Tirade Read online

  Gemma nodded and I left without a glance at Cole. I wouldn’t fight with my brother. I had bigger battles to fight. Like ones down in hell.

  Even still, I wondered if it would be enough.

  *

  I stopped outside his bedroom door, taking a deep breath and smoothing out my wrinkled T-shirt. Logan had been here, at Gran’s, for five days, and in those five days, I spent time with him every single day, some days twice. Usually, if I wasn’t training or with my mom at the hospital, I was here with Logan. But even with all the time I spent with him, there was still a wide valley between us. We weren’t getting closer. I wondered if Logan would even accept my presence if I wasn’t his link to Sam.

  I tried to tell myself he seemed so distant because he was so weak and sick. He had been possessed by a powerful demon, a demon that made everyone, including me and Sam, believe Logan was a hellhound. Even Logan thought he was. No one could figure out why he didn’t act like a normal one (if there is a normal for a such a beast), like why he didn’t love the water, why shifting literally ripped his body apart every single time with intense pain and why he would black out and not remember anything.

  I had been through a lot in my seventeen years, but Logan was only fourteen and I’d never been possessed by a demon. I figure that gave him reason to be distant—especially from me.

  When the demon left his body—it literally left a dying boy with broken pieces we had to put back together like a puzzle. His bones, which had been broken and realigned several times, had never healed right. The angles of his joints were slightly off and therefore his skin looked lumpy in places where the bones stretched the skin. He wasn’t as coordinated as he should’ve been, and when he walked, it was never in a straight line but always at an angle. His skin was pale, making me think that he lost too much blood when Sam was forced to stab him with a dagger. His body was so weak; he just couldn’t produce more blood so he was left with nothing more than a ghostly pallor. Beyond that, he was too thin and could hardly eat, like his stomach had shrunk. The only thing he seemed to have an appetite for was candy—which we supplied in full force. After all he’d been through, I wanted him to have something that brought him some joy. Even if it was short-lived and not what he truly wanted.

  I lifted my hand and knocked; the door swung open. Logan was on the bed, watching TV. I averted my gaze away from his bumpy knee caps and looked at his face. “Hey, Logan!” I said, walking the rest of the way in and plopping down on the corner of his bed.

  “Have you talked to Sam today?” he asked, his eyes sliding away from the TV toward me, then back again.

  “Sure have. He’s still okay. Is there anything you want me to tell him?” I never wanted to sound too optimistic about where Sam was because he was hardly on vacation. He was trapped in hell and Logan knew everything wasn’t good, but I never wanted to make it sound like Sam was suffering either. I had a feeling Logan blamed himself for Sam’s entrapment. Well, himself and me.

  “You’re all dirty. Were you in the orchard?” Logan asked, still watching the TV.

  “Yes, training with Gemma. I’m going to go visit my mom in a few minutes. Want to come?”

  “No,” he said quickly, shifting on the bed. He never wanted to come to the hospital with me. I never pushed it because I figured the place made him uncomfortable, but I always offered because he needed to know I wanted him around.

  “Okay, then. Maybe we can go out for ice cream later? Or rent a movie?”

  “You don’t have to be nice to me,” he said, looking at me and for the first time today, holding my gaze.

  “I know that. I like you, Logan. I like hanging out with you.”

  “You just want to look good with Sam.”

  I let out a breath. “I don’t see Sam around here, do you? If I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t know anyway. This isn’t about Sam. This is about me and you.”

  He nodded, his face losing the angry look. “I guess you aren’t as bad as I thought.”

  “Of course I’m not.” I flipped my hair backward with a grin. “I’m fabulous.”

  “You need a shower. You smell.”

  I let my mouth drop open in mock surprise and stepped away from the bed. Then I leaned close and I hugged him, rubbing my arms up, down, and all around him.

  “Nasty!” Logan said, pushing me away.

  “Just a little sisterly love for you.” I laughed and pulled away. Logan was trying not to smile. “I gotta go. I’ll be back later and we’ll hang.”

  His eyes went back to the TV, but as I left the room, he called a thank you behind me.

  *

  My feet felt as though they were weighed down with bricks. I lifted my knees higher and forced my leg muscles to move. When the hospital came into view, I pushed myself harder, increasing my pace until my lungs burned and sweat blurred my vision. At the edge of the parking lot, I slowed until I was walking. I refused to let myself double over to gasp for breath. Instead, I concentrated on taking deep, controlled breaths. By the time I reached the large sliding doors at the entrance, my heart rate was down and breathing came easily. I glanced at my watch. Forty minutes. It was good, but I wanted to be better. Since day two of Sam being gone, I had been parking Gran’s car several miles from the hospital every day and running the rest of the way. Every day my time got a little better.

