Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(84)
Author: J.R. Ward

But the motherfucker didn’t say a thing. He just focused off into the distance like he knew—he knew—that anything he uttered was just going to lead to a fight, and that was not going to be a distraction he allowed to happen.

Sissy grabbed onto Jim’s arm. “That’s the reason for the halos. You have one. I have one. Vincent diPietro. Detective DelVecchio. That man at my funeral. Nobody else does.”

“Don’t you cheat me of this,” he growled at Eddie. “Don’t you—”

“I’m not leaving here without you,” Sissy yelled at him. “And we’re not going to let you do this—”

“Take her—”

“—because you’re not only going to lose the war, you’re going to lose yourself!”

“—out of here—”

The rattling started up all around them, the bureaus vibrating on the concrete and then shifting positions, pushing the drawers and the things he’d ripped out of a few of them across the floor, ordering themselves of their own volition into whatever rows and lineups were proper.

“Jesus Christ!” Jim shoved Eddie away and paced in a tight circle. “Fucking hell! This is just—”

Sissy got right up on him again, blocking his way even as he put his hands over his head so she couldn’t grab onto his arms.

“You don’t have to do this—”

“She hurt you!” he screamed. “She fucking—”

“Don’t do this for me. Don’t you dare do this for me like some kind—”

“How can I not! She hurt you! She cut your body! She made it so I had to nearly kill you to get you clean! You think I can let this shit go?!”

Sissy recoiled as if he’d struck her. But she didn’t back down. “You’re not right in the head.”

“I’m very fucking right!”

“You’re infected. Just like I was.”

That stopped him dead for a split second. But then he shook his head. “No, I’m not. And I’m not one of the souls, Sissy—I don’t know what you think you’re seeing—”

“Your anger is her inside of you, Jim. Listen to me.” She reached up and took his face in her hands. “Listen to me—she’s inside—”

“No, she’s not! Do you think I wouldn’t know that?”

“I didn’t know it until she was gone, remember? Jim, this anger is going to take us all down.”

“This is for you!”

“Bullshit! If it was, you wouldn’t be trying to ruin yourself and lose this war! I want you safe more than I care about Devina getting what she deserves! Christ, Jim, please listen to me!”

He gave up reasoning with her and pegged Ad and Eddie with a hard stare. “This is on the both of you. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you, too—”

And then it was too late.

The bureaus stilled, the elevator dinged again, and Devina’s voice said in a nasty tone, “Guess I wasn’t invited to my own party, huh.”

For a split second, Jim wanted to explode at everything: The fact that Eddie and Adrian had put Sissy in such danger. That she was talking bullshit. That Devina had arrived.

Instead, he picked up Sissy and all but threw her at the idiot angels. “Run,” he hissed at them. “Fucking run!”

Chapter Forty-eight

As the demon stepped out of the elevator, Sissy felt herself go airborne and then it was a case of an Olympic sprint she was allowed to have little or no independent opinion of—Eddie grabbed one of her arms and one of Ad’s and the three of them hustled like they were being chased through row after row after row of antique bureaus.

She tried to look over her shoulder, but couldn’t manage even a glance thanks to Eddie’s death grip.

And then the collection changed. Moments later, she had a vague impression of clothes, countless clothes hanging on racks like they were in some kind of department store. And shoes. Handbags. Then a bed the size of a living room, and a vanity with enough makeup on it to do a hundred thousand faces.

Eddie yanked them to a halt in front of a tall, freestanding three-part mirror that was encased in all kinds of fancy French swirls.

“Is … that … it?” she asked between heaving breaths.

“Not even close.” Eddie panted as he looked around. “We’ve got to take cover.”

“No,” Ad countered. “We gotta find that mirror and hide it. That’ll destabilize Devina and maybe give us some time with Jim.”

“So where the hell would she put it?” Eddie muttered.

“Not where it’s light,” Sissy heard herself say. “It would be in the darkness. Although … I have no idea why I know that.”

On cue, all three of them looked over to a far corner. Now that the demon had arrived, the overhead lighting had come on, illuminating everything … except for that one place.

Back to the dead run.

The three of them raced over into the blackness, and Sissy felt a chill that seeped down past her skin and into her bones.

“It’s here,” Eddie said in a low voice.

As Sissy’s eyes adjusted, she could only make out the dimensions of the thing first. Then the details were gradually revealed to her, everything from the decrepit glass that didn’t seem to actually reflect anything that was in front of it to the rotted frame and the twisted, contorted bodies that seemed to ornament all four sides of it.

“Man, that bitch is twelve kinds of ugly. And for once, I’m not talking about the demon,” Ad muttered.

Eddie cursed under his breath. “She’ll know we’re moving it.”

“But maybe it’ll give us some leverage against her.” Ad stepped over to the mirror, and braced himself, before grabbing hold. “Come on. Let’s do this.”

Eddie went to the opposite side and made a grimace of distaste as he put his hands on the frame. “On three. One, two … three.”

Both angels groaned as they inched the tremendous weight off the concrete floor, their big bodies straining. When they were finally fully straightened, it was obvious Adrian was struggling because of his injuries.

“I’m helping,” Sissy said, ducking under Ad’s arms and expecting an argument.

Except none came—which told her how dire things were.

“Oh, that’s nasty,” she gasped as she locked onto the frame and joined the lift. “It’s like … the flu.”