Faith (Soul Savers Book 7) (32 page)

And he was probably
more powerful than any of us.

Blossom and Sheree
returned to the Conversion Center, and Vanessa and Owen showed us to
our sleeping quarters. Several sections made up the residential area,
each section divided into fourteen individual rooms that could sleep
up to four people each, according to Owen. They gave us a room in the
back, away from everyone else, and our mattress we’d brought
from our beach house had been placed in it, along with some linens.

Although it wasn’t
technically our evening to shower according to our last name, they
allowed us an exception. Probably for everyone else’s benefit
as much as our own. Timers regulated the water, so there was no
standing under the warm stream for relaxation, nor was there much
privacy in the communal bathrooms. I fleetingly wondered if Tristan
and I would ever be able to enjoy a shower together again, but at the
moment, I was just glad to be clean. Blossom used the spell to clean
and refresh our fighting leathers, but we’d been provided a few
sets of Norman clothes, too. Although my leathers fit like a second
skin, it was still nice to hang out in yoga pants and a hoodie for a
change.

As I lay on the same
mattress I’d woken up on in a very different place this
morning, I thought about how much everything had changed in the last
sixteen hours. Well, actually, nothing had changed except Tristan’s
and my perspectives, and I had a feeling mine more than his. He’d
remained much more optimistic than I had, believing that we’d
eventually find what had found us—other souls that weren’t
swimming in evil.

For months, I’d
been focused on saving Tristan and Dorian so that I could convince
the Angels to allow all three of us into Heaven, because there was
nothing left in this world worth staying for. In a matter of hours,
I’d learned that not only were my closest friends—aka my
extended family—still alive, but so were thousands of my people
and millions of Normans. And to top it off, a new life grew inside of
me. Not only me, either, but perhaps thousands of Norman women
harbored a new generation in their wombs. Would the Angels be so
cruel to give us such promise for a future when they knew it would
all be destroyed in the end? I certainly hoped not. All of these new
developments made this world worth more than just staying for—it
made this world worth fighting for.

If only we could figure
out how.

We spent the next few
days settling into a routine with the rest of The Loft’s
residents and finding our places in the workload. Tristan, of course,
belonged in the Training section, teaching various classes from
Aikido to weapons to everything about the Daemoni, including each
creature’s weaknesses. I, on the other hand, floated all over
the place. As official leader, I worked with Charlotte in running the
place, although she really did most of the work. I helped Tristan,
Brogan, and the others with some training classes, too, and when the
hunters and Amadis brought Daemoni in, I’d help Sheree with
conversions. A few times, when being underground twenty-four/seven
began grating on the nerves, Tristan and I would go out with Alys,
Sonya, and hunters to find more Daemoni to convert. But I was needed
for the conversions that followed, so escaping the compound was a
luxury.

Weeks passed, Robin
returned with news of more groups found throughout the world, and my
army was growing in both number and strength. Except the most
significant improvements were in the Normans, who trained diligently,
and I still didn’t want to involve them in any war waged on
Lucas, the Daemoni, and the Demons, if at all possible. Every plan
Tristan devised included the Normans, though, and I’d make him
go back to the drawing board.

“They want to
fight,” he’d told me repeatedly. “They tell me this
every day in training. It’s
why
they come to training
and work their asses off. This is their world, too,
ma lykita
.”

“And if we let
them go against the Daemoni and the Demons, there won’t be any
of them left by the time it’s all over.”

“You
underestimate the Normans.”

“
You
underestimate Lucas and those vile creatures. And you, of all people,
should know better. How can you be so willing to risk their lives?”

After enough of these
arguments, he stopped answering this question because I always
ignored how he explained his optimism.

“We need more
Amadis,” I said. “More converts.”

I ordered all Amadis
who Robin and her fellow messengers could reach to become more
aggressive in finding Daemoni who wanted to convert, and we did build
our numbers that way. According to Robin’s reports and what we
learned through the ham radio, we’d add a few dozen new Amadis
each week. But that was hardly anything compared to the Daemoni’s
numbers.

And there was still no
word about Dorian.

This was both good and
bad. Good because it meant he hadn’t joined the Daemoni yet,
and as each week passed, that meant more converts for us and more
training for the Normans before Lucas made his next move. But bad
because it was another week that I’d heard nothing about my
son. Another week of wondering and worrying about him. Another week
of not being able to show him where he truly belonged—with us.

“I just can’t
imagine where he could be,” I said to Sheree one afternoon
after we’d completed a new conversion. We sat in the dining
area, drinking tea while I waited for Tristan. We were going to see
Carlie for a minute, and then he’d give me what I really needed
after a conversion—the kind of true, deep love only a soul mate
could provide.

“Do you think he
could have gone back to Noah?” she asked as she ran her long,
thin finger over the rim of her ceramic cup.

“I doubt it. When
we saw Noah, Dorian had already been gone for weeks.”

“If Noah was
telling you the truth.”

I rested my chin on my
hand. “He seemed to be.”

“But he’s
Daemoni and therefore a liar.”

I started to nod, but
then frowned. “I don’t know that he’s ever lied to
me, though. At least, when he wasn’t under Kali or Jeana’s
control. Besides, the last time we saw him, Demons were taking him
away. For all we know, he could be trapped in Hell.”

She opened her mouth to
say something, but the overhead buzzers rang out an alarm. Our
walkie-talkies lit up with Charlotte’s voice.

“New converts
you’re going to love,” she said. “Tristan and Owen,
I need you here stat. We’ll need all the help we can get.
Over.”

