Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(90)

“What’s this?” she asked. I took out the velvet pouch from my lunch at the Blue Karma and showed her the brass collar nestled inside.

“Naavarasi tried to bribe me with it. Apparently it’s a magic get-out-of-death-free card, with heavy strings attached.”

Caitlin gave me a hard look and plucked it out of my hands.

“Mine,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if she meant me or the bag. Then she grabbed my shirt and pulled me into a kiss that removed all doubt.

? ? ?

“You…threw it away,” Sullivan said in disbelief after I’d told the abbreviated version of the story. “The greatest weapon against hell ever devised, and you threw it away?”

“What can I say?” I told him, shrugging. “It was cramping my style.”

“You just sealed your doom,” he seethed. “And when we’ve slain the lot of you, we’ll be paying a visit to your friends, your families, anyone who ever meant anything to—”

“That threat is getting old,” I said, and glanced to my side. “Melanie? You want to do your thing? See, Melanie figured out early on that I was running a con, and she wanted to help. I had just the job for her.”

Melanie put her fingers to her lips and whistled, high and shrill. A moment later, all around the compound, doors swung wide and shadows emerged from the darkness. Men, women, teenagers, at least twenty people wearing everything from overalls and shitkicker boots to tailored three-piece suits. They joined us, forming a clustered line behind our backs. Most had rifles or shotguns, any weapon they could scrounge up at a moment’s notice.

I looked back and pretended to count heads, then flashed a smile at Sullivan. “Huh. Look at that. We brought guns too. And we’ve got more than you do.”

“I reached out,” Melanie said, “to my friends, and their friends, and their friends. On every private network and phone listing I could find. And everyone came. Every cambion from here to the California coast. They’ve all heard of you, Sullivan. So they came by car and bus and train, and they got here any way they could, just to be here tonight. Because we’ve got a message for you, and we want to make sure you’re listening.”

Sullivan looked at her, suddenly pensive.

Melanie pointed at him, her voice like a whipcrack in the dark. “Go away. You say you’re here to save us? We don’t need your kind of salvation. You say you love us? How can you love anyone when you hate yourself? I don’t hate you, Sullivan. I pity you. I pity you because you can’t see what’s right in front of your face: our blood doesn’t make us who we are. We do. Our choices, our lives. So listen close, because we’re only going to say this once. You can sell your lies and bullshit back east all you want, but you are not welcome here!”

Sullivan looked out over the gathered sea of faces, condemnation in their eyes. He shook his head.

“How dare you—”

Caitlin cut him off, sharply holding up one hand.

“The prince’s amnesty,” she said, “extends to all. Hear me, members of the Redemption Choir: you have a choice. Get in your cars and drive into exile, or stay, and find a new home. No one will harm you, either way. It’s time to make your choice.”

A cloud of silence settled over the ranch. Both sides stared each other down, unsure who would make the first move.

Then one of Sullivan’s followers dropped his gun to the dusty ground and walked over to join us. The gathered cambion met him with open arms, taking him gently into their fold.

“Get back here!” Sullivan shouted. “You can’t—you’ll be damned. I’m your only hope.”

Another rifle clattered to the dirt. Another of the Choir walked across the divide.

“I’m your teacher!” Sullivan ranted as another deserted him. “I’m your savior!”

More of the Choir walked away, torn between hope and fear, leaving their weapons behind them. When the exodus was done, only four cambion remained at Sullivan’s side.

“The rest of you,” Caitlin said, “drive east. Out of our territory. And never return. Sullivan, you also have the option of exile. This is the only mercy you’ll be offered. I suggest you take it.”

“I decline,” he spat, his face contorted into a mask of rage.

“Very well. As Prince Sitri’s hound and appointed persecutor of the Court of Jade Tears, I find you, Suulivarishisian, in violation of hell’s law. The sentence is death, to be carried out immediately.”

“Come for me, then,” Sullivan growled. One of his hands was larger than it should be, fingers lengthening and sprouting yellowed claws as they curled at his side.

Caitlin turned to me and rested her hand on my shoulder.

“Cait, I—”

“Daniel. Listen to me. This is my fight. I have to do this myself. No matter what happens, do not interfere. Promise me.”

“But what if—”

“Promise me.”

I nodded reluctantly. “All right. I’ll stay out of it.”

Emma waved her hand in the air and shouted, “Give them room. Everyone back!”

A ragged ring formed around the open square, all eyes on Caitlin and Sullivan as they circled one another, ten paces apart. Sullivan didn’t stop with the claws. His spine bulged and bent, shirt tearing, and his eyes glowed like molten lava as spines pushed up through his skin. His face stretched and tore, leaving a nightmare of bone-plated muscle and jagged tusks in its wake. He looked like a mutated, tumor-ridden warthog on two legs, feral and twisted.