Worth Dying for (A Dying for a Living Novel Book 5) (13 page)

Rachel

I
destroy the church, slowly, methodically, and I must admit, I enjoy every minute of it. I start by ripping the ancient tapestries off the wall. I use the remaining flames to set them on fire. I pull down the crosses, the false icons, with my mind and slam them against the floor or a column, often in turn, over and over and over again until the metal bends, the clay breaks. I throw the altar up against the wall and it splits clean in half with a very satisfying
crack
.

I expect Uriel to stop me. Somehow thwart me from desecrating a holy place. Instead, he makes helpful suggestions.

Send the candelabras through the windows.

Set fire to the pulpit.

Break the holy water basin in half and use it to destroy the pews until only firewood is left.

“Isn’t this sacrilegious?” I turn from one desecrated row of pews to the other in order to finish the job. I’m making tinder for a giant blaze. If Caldwell doesn’t come back for the largest Manhattan bonfire of this century, then I guess he won’t be coming back at all.

“No ground is holy where blood has been spilt,” Uriel says, but seems uninterested in elaborating. “And very little earth on this planet is clean of bloodshed.”

“So maybe you really are ancient aliens.” I leap giddily from pile to pile. I use my mind to jump higher and to slow my descent. When I close my eyes, it’s like I’m flying. “If you don’t give a damn about churches or religions, you must not be angels.”

He sneers. “You cannot begin to comprehend what I am.”

“Hey.” I tap my chest with my index finger. “You chose
me
. Not the other way around.”

He says nothing to this.

I find jugs of oil in an alcove behind the pulpit and splash the wood generously. The flame catches, then spreads. It races from one jagged piece of wood to the other. The fire doubles in size faster than I would have thought possible.

I search for Caldwell. I keep expecting him to leap from the flames like a demon come to exact revenge for killing his woman, revenge for burning one of his sacred temples to the ground. But he doesn’t come.

“He doesn’t want to fight me.” I put both hands on my hips. “I got all pretty and powered up and I came to his house and now he won’t fight me!”

A wave of disappointment washes over me.

I try screaming his name. I deliberately rip his portrait—a giant oil painting framed in heavy gilded wood—from the wall and toss it into the blaze.

Nothing.

Sweat collects on the back of my neck from the heat. I step back from the building blaze but Caldwell doesn’t come.

A sound catches my attention and I whirl, thrusting the intruder up into the air before he reaches me. He dangles about four yards off the ground. His arms are stretched out to either side in a mockery of Christ.

But it isn’t Caldwell. It’s Gideon.

I let him drop. Then at the last moment, I realize his legs will shatter if I don’t slow his fall. I stop him inches above the ground, placing him gently on his feet.

“Darling,” he says, breathless. His nostrils are flared as he takes one uncertain step toward me then another. His eyes run up and down my body without shame. “You look ravishing. Have you been shopping?”

“No,” I say with a flirtatious grin. “I borrowed this from a friend. Where the hell have you been?”

“In custody.”

“Caldwell said he let you go with an agreement.”

“I’m to lead him to Maisie and Jesse,” he says with a devilish smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, scowling at him. “You don’t like my dress.”

“I love your dress.” His grin widens. He’s showing too many teeth. “It’s that I’m not sure what you’re doing here. We had a plan.”

“I’ve stuck to the plan. Niv is dead and now I want Caldwell but he won’t play with me.”

“You’re adorable when you pout.” He wraps his arms around me. He stoops to kiss my cheek, then my neck.

I place my hands on his chest and feel the fretful rhythm of his panicked heart.

“Why is your heart pounding?” I ask.

He snorts. “I was thrown into the air, I’m standing in a burning building, there’s a gorgeous woman in a heart-stopping dress. Take your pick, darling.”

I start pulling at the top of his pants with both hands.

He laughs low in his throat. “I’m all for reckless danger, my love, but do you really think this is the best moment?”

I look around at the destroyed church, fixating on the lack of Caldwell. “I wish Caldwell were here.”

Gideon snorts. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

I pull myself out of his arms. “How did you know I was here?”

“They found the boyfriend dead in his apartment.” He gives me a once-over. “So I assume you’ve acquired the girl’s power as you wanted?”

“
We
wanted,” I correct him, not oblivious to his implication.

“Yes,” he’s quick to amend. “And then a church, not five blocks away is burning from the inside out. Call it a hunch.”

Uriel appears over Gideon’s left shoulder, scowling. “He lies. Smite him.”

“No,” I say to the angel. “I like the boy.”

“You do not need him.”

“I do not need
you
either,” I say to the angel. “Yet here you are.”

Uriel’s feathers ruffle and his hair seems to darken to a brighter shade of orange-red. They’re as vibrant as the flames eating the church alive. I’ve begun to sweat on my pretty dress and I don’t like it.

