Vendetta (14 page)

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At the first signs of exhaustion,
Seth demands that everyone leave. Carter walks the one hundred or so steps back to his house. Joshua and Mara disappear. Earlier I couldn't imagine ever sleeping again, but a wave of fatigue finally rolled in.

I crawl into bed with him and he curls up next
to me, wrapping me in his arms. I bury my face in his chest and breathe him in. The pine. His salty, seawater smell. Comfort personified.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. But I don't know what he's sorry for. That it happened. That he killed Mike. All of it.

"Te
ll me a story," I say, eyes closing.

"What kind of story?"

I shrug. "A happy story."

"I only know one worth telling."

"That's okay."

He clears his throat and swallows hard, muscles tightening as he grips me tighter. "Okay. . . . Once upon a time there was
a beautiful girl. She moved around a lot because of her mom."

My heart constricts. My mom. Gone. Again. Without even saying goodbye.

"She seemed angry. Angry and sad. Someone was watching her, though. From the shadows. She fascinated him, and he searched f
or excuses to be part of her world. During the restaurant's busiest hours. Mingling with the crowd at the beach. He was always careful not to get too close. Then she started dating this loser . . ."

"Seth," I whine, feeling a smile pulling at my lips.

"Oka
y, not a total loser, but definitely not good enough for this girl. He was surface. Predictable. She was deep, introspective, smart. She was mysterious. She had . . . secrets. But as jealous as he was, he couldn't interfere. Until one night there was an ar
gument, and then an accident."

I take in a long, fluid breath, listening. Remembering that night.

"The SUV was totaled, and she was trapped. He panicked, convinced she'd been taken from him. He'd fallen in love with her, and this was his punishment. But th
e Angel of Death never came."

"Angel of Death? What does he do?" I interrupt.

"It's not one angel, it's many. But they act as one entity. Anyone who dies first meets an Angel of Death. They're Messengers. They make sure you cross safely to the other side—t
o whichever side you deserve. Are you going to let me finish this story?"

I smile.

"Anyway, he managed to send for help and pry the door open. She was hurt, so he sat beside her . . . brushed her hair from her eyes . . . took her hand in his and held it an
d promised her everything was going to be okay. That he would make it okay. He tried to distance himself after that. He told himself it was nothing. But then he picked her up, held her in his arms for the first time, and it was over. He wanted her to see h
im. To know who he was. At first she thought he was a ghost, which
really
offended him."

I laugh. "You were following me around. Showing up in random places. No one else could see you. What was I supposed to think?"

"Who said this story is about you?" he a
sks, the smile in his voice teasing.

He runs his fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ears. "I tried to stay away," he says, voice softening. "I should have. I
wanted
to. But then, there was this one night. She looked . . .
absolutely beautiful. I watched her, trying to stay hidden, but I hated that she was shadowed. I wanted to be there. With her. And then that wasn't enough. And then I danced with her, but that wasn't enough, either. After that, I was hers. . . ."

He stops.
The happiest part of this story, I know, ends here, with this. There have been happy moments since then, but nothing as real and as perfect as that night. Because then the visions . . . and the Guardians . . . and
Arsen
and Viola. . . .

"When you left—whe
n I decided to help the Guardians—where did you go?"

"Nowhere, really. I couldn't leave. They weren't ready to reassign me. I just . . . hovered. Wandered. Helped other Guardians. It was hard, trying to keep away from you. From the Guardians talking about
you. And then. . . . I could feel you. I could hear you call me. Like you
were right there. I came back the second I knew you were in trouble. It wasn't worth it, being away from you."

He's sad again, and I realize how horrible it must be, watching someon
e you care about do everything she possibly can to keep herself in danger. How fragile the line is between life and loss. How one moment changes everything.

"So what happens next?" I ask him.

"What do you mean?"

"In your story. What happens next?"

"I don'
t know," he says, eyes searching mine.

"In a perfect world, how does this story end?"

"In a perfect world, we're together. There are no rules. Nothing can come between us. We're safe."

"Safe," I repeat.

Safe doesn't exist anymore.

"Until then, I'll do eve
rything I can to make sure nothing takes her away from me."

Even conceal a murder.

Take my place.

It's a beautiful story. Beautiful irony. The one person I want more than anything in this world can never be mine. I nestle closer, letting him hold me, focu
sing on the sound of our hearts beating together. Then I close my eyes and imagine some far and away version of Seth and me. Together, protected, happy.

For the first time in weeks, I have no dream.

S
EVENTEEN

Mara grabs a Sharpie marker from the
kitchen drawer and draws a circle around Seth's hip on the outline of my latest practice board. "This represents lust." She circles the thigh. "This is resentment." She circles the knee, the ankle, the stomach, and the heart. "The throat you already know i
s malice, or hatred. The knee equates to jealousy, the ankle selfishness, the heart disappointment, and the stomach represents emotions or feelings."

