The Undoer (12 page)

Brecken

I strap on my gear, my Nephilim dagger in its sheath, a runed dagger in my boot and another strapped to my thigh. I’m dressed in black, hoping to be harder to spot in the shadows.

Heidi waits on the other side of the room, also dressed in battle gear. After Dean left, we stared at each other for a moment. She wouldn’t let me explain or apologize. We haven’t discussed the kiss, which is fine by me.

She has her one runed dagger strapped to her hip. The one she stole from Jag. She faces the windows, staring out at the newly rising moon as she braids her hair into one long, dark plait. It hangs almost to her waist. As much as I hate to admit it, she should cut it off. Jag proved that point pretty well. With a determined expression, she grits her teeth, unaware that I watch her.

What is going through that complicated mind right now? Is she afraid? Anxious? Excited? As though she can sense my stare, she turns, glancing over at me, one slender eyebrow rising in question.

Slipping the runed dagger from its sheath on my thigh, I walk over and hold it out to her. “I’d like you to have at least two. You know. One for each hand.”

Her eyes lift to mine, dark, ocean depths of surprise. “Seriously?” She reaches out reverently and takes the dagger from my fingers, examining its length, the carvings in the blade. “Why?”

I can’t very well say,
because you’re my sister and I worry about you
, so I say, “I have a ton. You’ll actually be helping me by taking this one.”

“Thank you.”

I shrug it off, trying to act like it’s no big deal. But it is. I can’t stand the thought of her going ninja on a demon. I want to command her to stay home. To stay safe. “Sure. Not a problem.”

She glances into my eyes, smirking, and then gestures to my weapon-covered body. “Are you sure you can spare it?” She goes about tucking the blade into her belt on her other hip.

“I’ll manage.” I stand there smiling stupidly at her, our old camaraderie having returned. She forgives easily, which I’m amazed and grateful for. It’s something she didn’t do well when she was younger. I’m proud of who she has become. Not only is she beautiful on the outside, but she has a warm, loving heart on the inside, which, considering her circumstances, is highly unexpected.

“Ready?” I walk over to the door. My hand is on the knob when a furious pounding from the other side startles me. I actually jump in fright, squeaking in surprise like a little girl. Recovering quickly, I hide my embarrassment by raising my finger to my lips to motion to Heidi to be quiet.

I slide my Nephilim dagger out and stand to the side of the door. It’s probably an overreaction, and it’s just Dean returning for some unexpected reason, but I’m not about to make a mistake. There are only a couple of people who even know I live here, after all.

With a flash of my fingers, I throw the door open, ready for a fight. Jag’s arms are splayed out on either side of the door, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe, as though he dashed here at full speed without stopping. “Is Dean here?”

The surprise of seeing him stumps me for a moment. I never pictured him coming to my home, or even knowing where it is. His eyes flick to Heidi, who still stands by her bed, her mouth open and ready to speak. In a fraction of a second, Jag surveys our entire living space, ending with the two beds on either side of the studio apartment. His gaze comes back to mine, but I don’t miss the sting in his expression. I don’t understand why he even cares.

“Dean?” Heidi repeats, her brows pulling down into a frown. “He left a couple of hours ago. He didn’t go back to the church?”

“Have you seen him?” Jag asks me pointedly, his face pasty white in spite of his exertion.

I shake my head. “Not for a few hours.”

“He was supposed to be home a long time ago. We were going hunting. I’ve searched everywhere. He’d never leave like this.”

“Did you check the park?” Heidi hurries to the door and pushes past Jag to look down over the stairwell. “We should split up and search.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably drawing or something.” I’d seen his face when I walked in on him and Heidi. Adoration had been written all over it, too plainly to ignore. He loves her, just like everyone else, and I interrupted whatever had been brewing. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Dean is nice and everything, but I don’t see Heidi ending up with him.

“He never stays out alone after dark!” Jag shouts at me, panic edging his voice. “Never! He’s afraid of the demons. He can’t even kill them.”

