It was in the rules, those f**king rules the Maker had set out back in the beginning. Such a small little procedural notation … one that neither she nor Nigel had paid any attention to.
But oh, God, Jim and she could never be together at the end of the war now.
There was a footnote in the rules that said if either she or Nigel were killed or “died” in the line of duty, Jim would take their place—and another savior chosen. It had seemed like such a strange provision to make, although she had supposed at the time it was there so that no one decided to target the opposition on a personal level. It also detailed a line of succession so that the war could continue to a natural conclusion, as well as sanctions if either side took such a drastic step.
But Nigel had taken his own life, so there was no way to punish him.
And she was willing to bet the archangel had done it specifically to come between Jim and her—an ultimate f**k-you.
Because that archangel had razzed her about her feelings for the savior during their meetings with the Maker. And Nigel had always been a stickler for the letter of the law, so to speak.
No happily ever after for her and Jim now—whether she lost or she won.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to lose him—she was either going to win, and they were going to rule the Heavens and Earth together … or she’d lose, and he would choose to immolate himself with her, going up into flames like something out of Shakespeare because he couldn’t fathom an existence without her.
Driven by a horrible agony, Devina ran out into the road and crossed to the other side, not tracking where she was going, chased even though she was alone.
Goddamn therapist. Oh, sure, it was just great to form attachments to things other than things. Just f**king wonderful.
This was such a terrific help.
Chapter Thirty-nine
As the sun came up, Adrian was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee that did not taste as good as the stuff Sissy had made the morning before. With any luck she’d come down again, take pity on his sorry ass, and hook him up. If not? He might have to go the Egg McMuffin route.
He really didn’t like this waiting, though, and not just because he was hungry—and the coffee really did suck.
Shifting around and trying to get that bum leg quiet, he was stiffer than he usually was. Then again, he’d had to stay on his feet while he’d been down below with Devina yesterday, and the effects of all that vertical were still with him.
Man, that demon could follow through when she wanted something.
Tenacity like a parasite. Natch.
He’d really enjoyed humiliating her—watching her work so hard and get nowhere? Short of killing her, which he couldn’t do without her precious mirror, it had been utterly satisfying.
Better than a f**kload of orgasms he wouldn’t have wanted anyway.
“What’s up, man.”
Ad looked over his shoulder and cursed. “I was hoping you were Sissy. We need breakfast and she’s a hell of a cook.”
As Jim wandered in, he was walking stiffly, too, which was a surprise. All the grim on his face was not, however.
For some reason, Ad thought of the guy staring at Sissy: It was the only time he’d ever seen the savior look alive. And not as in pissed off.
They were both dead men walking in a lot of ways.
“What happened to you last night?” Ad asked.
“We gotta talk.”
Something in that voice made Ad straighten in his chair, even though his hip didn’t appreciate the added stress. “What.”
Jim took his own goddamn time getting some of that watery coffee. And he waited until he was seated across the table to drop his bomb: “Nigel’s gone.”
Ad frowned. No way he’d heard that right. “Gone as in ‘taking a breather from the game’? As in, ‘off to the tailors’? Or…”
“He’s gone.”
An icy-cold mantle settled across Ad’s shoulders. “Disappeared, you mean.”
“No.” Jim shook out a cigarette from a pack of Reds and lit it with his Bic. “I found him dead in his tent last night.”
Ad’s jaw unhinged, and he let his mouth fall open. “You can’t … no, that’s not…”
Jim answered without words, just staring right into his face.
“Give me one of those,” Ad muttered, holding out his palm.
“You don’t smoke.”
“This morning I do.”
Jim popped a brow, but shared, pushing over his cigs and his lighter. And Ad made like the guy, putting a cancer stick between his teeth, bringing flame to tip, breathing in.
The sense of suffocation was not remotely pleasurable. The buzz that came shortly after the inhale? Not bad.
“I was with that demon all day long,” Ad said, shaking his head. “How did Devina—”
“Nigel’s hand was on the hilt.”
Ad felt his eyes bulge. “He did it?”
“Far as I can tell.”
Adrian shook his head again. “Colin. Oh, shit, Colin—did you see him?”
“We traded some words, yeah.” Jim rubbed his chest and grimaced. “He had some sharp points to make.”
Adrian scrubbed his face. He’d never particularly cared one way or the other about those archangels. At their worst, they were obstacles to work around. At best, they were so busy with their tea and crumpets, they stayed out of his way.
Well, except for that one time. At band camp.
But after losing Eddie? He felt for Colin. Best unkept secret in the universe, those two archangels had been. So that must hurt.
“This f**king war.”
“Amen to that,” Jim said, leaning back and tapping his ash into the sink.
Being immortal, Ad had never thought much about dying in the conventional “game over” sense. Lately? It was on his mind constantly—no doubt thanks to bunking in with Eddie.
Hard to lose your other half.
On that note … “Everything okay with Sissy?” As Jim glanced up in surprise, Adrian rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s still none of my business what you do with her. But … she’s okay. She’s a good girl, that one—what.”
“Ahhh, that’s just a big fat one-eighty for you. As recently as yesterday morning, you were ready to clock me about her.”
Adrian took another inhale and then stared at his cigarette’s tip, because it was easier than looking at the savior. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t really blame you for trying to find a safe haven in all this. Just be careful. No foundation is sturdy in this game.”