I stoop and grab Niv’s—my—coat off the ground. “I want to leave.”

“Are you speaking to me now?” Gideon asks with an arched eyebrow.

“Who else would I be speaking to?” I snap, and march toward the great doors that will take me back to the streets of Manhattan.

Gideon says, “So about our plan—”

“I want to make a small modification.”

Gideon’s breath hitches. I wonder if he’s even noticed what a ridiculously easy read he’s become. Is it the new power coursing through my veins? I certainly feel different—more…
more
everything.

“Let’s hear the new plan then,” Gideon says, aiming for casualness.

“We go to Arizona now. We’ll arrive in two days.”

“3 or 4,” Gideon corrects, matching my stride easily given his height.

I pass through the great doors and descend the stone steps. A small crowd has gathered, a few people on their cell phones reporting the fire to the authorities. I turn back to see black smoke billowing up into the sky. I keep marching in the opposite direction.

“We’ll arrive in Arizona in three days, and then I’ll kill the girl right away.”

Gideon stops walking. I realize the distance is growing between us until I fear he won’t follow me. Frankly, I don’t want to drive all the way to Arizona by myself. So I turn to face him.

“What now?”

“Killing Maisie was not part of the plan,” Gideon takes a slow step toward me, one foot in front of the other. His hands are in his pockets. His brow is deeply creased behind his thick-rimmed eyeglasses. Frowning like this, he looks studious. Like a Columbia graduate student rather than the con man he is. Perhaps that is his way of disarming others. His accent. His sweet smile and intelligent face. He certainly couldn’t achieve the same in a gorgeous dress after all.

“Oh don’t look at me like that.” I place both hands on my hips. “It isn’t personal.”

He frowns. “What is it then?”

“Practicality. I need more juice. Niv’s power was pathetic, but once I absorbed it, I’m—I feel—well, for lack of a better word, unstoppable.”

“If you are unstoppable now, why should you need more power? Can’t you work with what you have? The plan was a coordinated attack.”

“Don’t be naïve, Gid—” The end of my words are cut off by a fire truck whipping around a corner into view. Pedestrians scurry as it drives up to the front of the church, mounting the curb and halting before the doors. The firefighters leap out with their equipment and rush inside. “The child is absolutely no use to us. I need her power.”

Gideon matches my stride again as we move west toward the sunset.

“And what about Jesse? Do you think she’ll
let
you kill the girl?”

My heart skips a beat and my throat tightens, but only for a minute. Then I’m calm again and my purpose is clear. “I’ll deal with Jessup.”

Jesse

“
U
h, I know we’re in the voodoo capital of America and everything, but is all this really necessary?”

I point at the melty votive candles arranged in a circle on the worn wood floor. Strange reddish symbols are scrawled into the bare planks beneath Monroe as he sits cross-legged, smoking one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. Twin streams of smoke rise from his nostrils and cloud the air around him, mixing with the candlelight, adding to the general creepiness of the room.

Maisie coughs and waves her hands in front of her face. “If I wasn’t sure that imminent death was in my future, I’d be upset about all this secondhand smoke, dude.”

“I’m a little more concerned about the blood.” I stare at his ruddy, slick palms. “That’s what’s all over your hands right?”

I give Gloria a nervous look. It’s only the four of us in this room: me, Maisie, Gloria, and Monroe. Ally and Nikki are nowhere to be found. Part of me really,
really
hates that. For all I know, Ally is crying on Nikki’s shoulder about what a bitch I am. Nothing I say or do will improve my case on that count. I can’t make her unlike Nikki. And I can’t unlove Ally.

There’s nothing left to do but to lap up all the suckage.

“Chicken blood,” Monroe admits, scrapping some of it out from under his fingernails with his teeth. “I want to show you two something real important.”

“And why does that involve chicken blood exactly?” I’m looking at Gloria who only nods to Monroe like
pay attention.

“I’m sure that your angel be showing you things. Important things about what’s to come and what’s supposed to be happening here. But mine’s been showing me too.”

“O-kay.” I sigh and relinquish the idea that I’m going to get out of this room without playing along first. “So you’re going to tell us what these important things are, I take it?”

“No, ma’am,” Monroe says with a chuckle.

Maisie yanks her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head and scratches her nose. “But you just said—”

“I’m going to show you.” He grins his tobacco-stained grin.

“Are we going to look into a pool of blood and see our futures?” Maisie asks, with an unnerving level of joy in her voice.

“Uh, why are you so excited about buckets of blood?” I ask her.

“I saw it on
Supernatural
,” she says. “Dean is so hot. Sam too, but oh my god,
Dean
—”

“When the hell do you have time to watch television?” I don’t even have time to take a bath every day.

“It’s online.” She gives me one of her
duh
stares. “Look it up.”