There’s an undeniable ferocity in his eyes, but not just that. Devastating fear and loss also. However, I still think he’s jumping to conclusions. Dean is probably fine, holed up somewhere, nursing his wounds, thinking I won something he can’t have. It’s ridiculous really.

There’s a possibility Jag is right though. We live in the hood, and demons prowl these streets at night. But when Dean left our apartment, it was light. What could have possibly happened in broad daylight? The demons hide in their holes until darkness comes. The light actually repels them. I remember the painfully itchy sensation from my old demon days, and a shiver runs through my body at how real and alive those recollections are.

“He could have gone to visit Doug or Owen, or even other friends,” I suggest. Surely, he has other friends besides the Cazadors. He’s social and vivacious. Positive about life and the future. He’s the only one of us who is.

“He didn’t. He wouldn’t.” Jag seems to deflate as he says these last words. Hope disappears in his eyes like a lightbulb being flipped off. He falls against the wall, his hands rubbing back through his hair, frustrated. “We have to find him. Please, help me,” he says directly to me, pleading with me, as though he even has to ask.

“Of course.” I lock the apartment door behind me. Heidi is already a couple of stories down, and we follow her, bursting out of the building’s door together.

Night has fallen completely, and only a few streetlamps are lit. Most of the neighborhood is quiet; the only sounds are car horns or doors slamming.

We take off down the street.

***

Three hours later, we’re back on the front porch of the church. Dean has not returned and we’ve searched every park, plaza, and mom-and-pop store that’s open. It’s almost one in the morning, and no one has seen or heard anything. Dean has disappeared. Truly and completely.

Jag slumps to the front steps, his head between his knees, his hands behind his head, his face hidden. He doesn’t move or even twitch. He barely seems to be breathing, but when he finally lifts his face, it’s twisted in anguish and filled with torment. “We have to find him. Someone took him. I know it.”

Heidi and I stare down at him, unable to argue. It looks like he’s right. My gut tells me the demons are behind this. Was it an innocent possession or did they know who Dean was and who he travels with? If news has spread of my arrival,
I
could be their true target, but I keep this information to myself.

“What should we do?” Owen asks. When they heard about Dean, there was no question who we’d be searching for tonight.

“Think back,” I say to Jag. “Over the last few weeks, did anything unusual happen? Did you meet anyone strange or someone who might have seemed too interested in you and Dean? Has there been anyone hanging out by the church who you don’t know?”

Shaking his head emphatically, he growls. “No! I told you already. There was nothing weird going on. Nothing strange.” As he springs to his feet, his hairband slips from his ponytail and the long strands fall forward, hanging in his face. He starts pacing, his frustration a tangible energy around him.

“We’ll find him,” Heidi whispers, stepping close to Jag and placing her hand on his arm. I can’t believe she’s brave enough to try it. I expect him the snap at her like a wounded animal, but he stops and turns his face to hers, his eyes swimming with guilt. He places his hand over hers before walking into the church alone.

The rest of us stay on the porch, shuffling our feet, not knowing what to do. Doug kicks a rock across the street, his black Vans covered in dust, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. The tightness in his face and shoulders knots his expression, his ebony skin glowing with perspiration in the moonlight.

Owen is still and quiet, staring up at the moon. He doesn’t talk or offer ideas. He’s just sad. And in his black Cazador clothing, he looks like a long, thin shadow, something I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. These boys really care about Dean. I can see it clearly. They’re a family, and Dean is a central part of it.

With nothing more to say, I follow Jag into the church. He isn’t in the chapel, so I take the stairs down to the basement. He’s kneeling before his open trunk, holding a picture Dean drew of Jag and some girl. A candle flickers in the almost pitch black cellar, but I can tell the portrait is done in black and white, in pencil or charcoal, and is slightly smeared. Jag brushes his fingers over the aged, somewhat crinkled edges.

“He drew this a few years ago. Her name was Lily.”

