Charade (47 page)

Every day I would get stronger and the pain and weakness in my body would give way to a warrior capable of going into the pits of Hell and achieving the only thing in this world that I wanted.

Sam.

But not just Sam.

Sam
and
retribution for what was done to everyone I loved.

It didn’t matter that Airis couldn’t help me. It didn’t matter that even with supernatural powers I was still achingly human. I didn’t care that Beelzebub was somehow going to return from the fiery pit that I punished him with and make me pay.

And I had no doubt he would make me pay.

I thought about my best friend, who may or may not be soulless and punished for working with the most heinous witch ever. I pictured my mother, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, a casualty of a war she had no knowledge of. I thought about Logan, who lay just down the hall, sleeping and barely alive from the damage that the demon had done to his frail body.

And the lies I told Gran about Logan and Sam? Just a means to an end.

With single-minded determination I would take the steps that would free everyone I loved from what had been done to them. I would get revenge and I would do whatever I had to do in order to do it.

Beelzebub would pay for what he has done.

I looked down at my bruised arms and legs and took pride in their pain. Pain was merely weakness leaving my body—a weakness that simply wouldn’t do. I needed strength, strength of mind
and
body.

I went to the mirror above my dresser and looked straight at my reflection. What I saw would have sent me into a full-blown panic attack.
Before.
But this was
After.
What I saw wasn’t what defined me anymore. But it was definitely a scar. Or what was going to be a scar. Right now it was still raw, red and open. I didn’t see it as something awful though or something that represented a blank spot in my memory. I knew how I got this scar. I knew why.

I was strong.

Stronger than I ever believed and I would wear this scar with pride.

It was why I couldn’t let Gemma or even my dad heal me. I was meant to carry this mark, and whenever I looked at my reflection, I would be reminded of my strength and everything that I am capable of.

I glanced over at my bed, knowing that sleep would make me stronger, but I turned away from it abruptly; I couldn’t face sleep right now. The minute that I went to sleep, I knew he would come for me. After what I did, I wasn’t sure anything would keep him away. I shuddered and reached into my desk for some paper.

Sleep wasn’t an option, but that was okay because there were other ways that I could build my strength. I sat down at the desk and arranged the paper in front of me. Reaching for a pen, I paused to look up at my bulletin board that was filled with snapshots of me and Sam. The way the sun kissed his hair and his smile was so genuine. My favorite snapshot was taken by Kimber, in happier times, of Sam and me kissing. I remembered it perfectly, the way his lips melted against mine just right and the delicious heat of the sun’s rays against my skin. I reached my fingers to the photograph expecting to feel the heat I remembered from the sun. Instead, the paper was smooth and cold, lifeless against my fingers. The pen I was still holding snapped in my hand. I turned away from the photos. They were distracting me.

Distractions weren’t welcome right now.

I had plans to make.