Fallen Angels 06 - Immortal (31 page)

As the three men looked back and forth between each other, like everybody was praying someone else would step up to the answer plate, she popped open cupboards and shuffled old pots and pans around. When she finally gave up, the boys were still in the frozen positions she’d left them in.

“So is that a resounding ‘I don’t know’?” she asked. Yeah, sure, pregnancy was a private subject, but come on, the world could end tomorrow—literally—so normal boundary concepts were out the window. Besides, she really needed the information.

Eddie, the one who was, you know, back from the dead, cleared his throat. Man, he was good-looking, with a strong face and all that hair. Plus he gave off a steady-and-sure vibe that put her at ease.

“No, you cannot carry a child,” he said carefully—like he didn’t know whether that was good or bad news to her. “The Creator gave that special ability to mortals and mortals only. The instant you crossed over, you—all of us—are no longer capable of creating life. Perhaps it is the exchange for immortality in His eyes? Or maybe it is part of the reason the living must die? But no, in your state, it is not possible.”

She frowned and turned back to the bowl. Interesting, she thought. The whole kids/no-kids thing had never dawned on her before. She hadn’t been one of those girls who had pre-planned their wedding since before their adult teeth had come in. She also hadn’t been guy-crazy, either. And yet the idea that the choice had been made for her?

Really sucked, actually.

“Goddamn Devina,” she muttered.

For a split second, she decided she really should have stabbed the bitch when she’d had the chance—and that anger, oh, that anger of hers came back.

Grabbing a wire whisk, she started beating the cake batter so hard, she didn’t need help from anything made by Westinghouse.

Someday, she told herself, she was going to reach the bottom of her losses. She just had to believe that at some point, her wrong-place/wrong-time mistake however many weeks ago was going to stop haunting her. Stop changing her life in bad ways. Stop making her want to cry.

“
Sissy
, stop.”

As Jim’s strong hand landed on her arm, she jumped—and then saw that she’d made a mess, chocolate cake mix splattered all over the counter, herself, the floor.

She’d have had much better luck with a mixer.

“Sorry,” she muttered, breaking away and going to the sink.

Washing her hands under too much water, she got stuck in the middle of fight-or-flight—she wanted to run; she wanted to hit something; she needed to cry.

When she cranked off the water, she ducked her eyes and dried her hands on the seat of her yoga pants. “I gotta … I gotta get out of here for a minute. ’Scuse me.”

She left the kitchen without waiting for a response, her feet going a mile a minute as she gunned for the front door. Opening it wide, she burst out into the cool night and jogged down the shallow steps of the porch. She had no idea where she was going, and picked right at the end of the walkway just because she did.

The good news was that the sidewalk went on forever. Striding forward, she swung her arms and punched her legs into the ground and pretty soon she was going by the house next to theirs. And then the next one. And the next after that.

“Go back, go back, go back,” she muttered as she began to pant.

And she wasn’t talking about to the kitchen to clean up her epic cake fail. She just wanted to return to that moment when the impulse for some Rocky Road ice cream had hit her while she’d been sitting on the couch at her parents’, watching
Pitch Perfect
. It was one of her favorite movies in spite of her not being a big Anna Kendrick fan—too elfin with those little bitty lips and the big teeth and the pointy features. But she’d loved Rebel Wilson and Hana Mae Lee.

It had been right as Rebel was saying, “My real name is Fat Patricia,” that the hankering had hit and she’d decided to pause the movie, go for the keys to her mom’s Subaru, and head out. The plan had been to get the ice cream, go back to house to finish things up, and start in on either
While You Were Sleeping
or
The Blind Side
.

She’d always had a girl crush on Sandra Bullock—

Sissy stopped dead and realized it was all past tense. Not just the nuances of that evening that had turned her life into a nightmare, but all the things she’d used to like. Do. See.

Be.

Putting a hand on her lower belly, she looked down at her body. “I should have been able to choose.”

“I agree.”

She gasped and wheeled around, bringing her hands up to throw a punch. But it was just Jim.

“You followed me,” she said roughly.

“Yeah. I did.”

She dropped her hands. Then crossed them over her chest. Then dropped them again. “I don’t want this anymore. I don’t … want to be here anymore.”

With resonant sorrow of his own, he reached up and brushed both of her cheeks—which was how she figured out she was crying.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

Pacing around him, going on and off the sidewalk, she shook her head. “If you find out who the next soul is, and you win that round—what happens? Am I still stuck here in this netherland? I mean, I’ve been to Hell and I don’t want to go back there. But I’m neither here nor there now—can I go to Heaven? Can you send me there? Please?”

As she stopped and looked up at him, she could see his wings, the shimmering outlines glowing in the dark—and the sight made her feel like she’d gone to the right place with the request maybe. After all, she’d been to Sunday school; she knew that there was a Heaven—or at least, she’d been told there was.

“Jim?” she said in a small voice. “Can you please just let me go somewhere else?”

It was so funny, Jim would later reflect. The heart, as it turned out, could break in a million different ways: It didn’t have to be a loss or a death. No, the inability to help someone you loved was shattering.

You’d have thought he’d learned that earlier with his mother.

And maybe he had. Which meant this moment out here with Sissy was one hell of a refresher course.

And there was a selfish part of him that wanted to keep her with him. If she went up to the Manse of Souls, he couldn’t get to her; they’d be separated, maybe forever. On the other hand, she was clearly at her breaking point, the stuff about the pregnancy having sent her into a kind of despair he could only guess at.

