The Undoer (15 page)

“Please… let… me go.” I refuse to cry, even though tears press against the backs of my eyes. My head pounds and even the candlelight feels too bright.

He tsks and lifts my chin with his finger. “We are not finished. The night is still young.”

I don’t bother to keep my head raised. Two demons have pitted themselves against me so far, but they haven’t won… yet. I’m not sure I can survive another one of these strange onslaughts though. If they are going to kill me, I wish they would just get it over with.

Brecken

When I wake, I stretch and roll over, expecting to see Heidi sound asleep on her side of the apartment. She is
not
there, and her bed is a mess. I glance over at the bathroom, which is only a few feet from the foot of my bed, but the door is open and the lights are off.

I lurch to a sitting position. She wouldn’t leave without telling me. But then, yeah, she totally would. It’s not as if I’m her dad. She doesn’t have to constantly check in with me, but I really wish she would.

Hopping out of bed, I hurry to get dressed, scraping a comb through my tangled hair. I leave the apartment with a sigh as I lock the numerous deadbolts I placed on the door. Heidi hadn’t locked any of them when she left.

It’s a ten-minute walk to the church. Before I even get close, I see her and Jag visiting on the front porch. A strange twist reverberates in my chest, seeing them together. I don’t know why it bothers me, but it does. It stops me for a second, and it’s at that moment that she looks up and notices me. An expression of surprise flashes in her eyes, but it is soon replaced with a smile.

“Hey, Bret!”

I wave back, trying to figure out why they don’t seem to be in a rush to scour the streets for Dean. I would have thought Jag would be out, knocking doors and turning over every stone. He nods toward me, but that’s it.

I stop before them, my hands in my pockets. “Any news?”

Heidi tries to speak mid-gulp and chokes. Her eyes are wide and excited. “Yes!” She wipes spilled coffee from her chin. “Jag went out early this morning and interrogated a demon.”

I figure if the news were dire or imminent, they would have already spit it out, so I keep my gaze on Heidi, not wanting to deal with Jag so early in the morning. Maybe I need coffee too.

“How come you didn’t wake me when you left? We could have come together.” I sound parental and want to kick myself. She’s wild and untamable. Always has been. But as her older brother, I want to rein her in and keep her safe. There’s nothing she’d hate more. She’d rebel before I could blink. I know her well.

She steals a quick glance at Jag, and he smiles as if he knows he’s won something I’ve lost. I grit my teeth. Something’s happened between them, and I can’t dig it out without looking like a jealous suitor.

“Oh, I woke early and you looked wiped. I didn’t want to wake you,” she says with eyes downcast. She can’t even look at me? I can read her without even trying hard. She’s lying right to my face!

I turn to Jag to keep from saying anything I might regret. Taking a deep breath, I focus on what Heidi
has
told me. That Jag interrogated a demon. He wouldn’t have gotten much. Even if he threatened to kill it, it wouldn’t have cared. It would just go into a different body because Jag doesn’t have the kind of weapon that will make it stay dead permanently. But if he tortured it first… that could be a different story. No creature likes to endure pain.

“What did you learn?” I ask.

“Not much. Only that the demons are organized, like an actual army.”

He doesn’t meet my gaze either, but casts a glance at Heidi. I have to really focus to keep from grabbing him by the neck and smashing his head into the wall. If he’s done anything to her…

I look back and forth between them, how close they’re sitting to one another, the familiar way Heidi glances at him when she thinks I’m not looking. The comfortable way Jag’s knee rests against hers. All sorts of things go through my mind. None of them good.

As far as the organization of demons goes, I already know about that. I comment offhandedly since it’s the only safe thing to do. “Yeah. They are set up well. Generals, lieutenants, levels of advancement. The whole shebang.”

They both stare at me, gaping.

“How do you know that already?” Heidi asks.

“You knew this and didn’t tell us before?” Jag asks at the same time.

If they want info on demons, I can give them everything, but how to do it without making myself look suspicious or guilty… which I’ve just done? “You aren’t the only ones who know how to torture demons.” I stare back. “So,” I ask, intent on steering the conversation in a different direction. “Get any good info?”

“Well.” Jag stands and crumples his Styrofoam cup. “I was hoping to learn if the demon knew who had taken Dean and what they’d done with him.”

“And did it?”

