Chapter 13
“I have to go.” My words come out clipped, short. “I can’t do this right now.”
Devon looks like he wants to object, but he compresses his mouth into a line. Then he says, “Just … be careful.”
Be careful? I’m the heir apparent to Death. Careful doesn’t cover it.
I stagger into the hallway and down the stairs; it feels like the house is spinning around me.
“Jo, hey. When did you get here?” Aadesh asks, sounding vaguely confused as he passes me on the steps, a plate of pizza in his hands.
I shake my head at him, unable to answer.
Why would my father do this? It makes no sense. He hasn’t spoken to me in years. Then again, I suppose his decision doesn’t have to make sense. As long as he’s fucking entertained.
Death has always preferred to be hands-on in his approach.
Drifting from place to place and feeding as he sees fit, amusing himself as he watches humans plead for their lives or the lives of their loved ones.
Once there were even temples dedicated to his various incarnations, and human sacrifices were just part of the deal. These days, not so much.
So if I’m not useful to him as spawn, maybe he thinks watching my life blow up in bloody bits might be fun. But why now? Because I’m the closest to happy I’ve ever been at Beecher? I could see him being pissed about that.
My father thinks I owe him my life. And I do. Not in the usual sperm-meets-egg sense, either. His choice was far more deliberate, with immediate consequences.
Death broke his rules for me. I was dying before I was born. Until he intervened.
My mother had joined her husband on a dig, somewhere in Mexico. He, Jim, was an archaeologist. She left him sleeping in the hotel one night to drink in a bar. She was pregnant, but after six miscarriages in four years, she knew what was happening. She was losing another baby. Me, this time.
In his words, he found “this charming woman,” utterly desolate and alone, nursing a drink. He “felt called to her.”
Yeah. I bet he did. Despite knowing that there was nothing she could have done, she blamed herself. That sense of failure, rejection, even, would have been enough to draw his attention.
But more than that, I’m sure he sensed an impending death—mine—and couldn’t resist. Only instead of hastening the process, instead of devouring the little life spiraling toward extinction, he did the opposite.
He carefully fed the flames, pushing energy, life force, whatever you want to call it, toward me, reinforcing and stabilizing with magic. Creating instead of destroying.
In that moment, I became Death’s child, Death’s spawn, to the very core of my being.
Genetically, DNA-wise or whatever, I might be Rick and Kelly Trelane’s offspring, but intertwined with every molecule, every double helix, is Death’s magic.
But there are always consequences when dealing with Death.
My mother returned to her hotel room, crawled into bed next to her sleeping spouse and thought nothing more about it. Until the next morning, when she woke to find her bleeding stopped and her husband cold and dead next to her.
Death has been part of me from the very beginning.
Yanking open the front door to the fraternity house, I welcome the icy wind that cuts through my clothes straight to my skin.
I have to get out of here. Away from … everyone. For their safety.
I hurry out onto the porch, jerking the door closed behind me.
At the top of the stairs, though, I stop, frozen mid-step, as the enormity of my new situation settles over me.
Where am I supposed to go? I don’t know where the War spawn is, what they’re up to. Who else might have arrived in town and just be waiting for their chance.
I can’t go back to Carter’s. Or Branwick, even if that were an option. Too much opportunity for collateral damage. Hundreds of innocent people whose only crime is being in proximity to me.
And if I run back home to Chicago—or anywhere, really—it’s the same problem. And the more places I go, the more people I’m putting in danger. If I try to hide, that will only tempt those seeking me out to hurt the ones I love.
If I stay, I can fight. I will fight, if I have to. But direct confrontation is not the only way this game is played. And I can’t be everywhere at once. At Branwick, at Carter’s apartment, at—oh, God—Chessa’s parents’ house.
Fuck. I grip the railing on the side of the porch stairs until the cold metal burns my exposed palm. I’ve never felt so in over my head. Not even when I killed the first time on my own.
I don’t know what to do. No matter what choice I make right now, someone else may pay the price for it.
This, this is why I didn’t want anything to do with the Old Ones.
The door creaks open behind me, and I tense up, glancing over my shoulder.
Devon steps out onto the porch, barefoot, still dressed in his sleeveless Theta Iota shirt.
“You’re going to freeze,” I say, turning back to face the ice-covered grass in the yard.
He moves to stand next to me, tucking his hands under his arms inside his shirt. “I run hot.”
