Seduced by Crimson (31 page)

His cell started vibrating in his hand. He glanced down, though it was an effort to shift his attention from Xiao Fei. Twenty-four messages. My, he was a popular guy. He sighed, unable to delay any longer. He punched in the number for Peter. The head druid answered on the second ring.

"It's about time—"

"Call everyone," Patrick interrupted. "Tell them to meet at our holy place tonight. Sunset."

"Where the hell are you? I need to know—"

"An IHOP in Redondo. Bring some extra clothes and flip-flops for two people." He gave the necessary directions, then hung up. He didn't even have to tell the man to come get them; he knew Peter would arrive as fast as his Porsche could get him there.

Then he had to face his messages. The first zillion were from Peter. He deleted those without even listening—he'd get those lectures soon enough. Then came a tearful one from his sister. The authorities wouldn't release his parents' bodies, and she didn't understand why. He swallowed and hit delete. Some pains were too sharp to deal with at the moment. He was honoring his parents in the only way he could: by ending the demon invasion.

Next came a message from Hank: "Hey, bud. Me and Slick are handling Pete, but it's ugly. Where are you? I can't watch your back if I can't find it."

Patrick's next message was from his brother. Then his sister again, her voice a bit more frantic as she wondered where he was. Interestingly enough, one followed from the San Bernardino police. They'd like to ask him a few routine questions.
Yeah, right
. Like there was anything routine going on these days.

More from Peter. Then his sister again, truly panicked. She was terrified for him. Apparently everyone assumed he was dead. He needed to call her, but what would he say? That he was alive and hunted by demons? Like that would reassure her. Instead, he opted for a simple text message, one that reassured without revealing too much:
HEY, SIS, AM FINE, CAN'T GET HOME. DEMONS EVERYWHERE. LOVE YOU ALL. SWEAR I'LL BE CAREFUL PATRICK.

He sent the message, then killed his cell. He just wanted to be with Xiao Fei right then. When he looked up, he was startled to see her dark eyes trained on him.

"Who died?" she joked, seeing his face.

He flinched, then said, "My parents. The police aren't releasing the bodies. They probably don't want to advertise that demons hit San Bernadino too."

She stared a moment, then abruptly cursed in Cambodian. "I'm sorry, Patrick. Your face looked pale and I thought… Well, I didn't think. I'm sorry."

"That demon attack. I was late to the meeting, and…" He took a gulp of coffee. "I couldn't save them."

"Your mother seemed a nice woman. I really enjoyed getting her e-mails. She was so open and honest. She talked about your father. I could tell she loved him a lot, even when she was complaining that he never put his socks in the hamper."

Patrick managed a weak grin. "Yeah, Dad was great in an academic, driven sort of way. I guess that describes both of them," he added after a moment.

"The monks said that death is not an end; it is merely returning home after a long journey."

"Or a short one," Patrick murmured.

Xiao Fei's gaze remained steady, "ft is always too short for those who remain on the path."

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Her face was pale and drawn. She'd lost a lot of blood lately, and neither of them had gotten enough sleep. Then Patrick looked deeper. He felt her peace and her strength. Still, he couldn't connect with her warmth, though they'd somehow caught hands across the table.

"Is that how you got through?" he asked. "After the attack in Cambodia?"

Her gaze dropped to their intertwined hands. "I survived."

"I know, but how mentally did you—"

"I
survived
, Patrick. That was my entire focus; that was what got me through. And it's what got me here." She looked back up at him, and he was startled by the ferocity in her face. "And because I live, all my sisters live through me."

"The bloodline continues?"

She nodded.

"So, you don't really believe that other stuff, do you? That bit about 'returning home.'"

She flinched at his question, but he didn't let her withdraw. He knew he was pushing into a sensitive area, but his grief was driving him.

"I believe in living," she finally said, "and letting the dead care for themselves." She lifted her chin. "It's the only way to keep going."

"No," he murmured. Then he repeated it louder as his conviction grew. "No, that's not enough."

"Patrick—" she began, but he cut her off.

"I believe in meaning. A life, however short, lived with purpose. My parents had a meaningful life. They had their work, and they raised three good children."

"That's great," she began, but he wasn't finished.

"And they sent me to you. That's why I came, Xiao Fei. That's why I searched you out."

"To close the demon gate."

"Yes." Then he shook his head, undercutting his answer. "I'm giving their deaths meaning, and that gives my life purpose and focus. It gives
my
life meaning."

She smiled, though the gesture was weak, and drew his hand to her lips. "I'm glad it gives you peace," she murmured, "but don't let it eat you alive."

He frowned. Extending his fingers to caress her lips, then her cheek, he shook his head at her contradiction. "I don't understand."

"Vengeance leads to death—a bitter, angry, withered death."

Was that what he sought—vengeance? He hadn't thought of it in those terms. He hadn't dared touch the part of himself that remembered his parents, that was dealing with their deaths. But with Xiao Fei's hands framing his and her face at the tips of his fingers, he found the strength to delve into that area of his soul.

Hatred boiled through his mind. Fury, rage, and, yes, a bloody drive for vengeance crashed through his thoughts. Part of him reeled back in horror, but the rest of him embraced the ugliness. He wanted to kill the demons. He wanted to rid the entire universe of their presence in the bloodiest, most painfully graphic way possible.

"I want them dead," he said with dark finality.

"If you embrace death, you can never shoulder life. Which is it, druid? Will you heal or destroy?"

His eyes narrowed, and his grip on her fingers tightened. "Which is it, Phoenix Tear? Do you bleed to bring health, or do you drip your poison into vampires and werewolves to end their lives?"

