Crossed (11 page)

“The Crusader inside is reinforcing it,” Chi says from our position on the hill. He doesn’t bother to say that she can’t keep it up forever. “She’s the only protection left.”

We wait until dark. I sidle down the mountain, getting as close to the shelter as possible. A half-dozen demons gather around it, not actively attacking it for the moment. They’re content to stand around chatting and yelling taunts at the children through the door. In the distance, I hear the familiar rumble of a motorcycle kicked to life, but no one in the little group turns. Seeing as the demons recently inherited a dozen or so of the little machines, it’s not a particularly out-of-place sound.

Then the shouting starts.

The demons in my little group turn just in time to see a motorcycle flying into their little group, a maniac wielding what can be described as a log. Chi smashes one guy in the head, and the log shatters, the demon falling limp. One demon reacts quicker than the others and jumps at Chi, who kicks him in the chest. Bubba swerves wildly under him, and I hold my breath, but Chi manages to keep him upright. He pulls a holy blade the size of a chef’s knife from a sheath on his chest, and slashes another demon who grabs a hold of his jacket. Then he kicks free and he roars away from them, just as another group of demons come running across the field. Chi lets out a triumphant howl before pulling Bubba up in a wheelie and turning him around and heading back towards the demons. Screaming like a wild man, he weaves between demons slashing with his knife, kicking out with his feet, always a breath away from being caught. In the distance I hear the roar of other motorcycles burst to life. Chi must hear it too, as he rears Bubba up again and jackknifes. He weaves, giving an unreliable target to the magical bombs launched in his direction. He races around the farmhouse, and the last sign I get of Chi is taunting whoop as he disappears from sight.

The demons race after him. Not all of them, of course, but no one’s left hanging around the shelter. I creep through the tall grass. When I’m close enough to the shelter door, I reach out and start chanting. I could punch through the Crusader’s magic—there’s no way she’s stronger than I am, even when she was fresh—but it’s easier than that.

“
Allabutesque es que talla
,” I mutter, forcing my magic toward it. The web of blue dissolves suddenly as if turned to ash.

I jerk the chains from the door and pull them open. I don’t get a chance to tell them it’s me before I’m attacked. It’d be more of a problem if my attacker wasn’t about forty pounds. I catch the kid easily and toss it over my shoulder. I hear a muffled “Meda?” from the creature on my back, repeated a few times before I get out a “shhhhh!” My eyes adjust and I see a half-dozen kids, all somewhere between the ages of four and seven, clinging to a woman on the floor. Her hair is matted with sweat and her skin is grey. There’s a blue cast around her mouth and it’s not until she blinks that I realize she’s still alive.

Chi may have been correct in thinking their defenses weren’t going to hold out much longer.

I set down my attacker—a little imp who it turns out I recognize from my kindergarten class at Mountain Park II. “I knew you’d come,” she says, stars in her eyes.

I tell her to shut up.

“I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to listen,” I say in my sternest voice, giving the room a gimlet glare. “Keep low,” not hard seeing as the tallest was probably three feet, “and run to the woods. There’s a low stone wall, when you reach it, hide on the other side and sit tight until I get there.” I toss the Crusader woman over my shoulder and stick my head out of the hole. When it looks clear I point the direction I want them to go.

Their eyes are wide as they take in the bloodied corpses scattered across the field like grisly flowers, but they do as they’re told. “You,” I prop the woman in the grass and pull the doors to the cellar back closed, pulling the chain through, “I need you to put the spell back on.” She doesn’t answer to I slap her. “Focus!” She blinks at me blearily. “Put the protection back on the door.”

She licks dry lips and tries to speak. She fails.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, just enough so they think you’re still in there. Buy us some time.” I look around, but Chi must still be leading them a merry chase.

Or they caught him and they’re having a merry time.

I slap the Crusader again, perhaps a bit harder than is strictly necessary. “Do it, dammit. You can black out afterwards, or die for all I care, but
do it
.” She tries to lift her arms, but they only tremble. I search for something to motivate her. “Do it for the children.”

That seems to galvanize her and she heaves herself up to a sitting position. She puts out her hands and I drag her corpse-like weight to the door. There’s a blaze of blue before she blacks out again. It’ll have to do.