I step up behind him, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. “She’s beautiful. A friend, I take it?”

“Mm.” Jag doesn’t nod or shake his head. I sense he isn’t reminiscing about the girl, but thinking of Dean and how he might never draw again.

Jag will never stop searching for Dean. He will learn the truth if it kills him.

Heidi

I’m so tired. So bone achingly tired.

We search almost the whole night for Dean, and when we are too exhausted to take another step, we head back to the church. After an hour there with Jag, the adrenaline leaves me, I can’t stay awake for another moment. I don’t want to leave, but we’ll be no good in the morning if we don’t get some rest. I let Bret take me home.

But sleep will not come.

I lie in my bed, reviewing my last moments with Dean before he left my apartment, how his whole demeanor had changed when Bret came in. His expression of happiness had fallen, and the light in his eyes had disappeared. He hadn’t been able to escape fast enough.

I should have run after him. I shouldn’t have let him leave alone. He is one of my dearest friends, and I feel like I betrayed him. I can’t even imagine what happened, but my imagination puts up a good fight. Scenarios run through my mind, one after another, each one worse than the other.

Gangs run the streets, not just demons, and someone could have attacked him, mugged him, or even killed him. But in my heart, I know… I know what my mind won’t accept… that Dean has been taken by the one thing we are most afraid of. Otherworldly beings we don’t understand. Beings with no conscience. Beings that use and throw our human bodies away like refuse.

What will they do to him? Has one possessed him somehow? Could he be walking around the city right now, a meat suit to some bigwig fiend? Groaning, I roll over. I haven’t slept in a normal bed for a year. My mattress has been hard cement or grass, my blanket, a coat.
This
bed—which should be wonderful and comfortable—keeps me awake with its plushness. And I can’t enjoy it knowing Dean is shivering in the dark, alone and frightened, or worse…

Moonlight glows through our wall of windows. Looking over to Bret’s side of the apartment, I see the outline of him in his bed, the ridge of his shoulder and hips. He’s faced away, his breath slow and even.

How can he sleep so peacefully? Why isn’t he tossing and turning like me? But then, he doesn’t know Dean like I do. He doesn’t have a history with Dean like I do. I’ve known Dean for a few years. Watched him grow and mature. I’ve seen him laugh and cry, pout and argue. He is my brother in the truest sense of the word. I can’t even imagine what Jag is going through right now. He’s alone at the church. There is no way he is sleeping right now.

And since I can’t sleep…

Slowly, I slip from my bed and pull on the clothes I wore the day before. They’re on the floor and easy to spot at the foot of my bed. The hard part will be unlocking all the dead bolts without making a sound.

I strap on both my runed daggers—the one I stole from Jag and the one Bret gave me—and then tiptoe to the door. Quietly, while holding my breath, I turn the top lock. It clicks back with barely any sound at all. The second one is a little stiffer and takes some muscle, but it too pulls back softly. The third lock is stiff in its slot and harder to turn. I put some grit into my efforts and it clunks back so loudly that I freeze, not even daring to breathe as I wait for Bret to awaken. I stare across our tiny apartment at his still form.

He doesn’t move.

Now for the chain. Slowly… oh, so slowly, I unhook the brass nob and set it gently against the wall. So far, so good. Brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear, I let myself inhale for one moment, my pulse pounding in my chest and throbbing in my forehead. Surely, Bret can hear me hyperventilating. He’ll stop my flight to the church for sure. I just know it. Even though I hardly know him, he acts like a… a big brother.

A strange rush—like chills—erupts at that thought. I glance back over at him and then shrug off those crazy feelings.

Grasping the door handle, I hesitate. I can’t remember if it’s noisy or quiet. I’ve come so far, undoing all these locks. Will this last turn of the nob be my undoing? Will it squeal and bring Bret out of his slumber? I hold my breath and twist… It turns without a sound. The gods are smiling down on me.

