The Undoer (18 page)

I’d hoped the flight would leave before they could book tickets. I knew they’d follow. The whole situation is stupid, stupid, stupid. I should never have stopped at the church to say goodbye. A hundred other alternatives go through my mind. I could have just left a note. I could have stolen away like a thief in the night. I could have just called from New York to tell them I’d left.

Shaking my head, I berate myself. Once again, I am putting my friends and family in danger just like always. It’s because of me that Alisa got messed up with the demons in the first place, because of me that Heidi and Sophie witnessed our father—an angel of protection—trying to kill me. It was because of me that Bas Iblis stabbed Alisa with a Nephilim dagger. I still thank God every day that she was saved from total annihilation.

I know I’m supposed to use the Cazadors for this mission, that they were chosen and prepared, but to go up against so many seasoned demons with this ragtag group of teens leaves me paralyzed with fear for their safety. It shows my lack of faith, I know, but I’m not used to using humans as pawns, and that’s what it feel like I’m doing. I shouldn’t change the rules now that I’m here, but I’m beginning to seriously doubt Raphael and Michael’s plan.

Heidi

I refuse to speak to Bret for the rest of the trip. I still can’t believe he actually planned to leave us and go to
The Door to Hell
by himself. And to stop at the church first… what an idiot. Totally something my dumb brother would do.

Brecken was constantly changing his mind at the last second, always second-guessing himself. It was one of those things that used to drive me nuts when we all lived together in our cute house at the end of death row.

He had this insane desire to be absolutely certain he was doing the right thing. He’d go over and over his plan, writing down pros and cons for whatever he was trying to figure out.

I try to put myself in his shoes, with what little I know. It isn’t that hard, considering how close we used to be. I know Brecken well. He practically raised me. If I trust anyone, it’s him. All of these thoughts go round and round in my mind as we cross the United States in the little plane that bounces around on the slightest breeze.

I turn toward Jag, who sits in the window seat. With one hand on his thigh, his fingers spread, his chin is resting on his other fist, he stares out the window at nothing. This high up, there’s nothing to see but outer space above and clouds below. I can’t see even a sliver of ground. The light streaming in enhances the gold in his hair and he appears radiant, angelic even. He’s beautiful, in spite of the fact he wears a scowl.

I take a chance and place my hand over his.

He gives me a surprised glance, but a smile comes quickly. “Hey.” He moves away from the window and leans toward me.

“Hey, yourself.” I can’t help the grin that plants itself on my lips. It’s automatic, every time I look at him. I still can’t believe how all of this has turned around. After the last year of begging to be a part of the Cazadors, of being rejected and criticized, now he looks at me like I’m the next best thing since ice cream.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sure. Why?”

“I thought that little vein in your forehead was going to explode when you were yelling at Bret.” He chuckles and tickles the back of my hand with his finger.

“Yeah. There was a moment there when I wondered the same thing.” I glance over at Brecken, whose eyes are closed at the moment. He looks exhausted and so lonely, sitting all by himself on his side of the aisle. I feel a little sorry for him, shouldering so much responsibility on his own, but that’s what we’re here for—to take some of that weight off him. My heart fills with warmth as I realize I’m on a plane with my brother. We’re going to fight evil together. I can’t think of anything more amazing.

“Are you afraid?” Jag asks, and my gaze returns to him. He searches my face for any micro expressions I might let escape. He does this to everyone. It’s why he’s so good at what he does. He’s always one step ahead, making people feel like he can read their mind. It’s one of his many gifts.

“Of what?”

“Of where we’re going.
The Door to Hell
. The demons we’ll face. The possibility of imminent death.” He says this last part with a sly grin, and I shake my head.

“Yes and no.” I turn and face him fully, sitting sideways in the seat. “If for some reason I don’t make it, I want you to know something.”

He watches me, his smile turning into a frown.

