The Undoer (6 page)

“Wha… what was that?” Jag sputters. “Who the hell are you?”

He has asked that question before, but Bret has never really answered it. He’s not human. He can’t be. No one in this world can fight like that. I’m starting to wonder if Jag is right. Maybe Bret is a demon… or an angel. Would a demon come here to kill other demons?

My mind keeps trying to piece the whole scene together, but there is no answer for this. I’ve never seen anything like it. Ever. None of us have.

“I’m just a guy who kills demons,” Bret says in a matter-of-fact tone, like it’s no big deal at all. Like he does this every morning after breakfast. “Just like you.”

“No. Not like us,” I say, not even realizing the words are coming out of my mouth. “They were afraid of you.
Afraid
… of
you
.”

He shakes his head and frowns, as though blowing it off. “They’re just afraid of this knife. I told you before. I’m just someone who wants to help.” Bret slides his daggers back into his belt and rubs his hands together. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.”

“No,” Jag snarls. “Answer our questions! You appear suddenly out of nowhere. You carry a weapon that can kill demons
before
they take a body. You jump into that alley with no thought at all… Who are you?”

Never have we come up against someone like Bret… someone better at killing demons than Jag is. There is no one anywhere who knows as much or has as much practice as the Cazadors. Not on this continent. We’ve been at this for almost five years, and yet this guy comes along and makes us look like a bunch of amateurs.

Bret stares into Jag’s eyes as though he can see right through him, and maybe he can. “I’m not your enemy.”

They’re at a standoff, Jag’s hands in fists, his jaw flexing. “I want you out. I want nothing to do with you, and even if you do kill demons, I don’t trust you.”

Bret stares right back, but he’s not upset, not even a twitch of his eye registers anger. He’s as calm as a summer morning, his shoulders relaxed and his body loose. “I belong in the Cazadors.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jag says in a growl.

None of the rest say anything at all.

Jag moves up beside me, always keeping Bret in his line of sight. He leans over and whispers, “Don’t turn your back on this guy. There’s only one way to explain what he can do. He’s a demon.” He sees my uncertain expression, nodding furiously. “Yes, he is.” Jag grabs my arm and we start running out of there, Doug and Owen following close on our heels.

Jag glances at me, his eyes frightened. I haven’t seen that expression in years. It terrifies me. “I might not be able to see the gray man inside him, but it’s something I can feel, and I’ll kill him before I let him hurt any of you.”

Brecken

Jag could go up against a demon any day. He’s fearless, but for some reason, he’s afraid of me. I have become the enemy. I’ve done everything I can to avoid it. But here we are. What did I do wrong?

On some silent and invisible signal, we turn, leaving the Down Quarter behind us, our feet slapping the pavement, having accomplished what we came for, not that I am even sure what that is.

“We’re heading back to the church,” Jag says. “We need to figure out what happened here.”

I
don’t even know what happened here. I hope he doesn’t intend for me to do all the explaining. He’ll be waiting a long time. I don’t know why the demons were all bunched up at the end of that alley. I don’t know what they were waiting for, but when they saw me, they seemed to know who I was.

Jag would love nothing more than to leave me behind, but I stick with them as they jog away from the Down Quarter and find a bus home because, well, it’s my job and I’m determined to see it through, whether I feel welcome or not, which I don’t.

We’re lucky enough to get dropped off at the end of the church’s street. To my surprise, a long-legged girl sits on the front porch, her chin resting in her hands. Long, dark hair covers her face like a veil until she lifts her head.

“Took you long enough. Where’ve you been?” She stands and smooths her black jeans, continuing to glare at Jag, who mostly ignores her, but I’m frozen to the sidewalk, unable to step forward or say anything at all.

She glances my way, giving me a quick appraisal, and then goes back to regarding Jag, waiting for an answer.

“Heidi!” Dean muscles past me and throws his arms around her in a welcoming hug. “We missed you tonight! Why weren’t you here?”

She smiles warmly and hugs him back. I’m still standing there, frozen. Absolutely at a loss for words. My
sister
is right in front of me. My sister! What is she doing here?

“Hey, Dean,” Heidi says. “Maybe because I’m never invited.” She bumps knuckles with Doug and Owen, and then they all go inside the church together, Dean talking nonstop and peppering her with questions. It’s as though she’s a normal part of their community. They all know her… and like her.

My mind whirls a million miles a minute. What am I missing here? Heidi is at the church… with Jag. I had not anticipated seeing my sister. Although she doesn’t seem to recognize me, or even care, from the look she gave me.

I shake off my surprise, hoping Jag has forgotten his fury, and step inside the condemned building. The musty scent of moldy wood and old fire permeates the air. I kind of like it. They are lounging on the chapel pews, and naturally, I go straight for Heidi, who has one leg thrown over the end of an armrest.

