Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant) (23 page)

She examined both my arms before deciding to use the left one. After tying a rubber hose around my bicep, she tapped the soft flesh on the inside of my elbow, then picked up a needle. She smiled at me as she slid the needle into the largest vein on my arm.

She grabbed and held my left eyelid open. My eyes widened when she lifted the second needle into view. She was seconds away from contact when Mace caught her wrist.

“No,” he said. “You said blood, and I don’t want her blind. Pick another spot.”

A tear leaked from my eye when she released me.

“Oh, well,” she said, winking at me. “He’s so protective.”

I really hoped that was sarcasm, because I didn’t want anyone completely bat-shit crazy having any of my blood. Her bedside manner sucked. All four needles hurt as they drained my life away. I had never liked donating blood, but after this experience I was sure I’d never willingly donate blood again.

Mace appeared unconcerned about the amount of blood flowing out of my body. He left at one point to take a call, leaving me alone with the crazy lady.

The blacksmith bent and peered into my face. She studied me, as if I were a scientific oddity. “He has no idea what you are,” she whispered, a wicked grin crossing her face. “But I do.”

“Tell me,” I pleaded.

“Sorry.” She smiled. “It’s forbidden.”

Forbidden
?

The slightest hint of green glint flashed in her eyes. A color I’d never seen before, until today when my
own
green shine was reflected in Mace’s eyes.

“Your eyes,” I said, but my voice was weak.

“A relic of time,” she said, cryptic and vague. “Have you seen it before?”

I started to tell her what had happened in the car, but I couldn’t concentrate long enough to put my words in order. Unable to keep my eyes open, darkness came quickly.

Fifteen

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a wooden bench in the middle of a vast garden wearing a white nightgown that was soft against my skin. I was calm and relaxed and peaceful. The sun was shining overhead, but it wasn’t hot. The air brushing against my face was temperate, comfortably cool. I sat up on the bench. There were flowers everywhere. They were beautiful with their vibrant reds, yellows, and blues dotting the picture-perfect landscape, but I couldn’t smell them.

Was any of this real? Something brushed by me.

The beat of my heart thumped louder, and panic flooded my system. Almost immediately, a tranquil hush enveloped me. It was like before when I’d been in the basement of the bungalow. When I thought I was dying. I stood and turned a slow circle. Was I dead? I didn’t feel dead.

“Where am I?” I called into the emptiness.

Again, the strange essence passed near me, something pleasant, soothing, and warm. I spun, trying to determine what the presence could be, but I saw nothing. For a third time, it brushed past me, this time touching my shoulder, and the serenity I’d felt before was magnified tenfold. My soul was weightless and free, without a care in the world. I took a step back. I didn’t want the other presence touching me.

This place scared me, and I wanted to feel scared. I wanted my heart to beat faster, and my palms to be sweaty. I didn’t want this feeling of tranquility masking the truth.

“Please stop,” I called to the nothingness.

But the presence continued toward me. I backed away. My knees hit the bench behind me, and I fell over.

“Don’t be afraid, Claire,” a harmonious voice said as the most handsome man I’d ever seen appeared before me.

His golden-brown hair and golden eyes that sparked like fire were striking. His body, lean and muscled, was a good foot taller than
me
. The strong line of his jaw and chiseled chin had a rough character that made his handsome masculinity mouthwatering. But it lacked emotion.

His movements were
so
precise, his manner
so
deliberate, but not cold or uncaring. He just didn’t feel real to me. It was as if I could tell he veiled his true self from me, although I couldn’t actually sense a veil.

“I will not hurt you,” he said, holding out his hand.

I hesitated. “What are you?”

“I can’t hurt you. I promise.”

Even though he didn’t answer my question, something about his voice made me want to trust him. I took his hand, and again, the peaceful warmth I’d felt before washed over me. It lingered when he released me.

“Where am I?”

“A safe place.”

“How did I get here? Where’s Mace?”

His brows drew together, and his features turned sad. “You’re still with him.”

