The Rephaim: Burn Part 7

'It's been a big few days.' I don't look at him when I answer. Instead, I watch a couple with ebony skin and fluorescent pink zinc cream weave a tandem bike along the boardwalk.

'I don't disagree, but-' He stops at the sound of boots on the stairs.

It's Gaz. He grins when he sees me. He's got at least three more rings in his top lip since last week.

'Gabzilla, I thought you must have died.'

I laugh. 'It's a common mistake.'

He blinks, his smile slightly confused. 'Yeah, well, you owe me.' He jerks his thumb in the general direction of the library. 'I've got better things to do than work on a Monday.'

'You'll still have plenty of time for w.a.n.king when you get home.'

His grin widens and a swathe of dark fringe falls over one eye. 'You've obviously spent a lot of time thinking about what I do when I'm alone. Who's your mate?'

I introduce Micah as a friend from school. It's close enough to the truth.

Gaz gives him a once-over. He has to tilt his head back to look Micah in the eye. 'Seriously, Gabster, do you know any short ugly people?'

'Just you,' I say, and he laughs.

'Burn.' He punches my arm-light, playful-and moves past me to take up his usual spot on the deck.

Micah raises his eyebrows. 'Look at you, making new friends.'

Gaz lounges against the folded door, watching two girls in bikinis cross the road to the boardwalk.

'Don't you have work to do?' I prompt.

'We've been open five minutes. Plenty of time.' He frowns, his attention still outside. 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, check out that dude. And people call me a freak.'

Gaz points to a short guy with wraparound sunnies and platinum hair. He's wearing dress pants and a white business s.h.i.+rt, undone at the neck and sleeves rolled up.

But it's not the out-of-place outfit that's caught Gaz's attention: it's the fact the guy's head looks too big for his body and when he lifts a hand to s.h.i.+eld his eyes, his nails are long and sharp and black as midnight. My scalp tightens.

Immundi.

'Gabe...' Micah says.

'I know.'

Seeing the demon in broad daylight on the esplanade-my esplanade-stirs something dark and violent within me. Gives me a moment of piercing clarity. No matter what else has changed, I'm a warrior. And I'm not allowing filth from the pit to harm anyone in this town. Even Gaz.

I pat his shoulder as I turn away. 'You'll never be as freaky as that guy.'

He grins. 'I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.'

Micah and I take the stairs two at a time. We watch the demon through the gla.s.s doors. He's still on the other side of the road, maybe thinking about crossing. The good news is that he doesn't have the trademark Immundi blades strapped to his forearms. The bad news is that he'll have weapons hidden on him somewhere.

'A reconnaissance trip for Zarael?' Micah asks.

I nod. 'Has to be. He won't risk his own horde, not so soon after last night.' Not while they're recovering from seeing Nathaniel's true form. I have a flash of the Sanctuary: the commissary a ball of fire, a hole ripped in its side from Leon's rocket launcher.

It's still a few hours until the sun breaks over the mountains there. The damage will be so much worse in the daylight.

The Immundi turns in our direction but there's no way he can see us inside with the sun reflecting off the gla.s.s.

It's not the first time the Gatekeepers have used the lower demons to do their dirty work: they used Immundi in LA last week to draw the Outcasts to the club.

But this feels different. If Immundi are playing scout for Zarael, it means they're involved in more than their usual nastiness. It could mean Zarael is conscripting every kind of pit sc.u.m this side of the veil to bring with him to Pan Beach. An army of h.e.l.l sp.a.w.n. I steady myself against the gla.s.s.

The demon is scanning the beach now, his back to us.

'How do you want to do this?' Micah asks.

'Low key.'

We slip out between the electronic doors and jog across the road. The breeze is warmer now, salty. We're completely exposed on the street. The bobble-headed demon only has to turn his head and he'll see us. I check the gallery deck: Gaz is still there, watching. It doesn't change what we have to do.

The Immundi is six metres away. I glance over at the Green Bean and the row of surfboards lined up against the cafe wall. Is Rafa in there brooding over an espresso? Micah and I hug the boardwalk railing. A kombi van drives past with its windows down, the John Butler Trio thumping from sub-woofers.

The demon is four metres away. He taps his deadly nails on his thigh, untucks the s.h.i.+rt from his waistband. I wish I had a sword. Two metres. Don't look this way. Don't- The demon turns. Freezes.

I lunge but he skips out of reach, snarling. Slams into a woman in a tie-dyed dress, spins away and sprints onto the road. She drops the bags she's carrying; cans of baked beans and a loaf of rye bread spill out onto the footpath. I glance back to check she's okay and then dodge a cyclist and a taxi. Micah is right behind me.