He’d never wanted kids. Wasn’t interested in them, couldn’t have cared less.

Although if there had been a chance of having one with her …

Shaking himself back into focus, he dragged a hand through his hair and wished he had a cigarette—especially as he remembered the sight of her across the kitchen, beating the ever-loving shit out of that cake batter. Good God, he’d thought he was going to have to surgically remove that wire whisk from her hand.

“What,” she said dully. “Just fucking say whatever it is, okay? At this point, there is absolutely no bad news that is going to make me feel worse than I do.”

“I think Devina’s inside of you.”

As she blanched and stopped breathing, his own fury curled in his gut. That fucking demon. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to—

“What do you mean?” she choked out as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“It’s a function of your having been to Hell. At least as far as Ad and then Eddie explained it to me. Even after you left there … there’s something inside of you.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

As she dropped to her knees and braced her hands on the grass, he knelt beside her. “But I think we can do something about it.”

Sissy let out a retching sound, her back heaving.

Gritting his teeth, it took every ounce of self-control he had not to find Devina right at that second and murder her with his bare hands.

“Just breathe,” he heard himself say as he helped her stay off the ground.

As a car came around the turn in the lane, he stiffened, thinking that if it was a Mercedes without a hood ornament, he was going to—

Nope. It was a Rolls-Royce, believe it or not.

When Sissy stopped coughing in that horrible way, he took her into his arms and held her to his chest. On the one hand, the difference in their sizes made him feel powerful. On the other, it was just a reminder of how impotent he actually was in this situation: Physical brawn wasn’t going to do shit for her.

But one of those crystal knives …

Playing back what he’d done to Vin diPietro in the first round got him on the nausea train, too, but what choice did he have? And he certainly wasn’t going to trust anyone else to do it.

She pulled back. “How long have you known?”

“About you?” He shrugged. “Not very long. I mean, I think you have a right to be pissed off—but there’s another edge to your anger.”

“What do you have to do?”

“How about we go back to the house?”

“That bad, huh.”

“It’s nothing we can’t manage.” Shit, he hated lying to her. “Come on, let’s go back. Eddie knows everything and he can explain what’s going to happen—if you decide to go that route.”

Sissy went still, then looked up at him. “When is it going to end?” she choked out.

Hopefully not tonight, he prayed. “Soon. And it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it okay.”

With a prayer he wouldn’t violate that vow to her, he helped her to her feet and put his arm around her waist, taking some of her weight as they went along.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of me. I know I asked before … but, I mean, we don’t even really know each other, and yet you’re always there for me. Ever since the beginning.”

He stopped and turned her to face him. As he traced her face with his eyes, he felt like he had never not known her.

Fuck immortality. If he lost her, he was a dead man walking.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “It’s just the way it is.”

“I think you’re a really good savior, Jim.” She put her hands on his forearms. “You’ve always been an angel to me—”

“I love you.”

Sissy closed her eyes. She couldn’t have heard that right. Had he really said—

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t mean to make shit awkward.”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m … how can you?” Her heart pounded. “I … if there’s something inside of me…”

She couldn’t go any further than that.

“That’s not you, Sissy. It’s got jack to do with you. And when we get rid of it?”

“I’m back to normal.”

“Exactly.”

She wanted to respond to him, wanted to say the words back, once again wanted to be frickin’ normal.

Instead, she was obsessed with the fact that she might not be alone in her own skin. Was Devina going to pop out of her at any second? Take her over?

Oh, God, was her head going to spin around as she pea-souped all over everything … or was this an
Alien
scenario where something jumped out of her stomach?

Thinking back, she realized that, yes, ever since she’d gotten out of Hell, that anger of hers had been out of control, her emotions all over the place—but like Jim said, she’d just assumed it was because she’d been dealt a tragic hand and wasn’t dealing with it well. Now, though, as she reconsidered her happy session with the matches and the sheets in the parlor?

She had actually felt as if that rage were something larger than her. Something out of character and wildly destructive. Something that was an “other.”

“Come on,” he said roughly. “Let’s go.”

She followed along beside him, her body moving on its own. “Can I infect you?” she asked in a rush.

“No.”

Thank God. Except then … “What if it doesn’t work? Whatever we have to do?”

“It will. I’ve done it once before, and Eddie’s an expert.”

“Okay. All right.”

Except she felt completely and totally far from “okay” and “all right.” And the walk back home didn’t change that.

The smell of a chocolate cake in the oven greeted her as soon as she went through the front door, and when she got to the kitchen, she found Eddie at the sink, doing the dishes she had used. Ad was sprawled in one of the chairs at the table, his eyes locked on the other guy, not in a creepy sexual way, but more like he expected an imminent disappearance and was prepared to follow the example.

“So what are you going to do to me?” she demanded.

Eddie looked over his shoulder, dark brows rising. “Nothing. Why?”

Jim came in behind her and took the seat he usually sat in. “We need to do some de-Devina-ing, if you get my meaning.”

The other angel took a deep breath and seemed to forget about the dripping bowl in his hand and the fact that he’d left the water on. “On Sissy.”

“Yes, on me,” she said, going over and looking into the stove.

There were two cake pans in there side by side, and the batter was in mid-metamorphosis, growing taller and darker.

“Jim, can I talk to you for a minute,” Eddie murmured quietly.

“No.” She straightened. “You can’t. Anything that you can say to him, you’d better say to me. It’s my body, my problem.”