02 Awaken-The Soulkeepers (24 page)

When the parade of frosty royals moves along, what’s left is a guy standing directly across the sidewalk. He has dark, shoulder-length hair, a leather jacket, and jeans. He is staring at me.

I elbow Bailey. “You know him?”

She says, “Who?” and I say, “The guy standing right across from us.”

Bailey frowns and shakes her head. “Comrade tchotchke has been sipping the wad-ka after all?”

I don’t get it. The guy is only ten yards away. He nods as if saying,
Hey, what’s up
, and I’m lost. Then Santiago strides up next to him and starts talking like they’re old friends.

It occurs to me that I’m not sure what Santiago is. A demon? Lesser demon? Soul seeker? Flunky from Hell?

They laugh at some private joke, and then the stranger nods toward me and Santiago looks. He’s startled to see me. We stare for an awkward moment, and then he curls his finger, beckoning me with a dopey grin.

What the hell does he want with me?

I remember Dante’s warnings about lesser demons and feel a shiver of panic up my spine.

“Here they come,” Bailey says. She’s on her tiptoes, craning to see over the crowd as some of our classmates file up the walk: Rachel, Holden, Lizzanne, Sarah, Harper Rose, J.D., and Casey. They’re dressed in colorful, elaborate Russian costumes and hold torches to symbolize lighting the tree. Of course, it’s all ceremonial. Behind the scenes, a switch will be flipped and voilà, illumination.

Bailey snags my coat sleeve and drags me into the crowd. “C’mon. Get your photos.” I fumble with the camera lens, and then find a clear spot in the throng and go to work. The school choir has been replaced by some large ensemble, like a Bavarian Oompa band on steroids.

Mayor Jones steps to the microphone, calling for attention. He welcomes all
guests to the start of Haven Hurst’s annual Winter Carnival, which will continue each weekend until the dance on Christmas Eve. Then, giving Vern Werner the signal, the old-fashioned streetlights around the square go out and the town falls quiet. The moment stretches until I wonder if Vern did something wrong. Gently, the ensemble begins with a soft tinkling piano. The music grows and evolves into “A Mad Russian’s Christmas” and then explodes with high energy. The Christmas tree suddenly comes to life with a blast of colors as though it was brought to life by the song itself. It’s a tower of stunning glory.

The crowd roars in a multitude of languages and claps their muffled, mittened hands. The lights on the tree now flash in rhythm to the aggressive music, and the storefronts follow suit. Santas pop alive and glow bright yellows. The ice palaces that have transformed the town into St. Petersburg shine in shimmering shades of green, red, purple, gold, and blue. I shoulder my way through the masses, capturing shots where I can: the Christmas tree, the lights, the elaborate ice sculptures of ancient mythical creatures, the creepy nesting dolls, the Russian Nutcracker soldiers, and, of course, the people, everyone enjoying their annual traditions. I even shoot Abigail chatting with the McCarthy twins.
And is that Bailey?

I pan over the happy faces and land on Santiago, standing straight like a fence post. I lower the camera, and he marches toward me, deliberate and serious. My fear returns and I glance around, for what or whom I don’t know.

“Relax,” he says with a cockeyed smirk. He looks at my hands. “Nothing to worry about until one of
those
starts glowing.” I shove my free hand into my pocket, and he laughs. “Yeah, like that’ll do any good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know?” He points over my shoulder, and I turn and look up. All along the rooftops are men and women in long black coats and pale, grim faces. They’re pacing and staring into the crowd like lions on the prowl. “Lesser demons,” Santiago says, and I whirl back around.

“Do they know it’s me?” I demand, curling my fingers on instinct.

“Like I said, not till your hand starts glowing.”

“What about …” I look at the people enjoying the festivities.

“Don’t worry. They’re not here for anyone but you.” He grins.

What an asshole
.

“So … what do
you
want?” I demand.

“Dante wants to see you.”

“I don’t answer to his beck and call.”

“Well I do,” he says coldly. “Besides, you wanna see what he has. Trust me.”

I follow Santiago through the chaos, skirting around the giant Christmas tree, and past the ice rink packed with people. We head to the back of the courthouse and the parking lot shared with the high school. It’s jammed with cars, and we pick our way through. It’s pretty dark back here so I keep my eyes peeled for the freaks in long black coats. No one is following.

