Crown of Doom and Light

by Jayde Brooks

  “No one is more surprised than me that you have lived this long,” Andromeda said. She was surprised to realize that she’d said it out loud—she had believed she was just thinking it.

  Eden stood at the top of a hill, looking down to the small city below in the valley. She turned slowly and stopped, admiring Andromeda’s yellow sundress and parasol. Andromeda smiled coyly. Of course she was pretty. She loved looking pretty. Pretty clothes were a must, but the one thing she could never change about herself was the constant morphing of her features. One minute her skin was white, then brown, then all colors blending into a mossy green hue. Her eyes were blue, then brown, green, yellow. Her lips thin, full. And her hair changed from blonde to brunette to red, to all of them at once.

  “Do you ever think about it?” the Seer continued. “You’ve heard the stories, Eden. You know that the Omen consumed Mkombozi almost immediately after she made the third and final bond.”

  Eden looked so determined, defiant, and proud. She looked every bit of her warrior self, her Redeemer self. As if she wore the title like a badge.

  “Why haven’t they overtaken you?”

  “Haven’t you heard, Seer?” Eden’s voice was calm. “They are overtaking me.”

  But through all of her pride and bravado, there was heartbreak in this girl. In the last year, she had won and she had lost. She had won the victories of surviving the bonds with the Omen, all three of them, which no one expected her to do. She had won again when she defeated that asshole Sakarabru, which everyone was happy she’d done. She’d even defeated the one who would ultimately have killed her off the way she’d done Mkombozi, if she’d had the chance. Eden had used Khale’s own spell against her, and sent that broad hurling like an asteroid straight into the afterlife. And most importantly, she had won the love of her life—this one and the last one, four thousand years ago on Theia.

  She had lost her beloved Rose Moore, the woman who had, for all intents and purposes, been her mother. Rose had brought that infant back to life using old magic, brought her home and loved her as her own. Eden had lost half of her world to Sakarabru’s curses, along with her hopes and dreams for a normal life. Soon she would lose her battle against the Omen, and all of her hard work and sacrifice would have been for nothing, really, because she certainly would not be able to reap any benefits from it.

  “What do you want, Andromeda? Why are you here?”

  “Curiosity, Redeemer. It gets the best of me sometimes and I can’t help but to give in.”

  “So, what?” Eden asked. “I’m some sort of spectacle for you to gawk at when it suits you?”

  Andromeda nodded. “Yep. That’s about right.”

  Eden studied Andromeda for several moments in silence. “Did you ever think beyond killing the Demon, Andromeda?”

  “Yes. Which is why I gave Khale the Spell of Dissolution,” she said matter-of-factly. “Kill the Demon, kill the girl. I was very thorough in my planning.”

  “Because you never cared about the girl. Because she would be even more powerful than the Demon and you couldn’t have that.”

  “No.” Andromeda shook her head. “Because she’d know how powerful she was, and she’d have his essence flowing through her, so it would be like getting him back again, and on steroids. Not a good thing.”

  “Born to die. Is that it? That’s all I was ever meant for?” Eden asked.

  “We all die, Eden. Some sooner than others. You just happened to pull a short straw, dear,” she smiled, offering it as comfort as much as it could be.

  “If they take me, the world will end. So what good did it do to kill Sakarabru?”

  Andromeda knitted her thick brows. “You sound convinced of that.”

  “They’ve shown me as much.”

  “And you believe them?”

  “Of course. They have no reason to lie.”

  “They have every reason,” Andromeda offered. “Lying is what they do best.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything, because it’s not my place to meddle.”

  “That’s all you have ever done, Seer,” Eden said bitterly. “Don’t stop now.”

  A sly grin spread across plump, purple lips that immediately turned pink and thin. “I’m only here to bear witness.”

  “That’s not true. That’s what you tell yourself, but it’s not true.”

