The Liberator dw-2 Page 2

  I call out to Valery, “Hey, Red.”

  She turns and looks at me, making a face like she’s simultaneously asking me what I want and cursing my existence.

  “What are these?” I hold up the horns.

  “How should I know?” She shrugs. I think she’s about to drop down into her car, but she pauses and glances over the top of the hood, the look in her eyes softening. “They’re from your father.”

  Valery disappears from view, starts the engine of her Mercedes, and pulls away. I had more questions for her, questions she’s dismissed for weeks. But right now they don’t seem so important. Not when I’m staring at the horns in my palm. From my father, she’d said. My father, who died in a car crash minutes before I did. The guy I’ve seen only once since.

  As I think of him, my chest feels like it’s on fire. He’s given me these two crescent-shaped things, and I have no earthly idea what they are. The fact that he left anything for me blows my mind. Doing this, it’s like he cares. Thinking of my dad also reminds me of my mom—of how Rector was dating her in order to learn more about me, and to show me he could get close to those I care about. My dad told me he had that issue nipped in the bud. I’m not sure how, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Pops will make sure that bastard doesn’t get near her again. Game over.

  Overhead, I hear a knock. Glancing up, I spot Charlie standing in the window, her slight figure framed by the glow of a lamp. I grip the ivory horns and slip them into my pocket. All I want to do is keep Charlie Cooper safe, because even though her soul was taken by collectors, that doesn’t mean the same guys won’t come for her body, too. But protecting her seems impossible when no one will tell me what the H is going on.

  I don’t understand why I can’t turn Charlie’s soul in to heaven yet.

  And I really don’t understand why every time I ask Valery about these things, she acts like I just told her I’m rubbing bellies with her mom. Like I’m the jerk for asking questions.

  Charlie waves from her window, and I raise my hand. She motions for me to come up, and I want nothing more than to do just that. So I push my questions aside for now and head toward her room. She’s sitting on the bed, and despite the thoughts clogging my head, my body reacts to seeing her there. She’s wearing this white, lacy gown that chicks usually only wear in movies, and she looks so innocent, I could scream. I want to protect this girl from all the terrible things in the world, but at the same time, I want to do all kinds of terrible things to her. Most involve the bed she’s sitting on. Or the floor. I’m not picky.

  “Are you going to do it?” she asks, pulling her blond hair over her shoulder.

  “Ravage you? Yes.”

  She smiles, but her eyes fall to the floor. “You know what I mean.”

  I cross the room and sit next to her, fighting the impulse to tear that sweet-as-cream nightgown from her body. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  I look at her, and she meets my gaze. I expect to her say that I must. That I don’t really have a choice. But instead, all she says is, “Then don’t. Just go to sleep.” Her grin widens. “With me.”

  My eyebrow hitches up.

  She laughs. “That’s not what I mean.”

  But it’s too late. I scoop her into my arms and cover her body with mine. Before I press my lips over her mouth, I stop and look at her. Really look at her. With my thumbs, I brush the hair away from her cheeks. Then I run my eyes over her face, her neck, her delicate shoulders. She looks like a doll. And even though she’s perfection now, I remember the way she was—her thick glasses, her crooked smile, her cheeks that blazed red when she was excited. It’s ridiculous, but sometimes I miss those things.

  I lean down and kiss the space between her collarbones. Then I brush my lips across her neck and move toward her ear.

  “Dante,” she whispers. I stop instantly because I already know what she needs.

  Lifting my head, I see I’m right. There are tears in her eyes, and I think I might lose my mind when one slips down the side of her face toward the pillow. “It’s okay,” I say gently. I move behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. Then I pull her against me and let her cry.

  I let her mourn the loss of her friend, of Blue, who died at the hands of a collector.

  Charlie is like this many nights. During the day she’s fine, but once she’s curled up in bed with time to think, Blue finds a way to slip into her head. Probably doesn’t help that Annabelle, her remaining best friend, has been on lockdown by her parents.

  Valery’s presence always sets Charlie off, not that we’ve seen that much of her lately, either. But when all of us are together, I think it’s hard not to remember who else was there that night.

