Up From the Grave

Thirty-seven

Mencheres whisked us back to Chicago, but not to the large estate he shared with Kira. Once we reached the outskirts of the metropolitan area, we dropped down at the back of a two-story church.

It was well after midnight, so no lights were on inside. All the noise from the surrounding buildings made it impossible to discern if it was empty, though. It might be late, but parts of Chicago were still very much awake, and we were right outside the busiest district of the city.

Bones shifted the bundle he held and followed Mencheres to the side door. With how fast Mencheres had propelled us here, I hadn’t been able to confirm who was in the coat because the wind had snatched away my words. Now, the question fired out of me like a bullet from a gun.

“That’s Denise, isn’t it?”

The side door opened, and Mencheres went inside. Bones glanced back at me, hesitating.

“Yes.”

Relief turned my knees to jelly. Joy kept me upright, and anxiety caused my stomach to lurch. I could still see two distinct pieces beneath the coat Bones held.

“That’s Denise?” Tate said incredulously.

Ian let out a low whistle. “You’re right; Charles will kill you, and that’s only if she comes back from this. If she doesn’t, he’ll keep you alive so he can torture you for decades.”

Fear for my best friend caused my voice to tremble, not concern over Ian’s prediction.

“Can she come back from this? Sure, other demons said only bone of the brethren could kill them, but decapitation kills a hundred percent of the rest of the population.”

“Reckon we’re about to find out,” Bones muttered.

Then he disappeared inside through the same door Mencheres had. I followed them, too worried about Denise to comment about the irony of choosing a church to see if someone branded with demonic essence could resurrect herself.

The back section had a small kitchen, three offices, and a restroom. Mencheres and Bones passed by all of them, entering the main sanctuary by a side door. The scent of candles, incense, and wood polish perfumed the air. Stained glass bordered the upper perimeter of the sanctuary, transforming the ordinary light from the street into beams of mauve, blue, amber, and emerald. The colors illuminated the empty pews, the choir area, and the cross that hung front and center above the altar.

Katie stood below it, flanked by Gorgon, Kira, and a human man who looked vaguely familiar. I didn’t spare any of them a second glance because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my daughter. She was alive. Whole. Unhurt. As I stared, I was seized with the desire to hug her while spinning in deliriously happy circles—and the urge to drop to my knees while sobbing out my thanks to God.

Both actions would alarm her. She’d already made huge strides by standing there instead of running or trying to stab anyone, and seeing me break down in hysterics would hardly be reassuring.

Instead, I smiled as I approached with slow, measured steps.

“Hi, Katie. I see you’ve met my friends.”

Those colored hues danced over her face as she took a step toward me, her head cocked to the side.

“I stayed with them like you ordered,” she said in her high, musical voice.

Like I ordered? Before I could ask what she meant, Tate shouldered past me, stopping when he saw Katie. From his thunderstruck expression, he hadn’t believed what we told him about Denise until that moment.

“Katie,” he breathed in the same reverent whisper most people used when they were in church. Then he sank to his knees, his broad shoulders starting to tremble with sobs.

Her eyes widened, and she glanced behind her. Yep, alarmed, just as I’d figured. I nudged Tate, whispering, “Get it together, you’re freaking her out,” while keeping the smile on my face.

Bones provided ample distraction when he set the bulky coat on the nearest pew. As he peeled back the blood-sodden fabric, I wasn’t the only one who gasped at what was underneath.

An exact replica of Katie’s head rested against the tiny, slender body. Small, pale arms folded over it, almost making it look like the headless doppelganger was hugging it to her chest.

As disturbing as the sight was, I was more upset that there wasn’t a hint of regeneration in the exposed tissues. Denise wasn’t healing from the horrific injury.

Bones had the same concern.

“Nathanial,” he said tightly, “why hasn’t she grown a new head yet?”

Nathanial. Now I remembered; the gangly redhead was Denise’s much-older relative. He’d once been branded by demonic essence, too, which is why he hadn’t aged in the century since then.

“How long’s it been since this happened?” Nathanial asked, sounding more quizzical than concerned.

“Nearly two hours,” Bones said.

Logically, I knew he was right, but it felt like only minutes since we’d left the book depository. Emotions acted as their own sort of time machine, slowing it down or cranking it into fast-forward, depending on the circumstances.