Of course he does.
“I’m sorry,” Devon says after a moment. “I know this is not what you wanted.” He grimaces. “Mild understatement.”
A snort escapes me at the absurdity, and I clap a hand over my mouth, my eyes watering. I can’t tell if the tears are from laughter or … everything else.
“But I am familiar with what it feels like to have no control, no options,” he says quietly. “I would never wish that on anyone else, no matter how it benefited me.”
I look over at him, as if seeing him for the first time. The tension in his shoulders, the faint hints of dark circles under his eyes.
“When did you eat last?” he asks. “Food, I mean.”
Surprised by the question, I pause. “Last night, I think. I don’t even know what time it is now,” I admit. I’ve been running, literally and figuratively, pretty much since the moment I opened my eyes this morning.
Devon pulls a phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and consults the screen. “A little before three.”
God, this has been the longest day of my life. Twenty-four hours ago, everything was fine. A pang of mourning shoots through me—if magic is so great, why isn’t there a way to rewind time and live permanently in a moment before everything went to shit?
“You could come back inside,” he says, moving to lean forward against the white-painted wooden rail surrounding the porch. “Rest, eat something. They have plenty of pizza.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to sit here and wait for someone else to die.”
“All right. Where to, then?” he asks easily. “I have access to a vehicle.”
I blink. “You’re going to come with me?”
“That is, after all, the purpose of an alliance.” Devon raises his eyebrows at me pointedly.
One I haven’t agreed to.
“Let me help you,” he says.
“I don’t know if I trust you,” I say finally. I’m not scared of him, but that doesn’t mean I can let my guard down. “And I really don’t love that you have my friends crawling all over you without their consent.” Speaking of “no control.”
Devon straightens up and stretches, arms up over his head, revealing an expanse of taut skin through the open side of his shirt.
“I can’t do much about you trusting me. You’ll have to come to that on your own.
” He seems unconcerned and completely confident of the eventual outcome.
“As for the other … I’ve fed enough for now. I’ve loosened my hold.”
“Couldn’t you just make friends the regular way?” I mutter.
His attention snaps back to me and he smiles, but pain flickers in his eyes. “Sometimes it is difficult for me to imagine your life, so far removed from the Old Ones and their games.”
I stiffen. Is that an insult? It feels like an insult. You poor ignorant peasanty girl who knows nothing of my world. Maybe, but I’m the one you’re asking for help.
“I’m envious,” Devon says softly, startling me. I can feel the ache of longing in his voice. “Wait here. I’ll grab the keys.” Then he vanishes into the darkened interior of the fraternity house, leaving me frowning after him.
Well, I’m definitely going to need more information now.
While I wait for Devon to return, I pace the front porch to stay warm, tugging Carter’s coat tighter around me.
Shit. Carter. He’s probably going to be looking for me at his place. Soon, if not already.
The door opens, and I turn, expecting Devon. But it’s Aadesh, and he’s looking around the porch with a puzzled expression. “Have you seen Jack?” he asks me.
“Who?”
“Tall kid, dark curly hair. He was supposed to take out the recycling and the trash, but…” He gestures out to the curb where an empty trash can waits and a few neatly stacked pizza boxes are collecting a light coating of ice.
“No,” I say, remembering the tidy towers of recycling just inside the door. “Haven’t seen him.”
“Huh.” He frowns. “Okay.”
Aadesh doesn’t seem alarmed, more confused than anything. But my stomach contracts with a twinge of worry. A missing student? I don’t like the sound of that.
“You think he headed to the library or something?” Despite the campus-wide warning, there are probably some who did venture out.
Aadesh shakes his head, expression clearing.
“No, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.
” He grins. “A couple of weekends ago, we found him passed out in the basement closet. He set up his rig down there because he’s so convinced the wifi is that much faster.
” He shakes his head. “As if we don’t have repeaters set up all over the house. ”
The tension in my stomach eases. “Ah, okay.” That’s good, far more rational than what I was thinking. I don’t even know Jack. So it seems unlikely that the spawn who killed Lennie would randomly target him.
Get a grip, Jo.
Aadesh starts to head back inside, and I remember what I was thinking before I was distracted by all the “Jack is possibly missing but probably not” talk. Carter. Looking for me.
“Hey, Desh, can I borrow your phone for a second?” I ask.