Chapter Twenty-Six
Jack takes me upstairs, though I can hear that the diner is teeming with customers. He doesn’t seem to notice them. He doesn’t seem to notice anything but me. “You
need to clean up, eat, and get a little sleep,” he says.
I desperately want to shower, but I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep any food down. And I don’t know how I could possibly
sleep even in the best-case scenario—which this definitely is not—with my mind turning in circles, knowing Nora took my place.
And the last thing that happened when I slept here.
All I can think about, aside from Nora sitting in that jail cell, is that rock. The site of the first demon deal that caused
all of this centuries later.
“What are we going to do at this rock?” I ask him in a low voice, really no more than a whisper, as he leads me upstairs.
His hand on mine, which feels entirely too natural. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. We could unleash anything. And
we already lost—”
But I can’t bring myself to say her name. I can’t believe she’s not going to come stomping in with a smirk. The enormity of what happened—and is still happening—clogs my throat.
Jack tugs me along to the bathroom. “I haven’t figured it out yet, so maybe we have to play it by ear. It’s okay, Lexi. I
know how to protect us from demons.”
“So did Cleo, didn’t she?”
That causes a slight hitch in his stride. He doesn’t have a quick answer for that, and only lets out a long, hard sort of
breath.
That makes me feel like an asshole, but the thing is, I think it’s a reasonable question under the circumstances.
“I want to end this, but I don’t want it to be the end of us,” I tell him as he pushes the bathroom door open. I am the most sincere I can remember ever being, to anyone.
He drops my hand and I don’t like that much, but he looks down at me and I see all that heat and light, grief and intensity
in his gaze. “We can only do this one step at a time. And the first step is getting you a shower.”
Then he reaches beyond me, practically pressed up to me because the room is tiny, but it’s not like I mind that. He fiddles
with the faucet in the shower and gets the water going.
“Jack.” My hands are curled into his shirt of their own accord. I don’t really want to let go.
But I do when he peels my hands off, with a curve to his mouth that makes it all feel soothing. “I’m going to grab you a towel
and some of your clothes. Wash up.”
It’s an order, and it feels like an actionable item with no imminent death or demon threat, so I listen. I toss the awful
jail clothes in the corner and step into the miniature shower stall. Then I stand under the tiny trickle of poor water pressure,
glad it’s at least hot water.
For a moment it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, because there was a point in my brief stint in jail where I was convinced that I was never going to feel clean again.
The longer I stand there, though, I come back from the jail of it all and can admit to myself that as showers go, this one is not going to win any awards. That’s okay. It’s not as satisfying
as I’d like, but it gets the job done. I manage to wash my hair with some shampoo I find in the stall that smells like strawberries.
I scrub my skin with a questionable bar of soap, but hey, it lathers and I feel cleaner afterward.
Everything and anything is better than jail—though as I think that, I think of the fact that Nora’s there right now, and that doesn’t make me happy.
I hear the squeak of the door. “Towel and clothes are on the sink,” Jack says. Then the door closes again. I frown a little
at how much space he’s giving me. Not real space, but distance.
Except he didn’t hold on to me outside like he wanted distance, so maybe I need to worry about what’s actually important. Cleo dead. Nora in jail. Demons feeding early.
I turn off the shower then dry off with the towel Jack left—surprisingly big and fluffy. I put my own clothes on—hallelujah. I try to tame my wet hair with my fingers, but I don’t like the sight in the mirror.
Pale. Miserable. A hunted look in my own eyes. So I turn away from the mirror and step back into the hallway. Jack is waiting.
“You could have come in,” I point out. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
But he wraps his arm around my waist like he isn’t sure I can walk on my own two feet. He doesn’t say anything, just takes
me to the room I slept in before—or sort of slept in for a little while before ending up on the flood wall.
I hesitate a little when he opens the door, but when I glance inside I’m surprised to see the protections from Amelia’s house arranged on the little dresser next to the bed. There’s also a plate of food—a fruit cup and half a sandwich. Things that will keep if I don’t eat them right away, I note.
“Nora must have done that before she . . .” Jack’s voice is grim as he gestures at the little heart-shaped rocks, but then
he turns to me. “You need some rest.”