“No,” he says. “It only knew that something big was going on, but he hadn’t been invited to the party.”

No, a low-level wouldn’t have been. They aren’t privy to important meetings. But if that is what happened… if Dean was taken by important demons and they are holding him for information… I wrack my mind for a solution.

“We were going to try to find another demon to see if it has any more info to go on,” Heidi says, also rising and tossing her cup toward a huge garbage pile across the street. It’s overflowing, and no one has bothered to empty it for ages. The cup only makes it halfway across the street. Swearing under her breath, she saunters over to pick it up. She takes it all the way over and stuffs it inside the dumpster. It’s a mountainous pile that’s starting to stink.

“You should really get that taken care of,” I say to Jag.

He shrugs and starts walking away. Heidi hurries to catch up with him. Once again, I am left behind.

“What about Owen and Doug? Are they coming?” I call after them.

“I don’t know what they’re doing,” Jag says. “But I’m not waiting around for anyone.”

Exhaling, I follow. We walk the few blocks into town, to the plaza that is surrounded by little shops and eateries. I grab doughnuts for Heidi and me. She flicks her eyes toward Jag and I receive her message grudgingly, buying Jag a doughnut too. He takes it and gives me a nod of acknowledgement.

We sit down on the bench and wait, watching each passerby with a practiced eye. It isn’t ten minutes later that I elbow Jag and point to a guy on the corner of the plaza. He stands under a copse of trees, wearing a black leather jacket and leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette. He watches the plaza also, but he hasn’t paid any real attention to us yet.

“I’ll circle around,” I whisper, hurrying in the opposite direction, hoping to catch the guy before he gets suspicious or leaves. I trust Jag to watch the front. There’s an alleyway off to the side, but Heidi will block it. I don’t like the idea of her being there at all, but obviously, I have no say.

I creep close, the trees just ahead. The demon hasn’t noticed me yet. I move slowly, quietly, my Nephilim dagger at my side. It glints in the sunlight. In one swift motion, I have the guy around the neck and am pulling him into the shadows.

Heidi and Jag spring forward, searching the guy for weapons. They find a pocketknife, which they confiscate.

“Hey!” the demon cries out. “I didn’t do anything!”

I slap my hand over his mouth, keeping my dagger at his neck. “Make one sound and I swear I’ll slit your throat. It’s Nephilim, so I’d stay quiet if I were you.”

The guy’s greasy, blond hair hasn’t been combed in a while, and a foul smell wafts up from his unwashed body. Demons are so stupid when it comes to protecting and taking care of their stolen meat suits. They let them waste away quickly, all in the attempt to experience every awful thing they can before the body dies.

“Who are you?” our prisoner asks in a panicked whisper.

“It doesn’t matter,” I growl back. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name. They call me The Dog,” he says with a whimper.

I’ve heard of him. A lesser demon who survives on the scraps of his superiors. How sad that the dregs of the underworld are allowed to come through
The Door
. “You demons have something that isn’t yours, and I want it back.”

The Dog’s eyes are wide and terrified, and when Jag pulls out his runed dagger, Dog goes limp in my arms. “I don’t know anything. I swear. They don’t tell me nothin’.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jag says, leaning in close. “I think you know plenty, and if I don’t hear the truth right now, I’ll cut off every one of your fingers one at a time… slowly.”

Jag’s eyes, which always seem a little cold to me, are downright icy with hate, his teeth clenched. The chords in his neck stretch taut, and it seems to take everything he has to hold himself in check.

“Jag, I got this,” I say, growing uneasy at his abrupt reaction.

My legs suddenly grow warm and my stomach knots. Disgusted, I swear under my breath and smack The Dog on the side of the head. He peed on me! Now I’ll smell like urine all morning. And even though I’m sure he’s terrified, The Dog smiles.

Jag scowls until he notices the growing wet streaks on the guy’s stained and soiled khakis. A smile grows on Jag’s grimacing lips also. “Sorry.”

I don’t think he means it.

The Dog sags against me as Jag presses the tip of his dagger into his chest. The demon screams in agony and starts to cry like a baby. “Please don’t kill me. I just got this body!”

Jag actually laughs in The Dog’s face. “Like I care how long you’ve had it.”

The demon, although terrified, has the guts to actually spit in Jag’s face. That is the wrong move on a variety of levels. The saliva drips down Jag’s cheek before he wipes it away slowly… with a smile. He doesn’t say another word, just plunges the dagger deep into the demon’s chest.

