Page 84 of What Doesn't Kill Us

“You don’t say?”

She nods, adjusting herself a bit in my arms as she explains, “That was Lilith’s primary goal after securing my future. I don’t think initially that was her plan, and her shift in perspective had more to do with meeting you than anything else.”

I frown. “What do I have to do with it?”

“They led all of us to believe you were the evil in the world, but it turns out this was wrong. Once I took a moment to get a closer look, I knew it was a lie. While The Dead never worked for any one person, a lot of the cleanups they’ve done likely were unjust. This had already been happening less and less frequently once Lilith took over, but there were still the occasional problems, and she didn’t want to do that anymore. She wanted to work for good, to stop doing the bidding of the powerful and start working for those who would be crushed by them. That’s why she’d shifted the focus to where she was doing more protecting than killing. Most of those people would be dead or moved, but if she couldn’t save them, then she’d do her best to offer sanctuary for their loved ones. It was a choice. We all have a choice.”

I smile down at her, allowing a small trickle of relief to flood through me. While this new plan is not without risk, at least it’s a risk for good instead of evil.

I glance around, noting the number of people rushing around, working together. A black van slowly pulls up, unable to drive all the way in because of the surrounding carnage. I adjust my arms and move to stand, but Tony and Matt are there. They take her from me, allowing me a moment to rise, and then they place her back in my arms.

She complains a bit, telling me she can walk on her own, but I shush her, carrying her to the waiting van. The medics have a board ready, and they take a hold of her, placing her on it while she continues to glare at me.

I turn back to Matt and Tony, who both followed us to the van. “You got us?”

They both nod, so I continue, “Give them a choice. They’re welcome to go about their lives and pretend none of this ever happened. Or they can join us and start fighting for the other side. The choice is theirs. If anyone is scared for their family or has any other extenuating circumstances, we need to follow up on, make a note of it. We’ll do what we can.”

Toni interrupts, “There’s a young man in the main part of the building with a knife wound. His name is Erik, and his favorite color is pink. Please make sure they tend to him.”

They both nod again, then turn to continue taking care of business.

I take a last look around, catching sight of Agatha across the way, and she looks over at me, then waggles her fingers.

I shake my head, giving her an equally flippant wave.

Then I knock twice on the door of the van and step inside, closing it behind me.

Epilogue

Toni

Ican’tdecideifI have a stomach bug, food poisoning, or karma has finally come to kill me.

I’m on my third consecutive day of intermittently praying to the porcelain god, and I’m on the brink of madness. I can’t think of anything worse than puking. Or maybe I can, but puking is high up there on things I never, ever want to do again.

I finish retching for the millionth time, then close the lid to the toilet and rest my head on it. I must’ve dozed off for a bit because I’m roused by a noise, and when I look up, Darius is standing there, giving me an oddly speculative look. I swallow painfully and ask, “What are you looking at?”

He raises a brow at me, then moves to sit on the side of the tub, giving me a small smile as he holds out a brown paper bag. I eye the bag suspiciously, glancing up at his face as I respond, “What is that?”

He gives me a patient look. “You’ve been ill for a few days now. Do you think maybe you’ve got something more than a stomach bug?”

My stomach twists again, but this time, it’s not from any type of stomach issue. “What are you trying to say, Darius?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he waves the bag in the air and sputters, “Nothing, Toni. I’m not trying to say anything at all. I’m sure you’re fine. Everything is fine.”

My eyes narrow, and I’m working hard to suppress my urge to punch him. “Well, show me what’s in the bag.”

He gives me an impatient look, and for a moment, I think he might drop the subject and leave the room. But he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on my face as he reaches into the bag and pulls out a little box. He holds it out to me, and I eyeball it, my lips twisting. “And what is that for?”

He inclines his head at me and tsks. “Really? You know damn well what it’s for.”

“And why would I need that? Did you do something? Is there something we need to talk about? What have you done?”

His eyes widen, and his hand snaps back, the little box falling back into his own lap. “Um…how about accidents happen?”

I purse my lips and glare at him. “Accidents? Or one man’s crazy possessive mission to get me out of fieldwork and into the kitchen?”

He barks out a laugh. “We both know the kitchen is the last place I want you.”

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