Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) (13 page)

It hurts, this confession of mine. These words that I’ve needed to say are worse than Damien’s dagger slicing into my chest, because with them I give away my heart. But I’ve been presumptuous, thinking I know best. Thinking I’ve decoded heaven, that I know what the future holds. That because I caught a glimpse of something that might be, could be, that I’m owed happiness. But I’m not. I’m not owed a thing.

“Don’t try to save me,” I tell him. “Don’t agree to anything that would forfeit your soul. Promise me.”

He leans closer, and I’m overwhelmed by a desire to have his arms around me. I grab his shoulders to make it so, but he’s bound and shackled. I cry out, angry that I’ve been denied comfort.

“Fight fear,” he tells me. “Never stop fighting.”

What does that mean? What does it mean?

He didn’t promise. I need to hear him say the words. And now I’m a teary mess. My face clouds with the tears I swore I wouldn’t cry, my words spoken through an ocean of them.

“I love you, Jake, more than anything,” I say. “More than life. More than death, but please, if you love me . . .”

Damien’s laughter is unleashed now, and whatever I had planned to say, whatever possibility there was to conjure a promise out of Jake, is lost in the chaos of his hilarity.

“You love him far more than you should, little dancer.”

I tear my eyes away from Jake’s at Damien’s statement. The man is gone—Marco and Olivia blinking at his disappearance—but before me stands the demon. He towers above us, the tops of his wings pressing through the ceiling above. But his charred wings aren’t the thing making fear bubble from my eyes and run down my face. It spews from my heart and coats me with a frigid black tar. Next to the sheath at Damien’s waist hangs the halo. My halo. Canaan’s halo. but eventuall

13

Marco

U
ntie me.”

Marco’s head has finally cleared. The vision the halo gave him lingers, confusing him. Frustrating everything he thought he knew, but for the moment at least, he can actually think. And he knows they need to move. Now.

“I could use a little help here,” he says.

But Liv’s eyes are trained on Jake’s empty chair.

“Oh my g—” she says. “Do you know what I’ve done?”

“Yeah. You’re awful,” Marco says, but there’s no conviction to the words. “Untie me so we can get out of here.”

Liv is visibly shaken by what just happened. She stares at the chair, her arms hanging lifeless at her sides.

It baffles Marco. “Did you really think you were the only one at risk when you climbed into bed with that guy?” The words are barely out of his mouth when he realizes just how hypocritical they are. “Never mind,” he mumbles. It wasn’t so long ago that he was tangled up with Damien. He owns a share in Ali’s death. Something he tries very hard not to dwell on.

“Where is he taking them?” Liv asks.

“I don’t know, but if we’re going to help them we’ve got to get out of here.&rite invisible”

She laughs at that. Bitter. Angry. “We can’t help them. They’re gone. Lost. If Damien hasn’t broken them yet, he will.”

“Liv! Untie me.”

Her eyes clear and she scowls at him, but she doesn’t reach for his binds. She turns on her heel and marches to her seat in the shadows beneath the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Marco demands. “Over here!”

She reaches beneath a discarded rag and withdraws a knife. It’s a short, stubby thing, a paring knife or something.

Marco stutters and then flashes her his best smolder. “You’re going to use that to cut me free, right? Not gut me for chum?”

Her scowl deepens, but she steps behind him and saws through the binds. Relief hits Marco in several small explosions. His head understands before his legs that he’s free. But when at last they get the message, he jumps from the chair and sets to examining his wrists. They’re red from irritation, blood smeared up his forearms, but the wounds have healed over. He runs a thumb over them.

Liv tosses the knife back into the shadows. “Your friend has a gift.”

“And Damien’s going to kill him for it,” Marco says. “Is that how this works?”

“These guys don’t kill, Marco. Not often. Not outright. Killing’s too fast. Too clean. He wanted the bracelet.”

“The halo,” Marco corrects. “And you hand delivered it to him. Why?”

“
We
hand delivered it to him.”

