Redemption (21 page)

 “What does he want?” I asked her in a whisper.

Aunt Kyra grew pale. She reached for my hands across the table, but I leaned away and her own hands fell between us, trembling. She had never tried to soothe me before.

“Oh, Dayton."

 I covered my face with my hands. Why had all of this been hidden from me until now?

“Why didn’t I know about any of this? Why didn’t I know about Amber?” I pleaded haltingly.

Ky tried moving closer. I scooted the chair back.

“I won’t apologize,” Kyra muttered, almost to herself.

She sat back in her chair, and I let my hands drop. She was staring at the wall above my shoulder.

“I met Damon after your parents passed.” Kyra paused and looked me in the eyes. “Keep in mind; we are at war, at war with all Demons. We still are. I had just taken over the Abbey. We are not your typical religious institution. We run the same way, in many ways, but we have a higher purpose. We are warriors."

She pulled her shoulders up tight, erect, stubborn.

“Your dad was a part of the Abbey, you know. Not by birth or choice, but because of your mother. He adored my sister. But your father was different. He . . . He . . .”

Kyra paused and stood up, and I followed her with my gaze as she paced for a moment before moving to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. I wanted to shake the story out of her, but I kept quiet. She took down a filter and the Folgers can, and I sniffed the air as she started scooping coffee. The smell was a familiar, comfortable one. I think Aunt Ky was just looking for something to do with her hands. They still shook. The coffee started dripping and Aunt Ky moved back to the table.

“Your dad didn’t approve of my ideas. I had radical views about the war, this is true, but they were effective. We were making a lot of progress. But, like I said, your dad was different,” Kyra said distantly, her mind fully engrossed in the past as she moved from the table once again to stand next to the coffee pot.

"He was judgmental, his tall, red-haired demeanor looming over us all. He didn't understand. He—"

"He was an amazing father," I interrupted, images of my dad's strong presence and deep, melodious voice more than clear in my memory.

 I wasn't going to put up with parental criticism from a woman who'd turned her back on her own niece, who'd tried to kill her. My parents were better than that. Aunt Kyra let the subject drop. Facing me, she looked down at the floor.

“When your parents passed, I found strange notes scribbled everywhere in your dad’s study. They were mad! Talk of Demons, their hierarchies, leaders . . . it astounded me. It was stuff I should have known.” Kyra shook her head. “And one of the names he had written down several times was Damon. There were notes about him coming to see your father, discussions they’d had, things Damon had propositioned to your father. It was all there. And with the name was a number. I took it upon myself to contact him."

Aunt Kyra paused and poured a cup of coffee. She held it out to me, but I shook my head. My palms were too sweaty to hold a cup, and my stomach hurt too much at the moment to even think about drinking any.

“What did Damon want with dad?” I whispered.

Kyra’s hand began to shake so badly coffee leaked over the side of the cup and she laid it down on the bar beside her. My throat closed up.

“He didn’t want your dad. He wanted one of his children."

I froze.

“Why?” I managed, my pulse beating rapidly in my neck. It was making my head begin to throb. Kyra didn’t even try to approach the table.

“Because he said your dad’s blood held the key to redemption. And that his children would end the torment placed on his kind. He said you or Amber could be the key to preserving humankind,” Kyra finished, her face flushed now with heat. Something wasn’t right.

“What went wrong?” I asked, my head throbbing so badly, I could hear the pounding in my chest. Kyra looked up.

“You were the one. Damon said he smelled it in your blood. You were supposed to lure him to us, not be sacrificed to his kind. No one ever said anything about you becoming his."

I almost forgot to breathe.

“Marcas?” I asked.

“Marcas is his enemy. It went differently than I planned but the mission is still the same, Dayton,” Kyra said so quietly I knew the talk had left her empty. There was nothing more I’d get from her tonight. I still didn’t know what it had to do with me. I was left more confused than I had been before. Nothing felt right.

I stood up and left her there in the kitchens. She didn’t try to stop me. 

Chapter 17

The Other is interesting. He is bold, but aloof. He is angry. Silent. Brooding. He has his own unspoken war with his brother.

~Bezalial~

My bedroom felt like a stranger's. It was mine, an organized mess of paper and clothes, the floor a wastebasket for discarded stories and poems. But instead of being comforting it made me dizzy. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out distantly.  The screen glowed. It was Monroe.

What up, Day? What happened to you?

Just a headache. I’m fine.

Hangover huh? Lmao

What?

There’s a rumor you were seen at Everett’s this wkend. When were you going to tell me?

Oh

Day?

Yeah?

You ok?

Yeah, we need to talk

Sure. Now? Need me to call?

No, in person. Meet me at the library?

Sure. In fifteen?

Yeah.

The minute I drove up into the library parking lot, I felt a million times better. There, leaning against the outside of the building with a hot latte and a bottle of Tylenol was Monroe wearing a pair of tight black leggings and a peasant top complete with platform sandals. The sight made me grin. It didn’t matter if she was upset about the rumor she’d heard. It didn’t show, and it wouldn’t. She didn’t work that way. Not without an explanation from me.

“Just so you know, I owe the bro a whole English paper typed and double spaced for dropping me off here,” Monroe complained as I sauntered toward her wearily. She and her middle brother were forced to share a car.