“These last few days with you…” I glance away, unsure how to finish. How do you tell someone who is looking right at you—who you are still shy around—that you love him? That he is in your thoughts night and day? That your heart aches for him, and the thought that he may only be in your life for a few more days is more devastating than anything else you’ve experienced so far?

He doesn’t say anything as he stares at our hands, trying to sort out his thoughts. At least that’s what I’m hoping he’s doing. And then I realize I don’t want him to say anything in case it’s something I don’t want to hear.

He sighs, glancing out the window and then back at me. “Things are coming to a head?”

“What do you mean?” There are a ton of things that feel like they’re coming to a head, but I don’t want to discuss most of them.

He exhales and chuckles, rubbing his hands on his pants. A nervous habit, which means he’s about to open up and tell me something personal. “To be honest, ever since Bret told us about
The Door to Hell
, I have the feeling
it
is my purpose. It’s why I’m still alive. It’s why I have this gift. I’m supposed to go there.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know.” His fingers close around mine, holding my hand tightly as though it will somehow help his words make sense. “It’s just a feeling I have. Something is going to happen there. Something big.”

I don’t know this side of Jag well—the intuitive side. Dare I say it… the spiritual side? Does he have a spiritual side? I don’t even know if I do. I have no idea what his beliefs are, and I’ve never talked about mine. I’m not sure what I believe.

“So you believe Bret?” I ask, hoping we are all finally on the same page.

“Partly, but not like you think. I believe him about
The Door to Hell
, that demons are coming through, that it’s some kind of hotspot or something. But I don’t trust that we’re going there to kill all the demons and close it. Just hear me out,” he says quickly when he sees I’m about to argue.

This insane idea that Bret is out to get us is starting to feel like deluded paranoia. It’s all too much, and I hate it. I don’t even want to think about it.

“Just listen,” Jag insists. “If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. At least I’ve put it out there.”

“Fine,” I breathe quietly.

Bret’s eyes are still closed and he looks like he’s sleeping, but it’s pretty quiet in the airplane right now. Maybe he’s listening to our conversation. I hope not.

“Okay, so Bret is a demon. I know it. That’s not even a debatable point.” He hurries to put his hand up as I’m about to interrupt. “The thing we have to figure out is why he wants us to go with him to
The Door to Hell
.”

“He doesn’t.”

A slow smile comes to his lips. “That’s where you’re wrong, Heidi. He came to the church on purpose. For one reason only, and that was to tell us he was leaving and then act like he didn’t want us to come. He knew we’d follow. He manipulated us. But I didn’t fall for it.”

“You’re here aren’t you?”

He releases a bemused chuckle. “Not for him. This is the only explanation. Seriously. After everything that’s happened so far since we’ve met him?” He sits back, letting his hands rest on his lap, giving me space.

I recline, brooding over every conversation, every experience, and every word that has come out of Brecken’s mouth. It does all seem very coincidental.

“I’m telling you,” he whispers. “He’s trying to make us think he doesn’t want us to come, that it will be too dangerous, but he does want us there. So bad that he’s willing to use your dead brother to deceive you.”

Brecken wouldn’t do that. Or is he just Bret? Could Jag be right?

He must notice my indecision and hurries to add, “One of my theories is this… that there are other Cazadors around the world and the demons are rounding us up so they can get rid of us in one fell swoop.”

His whispers can no longer be classified as whispers. Sure enough, when I glance over at Bret, he’s watching us, a dejected expression on his face. He doesn’t say anything, turning away to gaze out the window.

I release a heavy breath. I don’t want to argue. Especially with Jag. He’s too hard to debate with, and he always wins. He thinks too fast and too logically. He’s too dang smart. I can only think of witty responses the next day. I’m on a twenty-four hour rotation for clever comebacks.

“Just think about it,” Jag says as he climbs past me to go to the restroom. “Because what if I’m right?”