Releasing the breath I’m holding, I rest my head against the doorjamb for a moment. I can’t believe I made it this far. Pulling the door open only a fraction, I slip out silently, locking it behind me. I can’t leave Bret here without any protection at all. The deadbolts won’t be set, but there is only so much I can do.

I have no idea what time it is, but my guess is that it’s around four AM. The moon is full, and it lights the streets almost as bright as any streetlamp. A lone girl at night is a target.
Always
. And just because I have skills doesn’t mean I’ll stand a chance against a group of thugs, so I stick to the shadows. I’m not stupid… but I am afraid. I don’t love being out here alone.

All is quiet, and I arrive safely at the church. Standing on the darkened porch, I wait, not sure what to do at this point. Should I knock? What if Jag, somehow, has finally fallen asleep? He needs it, and he has to be exhausted. I shouldn’t wake him up. I try the handle. It’s locked. I glance down the street both ways, realizing what a stupid mistake I’ve made. I shouldn’t be here. What would I say to him anyway? He doesn’t like me. He probably, in reality, will tell me to leave.

I turn around, resting my hand on one of the peeling, wooden pillars by the front door. Yeah, this was definitely a mistake. I’ll go back home and chalk this up to crazy female hormone fluctuations. Just when I’m about to step off the porch, the door opens behind me. It’s so unexpected that I can’t stop my automatic reaction of screaming and striking out.

Luckily, Jag has quick responses too. He grabs my wrist, instantly holding it away from his face, but not letting go.

“Heidi?” His brown eyes are wide in the darkness and shadows hollow out his cheeks, but his hand is warm on my arm and his bare chest glows in the moonlight. Seeing him like this… open, vulnerable, human… he seems… beautiful.

Something deep in my heart lurches, and I can’t swallow. I stand there like an idiot, staring at his disheveled hair. My mouth is open and empty, just like my brain. What would he do if I threw my arms around him, held his cheek to mine, and told him I cared and understood?

“Why are you here?” He looks down the street before pulling me inside the church. He locks the door behind us and picks up a glowing candle that sits on the sill.

“I… um… I was worried about you and thought… well, I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone. I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep.” I shuffle my feet on the dusty floor and glance everywhere but at him.

He frowns, but he still hasn’t let go of my wrist. “And Bret let you come here alone?”

I pull my arm away and rub my wrist that he was holding too tight. “He’s not my dad, Jag. I don’t have to ask his permission, and I’m certainly capable of taking care of myself.”

He releases a tired sigh and sinks down onto one of the benches. “I don’t want to fight, Heidi.”

Neither do I, but it’s what we do best. We can’t be in each other’s presence without bickering, competing, or wanting to throw punches. “Sorry. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

He smiles up at me then, patting the bench beside him. I sit, bewildered at what to do or say next. Jag and I have never really been alone together. Dean was always there to fill up the awkward silences. I don’t know how to talk to Jag. I hadn’t thought it through this far. We sit quietly for a few moments, playing with dust on the bench or invisible threads on our clothing.

“You should probably get some rest,” I say finally. “Morning is coming, and you’re going to be too tired to function.” I smile, feeling unbelievably shy. I don’t know what I was thinking when I came here. That Jag would suddenly turn into a different person and like me? That because of Dean’s disappearance, we’d connect like never before? I guess I’d hoped these things would happen, but life never works out that way for me. Ever. I start to stand, but he stops me with a hand on my thigh.

“Please stay.” He looks into my eyes with an expression I’ve honestly never seen on him before, the candle creating a halo of light around us. “You’re exhausted too.”

He can aggravate me more than anyone else, and yet, I feel drawn to him in a way I can’t explain. Maybe it’s animal magnetism or the way he makes me want to be better at everything. Or just being close to him in the dark. Maybe it’s that we’re alone for the first time ever.

The old church is silent around us, harboring deep shadows in every corner. If I were here alone, it would have totally creeped me out, but he is with me and it makes all the difference. He chases the phantoms away. Literally.