I toss her over my shoulder and head into the woods. It takes hours and hours to get back to the safety of our underground sludge pit. The kids are slow and stupid, and need to be shushed repeatedly. Demons fill the woods, and we have a couple of close calls.

Finally, finally we make it.

But despite the incredible amount of time it takes, Chi isn’t waiting for us when we get back.

I dump the Crusader in the corner and tell all the kids to shut up for the millionth time. I add my teeth and the threat of a raised hand to show I mean it. They cluster around their caregiver as if her unconscious form can somehow protect them. Then we crouch in utter silence and wait. One by one they drift off as terror turns to boredom then to sleep.

Finally,
finally
, Chi stumbles in just after dawn, tired, bleeding, but happy. His whole face lights up when he sees my brood of chicks asleep in a pile. The mother hen, who, the kids tell me, is called Adina, hasn’t stirred all night, but I assure him she’s still alive.

“See, Meda,” he says dropping to ground and tossing me Bubba’s saddlebag. “Easy peasy.”

“We aren’t out yet,” I say sourly.

“
Yet,
” he repeats with a weary smile. Then he curls up on the floor and goes to sleep.

Just before dusk, Chi and I make our way back down the mountain for part B. I would have preferred to leave earlier so we could do some more planning, but Chi pointed out that Adina needed to be in decent enough shape to get the kids off the mountain and wanted to let her sleep as long as possible. Ideally that would have been another day, but as we don’t know how long her temporary shield will last, we don’t have that kind of time. Their escape depends upon the demons not realizing they’re free. We need all the attention on Chi and me.

So before we left, we woke Adina and filled her in as quickly as possible. To her credit, she grasped the plan easily, but then it’s not very complicated—we make a distraction, you run like hell.

The sun creeps behind the mountains, casting the valley into deep shadow. Flashlights click on, their beams bouncing rhythmically as the demons continue to search. It looks like there are fewer demons in the valley; the rest are probably in the woods hunting us—a thought that causes me to peer into the deepening shadows around us. Lights flare in the windows of the house, outlining the shadows of demons crowded into the house, getting orders or getting screamed at, or both.

There’s a strange peace to it: the quiet night, the crisp air, the warm glow of the lights in the dark. A more poetic soul might picture their loved ones under the same darkening sky, might wonder what could have been. Might take advantage of the calm quiet to bid the world
adieu
.

My mind is on bloodier things.

“I wish there was a way to get the fertilizer from the barn into the house. We’d blow up a whole lot more demons that way.” I murmur then point to a spot behind the house and perpendicular to the barn. “Let’s get closer. We can hide behind that submarine-looking thing.”

Chi follows my pointing finger. “You mean the propane tank?”

As soon as he says the words we both freeze and look at each other, matching wicked grins on our faces.

NINE

The local newspaper Chi and I pick up on our way out of town contains a very scant article about the explosion. It states simply that there was an unfortunate accident (false) at a nearby unoccupied farm (false). There were prospective investors on the property at the time, but fortunately no one was hurt (very, very false). While the area was sparsely populated and the nearest fire department miles and miles away, the explosion was so large the firefighters made it to the location before the investors even had a chance to call them. They were going to, of course, once they gathered themselves. The shock, you understand.

The article leaves out quite a bit of pertinent information, in my humble opinion. The part about the two fugitives hiding in the woods, for instance. Fugitives who were caught when the perimeter demons, apparently prepared for this sort of thing after the previous night’s attack, closed in like a noose to trap them. The article says not a word of the bloody fight that ensued, nor provides the barest hint of how dire the poor fugitives’ situation was.

It doesn’t mention how the only thing that saved them was the sound of fire truck sirens in the distance.

It doesn’t explain how demons are compelled to avoid discovery by humans, how the devil’s greatest trick was deceiving the world into believing he didn’t exist. It said nothing of how, instead of hunting their foe, the demons had to hide bodies in the woods and get down the number of “investors” to a reasonable half-dozen before the humans arrived.

It doesn’t point out the irony of the demons wasting precious minutes hiding the door to an innocently empty bomb shelter.

It says nothing of how a very battered half-demon girl and Crusader boy rolled right out of Dodge pushing a beloved motorcycle, which had been cleverly hidden by the boy the night before.

It doesn’t say a word about how that boy and girl ate their weight in hot pizza and slept in the first beds they had in days (personally, my favorite part of the whole story).