I stand there staring at her, unable to reconcile it in my mind that this beautiful girl is a girl no longer, but a young woman… all grown up. I can hardly believe she’s right in front of me. Her sapphire eyes shine… just like the diamond chip in her nose that my eyes are drawn to. “You have a nose piercing?”

She frowns at me, and then my words register. Not really the best way to start a conversation with someone you supposedly don’t know.

“Sorry, uh, I’m… Bret.”

“Hey.” She goes back to visiting with Owen and Doug, who are relating our story in the DQ and the amazing feat of killing all the demons in the alley.

But all I can think of is that it feels like I’m looking in a mirror. The shade of her irises, the mahogany color of her hair, the slope of her nose… everything… we could have been twins. Do none of the others see this? My heart races with panic as my gaze darts to each person in the room. Surely, they can see the resemblance and will start asking questions. She alone should recognize me, although Raphael told me no one would. But this is my sister! How can she not?

I’m ready to scoop her up in my arms and scream for joy. I want to hug her and tell her it’s me. That I’m back! That she’s no longer alone. I’ll take care of her.

Her eyes lock with mine, and one slender eyebrow lifts along with the edge of her lips. “Take a picture, buddy. It’ll last longer.” With a snort, she shakes her head and looks away, laughing.

“Wha… what?” It feels uncomfortably like high school. Everyone turns to look at me, and all I can do is stare with my mouth gaping open.

Jag makes a derisive sound, shaking his head, and then Doug says, “Dude, she doesn’t like to be stared at. She’s a girl, not pizza. You’ve never seen one before?”

Slowly, my gaze shifts to him, and I scowl too. It’s been a long time since I was mocked, and I’ve forgotten how debilitating it feels. I was The Great Undoer. I was second in line to be King of Hell. Not that it matters now, but the heat of their judgment zooms into me like darts hitting a bull’s-eye. It’s the first time in years that peer pressure has the power to unnerve me. All because of one person. My sister… who sits three feet away from me.

My first reaction is to put her in her place, like I would have done before I died. She’s being a brat and who better to tell her than her older brother? As it is, I have to stand there, acting as if she’s a stranger, like she’s nothing to me.

I was strictly instructed not to reveal my identity. So, since I look stupid already, I stick out my hand. I’m not going to let an opportunity like this disappear by doing nothing. I want to know her, to know the woman she has become. “I’m new to the Cazadors. It’s great to meet you.” I smile like an idiot, waiting for her to shake my hand.

“No, he’s not.” Jag throws her a glance.

She stares at my hand for a moment, ignoring Jag, and then raises her hand with a chortle and a nod. “Me too.”

“You’re not in the Cazadors either.” Jag propels himself from his bench in a huff and storms out of the room, stopping at the top of the stairs to glare at me. “I want you gone when I come back up.” He doesn’t wait for a response, but he expects me to obey.

I glance back at Heidi and can’t help the stupid smile that stays plastered to my face. I am staring at my sister… one of my closest friends. Well, at times, one of my closest friends. We’ve argued more often than not. She was a bit of a snob in her junior high years, but we got past that… or had started to when I died.

I heard she took my death hard. I wish I could have somehow come back to see her, but it hadn’t been allowed… for me. “So how do you know these guys?” I ask her, gesturing around the circle. “And do you hang out with them often?” What a stupid question, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Maybe. I haven’t seen you around.”

I sit down next to her, hardly able to tear my eyes away, and I suddenly feel protective. “So, you’re a Cazador then?” I dread her answer, but I school my expression.

“Not officially,” Dean says as he smiles at her, adoration in his eyes. “But hopefully soon.”

I let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Not ever,” Jag answers from the stairs.

“Not necessarily,” Dean says with a wink and a grin, lifting his pointer finger.

The other boys laugh and don’t seem to mind the back and forth bickering. I pick up on the fact that they don’t argue with Jag, whose shoulders tighten. The expression he gives Heidi isn’t much better than the ones he gives me. There must be something about my family he doesn’t like.

“Maybe we should have tryouts,” Owen jokes, tossing a pretzel into his mouth. He must carry them in his pocket. He isn’t holding the bag.

“Yeah,” Doug chimes in. “It’ll make it more official.”

“No.” Jag shakes his head as though we’re stupid little children he has to explain things to over and over. “We’re not taking applications.” He turns and stares at me, his mouth in a hard, thin line, his eyes narrowed as he regards me. “Right now, I’m more interested in getting some questions answered. If you think we’re going to let you stay without those explanations, you’re more stupid than you look.” He folds his well-muscled arms over his chest, waiting.