Brecken

The flight to New York takes years, and the fact that I haven’t been spoken to in almost five hours makes the time lapse even slower. It should be a relief. The silence. But it’s not. The quiet is heavy, oppressive, and not the way to start out a long trip around the world with a team. The anxiety of being up in the air in this flimsy tin can makes it worse. And we’re going to do it again… over an ocean.

Heidi sits across the aisle, mostly staring out at nothing, while Jag whispers to her furiously. Nothing he says is true, and yeah, I can hear their whole conversation. I’m only three feet away, but I’m not going to fight with him. Not on this tiny plane where everyone can hear. I just hope she has more faith in me than Jag does.

We arrive in New York at the LaGuardia airport in the evening, and I’m one of the first people off the plane, rushing to be on solid ground. Inside the terminal, I almost fall to my knees and kiss the stained carpet. We check in for our next flight, and then the wait continues.

I take a seat in the waiting area, a wall of windows to the west. The sun begins its slow descent, and I watch until the very last rays disappear. It feels like a sign, like a portent of things to come. Like the world will grow black until only darkness reigns. I pray it’s not true, that it’s only my wild imagination and cynical outlook on life.

Owen plops down in the seat next to me, the armrest between us. I’d give anything to lie down. I’m so exhausted. I could fall asleep standing up.

“Hey.” He nods, acknowledging me.

“Hey.”

“So… what exactly are we going to do in Turkmenistan or whatever it’s called?” He flips through a paperback book he brought along.

I snort, unable to stop myself. “The impossible.”

“Well, I mean specifically?” When he leans forward, the honesty in his eyes undoes me. He trusts me completely. They all do, really. Except for Jag. It’s time to be a leader once again. A general of a teeny-weeny army, but a general nonetheless.

I glance at the others. They’re watching and listening, even if it’s only with half an ear. “There’s a giant, burning crater, two hundred and thirty feet wide and a hundred feet deep that demons have been using to come to this world for at least forty-five years. There was a shift during the Rift that somehow opened
The Door
wider. It’s allowing demons to come through at an unprecedented rate. I’ve been assigned to shut it.”

“You mean
we’ve
been assigned to shut it,” Owen says.

Smart kid. Too smart. And he’s flying toward his death. He will never see the United States of America again. He will never see his parents again. He’ll never find a wife and have kids.

“So, what’s the plan?” He’s excited, like a kid at Christmas, ready for a new adventure. He really doesn’t get it.

“I’m still working that out.”

“He doesn’t have a plan,” Jag says, finally adding to the conversation. “At least one that doesn’t involve sacrificing us to the gods.” He’s sitting across from me, looking totally bored, faced away with one leg crossed over the other. He doesn’t want to be here, and he doesn’t believe my story. He’s here for one reason only. Heidi. And for the sheer chance we might be able to do something about the demons… and maybe to witness my downfall.

“I said I’m working on one, and once it’s solidified, all of you need to obey me without question. What we’re about to do will have lasting, eternal consequences. We can’t mess up.” I look hard at each member of the group, making sure they understand. Jag is the only one glaring back at me. He doesn’t say anything, and he isn’t about to take orders from me.

He’s going to be the weak link, and I’ll have to figure out a solution or we’ll never survive. We have to be able to trust that we have each other’s backs. Having Jag in this group is a huge test for me. Maybe it’s some stupid game that Raphael and Michael thought up. They probably want to see how much I can take before I lose it. Demons are famous for capsizing quickly, but I’m not a demon anymore.

“I wish Dean were here.” Heidi looks off into the distance at nothing. She rests her chin in her hand and kicks her crossed leg. Her shoulders are hunched and tight, tense. If I tell her to relax, she’ll probably punch me.

“I’m glad he’s not,” I say kindly, trying to catch her eye. We gaze at one another, a whole lot of meaning passing in our expressions. “It’s not the place for someone like him. Someone who doesn’t fight. It’s not who he was.” Back when we were kids, Heidi and I could communicate without having to say anything at all. With just one look, we knew what the other was thinking. We mostly used this form of communication when our dad was mad and we were trying to protect whoever was in trouble. Not that our dad was mean or violent, but I hated it when he yelled at Heidi or Sophie.

