Page 123 of Savior
He only chuckles, and I find myself in another awkward silence before he speaks again.
“The Aztecs used them in rituals to commune with the realm of the dead.” Legion says, then clarifies, “Obsidian scrying mirrors, that is.”
“I’ll be joining that realm if Dean finds out about this.” I say, thinking back on how livid Dean had been that night I went to confront Legion on my own. “In fact, we both will. You should go… And please, don’t leave me any more gifts… And don’t follow me!”
“I’m afraid the only way you’re getting away from me, is if you get back in that car and return home.” Legion replies. I can’t help but wonder why he sounds like he actually cares about my safety. “As I stated before, this town isn’t what it used to be.”
“Dean thinks you’ve got something to do with that, too.” I say, turning around to lean my back against the railing, folding my arms as I look at him directly now. His face twists towards me beneath the hood, shrouded in darkness. Though, I can still make out his slight smile and sharp, smooth shaven jawline.
“Perhaps that Palo Santo is wearing off...” he sneers.
“You bought it from me, to use on Dean?” All of the questions I want to ask him are converging at the tip of my tongue, when laughter in the parking lot draws my attention away from him.
Two men are standing by my car, looking around. When they spot me, one of them points in my direction, jabbing his buddy in the arm before they start towards the pier.
“Case in point.” Legion growls.
He shoves away from the railing, stepping directly in front of me. Walking towards them, head on, his pace quickens with every step. His deliberate, aggressive strides slow the would-be muggers, or worse, to a standstill. They seem to look at him with a lot less confidence now.
Without the exchange of a single word, Legion lifts his arm, a shiny gun in his hand, as if it were dipped in chrome. When the twothugs see the gun, the moonlight bouncing off its shiny barrel, they turn tail and run back down the pier, across the parking lot and into the streets beyond. Legion tucks the gun back beneath his leather cut. Turning to me, he extends his hand in gesture for me to come to him.
I make my way slowly towards him, stopping just short of his reach.
“Allow me to escort you to your car, where I hope your next and only stop, is home.” He insists.
I can barely make out his features beneath the hood, yet I feel his stare. Those cold, pale eyes, boring into me.
“I want you to stop.” I take a step closer to him. In my growing desperation, I reach out to touch him, but he recoils from me. Almost violently, as if my touch might burn him. I let my hand fall back to my side. “Will you do that for me? Will you please stop whatever you’re planning to hurt him?”
Legion pulls in a deep breath, and I can feel a tension in the air forming between us again. It takes him a solid moment to speak, but when he does, it’s an angry growl. “From this moment forward, your fiancé isn’t the only one to expect better judgment from you!”
He snatches my arm, hauling me down the pier towards my car.
Frustratedly, I fish my keys out of my purse, beeping it unlocked as we come to stand beside it.
“After tonight, you won’t be able to reach me. Have a pleasant evening, Vanna.” He says, though his tone remains icy. He releases my arm, reaching for my car door to open it. I turn from him to get inside, but as I do, I feel his hand stroke down my hair against my back. His long fingers deliberately running through it.
I want to snap at him, tell him he just added to the list of all the reason’s Dean wants him dead… But I don’t. I don’t want to feed into whatever this animosity is between them. I glare at him instead.
“Why do you care about my judgement? Why are you acting as though you’re looking out for me now? Why send me flowers, when we all know you’re responsible for what happened to us in the cabin?”
My words seem to anger him further, but again, he doesn’t answer. He only shuts my door, stepping back to light up another damn cigarette.
“Stay the Hell away from us, Legion!”
As I pull away, I watch him, watch me, drive off through the cloud of his smokey sigh.
Surrounded by acres of cornfields, the two story, dilapidated old farm house sits at the end of a long driveway. Weeds and crabgrass growing through the crushed aggregate from years of neglect. There are a couple of old cars covered in rust, sitting on dry rotted tires, which look as though they’ve been sinking into the ground beside the house in the tall grass for a decade. There’s an Indian motorcycle parked near the front of the house, as well as a pair of older pickup trucks. Music thumps loudly inside. Might be a fair chance nobody even heard us ride up.
“House Of The Rising Sun.” Viking chuckles. “Seems fitting for this place.”
“The junky’s been in there about an hour. I followed him here on that Indian. Called you as soon as he stepped in the door.” Axel informs us. “Aside from him, I’ve seen a few men come and go. No other bikes. And they don’t stay long.”
“Sounds like this place might actually be a brothel.” Viking says. “A backwoods no-tell motel.”
“Or a crack den. Let’s go find out.” I say, pulling off my cut. I roll it up and shove it inside Serene’s saddle bag. Axel and Viking remove their cuts as well.
Making my way up the rickety wooden steps of the rotting front porch, I can already smell the combination of weed and burning crack through the wide-open, busted door.