Overall a rather sad, incomplete little article. No wonder they say journalism is dead.

Chi, Adina and I all agreed it best not to magically contact the Crusaders in case whatever spell the demons were using to turn it against us somehow extended outside the valley. Instead Adina’s hiding with the kids at a rendezvous point while Chi and I take Bubba for reinforcements. We take the long way, avoiding the rabbit holes in case the demons had found them.

There is no better feeling than turning the last corner in that prissy faux-college town and seeing the long drive up to the elegant old school in the distance, unless it is the disbelief on the faces of the people that come out to greet us. Their shock is quickly replaced by happy grins and fruitless glances down the road behind us to see if others were coming. Even Graff puts a hand to his chest when he comes down the front stairs and sees us.

I look for Jo. With her limp, it’s not surprising she’s not the first to greet us, but it’s taking her forever.

We haven’t even dismounted Bubba before Graff launches into with his questions. I let Chi handle them. Grins fade as he relays the events in the valley. Someone claps him on the back. Still, Jo doesn’t come.

“Where’s Jo?” I ask of no one in particular.

Chi looks around over the heads of the people surrounding us. “Where
is
Jo?” he repeats.

There’s a moment of hesitation, then Graff answers. “She’s not here.”

“Clearly,” I say. “But where is she?”

He looks at me with his cold fish-eyes. “We don’t know,” he says. “She’s disappeared.”

TEN

My heart. It stops.

I know because the world has gone completely silent. The mouths of the Crusaders still move, but there are no words. Bubba vibrates under me, but there is no comforting growl. The birdsong, unavoidable on a too-pretty day like today, is silenced. I’m glad. If I heard their cheerful chirping, I would pluck them from their trees, like fruit, and bite their heads off.

And that’s how I know my heart had stopped. The silence. If my heart still beat, I would hear it.

Suddenly a large hand grips mine, and I’m hit with a jolt of electricity. The world explodes into sound, my heart leaps, double time, and I gasp. I look at Chi’s hand, gripping mine, then up to his earnest face.

“She’s fine, Meda,” he says, and I don’t think it’s the first time.

“How do you know?”

“I
know
,” he says. The statement is hard and solid, and yet somehow still unsure. I can sense the squishy bits at it edges, the hope duct-taping it together.

“Then where is she?” But Chi’s not the one to ask. I turn on Graff. “Where is she?” I roar.

He, as always, is unflappable. “We don’t know.”

“Obviously you don’t know!” I screech, and I know I’m not making sense, but I hardly care. “You said she disappeared!”

“Melange, you’re being an idiot and I don’t have time for it,” Graff says calmly. “Either take a breath and focus, or I’ll have you dragged away until you can.”

“I’d like to see you try—” I snarl, but Chi jerks my hand. Hard.

“Shut up, Meda.” Chi’s rudeness, his sharpness, the unnaturalness of him saying something so, well,
mean
, cuts through my blind panic. “He’s right.”

And he is. Obviously. I take a breath and shut my mouth.

“We’ve been trying to get into that valley ever since we realized things had gone wrong. We’ve had squads in those hills working on it, but we’re vastly outnumbered, and we had no proof that anyone was still alive. At the same time, it was suspicious that we hadn’t heard
anything
. No emergency beacon, nothing. It seemed impossible they could take you all by surprise.” He says it as if it were only slightly perplexing, as if he were trying to put together shelves from Wal-Mart and there weren’t any instructions in the box.

He waves his hand. “Jo’s been involved in the planning.” It’s clear from his tone that this wasn’t by his choice. “Finally, two days ago, I ordered her to get some sleep. She wasn’t thinking clearly anymore.” His mouth tightens in a grim line. “She was gone the next morning.”

“Gone,” I repeat. “Maybe she went to look for us.”

“Maybe,” Graff says, noncommittal. “That’s the closest we could figure, but no one’s seen her.”

I gun Bubba’s engine. “So let’s go get her.”

“Not you.”

“You can’t expect me to wait here while my best friend—’

“Of course not.” He agrees in an easy way that makes me instantly suspicious. “I need you to go to the Statue of Liberty. Or, anywhere famous really.”

“Sorry, what now?”

He hands me an iPhone. “I need you to go to the Statue of Liberty, sit on her toes, hold up today’s newspaper, and give the demons the finger.”