“I didn’t have a clue it was in the bag, Olivia.”

“How could you not know? I can feel the thing a mile away.”

The thought cows Marco. “Do you really think it belonged to an angel?”

She shrugs.

“Do you even believe in angels?” He feels a bit like a kindergartner asking the question, but he wants to know. Does Liv believe?

“Believing in demons is easy enough when you’ve lived the life I’ve lived, Marco. But if there are angels out there, I’ve got a bunch of questions that need answering.”

“Like . . .”

“Like ‘where the heck have
you
been?’”

“Yeah, that . . . that’s a good one.” But he remembers again that flash of red hair at the prison, keys and freedom jammed into his hand. “Here,I’m not sure cowpD; let me see that arm.”

Before she can jerk it away, he takes her wrist. Soft, kind. He wishes with everything in him that he could show her men can be those things.

“Henry’s man did this to you?”

“It was a long time ago,” she says, her voice thin. Her lipstick is smudged, her glossy hair rumpled, but her eyes are dry.

“Not so long, Liv.”

“Long enough.” She covers the scars with her other hand. “Feels like I’ve always had them.”

“I remember a time when you didn’t,” Marco says.

“That was before. Before my dad died, and then Mom.” Liv’s chin trembles. “Before Javan.”

“I’m so sorry, Liv. You deserved better. You deserved the best of everything.”

She shakes out her hair, blinks back the start of a tear. “In some ways, I have the best. The very best.”

Marco nods. “Your car, your house. Your job. But in other ways . . .”

“Yeah. In other ways, I got screwed.”

Marco can’t decide if it’s awkward, holding her arm like this. Can’t decide if he should just let her go. “At least you weren’t accused of killing your pregnant girlfriend.”

She stiffens, and then it really is awkward. Because now he’s thinking of two beautiful, broken girls. He never should have brought Ali into this. His hand freezes on her arm.

But Liv is fast to recover. “I’ve done worse,” she says. “Things only I can accuse myself of. Things no one knows.”

“You haven’t done worse,” Marco says.

But her eyes are hard, her face set. “I have.”

A quick breath whistles across his teeth, but there’s no time to discuss it further. They have to get going.

“Let’s just . . . What are we going to do about Jake and Brielle?”

“There’s nothing to do, Marco.” She stoops and picks up a scuffed red heel. “They’re gone, and I’m going home. You should do the same.”

He kicks at the yellow flowered chair, splintering the wood. “You can just walk away? After Jake . . . after everything? We have to do something.”

She puts her hand on his shoulder, looks him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry for them. Truly. I didn’t know Damien was going to take Jake. Or the girl. He hired me to find the bra&F�let, and now that he has it I can go home, get back to work.”

But there’s something in the way she says it. “Hired you or blackmailed you? What does he have on you, Liv?”

Her hand slides away, down his shirt, over his heart. “Does
it matter? He doesn’t need me anymore. If I stick around, if I go chasing after him, I’ll just draw attention to myself and to—”

“The chain he has locked around your neck?”

She tilts her head, like her king’s just been checked. It’s the sadness that breaks him. Liv looks just like she did standing on that street so many years ago. Forced to settle for the lot she’d been given when all along she was meant for something greater. Marco steps toward her, but she moves away, her back pressed into the wall.

“You really think Damien’s going to leave you alone? His man killed Ali because she stumbled into his world, and he all but branded you tonight. You’re his, and he’s coming back for you. Unless we can find a way to help Jake and Brielle.”

“I’m missing why they have the power to change anything, but that’s beside the point. You planning to sprout wings and fly?” She tries to mock him, tries to laugh, but there’s no sharpness to the blade. “My car’s going back to Portland. If you want a ride there, it’s yours—as long as you keep your fingers off my radio. If you’re heading somewhere else . . .”

Thwack!

A heavy
thud
comes from above, echoing around the basement. Marco twists toward the metal staircase. A powdery white cloud tumbles down the stairs—flour by the smell of it. He and Liv curse in unison as two Tasmanian Devils emerge from the fog.