“Great,” I say as the body disintegrates into ash. “We needed him. Now we’ll have to find another.” I stand there staring at my filthy clothes, glaring at Jag. I’m pissed at having to work with someone so hotheaded and angry. I can’t depend on him to keep his cool. He doesn’t think a demon’s life has any value. He hates them. No questions asked and no excuses.

I hate demons too, but for different reasons, because I know something Jag doesn’t. Demon lives have purpose. The world needs what they bring to the table. It’s all about opposition. Ying and yang. There can’t be good if there isn’t bad. But there are rules for both sides, and the demons are breaking theirs. They aren’t supposed to completely suppress the human’s soul. They aren’t supposed to take over and kill their host. There are a certain number of evil spirits and demons that are allowed in this realm at one time, and they aren’t following that particular regulation.

“It’s fine,” Jag says. “They’re everywhere.”

I know they are, but now, we’ll have to spend time catching one. Most often when daylight comes, they go underground like vampires. Only the stupid ones stay out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and run into another stupid demon.

But I doubt it.

Heidi

It’s almost noon and sun shines brilliantly overhead. I wish I’d worn my old baseball cap to keep the scorching rays off my head. I’m a soggy mess, and my hair soaks up a ton of heat.

We sit in the park, moving from park bench to park bench, waiting for another demon to rear its ugly head, but none do. We eventually mosey down the street a few blocks to catch a bus to the Down Quarter. There has to be a fiend or two there, since it is their stomping ground.

I slip into a window seat and slide the top half of the window down, letting the warm wind blow my hair back. It feels so good. I wish I could take off my shirt and let my whole body be enveloped by the breeze, but sitting on a bus in only a sports bra will bring unwanted attention. Plus, I’m not brave enough to do that in front of Bret, let alone Jag.

“So, what time did you leave this morning?” Bret asks, sitting down next to me and leaning close so he doesn’t have to speak too loud. He already asked this question, but I’d deftly avoided answering. I guess he’s trying to pin me down. Is he jealous? For some reason, that doesn’t give me the thrill I thought it would.

I glance across the aisle at Jag, who stares out the opposite window, a somber frown on his face, his expression cold and unreadable. One of his hands rests on the dagger at his hip, the other on his thigh. He looks tense and ready to spring from his seat at the least provocation.

Bret is still gazing at me with an uncomfortable intensity. I squirm, unnerved, and don’t want to confide in him. It’s too soon since our kiss. “Early,” I answer, and then I go back to looking out the window.

“I don’t mean to pry. I was just worried.” He gives me a dejected smile, and my heart breaks just a little.

Releasing a pent-up breath, I whisper, “I know. I’m sorry. I just feel… so stupid.” That little confession feels monumental, and I chance a glance into his soulful eyes. I find compassion in his gaze and maybe even a bit of forgiveness. But for what? I haven’t done anything wrong. Just kissed a really cute guy. My feelings for him have changed though—after everything—and I am no longer crushing on him, but there is still a strange, deep connection, and I
want
to be close to him. It’s impossibly confusing, considering my rapidly awakening feelings for Jag.

At that moment, Jag glances over. One of his eyebrows lifts as he takes in Bret’s close proximity and our covert conversation. If he’s curious or jealous, he doesn’t let on. He goes back to looking out the window.

“It’s okay,” Bret says. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Really. It’s just… well, I’ve already given my heart to someone else.” He grins, but it’s more of a grimace, and his words do anything but soothe my wounded pride. He’s already in love.

“To… who?” I ask before I can stop myself. The dread of knowing slams into me and squeezes that pumping muscle in my chest. For some reason, I still want to be important to him. I want to be someone he wants.

“She was… someone who died. Her name was… well, it doesn’t matter.” So he isn’t gay. He loves a girl. A dead girl. She probably died in the Rift like so many others, but that was a long time ago. Isn’t he ready to let her go and love again? “And you don’t want to move on?”

He shakes his head and wears an expression of hopelessness, his brows rising and his lips pressed tightly together. “I can’t move on. I’ll never be able to. She stole my heart and took it with her.” He laughs as though he knows how corny it sounds, but to me, it sounds heavenly. Would any boy ever utter those words about me?

