Prophecy Girl

by Cecily White

  “You had a blade to your bloody chest! How is that not suicide?”

  “Because you’re a blind moron.” I snake-wiggled out of his iron grip. “Now get off me so I can finish!”

  Poor Luc looked so confused. His face was pale and blood trickled from a gash at the side of his cheek. Above our heads, light and wind swirled, the channel I’d called still pulsing with power.

  “But what—”

  “She’s trying to save him.” Thibault’s amused baritone broke in from the edge of the room. “A life for a life. Isn’t that right, child?”

  I glared at him evilly.

  He sneered. “Your sister warned me you’d try, though I admit I didn’t think you had the nerve. Perhaps you take after your mother more than I realized. Pity you have to die.”

  That was when I noticed what he had in his hand. The little silver box with the red button—the remote detonator we’d all conveniently forgotten. In a flash, my fingers unwrapped themselves from Luc’s throat and extended toward Thibault.

  “Desisté,” I shouted, throwing all my remaining power at him. Which wasn’t much given the lack of a Watcher, the semi-mortal wounds, and the channel I was still trying to maintain for soul transfer. Nonetheless, that command should have done something—other than make him chuckle.

  “My dear, naïve girl,” he tsk-tsked. “I admire your tenacity, but I’m afraid your sister thought of that already.” His hand dipped into the collar of his shirt and he pulled out a circular, glyph-carved silver pendant. The protective charm swung like a pendulum between his fingers. “Think of it as diplomatic immunity…for me, at least.”

  Call me jaded, but if he thought a little chunk of metal, no matter how charmed it was, would protect him from a field of explosives, I wasn’t the only one with naiveté issues. “Wow, you really are insane, aren’t you?” With a small nod at Luc, I curved my fingers toward Thibault again. “Doloré! Desarmé! Incendia!”

  The volley of curses bounced off him like a rubber ball off concrete, each one pushing his cackles to a more ghastly pitch. Tears of laughter streamed down his face, but for once, I didn’t care if my attack failed. It wasn’t meant to succeed—not in the traditional sense, anyhow.

  In a blur of arms and legs, Luc flew at Thibault. His momentum was so great I swear I heard Thibault’s bones crack as the two collided. They skidded over the rubble, the detonator hitting the ground hard. Despite his crippled appearance, the old man was still quick. He rolled to his knees and drew his sword.

  “Luc, be careful!”

  “Get the detonator,” he shouted back.

  Right, the detonator. On hands and knees, I scrambled across the floor, my eyes never leaving the metal box. Every muscle in my body was on fire, my bones fusing to each other from the residual Crossworld burn. I could practically feel my skin melting into the floor.

  Don’t give up, a voice whispered in my head. Jack wouldn’t give up.

  I pushed harder.

  Unfortunately, Thibault also heard Luc’s directive about the detonator. He jabbed his sword into Luc’s belly and thrust upward toward the heart, at the same time rolling his own body toward the silver box. It was a brilliant move, tactically. A blow to the heart was one of about three things that could kill an Immortal. If Luc hadn’t twisted out of the strike so quickly, well, I think we can all say “vampire kebob.”

  With bare hands, Luc gripped the sword and shoved it at Thibault, using it as a lever to force him backward. He also managed to slice up his palms worse than any slasher movie I’d seen, and re-situate the fight right over the detonator.

  Fan-freaking-tastic.

  “Go to Plan B,” Luc yelled, though I wasn’t entirely sure what Plan A had been.

  Around the room, eight gray blocks of explosives still clung to the walls. Okay, new agenda. Plan B: Don’t Die. If I couldn’t get to the detonator, maybe I could disable the explosives.

  I concentrated on not hurling as I dragged myself to the first block. A silver cap slid out of the gray putty-mound with a harmless splooch then dropped to the floor. Thunk. Not exactly James Bond, but effective enough.

