Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(31)

“Hey,” I said, “any chance I could get a fan in here or something? In case you haven’t noticed, this is Nevada.”

He set down the tray, careful, keeping his eyes on me and the gun level the entire time. Smart kid. Well trained. On the tray were two plastic bottles of Aquafina and an apple.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” he said. He looked at me like I was a curiosity in a circus exhibit.

“Most cults, you know the first thing they do when they get their hooks into you? Tell you who you can and can’t talk to. That’s how they make sure you don’t hear anything they don’t want you to hear. Trust me, I used to be in one.”

“This isn’t a cult,” he said. “It’s a family. Sullivan takes care of us.”

“Sounds like something I would have said, back in the day. What about blood? Your folks know where you are?”

He shook his head. The skin of his cheek rippled, just a little, as his demonic side tried to assert itself. “Never knew my dad. Mom died having me. I’ve been on the street since pretty much forever. That’s where he found me, where he finds most of us.”

“And tells you how evil you are, and how you need to be purified. You know your boss is a demon, right?”

“He’s transcended. He’s not a demon anymore, not really. He’s going to show us all how to be like him.”

I cracked open the first bottle of water. I’d never been so thirsty in my life, but I held back. I didn’t want to give him a chance to wriggle off the hook.

“Why do you need to be like him?” I asked. “What’s so bad about being who you are?”

In a heartbeat, his eyes had gone the color and consistency of rotten egg yolk, his face and hands blemished with scabs and acne.

“Look at me!” he shouted. “This is the real me! I’m filthy on the outside because I’m filthy on the inside. I was born in sin. I’m stained. Ruined.”

“I know a few cambion who lead happy, healthy lives, just like anybody else. I could introduce you, if you wanted. Heck, one’s a girl around your age, and she’s pretty cute. You never know what could happen.”

He took a step backward, shaking his head, back in his human mask.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said. “Sullivan warned me you’d try to get in my head, try to confuse me.”

I sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Tyler.”

“Tyler,” I said, “you seem like a good kid. Normally I wouldn’t do this, but I’m going to offer you a deal. Walk away. Get in your car, drive out of here, and never come back. Do it right now. Go find a life for yourself, a real life, far away from this nuthouse.”

“What if I don’t?”

I looked him square in the eyes.

“You’re standing between me and that door. Which means I’m going to have to kill you. I’ll feel bad about it, believe me, I will, but that won’t stop me from putting you in the ground. Leave now, or die. Those are your only options.”

He gave a nervous laugh.

“I’ve got the gun.”

I just shrugged. He backed out of the room. The bolts on the door slammed shut while I chugged the entire bottle of lukewarm water and started on the second one.

I had thirsty work ahead of me.





Sixteen

First, I listened.

Tyler patrolled the hallway outside my makeshift cell once every twenty minutes, on the nose. I recognized the sound of his flip-flops slapping the flagstone floors. Once I pinned his movements down and figured out when it was safe to make a little noise, I went to work. I hauled one of the shipping crates across the room, putting it directly across from the door. Then I laid the antique mirror on its back, held my breath, and stomped down hard in the middle of the glass. It cracked under my heel, shattering into a constellation of glittering shards.

I wasn’t superstitious about these things. Bad luck was something I gave to other people.

I fished out a fist-sized chunk of the broken mirror and started looking for an angle. The merciless sun was my best friend now, and I squinted as I caught its glare in the glass like Prometheus stealing the secret of fire. Timing was everything, and the clock wasn’t on my side. With my heart thudding against my chest, I turned the mirror and angled the ray into the open crate.

After five minutes I was sure my plan was a bust, but I kept at it, holding the hot mirror as steady as I could. Slowly, a wisp of black smoke rose up from the heap of mildewed monks’ robes. The wisp became a plume and then blossomed into orange flame.

Almost time for the next patrol. I watched the flames spread, hoping this wasn’t time for Tyler to knock off and get some lunch. With the crate itself starting to ignite, fire chewing into the old and splintery wood, the growing cloud of black smoke could kill me as easily as Sullivan himself.

I heard footsteps. My muscles tensed, going into fight-or-flight mode. I grabbed a robe from the other crate and flapped it toward the door, guiding some of the smoke so it’d drift under the frame and into the corridor outside.

“Fire!” I shouted, dropping the robe and getting ready. “Help! Fire!”

The doorknob rattled. Tyler burst in, gun ready, his eyes instinctively drawn toward the burning crate. It was a momentary distraction, the heartbeat of confusion and fear that I needed. That was when I ran up, blindsided him, and drove a jagged seven-inch shard of broken mirror through his throat.