“Jack would never hurt any of us!” Damien insisted.
“Honey,” I touched his shoulder gently. “You have to remember that this isn’t your Jack. Your Jack is dead. This Jack is like those things that came out of the bloody tree fountain. I know it’s hard. Of course you’re emotional, but—”
“He recognized me. He was attacking Darius, but he stopped when I called his name,” Damien insisted. “And I’m not being overly emotional.”
Aphrodite snorted.
Damien skewered her with his eyes. “What if it was Darius? What if Darius had been killed last year, and suddenly appeared out of nowhere—changed, but alive? What would you do? Or rather, what wouldn’t you do?”
Aphrodite met Damien’s gaze. “My heart would break. I don’t know how else to answer your questions. Damien, we’re only trying to keep you from getting hurt, or worse.”
“Don’t,” Damien said. “I’m not a child. I don’t need protection. I need answers and I need your trust.”
“But can we trust you not to put yourself in danger?” I spoke gently. When he didn’t answer, I added, “We’re your best friends. We love you. We want Jack back, too. But we’re not as emotionally involved as you are. We see with more than our hearts, and what we see is a kid who is, and isn’t, Jack. Can you please trust that we’re not patronizing you?”
Damien’s shoulders slumped, though he didn’t take his gaze from Jack. “I hear you, Z. I hear all of you. My mind understands, but my heart doesn’t. Not at all.”
“Let us help you,” Shaunee said.
“We’re all here for you,” Stevie Rae added.
“He’s breathing okay,” Rephaim said. “He’ll be fine when he wakes.”
“He smells wrong,” Darius said.
“He smells like I used to,” Stevie Rae said.
“And me,” Stark added. He glanced at Damien. “And you know what that means.”
Damien nodded jerkily. “He’s a red fledgling who has not retained all of his humanity.”
“Or maybe any of it,” Stevie Rae said. When Damien opened his mouth to respond, she lifted a hand, cutting him off. “I know more about this than you do. So does Stark. You gotta listen to us.”
“I know. Forgive me. I’ll listen to you.”
“There’s nothin’ to forgive,” Stevie Rae told him gently. “We get it. We all get it.”
“It’s why he’s not dead,” Aphrodite said.
“You saved him for me?” Damien’s eyes spilled over as silent tears tracked down his cheeks.
“Of course,” Aphrodite said. “Stevie Rae and Stark found their humanity, maybe—”
Jack jolted awake, struggling against the zip ties that kept him tightly bound as he hissed and snarled.
“Jack! Jack, it’s okay! Everything’s going to be okay! It’s me—Damien.”
Jack turned his red-eyed glare on Damien. I saw it. I saw the flash of recognition. Then Jack’s lip curled. “Dead! You’re dead!” His voice was bizarre—a terrible dark twin of Jack’s sweet softness. It shocked us all into silence.
Well, all of us except Aphrodite.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked him.
His eyes turned to her. “Priestess?”
“Well, sure. You can call me Priestess. Who are you?”
“You know me. I am Jack. Why do you cover your Mark?” His words were short, hard, clipped—as if speaking took too much effort. “I must feed!” He twisted his head, obviously checking out Rephaim’s neck.
Aphrodite raised the Taser. “Um, no. You won’t be eating anyone. We’ll get you a nice blood smoothie when we’re home.”
“What did you mean by dead?” I found my voice again. “Were you talking about Damien?”
Jack stared at me. “Yes. And you. Dead.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Stark snapped.
Jack’s eyes flew to where Stark was fighting against the blowing snow. “General?”
I saw Stark’s startled reflection in the rearview mirror. “My name is Stark. Do you know me?”
“We all know you, General. You lead the Blue Army. But your Mark is wrong. Why is it red?” His gaze searched the SUV. “Where is the High Priestess?”
“Well, there are several of them in this car,” Stark neatly avoided Jack’s question about his Mark. “Which one are you looking for?”
“Neferet, of course,” he said.
“Fuck,” Aphrodite said. She turned all the way around in her seat so she could face Jack. “Do you mean High Priestess Neferet, or Goddess Neferet?”
Jack looked confused. “There is only one Neferet. She is our High Priestess. Our only High Priestess.”
“But you called me ‘High Priestess.’”
“No. I called you ‘Priestess,’” he said.
“Okay, so, Neferet isn’t an immortal?” I asked.
Jack stared at me. Then, very deliberately, he pressed his lips together and stopped speaking.
“Jack?” Damien spoke gently to him. “What’s wrong? Why don’t you answer Zoey?”
Jack refused to look at Damien. When he spoke his voice was flat—emotionless. “You are rebels.”
“We’re rebels? What kind of rebels?” Damien said.
Jack didn’t answer.
Damien tried again. “Talk to me, Jack. Please.”
Jack’s gaze lifted reluctantly to find Damien. I saw it again. Saw the shock of recognition flash through his red-tinged eyes. “You are dead,” he repeated stubbornly.
Damien’s throat moved spasmodically as he swallowed several times, obviously trying to collect himself. Finally, he said, “But I’m not. You see me. You hear me. I’m alive. And I love you.”
Jack shook his head. “Not enough to live.”
“What? I don’t understand,” Damien said.
“My Damien killed himself six months and two days ago. He didn’t love me enough to live for me. You aren’t my Damien.”
Damien gasped, his hand going to his throat. He opened and closed his mouth, though no words came out.
“We’re at the gate,” Stark said. “How about putting our, uh, guest in one of the basement rooms under the Field House? I could rig a lock on one of them pretty easily.”
“Gate? Field House?” Jack looked frantically out the window. “No! Not here. This is not where I belong. Take me to the tunnels. I belong in the tunnels.”
A terrible foreboding wrapped around my stomach and squeezed. “You mean the tunnels under the depot?”
When he didn’t speak, Stark shouted, “Answer her!”
“Yes. The depot tunnels. You all know it. It is where the Red Army lives.”
“Double fuck!” Aphrodite said. “That’s probably where the rest of those things took off to.”
“Ah, hell!” I said. “The restaurant!” I didn’t have to check the time. The Depot Restaurant, run by the House of Night, was open all night—every night. It was still several hours before dawn, which meant it was still open and still serving late-night Tulsa diners, along with any vampyre or fledgling who wanted to splurge on fine dining. I scrambled for my phone. “No service! Does anyone have service?”
Everyone frantically checked their phones—no one had service.