The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1) (31 page)

If we didn't, we'd be rushing in blind. And blind was the last thing we needed to be.

Depositing our purchases in Aralia's car, we headed over to Florian's Bistro across the street from the boutique. The owner, a kindly Italian man who reminded me of Mr. Zarcotti, flirted endlessly with Aralia while he poured her glass after glass of expensive wine. Vaena scarfed down her spaghetti and I picked at my Parmesan chicken. My appetite waned the closer we got to the solstice. Aralia was drinking more. Vaena was...being her usual self. We all had different ways of coping with our possible impending doom. Some healthier than others.

We got back to the house about ten minutes before the storm hit. Big, fat snowflakes took the place of rain, covering the landscape in the space of an hour. I hung my new dress up in my closet, then watered our Christmas tree in the foyer downstairs. It was a misshapen thing, spindly and crooked, but it was ours. Dante scrounged up some old ornaments that were packed away in a box in the basement and Aralia bought some string lights from the store. Together, we decorated it to Ella Fitzgerald records and had cider afterward. One big fucked up demon family. It was a shame we didn't have time to really enjoy it.

Maybe we'd get to it later. Merry Post-Apocalyptic Christmas. Have some fruitcake.

Dread stayed with me the rest of the day and well into the night. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. I just kept creating these terrible scenarios in my head of everything that could go wrong. Death. Sacrifice. Pain. Loss. I lost Rosie. I lost Mr. Zarcotti. How much more could I lose before I broke? How many more people would die because we didn't act fast enough? Why me? Why was I having these doubts now?

Unable to stand the quiet of my bedroom, I got up in the middle of the night and went to find Dante in his study. Predictably, he sat in his chair with the Cromwell’s diary on his desk. His eyes flicked back and forth as he read the words we'd pored over dozens of times. I rapped my knuckle on the doorframe.

“Hey,” I said, stepping inside. “You busy?”

“No, no,” he murmured, turning the page. “Come in.”

I pulled my usual chair out and sat down. “Doing some light reading?”

He flipped the page.

I folded my arms on top of his desk and rested my head on them. “I just needed someone to talk to, I guess. You don't have to talk back if you don't want.”

He didn't.

I sighed. “I'm scared. Are you scared? I'm scared. I feel like none of us know what we're doing. You, maybe, because you always know what you're doing, but me? Nah. I'm sad little orphan girl with the dead friend. I'm not you. I'm not Aralia. I'm not Vaena. I'm not even Max. I'm just―”

“Beatrice,” Dante looked up from the book. “You're being too hard on yourself.”

“Maybe,” I said, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “But I'm not a superhero, you know? I'm not like you. I'm just someone who keeps inserting herself into this situation because I'm stubborn. What if that isn't enough?”

His expression softened and he closed the book with a barely audible thud. “You wouldn't still be here if it wasn't enough.”

I guess he had a point. My stubbornness got me this far. Giving up now wouldn't make a whole lot of sense.

“Beatrice,” he said again, this time more earnestly, “we
can
win this.”

I screwed my eyes shut and took a breath. “Do we even know what
this
is?”

Aaand…silence. That’s what I thought. We didn't know what
this
was. We didn't have a clear picture. We knew the mayor and Amarax were one in the same. We knew dozens of innocent people died two hundred years ago at the church. We knew the solstice was tomorrow. We knew there'd be a party. But we didn't know
why.

“You know what would be nice?” I asked.

“What?” Dante replied.

“If we've been wrong about all this. If this is just a nightmare we're all going to wake up from here soon.”

“If that's the case, we've been having the same nightmare for a very long time.”

“How do you do it?” I asked, opening my eyes and looking up at him. “With your dad, I mean? How the hell do you cope with something like that?”

He smiled weakly. “Because I know I have people I'd do anything to protect.”

My stomach flipped and I knew in that moment I was one of those people. “That’s my line, Arturo.”

“Yes, well,” he said, “it's a good line.”

