Infernal Revelation : Collected Episodes 1-4 (9781311980007) (16 page)

"No, I mean out of Laton. Do you want to
leave? Like we talked about?"

He leaned against the wall of the culvert,
crossing his arms. "To Houston?"

"Or El Paso or Vegas or somewhere. Somewhere
big. Somewhere not here."

Gideon didn't respond, bringing the
cigarette to his mouth.

Her hands fluttered, and she watched him
carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. "I can't stay here,
Gideon."

"I know."

"No, I mean I
can't
. My powers... when
I use them, they change my eyes. No way I can keep that hidden
here. Town is too small, people are too nosy."

He rubbed his cheeks. "Shit, really?"

"Yeah, check it out." Delilah pulled the
razor out of her pocket and drew it across her palm.

He stiffened. "Shit, Delilah--"

"Don't worry," she said. "It doesn't
hurt."

She held her hand out towards him and
concentrated. A diffuse web of black smoke expanded from the wound,
spreading to surround him.

He backed away from it. "Holy shit."

"Right?"

Delilah swirled the smoke around her friend,
and discovered that she could feel his presence. She sent the
cloud, diffuse, through the tunnel, and was delighted to discover
that she could "feel" everything along its length. Spiders, bits of
rubble, every crack and fissure. The more diffuse it became the
less distinct the impressions were.

Gideon squinted. "It's so dim in here. I can
barely see it."

"Can you feel it?"

"A little. Only because I know it's
there."

Delilah pointed towards her face. "Check out
my eyes."

Gideon stepped forward, eyes searching.
"Holy fuck, you're like all vampire and shit."

She could feel his surprise, taste it, like
a shift in the smoke's perception. She focused on it, and found
that Gideon wasn't just a presence in the smoke, but a complex mix
of impressions that she had no real context to understand. The
'surprise' impression deepened to something more like panic.

Her mouth went dry. "Gideon, I can tell what
you're feeling!"

A gurgle was his only response, and Delilah
focused on him visually. The smoke had retracted from the culvert
to surround her friend in a dark cloud that almost obscured him
completely. He was clutching at his throat, jaw working, tendons in
his neck straining.

"Oh my god, Gideon!"

Delilah flapped her hand ineffectually,
trying to dislodge the shadow, before regaining her composure. She
concentrated, clenching her fist and willing the shadow to retract
back into her hand. It did so almost grudgingly, tendrils seeming
to cling to his skin before slipping free.

Gideon fell to his knees in the tunnel,
choking and gasping as it left him. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

She ran to his side. "Oh God, Gideon, I'm so
sorry!"

"What the fuck, Delilah?" The tendons in his
neck were straining, visible.

She felt faint. "I totally didn't mean to --
I'm so sorry!"

He steadied himself against the culvert
wall, using it to rise to his feet. "Shit. I couldn't breathe."

Tears were welling up in her eyes. "I'm
sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

He looked at her, gave a lopsided smile,
then pulled her close. "It's okay, it was just an accident."

"I had no idea that would happen. I'm
sorry."

"It's okay."

Delilah let herself be comforted by his
warmth, his embrace, his presence, for a moment. Only for a moment,
and then she pushed away. "You're the only person who's been around
while I was practicing."

"Yeah. Well." He scratched his head. "I can
see why you want to leave. If it was anyone else..."

"Yeah." She leaned against the side of the
tunnel.

"Okay, let's go."

She looked up. "What? Really?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "Fuck this town and it's
small-minded assholes. Let's go to El Paso. Start new lives."

"Are you ready?" Delilah asked. "I've got a
few hundred in savings--"

"Ready as I'm going to be," Gideon said.
"Let me go get my shit from home, and I'll meet you at your
place."

"Make it the library. I want to check some
things out," she said. "Oh God, I know I've been talking about
leaving, but can we really pull this off?"

"We'll find a way. I'm super strong. You
have... crazy blood-smoke. There's got to be something we can do to
get by. And El Paso's only the first step. Fuck this whole state,
Delilah. With your smarts and my strength, there's no limit to what
kind of life we can make for ourselves."

