by Kate Martin
Tassos swatted her hand away but did not call for Death again. Stupid, to forget her origins. He would not subject his mistress to her. Not willingly. “Hold me here as long as you want. It will not change my answer.”
She pouted, an expression that came off as more sinister than pitiful. “But you don’t even know what we want yet.”
“I can imagine.” The same madness that burned behind Kai’s eyes burned in hers. What a pair they made.
“At least let us make our offer. Besides, we’ll have work for you in a few moments.”
Behind him, Kai laughed.
The hellish air became suddenly cold. Or maybe the chill was internal. Either way, Tassos resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Kai walked back into view, tucking himself under Lillianna’s arm. She stroked his hair in a gesture that was a perverse combination of motherly and lustful. Tassos remembered when the boy was little more than a half-starved child. Now, with a growth spurt and puberty behind him, Kai stood less than a head shorter than the ancient demon, his body just acquiring the broader shoulders of manhood. He supposed Lillianna had been waiting for that, but he couldn’t help but notice the scab that indicated a split lip, and the bruises along the boy’s throat. Things hadn’t changed that much.
“You’ll give me what I want,” Kai said, a gleam of sadistic madness growing.
Every instinct in Tassos screamed danger, but running would only garner him a worse fate. So he stayed, carefully playing the part of the nonchalant clown. “I don’t like to encourage spoiled children.”
Lillianna continued to draw circles in Kai’s hair. “But what of beautiful women?”
Tassos shrugged.
“Kai, darling.” She pressed her lips to his temple, her smile making Tassos even more nervous. “Why don’t you release your cover now? Show our friend what we’ve been working on. I’m sure it will help him make the right choice.”
Slipping from her arm with a grace that should have never belonged to a gangly teenage boy, Kai walked across the room as though there were things to be stepped around and over. He crouched in a corner, and, with a grin that rivaled any hellion’s madness, he swiped his fingers across the dirt floor, destroying a labrynth.
Three bodies appeared on the ground as though they had never been hidden from sight—or from hearing. They writhed in agony, their bodies twisted and contorted, bloodied and bruised. Screams that shattered the nerves and rattled the air echoed off the glass walls. Each lay in a pool of their own blood, blood that had been twisted and drawn into turns and lines and loops that looked all too familiar. Above them, dark tendrils of Death’s children reached into their souls, latching on and preparing for the final journey. Without a reaper, they could not go, and Death herself seemed reluctant to come. Her voice whispered against Tassos’s mind, not words, but feelings, questions—fears.
Death did not bother a reaper, but this… “What have you done?”
Kai stood and walked to one of the twisted bodies—a woman? Kneeling, he played with the lines of the labrynth that held her, watching with a bland curiosity as her screams changed from high-pitched cries to low moans. “I’m working. All great things have to be practiced. But the tendril we got from you years ago isn’t enough. Death keeps getting her hands in.”
“You cannot prevent Death. Especially from this. Look at them. Of course she comes. You have living human souls in Hell.”
Lillianna stood by Tassos as close as a lover, closer than he wanted her to be. But he did not back away. Her breath was cool heat on his face. “I need your mistress to stay away.”
“No.”
“Tassos, be reasonable.” Her moonlight skin had shifted a bit—as though eclipsed.
He needed to tread lightly. Lillianna in her true, obsidian demonic form was more than anyone could handle. All the light would go out. “I am. You cannot do this. Their souls will be beyond soothing.”
“I am not concerned with their souls.”
“Then what do you want?”
She smiled and shook her head. Beyond, Kai moved from the woman to a second body. Tassos cared to look no more than that.
“Just cut him open and take it,” Kai said, once again altering the sounds and screams in the room.
“It doesn’t work that way with reapers.” Lillianna tapped Tassos’s chest with one long finger. “It has to be given.”
Now he knew what she wanted. “No.”
“I don’t much care for that word.”
“I can’t give you what you want.”
“Can’t?”
“Won’t.”
“Now, Tassos, you aren’t going to stand against me, are you?”
“That wouldn’t be very wise of me, would it?”
“Not at all.”
He glanced past her to the poor souls and the torture Kai inflicted. “Aren’t you going to make me an offer?”
That finger on his chest tapped him twice, then circled, and she smiled. “Of course. Give me what I want, and I’ll let you take these souls here.”
“Why? So you can bring in new ones?”
“The experiment won’t take long. Kai will finish, and you can pass the mortals to the other side.” She said “mortals” like one usually said “vermin.”
Kai had moved on to the third body and a more masculine scream threatened to turn Tassos’s stomach. He suddenly remembered all the ale he had drunk. Funny, how sobriety could come so quickly under certain circumstances. Mentally, at least.
Sobriety. Oh, sweet Lady Death. It was too perfect. His solution. Lillianna would get what she wanted, but it wouldn’t be what she thought. By the time she figured it out, he would be long gone. Far from Hell, and far from those silver-brown eyes that promised nothing good.
“Fine.”
Lillianna raised a finely plucked eyebrow. “Fine?”
Kai shot to his feet. “Did he just agree?”
