“Then that’s your answer.”
Kiera came back in, her red bra visible under the white material of the tank top. I met Rachel’s eyes, but she only laughed and shook her head. “Okay,” I said, sliding a laminated sheet with all the tables sketched in toward her. “You take this half, and I’ll take the rest, then we can mix it up again when Gracie comes on shift.”
“Got it,” Kiera said, turning to walk away.
I winced as my arm started to burn. “Wait.”
She turned back, her brow furrowing, then immediately clearing. “Now?”
I nodded, doubling over and clutching my arm to my chest.
“What?” Rachel was right beside me, her expression concerned. “What’s going on?”
“My arm,” I said, looking over toward Rose. “We have to go.”
Rachel bit her lip, then nodded. “Then go,” she said. “I’ll watch Rose.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good—”
“I can handle it,” she said severely, and it occurred to me that considering her family history, she probably could. So long as the demons didn’t try to express their displeasure with her again.
“Come on,” Kiera said, as I stood there debating.
“Go,” Rachel said.
In the end, it was Rachel that decided it for me. I ran to the back to get my coat and knife, then whispered a quick good-bye in Rose’s ear. And I told Johnson in no uncertain terms that if anything happened to Rachel while I was gone, he would face the brunt of my wrath. Somehow, someway, I would make him pay.
I didn’t know if he heard.
I didn’t know if he heeded.
But I did know that my speech made me feel better, and I walked a little bit lighter as I followed Kiera out the front door, having succumbed to her insistence that we take her car and not my bike.
We were at the car and Kiera was unlocking the driver’s-side door when I saw them—the Red Sox demons from the pub.
“Kiera,” I said, keeping my voice low and even. “Toss me the keys.” The downside of a classic car—no automated door locks.
She didn’t question. Just did as I asked in a perfect-partner rhythm that was a joy to behold.
Unfortunately, the joy came to a screeching halt, because both demons had decided they wanted to party and were barreling toward us. Worse than that, apparently they had friends. Little demon friends who didn’t care that it was daylight and that attacking two seemingly frail girls on the street was a really stupid plan.
Or not so stupid since nobody rushed from the nearby buildings to give us assistance as the demons rushed in for the attack. For that matter, the street seemed deserted, and I had to wonder if regular humans could sense the danger and had locked themselves up behind closed doors.
Not that I wondered much. I was too busy using the car to get leverage as I kicked my legs out and tried to knock some demon heads together. The demons all appeared human, and at least none of them had Gabriel’s sort of hyped-up powers, but there were ten of them, and those odds really weren’t good.
I tightened my grip on my knife and vowed to make the odds a little better.
“Kiera! You alive over there?”
“I’ve got the bastard,” she said, and I heard the wet schlurp as her knife struck home. “You?”
“I’m good,” I said, whipping myself into a frenzy. I kicked out, and got one hard in the gut, sending him tumbling backward. I leaped on him, my hand on his throat and my knife ready to slice through him like butter.
And then I caught his eye, and damned if I didn’t snap to a vision.
Deacon.
Surrounded. Deferring.
Fearing his wrath.
And then blackness, and he’s searching. Looking.
For the Oris Clef?
For something. Something lost. Something important. And they say he knows. He knows where it is. Deacon Camphire has secrets. And he knows . . .
And the demons whisper among themselves, and the word travels on the wind—be wary of Deacon Camphire, for he will one day rule us all.
TWENTY-ONE
I broke the connection, my heart pounding, my mind spinning. Beneath me, the demon quaked, and I barely paid it any attention, just sliced its throat and shoved it back onto the street, darkness swirling within me even as dark thoughts about Deacon flooded my mind.
Deacon, seeking the allegiance of the demons.
Deacon, searching for the Oris Clef.
I didn’t want to believe it, and yet I’d seen it, and if the images in the dead demon’s head were true, then I’d once again stuck my trust in where it didn’t belong.
Dammit. You’d really think I would have learned by then.
Not that I had a chance to think about that, because the rest of the demons were moving in, and I was kicking, fighting, stabbing, and thrusting. I was in a mental funk, my thoughts getting darker and darker with each kill.