  There was no point in standing up. My brain had already gone fuzzy from the Crossworld draw, and the outer edge of my vision was tinged with black. At least that meant my channel might still be active. I caught glimpses of Luc and Thibault still duking it out, hand to sword, though I had no idea if I was seeing accurately. Luc was so hacked up and dripping blood it was a miracle he hadn’t passed out. At a glacial pace, I made my way around the room on hands and knees. Splooch, thunk. Splooch, thunk. Eight times. I counted.

  Across the room, Thibault’s sword slammed into Luc’s stomach again and Luc fell. This time, he didn’t get up.

  “Ah-ha!” Thibault snatched up the detonator. “Victory!”

  Like King Arthur wielding Excalibur, he raised his hand and brought it down hard on the button. All around me little pops went off—eight of them—each with its own terrifying puff of smoke. Then the room was silent.

  Dust and ash still danced through the air, the marble floor littered with debris. Thibault’s face slowly registered confusion, followed by annoyance. He jabbed at the detonator again, his knees jack-knifing to the floor.

  “No!” he growled. “No, you’ve ruined everything!”

  “Not quite,” I mumbled, still dizzy from the lingering channel. “Ex dona spiritus. Bis vivit qui bene vivit.”

  I’d long since given up hope of finding another sword to finish myself off. Jack’s blade was buried somewhere under the rubble. My vision had tanked so badly all I could see was pinpricks of light, and the channel’s power made my brain lobes feel like they’d been fused together with a soldering iron. I reached blindly around Jack’s body and grappled for the crossbow bolt still stuck in his back. With a hard yank, I tugged it out, lifted it high, and jabbed it toward my chest.

  Again.

  This time, I hit the mark.

  It was as if a cold hand had wrapped around my heart and given it a squeeze. I yanked the bolt out and let it fall. Blood poured out of me in thick, uneven spurts that spattered onto Jack’s skin.

  “There,” I gasped. “Now I’ve ruined everything.”

  Then I died.

  …

  It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought—the dying part. It kind of felt like the time I fell into the deep end of Lisa’s pool in first grade, with my clothes all soggy and my tennis shoes like bricks. Water had flooded my lungs and the need for oxygen had felt like a hole in my chest. Same deal—only it was blood choking me, and there was an actual hole in my chest. Go figure.

  I pressed my ear against the rumpled folds of Jack’s shirt, listening for his heart—that melodic rhythm that had lulled me to sleep last night. No dice.

  “But—but, the prophecy! The angels!” Thibault sputtered, unaware of Luc behind him, slowly working the sword out of his stomach.

  I shut my eyes as Luc lifted Thibault’s blade and brought it down in a final, slashing arc. I couldn’t be too sad. Not that I reveled in anyone’s death, but that man had been such a heaping jug of crazy, I couldn’t imagine the “angels” being anything but relieved to have him off the planet.

  Jack’s body stayed alarmingly silent beneath me.

  Come on, I pleaded silently. Breathe.

  I squeezed my eyes tighter until an image of Jack’s face surfaced in my mind. The hard line of his jaw when he got angry, the crooked curve of his lips when he smiled. Even when he tried not to smile. God, he was beautiful.

  The wind seemed to sigh as a sharp electric current pulsed between us in deep, kaleidoscopic colors. Images drifted in my head, then I felt his heart sputter.

  And begin to beat.

  Maybe being a child of Lucifer had its perks after all.

  By the gift of my spirit, he who lived once shall live again. Simple words, even in Latin. The price for them hadn’t been specified, but I couldn’t imagine it would cost more than my life.

  With every breath, h
is heart got stronger. Sure, mine was weakening, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what happened to me. I could die knowing that things were as they should be. Jack would live, the Tenets would pass, Matt and Katie would be safe, and Thibault wouldn’t hurt anyone again.

  Jack would live.

  In groggy lurches, Jack’s arms tightened around me, his chest filling with air. One hand smoothed away my blood-spattered hair as he tipped my face to his.