“I did. So here.” He unbuttoned the neck of his shirt, exposing his chest. “Take what you want, and let’s be done with it.”
Lillianna had her claws in him before he finished speaking. Blood leaked from thin wounds, black and pearly, pure as the day it had been given to him—or so she would think. Cupping her hand, she collected his blood in the palm of her hand. When Kai approached with a small glass vial, she poured that black pool carefully inside, spilling not a drop.
Satisfied that she had enough, Tassos swiftly wiped his hand over his bleeding chest and his flesh instantly knitted and healed. The excess blood on his hand seeped back inside, returning to its place at his heart.
With a childlike glee that verged on mania, Kai rushed to one of his three labrynths. With a precision that Tassos never would have thought him capable of, Kai dripped one single drop of black blood into the lines.
The tendrils of Death’s searching hold snapped back, releasing the soul, and drifting away, out of sight.
Below, the human man continued on in pain.
With a knife that appeared out of nowhere, Kai cut into his chest, cracking bone and severing muscle. Unholy strength let him reach into the cut, break the ribs apart, and pull free a red, beating heart.
He wanted to look away, really he did, but Tassos couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight. Hands not yet finished growing, holding a living heart. He waited, not breathing for fear of losing his hard-won composure. The body went still, dead still. The heart continued to beat.
Lillianna’s joy was palpable on the air, as was Kai’s. “Brilliant,” she whispered.
Kai stood, carrying the heart to her, eyes alight and body shaking with excitement. “I told you. I told you I could do it.”
“You certainly did.” She grabbed him by the face and kissed him.
Lady Death…forgive me.
When neither of them stopped him after one step towards the bodies, Tassos continued on, taking their lack of attention for their consent. He reached into the still body first, pulling the so
ul free and standing it on shaky feet. With a detached proficiency, he did the same for the other two, the agonizing pain of their bodies ending with the removal of the soul.
Three disembodied figures stood before him, visible only to reaper-kind. They resembled their human-selves, losing only the appearance of being solid flesh. If any part of the job bothered him, this was it.
And this time was the epitome of his worst nightmares.
Three pairs of broken, tortured, and burdened eyes stared at him, confused and waiting.
Tassos had no desire to know how many days they had been down there as toys for Kai’s amusement.
“Come along,” he said to them, omitting the friendly smile he usually offered the dead. It would make no difference to them. “This way.” Unconcerned with what any of them had done in life, he led them towards the ascending path of light. No one deserved what they had been through.
Behind him, he heard Lillianna and Kai and their sick celebration. They danced around the workshop, both of them flourishing their powers. He felt Lillianna’s partial transformation to her demon form—it was too much like his mistress, Lady Death.
Enjoy yourselves. See how long it lasts.
Pure reaper blood was capable of all sorts of things. But Tassos had never fully grasped the idea that his body was a temple, not to be decorated with alcohol and the mystical plants of the earth.
Inebriated reaper blood…well, he’d drink to that.
Gabriel sat at her desk, again. Examining the papers she had collected during the past years, again. Nothing had changed. Nothing. And the lack of progress frayed her nerves. How could one boy, a boy unique enough to be the only one of his kind, elude her for so long?
If it hadn’t been for the short storm, the freak burst of energy that had shaken the myst, Haven, and the Mortal Realm alike, she would have thought he had disappeared completely.
She knew better, because Oriel still felt him in the myst on a regular basis. And the fact that Oriel seemed oddly pleased with the boy’s progress in learning how to work his way in and out of the myst was irritating, infuriating, and demoralizing. They were supposed to want the child contained, not competent.
The pen in her hand snapped, splattering ink over the immaculately blank sheet that sat atop the others. Her frustration flung the two pieces across the desk.
Holding her breath to contain her anger, Gabriel shoved her chair backwards and stood, walking to the open window and leaning out. The cool breeze caressed her cheeks and urged her to calm, but her nerves could not be soothed. Her knuckles strained against the hard stone windowsill, muscles tensing and straining. She looked out over the city; the orderly streets and immaculate buildings, all a pristine white that glimmered in the ever present light The One had bestowed upon their world. Darkness never fell here, finding its place only in the few shadows that were cast by the inhabitants. Even the citadel, the great looming presence that overlooked the whole of Haven, with spiraling towers and stretching balconies, cast not a single shadow on the city below.
Only the living things—seraph and singers—carried that small bit of darkness into the holy realm. It was a curse they constantly sought to eliminate. To purge the darkness completely, that would be a feat worthy of their omniscient and all powerful One. Perhaps then, and only then, would The One return to them. Perhaps then, the silence would end and the doubt would fade away. They still had their belief, certainly, but after century after century passed with no appearances from The One, sinful doubt rose. The Messengers assured them all The One was perfectly fine, simply resting, trusting them to do what was right and to take orders without question. But some remembered the days when The One walked among them, and these days without just seemed a painful nightmare.
The One tested them, even when not present. Was this boy her test? To what end?
The knock on her door startled her.
“Yes, what is it?” Gabriel barked without bothering to look at the door. She went back to her desk and crumbled the ruined paper, driving it between her fists until it was tiny and compact, the edges cutting her hands.
