Chapter 16
“Tripp, wait—” Darlington warned.
“I’m fine. There’s nothing—”
Tripp hissed and lurched backward, losing his balance, tumbling down the stairs.
“Tripp!” Dawes cried.
But Tripp didn’t hit hard. He landed in a crouch, cradling his arm, lips pulled back in a snarl. His teeth looked long and jagged, too many of them crowded into his mouth.
Alex had never seen Tripp move that fast in his mortal life. But of course this wasn’t really Tripp. It was a demon who walked and talked like him. He looked like a monster because he was one. He was Reiter all over again.
Darlington’s horns emerged. Alex’s body bloomed with blue flame.
“It’s okay,” Dawes said. “He’s not going to hurt—”
Tripp lunged at her.
Alex reached for a strand of hellfire, and it snaked from her hand.
It snapped close around Tripp’s neck and she yanked him backward.
He bounced off the banister and fell to the floor, shrieking, trying to claw at the leash of flame controlling him.
The glowing form of his salt guardian had slipped free and was turning slow circles above them, flapping its massive wings.
Turner had his gun drawn. Dawes was kneeling on the stairs, the glamour of Alban Reed gone, shaken loose by fear. Her own salt guardian, a big-eyed slow loris, was perched in front of her, its small white teeth bared.
The room was quiet except for Tripp’s low growls.
“His hand,” said Turner.
It was covered in bubbling flesh.
“They used salt,” Alex said. “In case a demon tried to get to it.”
“But he’s wearing the suit,” Dawes said, her voice trembling.”He’s used to the salt. He’s used to—”
“I think it startled him,” Darlington said and Alex could hear him trying to be fair.
“He’s a demon,” Turner replied, weapon still trained on Tripp, though none of them knew what bullets might do to a vampire. “We got too comfortable.”
Tripp was curled against the banister, clutching his arm, face pulled back in a grimace, a string of drool hanging from his contorted lips. He took deep, rasping breaths, and his whole body seemed to pulse with every inhale.
“He can’t be here anymore,” said Turner. “He can’t be anywhere anymore.”
“No,” Dawes said.
Turner shook his head in disbelief. “Look at him! He’s not your pet project. He’s a fucking meat eater and we’re the meat.”
“We’re the reason he’s like this.”
“That doesn’t change what he is,” Alex said. This was reality. Wolf and lamb. Knife and sacrifice. She didn’t intend to be on the wrong side of the equation.
Dawes used the banister to pull herself up. She pushed the hair back from her face and squared her shoulders. “Tripp,” she said sharply. “Enough.”
Tripp released a long, thin mewling noise. He stretched his jaw wide, his head lolling backward.
Dawes marched down the stairs toward him.
“Dawes, don’t!” Alex cried, already reaching for another rope of flame.
But Dawes held up her hand, warning Alex off.
“Tripp,” she repeated. “You’re scaring everyone. You’re scaring me.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re acting like Spenser.”
Tripp released a yelp like a kicked dog. His body uncurled from the banister. His teeth receded. He blinked slowly, as if awakening from the dreams he said he didn’t have. “I’m sorry,” he said. He began to cry. “I’m so sorry.”
A long moment passed.
Turner holstered his weapon and sat down on the stairs. Alex let the leash of flame dissolve.
Dawes offered Tripp her hand and Alex tensed. She knew how fast these things could move, how quickly he could have his teeth buried in Dawes’s throat, how easily he could snap her neck.
But Tripp just wiped his hand across his mouth and nose. He reseated his hat on his head, wiped his palm across the canvas exterior of his peculiar salt suit. He looked like a child recovering from a tantrum.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, unable to meet Dawes’s eyes.
She knelt and Alex drew in a breath. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t, okay?”
He nodded but said nothing.
“I need help cleaning up in the kitchen, Tripp.”
“Dawes—” Darlington said warningly, but the look she cast him was so severe he went quiet.
Alex wasn’t sure what to say.
“Are you going to help me or not?” Dawes demanded. She sounded like she was out of patience, but she didn’t sound scared.
“Yeah,” Tripp managed and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the hand she offered, either afraid to touch her or embarrassed he needed the help.
“Great,” said Dawes. “You finish clearing; I’ll get going on the dishes.” She started to follow him out of the room.
“Dawes,” Alex whispered. She crouched on the landing and through the spokes of the banister said, “At least put on some salt pearls or something.”
Dawes tugged the collar of her sweatshirt down, revealing a lacy salt necklace. “I’m not stupid. I know what he is.”
“It isn’t safe to be alone with him.”
“I’m alone with him all the time. This is not his first … outburst.”
