“It is enough, I think, chérie,” Zane said, when I ordered him to send out one more. My count at that point totaled ten, and I was hot and bothered and itching for a real fight, not this pansy-ass shit, where the demons were so easy to kill I could practically do it in my sleep.
“More,” I said, stepping gingerly out of the training arena to get right in his face.
His hands pressed gently on my shoulders, and his eyes were infinitely sad. I looked away, both fearful of getting sucked into a vision, and also oddly ashamed. “Lily. You do not want more.”
“Don’t I?” I asked. “Don’t you want me to have more. Suck more in. Make me a badass warrior?”
“No,” he said, and that one simple word did me in. I released a small sob and clung to him. “I hate it,” I whispered. “I hate the dark.” Except I didn’t. I wanted to—so help me, I wanted to despise it—and yet it called to me. Enticed me. And lured me in with sweet, whispered promises.
He said nothing, merely stroked my hair, but his body was tense. Tight. And I couldn’t help but believe that he hated it, too. I wanted so badly to break down and ask him if he knew who he really worked for. Or if he did know, if he did it because he wanted to, or because he craved the mortality that they’d promised him. Death for a man who’d lived forever, and would otherwise continue on.
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure if I was afraid of the answer or of blowing my cover. All I know is that I was afraid, and that I kept silent.
“Take the girl home,” he said. “Rest. Eat ice cream.” He tilted my chin up. “Be Lily for a night.”
I managed a smile and didn’t tell him that I wasn’t sure I remembered how. More than that, being Lily wasn’t my biggest concern anymore. That had shifted to Rose being Rose, and with that problem in mind, I thought of someplace—and someone—who actually might be able to help me.
By the time we’d taken a taxi and retrieved my bike, it was already almost two in the morning. Rose was staggered, the exhaustion so thick in her body it practically leaked out of her. I couldn’t take her home, though. I needed to do this errand. I didn’t know how much downtime Clarence would give me, and I needed all my ducks in their proper order.
“Where are we going?”
“To mark you,” I said, the words surprising me when I realized they were true. I’d had my name—Lily—tattooed on the small of my back not long after I’d found myself hanging out in Alice’s body. And now, yeah, I intended to mark Rose with her own name, despite the interloper inside her.
I had a particular tattoo shop in mind, and when we arrived, I was grateful to see that the Madame Parrish, Psychic sign was still lit. She was the real reason I’d come. But if I could put Rose on the table with John working his magic on her skin, then I could talk with the strange woman myself and not risk being overheard, by either Rose or the demon who lived inside her.
“Well, look who’s back,” John said, as we walked in. He was doing something in his work area, and I saw Rose go a little pale when she saw the table on which she’d lie.
“Do you want to?” I asked Rose.
For a moment, I thought she’d say no, the thought distressing me more than it should. My mom might not approve, but I wanted her marked. Wanted her named.
“My name?”
“That’s right.”
She drew in a breath. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
Her lips disappeared, she’d pressed them so tight together. “Let me see yours.”
I shrugged out of my coat and pulled up the back of my shirt, revealing the intricate lily tattoo, along with my name spelled out above.
“I get a rose, right? And my name.”
“Sure thing. Whatever you want.”
She looked at John, whose easy smile calmed her. Then she nodded.
“Come on, then,” John said, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you set up.”
From the shadows near the window, Madame Parrish stood. “And you have come to see me.”
I cocked my head. “How did you know that?” I’d killed a Secret Keeper and absorbed his essence. She shouldn’t be able to get into my head.
She laughed. “A guess. Don’t worry. Your secrets are now safe.” She held out her hands. “It is good to see you, Lily.”
“How do you know about me?” Because I was certain that she did—that she knew even more than what she’d seen in my head during my previous visit. And though I knew I should be wary of her, I wasn’t. I was also certain she was on my side, and if I was wrong, I didn’t want to know it. Having an ally, even one who looked to be ninety and hid in a tattoo parlor, made me feel safe and warm.