The door brushed against the polished floor, a single footstep, then a serene voice. “Gabriel.”
She knew that voice.
Oriel stood in the doorway, pale and slender, a wisp. Singers rarely left the myst, but when they did, they did not venture this far into the physical realm of Haven. Just the act of holding the handle of the door seemed foreign and odd. Her fingers never quite stilled, as if uncertain.
Her eyes looked more than certain though, and focused on Gabriel.
“Oriel, what is it?” Gabriel had never seen Oriel, or any singer for that matter, so unnerved.
“I have seen something.”
“You could have sent me a report.”
“This cannot wait.”
Gabriel stood, moving around her desk and crossing the room. She didn’t like the look of distress that had shattered Oriel’s normally untouchable calm. “What is it then?”
“A ritual. To be done this next new moon. The things that will be done…” Her voice failed her.
The new moon was the next night to fall. “Where?”
Oriel collected herself, causing Gabriel to wonder what the singers saw on a daily basis. “They call the country Chanae, and the mountains line their southern border. The temple was once dedicated to the former Seraph of Death and Passing.”
Lillianna. The name had not been spoken in centuries. Not by the creatures of light.
“My sister’s child has seen this as well. And the images in the myst are muddled, unclear, and devastating. It is not meant to happen. Someone has changed things, and the change was beyond us until now.”
Demon’s work. Gabriel knew all too well what their broken kin were capable of. She remembered the first war and the second. She knew what the lack of heart did to her kind, and she knew the dedication, the determination, the single-mindedness that was needed for transformation from one to the other. She had seen it done, had watched as her closest friend drove her hand into her own chest and pulled.
Gabriel shoved away the painful memories that distracted her. “I know the temple,” she said. “I will mobilize my units immediately.”
Oriel nodded once, but her gaze remained clear and intent. Gabriel could not bring herself to break eye contact. The effect of the normally distant eyes boring into her own with a clear intent kept her immobile, the singer’s willing audience until released.
“Hurry,” Oriel said. “If this is not stopped, the results will alter everything. The whole of the myst will be rewritten. And the child will spin even further from our hands.”
— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE —
I’m going with you.”
Sighing was beyond him at this point. They’d been having this argument for the better part of the day. Alec held his breath and counted all the way to three. “You are not coming. And that’s final. It’s been final for the past five turns, at least.” He held his hand out for the knife he had given Bri to sharpen, believing that having something to do would appease him. Apparently not.
Bri slapped the knife, hilt first, into Alec’s hand. The expression on his face was one Alec did not often see—determination and a little defiance. What had happened to the kid who went along with his every word without so much as a squeak?
“You’re taking Dorothea,” Bri pointed out.
“Dorothea is a nine hundred year old witch.”
“Exactly. She’s an old woman.”
“She can take care of herself.”
“And I can’t?”
The easy answer was also the hurtful one. Alec choked on it, but he managed to keep it to himself. “Bri, please. You know the answer to that.”
“You’ve taught me a few things. Why can’t I help?”
“You already did help. You figured it out.”
“I can do more than that.”
“Okay.” Alec slipped the knife into his belt, beside the half-dozen other wea
pons he had collected, and sat on the edge of the bed, putting himself eye-to-eye with Bri. “How can you help?”
Bri lit up, which made Alec feel a little cruel, but then, after a number of false starts and half said sentences, that feeling went away. This was for his own good.
“I could—If you let—What if I…?” Bri bit his lip and frowned. “I hate you.”
“Thanks, kid. Just what every man wants to hear before going to battle. But you see my point now?”
The bed dipped when Bri sank down beside him. “I’m not a strategist, how should I know how I could fit in? You could give me something to do. I know you could. Even the weakest member of the group contributes something.”
Maybe Carma’s right, he is reading too much. “Bri, you already contributed. We wouldn’t be going if it weren’t for you, so don’t worry about that.” He put a hand on the back of Bri’s head, ensuring eye contact. “But you will be safer here. The gods only know what we’ll run into there.”
“How can I be safer here when you’re all going there?”
“Brannick and Mrs. McCallahan will stay here with you. They both know more than one way to use the good silver.”
Bri’s laugh wasn’t swallowed in time to keep Alec from hearing it.
“Here.” He took another knife from the bed, one he hadn’t decided to take, and handed it to Bri.
Bri turned it over in his hands. “This is the knife you gave me the night we met.”
“Glad you remember it. Keep it with you. Use it if you have to.” Marc, watch over him. He pressed a kiss to Bri’s forehead before standing.
“I really can’t come?” A final, futile plea.
“Really. Besides, you can’t travel with us the way we’re going.”
“Through Hell.” He sounded defeated.
“Yes.”
“What’s it like?”
“Hell?”
“Yes.” Bri looked up at him, the knife still held tightly in both hands.
“Hot. Oppressive. Full of dark magic.”
Bri nodded, but his gaze was focused on the knife in his hands, and his thoughts seemed far away.
More than one nerve twitched in Alec. “I’m serious, Bri. Stay here. No stupid heroics. Do you understand me?”