“I’m serious,” I said, deciding the only way to deal with Deacon’s threats against my sister’s body was to push them aside and hope we never got that far. “It’s one thing for me to play double agent if I’m working by myself. I can pretend to lose a battle. I can wing it. I can somehow figure out a way to keep my cover without killing the good guys.”
“You can’t do that with a partner.”
“I know.” Even though Clarence had assured me that those guarding the relics would be neither good nor bad, I didn’t believe him. Why would he tell me the truth about this one thing when everything else had been a lie?
I couldn’t think of a single reason, and that suggested to me that my suspicions were true: The guards were innocents, and I was meant to kill them.
Collateral damage, I thought, my stomach twisting at the words. Wasn’t that what Deacon had called Rose? Collateral damage.
She wasn’t, however, collateral to me.
I’d killed before to keep her safe. I could do it again.
“I’ll make it work,” I said aloud. “I’ll figure out a way not to kill.” Or I’d try. But if push came to shove, I was doing whatever it took to stay alive. To get the Oris Clef.
To get back my sister.
“Dammit, Lily . . .”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s worth it.”
His eyes cut to Rose, and I could see the frustration envelop him like a dark cloud. “Rose can’t be your first priority,” he said. “Not now. Not anymore.”
“You know what, Deacon,” I said, moving to stand in front of him. “Fuck you. Fuck you and your visions and your redemption. You think you’re the only one who’s been to hell? I’m living here, every single day. I’ve got demons breathing down my neck, pulling my strings like a puppet. First Clarence, then Johnson, and now you. It’s my decision, dammit. Mine.”
“Then make the right one.”
I lifted my hand to slap him, for no particular reason other than that I needed to blow off steam.
He caught my wrist and held it, and damned if he didn’t look me right in the eyes. I felt the pull of the vision, my breath ripping out of me from the force of it. And then, just as the vision was about to suck me in, I heard Deacon’s harsh, “No,” then felt the shock of his mouth closing over mine.
He took me—claimed me—the intimacy overwhelming despite the fact that we touched nowhere except lips and hands and wrists. His mouth was heat and male and delicious sin, and I wanted to drown in it. Wanted to forget the freak show that was my life.
Wanted to forget that my sister—and a demonic invader—was sitting not five feet away, watching with slack-jawed wonder.
I jerked my head, breaking the kiss, my eyes finding Rose, who was, as I’d imagined, staring in our direction, her expression a mixture of awe and longing.
I drew in ragged gasps of air as I faced Deacon, my head shaking. “I can’t do it,” I said. “I can’t do what you want. You prove to me the lock’s really out there, and I’ll consider it. You figure out a way to get Lucas out of Rose, and I’m totally open to other game plans. But until then, I’m working this gig. Until then, I’m protecting my sister.”
“This is about more than your sister.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I can’t save the world. I tried that once, and I failed. But I can save Rose, and I’m not going to walk away from that.”
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “You’ve made your decision.”
“I have.”
“And I’ve made mine.” He put the glasses on and took a step toward the door.
I hurried toward him. “What are you doing?”
“I told you,” he said. “I’m not standing around and watching you do this. You want to play welcoming committee for the Apocalypse, you do it by yourself.”
He paused in the open threshold, his body silhouetted by the afternoon sun, the light making him look like exactly the kind of angelic helper I needed.
Too bad he was just the opposite.
“I do have one idea,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Rose, and my heart lightened just a bit.
“An idea?”
“Maybe. It’s risky. But maybe . . .” He trailed off with a shake of his head, then stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Wait!” I hurried forward. “That’s it? You’re leaving?” My heart twisted at the thought. I might not completely trust him, but I wanted him around. And not just because Deacon Camphire had gotten under my skin. I wanted him watching my back, and it irked me that that wasn’t going to happen. “You’re really walking out on me?”