  “Omelet?” he said softly.

  I opened my mouth to answer him, but nothing came out. Well, that’s not true. A lot of stuff came out. Blood mostly, and some spittle. He handled it well, I’d say. A scream ripped through his throat and he sat up like he’d been stuck with a branding iron.

  “I tried to stop her,” Luc gasped from across the room.

  Jack’s face twisted from confusion into horror as he registered the blood covering Luc’s shirt, Thibault’s dead body, the crossbow bolt beside me. Denial and rage and horror flashed through his eyes in quick succession, probably just how I’d looked before when I’d watched him die. Only it was worse. Because he knew I had done this for him.

  “No, no. God, no.” He slid one arm under my head, his fingertips trembling as they stroked my face. “Amelie, what did you do?”

  I opened my mouth again. I wanted to let him know it was all good, that I totally had this under control. But all that came out was a wet gurgle.

  “Don’t talk,” he begged. “Just breathe. You’re going to be okay.”

  I knew he was lying but I tried to nod anyway. There was something so…fragmenting about being stuck between worlds. Part of my consciousness was lodged in my body, viewing it all through blurry eyes and clogged ears. Another part of me seemed suspended in limbo. Clear-headed. No pain.

  At some point, Matt hacked through the doors with a glyph-carved battle axe, Lyle at his heels with a mace in one hand and a knife in the other. They’d obviously raided the arsenal again. As soon as he saw me, Matt halted, and Lyle stumbled over him like some Three Stooges episode. It might have been funny under other circumstances. At the moment, not so much.

  “Holy crap.” Matt made the sign of the cross over his chest.

  Lyle paused for a second, then dropped his weapons and skidded to stop at my side. “Matt, get a Channeler. Now!”

  “We sent them all away.” My friend hung back, confused. “Where’s Lisa? Is she okay?”

  “Who cares? Find Hansen! Find anyone!”

  Matt stared around the room, dazed, for another moment. Then he left.

  With a strangled sound, Jack laid me on the ground like a broken doll. His hands came down over my ribs, where the narrow hole still gaped, black and runny. Maybe he thought he could fix it, or something. I knew he couldn’t. Our bond had begun to loosen again. Everything buzzed and hummed in my head, at once quiet and deafening—ironically like a perceptual vortex. I wondered if that was what death was. Just a great, black, empty nothing.

  “She’s going to die,” Lyle said.

  “She’s not going to die,” Jack hissed.

  “She will if we don’t find a healer.” Lyle stripped off his tuxedo shirt and tore it into long strips, wrapping them around my torso like one of Gunderman’s pressure bandages. “Ami, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I never should have left you alone. I should have protected you.”

  As soon as he said that, a knife of fury zipped through the bond, cold and sharp, like lightning bolts over my skin. With the back of his hand, Jack shoved Lyle aside so hard he flew across the room and slammed into Remiel’s statue. I flinched as Lyle slid down the wall, Remiel’s staff cracking over his head with a hard shudder.

  “She’s not yours to protect,” Jack snapped. “Luc, I need you!”

  “Me?” Luc paled.

  “Your blood,” he said. “I need your blood.”

  Cold air clung to my skin, odd smells of chemical ash crowding me. I watched Luc’s throat move as he swallowed nervously. “You can’t be serious.”

  “The hell, I can’t.”

  The vampire’s injuries had already started healing themselves, so although he was dripping scarlet, he didn’t flinch too badly when Jack grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

  “I asked you for one thing, Luc. Keep her safe. You swore an oath, do you remember?”

  The vampire glanced around the room like a trapped animal. “Cousin, please. Ask for something else. Money. Status. Anything you want.”

  “She’s what I want.”

  “Anything but that.”

  In a flash, the first impression I’d had of Jack returned—fierce and dangerous. Cold chills slid down my skin as I felt his fury sear through the bond.