I could totally take him. “Right.” My eyes dart to Heidi. “Ask away.”

“First of all,” Jag says. “Where are you from?”

I’m not sure what to say with Heidi sitting right next to me. I can’t very well tell them I grew up only a few miles from here, in one of the many demolished neighborhoods they are probably familiar with. Heidi will try to figure out which house and will wonder why she didn’t know me when we look the same age.

“Oh, I’m not from any place in particular. I bounce around a lot.”

A scowl darkens Jag’s expression, and he takes a predatory step closer.

“Wait!” I sit straighter in my seat, my hands out to placate him. I don’t want to start a battle right here in the church. I’m supposed to their friend and leader, but that train has derailed. “I’m… from here.”

“You are?” Doug asks, studying my face.

“Yeah, um, my family moved here literally two days before the Rift. I didn’t really get to know anyone. That’s, uh, why I say I bounced around. I did. After the Rift, I mean. I left California for a while, went to… uh, Arizona and even Oregon for a while. I’ve just come back.” I smile and shrug, hoping my fabricated story sounds sincere.

“Explain how you could kill all those demons by yourself,” Jag says.

“You did what?” Heidi twists around and sits up straight. “I thought you all killed the demons in the DQ.”

“There was an alley filled with demons who
weren’t
in human bodies,” Owen explains. “Bret went in there like the Terminator and killed them all by himself while we watched.”

“You killed them as demons. Not in bodies?” She searches my eyes, confused.

“I’m Superman, I guess.” I try to lighten the mood, but from their expressions, it doesn’t work. “But I’ll take the Terminator too.” It’s typical banter for Heidi and me. This was how we joked around when we lived together. It comes out naturally, just being around her.

Her mouth opens, and that familiar glint comes to her eyes. I can tell she’s tempted to joke back, but she doesn’t. Instead, she turns to Jag. “I believe him.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” he tells her. “You aren’t even a Cazador.”

“Not from what I can see,” Dean says with a chuckle. “Nice tat, Heidi.”

She hurries to pull her jacket up higher, but it’s too late. Everyone gathers around and tries to see her newly forged tattoo. Jag is the only one not hovering for a glimpse. His countenance falls into one of dismay, and he stomps back to the basement.

“Fine!” she finally says to her snooping friends who are trying to pull off her jacket. “I’ll show you.” She slips her arms from the sleeves, allowing the boys to stretch her tank top down in the back.

I push closer too, and sure enough, a virgin tattoo rests between her shoulder blades. “You got a tattoo? Are you freaking kidding me?” Anger—like a bolt of electricity searching for a rod—flashes through me, all the way to my toes. Even my fingers tingle, and I feel a lecture aching to burst from my mouth. How can she be so irresponsible? Does she not know how easily these things become infected nowadays? How did she pay for it? Not to mention she’s too young! I doubt our dad gave her permission. “How much did it cost?”

“Seriously, dude. Back off. Are you my mother?”

“Yeah, seriously.” For the first time, Dean actually glares at me too. Owen and Doug look at me with surprised expressions.

She has said those very words to me—
are you my mother
—so many times that I almost answer back with my automatic response of,
yes, I am your mother. And your father—since ours was always gone—and your babysitter, and your tormentor
. She would glare and I’d smirk, and then we’d both bust up laughing.

The words are right on the tip of my tongue, dying to slip out. I stare at her oh-so-familiar face and rein in my raging emotions. I’m acting like a lunatic. I have no right to tell her what to do, stranger or not.

“It’s totally awesome,” Doug murmurs, running his finger along the newly minted blade. “It’s runed.”

“And how did they get it to glow like that?” Owen asks. “It’s so cool.”

“Special ink.” She smiles proudly.

I know that look. It’s the expression of someone who has reached the top of Mount Everest, who has finished a marathon. She wants to be a Cazador and has proven her fearlessness by going under the needle. She has the tattoo to prove it.

I stand, pacing, holding my tongue, wondering when the hell my baby sister started seeing demons. She would have told me if it was back when we lived as a family, so it had to have been since the Rift. What other supernatural anomalies has the cataclysm caused?

I end up at the top of the stairs that lead down into the basement. It’s totally rude of me to enter Jag’s domain without permission, but we should talk, and I don’t trust myself around Heidi at the moment.

At the bottom of the stairs is a small, cement room about twelve by twelve with no windows. Jag squats in front of an old army trunk, tossing things this way and that, searching for something. His eyes shift, and he notices me standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“What are you doing down here?”

“I’m just looking around. Figured it was storage.” The room is cool, but not terribly cold. Two sleeping bags lie on the floor next to a low table with candles, a small radio, and other odds and ends.