“The worst timing …” he muttered. “We’ll resume this later,” he promised. “Be good,” he said. “Don’t fuck any vampires.”
In what world was telling someone that normal?
“In hell,” he answered, winking at me as the wind lifted me into the air.
He stood and gave me a salute with his wine glass. “Remember, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And last, but not least—happy hunting.”
Chapter 12
Andre
The moment he awoke, Andre nearly choked on the pain in his heart.
Gabrielle’s gone once more, and she’s siphoning my soul away along with hers.
His last vision of her had been frightening. Those corded vines wrapped around her, sucking her under.
He rubbed his sternum, pinching his eyes shut. The bond soulmates shared might be made of nothing more than magic, but its absence physically hurt. Centuries of violence had taught him to handle pain, but … there was no preparing for this.
He forced himself off his bed, pushing past the vampires that had hauled him inside yesterday, after Gabrielle was dragged back to hell.
Gabrielle.
If this evening was anything like the previous one, then she’d be back on earth, wreaking havoc on the righteous. He straightened his posture and strode down the hall. He could only hope history repeated itself.
He found his human servants clustered in his conference room. They’d dragged some additional screens inside, and each played a different news clip. Unfortunately, none of them were of his soulmate.
“Any sign of her?”
“None since you went to sleep.”
Not surprising, but damn him and his illogical hope. He’d gotten so used to being around her that every second that ticked by without her was one he lamented.
My mate was right to be worried, Andre thought as he watched the news. Mortal news. For the last several centuries, the supernatural world had done a decent job cloaking itself from regular humans. But now it’d spilled over.
On the screen, demons set fire to buildings, dragged people out of their cars and high into the air only to drop them. Some had attacked leaders and important political figures. And what they weren’t doing, their human servants were. Organized crime had apparently ballooned within the last day.
Andre stroked his lower lip as he watched, his brows furrowed. Something larger than Gabrielle was going on, something she may or may not know about.
“The seer and the fairy?” he asked one of his men.
“They left hours ago.”
Andre turned to him. “Where did they go?”
“Sir, we don’t know.”
“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” Andre’s voice had gone quiet.
The man flinched, hearing the promise of violence in it. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Andre helped him. “The next time those two leave without a tail, I will hold you personally accountable.”
Andre’s phone rang. His mouth tightened when he saw who was calling.
“Where is she?” he answered.
“In a half hour, I’ll have instructions for you,” Leanne said. “If you want to ensure Gabrielle’s safety, I’ll need you to follow them to the letter. Until then, stay at Bishopcourt.” The line died before he could demand answers. He dialed her number only to be sent straight to voicemail.
My God, did no one fear him anymore?
Andre squeezed the phone tightly, then threw it across the room. It hit the wall, shattering into bits of plastic and metal. He threaded his hands over his head and stalked back and forth.
How dare she ask him to just wait. He stormed out of there. He needed to kill someone.
Gabrielle
Heat scorched me as my body forced its way up, my cold skin drinking it in greedily. Magic and power vibrated through me.
Since I’d arrived in hell, I’d wondered what exactly I was—not quite a vampire, not quite a siren or a human.
I understood now. My existence was a twist on the myth of Persephone, who supposedly came to earth for half the year. Instead of half the year, I came for half the day. I bet if I timed it too, it would be near twelve hours exactly.
Damp earth pushed me out, and I gasped in a lungful of air. Beneath me the ground shuddered, as though it wanted to throw me off its back. My hands dug into grass and soggy soil as I hunched over and caught my breath. The place smelled like old bones and rot and … my friends.
“Took you long enough, Corpse Bride,” Oliver said.
I looked up to see him leaning against a large tombstone.
He eyed me and whistled. “Girl, you put the ho in hobo.”
“Knock it off Oliver,” Leanne said. She knelt off to the side, tarot cards spread out before her, the knees of her jeans already soaked from kneeling for too long.
“What? I’m just making an honest observation.”
From my surroundings, it looked like we popped up in a cemetery. I shivered, and not from the early evening chill.
The sense of not belonging was worse today. I hated that I felt more like myself in the pits of hell than I did here.
I bowed my head, letting my hair curtain in front of me as my face crumbled. The need for violence called to me. I knew it was tied up in the devil and the sick bond between us, a bond that even after only two days I was tired of fighting.
“Gabrielle?” Oliver called, the sassiness gone from his voice.
“Give her a moment,” Leanne said.
I removed my hands from the dirt, noticing that the grass near them flattened out. A wave of rage swept through me at that, and I breathed in and out through my nose, trying to control the dark emotions flooding me. After several seconds the anger dissipated.
“Where are we?” I cleared my voice after I spoke, my voice hoarse.
“Saint Keverne’s Cemetery, Oldcastle, Ireland,” Oliver answered. “Seems as though you like to show up along Otherworld entrances.”
That made some sick sort of sense. Otherworld entrances were those areas where realms overlapped, points on ley lines where creatures could travel between worlds and within one.