“This is no television program,” Monroe says, fighting for our attention. “What I want to show you is real.”

I rub my forehead. “The buckets of blood are real?”

“I’m gonna share my dream with you both,” he says. “So that you will know what to do when the time comes.”

“Here we go with the ominous spooky shit again.” I roll my eyes at Maisie who smiles.

“Your life depends on this,” Gloria says from behind me. “Take this seriously.”

My face flushes and my heart skips a beat. Why is she calling me out?

“So come here and sit in front of me.” Monroe waves me forward. “Yes, like that. But Maisie, baby, take off your shoes. We don’t want to be interfering with the connection. We got to make good contact the first time.”

I look down at my pug socks and worry about getting chicken blood on them. Ally gave me these as a belated Christmas present. Of course, why not destroy them along with everything else in my life. If I think I get to keep any part of this for me, I’m totally lying to myself.

“Why you frownin’ so hard?” Monroe asks me.

“She’s fighting with Ally,” Maisie says.

I scoff. “Mind your own business, twerp!”

“You’re the twerp! Don’t yell loud enough for the whole house to hear if it’s a secret fight!”

“Girls, I need y’all to focus now.” His voice rises ever so slightly at the end.

I stick my tongue out at Maisie and then turn my attention to Monroe. “Show me this dream.”

“Us,” Maisie corrects. “Show
us
the dream. I’m part of this too.”

“Yes, Miss Maisie, you sure are.” Monroe smiles and pats her knee. “You need two at least for this.”

Monroe reaches forward and takes my left hand. Then he takes Maisie’s right. He nods at us and I take Maisie’s free hand in mine.

“Good good,” he says. “Try and clear your head. Some distraction be inevitable, I suppose. But do your best.”

I take a deep breath and try to not think about anything. Of course, immediately I see Ally in my head, crying. My mind replays our conversation over and over on a loop. I break up the image with a breath here, an exaggerated sigh here.

At last Monroe squeezes my hand. “That’s a good start. Now, I’ve got to put a little bit of the potion on you.”

I open my eyes in time to see Monroe reach a bloody finger toward my eye.

“Whoa.” I lean back. “What the hell is that?”

“Chicken blood and herbs.” He smears a thumb across my forehead before I can get away.

“Why would you
season
it?” I whine, trying to relax my gag reflex. It’s been awhile since I’ve had to do that. “Who seasons chicken blood?”

The blood is thick, sticky and pretty damn gross. Worse, I can smell it. An acrid stench with a hint of grass and Monroe’s tobacco. His thumb is rough and callous and I hope to god he hasn’t scratched my skin. That’s all I need, some seasoned chicken blood infection in my face.

Maisie swallows and squeezes her eyes shut when it’s her turn to receive the bizarre blood blessing. Her nose wrinkles as he swipes his thumb across her forehead. As soon as he takes his hand away, she pantomimes vomiting. Watching her makes my stomach curl.

“Stop that,” I beg.

I look over my shoulder at Gloria. “Why aren’t you getting blood paint on your face? You’re more of a warrior than either of us.”

“Mrs. Jackson’s done did this. She’ll tell you firsthand it works.”

Gloria gives a short nod.

The blood starts to itch as it cools on my forehead.

“This is so awesome.” Maisie makes a dry heaving motion with her body, cupping her hand over her mouth.

“Seriously, if you do that again, I’m going to puke on you.”

“Focus on my voice.” Monroe gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

I close my eyes again, trying to do as I’m asked.

Maisie fidgets beside me. “How are you going to do this dream share? I thought your power was the wind thingy.”

Monroe squeezes our hands harder. “Shhhh.”

At last, we fall quiet. I’m not sure what we are supposed to be listening to exactly. I’m trying not to think about my aching butt on the hard floor or Monroe’s blood caked hand in mine.

Then, subtly, I do hear something. The unmistakable sound of waves lapping at a shore.

I open my mouth to ask
what the hell is that
when Monroe gives my hand a gentle squeeze. I swallow my questions. And the sound of the ocean grows louder.

Maisie makes a little sound of surprise beside me and her hand tightens on mine. But she doesn’t say anything more as the sounds of the ocean grow louder. A gull cries out, making me jump. Then the heat comes, and with that the feel of sunshine on my bare skin.

I open my eyes expecting to break the spell, to see the dingy little room off the Rue Dauphine.

I see the beach.

The beach is different than the one Gabriel takes me too. Large pebbles and rocks litter this shore, where the ocean meets the land. The smell of salt is strong though, so I know it must be the ocean even as pebbles shift underfoot.

Maisie is standing beside me looking out over the water. She shields her eyes from the sun. “Where are we?”

There’s a strange moment when I hear both her voice in my head and with my ears, back in the room on the Rue Dauphine.