“Dawes—”
“Figure out what the pilgrims left for us. I can handle Tripp.” She met Alex’s gaze, then looked at each of them in turn, her head moving like the ticking second hand of a clock. “His soul is still in there. It still has the upper hand. And until that changes, I’m not giving up on him.”
“It’s dangerous,” Darlington said.
“So is going to hell. So is visiting a demon at his beach house. So is everything we do at Lethe no matter how many roasts and tea sandwiches I make. It would be rational to get rid of Tripp. It would be expedient. It’s what every member of the Lethe board would recommend.”
“But we’re not them,” Alex said.
Dawes gave a firm nod. “That’s right. I could resign as Oculus tomorrow. I could finish my dissertation at my sister’s house.” She pressed her fingers to her tired eyes. “And I think about it a lot. Daily, honestly. But I’m not giving up on you, so don’t ask me to give up on him.”
She strode out of the room.
Turner rested his hands on his knees. “I feel about two feet tall.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the full brunt of Dawes’s disappointment,” said Darlington.
“I have,” Alex said ruefully. “Repeated exposure does not help.”
“She’s righteous,” Turner considered. “But is she right?”
I guess we’ll know when the screaming starts, Alex thought but didn’t say.
She wanted Dawes safe, and there was no question that if Tripp tried to hurt her, Alex would put him down.
Tripp hadn’t been a bad guy. Dopey, fratty, well-meaning but thoughtless.
There was no shortage of Tripp Helmuths in the world.
There was only one Pamela Dawes. And even if the numbers were reversed, Alex wouldn’t have cared.
She had killed for the memory of Hellie; she would do whatever it took to keep Dawes breathing.
Even so, she couldn’t tell Dawes to be sensible or sane. That would be prescribing medicine she herself wasn’t willing to take. Alex didn’t know if she was worth saving, but Dawes had tried, and if she wanted to extend that same kindness to Tripp, Alex couldn’t stand in her way.
“Flashlight?” she asked.
They turned their phones on the dark gap in the boards, the hidden treasure or trial the pilgrims had left for them.
The niche was more shallow than she’d expected, and in it sat a wide, flat package swathed in glittering spikes of what had to be salt. It looked like a sea creature resting on the ocean floor, a lost object from a shipwreck forgotten beneath the waves.
“What’s the prickle saying?” Alex asked.
Turner gave a slow shake of his head. “Nothing at all.”
Better than alarm bells ringing.
“I’m going in,” she said, and before Darlington could protest, she added, “We don’t know how demon-proof this thing is, so let me.”
They kept the light steady, and carefully she reached inside. The spikes made the package awkward to grip, but it was lighter than she’d expected. As soon as it passed the threshold of the gap, the floorboard reappeared, closing off the secret compartment.
“Let’s do this properly,” said Darlington, and Alex felt a rush of relief. She probably would have just tried to crack it open on the stairs. It was always easier to throw herself at things before she could lose her spine, but that lack of strategy came with a hefty downside.
They carried the package up the stairs and into the armory.
The room’s high shelves and cabinets centered around the great golden tub of Hiram’s Crucible, stolen from a secret chamber at Machu Picchu.
Alex had been healed in it, used it to perform occult rites, and had slept in it on more than one muggy summer night, grateful for the room’s climate control.
Darlington set an asbestos blanket on one of the long wooden tables by the shelves and handed them all sturdy gloves. “Fireproof,” he said. There was also an extinguisher in the hall.
Alex set the spiky package down and Darlington drew three pairs of goggles from another drawer.
“I feel ridiculous,” said Turner as he slipped the goggle strap over his head.
“You look ridiculous,” said Alex.
“You’re wearing the same goggles.”
“But I make them work.”
“I assure you,” Darlington said, “we all look ridiculous. I think we’ll need a chisel, maybe a hammer.” When he located them, he asked, “Ready?”
Alex nodded, though she didn’t feel particularly ready at all. “Are we sure we don’t want to wait on Dawes?”
“Nope,” said Turner. “If this all goes sideways, we need someone around to cover it up.”
“The Lethe tradition,” Alex said, and Darlington gave a reluctant nod. Some part of him was still grieving his belief in this place.
He lifted the chisel and hammer then paused. “If this opens a portal and I get lost in another hell dimension—”
“We’ll come get you,” Alex promised.
“She’ll go get you,” said Turner.
“Fair enough,” Darlington said and brought the hammer down.
The first strike cracked the salt case. The second broke it open.
Darlington brushed aside the wreckage, and they gathered closer.
“I’m glad nothing blew up,” Turner said, “but I’m—”
“A little surprised?” suggested Darlington.
“Me too,” said Alex.