When Luc lifts his hand and turns it over, a tiny bead of crimson blood is sprouting on the tip of his middle finger. A paper cut.
“Well, that answers that,” Gabe says.
Luc just stares, openmouthed, at the growing bead of blood. Then he turns to me with a tentative smile on his lips just before he loops his other hand behind my neck and pulls me into a kiss.
When he finally lets me go, I look into his smiling eyes. “What did I miss?” I ask, a little breathless and totally confused.
He grins. “Demons don’t bleed.”
Gabe’s eyes are storming as Luc lets me go and I try not to feel guilty. “And neither do angels,” he says.
Luc
I try to wrap my mind around what this means on the way home, but I’m having a hard time. Am I mortal? Am I turning human? I think about what that would mean for Frannie and me as she sits next to me in the Shelby with her head on my shoulder. My pulse pounds in my ears-something new-as I think about all the possibilities. Can we be together?
But a downside of turning human is that the thread that binds me to the nefarious is thinning. Good and bad. Good because I’ve decided that they’re a bunch of shitbags and I really don’t want to be in their heads anymore. Bad because I can’t tell when they’re here. If I can’t tell when they’re here, I can’t protect Frannie from them.
I take my right hand off the wheel to pull a small box out of the console between the seats and wrap my arm around her shoulders, holding it in front of her face. “I have something for you.”
“What is it?”
“Well, how it works is you take the box out of my hand and open it,” I say with a grin.
“Jerk,” she mumbles, grabbing the box and yanking it open. She pulls the crucifix out by the chain and watches it dangling there for a long minute.
“Put it on. The cross is iron with gold edging, and the Jesus is silver and platinum.”
She looks at me, a cynical expression almost masking the mischievous gleam in her eye. “I can see that. If you’re trying to lure me into bed with gifts, this was the wrong choice.”
I can’t help chuckling. “That really wasn’t my intention, but I’ll tuck that tidbit away for future reference.”
“So. is this a joke?” she says eyeing me warily.
“No. It’s a weapon.”
“I thought it was vampires that have a problem with crosses.”
“They do. But in this case, the other side keeps saying ‘Jesus saves’ and I’m hoping they’re right.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Every demon has a weakness-something programmed into us by King Lucifer at the time of our creation to keep us from becoming too powerful.” A product of His paranoia, no doubt. “Mine is gold. I don’t know what Belias’s is, or Avaira’s, but this crucifix hits on the most common weaknesses. I want you to wear this, and if either of them comes near you, gouge it into them or scratch them with it. It will at least slow them down a little.”
“You really think I need this?”
I turn away from the road and look her dead in the eye. “We need all the help we can get.” I watch as her eyes widen. She loops the chain around her neck and fingers the crucifix.
“Why is this happening?” she asks, her voice deceptively calm.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I don’t know.”
She looks up at me with big, wounded eyes. “Whatever Gabe thinks I’m supposed to do. I don’t want it.”
“I don’t think it’s a choice. Your Sway is something you’re born with, like blue eyes or blond hair.”
“But I can change those things-wear contacts or dye my hair.”
“That’s not really changing them, it’s just disguising the truth. Your Sway is going to be difficult to hide.”
She sinks into the seat, dejected. “How can I make them all just leave me alone?”
“I don’t think you can. Hell won’t stop coming for you until you’re tagged, one way or the other.”
She groans and buries her face in her hands. “I just want to be me. I want to have my life.”
I reach for her and she drops a hand into mine. I squeeze it. “We’re
“Yeah.”
I hesitate. “Will you tell me about your brother?”
She lifts her head and looks at me warily. “Why?”
“Because I can see how much you’re hurting.”
Her face darkens and her eyes look haunted. “What do you want me to say? I killed him. End of story.”
“I know that’s not true.”
She pulls her hand away from mine and folds her arms tightly across her chest. “Yes it is.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She turns to face the window. “No.”
“Please, Frannie.”
I reach for her hand again, but she yanks it away. She turns back to me and her expression is feral, a pinched snarl. The bitter scent of garlic rolls off of her, filling the car. “Get out of my face, Luc.”
I pull a deep breath. “It might help to talk about it.”
My sympathetic tone only serves to aggravate her more. “Nothing’s going to help. He’s dead!” she spits.
I pull over to the shoulder and she reaches for the door handle. I reach across and grasp her arm before she can get it open.
She squirms out of my grasp. Garlic and black pepper sting my nose. “Leave me alone, you bastard!” Angry tears flow freely down her face as she glares up at me.
“Let me help. Please. ”
With surprising strength she pushes me hard into the door.
“I. hate you,” she says. But there’s no conviction. She sounds defeated, spent. Her face drops into her hands again as all her anger dissolves into tears. When her sobs slow, I brush the tangled locks off her damp face. She stares silently back at me as the last of her tears roll down her cheeks.
“We were in a tree.” Her voice breaks with every word. “He loved to climb trees. and. ” Her body hitches as she tries to stifle another sob. “He was climbing so fast. I couldn’t keep up.” She turns her head away from me and leans on the door. She makes a sound like a wounded animal, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and then she’s still for a long time.
“He fell?” I finally prompt.
She heaves a sigh. “I was so mad. ” Before she can finish the thought her voice chokes off and silent tears start again.
I slip my arm cautiously around her and pull her to me. She leans into me and I hold her and say nothing until she’s ready to talk. When she does, her words are barely audible. “I hated that he could climb faster, so I. grabbed his leg. ” She pauses and I pull her tight to me. “I ran for Mom, but. ” Her voice is a raw wound, catching in her throat with every word. “He was my. twin. the other half of me. And I killed him.”
And there goes my brimstone heart, shattering into a million pieces. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “But you were only seven, Frannie. It wasn’t your fault.” I pull her closer and wish there was some way I could fix this for her. But even my magic can’t banish her personal demons. She’s got to face those down on her own. All I can do is hold her while she cries.
As I sit here with my face buried in her hair, feeling the sobs rack her body, I wonder if love truly does conquer all, because otherwise, despite what I promised her, I think we’re screwed.
Frannie