The Immundi weaves around tables outside the Green Bean, his white s.h.i.+rt flapping behind him. He flings an empty wicker chair in our path and I jump over it. I hope Maggie's mum is preoccupied inside. I hear gasps from a nearby table, a shout for us to stop. I catch a flash of steel before the Immundi ducks into the laneway beside the cafe.

I know exactly what I need to do.

And the certainty feels good. It feels right.

I sprint into the alley and check Micah is following, s.h.i.+elding me from the road. I slip into the void for a split second and materialise in front of the Immundi, plant my feet, and collect him with a straight-arm to the chest. He slams onto the concrete and his breath comes out in an ugly grunt. I'm on him, trying to pin him down, but he thrashes and gets a hand free. Something catches the sunlight-the glare blinds me for an instant-and I jerk back, feel a blade whisper across my t-s.h.i.+rt. The demon swings again, this time at my face. I catch his wrist and at the same time Micah slides to his knees beside me. He clamps a hand on my shoulder.

'Go,' he says. I drag him and the demon out of the alley, into the maelstrom.

I take them deep into the rainforest beyond the town. I'm still straddling the Immundi when we arrive and Micah immediately gives me room. I'm aware of the stillness-no cars, no seagulls, the surf too far away to hear-a second before the dagger comes at me again. I duck sideways and deflect the strike, use the momentum to flip the demon onto his stomach, wrench his arm behind his back. I push his face into the dark soil and dig my thumb into the pressure point on the back of his hand. He yelps and the dagger drops from his fingers. Micah scoops it up. The demon bucks and squirms underneath me but I've got him now.

'Keep that up and the next stop will be the Sanctuary,' I say, panting. Adrenaline surges through my limbs, singing to me. I feel strong. I am strong. The demon quietens, but tendons strain in his forearm.

Micah crouches near the Immundi, the demon's dagger swinging loosely between his thumb and forefinger. 'Why are you here?'

The Immundi bares pointed teeth. He struggles to look up at me, dirt smeared across the lens of his sungla.s.ses. 'Hordes are coming for you, nephilim filth.'

'Yeah, yeah.' I press my fingers against the pulse in his wrist. It's fast, but not erratic. 'But why are you here?'

His lips stretch into something possibly intended as a smile. 'To peruse the menu.'

I flick his sungla.s.ses from his face, stare into flat, black irises. 'Are you alone?'

'I am legion.'

'Spare me the fire and brimstone bulls.h.i.+t. Did you come here on your own?'

The demon swallows. 'There are others.' The steady beat under his skin stutters, picks up speed. He's lying. I nod for Micah to hold him while I pat him down.

Micah obliges, all the while watching me, curious. 'Nice s.h.i.+fting in the alley.'

'Thanks,' I say, not meeting his gaze. I find a mobile phone in the demon's pocket and check recent calls. Nothing today. He hasn't made contact with anyone. I blow out my breath and sit back on my heels. We can't let Zarael find out we're here. It might bring forward his attack plans and we're nowhere near ready-me least of all.

Micah meets my gaze. 'What do you want to do with our friend here?'

I reach for the Immundi's sungla.s.ses and brush off the dirt. Slide them back onto his face. 'Kill him, I guess.' But even as I say it, I know that's not happening. Beating a demon in a fight to the death is one thing. Executing one in my favourite rainforest is quite another. Micah knows it too.

'I'll take him to the Sanctuary,' he says and the Immundi snarls and squirms.

'You can't take him inside without Nathaniel's permission.'

'This piece of slime is proof Zarael's coming. Nathaniel can't turn me away without losing face with the Five. I'll let Daniel know-'

'Daniel's not going to help. You've turned your back on him.'

Micah shakes his head, frustrated. 'I'm going to hand him an Immundi who's confirmed that a horde of demons is about to attack a town full of humans. Trust me, there's no grudge in the world big enough to dull Daniel's interest in that.'

'And if Nathaniel still says no?'

Micah shrugs, musses the Immundi's platinum hair. 'Then I guess I'll have to stake this one out on the mountains for the wolves.'

A YEAR AGO.

SO...WHAT'S NEW WITH YOU?

I'm buzzing with adrenaline.

I'm on a bench halfway along the pier, sitting on my hands. My right foot taps a staccato beat. Dampness seeps into my clothes. The sun will burn off the marine layer later in the day, but for now Santa Monica is cloaked in fog. The ferris wheel above me, the empty stretch of beach, the climbing ropes and fitness rings, all blanketed in grey. It's eerie and oppressive, and perfect for s.h.i.+fting in under the pier unnoticed-which I did five minutes ago.

I fidget and wait.

The fog is so low I can barely make out the date palms lining Ocean Avenue, ghostly sentinels of coastal Los Angeles. Even the traffic is muted: cabs, buses, cars, all monochrome in the early morning mist. I breathe in salted air, catch a hint of sugar, hot oil and cinnamon: donuts further down the pier.