“Jag says he’s dead.” Owen shakes his head, folding and unfolding his book. By the time we get to Turkmenistan, it’s going to be shredded. The thrum-thrum-thrum of the pages has grown annoying, and if he doesn’t stop folding it over and over, I’m going to grab it and chuck it into the trash bin myself.

“I don’t know,” I answer, wishing I could give them something definite, but I haven’t gotten any inspiration on the subject. I chalk it up to the fact that we’re not supposed to know at this point. My guess is that Dean is in a better place, even though it kills me to admit it.

“He’s with his family now,” Doug says hopefully, looking at each member of the team. “They died in the Rift.” He nods when he glances at me, unconsciously, I think, to spur a yes answer from me.

“Yeah. Probably.” I give him a reassuring smile.

“So, let’s hear this plan of yours.” Jag sits up, a tired sigh playing around his lips. Lips that Heidi can’t seem to stop staring at. It’s maddening beyond anything, and it takes effort to put the plan I have into words instead of saying something I might regret about their budding relationship.

***

The flight from New York to Spain goes quickly, thank heavens, as it’s during the night. I try unsuccessfully to sleep and ignore Jag and Heidi, snuggling across the aisle. But by the time the sun rises, I am ready to collapse. I stare out the tiny airplane window at the dusty, sunburned city of Tehran, wound up so tight that one wrong move from Jag and I might actually lose it.

Iran suffered severe damage during the Rift. The tall buildings are now piles of rubble, weeds growing through to reclaim their prize. In the distance, snow-capped mountains strain to reach the crystal blue sky, and I’m amazed that such a vast city like Tehran could fall to ruin so quickly.

The plane rumbles as it circles around to taxi, updrafts bouncing us like leaves on rising gusts of wind. The plane rattles and the overhead bins shake. I grasp my armrests, white-knuckled, praying that we’ll land soon and that this will all be a distant memory.

I glance over at Heidi, who leans over Jag to see out her window. Owen and Doug visit, looking completely unconcerned, and as usual, I sit alone with only my aviophobia as my companion.

I’m not afraid to die. It’s not that. I just don’t like strapping myself into a metal container that can fall out of the sky at any moment. I like picturing my destination in my mind and then arriving there two seconds later, like I did in the world of spirits. Instead, I sit here for hours on end, my back cramping and my nerves fraying, at my wit’s end, before I even reach my destination.

To calm my nerves, I force my mind to the only thing that will help. Alisa. She’s somewhere in the vast whiteness of Elysium, learning and growing without me. Does she think about me at all? I picture her in my mind, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her twinkling eyes, crinkling with a smile, and I wonder what she is doing right now. I wish she were here with me, with her snarky comments and dry sense of humor. I miss her so much it hurts.

The things that seem important to us here in mortality are nothing but gnat-like worries—if they are worries at all—in the afterlife. Am I a gnat to Alisa now? I yearn to have this mission over with so I can get back to her. I can’t find peace in this world where doubt and fear are constant emotions. It’s amazing anyone survives it.

The wheels finally touch down with a thump. My head actually bounces forward. Practically whiplash. I jump up, grab my pack from the overhead bin, and sling it over my shoulder. I help Heidi with hers, and then wait for Owen and Doug to get out of the way so I can hurry down the aisle.

As soon as my feet hit the pavement outside, dry waves of heat slam into me, and all thoughts of flying are erased. I can only think of one thing. Water. My mouth and the inside of my nose feels like I’ve swallowed sand. Within seconds, sweat drips down my back and the sun is hot on any exposed skin.

Heidi gasps next to me. “Oh, my gosh, I’m going to die here.”

I pray her words are not prophetic.

And in spite of the heat, she pulls a scarf from her pack and wraps it around her head. I’m amazed she thought to remember, and my appreciation for her grows. She’s so freakin’ smart and always has been… except when it comes to boys.