  Andromeda was offended by her accusation. “You are something else,” she said. “What, I’m not exactly sure. Just when I think I know, you go and fool me again.”

  “I am him, Andromeda,” Eden finally admitted. “Right?”

  The Seer took a deep breath. “What are the Omen if not him, Eden? Of course you are. We could not kill him directly, but you could by taking on his essence, and then we could kill him in you.” Andromeda had confused herself. “Or, as you. Or, whatever,” she said, waving her hand dismissively in the air. “But yes. That is what you are.”

  “A human would be easy to get rid of if she should survive the bond with the Omen and manage to kill Sakarabru,” Andromeda continued. “At least, that was Khale’s theory. That’s why she chose a human over an Ancient. And besides, Ancients aren’t so readily born since we moved here.”

  “But you don’t meddle,” Eden said sarcastically.

  “I’m not the one who meddled,” Andromeda sighed. “Khale did.”

  Eden turned her back to the Seer. “Your curiosity should be satisfied. You can leave me now.”

  Oh, the arrogance of this young human was intoxicating. And she had every right to be a diva after everything she’d accomplished and survived. Andromeda admired this cocky girl.

  “You are not what I expected. Certainly not what Khale expected. You’re not even what the Guardian expected. But here you are. You lovely, strange little human. And what are we to do with you?”

  Eden pondered that question before finally responding. “You can stay out of my way.”

  Andromeda bowed her head dramatically. “Noted.”

  It had always seemed sacrilegious to put a new spirit in the body of another, dead or not. The infant had been born and she had lived for a few hours. For those few hours she had a soul, an essence, all her own. Andromeda was never quite as convinced as Khale that the child’s essence had ever fully left. Eden was reborn Mkombozi, but Andromeda had always had a feeling that Eden was also—Eden. Perhaps just a sliver of the individual she had been when she was born remained. But maybe that sliver was why she had been able to do what Mkombozi could not. Maybe that was why she was able to sustain the Omen longer than the Ancient could. There was something to be said for human beings. Most were useless as far as Andromeda was concerned. But every now and then, they gave birth to heroes, to the exceptional.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  In his own bumbling way, Van Dureel was trying to save the world. He had no idea what to do with Mkombozi, except to keep her from getting to the Reborn and, more importantly, to keep her from getting her hands on those Omen. Van Atkins had told him that those things had made her go crazy powerful which was how they’d all ended up here on Earth as they watched Theia fall from the heavens. Those who survived had lost everything, most had lost everyone they had loved. Vamps, of course, hadn’t lost much of anything except being trampled under Elitests feet. Coming here had given them a chance to escape from the persecution of the Elitests and to rebuild their colonies on full bellies and in peace.

  He had a good thing going here. If he wasn’t careful she could ruin it all. They’d gotten lucky finding this world. There was no guarantee that they’d get lucky again, or that they’d even survive the fate she might hold for them. The thing is, she didn’t seem to know what she was capable of with those things. All she cared about was that they belonged to her—that some other chick had not only her Omen, but her man. That lucky bastard.

  Van Dureel had found a place in Queens, far enough away to be safe from the prying good eye of a pissed off Berserker. He had to admit he was pret
ty proud of himself. There was a time when a vamp would have cowered and crawled away like a cockroach in the presence of one of those neanderthals. But that was a long time ago. His kind had been keeping their distance from Elitests ever since they came to this world. It was only in the last hundred years that they’d truly come out of hiding, to the fear and celebration of humans.

  He entered the apartment without knocking, hoping to get another glance at Mkombozi naked. She was definitely not ashamed of that beautiful body of hers and she still had so little consideration for him that it meant nothing to her for him to see her bare-assed and freshly showered. Unfortunately, this time she had on clothes.

  “I have food,” he said, setting a bag down on the table. So far, the only Earth food she’d been able to stomach was fruit, some vegetables, and bread. “And water,” he said, pulling bottles of it from another bag.