Although we’d
just completed a conversion, Sheree and I had no choice but to jump
up and respond. We rushed to the Conversion Center in time to meet
Tristan, Char, and Owen struggling with three conscious Daemoni—one
woman and two men.

“
Warlocks?
”
I asked in surprise as the three new mages whipped their bodies
against the bindings holding them, murmuring spells under their
breaths.

Tristan’s chest
rumbled. “This will be … interesting.”

“You
don’t need to tie us up like this,” the black woman,
whose Caribbean accent reminded me of Solomon, seethed as she arched
her back against Owen’s hold on her. “We came because we
wanted to.”

“We’re not
taking any chances,” Tristan replied calmly as his power moved
the black male warlock to a bed.

“You want to
convert?” I blurted, although they wouldn’t be here if
they didn’t. I just couldn’t believe this.

“I don’t
know. Are we coming to the stupid side?” The white man with
black, curly hair snapped. His arm suddenly jerked free of
Charlotte’s hold, and a spell shot wildly across the room. A
glass bottle on a shelf exploded.

“If you don’t
want to be here, we’ll take you out,” Owen growled, and
the way he said
take you out
, you couldn’t be sure if he
meant out of The Loft or out of the world.

The woman’s eyes
bulged and glowed red as she looked at me. “No. Please, no. You
don’t know what they’re doing … what they’re
planning.
Please help us.
”

Her plea hit me right
in the soul, and I rushed to her side. My heart swelled with love and
concern as I placed my hand on her arm. She jerked and cussed when
the Amadis power hit her, and a spell surged out of her palm. A
ceramic coffee cup on the makeshift desk melted into a puddle of goo.
These were going to be some of our hardest conversions ever.

Vampires were easy to
subdue—stab them in the heart with a silver knife or stake and
don’t remove it until they were tightly bound with silver cuffs
and chains. Weres were a little more difficult during full moons, but
in general, they could also be contained with silver. Mages, on the
other hand, could be tied up with silver rope from neck to toe, but
as long as their mouths could move, they could shoot off a spell.
Many could do so without their mouths. And during conversion, there
was no telling what they’d do when the evil fought back.

Mages who wanted to
convert were a rare score, though. Vampires who came to us had
usually been turned against their will, or in a few instances when
they’d wanted to be turned, they’d regretted their
decision soon enough to save their souls. Most of the were-creatures
who came to us had been bitten and infected, and like the vamps,
usually against their wills. Some Weres, and all mages, however, were
born, so Daemoni or Amadis from birth. All the Daemoni mages had ever
known was evil and darkness. They learned dark and black magic from
an early age, and delighted in the powers they could use for personal
gain. Rarely would they give that up to come to the other side. And
that natural Daemoni blood made their conversions all the more
difficult.

“What’s
your name?” I asked the female warlock.

“Call me Molita.”

“Okay, Molita,
we’ll help you,” I promised, and the look she gave
me—full of fear and determination—reminded me of when
Sheree had been so desperate to convert.

As expected, the
conversions pushed us to our limits, and I’d already been so
drained of power. Every Amadis with any amount of power had to come
help at some point or another, just to give us a chance at beating
the evil drenching their souls and coursing through their blood. The
baby inside me must have grown accustomed to the dark energy several
conversions ago, because she no longer reacted like she had the first
time, and now she seemed to have retreated completely, becoming
quiet. Probably sleeping like I wanted to after days of staying with
the mages.

When I could finally
leave, knowing they were going to be okay, the woman’s dark
hand wrapped around my arm, stopping me. Her black, bloodshot eyes,
ringed in red, rolled up to me.

“Thank …
you,” she whispered hoarsely. She closed her eyes and
swallowed, and I thought she was done, but when I started to pull
away, her grip tightened and her eyes opened. “There are more
of us. More Daemoni who want to convert. Lucas … has gone too
far. Others know … too. They just don’t know …
how … to leave.”

All at once, my heart
felt like it shrunk with the desperation in her voice and exploded
with the news. I placed my hand over hers and gave her a squeeze.
“We’ll help them. I promise.”

But as soon as I
uttered the words, inexplicable fear sent me into a sudden panic.
How
could we help them? How could we help anyone? There was no way. We
would fail again.
I
would fail again! My heart raced way too
fast. My breaths came quick and shallow. Sweat beaded on my forehead,
and my knees knocked together from the tremble in my weak legs. Gray
splotches crept in on the edges of my vision, and then blue and black
dots wavered and grew until I could see no more.

Strong arms caught me
as I went down.

“You need a
break,” Tristan murmured as he carried me out of the Conversion
Center. “Too much dark energy.”

“I just need
you.” I pulled on his love as his concern poured out of him and
into me, and I could already feel a difference. “I need you to
hold me, to strengthen me.”

His jaw clenched as he
looked down at me. “I want Carlie to look at you.”

“I’ll be
fine,” I argued. “It’s just been a long, exhausting
week. You know how I get with these conversions.”

His steps paused, and I
realized we were already at the Medical station. He looked down at
me, worry written all over his face.

“Just let me
regenerate with you tonight. I promise to see her tomorrow. I’m
just too tired to deal with prodding right now.”

His lips pressed
together for a moment, then he finally nodded. He didn’t put me
down, though, but carried me to our room.

“You know how
worried I’ve been,” he said after he laid me down on the
mattress. He pushed the hair away from my cheek and leaned down to
press his lips to my forehead.