“I—whaaa?”

“Figuratively of course,” he clarifies, the priss. “And record it.” He presses the phone into my shock-limp hand. “The demons are in the valley looking for you. We need them to know they failed, so they’ll give up. If Jo sees that the demons have stopped looking, she’ll come back.”

“But . . . that’s brilliant,” I sputter.

He doesn’t acknowledge my praise. “Try to make it look like you weren’t told to do it, hmmm? We don’t want them to know you were put up to it, or they’ll suspect something. Make it look like it’s just an outpouring of your particular brand of . . . you.” His eyes narrow, as he considers. “Actually, better make the finger literal, then.”

I think there might be an insult in there, but I don’t have time. I kick off on Bubba.

I’m coming, Jo.

My video is delivered. As Graff recommended, the finger I give the demons is literal, but I really get creative and riff off the general theme. It’s a masterpiece, though Graff doesn’t seem to appreciate it. “Crude” and “obscene” are some of his adjectives. I don’t think he means them as the compliments I take them as.

Chi and I don’t bother to stay at the school, but instead leave immediately with the team sent into the valley to recover our dead. A few demons are left behind to dispose of the bodies and we slaughter them. It’s a relief to finally expend some of my frustrated rage. Chi, too, fights with an edge, unfamiliar to him.

After the battle, Chi and I search. Long, shallow graves lie just inside the woods, hiding the bodies beneath a mere six inches of dirt. More bodies, demon and Crusader both, lay piled in heaps waiting for even that sad interment. We prowl among the dead, identifying bodies, calling for Jo.

Jo is not among the dead. But we don’t find her living, either.

Jo didn’t come to the valley.

I rip open the locks and slam Armand’s door open so hard it bounces of the wall and bangs shut behind me. I almost can’t find Armand among the wreckage that is his room—his bed is flipped and broken, the shelves ripped form the walls, books scattered everywhere. I find him in the corner of the room, at the only window, though it’s boarded over from the outside. On his face is an unadulterated look of shock. It’s so rare for Armand to let any true emotions show that it registers despite my rage.

“You’re alive,” he says, more whisper than words, as he pushes to his feet. “I didn’t . . . You weren’t . . .” he stumbles, then simple repeats himself. “You’re
alive
.”

“Where’s Jo?” I demand.

“I thought you were dead,” he says, like I hadn’t spoken. Then he repeats it, angrily. “I thought you were
dead!
”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I snap at him. “Now where’s Jo?”

My question seems to finally get through. “Why would I know?” His tone is still angry.

My eyes narrow. “Because you always know more than you should.”

“Fine, then, why would I care?”

“Because you know I would care,” I snarl at him.

“
I thought you were dead!
” The vehemence of his response finally causes me to pause. I notice his haggard appearance, the destruction of the room around me. My eyes drift back to his and find a wild excitement, relief, joy and a bit of panic.

“Oh,” I say, articulate as ever.

“Oh,” he repeats, then in one step his hands wrap around the side of my face kisses me fiercely. His mouth moves over mine and I taste his breath, his tongue. The force of his kiss pushes me backwards until we’re against the door. I feel devoured, adored, missed.

I bite him.

He jerks away, but my attack only makes him laugh, as if my small act of violence finally convinces him I’m real.

“Dammit, Armand.” I shove free though he keeps a hold of my hand. I let him. “Yes, I’m alive, and, frankly, a little disappointed you thought otherwise.”

“Forgive me,” he says, still grinning.

I almost smile in return, but it dies before it has a chance to reach my lips. “Seriously, though. Where is Jo?”

At her name his face hardens. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

“So you talked to her?”

“More accurately,
she
talked to
me
. Who do you think told me you were dead?”

“What did she say?”

“She didn’t divulge any secret plans,” he says dryly. “She came in screaming that you were dead. I asked for details, but she wouldn’t explain. Said she was only telling me because she wanted me to hurt like she hurt. She wanted me to know what it felt like to lose someone.”

I flinch a little.

“Honestly, it was mostly profanity.”

That does sound like Jo. I slouch against the wall, my strength deserting with my rage. I tip my head back, staring unseeing at the ceiling. Armand leans next to me, still holding my hand.

