Chapter 29
“Are you all right?” Devon asks, leaning his head against the passenger window, his eyes shut.
“I’m…” Fine. Pissed. Heartbroken. Scared. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I finish finally.
He opens his eyes slowly and forces himself upright. “I don’t think Carter—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” I say tersely, as I start the van.
Cold air pours out of the vents, blowing fresh wafts of our own pepper-sprayed scent back at us, until I adjust the fan. In the silence, though, with unanswered questions eating me alive, I can’t resist breaking my own rule
“Did you know? That he was like us?” Asking is like poking at a still-bleeding wound, nerves raw and sparking.
Devon hesitates. “I suspected.”
“How?” I feel like such an idiot.
“The way he watched you, the possessiveness. Some of it might have been regular relationship stuff, but it felt like more. Also, when you told him the truth at the hospital, he didn’t react.”
“He left,” I point out. Seems like plenty of reaction to me.
“Probably because he didn’t know how to act surprised by something he already knew.
” Devon lifts his shoulders in a small shrug.
“For all his dishonesty, I think he struggles with lying. Unlike me.” He offers a weary smile.
“Based on what I’ve observed, he’s too regimented, too controlled.
He’ll leave things out, but he won’t introduce the chaos of utter fabrications. ”
That matches with what I know of Carter. Or thought I knew, anyway. My heart gives an anguished throb. My mind, however, is caught in a conflicting doom loop of How could he do this to me? and I should have known.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I pull away from the curb.
“Would you have believed me?” Devon asks, looking over at me, a knowing eyebrow raised.
I open my mouth to offer a full-throated “Of course!” But it won’t come out.
I’d known Carter for over a year. Devon was the strange spawn invading my unofficial territory and magicking my friends into wanting him. I wouldn’t have trusted him to tell me the weather even if we were standing outside in it.
I close my mouth.
“It’s hard to see a relationship clearly when you’re in the middle of it.” Devon’s hand drifts toward his collar and the delicate necklace beneath it. He’s thinking of Amelia.
“It’s not … a relationship. Never was,” I say grimly. It was some weird power play that I was completely ignorant of. God, Carter and War must have enjoyed a good chuckle at my expense. He had me on the line and just … kept me there. With barely any effort.
My face burns with humiliation. And, as of this afternoon, Carter will have even more details to laugh over. The way I begged him to touch me, the noises I made, the concern and care he pretended to show over my injuries.
Except it felt real. It felt like he genuinely cared about me.
Uh-huh. Same way he said he was in love with you? Yep. Very believable. This is how he kept you tangled up in him the whole time. Because you let him.
I squirm in the driver’s seat, wanting to burrow into the foam and springs beneath me and never come out.
Or, conversely, to jam the van into Park, hunt down Carter, and punch him until I feel better.
“What’s the plan for Nova?” Devon asks.
Relief courses through me at the subject change, which is a little fucked up considering. The implosion of my love life versus death—little d.
“We find her before she’s had a chance to regain her strength. And I kill her.” That might generously be called a plan, right?
A small part of me wishes there was another way. I would have loved to compare notes on Death, to learn from her perspective and experiences with him.
To not be Death’s only spawn.
But I think Nova’s a little bit, what’s the word, crazy, so I’m not inclined to give her a second shot at me.
Devon gives a noncommittal “Hmm” in response.
“What? What does that mean?” I ask suspiciously.
“We almost died,” he says. “Would have, without Carter. And to some extent, Chessa.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “Nova’s weaker now. And this time, we’re prepared.”
“She was weak last time,” he points out. “And we could be more prepared.”
I hit the brakes a little too hard at a stop sign, jerking us both against our seat belts. “If you have another idea, let’s hear it.”
“You’ll die. We both will,” Devon says in a calm matter-of-fact tone, the impact of his words rippling through me. Like a tiny pebble shattering a windshield. “Even if you feed on every human you find, you’re not strong enough.”
“Devon, Jesus.” Shaking my head, I accelerate away from the intersection too fast. But it’s not as if there’s anyone out and about on this end of campus. “If you don’t have anything else to contribute—”
“Carter chose your side,” Devon continues conversationally, as if we’re discussing the outcome of a beer pong tournament. “Even knowing what it will cost him.”
I glare at him. “You were listening?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Of course I was listening, Jo. You were three feet away, not sealed in a bubble.”
I suppose I deserve that.
“War will probably kill him for it, based on what he said about their relationship. War will see it as a betrayal and he’s not the most forgiving. Not that any of them are, as far as I know,” he adds.
Exhaustion washes over me in an unending wave. “What do you want from me, Devon?”
“You’re not Death yet,” he says.
Not ever. But I refrain from saying it. Suddenly it doesn’t feel so avoidable.
“You need allies.”
“Why are you—” Then it clicks with me. Devon wants me to recruit Carter. “You’re the one who made me promise that I would kill whoever was responsible for Lennie’s death!”
“Which you didn’t,” he points out.
“Yes, thank you,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I only asked because I needed to know you could take action, if it was deemed necessary,” he says, exasperated with me.
“And that’s not condescending at all,” I retort. “He lied, Devon. He used my feelings for him.” I feel like throwing up. “He spied on me—”
“I don’t think he used your feelings, not in the way you’re suggesting,” Devon says.
I stare at him. “You’re defending him? You were angry that he and I were together. I saw it.”
“I was angry that he wasn’t careful with you,” Devon corrects gently. “I’m not of a disposition prone to jealousy or monogamy. It’s not…” He pauses, seeming to search for the right word. “Practical,” he finishes finally.
Because he would always need to feed on someone else’s lust.