  The cool air of the hospital felt good against my heated skin as I entered and gave a small wave to the woman manning the information desk. She returned my wave, then went back to answering the phone. She knew I wouldn’t stop to chat anyway. I never did. She also finally stopped gaping at my sweaty appearance every time I walked in. I didn’t care either way.

  I made my way up to my mother’s floor and let myself into her room. The curtain around her bed was left open today and I was greeted with the same sight that I always saw: Mom lying in a bed of white in a coma. There was no change. I wondered if there ever would be. The doctors said the swelling in her brain, from the fall she took, was gone and there was nothing medically keeping her from waking up. They said she’d make a full recovery. But as the days passed and Mom never opened her eyes, I saw them standing over her frowning, searching through her chart for something they might have missed.

  I couldn’t tell them I knew the truth. I knew why she wasn’t waking up.

  Beelzebub wouldn’t let her. I couldn’t prove it, of course, but I just knew he was holding some kind of power over her and her wellbeing. Who only knew what he did to her during the time he was posing as her “boyfriend” Henry.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, approaching the bed and adjusting the covers around her. It didn’t need done, but it was better than doing nothing. “How are you feeling today? You look good. Are you ready to wake up yet?”

  The only response I got was the beeping of her monitors. I sighed and headed into the bathroom. The cold water felt good as I splashed it over my face and hands. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my face wash, using it to cleanse the morning of training away. I grabbed the hand towel at the sink to dry my face and hands, then hung it back where it belonged. Next, I reached into my backpack and pulled out a change of clothes. The ones I wore were damp with sweat and were covered in streaks of dirt from my time spent in the orchard. After I pulled on the blue-jean shorts and white tee, I brushed my hair back into a ponytail. Most of my hair was damp with sweat and needed washed, but for now, a ponytail would do. After I finished, I threw everything back in my backpack and headed out to sit with Mom. I talked to her for a few minutes as I always did, but soon grew tired of talking to myself. I settled back in the chair with a bottle of water (also from my bag) and closed my eyes.

  Sam.

  Heven. I couldn’t help but smile when his voice purred through my mind.

  I’m at the hospital with Mom. No change.

  I’m sorry.

  At least she isn’t worse. You doing okay?

  I’ve been trying to break down this force field that�
��s trapping me in here.

  Any luck?

  No. I felt the surge of his anger and disappointment as if they were my own. I also felt the echo of hunger pangs through my middle and the sting of a row of broken ribs at my side.

  I swallowed back the despair that filled me. We’re still trying to find a way to get through the portal.

  I don’t want you to come back here. I’ll find a way out.

  But he wouldn’t. He knew it and I knew it. There was no way to break down the invisible barrier that Hecate used to trap him inside. He’d been trying for five days without any luck. I had an idea of how I could break down the force field—but I also had no idea if it would actually work. Even still, I didn’t know how to get through the portal into hell. How are your wounds?

  Healing. Don’t worry about me. What about you?

  I’m fine.

  I feel the echo of soreness in your entire body. What’s going on?

  I started running. My muscles are sore.

  Any demon trouble?

  No. I prayed he didn’t hear the lie in my voice. I felt guilty for lying, but telling him the truth would only make things worse for him.

  Where’s the scroll?

  It’s somewhere safe.

  Dammit, Heven.

  You know I can’t tell you. If I tell you, he’ll come get it. Then he’ll have no reason to leave you alive.

  He wants me alive because he knows you’ll come back for me.

  I felt the anger and the frustration in his words but didn’t know how to expel any of his worry. He was right. Beelzebub wasn’t keeping Sam alive for the scroll. He was keeping him alive for revenge.

  Revenge against me.

  Any sign of him yet?

  No.

  Right before Hecate imprisoned Sam, I tricked Beelzebub and pushed him into a scorching pit of flames. I thought that would be the end of him, but Hecate cackled and told me she couldn’t wait to see what my punishment would be for doing that to him. Apparently, the Prince of Demons was immortal. And powerful. And he wanted me to rule in hell with him.

  I shuddered.

  How’s Logan doing? Sam asked.

  He seemed good this morning—better than usual.

  Maybe he’s turning the corner.

  Maybe.

  We sat in silence for a few moments while I pondered what it would do to Sam if Logan didn’t recover from this.

  Is it almost nighttime there yet?

  My heart constricted as it always did when he asked me such questions. I can’t imagine how he’s been keeping sane these past days, shut up in a tiny cell without food, barely any water and no concept of time.

  You keep me sane, he answered.

  I wanted to kick myself for thinking such thoughts when he was close enough to my mind to hear them. I didn’t want him to know how sick all of this made me. I didn’t want him to worry about me at all.

  It won’t be nighttime for a few hours, I said apologetically. I lived for the night too. Somehow being driven apart strengthened our Mindbond even more, well, that and when he went into my mind to break the thread that Beelzebub put there to get into my dreams. Somehow, our connection strengthened. On day three we figured out that we could link our minds as we were drifting off to sleep and it almost felt as if he was lying next to me.