“Why does that look like me?” Katie asked in a very calm tone.

I stifled my groan. I’d been so anxious about Denise that I hadn’t thought to shield her gaze. One day on the job and I was already a terrible mother, letting my child stare at a decapitated body.

“Um, I think we should go in the other room,” I began.

“She’s a shapeshifter,” Bones interrupted, answering the question instead of bothering about what Katie saw. Maybe it was because he was still drunk off demon blood.

When Katie continued to stare, Bones elaborated.

“Shapeshifters can transform into anything they see or imagine. Since people were after you, this one chose your form. That allowed Gorgon to take you away without their knowing that you’d left.”

“Why did this one help me?” she wondered.

I answered that, my voice resonant with emotion.

“Because she’s my friend, and she knew I didn’t want you to die.”

For the briefest moment, Katie’s facial mask cracked in a way I’d never seen before. Her mouth slowly curved into a tentative smile.

“Your deception was brilliant,” she said in her too-formal vernacular.

Terrible Mother Moment Number Two: I couldn’t bring myself to tell Katie that I hadn’t known about Denise’s switcheroo until the last few seconds before Thonos’s sword swung. Not only would I be admitting that I’d been unable to fulfill my promise to keep her safe only minutes after making it, but Katie had smiled at me. I’d lie my ass off to get another one of those.

“Thank you,” I said, fighting another urge to hug her.

All too quickly, her smile faded. “But now that it’s dead, you should take it away before it starts to smell.”

I winced, both at the cold reasoning and the fear that she might be right. Dear God, please let Denise come back from this! What she’d done went beyond friendship—and beyond bravery. I couldn’t stand that she might be gone forever from her selfless act. Even the thought made me want to weep over her remains until there was nothing left in me.

“Not ‘it,’ ” I said huskily. “She, Katie. She.”

We had a steep uphill battle to deprogram all of Madigan’s conscienceless training. Katie was seven, and her body count might be in the dozens, but somewhere inside that prematurely aged militant shell was a little girl. I just had to peel away the layers to find her.

“And Denise isn’t dead,” I added with a swift, mental prayer that I was right. “She’s coming back from this.”

Katie expressed her doubt with a slow, solemn blink.

“She is coming back, kiddo,” Nathanial agreed, his confident tone a balm to my fears. “I had the same thing happen to me once, and here I am, all in one piece. She’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Ian cast a sardonic glance at the cross above us.

“Better hope someone’s listening, mate, or once Charles arrives, we’re all fu—”

“Fully aware,” I interrupted, glaring at him. “Fully aware of how awful her loss would be.”

Ian snorted. “My language is the least of your concerns, Reaper.”

True, but . . . “Everyone has to start somewhere, Ian.”

“Quiet. I sense something.”

Mencheres’s voice cut through the church, drawing all eyes to him. At his grave expression, I tensed. Had one of the council members or Law Guardians followed us here?

Then a crackling noise snapped my gaze back to the pew, and I sucked in a horrified breath. Not-Katie’s decapitated head shrank, the skin and tissue evaporating with the same speed Trove’s had when I stabbed him a second time in the eye. That crown of dirty auburn hair changed too, curling up into nothingness as though being burned by invisible flames. Within seconds, only a bare skull was left. A cry escaped me when, with a pop, it imploded into itself, dissipating until all that remained was a small pile of dust.

“No,” I whispered. Oh, Denise, no!

Something rippled over the headless remains, grayish in color and so fast it reminded me of Remnants during a killing frenzy. Then it changed, becoming palest pink instead of ashen, exploding over that small, lifeless form like wave after wave of pounding surf. Instead of shrinking, not-Katie’s body swelled, increasing until clothes that had sagged from excess material now stretched and tightened.

I don’t remember moving toward her, but somehow I was standing over the pew, looking down in disbelief as mahogany-colored satin seemed to spill from the gaping hole in her neck. A pale globe followed, expanding like a balloon under a freely running faucet. Another blur of motion, and features became distinguishable amidst the canvas of new skin. Right as the top button popped off her bloodstained shirt from her body filling out to its normal, curvy proportions, dark eyelashes fluttered open, revealing hazel eyes blinking up at me.

“Cat,” Denise rasped. “Did . . . it work?”

I sank to my knees, a happy sob bursting out of me. It was the only response I was capable of.