . . do whatever it is you're going to do.”

Kayce tossed the iPad on the bed between us. “I decoded the message. Not that you even
deserve
my help.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“You went through my things, Monica.” Kayce's eyes narrowed and her voice held venom that sent a shiver down my spine. She sounded more than angry. She sounded . . . deadly. “And I couldn't help but thinking . . . why would my best friend be snooping in my bags?”

“Can we just talk about the message first?” I swallowed and swiped my finger across the iPad screen.

“Oh, sure. Whatever Queen Monica wants.” Kayce yanked the iPad from my grip.

“Hey—!”

“It was easy to decode. This guy's a moron. Probably the worst assassin they could have chosen, lucky for you.” She shoved the iPad back into my hands with one eyebrow raised. “Once I figured out his code, I plugged the sequence into my program and it decoded the message for me.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, looking down at the screen. “So, what is it?”

Kayce shrugged. “Not sure . . .”

“It looks like a poem . . . a weird poem. ‘Shriek and toil and burn and snare; eye of toad and newt's mad glare. When you look around and find, your actions will forever bind. Take care and when foils foe; you will burn, your innards glow.' ” I felt the magic winding around my tongue, taking hold of my breath and seeping out of my body. “Oh, shit.”

“Right?” Kayce exclaimed. “That was like the worst fucking poem ever. God, this guy is stupid in so many ways.”

“It wasn't a poem,” I whispered, bringing my fingers to my lips, which still tingled. “It was a spell.” A spell I had just completed in some way or another.

I braced myself for what was to come. Something magical—a pop or a crack signaling that whatever I had read aloud had changed anything in my existence. But nothing happened. The room was filled with silence; dead air hung around us.

“So what?” Kayce said, her voice filled with annoyance. She was getting to her breaking point—I knew the sound. And the feeling. “It's not like either of us can activate it.”