Everlost (The Night Watchmen Series Book 3)

by Candace Knoebel

  But cackles of laughter and sharp cracks of magic strike the air, preventing us from passing the barricade of trees. No matter which way we turn, we’re stuck. Lost. Trapped.

  Realization nips at our heels. We’re not going anywhere.

  I’M SLAMMED UP AGAINST A tree as ropes manifested by the Darkyns wrap around my torso like a boa constrictor.

  Pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt explodes within my limbs as the rope compresses against my skin. It’s like my blood is boiling, my bones are crushing, and my skin is on fire, all at once. I struggle against the rope, calling on every spell I can think of to unwind them, but they have a binding spell on them, keeping me from using my magic.

  Weldon growls out from the iron chains wrapped around him, digging into his flesh, pressing him further against the tree. Smoke billows off his body in sickening waves. He tries to strong-arm the chains, but his face darkens from the need to shift to his demon side.

  Cruel, mirthless laughter bubbles up from the depths of Bael’s black soul as he makes his way over to us. He takes his time, his steps calculated and precise. After he stops in front of me, he reaches out toward my face. I try to turn away, but his hand aggressively cups my chin, fingers boring into my cheeks as he forces me to look at him.

  “Do not turn away from me. Ever,” he says through bared teeth.

  Fire burns within my eyes, quaking all the way through my bones.

  “I’m going to take pleasure in killing everyone you love… while you watch,” he says, his black eyes swimming with cruelty. He calls one of the Darkyns over to him, leans away from me to whisper a command in his ear, and then turns back to me. His gaze moves lithely over to Weldon. “You.”

  Weldon has long since stopped struggling. If his gaze could strip the flesh from every enemy around us, then we’d be scot-free.

  “You’re a disgrace to the demon name.”

  Weldon leans as far forward as he can, smoke rising once again from his searing flesh. “Then I’ve done my job well,” he spits out through clenched teeth.

  Bael rolls his eyes to the side, his lips pressed in a thin line of indifference. “You know what I think?” he says, pointing his finger in Weldon’s face in a scholarly manner. “I think a few years back in your holding cell would do you some good. Remind you of who you really are.” He leans forward, dropping his tone, and adds, “Because you and I both know that this is a front.”

  With that, he touches Weldon’s left thigh with his index finger, and it’s then that I see what I’ve never tried to see before—his stigma.

  Weldon cries out as he’s forced to fully turn into the side of himself that he hates the most, and I want to purge every awful feeling that’s ripping through my heart. I struggle against the ropes binding me as the laughter kicks up like thunder from the masked Darkyns standing all around us, watching. Waiting. Weldon’s body grows taller, muscles filled out, his face darkening past the point of recognition.

  “You see, no matter how hard you try to deny yourself, you are what you are,” Bael says, standing back with a proud, pleased smile plastered on his face. “I am your father. Your maker. And no matter how long you spend with these… fleshly beings… you’re still bound to my word.”

  Weldon growls out, the deep, throaty sound reaching out beyond the trees. It’s a sound that I imagine could split the earth clean in half. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him before and, for a moment, fear settles in the pit of my stomach like an unwelcome worm, slithering around. His eyes are no longer golden. His hair no longer in its usual coordinated mess.

  He’s… he’s a full-on demon.

  My fists form into steel clubs I want to crush Bael with. “Leave him alone!” I shout as I try to absorb energy around me. It’s coming in small, short waves, but not providing me with enough to dissolve the spells holding me captive.

  Bael stiffens. Turns on me. A ripple of anger plays over his face and, in his soulless gaze, I know that my straw has been pulled.

  “It’s time,” he says, the amusement drained from his voice. Two words never sounded so sinister, so packed full with all the hate this world has to offer. “This is going to happen, Everlasting. You’re going to break the Unholy Seal, and then, together, we’re going to awaken the greatest evil this planet has ever known.” He looks back over his shoulder at Weldon and, with a swish of his hand, the iron chains fall. “Weldon, come.”

  Weldon, like a well-trained pet, steps away from the tree, his burly arms curved like bows at his sides.