  The truth is I mourn Blue’s death, too. I never really liked the guy…until the end. Until I realized he was friggin’ Clark Kent, an undercover Superman who would risk his life for Charlie’s.

  It was then I understood we both just wanted the same thing—Charlie’s happiness.

  …

  When I open my eyes, the sun is trying to murder me. It’s shining on my face and making my head pound. Or maybe it’s my hangover that’s giving me the headache, but nonetheless, me and the sun, we’re not on friendly terms.

  “Mmm…” Charlie murmurs beside me. My arms are still wrapped around her waist, and I suddenly realize I must have crashed out in her bed last night. If Grams wakes up and finds me here, she’ll run me a bath and toss in the toaster.

  “Morning, babe,” I say as quietly as I can.

  “Morning, hot stuff,” a distinctly male voice says from behind me.

  I whip around, my heart racing, and find Max sitting in a chair across the room. “You look so hot when you first wake up.” He raises a hand to his hair. “Got that whole sexy bedhead thing going on.”

  Charlie doesn’t even move from her place, but I feel her laughing against me. “Your friend is kinda creepy, Dante,” she manages.

  “Max, what the hell are you doing in here?” I ask, pulling the covers farther up even though I’m—regretfully—fully-clothed.

  “Real question is, why did I wait so long to join you guys?” he responds, standing from his chair. A mischievous smile crawls across his face.

  “No,” I say, trying to appear as serious as possible. “Don’t even think about it, dude.”

  Max starts running in place, his smile widening until he looks deranged. “Ready or not!” Before I can stop him, Max races toward the bed and dives on top of us. “Oh! Oh, it feels even better than I imagined.” He rolls back and forth across us as Charlie laughs and I wonder why I’m friends with such a raging idiot.

  With all my strength, I grab Max’s shirt and roll him toward the edge. He falls off the side, his arms pinwheeling. There’s a loud thud and then nothing.

  I wait for several seconds then lean over to look for him. Max is lying face down on the floor, his arms and legs curled like a dead spider. “You’re not really hurt,” I say.

  “I think…I think you gave me spina bifida. You need to call someone.”

  “That’s a genetic disorder,” I say with a sigh, collapsing back onto my pillow. A second later, he raises his head very, very slowly over the side of the bed. It’s one of the more unsettling things he’s ever done. “Max, is there a purpose to this visit?” I ask. I want so badly to act like he’s annoying me. But he knows, and I know, that we both love this game: the one where I act like he’s a pain in my ass, and he acts like a damn circus clown.

  He stands up, crosses the room, and plops back down in the chair. “Valery sent me.”

  I throw an arm across my eyes. “Of course she did.” Beside me, Charlie moves to get up and I immediately reach for her. She squeals and wiggles out of my grasp.

  I watch as she walks around the bed and ruffles Max’s hair. Max pants like a dog. It’s a bit disturbing, since he’s twenty-eight and Charlie’s seventeen. She eyes me with a grin. “I’ll make waffles.”

  My face lights up.


  “Yes,” she continues. “And bacon.”

  I look at Max and nod toward Charlie. “That’s my girl.”

  “Damn straight,” he says.

  “I’m still making breakfast for your birthday,” I call after Charlie. Then, looking at Max, I say, “Charlie’s going to be legal soon.”

  Charlie stops at the door and points to another door across the hall, to the room where her sick adoptive mother, or Grams, as we call her, sleeps. She raises a finger to her lips, and I nod in understanding. Don’t wake her, Charlie’s saying. But what I’m wondering as she leaves is, does she realize just how sick Grams really is? Charlie isn’t stupid, and I think she knows something’s off. But I still don’t know if she understands the whole truth, that Grams isn’t getting any better. There are days when I want to tell her, but Grams had a relationship with Charlie long before I did. And I’m trying to respect that. Besides, it’s not like Charlie has given her Grams full disclosure about who I am. So maybe secrets are common between them.