I whirled around. How could I still be with Mace?
Oh, no
. “Is this a dream?” I didn’t want to be trapped in Mace’s version of my nightmares. Not again.

The man reached forward and steadied me. His touch sent a new wave of peacefulness over me. “No. This isn’t a dream.”

I shrugged from his hold.

Reluctantly, he let me go.

“Am I dying—dead?”

“No,” he said, but his gaze skittered away as if I might see some other truth in his soul.

A rush of dread overwhelmed me. “Who are you?”

He tried to touch me again. I backed away. He wasn’t safe. Why did I think he was? He was excessively nonthreatening, and it was starting to make me nervous—no, afraid. “Don’t touch me.”

“It will help.”

“I don’t care. Just don’t.”

He must have read something in my expression because before I could run, he caught my arm and a small shock traveled through me. His calming influence was gone. I no longer felt safe. Frantically, I twisted, trying face him.

“Stop,” he said, holding me in place. “You must let me back in.” His voice was rushed.

I couldn’t see him, but the flowers before me were dead. Their petals and stems were dried up and baking in the sun. I shivered as the heat left my body.

When I looked down, I gasped at the hand holding me in place. The skin was weathered and cracked as if the hand was decaying—very, very slowly.

“What are you? Why am I here?”

“Let me back in,” he pleaded. “You don’t have to see me this way.”

“What way? As you really are?”

“No one sees me as I am. I’m a reflection of their past.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not allowed to explain. However, you may see the handsome me if you choose.”

“Why? What makes me so lucky?” The words caught in my throat.

“You have seen me before.”

My heart rate increased. “When?”

He didn’t answer my question. “You must let me in before you see me as I am now.”

I was scared, and I was cold. This place was now barren, everything in it dead or dying. Just as I imagined he was. I didn’t want to see that version of him, but I didn’t know how to let him back in.

“Why do you care how I see you? Why should I be different?”

“Give me permission to be near you. To touch your skin,” he said, again without answering my question. “It will reverse the effect your power had on my spell.”

“What spell?”

“The one that lets you see me as I was the first time we met. Please, it’s the best I can offer.”

I looked at the hand holding my arm again. It was dying. I didn’t want to see him that way. “I don’t know how to let you in.”

“Simply think it. As long as you mean it, you will see me as you did before.”

I closed my eyes and thought of the way he was before. A sensation, which was almost the same as when the other spells reversed, enveloped me as if I were casting a spell on myself. Immediately, the calming sensation of his touch returned.

I was back in the beautiful garden, but the chill remained. He was a handsome man again. I caught a glimpse of his hand as he attempted to hide it. The part I’d seen before was still old and cracked.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Why?”

“You’re unique.” He paused. “I would prefer you always see me in this form.”

I rubbed my arms as a chill ran through me. “Why am I cold?”

“Do not be frightened. You will return soon. It’s not your time yet.”

My time for what? Before I could ask, fatigue caused my legs to give out. He caught me as I fell and held me in his warm embrace. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as I drifted off to sleep.

~ * ~

With a gasp, I opened my eyes. I couldn’t move, but not because anything was holding me down. I was weak, only able to shift my head. An IV was hooked to my right arm. The bag contained a transparent green fluid. The medicine pulsed through me, as if it were somehow keeping me alive. There was a bandage on my left arm from where the blacksmith had taken the blood. A bruise ran along the vein, and I felt the pull from the tape securing the gauze to the other three spots.

A rush of adrenaline pulsed through me as another wave of medicine dripped from the IV. My right ear, which was not bandaged, seemed half stuffed with cotton. Some sounds were getting through, with a twinge of pain when I wiggled my jaw.

My attention sharpened when I recognized their voices. The door to the room was open, but I was too weak to try and escape. I closed my eyes, trying to step outside my body. On the second attempt, I pushed my presence into the room. It hurt, but I’d done it.

I found the quads in the main room. They were arguing in English. It never occurred to me they might prefer English to Pagan or Demon. Of course, if they knew I was listening, they wouldn’t hesitate to switch. I hung back hoping Cinnamon wouldn’t sense me.