  I swallow shards of ice that burn like fire.

  He flexes his hands, and each knuckle cracks. Cranes his neck to each side, stretching out the thick tendons.

  “Weldon?” I whisper, searching his pitiless eyes for any sign of the person I know, but all I find is an empty, bottomless pit. A pit he’s been dangling off the edge of all this time, only to have finally been pushed by the one person I prayed I’d never encounter again.

  I look up to the sky, up to the moon, praying… begging for the Goddess to help me. To send me some sign that will allow me to get us out of this. Please, I pray, just let us get out of this and I swear we’ll finish this.

  “Grab her and bring her to the Underground,” Bael commands as he turns away from me. He strolls over to the never-ending crowd of Darkyns. “It’s time. Kill the rest at the manor, and then begin your attacks on every Academy known. Leave no one alive.” He swirls his hand once through the air, and a small, black hole tears through the air.

  “Wait! My parents!” I shout. “A deal is a deal.”

  “And you didn’t shake on it, now did you? Ready?” he asks me, wearing a devious smile.

  “Jaxen?”

  “Faye! Where are you? We’re in the forest, but we keep circling back to the opening. We can’t get past whatever spell they’ve woven.”

  I try not to break at the sound of his voice. No matter how many times I swallow to help me push the words out, the lump won’t budge. So I open all the way up to him, to let him see what I see.

  I turn back to Weldon, who’s stomping his way over to me. “Weldon, you don’t have to do this,” I plead, trying to break through the spell binding my magic. But the seven Darkyn leaders are still chanting, still using every ounce of their magic to cage me in.

  Reality punches me in the gut.

  Jaxen starts listing off everything he can think of that I should do, but in his voice, I hear the doubt. I hear the truth he’s trying to avoid.

  This is where our roads separate. This is where my brave mistake stabs me in the back.

  Weldon stops in front of me, moving mechanically. I’m searching his eyes, telling him to snap out of it, but when I’m loosened from the tree and hauled over his shoulder, I know that there’s no getting through to him. I’ve screwed up. Royally. And now I don’t have the slightest clue as to how I’m going to get myself out of this.

  “Jaxen, listen to me,” I say as Weldon’s steps jar his shoulder into my stomach. “He’s taking me to the Unholy Seal. He’s sending Darkyns as we speak to come and kill you all. You have to get them out. Warn the Watchmen out there that they’re going to attack all the academies.”

  Curses assault my brain as Jaxen yells out, so loud, that I hear him through the treetops. So loud it vibrates through my core. “I told you not to go!”

  “I had to!” I shout back. I think about telling him about my parents, about the deal, and then quickly push the thought away.

  “I’m not giving up,” he says, the pain in his voice ripping my heart into shreds. “Not until I know you’re safe.”

  Every step Weldon takes sends my stomach further up my chest until I’m sure I’m going to throw up. I want to warn Jaxen, to tell him to stay away, but I know the point is moot. He’s going to try no matter what. I just hope wherever they’re taking me is somewhere he won’t ever have to wind up.

  “Faye?” he asks, and the fear in his voice slaps me hard across the cheek.

  “I’d tell you no
t to look for me, but I know it’s pointless.” Tears slip quietly down my cheeks that have gone cold.

  “Because you’re my soul, Faye.”

  I close my eyes. “And you’re mine.” A small pause. “If I… if I don’t see you again—”

  “Don’t say that,” he says harshly. “We’re going to warn the others, and then we’ll be heading for the Unholy Seal. I will fi—”

  And before he can finish, we enter through the shadow.

  WELDON DROPS ME ON THE ground like a sack of potatoes.

  “Welcome to the beginning of the end, Everlasting,” Bael says with his arms spread out with hospitality.

  I lift my head off the ground and wiggle myself up into a sitting position. The moment I do, I regret it, because my nose is assaulted by the scent of rotten eggs. Sulfur. We’re surrounded by it… doused in it… and it can only mean one thing.

  We’re close to the Underground.