Monroe takes a rolled cigarette from his pocket and puts it between his lips, lighting it in his cupped hand. “Speak with your mind, not your mouth. It’ll be easiest that way.”

“Is this part of your dream?” The words come out of my dream mouth as if I’d spoken them, but I don’t hear the echo of my physical mouth back in the room. So it’s like talking to Gabriel. Unfortunately, the ache in my real butt from sitting on the wood floor is still very present.

“This is the meeting place,” Monroe blows smoke into the sky. “I think y’all have both been here before, haven’t you?”

“Mine is different.” I think of the beach house near the shore. The dense jungle that overtakes the beach at a certain point. Here the land goes on and on in all directions. But there is no house. Only a sharp cliff rises behind us. The mossy mountain disappears into the mist high overhead, leaving me without an idea of how tall it really is. It’s strange to look back and see the misty mountain only to turn right and see all the sunshine and open sea.

“I see Lake Michigan,” Maisie says. “Chicago but with no people.”

Her voice begins with the physical echo, but trails into dream speech. Monroe smiles, nodding as if he’s pleased with our progress.

“So if we are at ‘the meeting place’,” I say using air quotes. “Where is this dream we are supposed to see?”

“We’ve got to go a bit deeper for that.” Monroe turns and begins to walk away from us. We follow him down the beach, clamoring over rocks that feel so real. I use my hands to steady myself and the stone is moist with the mist under my palms and my sneakers slide over the surface as if I could really fall and hurt myself on their jagged edges. Dream sneakers, I realize. Courtesy of seasoned chicken blood.

About halfway down the beach I see a group of people. I’m fairly certain that they were not here when I looked up and down the beach before.

But here they stand now. Worse, I recognize them and stiffen.

“Caldwell,” I hiss, my ears echoing with my real voice in the little room far away.

“A dream,” Monroe says, palms toward me as if to soothe me.

“Mom!” Maisie calls, relief in her voice palpable. She starts running toward the group.

I take off after her. “Wait!”

“They aren’t really here.” Monroe maintains his patient tone, taking another slow drag on his cigarette. “This is the dream. It always begins this way. I come to the meeting place. I see all of us together, in a circle.”

All of us: Me, Caldwell, Georgia, Maisie, Rachel, Liza, Monroe, Cindy, Jason, and a woman I don’t recognize. Add a couple of men I don’t recognize either. I assume it must be Chaplain and Jake, the only other two partis that I’ve heard of, but never met, given the fact they both died long before I was on the partis scene.

“Uh, are they ghosts?” I ask. “Is this a ghost beach?”

“What are they doing?” Maisie comes to stand beside me and behind Monroe, gesturing to the pulsating, growing orb in the center of the circle.

I wave my hand in front of Jesse—the other Jesse—but she doesn’t seem to react. She’s focused on the object in the center of the circle. Everyone is. Only, I’m not entirely convinced that she is really seeing anything at all. Her eyes—
my
eyes—are downcast and unfocused.

“What the hell are they looking at?” I turn to Monroe.

He nods, a low chuckle escaping between his lips. “You’ve got to step in.”

“Say what?”

“The blood will only take us so far. You’ve got to choose to see it. You must choose to know the truth.”

I’ve got to look as slack jawed and stupid as I feel.

“Go on now.” He places a reassuring hand on my back. “Step right on in and you’ll see for yourself. You too, Maisie, baby.”

Maisie and I exchange worried glances. “When you say step in…?”

“Step into your body. Put one foot where the other is. You’ll see what I mean.”

Maisie looks as unconvinced as I do.

“If this is some kind of bizarre mind orgy, you’ll feel my wrath, Monroe,” I warn. Then I take a breath—if what I’m even doing here is called breathing—and I step on myself. I lift one foot and set it down about where the other me’s foot is. It’s like stepping through a hologram. There’s nothing substantial to the other Jesse. I can line my body up with hers.

But as soon as my one foot is lined up with hers, I have a sneaky suspicion that this is going to be more complicated than it seems.

It feels like I’ve put my foot in a river. A current tugs at my leg, pulling on me.

“I don’t know about this,” I say to Monroe.

Maisie puts her hands on my back and shoves me forward.

“Hey!” I cry out.

“You first,” she calls.

Her voice is swallowed up by the roar in my ears. As soon as I’m fully in the place of hologram Jesse, everything changes.

The beach falls away. Hell, the world falls away. The current surrounds me, pulling me down and down. It feels like a drain, the way I circle around and around, my hair whipping wildly around me. Yet the other eleven partis seem to keep their formation, each of us equidistant from the other. I look up and try to understand what I’m seeing. It’s like looking up through the center of a tornado. The cyclone is dark and violent around us. In the center is a brilliant light, flashes of lightning cutting through the torrent. Below, far below from where I’m suspended is…what?