  I felt his disappointment and thought about taking a nap just so we could be close. I opened my eyes and sat forward in my chair, looking at the curtain that was pulled back around Mom’s bed. It concealed the other side of the room from view. I knew there was another bed there and I got up, telling myself that maybe a short nap wouldn’t take up too much time. I pulled the curtain back and went toward the bed, taking the sheet and blanket in my hand to pull back.

  It took everything I had not to scream loudly when I looked down. There was a demon lying in the bed beneath the covers. He was flat… like a pancake. It’s the reason the covers hadn’t looked lumpy. His skin was as white as the sheets, but his eyes were coal black and looked like big round saucers in his flat head. I jumped back as his body began to fill with air… He looked like a balloon being filled at a helium tank.

  I stumbled backward, grabbing onto the curtain that separated the room and I tripped, pulling part of the curtain off the track as I fell backward onto the floor.

  The demon, fully inflated now, sprung up off the bed and towered over me. It had fingernails that looked like claws and I was alarmed that its eyes didn’t look any smaller now that its head was bigger. If anything, they looked wider and more empty than before.

  He reached for me and I made a sound, yanking the curtain off the track even more and bringing it down over his head. He flailed around, making some grunting sounds as he tried to pull the sheet off. I looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon and saw something made of metal under the bed. I grabbed it as he flung the sheet away.

  I sprang to my feet and swung, hitting him hard upside the head with the metal bedpan. The demon fell sideways onto the bed, and I took the opportunity to hit him again. He grabbed my arm when I tried to move away and pulled me closer. His nasty claws dug into my wrist, but I resisted the urge to cry out. The last thing I needed was to try to explain this to a nurse.

  I yanked my arm, trying to get free, but it was no use. Looks like I was going to have to beat this guy’s inflated butt with one hand.

  I grabbed the rolling table beside my mother’s bed and glided it across the floor, ramming it into the demon’s middle. The force of the hit caused him to release my arm. I grabbed a fork from the untouched tray, shoved the cart aside and threw myself at the demon. I landed on top of him, pinning him to the bed. Before he could do anything, I shoved the fork into his chest.

  He disintegrated beneath me and I was left on a pile of fine dust.

  I looked at the fork still clutched in my hand. It made a pretty good weapon. I stuck it in my back pocket—a girl in my situation never knew when she might need a fork.

  I glanced over my shoulder at my mother. The commotion failed to wake her. I climbed off the bed and did my best to spread the demon dust around the room. Hopefully, someone would just think the room needed a good cleaning. There wasn’t much I could do about the curtain I ripped from the track in the ceiling, so I just folded it up and put it on the bed (which I remade).

  What’s happening? Sam asked.

  I tripped and fell and pulled the curtain out of the ceiling. I’m wondering what the nurses are going to think.

  You tripped and fell? He asked. I could hear the skepticism in his voice.

  Well, it was a little more involved than that, but it’s nothing to worry about.

  Heven… Sam growled.

  I thought about reassuring him that I was fine. But I don’t think he would be happy to hear I was using a fork as a weapon. I have to go before the nurse comes in here and wants to know what happened to her curtain.

  I’ll be here if you want to talk.

  Me too. I told him before spending a few more moments making sure the room was as close to the way it originally was, then kissed Mom’s cheek and grabbed my bag. This hospital room was closing in on me and I was putting her in danger by being here. Down at the information desk, a security guard stood flirting with the lady behind the desk. It was funny because he was old enough to be her father. When he saw me step off the elevator, he straightened and smiled. I smiled back and together we walked out into the sunshine. His patrol car was at the curb. It was some generic model that looked a lot like a police car except the words HOSPITAL SECURITY were emblazoned on the sides.

  “How’s your mom doing, kid?” He always referred to me as ‘kid’ even though I told him my name several times. I thought this was funny, too, because the girl he was just flirting with was closer to my age than his. I bet he never called her kid.

  “No change.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” His words were genuine, as was his aura. It was a good color full of orange (which was uplifting and inspiring) and turquoise
(energizing and dynamic). His name was Colin Sturgess and I met him on day two of Sam being gone.

  I had come to visit Mom as I did today, parking miles (that day it was three) away from the hospital. When I got there, I was so sweaty and beet-red the woman at the information desk thought I was coming in to be seen at the emergency room. It would have been funny if it didn’t speak volumes as to how out of shape I was and just how bad I looked after everything happened. I was trying to convince her that I didn’t need medical attention and that the wound on my cheek was fine (it’s still kind of raw, but its healing—AKA turning into a scar) when Colin walked by and stepped in to tell her that, clearly, I just needed some cold water and a seat. He was a friendly man whose skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled and his hair was gray at the temples. He had broad shoulders and was tall, but his middle had gone soft probably years before.