“No, we need to—”
“Your dark circles have a whole slew of baggage, princess. Nap or eat. Those are your choices and I suggest you do both. Whatever
we end up doing at the rock tonight is going to require strength. Build some up.”
He takes me over to the bed, pulls back the comforter, and nudges me into it. But I don’t know how I could do either of the
things he wants me to do. Especially if he leaves me here . . . which he should.
The man has a job—a diner full of people here for the Halloween festival. He has a life, but if I am here alone I might actually—
“Someone will be right outside your door the whole time, so you don’t need to worry about going anywhere,” he tells me, very
seriously. Jack sits down on the edge of the bed, and when the mattress tries to roll me into him, I let it. He holds my gaze
as he reaches out, then brushes a wet strand of hair off my cheek. “We’ll figure everything out tonight.”
He says this like it’s possible. More than that, like it’s a foregone conclusion. Even if I don’t entirely believe him, his
certainty is comforting. It’s something I want to lean into.
Because I want to believe, first and foremost, that we will somehow survive this.
Unlike Cleo.
I blink back the tears that threaten when I think about her. Then I suck in a shaky breath. Eventually—and mostly because
his gaze is on me and far too green—I manage a nod.
I’m not sure I believe we’ll figure everything out, or figure anything out, when I know from years of bad dreams and sleepwalking episodes that there are some things no one ever figures out. There
are some things you just have to live with as best as you can.
This is different, a voice inside me says sternly.
But the thing is, I agree. This is different. It’s not only happening to me, for one thing. Cleo is dead. Nora is in jail. We have to figure everything out for
both their sakes.
It’s just us. We’re the only thing we have.
We have no choice but to succeed.
I lean forward and press my forehead into Jack’s shoulder, and his arms come around me. We sit like that for a long while.
His sturdy form holding mine, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm.
Then he sighs and pulls back. His green gaze hooks into mine. “I love you, Lexi.”
The words are so unexpected that they don’t really penetrate. I can’t make sense of them. Love? In my experience that takes . . . time. Months. Maybe years. Carefully blending lives and making rational choices together.
Something I’ve never been able to do or feel.
What with all the unstable.
But Jack doesn’t respond to my dumbfounded silence in any way I might have predicted. He starts to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” I demand, almost as baffled by that as love.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. My whole life I thought this was some kind of curse. Knowing I was meant for someone.” He gets serious then. He takes my hand and holds it in his. “But it’s you, it’s always been you, and there’s
no curse in that, Lexi. It’s a gift.”
I want to believe that. With my whole heart, I want to think I could be a gift. But the truth of the matter is that something terrible happened when I got here. And last I checked, that’s my entire purpose.
“Cleo’s dead.”
He nods, swallows. I see his eyes go bright. “That’s not on you.”
“How do you know?” I whisper, aware that my heart is kicking at me, like it’s trying to kick its way out. “I know the demons
did that to her, but what if she was trying to help me? Save me from something?”
Jack considers that, and something inside me goes soft, because that’s what he does. He considers everything. He pores over
details and researches everything. He’s methodical and dependable. Everything I’m not and never have been.
“Let’s say Cleo was trying to help you,” he says after a moment. “Your mom helped me. She saved me and she died because of
it—a choice she made. I’m pretty sure you didn’t like the idea I might blame myself for that?”
I roll my eyes a little, but mostly to keep from crying. “You were four.”
He runs his thumb under one of my eyes, then the other. “Does it really matter? People help each other. That’s what we do.
Maybe Cleo saved you. Maybe there was some other reason she was out there. But it wasn’t you who did that to her. You didn’t hurt her.”
“I don’t believe that I did,” I say, whispering, and I can’t look away from him. “But Jack. I could be wrong about that. What
if they got to her . . . through me?”
“That’s still them, Lexi. You’re used to being wrong because you’re not used to being here in Midas,” he says, and there’s
that curve in his mouth again. “But you make sense here.”
That lands in me, because I have felt it. Wanted it. Doubted it. But if Jack thinks it? It must be true.
“You’re a harbinger,” he continues, that gaze of his on me like he’s daring me to look away.
I don’t. “You see things. You are the herald of things. You are a tool in helping us survive whatever is coming because you tell us it’s coming.
You help us get ready. What you don’t do—because no harbinger in two