We squeeze between two SUVs, and then turn at a white van and stop. There are several people waiting on the snow-packed school lawn: Dante, the guy in the leather jacket, a woman, and …

Colin Firth!

I gasp, and he looks at me with terror in his eyes. He is traumatized and trembling in his smoking jacket and silk slippers. I don’t know what to think. How is it possible?

“Buonasera, cara—”

“Dante!” I yell and march over. “What’s going on? Why is
he
here?” I point to Colin Firth. The woman hoots out a laugh and my eyes cut to her. She has long black hair, red lips, and is dressed like an expensive hooker in thigh-high Jimmy Choo boots that Bailey would kill for. The belt around her black miniskirt has a diamond-studded buckle that says
GRIM
. I swallow a bad feeling that tastes like blood.

“Dante?” My voice is noticeably softer, almost pleading. I’m hoping she’s not what I think she is.

Dante smiles and makes the introductions. “Sophia, I would like you to meet Teriza, a … colleague of mine.” He presents me like a gift. “Teriza,
this
is Sophia.”

She smiles slow and catlike, and I feel like prey. Her boots crunch in the snow as she walks a tight circle around me. She smells of burnt ashes and death. I hear a faint purr emanating from her, and I turn, scrutinizing her scrutinizing me—stalking me.

“Oooo, she is quiet the defiant little minx, isn’t she, Dante? To speak to a member of the Royal Court like that?” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly, and I look at Dante with fresh eyes. It occurs to me that I don’t really know him at all. I’ve been told he’s a Demon Knight but never considered what that meant. I see now that he’s far more powerful and important than I knew.

I look at the guy in the leather jacket, and Dante says, “And I’ve heard you know Degan.”

I startle, and Degan laughs modestly. “Yeah, it’s me. I got new threads after Raph snapped my neck.” He shows off his jacket. “Better, right? Man, I hated those grungy clothes. Didn’t you?”

He sounds casual and cool, like someone I would hang out with. But I’m in shock. I do remember Raph killing Degan at the scene of a car accident. I do remember Raph
telling me the kill was temporary and that Degan could pop up in a new body later. Now that I think about it, I never saw Degan after that.

And then I remember what he is, a soul seeker, and the blood drains from my face.
And Teriza must be a reaper
. I look at Colin Firth. He’s noticeably shaken, and I understand what’s happening.

“Dante, what have you done?” I move between Colin and the others, glaring at Dante.

“Ah, I see that you recognize Mr. Firth. He told me he met a young girl who wanted to help him cross over but was not yet a spirit walker. I could only assume it was you. And now that we’re all acquainted, let me explain. Since you’ve so stubbornly refused to stop your Awakening, you left me no choice but to help you out.”

“Help me how?”

“Help you
out
,” he repeats with a stern look. I understand; he wants to help me out of my Awakening.
Just like Michael
. “I thought you should experience, firsthand, the practicalities of saving a lost soul. And we have just the lost soul to save. Do we not, Mr. Firth?”

Colin shakes his head, refusing to speak. He’s trying to be invisible by staying quiet. Santiago laughs. “He thinks if he talks, he’ll alert the lesser demons roaming around.”

“And why is that funny?” I demand, remembering why I never liked him. Santiago never seemed to have compassion for anyone. Always so selfish.

“Uh, ’cause he’s already surrounded by a Demon Knight, a smokin’ hot reaper, and a soul seeker who could Take him in a second.”

“Thanks, kid.” Teriza winks and flips her hair over her shoulder. I scoff.

“And why
haven’t
you Taken him?” I ask her.

She sets her black eyes on me and puckers her red lips. “Well, precious, I suppose it’s because you and I are going to fight for him.”

Reality dawns like cancer in the gray matter; it’s poison that spreads and makes me nauseous. I understand what Dante is up to. He is so determined to stop my Awakening that he’s sacrificing the lost soul of an innocent man. At my expense.

I look around, hoping that Rama didn’t take my rude advice when I asked him to leave me to my own devices tonight. I was sulking about being humiliated by Michael in the barn. I now see that I have no devices, and poor Colin is going to pay for my big mouth.

“There is no one to help you,” Dante says, leaning against the van and crossing his arms. “This is what you wanted so badly, Sophia, so have at it.” He gestures toward Colin.

“This isn’t fair! I’m not ready and you know it!”