Feeling a little bit better about the situation, I got to my feet and stretched the remaining tension from my body. I felt Dante’s gaze on me, and immediately stopped, for some reason embarrassed. When I looked at him again, he cleared his throat and grabbed his coffee mug so quickly that a bit of its contents sloshed onto some papers, narrowly missing Elias’s diary.

Oh my God. He was…totally checking me out.

I never thought I’d see the day he would dare do something that could even be remotely considered impolite. I had no problem ogling
him
, but for him to ogle
me
…

Warm from head to toe, I tried to play off my pleasure as nonchalance and leaned over his desk to kiss him on his scruffy cheek. “Goodnight, Dante,” I said.

I turned and began to walk away, but Dante grabbed my hand before I could get very far. I looked down at him. He looked up at me. My pulse quickened. Sylvie Karlov scenes played in my head once more.

But instead of feeding me a line, Dante smiled, rising slowly to his feet. He was so damn tall and I never loved it more than I did now. “Goodnight, Beatrice.” He said quietly. He let go of my hand, though our fingers still touched until I forced myself to pull away.

My hands trembled all the way back to bed, and a heat unlike anything I’d felt before burned me straight through.

Thirty-Two

When I was ten, I did the typical ten year old thing and played a lot of those dumb games at sleepovers. Sure, I was only invited to these sleepovers because the parents of the kids throwing them felt bad for me, but at the time, I didn't care. The games were fun and I usually got free food out of it.

They almost always started with a question: This or that? Truth or dare? Would you rather? Would you rather kiss Jason Clark or shove him into a wall and run away? Would you rather eat this nasty food or lick a doorknob? Sometimes, when we were feeling particularly introspective, we'd ask ourselves...

“What would you do if you only had one more day to live?”

Knowing me, I probably said something stupid like rob a bank, but now that I was faced with the possibility that this could very well be my last day alive, I wondered.

What would I do if I only had one more day to live?

The answer was simple.

I watched a lot of movies and ate an entire pizza by myself.

Vaena resurfaced for a moment to help me polish it off, then disappeared into her room to do whatever it was she did when she was alone. Read. Watch TV. Knit sweaters. Perform ancient demonic blood rituals. Fun stuff like that.

We didn't see her again until it was time to get ready for the mayor's party. She gave Dante and I bone crushing hugs, then ran right back up to her room.

She wasn't allowed to attend the night's festivities. Too risky.

“Does anyone know where my tie is?” Max called, ambling around the house in a half tucked-in shirt and unbuttoned slacks.

“Right here,” Sadie replied, holding it up. She looked radiant in her powder blue gown, a string of pearls at her throat.

I was glad Max decided to take her. One less person we had to worry about. At least at the party we could make sure she wasn't hurt.

Leaving them to their own devices, I went upstairs to get dressed. Aralia was already there in a floor length gown that hugged her curves and dipped in a low V at the neck. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in silky waves, her lipstick as red as her dress.

I put mine on and modeled it for Mo, who'd taken refuge in my room. He whined.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mo,” I said.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. I zipped my dress up the rest of the way and answered it. Dante.

“You look…very nice,” he said, his tone reminiscent of the little moment we shared last night. I still couldn’t believe it actually happened.

Naturally, I had to play it off with sarcasm. Feelings were hard.

“Thanks. You look like crap, though.” I replied, as per our shtick. Exhaustion was a very real part of him now. He wore it like an old shirt, frayed and darkened at the edges. Only he couldn't take this particular shirt off.

He laughed. “Yes, thank you. I know.”

“No, you
really
look terrible.” I smiled. He smiled back. “And your tie's crooked.” I fixed it as best I could and smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt. Didn't do much good. “Where's your coat thingy?”

“My coat thingy?”

“The thing that goes on over the shirt.”

“My jacket?”

Duh, why couldn't I think of the word? “Yeah, that.”

“It's downstairs. I'll get it before we leave.” He scratched his jaw, glanced at his oxfords. “May I come in?”

I stepped aside. “It's your house.”

“But this is your room,” he said.

“You've got a point, Arturo.”

“I need to make a few more.”