“And what does the mother of demons want to do tonight?” Oliver asked. “Imprison more Politia members, create more little demon babies? Go get drunk and yell at random people—that’s my personal choice.”
I focused on Oliver. Yesterday I’d run around, first meting out vengeance, and then returning to my soulmate—
A guttural sob rose up my throat, and I forced it back down.
I can’t go back to him. Not unless I wanted him to incur the devil’s wrath any more than he already had. And yet each day he died a little more, now that our bond had broken, and each day my humanity stripped away a little more.
We’d made promises to each other not to give up. He kept on living despite his deep desire to join me in hell.
I could fight whatever it was I felt for the devil. And I would, not just because I made Andre a promise. He was my soulmate, and all the best parts of me loved all the best parts of him. And we embraced all the terrible aspects of both of us because those, too, made us who we were.
I drew in a shuddering breath and wiped my hands off.
I might have to avoid Andre for now, but I wouldn’t fall quietly into this fate, no matter how easy that would be, and no matter how badly certain parts of me wanted it.
And the first step was getting some answers.
Leanne made a noise. “Peel Academy, Gabrielle? Really?” she said, reading my immediate future in the cards. “That’s one of the least safe places for you to be.”
“I need to get inside,” I said.
There were two people I’d wanted to meet with, and the first was there.
“Seriously, this is your worst idea ever—and not one of the fun ones, either,” Oliver said as we walked past the storefronts that faced the shore. Ahead of us, Peel Castle jutted out into the water, looking decrepit.
“Ignore him,” Lea
nne said. “He’s just bummed that he won’t get to hang with you this evening.” Next to me, Oliver grumbled.
Leanne had dropped that little tidbit shortly after I’d made my plans known. According to her visions, I wouldn’t be seeing my friends again until tomorrow evening.
Probably for the best. I still grappled with my violent emotions. I didn’t want them to have to see me like this, or worse, be the victim of one of these moods.
When we came to the end of the street, where we were to split up, we stopped.
Oliver wrapped me in a hug. “I’m still pissed at you,” he muttered as he held me close. “Just do me a favor and stay safe so that I can be annoyed with you without feeling like an asshole.”
I huffed out a laugh. “I’ll try.”
He let me go, and I gave Leanne a tight hug. The affection soothed some of the hollowness in me.
I stepped away from her.
“We’ll see your skanky ass tomorrow,” Oliver said.
I nodded and turned to go.
Leanne caught my hand. “Wait.” She opened her mouth, searching for the right words before she spoke again. She gripped my hand tightly. “Please trust me when I tell you that I’m doing everything I can to help you.”
I nodded, giving her a tight smile. My eyes had begun to water—bleed—whatever. “I know.”
“I need you to hold that knowledge tight, even when things seem senseless.”
“I can do that,” I said softly.
She gave my hand a final squeeze. “Good,” she said, her own eyes watery. She let me go and grabbed Oliver’s arm. “We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
I watched them walk away, the mist rolling in behind then, before I resumed my trek up to Peel Academy.
As I headed towards the front gates, the enchantments of the place brushed up against my skin. Most of them were meant to keep me and other dark beings out. At first it felt like gentle resistance, but as I got closer it felt as though I slogged through water, and when I closed in on the castle grounds, it felt like moving through molasses.
The gates at the front of the school were closed. On the other side of them professors had gathered. Someone or something had alerted them of my presence.
“Back away, Gabrielle,” Professor Nightingale warned.
I was the bad guy. I got that. But seeing and hearing an old teacher of mine stand against me still cut deep.
I kept setting myself up for disappointment.
“I need to get inside. There’s someone a need to speak with,” I said, fighting to keep my calm demeanor. Already I was awash with anger that anyone would stand against me.
Behind the teachers, some students had gathered. Among them I saw Doris, an old nemesis of mine. She leaned in to speak with the group of girls, her eyes glued to me. An adult came by then and shooed her and the other lingering students inside.
“You’re not coming in here, sweetheart,” Professor Nightingale said. “Not without a fight. Turn around now before anyone gets hurt.”
The ground beneath me began to rumble. I couldn’t control it, this rage. It was too big for my body. It built and built beneath my skin. I lifted my arms, and the professors began to shout.
The ground trembled, pebbles tinkling away from me. High overhead, the clouds rolled in, and all around us I could hear the surf crashing into the cliffs surrounding the academy, the force of it growing with each wave.
The professors yelled at me to stop, but I was much, much too far gone to stop now.
I closed my eyes, my jaw clenching as the power became a physical pain inside me. It needed an exit.
All at once, I released it.
For a split second, the night was quiet. Then my power blasted against the metal gates, the boom as loud as thunder. With a crack, the gates split apart like overripe fruit, and the enchantment dissolved into the air.
The wicked part of me wanted to revel, but the part that was still human simply passed through. My thoughts were on other things.