  It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Everything is so dark. So grim. I hear footsteps moving all around me. Faint screams somewhere far away from me.

  “Put her on her feet,” Bael says to who I assume is Weldon. He grabs me up and slams me down on my feet, keeping one hand firmly gripped around my arm. “This way.”

  Following Bael into the unknown is the last thing I want to do, but at this moment, I have no other choice unless I want to be dragged or carried by Weldon again, and I’d rather die than let that happen. So I put one foot in front of the other as we move forward. I’m blinking rapidly, wishing I could rub my eyes. Wishing for a million things that won’t come true. Not down here, when we’re so close to hell.

  “Weldon,” I say on a harsh whisper, “this isn’t you. You’re my partner! Snap out of it!”

  I wait, imagining the many different responses he’d normally have. Wishing he’d say something, anything, even one of his smart-ass remarks. Something to tell me that he’s still in there. But his lips never move. His face never turns to mine.

  I fight the scream that’s clawing its way up my throat. Banging through my chest. Searing against my tongue, filling every inch of my soul, and wish for once that I had just listened. Just taken in Jaxen’s words before brushing them away so quickly.

  But then I wouldn’t have seen my parents. I wouldn’t know that even though they’re living in hell, they’re still alive. Alive enough for me to try to do something for them.

  A door opens in front of us, and light floods out, splashing against the ground. My head jerks from side to side as I quickly take in my surroundings. We’re in some underground tunnel enclosed in sheets of metal. A large, metal door opens up to some kind of militant bunker, with rows of bright lights lining the walls. It’s surprisingly clean inside. White. Pristine, just like its owner.

  Bael walks by us and stops in front of another door on the opposite end of the bunker. He presses his hands together in front of him, almost as if he’s praying, and then touches the tips of his joined fingers to the underside of his chin. He inhales sharply, pausing, seeming like he’s searching for the perfect words.

  “I have a welcoming gift for you,” he muses, looking directly at me. “A gift I’m sure you’ll be over the moon about.”

  I don’t let a single emotion slip as I stare him down.

  He drops his hands, grabs the door handle, and says, “Now, you don’t have to thank me right away. You can let the beauty of this moment soak in first.” He stops. Looks between Weldon and me for a moment, and then adds, “Actually, no… never mind… let’s just get on with it.”

  He turns the handle and pushes the door open, looking back over his shoulder at me the entire time. He’s waiting for my reaction. Dying for it. And I have to use every ounce of strength in me to keep my face a blank canvas. To keep my mouth from dropping open as his ‘gift’ stands up from behind a small, wooden desk centered in the room.

  On the outside, I’m a barren desert. No details. No greenery. Nothing to see. But on the inside…on the inside, guilt, anger, and grief plunge through me like sandstorms, each battling to overshadow the next.

  “I told you we’d meet again, Middleton,” Clara says as she strides toward me in a white suit with a blood-red blouse underneath. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in large curls. Her steps take on a leisurely quality, enjoying every moment handed to her.

  Resistance wakes within me, stretching its conditioned paws.

  A thousand different words trail through my brain, but all that comes out is, “Clara.” I keep my gaze pinned on her lavender eyes filled with hate. Keep my lips pressed into a thin line. Keep my hands in balled-up fists at my sides. But never do I give away the screams of rage ripping through me like a tornado on the inside.

  Bael slaps at his thighs. “Really?” he demands, sounding like a child who just dropped their ice cream cone. “Nothing? Not a single reaction?’ He inhales deeply and continues, “And here I go out of my way to give you a gift, and I get nothing from you in return? Not a single peep.”

  Clara stops next to Bael, dragging her hand across his chest. She lets go of my gaze and looks up at him with a loving smirk. “Don’t be fooled by the exterior, love. I can smell her fear like cheap cologne on a whore.”

  I hate how she always so easily squashes my bravery that I work so hard to wear.

  Bael smiles down at her, and then grabs a hold of her waist, pressing her against him. “Mmm,” he growls against her lips. “I do love it when you talk dirty.”