It’s late enough in the afternoon that we look for a hotel rather than continue travelling, because I’m so tired that I’ll never make it without sleep. I flag down a taxi, asking the guy to take us someplace nice and quiet.

I glance at the others, and they gawk at me. I guess I’m the only on here who speaks Farsi. Heidi’s eyes grow wide, and Jag’s jaw drops as soon as I start talking.

“Dude!” Doug exclaims. “You speak Iranian? That is so cool!”

“It’s Farsi,” I say, humbled to have this ability, and I give silent thanks to Raphael for the gift.

The taxi driver nods, and the five of us jostle for space in the backseat. We don’t want to split up in two cars and the driver won’t let anyone sit up front with him. Heidi sits on Jag’s knees. I try not to glower, but she notices my scrutiny. I’m still trying to figure out their relationship. It feels wrong to me.

Jag’s hand slides up her waist. It takes all my self-control not to grab it and fling it away. That would get me on her good side for sure.

Doug sits on Owen’s lap since he’s the smallest and there isn’t room anywhere else. Owen doesn’t let him forget it either, doling out snide remarks all the way to the hotel like, “I can hardly tell you’re there, you’re so light… except for those really sharp bones in your butt. Those are huge. It’s a good thing you don’t have a lot of muscle. I wouldn’t want to not feel those butt bones!”

Doug elbows him in the chest. “Shut up, douche-bag.”

Owen erupts into peals of laughter and adds a few more derogatory remarks I wouldn’t repeat out loud—I swear they’re still in junior high—and then the car gets quiet.

We’re dropped off in front of the Azadi Grand Hotel, once a five-star establishment, now a rundown, falling-apart, barely surviving edifice. The Iranians keep it as nice as possible, but with dust and sand taking over the city, it seems an impossible task. It doesn’t bother me much. We won’t be here for long.

“Two rooms, please,” I tell the desk clerk. This guy speaks broken English, which is a relief. It feels weird to speak Farsi in front of the others. I’m getting rude looks from Jag.

“Three.” Jag slaps down some money.

The desk clerk glances at the bills on the counter and smirks. “Your American dollars will not work here. We only use the rial.”

The look on Jag’s face is priceless, and it takes all the self-control I possess not to rub it in. Instead, I ask, “Is there some place where we can exchange our money?” I try to be as polite as possible, but the clerk shakes his head. He’s lying, but I don’t accuse him. Instead, I switch to Farsi and say, “You would do well not to annoy me. If Coem finds out that our treatment here was less than perfect, you will pay a steep price for your insubordination.” I take a chance with this threat, hoping he knows Coem, because he
is
a demon. I know this instinctively—we can always recognize one of our own—and it pays off.

The guy’s face visibly pales. “My mistake, sir. You can exchange your money here.”

“In that case,” Jag says again. “Make that three rooms, like I asked before.”

I turn to him, frowning. “We’ll save money if you bunk with Doug and Owen. There’s plenty of room. They have two king-sized beds.”

“I want my own room.” His expression remains calm, his gaze soft.

I stare at him hard, my teeth grinding. A million reasons why he would want his own room go through my mind. All of them have Heidi’s name in bright neon letters.

“Whatever. It’s your dime.” I’m not going to fight about it here, but if he thinks he’s going to share a room with my little sister… The muscle in my jaw actually cramps as I grit my teeth.

We head to the elevator, which miraculously still works, but I take one look and choose the stairs. I can hoof it up four floors. Jag smirks, grabs Heidi’s hand, and pulls her into the elevator behind him. He winks at me as the doors close. I just stand there, watching like an idiot.

By the time I get to my room, I’m huffing and out of breath. The hall is empty, so the others must have gone into their rooms already. Doug and Owen’s is right next to mine. I walk over and lean close to the door, hoping to hear Heidi’s voice. No sound comes from inside. I walk to the next door, Jag’s, and hear muffled voices, but nothing distinct.