Jag takes my hand and stands. I rise with him, wondering what we’re going to do next. He leads me down into his dark, makeshift bedroom in the basement cellar. His and Dean’s sleeping bags lie on the floor, and he draws me down next to him.

I feel ill at ease, sitting with him on his sleeping bag like it’s normal for us, and the thought that Jag doesn’t even like me keeps screaming in my mind. The basement is even darker than the chapel, and the dusty cement walls look black in the candlelight. I keep my gaze on Jag and try to rein in all thoughts of ghosts and goblins. I’m safe with him. Nothing can hurt me here. He can protect me. He protects everybody. For some reason, the thought that I can protect myself never enters my mind.

He sets the candle on the chest behind him and then lies down, his head resting on his hand. His face is shrouded in shadow and the candlelight shines through his blond hair, outlining the edge of his jaw. He’s smiling as he reaches out to take my hand again. “I’m glad you came over. I didn’t feel like being alone.”

I can’t believe he would admit this to me. The great and powerful Jag doesn’t want to be alone?

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

He notices my nervousness. Of course he does. He notices everything. Always. I laugh, embarrassed, unable to stop myself. I don’t know how to act around him, and laughing is always my go-to reaction. And being alone like this on his bed…

“Nothing. It’s just…” I look around at the unfathomable and haunting shadows. There are too may dark corners I can’t see. How does he stand it?

I lie down since he’s tugging on my arm to do so and scoot a bit closer, trying not to let my eyes dart toward the monsters that aren’t there. The darkness plays tricks on my eyes, so I close them and just breathe. Some Cazador. Afraid of the dark.

Jag whispers, “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to you here.”

“I know,” I say just as softly.

“Come here.” He pulls me closer, the scent of his hair and clothes surrounding me like a comforting blanket. I lay my head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around me. Being with him like this feels like a dream, like I’ve finally found the place I’m supposed to be. I’m suddenly grateful Bret didn’t want a romantic relationship. It would have been a mistake. I know that now. There is definitely something strange and cool about Bret, but this feeling with Jag is different. It’s always been there at the back of my heart, hidden. I see that now. Maybe that’s why we fought so much, and why Jag resisted me too.

The fact that he wants me
now
, after rejecting me for so long… What changed? Was moving in with Bret the catalyst? Maybe that’s what it took for Jag to realize he felt something more for me than annoyance.

For me, it was Dean’s disappearance. I couldn’t stand the thought of Jag being here alone with no one to love him, and I did… oh… no… I would never admit that out loud.
Ever
. I have strict rules about relationships. I’ve kept myself separate and alone on purpose. Every person I love seems to either betray me or die.

But this thing with Jag…

Now it doesn’t matter how dark it is, or how scary the world has become. I feel safe in his arms. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the scent of
him
, earthy and male, still unable to believe I’m here with him… alone.

“What are we doing, Jag?” I don’t want to ask. It will ruin the moment for sure, but I can’t stand not knowing. Am I being played? Are his feelings as sincere as mine? I just don’t think I can stand it if they aren’t.

He’s silent for a moment. I almost wonder if he is going to ignore me, but then he releases a sigh. I expect him to pull away, the moment destroyed, but instead, his arms tighten and he holds me closer. “I don’t know. Do you want to go?”

I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes. Our faces are only an inch apart. The fact that his lips are so close to mine is enough to send my heart pounding.

I want him to kiss me.

And more than anything, in that moment, it feels like something will break inside me if he doesn’t. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

His eyes soften, our hearts beating in unison. He leans forward, our mouths a breath apart, and yet he hesitates. But I feel the warmth of his skin, the heat of his touch as he waits… just like I do. When it seems I can’t take the anticipation any longer, he closes the distance, his lips touching mine, feather light. So soft that I can do nothing but ache for more. But instead of deepening the kiss, which I know we both want, he groans and then rests his chin on my head, inhaling deeply. I snuggle into his chest and close my eyes, feeling safe for the first time in ages. He doesn’t try anything else, even though he could have… and I would have let him.