  Max leans back in the chair and twines his fingers behind his head. “So, dude. We need to talk about this assignment business.”

  “How about instead we talk about why you didn’t go on your honeymoon,” I say. “You postponed? You, who have dreamed of trapping a woman on a secluded island since you were eleven?”

  Max sucks in a breath and looks away. His eyes narrow like he’s pained, but then he turns back with a quick smile. “We decided to do a big wedding, after all. None of this ‘quiet affair’ shenanigans anymore. Then we’ll honeymoon.”

  “Good man,” I say. “It’s bad manners not to throw your friends a party when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Speaking of parties…” Max puts his forearms on his knees and leans forward. “Heard you’ve hit up quite a few of them lately.”

  “You going get on my case, too?” I ask.

  “Seriously, D. You know you’re my bro, but you’ve got to slow down on the crap storm you’re spinning. I know you’re a demon at heart; so does everyone else. You don’t need to prove it, right?”

  I look at him, my lips pressed together. I know he’s looking out for my best interests, but he doesn’t know what’s going down in my head. How I feel like I don’t belong anywhere anymore. I’m not a demon, and I’m certainly not an angel, even if Big Guy did strap a liberator cuff around my ankle. I’ve never lived the kosher lifestyle, and now I’m supposed to fly to Denver, teach this random girl how to live a pure life, and, somewhere during all that, liberate her soul to heaven piece by piece? Give me a break. “I do what I do, Max.”

  “I hate you.” Max straightens in the chair. “But I love you, too. In, like, a completely sexual way.”

  “Are you even supposed to be here?” I ask, ignoring his last comment.

  He shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve had enough of people questioning your extracurricular evenings, I’ve had enough of people questioning my presence.”

  “The difference is,” I say, “I’m not risking the collectors finding us.”

  Max winces like I’ve hurt him, but it’s the truth. The collector cuff he wears could lead the other collectors, including Rector, straight to our doorstep. Not that it matters. My cuff is sending enough of a signal on its own. And they’d know where to find us, anyway. I tried to get Charlie to go into hiding, but she refused to leave after the collectors, including myself, ascended on Peachville. She lived in this big white house before everything happened, and she lives here now. Her words, not mine. I think it’s because of Grams. Because she doesn’t want to make her guardian move.

  It’s strange that liberators and collectors are now active enemies. Before I met Valery, I didn’t even realize liberators existed. But after that night in the forest when Rector took Charlie’s soul, the line was drawn. Now we’re divided. The liberators want to keep Charlie’s body safe so she can lead us into a hundred years of peace, and the collectors want… We don’t know yet.

  I realize there’s no reason to make Max feel like he’s doing anything wrong. “Look. If they were going to return, they would have already. They know they lost. I collected Charlie’s soul, and Rector sure as hell would’ve come after me, except he killed Blue. Because the collectors aren’t allowed to hurt humans, they’re probably lying low to keep from starting a war with Big Guy. So for now, we’re good. You’re good.”

  “We need to discuss this Boss Man title,” Max says. “Needs a good rebranding, don’t you think? I mean, he’s not really our boss anymore.”

  I rub a hand over my jaw and feel stubble there. It still amazes me that I can do things like grow facial hair when I’m technically dead. “Ex-Boss?” I suggest.

  “Lame,” Max says. “The Warden?”

  I let out a sharp laugh. “Not bad. He is oppressive.” Rubbing my hands together, I think harder. “I’ve got it.”

  “Give it to me,” Max says, his face lighting up with excitement.

  “Lucille. It’s like Lucifer, but with a touch of femininity.”

  I expect Max to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gets real serious and moves to the edge of his seat. “Dante?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If I told you Lucille was easy, would you believe me?”

  “I would.”

  Max laughs and starts to say something, but I hold up my hand to stop him. I’m not sure I’m right until I raise my nose in the air and take another whiff. Then I close my eyes in ecstasy. Bacon. “It’s ready.” When I open my eyes, I notice Max looks ready to bolt from his chair. “Don’t even think about it.”