This is one of the places Jude and I used to come when we needed a break from the Sanctuary. There's no surf, but it was always fun to jog from the pier down to Venice Beach around dusk. Join a drumming circle. Breathe in secondhand marijuana smoke. Watch muscle freaks pump weights and dogs ride skateboards in sunnies.

Maybe that's why Jude picked it: the memories here are all good.

I keep my eyes on the stairs where I climbed up from the beach. That's where Jude will appear too. And Jason.

My left foot picks up the beat. Jason, alive. Gone all those years, and now he reaches out. Why? Whatever the reason, it was enough for Jude to call me twenty minutes ago. The sound of his voice. Not shouting insults at Daniel in the heat of a brawl or ordering the Outcasts into formation-but quiet, cautious. It dislodged something in my chest. I've felt untethered ever since.

My hood is up but the mist frizzes my hair anyway. I snap the band on my wrist once, twice. It's not that I care what I look like...I push back the hood, twist the band free and tie up my hair. I have a quick thought-this is the first time I've seen Jude since I've had my hair shorter-and push it away, annoyed. Who cares what he thinks about my hair?

Two heads appear on the stairs. One dark, the other blond. My heart gives a sharp squeeze. It's them. I glance at Jason long enough to see he's exactly as I remember-curly blond hair to his shoulders, startling blue eyes-and then my attention locks on Jude.

We haven't been this near to each other for a decade. Usually the only time I see him is when our crews run into each other chasing the same lead on the Fallen. And then, when the inevitable fight breaks out, he and I keep as much distance between us as we can. It's not hard to avoid each other-I always go straight for Rafa.

I'm on my feet but I don't move to meet them. I see the tension around Jude's mouth and eyes. Is that from life with the Outcasts or from seeing me? He stops a few metres away and Jason does the same.

'Thanks for coming.' Jude says it in that same careful voice he used on the phone.

I can't stop staring. Whatever is loose in me is cras.h.i.+ng around my chest now, wild, reckless. 'How could I not?'

Jude glances at Jason, rigid beside him. 'I know, right?'

And with those three words, the significance of the moment-the two of us standing here with Jason-pa.s.ses between us. Unguarded.

For a second, the distance between us is as insubstantial as the mist. Jude's shoulders settle a little. I search his eyes and I see it: he's not looking to rip open old wounds. This is something different. Something new. I exhale.

I finally take a closer look at our cousin. Jason raises his hand. 'Hi.'

'Hi? That's all you've got to say after a f.u.c.king century?'

His hand drops. 'Well, no. But I thought it was a good place to start.'

'What happened in Monterosso?'

Jason runs his tongue over his teeth. He's nervous and not just because I swore at him. 'I'll explain everything if you'll give me a-'

'We didn't know what to think when you disappeared. We thought you were dead.' I'm aware of how freely I'm using the word 'we'.

'If you let me speak I'll tell you.'

I glance at Jude. He shrugs, walks over to me. 'Let's hear him out.' He waits for me to nod and then we sit down at the same time. He sits closer than I expect, but still leaves s.p.a.ce between us. I steal a quick look at him, enough to see the start of stubble on his jaw, the hint of dark circles under his eyes. That his hair is forming ringlets rather than frizzing. Typical.

A seagull lands on the railing, turns its head to eyeball us. Jason scans the pier, scratches his neck. 'Okay.' We wait. He walks over to the chain wire fence around the amus.e.m.e.nt rides, stares up at the ferris wheel for a good five seconds. Comes back.

'Okay.' And he begins. He tells us why he and his mother left Monterosso last century. He tells us about his half-sister, who had premonitions as a child about angels and demons and knew Jason was half-angel without being told. About each first-born girl in the family line having similar gifts, until a girl named Dani came along with a very different set of skills. This girl didn't only see angels and demons. She saw us, the Rephaim. And not only in premonitions and visions, but any time she wanted. He tells us that for the past few weeks she's been having a vision involving Jude and me that's important enough to bring Jason out of hiding.

It takes him a good fifteen minutes to get the story out. It's a while longer before the reality of what he's saying sinks in. Jude fires a dozen questions at him, trying to understand how a child without Rephaite blood could be linked to us.

But there's really only one question.

'What did she see about me and Jude?'

'I don't know, she won't tell me. But she wants to tell you.' Jason drags his hand through his curls. 'I've kept away from you two to keep our family safe, and now along comes Dani with the most dangerous gift of all and she wants to meet you.'

Jude leans forward, rests his forearms on his knees. 'You think we're a danger to her?'

'What do you think Nathaniel or Zarael would do if they knew what she could do?'

'We're not going to tell anyone about her. s.h.i.+t, Jason, we've kept you secret all these years. You know you can trust us.'