I try to picture that phrase coming out of Jag’s mouth, but then I laugh to myself. That will never happen. He’d liked a girl during the Rift, but I don’t know much about it. He won’t talk about her and neither will Dean.

Jag stands up and bangs on the ceiling. The bus pulls to the side of the road, and we are left on a dusty, deserted street. I consider my two cohorts and then down the street we go, searching for any signs of life in the DQ.

I don’t come here. Ever. Some buildings are crumbling, damaged beyond repair. The streets are empty. No dogs bark. No birds sing. No children play in the gutters or ride bikes down the sidewalk.

The sun beats down relentlessly, and I wish I’d worn my tank instead of a full T-shirt. I didn’t even bring water. My mouth is starting to feel like the streets, dry and dusty.

“I need something to drink,” I say finally. “I’m going to check out that shop.” I point across the street to a soda fountain storefront that has no glass in the front window, just broken shards of someone else’s dream, ready to slash and cut anyone who trespasses.

The door is cracked open and I push against it, the hinges stiff and squeaky. Bret places his hand above mine and, reluctantly, the door opens for us. Russet-colored leaves carpet the floor and bleached, red vinyl stools stand at the counter. They wait for patrons that will never come. The back of the shop is dark and shrouded in shadow. The store is silent and as creepy as a graveyard on Halloween.

There has to be something liquid here, something that someone has not ransacked yet. The more I think about it, the thirstier I become. Rather than search the little shop with me, Bret sits down on one of the stools. He draws in the dirt on the counter, doodling. It stops me for a moment because it’s something my brother Brecken would have done, right down to the way he curves his pointer finger. Weird.

I shake my head, tempted to say something. He reminds me so much of him, and it makes my heart happy. I’m tempted to walk over and hug him, maybe even dole out a Wet Willie, just to show my affection. He glances up then as though he can feel my gaze. He smiles, his dimples creasing in his cheeks. So much like Brecken.

“I’m going to check the back. There’s nothing up here.”

“Okay. Yell if you need anything.” He turns to watch out the front window.

I doubt I’ll
need
anything. I’m pretty self-sufficient and skilled at defending myself. I push through a swinging door with a small, round window at the top. It’s dusty and impossible to see through. The door opens into a kitchen with a deep fryer, a sink, and dusty, stainless steel pots that hang from the ceiling. I’m tempted to take a few down to take home with us. We need pots and pans. They can be polished up, but I don’t want to haul them around all day, so I pass them by.

There are plenty of cupboards to go through. Some are homes to rats. I hold a scream inside when a rat as big as a housecat runs across my shoe when I open the door to his residence. I almost lose it right there.

Mouse droppings are all over the floor and counters, light barely penetrating through the dirty window in the door. Now, I’m no superhero, I know perfectly well that something could be hiding in this dismal kitchen, but why would they? The demons don’t anticipate us coming here or even entering this particular store. Especially in the daytime. The odds are slim, but still, I’m wary.

There’s a refrigerator at the back, but it’s dark and empty. It has been for a long time, although a rotten stench permeates the lining, and I quickly close the door. With a sigh, I head back to the front. When my hand presses against the swinging door, goose bumps sprout along my arms and I freeze, listening. I sense someone else in the room, like the apparition of a ghost. The room doesn’t get cold or change in any way, but I feel it. Like an invisible phantom breathing down my neck.

Darting for the door, I push through, huffing in fright. I run smack into Bret’s back. He faces the front of the store, his Nephilim sword drawn.

A demon stands before him, possessing the body of an average-looking guy who wears a denim jacket even though it’s a hundred degrees out. He’s clean cut and nice looking, smelling of aftershave rather than death, so I already know he has more brains than the last demon we encountered.

“We meet again, Bretariel,” the demon drawls with a half-smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any Bretariel.” Bret’s voice trembles, and I glance at him. I’ve never seen him unnerved, and it makes my heart beat erratically. If he’s nervous, a demon slayer without remorse, how much more of a need did I have to be afraid? And who’s Bretariel? The name feels strange on my tongue. I’ve never heard it before.

“Let’s not play games, old friend.” And then the demon’s gaze lands on me. His eyes widen and his eyebrows rise. “Oh, I get it.” The demon doesn’t look the least bit afraid of Bret or his Nephilim sword. “The Great Undoer is here incognito. Do you suppose
I
will keep your secret?”