“Then she burst into tears and ran out. You know,” he says, contemplative. “I’m starting to get the feeling she doesn’t like me.”

I elbow him, but it’s half-hearted. “You really don’t know where she went?”

“I promised honesty.”

I look at him until he answers. His response is gentle. “No.”

I slide down to the floor and rest my head on my hands. I knew it was only a faint possibility that he’d know; they’re not exactly confidants. But I’m out of ideas. Chi’s out of ideas. The Crusaders are out of ideas, not that a single, one-legged Crusader girl is much of a priority.

“She disappeared,” I tell Armand.

He slides down to sit next to me. “I gathered,” he says, his tone still gentle.

I lean my head against the wall, then, screw it, on his shoulder. If my actions surprise him, I don’t care enough to notice. I’m stuck in my own miserable hell, and I’ll take comfort where I’ll find it.

Jo has disappeared.

It’s late. Chi slumps against the couch, pale with fatigue. We haven’t the time to mourn, nor enough Crusaders to spare for it. Even with our pitifully small numbers, Graff limits my excursions to those close to our base, day trips, only. Without the Sarge’s influence, he’s reluctant to trust me any more than necessary. I have no illusions that if it wasn’t for our desperate straits, he would have me back in a prison cell.

Or at least, he would try.

Even Graff has been forced into the field, and I can’t say I’m not disappointed every time he makes it back alive. Only Crusader Puchard stays at the headquarters. With Henries dead, he’s the only one left who can possibly find a way around the demon magic and get a force of us into hell. Freeing the souls has become our only option.

Chi blinks, then struggles to bring his eyes back open, but he doesn’t go to bed. I think he senses that I don’t want to be alone. Silent, empty rooms are no longer silent or empty. They’re filled with terrible possibilities, horrific hypotheticals, and hard likelihoods. The empty space left by a lost friend isn’t empty; it’s filled with ghosts.

Sadly, not the kind with answers.

“She’s alive,” Chi says, drawing my attention from darker places.

“But where would she go?” We’ve had this exact conversation so many times that I speak more out of a habit than because I think he has an answer. When he doesn’t respond, I look over to see that his eyes have slid closed. “Go to bed, Chi.”

With an apologetic smile Chi drifts off to his room, leaving the silence behind to taunt me. I sit in it, stew in it. Feel its icy fingers crawl up my neck, whispering terrible tales in my ears. I shiver and stand then pace. My eyes go to Armand’s door. He’s awake, I know. Waiting for me to come to him, just like I did last night, and the night before.

Waiting for word of a missing friend is quiet work, unless you have someone to wait with. Someone who doesn’t share your sorrow so can do whatever it takes to allay it. Someone who makes horrid jokes about horrid situations, who can smile a smile not made of glass.

Before I realize it, my hand is on the doorknob to his room. I stare blindly at the deadbolts fighting an internal battle I already know I will lose when the outer door opens.

“Meda!” My name is broken, cracked like an egg on the lip of a glass.

I turn, not understanding.

“Jo.” Jo, harried, dirty, frizzy-haired, wild-eyed Jo, lunges forward, moving too fast for her damaged leg, and collapses into my arms. Before I can even process that Jo is voluntarily giving me a hug, she jerks out of my arms.

“Chi?” She searches my face, panicked.

“Jo,” I say stupidly.

“
Chi?
” She gives me a little shake.

“He’s fine. He’s—” But she’s already yanking open his door, wanting to see for herself. I expect her to hurl herself at him with as much fervor as she did me, but she halts at his door. He’s sprawled, as relaxed in sleep as a toddler. He’s shirtless and perhaps more-less—the blankets are twisted around his waist so it’s hard to be sure.

“
Jo
.” I can do nothing but stare, too shocked and dazed to realize what the hell just happened.

After a long moment, she steps back and gently pulls his door closed.

“You’re alive,” I say, and it’s like saying the words made it true. It breaks over my head, the wave of relief. It slams down on me so hard my knees almost give. I grab the back of the couch and shout it. “You’re alive!”

She still hasn’t turned, but waves one hand at me to keep it down.

“You’re alive!” It’s a whispered shout. “
Where the hell have you been?
”

She hasn’t moved from Chi’s door, nor has she turned around. She stands there, the knob in her hand, her forehead pressed against the door. She shudders and I realize to my horror that she’s crying.