She gave an impulsive squeal and hugged him,
eyes shining. "What about the others?"

"We can keep in touch," Gideon said. "When
we get settled we can let them know. But man, I am so done
here."

"Me too, Gideon."

It wasn't the way she'd wanted it. It wasn't
the situation with Gideon she'd wanted. But circumstances changed,
and Delilah was smart enough to know when to change with them.

***

Lily woke up Monday
morning to the realization that she had to break up with her
boyfriend.

It seemed at first like a sudden revelation,
but it wasn't. It was the end result of a general dissatisfaction
she'd been feeling since well before the accident. He was going off
to college in Boston, and she was probably going to Texas A&M
on a track scholarship. They'd been acting and talking like they
were going to try and maintain a long distance relationship, but
Lily knew that that probably wouldn't be the case. She knew
better.

Even so, it wasn't really a realization. It
was an acknowledgment. The last week's bizarre storm of events had
put things into a new perspective for her. While she loved Derek,
had loved him these last two years, they were growing up, growing
apart. Devilish heritage aside, they were fundamentally two very
different people. Derek was laid back, easy going, and capable but
unambitious. She was faster-paced, practical, and wanted more out
of life than a steady paycheck, football on Sundays, and beer on
the weekends.

Derek wanted a family. He talked about
marriage, about kids, about finishing school and coming back to
Laton to settle down.

Lily wanted more. And shit, now?

He was there, waiting for her on the
bleachers near the track after school, offering her a good-natured
smile. "Hi."

"Hey," she said, feeling an emptiness in the
pit of her stomach.

She climbed up the bleachers to his side,
sweeping her sun-dress's hem underneath her as she sat, staring
down at her sneakers.

"You're a hard girl to reach lately," he
said. "You haven't been avoiding me, have you?"

"No," she said, her gaze darting, looking
everywhere other than at his eyes. "No. I've just been... you know.
Working through stuff."

"I know," he said, smiling that handsome
smile of his. "You know you're not alone, right? I'm here for you.
Always. However you need me."

Christ, he was making this hard. Why did he
have to be so... good? So wholesome? "I know. It's just... you
know. Stuff."

"Stuff." He looked away, watching the
runners on the field below.

"Things I need to work through on my own."
She reached out and touched his knee. "Not that I don't appreciate
it. Appreciate you."

His warm hand slipped over hers, comforting,
enveloping. "I know you need some space. I respect that."

Jesus, why couldn't he be a dick like Barny?
It'd be so much easier to break up with him.

"Stuff I don't want to drag you into."

"Don't talk that way."

"I'm serious," she said. "Derek, I've got
things going on that you don't understand. Things you wouldn't
understand."

"Try me," he said. "Even if I don't
understand, you know I can listen. I'm here to support you,
Angel."

She pulled her hand away, a cold wave
bringing gooseflesh to her arms. "Don't call me that."

"I always call you that."

She shook her head. It was too weird, in
light of recent events.

"Can I call you Muffin?"

"Muffin?"

"No? Schmoopy?"

"Don't call me Schmoopy."

"Honey Pants?"

"Honey Pants?" She laughed. "No, don't tell
me. I don't want to know."

"Sugar Pie?"

"Oh god no, that's what my dad calls my
mom."

Derek dropped his voice an octave. "Aw,
don't be like that, Sugar Pie."

"Is that supposed to be my dad?" Lily asked.
"Is that what you think my dad sounds like?"

"I'm Deacon Tim Baker. Would you like to try
one of my cinnamon rolls?"

She shook her head. "Where did that come
from?"

"From the cinnamon rolls your dad always
brings to the bake sales."

"My mom makes those."

He dropped his voice again. "Would you like
to try one of my wife's cinnamon rolls?"

She laughed again. "You're terrible at
this."

He grinned and put an arm around her. "I'm a
jock, not an impressionist."

She sighed, hating how charming he could be.
"You don't even paint."

"So much for my dream career."

She turned her head to look at him. "Are we
going to be okay, Derek?"