“Jinx,” Kaylee says, stumbling down the last two steps. “You two have potty mouths, but you both owe me Cokes. And I could use some caffeine, so I’m cashing in soon.”

“Kaylee?” Marco asks. “What happened to your face?”

Her left cheek and eye are a mess. Even in the dank basement light, he can see she’s swollen and bruised.

“Damien,” she says, working her jaw. “He’s got quite a backhand. In fact, I think I’m going to sit for a sec. I’m still kind of . . .” She draws circles in the air with her pointer fingers.

“What are you doing here?” Liv asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” Kaylee lowers herself carefully onto the bottom stair. “I really was trying to give you two a minute. At least, it sounded like you could use a minute.” She rolls her neck and exhales. Loud. Shaky. “You asked me something, right? Oh yeah. What am I doing here? Easy. I’m here to rescue you.” She puts both fists on her hips, wincing at the movement. “Shazam!”I’m not sure cowpD;

Liv wrinkles her face. “Shazam?”

“Captain Marvel,” Marco says.

“Two points to the tall, lanky one,” Kaylee says, looking around. “Gah, this place is awful. And kind of mysterious.” Her eyes light up. “It’s like something out of
The
Goonies
. You think?”

“Maybe,” Marco says, a reluctant smile pulling at his face. “I guess.”

“Sloth’s not tied up down here, is he?
Hey, you guys!
”

Marco glances sideways at Liv, but she’s sliding her other shoe into place. “Kay, do you have a car?”

“Yeah. Slugger’s parked just past the bridge.”

“Well, look at that,” Marco says. “I guess I do have a ride.”

“And with a Goonie, no less,” Liv says, straightening up. “How did you find us, Kaylee?”

“Some supernatural freaky stuff, that’s how.” She twists her arm, trying to get a good look at her elbow.

Liv cocks her head, clears her throat. Kaylee’s eyes move from Liv to Marco and back again.

“You want details. Okay, well, some pages from Ali’s journal showed up in that chest of Canaan’s. Okay, not his real
chest, you understand, but that black shiny thing at the foot of his bed, you know? You don’t know. Okay. Don’t tell Elle I said that. It’s hard to keep track of what everyone knows and, well, doesn’t know. Anyway, we found these pages
somewhere
, and on one of these pages Ali had sketched a lighthouse. Bellwether. And then we found Liv’s cell number on one of the other pages—”

“From Ali’s journal?” Marco asks, turning to Liv. “You knew Ali?”

“How could I?” But Liv’s response is too fast, too quipped, and Marco remembers.

“Your arm,” he says. “Ali sketched your arm.”

“Yeah, that’s what Elle said too,” Kaylee says, removing her slippers, shaking out the dirt.

“You knew Ali.” Marco’s not asking now. He knows. His brain shifts into rewind. “She saw your arm, before Javan healed the scars. She drew it.”

“What are these scars everyone keeps talking about?” Kay asks.

But Marco’s locked away with Liv. It’s just the two of them, his dead girlfriend, and three jagged scars.

“I don’t know what I’m not sure cowpD;you’re talking about, Marco. If she sketched my arm, she did it without my knowing. I never met Ali.”

He almost believes her. He considers arguing, demanding the truth, but thus far that hasn’t worked with Liv. He lifts her arm again. “But these scars weren’t here before. When did Javan . . . heal them?”

She rolls her neck, kneading the muscles with her other hand. “Javan didn’t heal these. The scars on my legs, yes. As a reward for . . . good behavior, he made those disappear. But these? These disappeared when he did.”

Marco shivers. “And now Damien’s brought them back.” He didn’t know his hatred for Damien could burn any hotter, but it does. Tonight, it does.

“From one taskmaster to the next,” Liv says. “It’s like you said, I’m all but branded.”

“But you can break free of this,” he says, grabbing her shoulders, turning her toward him. “Like Jake said. There has to be a way.”