“It can be done,” Mace insisted.

“Is it worth father’s wrath?” she asked.

Sage and Sorrel glanced at each other. Sage tilted his head toward Cinnamon, and Sorrel nodded. They were clearly backing their sister.

“Enough,” Mace said. “We have the weapon. We have the opportunity. I have assurances the plan will succeed. We will get our revenge.”

“Assurances from whom?” Cinnamon asked.

“Someone who has seen Junior’s dead body.”

“A seer?”

Mace smiled, but he didn’t give up the source.

The others were quiet for a moment, then Sorrel spoke. “We didn’t start this. If you’re sure Father will not take revenge, I’m in.”

Sage seemed surprised by his brother’s change in attitude. I considered Mace. His eyes were locked on Sorrel. Mace’s hand flexed toward the twin. Was he manipulating him?

I was about to say something to Sage, hoping he’d hear me as he had before, when Mace spoke.

“He has no right to interfere,” Mace argued. “We are doing nothing more than Junior has done a hundred times over. It is our right to get justice.”

Cinnamon eyed the others. She’d want revenge as much as Mace, but she was more cautious. She didn’t want to anger her father.

Mace touched her arm. “It is our right to get justice,” he repeated, but this time he made sure Cinnamon heard him.

She leaned back. He was relentlessly pushing his suggestion. Maybe she was starting to fight his hold. She moved her arm away
,
then rubbed her head as if it hurt. Noticing their stares, she tossed her hair back as if she’d been primping.

He focused his attention on Sage.

Was his hold waning? “We’ll settle the score,” she announced, dashing my hopes she’d refuse to help. “He’ll die at the fight.”

Mace’s smug grin annoyed me.

She pushed to her feet
,
then stopped. Her gaze met mine. “Well, well, someone’s awake.”

I opened my eyes, returning to the bedroom. My arms and legs felt like lead. Exhausted pain slammed into me. I wasn’t going anywhere. I had no choice but to wait as their footsteps stomped toward me.

Cinnamon entered the room and ripped the IV out of my arm. “You don’t deserve this,” she snarled.

I cried out from the shock and the pain. Half-dead, I lay there and laughed at her. “Then let me die,” I challenged.

“She’s no threat,” Sage said. “Look at her. She can’t even move.”

He was right, and they all knew it.

“We can play with her later,” Sorrel said. He tapped Mace with his elbow and said something in Pagan.

Mace’s jaw tightened. “She’s mine.”

“Fine, little brother, she’s yours, but I get first dibs when you’re through.”

“Leave us,” Mace barked.

Cinnamon said something in Pagan; the twins laughed
,
then followed her out of the room.

Mace’s nostrils flared. He sniffed the air. “You smell of Death. You should be glad we saved you in time. I’ve heard he is quite hideous.”

Death? I turned away, but not fast enough.

Mace caught my chin and jerked my gaze back to his. “Impossible,” he said. His expression was a mix of confusion and anger. “How are you doing this?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I confessed.

“Your eyes have seen Death.”

“No,” I shook my head. “I haven’t.”

Mace brushed the hair away from my eyes to take a closer look. Obviously not satisfied with what he saw, he drew back and scowled.

“When I return,” he said, kissing me on the forehead, “we’ll figure out what makes you tick. Either your eyes are lying or you are.” He stood. “The eyes never lie, but neither
do
the fates. No one sees Death and lives.”

~ * ~

Startled, I woke with the pain of someone plunging a needle into my arm. I was momentarily disoriented, until the voice in my head reminded me why I was here.

I was shocked to see Lily standing over me, taping a new IV in place.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your life. Again,” she said, clear disdain in her voice.

“Why?”

“My mistress has instructed me to,” she said. “That is all you need to know.”

Her mistress—the double.

“How did you know I wasn’t your mistress?” It had to be the eyes, but I wanted her to confirm. She said nothing. Fine, I’d give her a hint. “The eyes aren’t the same.”

Lily remained silent. She didn’t want to tell me anything, but the way her lips pursed together made me think she wanted to say something. I just needed to push harder.