He felt her stiffen. They were joined only through their hands, but he felt her energy shift and her anger flare. "Are you trying to teach me how to fight demons, druid? I think I have much more experience than you."

"You have a
child's
memories, Xiao Fei. What of the woman?"

Her eyes flashed. "I will do what it takes to survive. What of the man?"

"I must end the demon threat on Earth."

Her eyes narrowed. "Of course. But at what cost?"

"Everything I have."

He watched her bite her lip, and a war seemed to spark in her eyes. "Vengeance does not heal, Patrick. I know. The meditations, the prayers—they don't work when I'm filled with anger. I can't even heal my own wounds then."

He frowned, the rational part of his mind latching on to the tremor in her voice. "You must have acted in hate at some point." He thought back through their time together. "The vampire. Stan. Didn't you hate him?"

"I cured him with love for the man before his turning. Without that, my blood…" She shook her head. "It won't work without love." She abruptly leaned forward, using their joined hands to tug him closer. "I'm not doing anything more with you, Patrick. Not if it's done in hate."

"Can you embrace the vampires and the werewolves?" he challenged. "Can you love them as part of Earth?"

She swallowed, her gaze flickering. "Yes," she finally said. "Maybe. But…" Her gaze hardened. "Can you give up your vengeance?"

A moment before he hadn't even realized he wanted revenge. Now it seemed too much a part of him to release. "How do you just end it?" he whispered.

She shook her head, her eyes shimmering with tears. "I focus on something else. I replace death with survival."

"I want meaning," he said, only to realize that he was lying. He added, "I want this to end. I want the demons gone."

Xiao Fei looked resigned. "
That's
why we couldn't close the gate, Patrick. It's because you're not focused on the healing."

"But—"

"Listen to me!" she snapped. "I'm just the power source; you shape the flow. Don't forge any connection with the demons. Don't think of them, don't hate them, don't even know them. That just opens the gate wider. It creates ties to them. It allows them to stay in this world."

"But I want to erase them."

"Doesn't matter." Her grip on his hand tightened. "When you think of them, you keep their connection to this world open. You keep the gate from Orcus wide." She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "You have to want something else, Patrick, something that binds Earth together."

"Love," he said. He spoke the word as it popped into his mind, but he wasn't sure he believed it. His Draig-Uisge training was directly contrary to everything she said.

"Love," she echoed back.

And then Peter burst into the IHOP and ended all conversation but his own.

"We can't count on Joanne and Frank. They're helping dig out refugees from homes that were hit by that first assault. I ordered them to come, but you know she's not going to listen. Scotty's got the plants, and I brought some weapons, but no one—and I mean no one—knows the chant. I can memorize it in seconds and I'll lead, of course, but those others just aren't up to it. And who knows if they'll remember their robes? I told them to bring the cotton ones, you know, but who knows if they can even get to the park? Oh, and flashlights, too, because…"

Patrick turned to look at Xiao Fei in the backseat. She had stretched out her legs and seemed to be asleep. Hell, he was halfway there himself; he'd long since tuned out Peter. But still, his mind wouldn't let him relax.

Love? Vengeance? Those words had never held much meaning in his life. He'd studied. He'd worked. He'd even dated and had sex occasionally. And he'd done what he had to do for the other druids. That had always been enough for him; it had kept his mind and his time well occupied.

But now his fists clenched when he saw the devastation wrought by the demons. Fires still lit the horizon to the southeast, washing his vision in red. Images of ripping out demon hearts occupied his mind—except when he looked at Xiao Fei. When he saw her creamy skin, her face smooth in sleep, his heart skipped a beat and his mind faltered. It went blank of everything except her.

"I need to know the exact ritual, Draig-Uisge, in detail. Draig-Uisge. Patrick!"

Patrick jumped. Forcing his attention back to Peter, he saw the Porsche was crawling through surface streets because the freeway was out. At least the streets were clearing. Pete had already told him that the National Guard was responding to the Los Angeles crisis. The military was pouring into the city, which meant most people who hadn't already left were locked tightly in their homes or were congregating at bars and local hot spots. In short, only the die-hards and deluded remained, going about their normal day as if it would all blow over.

He stared out the window at a woman hunched over groceries as she dashed down the sidewalk. How would she fare under demon control? What would happen if he failed tonight?

"Jesus, Patrick, try to pay attention!"

"I'm exhausted, Peter," he shot back. "I don't—"

"You were eating pancakes, goddamnit! During a fucking demon invasion, you were lollygagging about an IHOP like this was a joke or something. You're the goddamned Draig, Patrick. So get your fucking—"

"That's enough, Pete." He kept his voice low, his meaning deadly clear.

Peter slammed on the brakes hard enough that Patrick had to catch himself on the dash. In the back, Xiao Fei rolled off the seat with a Cambodian curse. "Don't you tell me to stop, you goddamned little prick! You work for me! I'm the head fucking druid in all—"

Patrick moved with both speed and a blind rage he barely restrained. Peter's ceremonial knife had been in a bag near his feet; now it was pressed oh, so gently to the fleshy underside of the man's chin.

"I am the Draig-Uisge," Patrick whispered against the head druid's ear. "I work for no one, least of all you. I serve the Earth. You lead other druids to support my task. If you can't do that, then you will be replaced with someone who can."

"Okay, okay. I got it—"

"Do I need to replace you, Pete?"

The man was quivering, making the knife scrape a raw mark in his skin. "N-no! No. Just t-take a breath, okay? We'll all get through this."

"No, Pete," he said softly. "We won't get through this. Not all of us. By tomorrow morning, some of us will be dead. The demons will slice our bellies open and rip out hearts while they're still beating."