  She’d been standing in front of the window looking out over the city when he left two hours ago, and that’s where he found her when he came in. He waited for her to turn around, but she didn’t. She’d been unusually quiet since their run in with the Berserker the night before.

  “Do you think that I do not know, Vampyre?” she asked softly.

  Her tone would’ve been pleasant if it weren’t for the warning just beneath the surface. The need to survive had honed Vampyre senses more than any other Theian’s. They had mastered the art of being able to sense when they were in danger long before it presented itself to them. And right now Van Dureel was sharing space with it.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, careful not to say her name this time, and bracing himself.

  She drew her shoulders back slightly. “Do you think that I am not aware that you have not been truthful with me?”

  She turned slowly to face him, and her piercing eyes drilled into his. “You think that I am a fool.”

  “Of course not,” he shot back, perhaps a bit too hastily. “What would make you think that?”

  She started toward him, but stopped on the other side of the table. “The beast knew where to find the impostor,” she coolly explained. “I could see the truth in his eyes. As I could see the lie in yours. Language comes in many forms, Vampyre. Not just words. A warrior knows this.”

  She had him dead to rights. If he lied now, she’d surely know it.

  “You are no good to me if I cannot trust you.”

  He had taken on a fat, giant-ass Berserker and won. Now he turned his head slightly, raising his chin. “Do you mean to kill me, Mkombozi?”

  If he was going to die by her hand it would be with her name on his lips. Or maybe it’d be the other way around. Maybe, before it was all said and done, she’d be saying his.

  An abrupt knock at the door interrupted this Old West standoff.

  “Van Dureel! Van Dureel!” a drone shouted from the other side of the door.

  Without breaking the spell of her gaze, he called out. “Come.”

  A young female drone burst in, breathless and disheveled, glancing nervously at Mkombozi. “H-he told. Van Mark, told everything.”

  He turned his attention to the girl. “What are you talking about? Who in the hell is Van Mark?”

  So many drones. So little time to learn all their names.

  The pretty young thing fought to hold back her exertion. “M-my boyfriend,” she reluctantly admitted.

  He cocked a brow. “Who let her in here?” he shouted to one of his stronger drones standing guard in the hallway. “How’d you get in here?”

  “The Ancients caught him,” she continued almost hysterically. “I hid. They didn’t see me, but they caught him and took him.”

  Now, she had his attention.

  “Where?” he demanded, towering over her.

  “Manhattan,” she finally said. “I-I followed and they took him inside a—a warehouse and bled him,” she said with disbelief, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Blood was precious to vamps. A minor cut that was nothing to a human could kill a vamp if he wasn’t careful.

  “He told them about Morgantown,” she finally said, looking up at him with wide, glazed black eyes. “They know—everything. They know and they’re going there. They’re planning to attack and to save the humans.”

  Van Dureel looked at Mkombozi, who was studying this girl intensely. He turned his attention back to the girl. “How do you know?”

  “When they finished with him, they called a meeting. Others came. Other Elitest.”

  “Who?”

  She shook her head. “Um . . .”

  “Who?” he demanded to know.

  “I saw—seers and uh, Berserkers, one—one missing an eye. And I saw—I think I saw a Guardian,” she said, almost as if she couldn’t believe it.

  To actually see a Guardian was rare. The only one he knew of around these parts had to have been Mkombozi’s long, lost, and misguided, which meant that more than likely, Little Miss Impostor was close, and was probably even in the mix. Morgantown. One of the largest unprotected towns in recent months. It was a goldmine. At last count, several thousand humans resided there, which was odd, considering that most of the larger colonies sprouted out not far from the main city sanctuaries just in case all hell broke loose again.

  Humans felt safe now that the Brood were presumed to all be dead, but there was still that element of fear, fueled by rumors of smaller townships being raided, their inhabitants abducted and never heard from again. Morgantown was a town filled with people with big balls and defiant spirits, ripe for the taking.