Fate. Redemption. Salvation. Controlling this unnatural anger bubbling through my veins.
A good several seconds went by as professors recovered from the shock of seeing their main defense ripped away. Once they recovered, their attention turned to me.
“Don’t.” That was the only word I could bite out against the torrent of anger and bloodlust riding me.
They didn’t listen.
The hits came from several directions. I couldn’t tell who was responsible for each, but it didn’t matter. My fury didn’t have a specific target. It lashed out like some great unseen hand, sweeping them off their feet. I didn’t want to stop there. I wanted to tear and rent and rip—
I forced the rage back and instead pinned the professors to the dewy grass so they wouldn’t follow me.
Just like the main entrance, the doors to the library gave me grief. Briefly. I was thankful that I could focus my unbridled rage on an inanimate object. My energy poured out, ripping the doors and hinges, and stripping the building of its enchantments.
“Well you certainly know how to make an entrance,” Lydia Thyme, better known as the fate Decima, greeted me when I stepped inside. Peel’s head librarian and the middle of the three fates sat on one of the couches scattered throughout the room.
She assessed the doors behind me. “It’s going to take me hours to put those enchantments back in place.”
My limbs were jittery with the need to use my power again, and my skin glowed as the siren stuck close to the surface. Without looking, I forced the broken doors back into place and used my power to seal the entrance shut.
I sat on the seat across from her, and it was an effort to even appear relaxed.
“You want answers,” she said.
“I do.” I need them, badly. “I don’t want to be this way,” I admitted.
“What way?” she asked.
“Dead. Evil. Immortal. His.”
Decima shook her head. “Those are dangerous words. He could be listening even now.”
I sucked in a shaky breath through my nose. “So you know how much I’m risking by being here and telling you these things.”
“Mmmm,” she agreed. “What if I told you that what you want is impossible? What if I told you that there was no way out of your situation?”
“I would find someone else who would tell me something different.”
“Dangerous, dangerous words,” she muttered. And then, in the silence of the library, Decima began reciting the familiar riddle. “Daughter of wheat and grain, betrothed to soil and stain, your lifeblood drips, the scales tip, but will it be in vain?
“Child of penance and pain, dealer of beauty and bane, a coin’s been flipped, the scales tipped, nothing will be the same.”
Hearing the words spoken unnerved me more than they had when I first read them.
“That poem is about you,” she said. She leaned forward in her chair. “You know there is one more stanza, don’t you?” Behind her the candlelight flickered.
I shook my head.
She began to recite once more. “Queen of souls of slain, prisoner of ash and flame, heaven dips, the world rips, the future is yours to claim.”
This time, the back of my neck prickled, like unseen eyes watched me. “So I have a choice after all?” I asked, hoping I interpreted that last bit of the poem correctly.
“You do,” she said. “I am not Nona. I will not steer you away from Pluto. But nor am I Morta, who would steer you towards him. I can give you council, but not much else.”
“Then tell me what I need to do,” I said.
“You already know what you need to do,” she replied.
My anger slipped its muzzle briefly. I wanted to scream. Or throttle her. My fingers started curled inwards.
So, so messed up.
Decima sighed. “You remember Jericho,” she stated.
“I was going to meet with him next.” He’d been the second person I wanted to speak with.
She leaned back against the co
uch. “Unlike me, he has an agenda.”
Well, that was nothing new. “Everyone has an agenda.”
She smiled. “True.” She studied me for a second. “You know, Nona, Morta, and I made you for him.”
We were no longer talking about Jericho.
“A thousand upon a thousand years ago we crafted you from the threads of time. You were made for him. And he was meant to please you.”
I didn’t say anything to that. I didn’t even bother thinking on it. I knew where I stood on that front.
“As unlikely as it all seems, he was always your intended. The vampire was the mistake.”
“Andre was not a mistake.”
She pinched her lips together but didn’t contradict me.
BOOM!
My head snapped around just in time to see the doors ricocheting from the aftereffects of a magical hit. Reinforcements had arrived.
My blood sang the thought of another brawl.
“Go. Jericho will help you,” Decima said, pulling my attention back to her.
“That’s not the only reason why I came here.”
A spark of understanding flashed in her eyes. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with him.”
“Can I borrow a computer?” I asked her.
By way of answer, she gestured to a row of them that lined the wall. “I’m not going to hold off the authorities,” she said as I moved over to one of the computers, “and I don’t know how much longer that spell of yours will hold,” she said, eyeing the door.
I’d woven a spell?
“It’ll hold,” I reassured her.
I slid into the seat and shook the mouse. The home screen was already up. I clicked onto the Internet and typed a single name into the search bar.
Asiri.
“If you wanted information on Asiri, you should’ve just asked.”
“Stop reading over my shoulder,” I said, not looking away from the screen.
“I’m not,” she said to my back, and I could hear the amusement in her voice.
The Damned (The Unearthly Book 5) Page 11