One look at my face and she thrust forward the latte and Tylenol adamantly. I took them.

“You’ll just buy him one off the internet,” I commented wryly. She shrugged.

“Yeah . . . well, it’s the thought that counts. Don’t knock my sacrifice. It’s going to cost me nonetheless."

Her lip poked out. I tried to laugh but found I couldn’t. Monroe led me into the library.

“What’s up, Day?” she asked seriously. “I’m worried about you. It’s not like you to spend the weekend avoiding me, then the way you left school so abruptly, and the rumor . . .what happened this weekend, Day? Did that guy have something to do with it? The one at the school?”

I could tell she’d been giving this a lot of thought, and I hated she’d worried.

“I’m not sure you’d believe me. I don’t think I believe it myself yet,” I said cryptically.

Monroe walked into an empty reading area and hijacked two cushy chairs in the corner. She fell back into one and propped up her feet.

“That bad, huh?” she asked as I plopped down on the floor in front of the chair.

She hummed a moment as she started plaiting my hair and I sighed.

“Isn’t the 'you won’t believe this' crap supposed to be my line? I’m the one convinced Elvis is still alive and living on my street,” Monroe remarked offhandedly, and I cracked open an eye with a snort.

“This is a lot more serious than Elvis and your Marilyn Monroe conspiracy theories."

Monroe’s fingers stilled in my hair.

“What’s wrong, Dayton?”

Her hands moved to my shoulders. It was the compassionate tone of her voice that finally did me in. I started to sob, the tears spilling so fast, my shirt stuck to me slightly. It wasn’t the pretty kind of crying you see in movies either. No, it was the snot dripping, hiccuping, totally mortifying kind of tears you normally reserve for closed bedrooms or bathroom stalls. Monroe sat up abruptly and hugged me.

“Talk to me, Dayton!”

 I talked. I told her everything, beginning with the strange day I’d had the day before my birthday to the unbelievable conversation I’d just had with my aunt. By the middle of the story, Monroe had grown rigid.

“What are you saying?” Monroe asked me dazedly, her tone edged with doubt. “That your aunt is the head of some cult who is now working hand in hand with a Demon she’s supposed to kill?”

I hadn’t expected her to believe me, but it still stung. I spun around to face her and grabbed her hands.

“I’m telling you that your vision was
real
! That you can tell me 'I told you so' if you want to. I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore! All I know is that the day of my birthday, my life suddenly turned into a 24 hour hallucinogenic trip, full of dreams, nightmares, and truths all rolled into one. And I’m scared,” I said desperately.

She looked at me silently a moment, and I pulled hard at her hands.

“I’ve
never
lied to you, Roe!”

She looked down at her callous-free, manicured hands, and I felt like biting off every single polished nail. Dammit! I’d never lied to her!

“Well, there was this one time in second grade—”

I threw down her hands.

“My God, Monroe!” I huffed, my chest tight until I noticed the small smile playing wryly at the corner of her mouth. It gave me hope.

“You believe me?”

She leaned back against the chair, her eyes rolled toward the ceiling.

“This Marcas? He was the hottie outside school, right?” she asked as her eyes rolled back down to meet mine. I nodded. She shrugged and sat up again.

“Well, yum. I always did like bad guys,” she commented wryly.

 I half-laughed, half-sobbed.

“You do believe me then?”

“I’m not sure I get it, but I don’t think you’d lie to me,” Monroe answered.

“I don’t get it either, Roe. But I’m scared, and I think they plan to kill me."

 Monroe leaned toward me.

“They wouldn’t!” she breathed. I wasn’t so sure.

“Library is closing in thirty minutes,” a voice said from beside us, and we both jumped a good foot in the air.

The librarian looked at us strangely before turning to walk away. I almost laughed at the absurdity of the moment, but my phone vibrated and I grabbed at it before it could ring. The name on the screen made me cringe. The Abbey.

“Hello?” I said quickly into the receiver, looking over my shoulder to see if the librarian was anywhere near.

“Don’t go home, Dayton!” Amber answered breathlessly, her voice winded and short. I glanced over at Monroe.

“What? Why?”

“Just don’t go home! It’s not safe,” Amber insisted. “I can’t explain it to you right now. Just don’t go home!”

Amber hung up. I stared at the receiver. Her voice had been loud enough I knew Monroe had heard. I looked up and caught her eye.

“You believe me now?” I asked.

“Let’s get out of here!” she said quickly. “You can stay with me.”

I wasn’t going to argue.

***

“Mom, Dayton’s going to stay tonight if that’s ok!” Monroe shouted once we reached her house.

Loud banging noises led us to the living room, and I grinned at the disheveled middle-aged woman sitting on the floor outside the living room closet, her hair wrapped in a bright yellow bandana and a dust streak on her cheek. Half the contents of the closet sat in her lap.

“Remind me to just keep ignoring this closet when I decide to spring clean,” Mrs. Jacobs complained as we rounded the corner.

“It’s fall, mom,” Monroe pointed out. Her mom rolled her eyes.

“Details, details,” she murmured, pushing the contents of the closet off her lap and dusting off her pants as she stood up.

“Hello, Dayton. Fine by me if you stay. The Lady Ky okay with it?”

I nodded. Mrs. Jacobs clapped and dust fanned off her hands.