"Everything's going to be okay," he
said.

She sighed, trying not to hate herself for
being too weak to make a clean break, trying to believe him,
breathing in his scent. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake.

***

Sheriff Bill Cermak's
car wasn't in the driveway when Gideon returned to the house. Good.
It had been difficult enough to make his way back from the culvert
without running into any of Laton's deputies, the last thing he
needed now was a confrontation with his father. All he needed to do
was get in, grab his go-bag, and get the hell out.

It was hard to believe it, but he was
finally getting out from under Bill's thumb. He wasn't anywhere
near as confident as Delilah was regarding their chances in El
Paso. It was risky, and they didn't have a plan, but it was better
than staying in Laton. Better than staying with his
foster-father.

He crept along the driveway on the side of
the house, walking slow, almost sideways like ninjas and special
forces dudes did on television. It gave him a wider field of view,
but he didn't see any patrol cars coming.

Mrs. Foster was out on her lawn, watering
her flowerbed with a hose. He stopped and stared at her, offering a
tiny wave. She gave him a nod, turned off the hose, and went back
into her house without a word.

Gideon counted that as a win.

He snuck around the corner of the driveway
to the back patio. Dale's bike was gone. Part of him wanted the
chance to say goodbye to his little brother, but he knew that it
was probably for the best not to have to explain anything. If Dale
didn't know anything, he couldn't tell anyone anything. He couldn't
get in trouble for trying to help.

Then again, maybe he'd be glad that his
screwed-up foster brother was finally gone. It was probably for the
best. Gideon wasn't good for the people in his life. The normal
people, that is.

The patio door was locked. No big deal. He
popped it loose from its frame with a practiced shove, a skill he'd
learned at an early age. He slid it out of its track, and laid it
carefully against the wall.

He realized he could just have easily broken
it free with his newfound strength. Or just busted through the
wall.

This way was probably less conspicuous.

Gideon's tread was soft and silent as he
passed through the kitchen to the hall.

The door to his room was shut. Bill had
finally gotten around to fixing it. He'd been gone for two days,
maybe the old man had hoped he'd finally run away.

"Sometimes wishes do come true," he
muttered, pushing the door open.

Bill Cermak was sitting on the chair next to
Gideon's bed, shotgun across his lap, dressed in full uniform.
"Figured you'd be back, boy."

CHAPTER FOUR

The thunderous
pounding of Gideon's heartbeat filled the redhead's ears, and he
clenched his jaw at the sight of his foster father's shotgun, a
weapon usually kept in the back of the sheriff's cruiser. Bill was
holding it loose in his lap, but Gideon had little doubt that the
lawman could have it leveled and fired in one swift motion. He
didn't know if the shells would put him down, and he wasn't
particularly keen to find out. Gideon didn't like guns.

"Dad, what are you--"

"Don't 'dad' me." The sheriff's lip curled.
"I always knew it would come down to this, boy."

Gideon stood in the doorway, staring, not
daring to move for fear of setting the man off. "Okay, let's calm
down."

"I'm calm." The sheriff's eyes were cold,
his voice flat. "Anything about me say I'm not calm?"

Gideon's eyes flickered to the gun he
held.

"Calm ain't stupid, boy. I knew this was
coming. Knew it was here when Deacon Ross called to say you and
that Carter boy tore the shit out of his shed and crashed on
through his kitchen."

"Dad, Barny jumped me. I had to defend
myself."

"I don't care." The sheriff stood, gun in
hand. "You call me Dad, and I've done my job, raising you as best I
could, even after my Mary passed on. I did my duty, even bringing
you up alongside my own flesh and blood."

Gideon felt anger's pilot light ignite,
biting back his opinion on his foster-father's parenting
skills.

"I fed you. Clothed you. Housed you. Put up
with your sass, put up with your lazy shit for a decade and a half.
Did my goddamn job for this goddamn town."

"You want a fucking medal?" Gideon regretted
the words as soon as they'd escaped his mouth.

The sheriff's head snapped up, eyes blazing.
"I did my fucking job!"