She steps back, moving away from the board, examining it carefully. "There are
others, but these are the most important. Demons will be driven by one of these seven things. Your older demons will be driven by the most negative of these: resentment, jealousy, malice. Your younger demons are driven most by their emotions: love, disappo
intment, selfishness, lust."

"
Arsen
was a newer demon, then?" I ask.

"If he was driven by his feelings for you, then yes. All
Diabols
are malicious at their core, but the older the demon the fewer the redeeming qualities," Mara replies.  

"How do you know
if they're young or old?"

"The older the
Diabol
the more beautiful he or she is. The more powerful. The more enticing."

"When Seth pulled me into your realm—the first time, I mean—I felt drawn to the
Diabol
, through his voice."

"They're like Sirens in tha
t way. It's best not to listen." Her brow creases with unease. "It was dangerous for Seth to take you there. I understand why he did. He can protect you better in our realm, but there's also a greater risk because that's where the demons have the most auth
ority." She steps away from me, moving backward. "Start throwing. Aim for these key points."

Seth is gone. He isn't far, but out of sight, exchanging information with the others. Joshua is with him. It's just me and Mara, and since it's not often we're alo
ne like this, I use the opportunity to ask her about him. To find answers to the questions plaguing me for months.

"How long have you known Seth, anyway?" I ask her, raising my knife, aiming for the thigh.

"A while."

"So you remember . . . everything. The
beginning of time, I mean."

"I remember clearly back to the fall of one-third of the angels in Heaven. The beginning of human history. The fall of man."

I throw the knife. A rotation and a half, and it hits the target.

"Seth doesn't remember anything be
fore me," I tell her, aiming for the heart. "Why is that?" I throw the next knife. It hits square in the center of the outline's chest.

"I wouldn't know."

"But typically Guardians do remember, right?"  

"You shouldn't concern yourself with the rules that
bind the Guardians," she says tersely.

I eye my next target. "This isn't about the Guardians. This is about Seth. What do you remember about him? Before me?"

"We don't always travel in the same circles, Genesis. You don't understand how many millions of u
s there are."

The knife hits the board. Perfect. I spin around on my heel, facing her. "When you arrived you acted like you knew each other. That you go way back. What's the first thing you remember about him?"

Mara's hair falls loosely from her ponytail.
She exhales, studying the floor, thinking. "The conversations with the Council. Then the first time we met was. . . ." She shakes her head, eyes meeting mine, restrained.

"In my living room?" I finish.

"It's not unusual for Guardians to go hundreds of year
s without seeing one another. It's a massive planet, and there are billions of people on it," she says, a note of frustration coloring her tone.

"You told Seth it was good to see him," I remind her. "He knew who you were. Everything about you. You knew him
. . . ."

Her eyes harden. "There's not a single Guardian unfamiliar with me."

"What about James? Carter's Guardian. Do you remember him?"

She smiles at the mention of James, expression softening. "We go back to what humans call the Dark Ages. Near the fal
l of Constantinople. He was guarding a servant of Sultan
Mehmed
II."

"That's like, more than five hundred years. What about Joshua?"

She pauses. "
Here.
"

"But you knew of him. So what is it about South Marshall that you don't know the
Guardians working here?"

"The country grows. It's young compared to the rest of the world. I don't understand why this is so strange to you. You live here, and you don't know everyone in this city."

"I don't
pretend
to know them, either. I don't know thing
s about them that I can't explain."

"The spiritual world is more complicated than your world, Genesis." She nods toward the slab of wood. "Are you going to practice?"

I grab another knife, lining up my target. "It's just that . . . I'm trying to piece this
all together and I can't."

"You won't. It's not something you, being who you are, can ever comprehend."

I heave a sigh and toss the knife.

"If a demon is driven by lust, where do you aim?" she asks, changing the subject.

"The thigh." I grab two more knive
s, and toss one after the other. Each hits the intended mark. I walk over to the board and begin pulling them out, one by one.

"Can you read Seth's mind?" I ask.

"Why do you ask?"

"The night you showed up. You knew what he was thinking. You knew he planned
to take my place if something happened to me."

"I can't read his mind, no. But I've seen enough. It wasn't difficult to guess his intentions."

"How does that even work? How could he take my place?"

She sighs. "Guardians cannot die. They cannot be created
or destroyed by anyone other than God.
Diabols
, essentially, are the fallen angels. When their ranks increase, it's because a Guardian, or Power, or any of the others has fallen. A demon can't die, either, though. You can
only kill its host body, which ca
sts the demon into Hell. Once that happens, he . . . or she . . . can never get out."

"What does this have to do with taking my place?"

"In addition to waging spiritual warfare, the Powers are responsible for making sure that humans who've died cross over
safely, but not before a Messenger, the Angel of Death, appears. It's said. . . ." She exhales a strong sigh. "It's said that an exchange can be made. A soul for a soul."

"But you said if he did this he would be damned for eternity. So, what? He'd fall? Be
sent to Hell?"

"If he was successful."

I eye her curiously. "Has that really happened, though? Has a Guardian ever taken someone else's place?"