Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(65)

I had to close my eyes against a sudden bright light, and when I opened them again, Sawyer was a wolf.





CHAPTER 24


Luther stared at Sawyer; Sawyer stared at Luther, then Sawyer lifted his lip in a silent snarl.

"Dude," Luther said. "Cool."

Sawyer's lip lowered back over his sharp, pointy teeth.

"What is he?" Luther asked.

"Skinwalker."

"Werewolf?"

"Not exactly."

Quickly I explained that Sawyer was more than a werewolf much, much more than a witch.

"What are you?" he asked.

"Psychic." I kept the sex-empath, ghost-channeling, psychometric part to myself. "What we call a seer. I can see—hear—what they are."

"What are they? Demons?"

"Half demon, half human."

The kid got a faraway expression in his eyes. "They don't seem human."

He was right about that.

I reached out and took the talisman from Luther's hand. He blinked as if he hadn't realized he'd been holding it. "Sorry," he said.

I tied the thing around Sawyer's neck and then stood back to watch the transformation. Sawyer's shifting of shape was different from any I'd ever witnessed.

His dark fur twinkled, as if dusted with diamonds, then his outline re-formed, growing larger, taller, pushing against a circle of light until he burst free a man.

A very naked man. His clothes and shoes lay in tatters on the ground. Luckily, he'd bought a few sets.

He straightened, unashamed of his nakedness. Luther looked away, then quickly back, then away again.

"You said you can see what they are," Luther began. "Can you see what I am?"

"Marbas."

He choked. At first I thought he was coughing, then I realized he was trying to hold back a sob. "I am a demon. I'm evil. I did those things I dreamed about."

"What things?"

He closed his eyes. "Terrible things."

I brushed my palm over his shoulder, as if I were offering comfort and bam—I nearly sobbed myself.

For the most part foster care is given by caring individuals who truly want to help. And then there are those who prey on the weak. Perhaps Nephilim, perhaps not.

Luther had been molested. They'd found his foster father in pieces all over the backyard.

Good for Luther.

But the kid didn't remember doing it? That was. .. strange.

I tried again, touching him lightly on the hand. He'd only changed at night, when deep dreams had allowed him to open to the magic. He had no control over the shift. Yet.

"You aren't evil," I said. "You didn't kill those bullies, and you could have. Killed them, buried them, and moved on. No one would have ever known. That's what evil would have done."

"Really?" The kid's voice was hopeful.

"Really." I glanced at Sawyer, who dipped his chin, answering the question I hadn't even asked. "Sawyer can help you understand what you are and how to use it."

"Sawyer?" Luther's voice trembled. "Not you?"

After what I'd just seen, I understood his reluctance to work with a man. If it were that big of an issue, maybe I could get Summer to help him. Once I found her.

"That's not my job," I said. "He's training and I'm— " Luther lifted his head. His eyes were shiny, but no tears had fallen. Crying was a weakness kids like Lu-ther, kids like me, couldn't afford. "You're what?"

I opened my mouth to explain and Sawyer jumped in. "We'll talk in the car."

I glanced at Luther, afraid we'd have another light on our hands, and if he got really upset, we might have a lion on our hands. How in hell would we get that in the car?

But he rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Okay."

He disappeared into the ridiculous excuse for a build-ing, and I turned to Sawyer. "How did you know he was here?"

"That's what I do, or at least what I did before my mother confined me to the Dinetah."

"That's right. Ruthie told me you were good at recruiting new federation members."

"There's no need for recruitment. We are what we are we're born for a reason. I bring out special talents, refine and train them."

I remembered how he'd brought my talent out. "You can't—"

His nostrils flared, fury sparked in his eyes. "The child is a Marbas. He has shifted; he has killed. He doesn't need to be opened to the magic, he just needs to be taught to control it. To bring it out when he wishes to and not when his anger or fear releases the beast against his will."

"But—"

"You think I’d touch him?"

"You touched me."

"You'll never forgive me for that, will you?"

"You want to be forgiven?" I asked.

He thought a minute, then shook his head. "I did what needed to be done." He glanced at the sunny sky. "As you will. We're more alike than you know."

"We're nothing alike."

He didn't answer, which was answer enough. Sawyer believed what he believed. He didn't care if I agreed with him or not. Which, come to think of it, Was a lot like me.