Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(71)
Author: J.R. Ward

There wasn’t time to dwell on the victory—or even on whether Sissy was alive. Jim flew back as if his torso had been sucked away—or blown away. And as he was in midair, shit went into slow-mo for him: He saw Adrian getting thrown toward the door; Eddie pitched to the window; Sissy’s body flopping up and down against the porcelain as if she’d been racked with seizures.

He had to get to her—he had to—

Jim didn’t land on his head. He landed on his ass. But when he skidded back further, the base of his skull hit something sharp and hard.

The impact was a grenade going off in his skull, white-hot and obliterating every thought and all senses. The only thing that remained was a diffused panic that what they had released from her was just going to jump back in.

But even that wasn’t enough to keep him conscious.

Everything went lights-out.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Down below Devina’s old loft, the demon stood in the center of the street, right where the yellow double lines were. She had one pump planted on each side as she angled her head up, up to the fifth floor of the warehouse. The breeze was cold against her body, and the light rain that came down misted her cheeks and weighted down her hair and spotted her silk jacket. Cars passed and sometimes honked—always gawked.

But for once, she didn’t pay any attention to all that.

How the fuck did they get Eddie back. How the fuck did that happen.

Then again, who was she fooling. There was only one way it could have happened.

The Creator.

Up in her former abode, shapes crossed the square-paned window stacks as the four of them moved around while performing the purification ritual and creating a force field to direct the expulsion—and attempt to keep her out. She knew their little tricks by heart: First, they would create the barrier of salt. Then they would smoke the place out. And before they started, they’d have shooters loaded with purifying solution and all the magic Jim could summon—unless, of course, he was the one doing the exorcism, in which case he’d be out of commission for protection spells.

It was impossible not to feel shut out by all the effort—not just because they were working together, but because all of their effort was to fuck her in the ass.

Devina hoped and prayed it killed that little bitch. And there was such a good chance it would. The infection in Sissy had gone deeper than anything those angels had ever tried to remove—

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

As some version of a Honda went by, its horn was a curse made manifest, and she turned around, eyes narrowing.

She let the POS sedan go another block down and then she extended her palm and threw a burst of energy out at it.

Refocusing on the windows up above, she heard a sharp braking, a metallic crunch, a shattering of safety glass, the hiss of a busted radiator. Blah, blah, blah.

She was waiting for another crash.

It came about ten minutes later. Without warning, at least that human eyes and ears could pick up on, the bathroom window blew open and something that looked like a tight-knit swarm of bees sizzled out into the air, hovering as a shower of glass snowflaked down to the sidewalk below.

The part of her she’d so graciously lent Sissy waited for a command from her—and there were a number of directives she could give it. Attack. Reenter Sissy. Expand and join with other minions to create a force capable of overthrowing governments.

She held up her palm and summoned it home, reabsorbing the black energy.

As distant sirens grew louder, and the human cleanup crew’s arrival became imminent, she stared at her loft’s bathroom, hoping to see a face in the window. Hoping to see Jim, looking out to find her.

He did not.

When nothing but ambulances and a fire truck came toward her, she cursed under her breath and dematerialized.

Even though she was hurt, she tried to stay positive. There was a final endgame still to play out, and Jim was right where he needed to be—in spite of the fact that he was with Sissy, up in that bathroom.

Sacrifices must be made in order to win.

Besides, his time with that bitch was coming to an end. Devina was going to make sure of it.

Sissy came awake to the sound of dripping.

Her first instinct was to open her eyes and sit up. She wasn’t sure where she was or why her head hurt or why she was so very, very cold and she was scared. Something had happened—

Okaaaaay. She couldn’t move and her lids refused to budge.

And that dripping …

… was gone now. She didn’t hear it anymore. Had she lost consciousness again?

Time to get over herself.

Putting her hands out from her body, she felt something smooth and cool and followed whatever it was up—

A tub.

All at once, her brain came on like a laptop that had had a reboot. Images of the ritual flickered through her mind, snapshots taken and internalized, everything from pouring the salt to the whispered verses to the light coming up from underneath her.

To that moment when the evil had left her body.

Jerking upright in a scramble, she sucked in a breath and dragged up her sweatshirt. Gone. The runes or symbols or whatever the heck they were? Not with her anymore. Except even as tears of relief made her eyes sting, there was no time for a victory dance.

She tried to twist around and look to see how Jim and the angels were, but her body was too stiff. From her torso to her neck, her muscles were locked so tight she had to force herself onto her knees and shove herself around.

Eddie was the first one she saw sprawled on the gray marble floor, his big body relaxed as if he were just having a quick lie-down, his feet lolling to the sides in his boots. Ad was over by the door, in a similar slump. Where was—

“Oh, God, Jim!”

Gripping the edge of the tub, she pulled herself up and over, and fell down on the far side. Jim was across the room, lying partially under the pedestal sink, his head cocked at a wrong angle, his body twitching unnaturally.

Her knees cracked against the hard floor as she crabbed over to him. “Jim?” She put her hand on his chest—his body was still warm, but she didn’t know if that meant anything. “Jim—wake up!”

Silver blood had pooled around the base of his skull.

“Jim!” She wanted to slap him or shake him, but God forbid if he’d broken his neck? “Jim—”

Groans rose up from behind her, and there was a rustling, as if Eddie and Adrian were coming to. “Help me,” she barked without looking back. “Jim … wake up, Jim…”

This was not supposed to be the tragedy at the end of it—she was the one who was supposed to have “died.” Not Jim.