“You'd better get to it, then. We have to leave soon and Aralia still wants to do my hair.”

“Then I'll be quick,” he stepped inside. “Beatrice, if I ask you to do something for me, will you do it?”

This was the same question he asked me the first night we met. I hadn't been able to oblige. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to this time, either. “What is it?”

He looked up. “No matter what happens tonight, I want you to save yourself. If it comes down to me or you, you need to choose
you.
Not me.”

I wasn't a martyr and I wasn't trying to be, but I couldn't...

“Promise me,” he said, grabbing my hands. “You have to promise me.”

I shook my head. “I―”

“Beatrice,
please
,” he begged. “He's going to come after me tonight because that's what he does. He's never going to stop until he gets what he wants. You can't try to save me because he
will
kill you, do you understand?”

“You're asking me to let him―”

“I'm asking you to save yourself. I'm asking you to save Max, Aralia, anyone you can. But not me. No matter what happens, no matter what he tells you, you
can't
help me. You can't.”

I shook my head again. He couldn't ask me to abandon him. He couldn't ask me to let him
die.
I couldn't lose anyone else. I couldn't. Not him. Not anyone.

“Beatrice,” he said, his voice a terse whisper. “We can't let him win. He can take me, but he can't take you. You have to keep going. You have to fight. With or without me.”

Heroism sounded great on paper, but no one ever bothered to read the fine print. No one ever talked about the hard parts. No one ever talked about the sacrifice. The choice between who lived and who died. I knew what he was asking was necessary. I knew going in that this could happen. I knew I had to promise. I knew I had to fight. With or without him.

He gave my hands a squeeze. “
Please.
”

I steadied my breathing. Wiped the tears from my eyes. Nodded.

He tried to smile. So did I. Neither of us could quite make it happen.

Just as he pulled away, another knock caught our attention. This one didn't wait for an answer.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Aralia said, “but I really ought to do Beatrice's hair now. Rat's nest like hers needs all the help it can get.”

“You're mean,” I sniffed, grateful for her interruption.

“I'm not the one with terrible hair,” she replied.

Dante opened the door a little wider and edged out of it. “I've got to go find my jacket.” When he was gone, Aralia pushed me down the hall and into the bathroom and sat me down on the toilet. She raked a brush through my hair, complained about how unmanageable it was the whole way through. She didn't ask what Dante and I were talking about. She knew. She knew everything.

Including how to style my rat's nest.

“How d'you like it?” She asked, steering me to the mirror above the sink. Ten different cans of spray sat in the basin. At least half of them were used to tame my hair.

“Wow,” I said, touching the wispy tendrils around my face. She'd given me an up-do, pulled my hair back in a low bun and braided the chunks above my ears. My ward sparkled around my neck, adding practicality as well as glamor to the look. Sylvie Karlov would have been proud.

Aralia certainly was. “I work wonders, don't I?”

“You do. My hair actually looks nice for once.”

“We look stunning,” she said it as if it were a scientific fact not worth disputing. Like the Big Bang, only better.

“Hey, guys?” Max's muffled voice sounded from behind the closed door. “Dante's calling a meeting before we go. Might wanna get in there.”

“Patience, Maxie,” Aralia replied. “You can't rush perfection.”

A soft snort. “Tell him that.”

Hand on her hip, she opened the door and smirked. “I will.”

His eyes widened. “Whoa, you guys look great.”

“Yes, we know.”

“Thanks, Max,” I said. “You don't look half bad yourself.”

His suit was a fraction too big and the sleeves a fraction too long, but those little flaws only added to his usual cuteness. With Sadie at his side, they made the perfect couple. Models ripped from a prom catalog.

“I love your hair, Beatrice,” Sadie said.

“Isn't it nice?” Aralia strutted down the hall while the rest of us followed. She stopped at Dante's study, opened the door, and shoved Max and I inside. “Sadie, darling, we'll be right back. Family business, you know. We'll be quick.”

“Um,” Sadie said, “o―”

Aralia shut the door.

Max glared. “Aralia!”