Bret is poised to thrust. “I’m not looking for trouble. Just information.” He stares hard at the demon, his eyes never wavering. A vein pulses in his forehead, sweat beading along his brow and upper lip. He looks terrified, and I can’t get the demon’s words out of my head. They know one another? Slowly, I pull my dagger from its sheath and hold it against my leg, prepared to lunge.

Bret circles around a table and I follow, staying at his back. Step by step, he forces the demon to shift position until his back is to the door to the kitchen. He has nowhere to run.

“We’re looking for a boy named Dean. All we want is to know if you know anything about it.” Bret’s voice grows strained and higher pitched than normal. His hand shakes.

“A boy named Dean?” the demon repeats, his smile incredulous. “He must be an important player if The Great Undoer has come looking for him.” He laughs, sounding like a cackling witch. His cynical laughter rings through the storefront. Seconds later, Jag bursts through the front door.

“I heard laughing. What’s going on?”

We don’t answer, keeping our eyes on the demon.

Jag’s reaction is lightning quick. He has his dagger out and at the demon’s throat before it can even react.

“Wait!” Bret screams as Jag bends the beast over the counter. “You know where Dean is,” Bret growls into the guy’s face, only inches away. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“My, my, you’ve found me out.” The demon doesn’t seem to mind the dagger at his throat. Nor does he act afraid of Jag’s silly runed knife.

“Let him talk,” Bret says, pulling Jag back. The demon straightens and smoothes his clothes with a chuckle. If he has any weapon at all, he doesn’t show it yet.

“So, where is he?” I scream, growing desperate and tired. Even though Bret blocks my way, my heart races and the sting of adrenaline coats the insides of my veins. I’m eager to start the battle I know we’ll win… before the demon can escape through a back door.

“Fine, fine,” the guy answers, his hands up and placating. “I
have
heard of this boy, but what is he to you? A slave?”

Bret takes a threatening step closer, his dagger raised. “Where’s the boy? And be careful how you answer. If you’ve hurt him in any way…”

“You’ll what? Kill me? I’m not afraid of you, Undoer.” The demon’s back is almost to the kitchen door. All he needs to do is turn and dart into its depths. If he knows of an escape route, he just might make it. I don’t like the look on his face, like he knows the odds are in his favor.

I quickly grow impatient with this bantering. This idiot isn’t going to tell us anything. They never do, not even with torture most of the time. We should just cut him down. The poor human who once inhabited his body is already gone, his soul hopefully dwelling peacefully in heaven.

But still Bret waits, holding Jag and me off with a raised hand. “Stop calling me that. I’m not this Bretariel.”

The demon gives us a knowing smile, his confidence abrasive and irritating. I’d like to smack him… or worse.

“I am not afraid of you or your trinket,” he says, motioning to Bret’s Nephilim blade, but I can see the alarm in his eyes. That blade will end him for good, and I have a feeling he knows it.

“I am the only one who knows where your little friend is hidden,” he continues, backing away slowly. “You kill me—you kill him.”

Jag roars in fury, trying to push past Bret, but somehow, Bret holds him back without much effort. The expression on Bret’s face changes only marginally. A tighter grit to his jaw, a muscle flexing, a narrowness to his eyes. I marvel at his ability to stare the demon down and keep his cool.

“Where is he?” Bret asks calmly. Maybe he thinks he should play
good cop
since Jag
always
plays the bad one. “What do you want in return, Coem?”

“Wait—what?” Did Bret just call the guy by name? This demon that he doesn’t know?

The demon’s smile widens. “Oops. Whatever will you do now?”

Bret’s head drops, bowing in what looks like defeat. The muscles in his jaw clench and when he finally raises his eyes, he wears an expression I’ve never seen before. Fury mixed with defiance, blurred with impotence. “What do you want, Coem?”

“Ah… you know me well, Bretariel.”

Bret doesn’t move or even twitch, but Jag does. “You know him?” he asks, gesturing to Coem, finally piecing things together. He arrived to the party late.

“Oh, we’re old friends,” Coem says. “He and I go way back.” His cold gaze never wavers. He watches only Bret, taking in every movement and expression, looking amused and fascinated.

I’m fascinated too.

The look on Jag’s face is downright murderous. I’m not sure who he wants to kill first. Bret or Coem. This whole situation is insane.