  He jerks like he’s going to race me down the stairs. Or tackle me. I’m not sure which, but I’m ready for both. I flick my finger just to screw with him, and he leaps to his feet.

  Me. He’s definitely barreling toward me.

  We lock arms like sumo wrestlers and grunt like the pigs we’re fighting for.

  “There’s…probably enough…for both of us,” Max growls through the strain.

  I push my weight into him, knowing there’s no way he’s winning this ridiculous battle. And a battle it is. Because I’d fight to the death for crispy, fatty bacon. “Then stop fighting me… you…moron.”

  “Okay,” Max says nonchalantly, and at the same he time moves to the side and makes a break for the stairs.

  I fall forward from momentum and hit the ground. Then I go to take off after him, thinking I can still make it to the kitchen first—when something catches my eye. I turn toward Charlie’s bedroom window, and my face scrunches up with confusion.

  When I move closer, my confusion switches to alarm. The something that caught my eye is a dude I’ve never seen before. He’s staring up at Charlie’s window, and something tells me he’s been there awhile.

  Before I can think, I turn and run.

  3

  Lurker

  I see Max in my peripheral vision as I hit the bottom of the stairs, but I can’t see his face. All I’m focused on is getting outside and finding out who’s creeping around Charlie’s place.

  “Beat you, jerk-off!” I hear Max say as I whip the door open.

  I don’t close it behind me; I just barrel through and head toward the street. Stalking down the walkway, I glance left and right. I spot him striding away from Charlie’s house. He’s about six feet tall and has a bright blue baseball cap on. I’d know the miniature “C” logo on the back anywhere, because it was born in my hometown in honor of my favorite team—the Chicago Cubs.

  “Hey, lurker,” I yell out, my pulse racing. “Stop.”

  The guy doesn’t turn to look over his shoulder. He doesn’t speed up. He just keeps on walking. I half think I’m out of my mind, that I used to be this guy who was chill about everything, and now suddenly I’m this roided-out freak show chasing guys down the street. But I was chill before I met Charlie. I was chill before I started caring about someone other than myself.

  Now I’m this guy.

  “Dude, can you not hear me?” I ask, louder. He’s only
a few yards away when he turns a corner and I lose sight of him. I jog, then sprint, toward the curve in the road. My heart picks up, and I breathe harder. For five weeks I’ve been on edge, waiting for something like this to happen. Now I’ve caught a guy spying on Charlie. I don’t sense dargon—the material our cuffs are made from—but maybe it’s because I’m too panicked. I try to calm myself down and focus, but it’s hard when I’m sprinting toward a creeper who’s out of sight. The bend in the road is near, and I move even faster, sweat pricking my brow. I turn the corner—

  And slam into the enormous guy.

  He reaches out and grabs my shoulders. “Whoa, bro. Watch where you’re going.”

  With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I go for the dude’s midsection. I take him to the ground and pin his shoulders to the pavement. Then I get close to his face and snarl, “Who are you?”

  “No, who are you?” The guy, who looks to be my age, says through labored breaths. “You’re the one who just tackled me.”

  “I’m the guy who’s going to bury you if you don’t tell me what you were doing outside her house.” I shove his shoulders back toward the asphalt to drive my point home.

  “Outside her house?” he says like he’s confused. Then understanding relaxes his features. Or maybe it’s that he just came up with a convincing lie. “Oh, crap. Must be Easton. My brother. Was he wearing a blue baseball hat?”

  I ease up a little, because yeah, he was. My eyes rake over the guy beneath me, and I decide this wasn’t the same person who was watching Charlie. This guy is even taller and broader than…Easton. “He was looking up into my girl’s window,” I bark, my muscles still balled up with tension.

  “Look, can you let me up?” he says. “I’m not trying to fight you.”

  I look the guy dead in the eyes, and I don’t like what I see. His open palms, his half smile—he’s trying almost too hard to show he’s not a threat. But I can’t keep him pinned down forever, as much as I’d like to, so I get to my feet and yank him to a standing position. “Talk.”

  After brushing off his dark blue shirt, he offers his hand. “I’m Salem.”