  I look away, tucking my face against Weldon’s solid arm as bile climbs its way up my throat. Weldon continues to stare ahead, staring at something I can’t see. Think, I tell myself, wishing I knew how I could get through to him. How I could wake him from his incessant torture. But footsteps sound behind me and I know we’re about to move again. I have to focus on paying attention to my surroundings so I can hopefully find my way back out.

  “You’ve been working with him this whole time?”

  She smiles as her answer.

  “Then what did you need me for? You have access to the Exanimator through Bael.”

  “But I can’t do what I want with it without you, which, I’m glad you decided to play ball,” Clara says as she stops in front of me. “Had you done so in the beginning, then all of this wasted bloodshed could have been bypassed. But then again, I suppose it remains true to your character to make things as difficult as possible. To be ignorantly defiant. To be naively diligent, just like your poor parents.”

  Her last words scrape across my mind like barbed wire, ripping open a fresh wound of feelings I’d rather not feel right now. Not in front of her.

  “Don’t ever mention my parents,” I breathe out on a heat wave of hate.

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares. Stares with this small, almost unperceivable smirk dressing her thin lips.

  Seconds are like land mines between us, waiting for either of our words to stumble on first.

  I don’t want to be the first to speak because that’s almost as bad as giving up, but I need to know about my parents. Need to know if they’re nearby. If the deal can still be made.

  I open my mouth, ready to give in, when the door behind her, leading to God knows where, opens, and Edgar, the Priest who attached himself to Clara like a Remora to a shark, pokes his head in. “Her holding cell is ready, and the boys are getting a little antsy. Thought you should know.”

  Bael’s head whips around in Edgar’s direction. Shadows of his demon side form around him as he shouts, “Tell the boys that we will begin when I say it’s time.”

  Edgar disappears on a fast apology.

  “Did you have to yell at him, love?” Clara asks, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side.

  My mind still can’t fully grasp how she’s addressing him. Looking at him. Touching him.

  Him.

  A demon… and so not Mack.

  Bael smoothes a hand through his hair and turns back around to her, plastering an empty smile on his face. Pat
ience is thin in his smile. His barely repressed temper is beating against his gaze. “I don’t understand why you felt the need to bring him along.”

  “It’s simple,” Clara says. “We need all the reinforcements we can get and, during a time such as this, I trust him.”

  “He’s just so…”

  “I know,” she says, finishing his thought for him. “But with the Watchmen in a disarray from Maddock’s accusations against me—”

  “You mean his proof,” I correct, gloating in this small satisfaction.

  Mack pulled through. The Watchmen world is now aware of Clara. That means the Rebellion will be taking action against the Darkyns Bael sent out. There’s still hope for us. I look up. Thank the God and Goddess for this one small reprieve.

  “Regardless of what it was,” Clara says, pulling for my attention. Her hateful gaze tries to lance through me, but I’m wearing this win like armor. “We need every advantage we can get,” she says, looking back to Bael. “Edgar is a Priest. He knows his way around things. Now,” she says, turning back to me, “let’s get rid of those pesky weapons you’re carrying and get you settled in before the big show.”

  She says this as if I’m about to be escorted to a room in a five-star hotel.

  I glance back at the door, etching the layout, the smells, and the sounds in my head for later, when Clara steps into my line of vision.

  “I don’t know why you’re looking over your shoulder. No one’s coming for you. None of them, not even the arrogant Gramm brothers, could find this place,” she says smugly. “And even if they could, they wouldn’t make it past the brigade we’ve placed up top.”

  “What? Your pathetic Darkyns?”

  I realize I have to keep her talking. Have to keep her dishing out information that could help Jaxen because, despite what she may think or say, he is coming. Whether I want him to or not. And if he does, I have to be ready.

  Her chin lifts. She turns. Walks toward the desk with catlike precision, and then takes her time leaning her palms against it behind her. Her posture is perfect and confident, defiant almost. With an extended palm, she wills the metal in my pockets to come forth. One by one, I feel my lifelines shifting in my pockets. Lifting into the air. Moving away from me.