Teriza strolls closer and uncoils the whip at her side. “Oh, precious wants life to be fair. How utterly adorable.” She fakes a pout, and I want to scratch her eyes out. I glare at Dante.

“If, by some fluke, I’m able to stop Sailor Moon over here, I don’t know how to help Colin cross over. I can’t keep him safe. So this little exercise in humility isn’t worth anyone’s time.”

“Your loss,” Teriza says, reaching for Colin. He cowers and lets out a wail. I lunge between them.

“Stop it! Leave him alone!”

Her red lips curl into a cold smile. “You can’t have it both ways, precious. Casper may not be a serial killer, but he
is
dead. And I’m here to drag him to Hell. So you’d better stop toying with him. Why … that’s just cruel.”

“Shut up!” I yell, and she backhands me across the face. My head flies sideways as pain explodes across my cheek. I double over, holding my face and grimacing. Now I really do taste blood. I touch my lip; it’s stinging and bloody. I straighten up and look at Dante. He has taken a step forward and is glaring at Teriza.

I grit my teeth and face the reaper. Something inside me is churning, working its way to the surface. It reminds me of the dark thoughts I sometimes had with Dante, when he triggered a side of me I didn’t like. I can’t worry about that now; I can’t believe that I can be turned dark so quickly.

I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. Then I open them and haul back and punch Teriza right in the face. We are both shocked, and I stagger sideways from the blow. My knuckles throb. Her head rocks back, and she’s clutching her nose in stunned silence. Then her eyes flare, and she screeches, coming at me with claws out. She grabs a handful of my coat and hurls me against the white van. It’s bone crunching, and I crumple down, holding my side. Then she picks me up and throws me at a car. I slide across the hood, wailing, “Mother fuuuuu—” over the edge and into the snow. I land on my side with a hard grunt. My ribs feel broken or at least cracked. All the air has left me, and I struggle to breathe. I’m too weak to continue.

My God! Where is Michael? Why doesn’t he know I’m in pain? Why doesn’t he come?

I struggle to my feet and limp around the car. Teriza has taken up her whip. She has lost her cool and is pissed that I’ve mussed her style or hair or whatever. I stumble through the snow, yelling for her to stop. I reach out to Colin as Teriza snaps the whip around his neck. He wails but she laughs, relishing the fear and pain she creates. Colin’s eyes bulge, and his body vibrates and smokes. He screams, stretching out for me.

“Please!” he cries. “Help me!”

I throw myself at him, trying to hang on for his dear life. I clutch his hand, but Teriza is already dragging him away. He fades from my fingers, and I fall to my knees, sobbing.

* * *

Bailey hands me a steaming cup of tea. Trembling, I wrap my hands around it and set it on my knees. I’m on the beater couch, curled under a throw blanket in the back of the café, and she is nursing me into feeling better. I can’t go home yet because Dad might be there. He would demand answers about my swollen lip and inability to breathe. Besides, I feel emotionally sick to my stomach. I will never forgive Dante for this. Or myself for failing Colin.

Bailey knows what I’ve been through and sits quietly while I sniffle and wipe my tears. She contemplates ways to cheer me up. There’s no use for it; I’ve lost a soul that I
shouldn’t have tried to save in the first place. What else is there to say?

The café is packed with out-of-towners from the carnival who’ve hung around to hear a popular band that’s busy setting up in a corner. My lip hurts and I slurp my tea, garnering pissy stares from nearby tables. Bailey says, “Dafuq you lookin’ at?” and the tourists turn away. She scoots closer and lowers her voice.

“Listen, you know I’m sorry about what you went through, right? You’ve got some chutzpah, I’ll say that. But I’m not one to piss and moan when life takes a shit on me, and I don’t think you are either. So …” She throws a cautious look around but no one is paying attention to us now. “I’ve been working on a little something to help you. See, as far as I can tell, you’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Trying to do everything on your own. Dante said something the other day that got me thinking.”

“Bailey, I don’t want to talk about Dante. Ever. Don’t mention him to me. Ever. I am never,
ever
going to see him again. Got it?”

“Wow, don’t go all Taylor Swift on me, just hear me out. It’s important. So anyway, the
demon who can’t be named
said it was too bad you couldn’t be in two places at once. Remember? Good. Well … he was wrong.” She gives me a wily smile, and I recall how sneaky she’s been acting at school lately.