She rolled her eyes. “Don't start with me, Max. We're on a schedule and your little girlfriend will muck it up.”

“You don't have to be rude!”

“I was hardly rude! Beatrice, was I rude?”

I raised my hands, palms forward. “Hey, don't drag me into this.”

“Excuse me, you three?” Dante stood at our chalkboard and readjusted the collar of his jacket (coat thingy). If you ignored the dark rings around his eyes and the wrinkles in his shirt, he looked damn near perfect. As perfect as a physically, mentally, and emotionally drained demon prince could look. “Are you done? Or should I wait?”

“We're done,” Aralia announced loudly despite Max standing right next to her.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, “we're done.”

We were done. Really done. One last meeting. Then it was off to the mayor's mansion. “We're done.”

Dante caught my eye, then quickly looked away. Mo sat at his side, tongue lolling from his mouth. Dante gave him a scratch. “Good. We need to straighten a few things out before we leave.”

We waited in silence for him to continue.

“My father has been waiting for us to make our move.” Dante said. “He’s been baiting us this entire time and now we’re finally giving him what he wants. We need to stop him. No one else can.” He pointed to the chalkboard. “You know what he can do. He controls people, bends them to his will. Kills them when he's through. If Bishop corners you, get out of there as fast as you can. Don't be alone with him. Don't look him in the eye. Don't let on that you know. As far as we're aware, he still thinks we're ignorant. We aren't. We have to use this to our advantage.”

“Manipulate him for a change,” I said. I liked the sound of that.

“Exactly,” Dante replied. “But we have to be extremely careful. This isn't just a party. It’s a trap.”

“Should we be watching for anything specific?” Max asked. He breathed on the lenses of his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve.

“That’s the problem, Maxie.” Aralia tapped her heeled foot on the floor. We'd gotten eight inches of snow last night but she still insisted on wearing heels. I assumed succubi couldn't get frostbite. “We can’t say for certain.”

“Which is why we need to be
extremely
careful,” Dante said. “There won't be strength in numbers here. My father won't care how many people he has to use to achieve his ends. He will murder everyone at this party if it means getting what he wants.”

“So what exactly do you want us to do?” I asked.

He grabbed his car keys off his desk. “I want you to be alert. All of you. If we're going to corner my father, we need to be at our best. Leave the rest up to me. I can't allow what happened two hundred years ago to repeat itself. I won't.”

Neither would I. I was sick of watching innocent people die. Sick of grasping at straws, taking shots in the dark. If we could do this―if we could root Amarax out at his own party―we'd be saving this city a whole lot of grief. If we couldn't...

Merry Post-Apocalyptic Christmas. Fruitcake not included.

***

Stone Chapel glittered like a city in a snow globe and the Mayor's Mansion was its sparkling centerpiece. The lanterns on the sidewalk flickered warmly in the dark while big white flakes flitted down from the sky only to melt on the fur-lined coats of the city's elite. Expensive cars of all makes and models crowded the street, valets in penguin suits rushing to serve the needs of their more than privileged guests.

Dante tried to park by himself, but they insisted. Mayor's orders.

“This is crazy,” I said, referring to both the spectacle and the people. The Mansion―thoroughly Victorian like everything else in this part of the city―was draped in white icicle lights, and the giant pine tree in the yard was decorated silver and gold, its lights matching the ones on the house. A herd of extremely wealthy looking people followed the path shoveled through the snow to the front door.

“This is completely unnecessary,” Dante muttered.

“I feel like I should applaud whoever planned this,” Aralia said as she admired the tree. “It may be a death trap, but it's a pretty one.”

“
Aralia!
” Max jerked his head in Sadie's direction. She wasn't really paying attention to him. Too busy drinking in all the glamor. I could relate. It wasn't often a couple of orphans got an opportunity like this.

We got to play the rich kids for once. We got to hang out with the very same people who looked down on us for being poor, who turned the other cheek when demons ravaged the Old Quarter or when public schools like Stone Chapel High couldn't get funding. We weren't them and we'd never be, but for tonight, at least, we had to pretend.