“And as for Carter, it sounds as though he was caught between—”
“If you say a rock and a hard place, I swear to God—”
“What War wants and what Carter himself wants.” Devon cocks his head to one side. “A position you are well familiar with, I suspect.”
Not the same thing at all.
Except it kind of is. I wasn’t raised by Death, but I still wanted his approval all those years ago when I was a child. If I had been raised by him, who knows what that might have done? What version of me that might have created.
I shudder at the thought.
“We need Carter,” Devon says. “Maggie, too, and the others she represents if she can get them.”
“No. No way.” I shake my head for emphasis. “I am not getting more people involved in this.”
“Is it the risk to them or the commitment that it represents?” Devon asks, once again slicing to the heart of the matter.
I wince. Of course I don’t want to put anyone in Hurricane Nova’s path, but … I would be lying if I said that’s my only concern.
“If you die here, tonight, what happens to Nova?” Devon presses.
“Probably a rampage until Death shuts her down,” I admit reluctantly.
“So, fine, let’s say we write those damaged lives off as acceptable losses, the eggs in this omelet.” Devon waves a dismissive hand.
I stiffen. “That’s not what I’m suggesting—”
“What if Death decides to tap her as a replacement?” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken.
He won’t. But … I never thought he would choose me, either. I suspect the only reason Nova is still alive is so he doesn’t have to admit his mistake in the first place. Would his ego demand that he revert to Nova now that she’s escaped?
I want to say no. But I don’t really know.
And if Nova becomes Death …
“He’s gotten lazy. Sentimental. Only one plague in the last hundred years? It’s pathetic. He’s not even trying to compete with War.”
It will be the reign from hell. And that’s saying something.
“Tonight, right now, you’re the only person with a shot at stopping Nova,” Devon says.
Fuck, fuck. I hate when he makes sense. “I—”
His eyes go wide. “Watch out!”
I stomp on the brakes, and the van fishtails slightly before stopping.
A sweatshirt-clad arm is sprawled out on the street, glowing in our headlights. The rest of the body is in shadow, trailing up over the curb and into the grass in the open space behind Branwick.
Oh what the hell now?
I shift the van into Park, watching. But no one leaps out of the shadows. And the arm doesn’t move.
I unbuckle my belt, open the door, and slide out cautiously. Devon does the same on the other side.
The body is male, a student presumably, though I don’t recognize him. He’s wearing a white Beecher sweatshirt, gray sweats, and the perennial Birks with socks. Though he’s missing one sandal, leaving that foot vulnerable to the elements.
Shit.
No blood. No broken bones. He doesn’t appear to be breathing, though. And the air here still twitches and trembles with magic. Recent.
Nova.
Devon crouches next to the student, hand on his neck, to tell me what I already suspected. “Yeah, he’s dead.”
Damnit. Another Nova victim. I frown. “But he’s not a husk.” Why not? She needs to feed every bit as much as the two of us do at the moment. Why, for lack of a better comparison, take a bite of a burger and toss the rest aside?
“Jo.” Devon points at something back the way we came.
I step out of the glare of our headlights to see.
Tire tracks swoop up onto the curb and through the grass, before vanishing back into the street. Right about where the victim was cast aside.
“She stole a car?” I ask, incredulous.
If she’s on her way out of town, that would solve a lot of our problems. I mean, not forever. She would still be out there, causing chaos and trauma somewhere. But even a temporary break would be a nice change of pace, a chance to catch our breath and figure out what to do next.
Somehow I doubt we’re going to be that lucky. She’s up to something, I just don’t know what yet.
“Okay,” I begin. “Let’s just stick with the plan. Go to Branwick, change clothes, get you fed and keep an eye out for—”
It takes me an extra moment to identify the low rhythmic hum that interrupts. A phone. The cheap replacement one Devon bought for me. It’s tucked in a pocket in my borrowed jacket and ringing.
I fumble through several pockets inside and out before I find the right one.
Chessa’s name and number flash on the phone screen.
Turning away from Devon and the van, I answer the call. “Chessa? Is everything okay?”
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of rustling fabric and unfamiliar clattering.
“Hello?” I try again, pressing my finger against my other ear to block out the wind noise.
“Listen to me, you don’t have to do that.” Chessa’s voice is muffled and distant, as if the phone is too far away from her mouth. “No! No. This is a phone. I can just … no, no wait.” Tension sings in her voice as she works to stay calm.
Dread bores a hole in my stomach. “Chessa? What’s going on? Are you at the hospital?”
“I can just call her. Yes, it’s a phone. I promise!” Her voice becomes clearer. “I know it doesn’t look like … it doesn’t need a cord. That’s not a … You don’t have to … stop!” Chessa’s scream tears through the phone and into me, like the jagged edges of a saw blade.
“Chessa!” I shout. But the phone is beeping now, indicating a disconnected call. “Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” Devon asks, coming around the van to join me.
“I think Nova’s at the hospital,” I say grimly. I guess that explains why she stole a car. I knew she was close by. She must have overheard the talk about Morales taking Chessa to the hospital. Or assumed that would be the next stop for the fragile human whose arm she just broke.
Even as someone raised outside the world of the Old Ones, I can see the strategy in this move. It’s smart. Smarter than just choosing a random half-empty building on campus. Lots of potential innocent victims in a hospital for feeding or hostages, including Chessa, who is clearly important to me.
It’s the perfect target. Chessa. Daan. Old people. Sick people. Hurt people. Babies. Leverage with a capital “L.”
I bend over and vomit, but nothing comes up except a yellowish acid that sprays across the gray and gritty snow.
Devon starts toward me, and I hold a hand up to stop him.
After a second, I manage to straighten up. I draw the back of my hand across my mouth, wiping away any remnants. My insides are calm, resolved.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Get Carter.”
I’ll be whoever I need to be to stop this.