  “Where is my Guardian, Van Dureel?” Mkombozi asked menacingly.

  He wasn’t sure if she’d understood the English word for Guardian or if she was doing that eye-reading thing again, but either way, he knew that he would not get away with another lie. So, he had two choices. One, he could not tell her and the two of them could battle it out here and now to the death. He figured he’d have about a fifty-fifty, no, maybe sixty-forty, or sixty-five-thirty-five chance of winning, giving her the advantage since she had that whole coming back from the dead thing going for her. Or two, he could take her to her Guardian, who would likely lead her to the Reborn, and the two females could battle it out. Who’d win? The resurrected one or the Reborn one who held the power of the three Omen? Either way, it was going to be one hell of a fight.

  “I’ll take you to him,” he said reluctantly.

  Mkombozi picked an apple up from the table, bit into it, and walked back over to the window.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  How in the hell was he supposed to process what couldn’t be possible? How could he have seen, touched, and smelled a being who could not possibly exist? She had been dead for more than four thousand years. For her to be here now had to have been a trick some kind. A shifter had taken on her form to try and fool him into believing that Mkombozi had somehow come back from the dead. But to what end?

  And if it wasn’t a trick, if she’d really come for him, then why’d it take her four thousand years to do it? If the real Mkombozi could have come back to life because she loved him, then she’d have done it long ago. And it was ironic that she should appear now when Eden was fighting to balance the force inside that was her and the Omen.

  Someone wanted to unbalance him. That was the only thing that made sense. The other Ancients didn’t trust Eden and it wouldn’t surprise him if they were plotting some kind of attack against her. And to get to her, they’d have to get past him. They’d have to distract him.

  “It’s late, Prophet,” Eden said, coming up behind him outside the tent where she’d been sleeping.

  She wrapped her warm arms around his waist and planted a sweet kiss on his spine. They had expected the vamps’ attack to begin at dusk, but it hadn’t. They’d sent humans down into town when they’d arrived earlier in the day to warn the people in town about a possible siege on their city, but instead of leaving the inhabitants decided that they were going to fight. Children and those who weren’t able to fight were hidden away in basements
and in attics. These people in Morgantown were tired of hiding, tired of running. Prophet admired their courage.

  “You should be resting while you can,” he told Eden.

  It was imperative that she be strong enough to keep the Omen at bay. She couldn’t afford to let them take her during this battle, which would be a prime opportunity for them to do just that. The vamps, even a thousand of them, were no match for the Omen, who could make popcorn kernels of their heads and kill them all in one fell swoop. But Eden was going to have to fight this time, the old-fashioned way. He could only hope that she could hold on and that there would be enough Ancients and humans to take on these vamps and win.

  “You should be resting with me,” she said, sensually.

  The truth was, it was difficult for Prophet to be alone with Eden after seeing the creature he had almost believed was Mkombozi. For a moment, he did believe. Reason set in not long after leaving her. Of course it wasn’t her. But what disturbed him was how much he had wished that it was. The thought of having her back fully, the way she had been before the she’d bonded with the Omen, had, for a moment, filled him with so much hope.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t love Eden. Eden, after all, was Mkombozi’s reborn essence, the core of who she had been, the heart of that whom he had loved. There was no mistaking that the Ancient’s spirit resided in this beautiful, human woman. He’d recognized it the moment he first laid eyes on Eden. It was just that seeing Mkombozi, or the shifter pretending to be her, stirred so many memories he’d thought he’d put behind him, feelings he thought he’d reconciled with when he found Eden.

  The two females were the same and they were different. Eden was a product of her own, unique experiences that had nothing to do with Mkombozi. So even though she had Mkombozi’s spirit, Eden was still her own, unique self. He loved her. So why did he feel so guilty?

  “Come to bed, baby,” she said, tugging on him. He turned to her and saw her pouting. The great Redeemer, warrior, demon slayer, was pouting. “Please?”