Redemption

Chapter 18

They are the children of a cursed race, Demons partly by blood. Whatever mortality they have comes from their father. I hope it's enough.
~Bezaliel~

"You've totally lost your marbles, you know that!" Monroe hissed as we rounded the corner of Everett's. "You should have let me call Conor."

The entrance to the alleyway beckoned, a black hole full of secrets. "He would have tried stopping us."

"And that would have been a bad thing," Monroe muttered. It probably would have been the wiser thing to do but I'd already walked the plank so why not take the plunge?

The sour odor of beer tickled our noses, our feet stumbling over cracked pavement and empty glass bottles.

"What do we do now?" Monroe asked.

"Call him, I guess."

She huffed. "It's like we're looking for a dog, not a Demon. Here Marcas, Marcas. Here boy! That's a good boy!"

Imagining Marcas as a big loveable puppy wasn't remotely possible. Picking my way carefully around a pile of bagged trash, I muttered, "That's right, Monroe. Goad the Demon."

"You got a better idea?"

The shadows embraced us, the sound of our shoes loud in the echoing space. Monroe cursed as she followed; her platform sandals a liability on the uneven pavement. She'd rather break an ankle than leave them at home. My trusty, ragged tennis shoes never felt so good.

Everett's back entrance sported a thick door, a No Trespassing sign, and a fence separating the club from a 24-hour Laundromat. My shoes paused at the door, my attention riveted on the stone wall, to the spot where I'd first encountered Marcas. Crimson stains marred the pale bricks, and I touched it hesitantly. Blood? His face flashed before my eyes, his tall dark figure inches from mine, his metallic breath on my face, his fingers coated with my blood.

"Marcas," I called. Gut instinct told me there was no reason to yell. "Where are you?"

Faint strains of music answered me.

Monroe fidgeted. "We should go. There's nobody here."

The darkness was too close tonight, as if everything I'd learned about myself had tainted me somehow. It left me uneasy. The alleyway was steamy, the white fog dancing like apparitions, and I was just about to agree with Monroe when I felt him.

My gaze searched the passage. "He's here."

"Where?" Monroe hissed.

The alley was empty, devoid of everything except darkness, steam, and stench, but I knew he was there. His presence was like an electrical current under my skin, warm and slightly uncomfortable.

"Where are you?" I called. "I need answers!"

His energy shifted, becoming less there somehow, and I knew he'd put distance between us.

"Let's go," Monroe begged.

Loud voices spilled into the alley from the club, and I stumbled behind Monroe as she scurried from the passage, my heart sinking. Marcas' energy was gone. It was gone, and I'd gotten no answers.

Defeat followed me to the car, the feeling traveling with me through the night-cloaked streets to Monroe's house. I wanted out of this. I wanted to leave the Abbey and be rid of the whole mess. I'd hoped Marcas could tell me how.

"That was counterproductive," Monroe murmured. Neither of us had spoken since the club.

The defeated feeling grew, taking permanent residence in my stomach, as we moved into her kitchen. "He was there. I felt him."