Apocalypse Happens by Lori Handeland Page A

green. Something an army recruit might wear in basic training, which is kind of what this was.
    He appeared to have put on some weight. A good thing; the kid had been far too skinny. He was tall—probably six-two—and his feet and hands revealed the promise of more growth to come.
    His skin was darker than mine, lighter than Sawyer’s, his hair kinky and a gorgeous combination of gold and sun-streaked brown. His eyes were light—hazel right now, turning amber when his beast began to purr.
    I climbed out of the rental and confronted the boy. “I told you to run.”
    He rolled his eyes. “Why would I run away when I came there to save you?”
    “To save us.” I glanced at Sawyer, who shrugged. “Did you know he could do . . . whatever that was?”
    Sawyer shook his head.
    “Who taught you?” I demanded. “Summer?”
    The fairy had struck up a friendship with Luther, or perhaps it was vice versa. The kid had issues with strange men. I didn’t blame him. I’d seen what lay in his past, and it was much the same as what lay in Jimmy’s and my own—people we should have been able to trust proving untrustworthy.
    “The fairy has been obsessed with Sanducci, as usual.” Sawyer took a drag on a cigarette he hadn’t had an instant before, then blew out a stream of smoke on a sigh. “She’s been no help training the boy at all.”
    “So you’ve been training him?”
    “Some.”
    My gaze sought Luther’s. “That’s okay?”
    Luther nodded. Where, at first, he’d been unable to stand near Sawyer without twitching, would sidle closer to me whenever possible, now he seemed more confident, less uncertain and no longer frightened at all. Might have been teen bravado and very good acting, but I didn’t think so.
    “You’re sure,” I pressed.
    “I’m as powerful as he is.” The kid lifted his chin. “He tries anything, I’ll tear him up.”
    Behind the boy’s back Sawyer’s smirk was illuminated by the red-orange glow of his cigarette. We both knew better, but there was no point in telling Luther. If he felt safer believing he could take Sawyer, then let him. Sawyer would never touch Luther inappropriately. Sawyer had been touched that way enough himself.
    “Why’d you fight at all if you knew a spell to get rid of them?”
    “Because I could,” the boy said with all the arrogance of his youth and the pride of his lion.
    “Just because we can fight doesn’t mean we should.Especially if there’s a way to end the Nephilim without bloodshed.”
    Luther’s gaze flicked to mine. “I needed blood.”
    “Theirs?” He shrugged, which I took as a “yes.” “You aren’t ready to fight yet.”
    The boy’s shoulders straightened. “Am too. I been fightin’ all my life.”
    “Not things like this.”
    “I did fine.” He spread his big hands wide. “Not a mark on me.”
    “Anymore.”
    “I heal just like you and him.”
    “We aren’t indestructible, Luther. We can die.”
    “Speak for yourself,” Sawyer murmured, and I shot him a glare. He wasn’t helping.
    “You brought me here to become one of you,” Luther insisted. “I can’t if you don’t let me.”
    “But—”
    “He’s right, Phoenix,” Sawyer interrupted, flicking the remnants of his cigarette away. “He’s more prepared than you were.”
    Luther had known there were demons out there, had sensed them and fought, if not actual Nephilim, then humans who were close enough. When I’d discovered the whole demon deal, I was more shocked than I should have been.
    I was a cop once. I’d seen things that still made me start up in the night, sweaty and shaking. I should have figured out the score long before Ruthie’s death opened my eyes.
    I contemplated Luther. “You need to be more careful.”
    He snorted. “They’re all toast. I think they need to be more careful.”
    Which reminded me.
    “If Sawyer didn’t teach you the spell and Summer didn’t, then—”
    The air stilled, yet my hair stirred in an impossible breeze.