  “You brought her here, Luc. She’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about, and you took her from me.” Jack met his cousin’s eyes with the coldest, most unforgiving glare I’ve ever seen. “Now heal her,” he demanded, “or I’ll see that your entire species burns in hell.”

  Then, without another word, Jack released him.

  Lyle had quietly picked his way back through the rubble to keep administering first aid, but the wound at my chest continued to gush. My whole body felt cold.

  From the place where I hovered, half-spirit, I could see everything. Even things I shouldn’t have been able to see. Jack bent over me, surrounded by a dark ring of rage and lingering death. Wild pulses of colored light zipped through his body, like fits of love and pain, fighting for dominance. Lyle looked like he wanted nothing more than to run away. But he stayed at my side, whispering empty words of reassurance.

  And Luc.

  I’ve always made decisions based on whatever seemed most fun, or most intuitively right in the moment. Luc’s life, by contrast, held an endless gravity. His guidepost was obligation, first to his people, and second to his family. Every other thing—the cars, the women, the excess—was nothing more than a distraction.

  In that instant, I understood. When Luc had taken aim at Lisa, it was with the full knowledge that her soul was connected to mine, that her death would mean the end of me, too. But he’d done it anyway. Because he needed Jack alive to save his people. To him, that was worth any price. Even betraying a friend.

  Luc shut his eyes and drew a breath. “She has to consent. It won’t work if she doesn’t.”

  “She will,” Jack assured him. “Ask her.”

  I wanted to protest that I was too beat to consent to anything except a pillow, but before I could say a word, Luc shoved his bloody knuckle in my mouth. Reality blurred.

  …

  In the dream, I was dressed in silk robes, with long white swathes of fabric pooling against the floor. My feet were laced with leather sandals, and my hair draped in uncharacteristically perfect waves over my shoulders. Around me, there was nothing but light— pure white light, like being immersed in a liquid moonbeam. Despite the Twilight Zone–esque quality, I felt weirdly calm.

  “Hallooo? Where am I?” I called into the blinding brightness.

  “You’re in the Immortal plane. This is where our souls go when they’re preparing to cross over.” Luc’s voice floated up behind me and I turned. It was too bright to see him clearly, but he seemed to be sitting in an antique elephant chair like the ones I’d seen at his apartment. Strange, since I could swear he hadn’t been there a moment ago. Neither had the chair.

  “O-kay. Why am I here? And why do I look like Aphrodite on her wedding day?”

  “Because you’re dying,” he said, as if he were talking to a four-year-old. “Whether you continue to die is negotiable, if you accept my offer.”

  “What offer? Where’s Jack?” I looked around, growing more uncomfortable by the second. “I want to go home.”

  A soft pop sounded in the back of my head and suddenly I was back in my room, sitting cross-legged on my bed with twenty Beanie Babies tucked in my lap. The silk gown had melted into my favorite jeans topped off with a ratty old T-shirt that read My Karma Ran Over Your Dogma.

  “
Better?” Luc asked casually from the corner rocking chair.

  I frowned. “I thought you couldn’t come in here.”

  “That’s true,” he said patiently. “But we’re not really here, remember? We’re—”

  “In Immortal pre-hell. Yeah, I got that.” I chucked a Beanie Baby at his obnoxious Immortal head. “What I don’t get is why.”

  “I’ve already told you,” he said. “Your heart is dying. Soon, your soul will depart. For a few moments, at least, you’re between worlds. I’ve given you enough of my blood to allow me to bring you here, but I can’t change you unless you accept my offer.”

  Again with the offer. Freak.

  “I’m not accepting anything until I see Jack.” I kicked the rest of my stuffed animals onto the floor and pushed my way out the bedroom door.

  Into an overgrown English garden.

  It was nighttime. The sky blazed with stars. All around me, tall grass and weeds lined a high stone wall, the scents of a hundred different flowers making my head spin. My feet caught on brambles as I turned back the way I’d come, but the door was gone. Instead, there was a pond teeming with goldfish and vibrant green lily pads that looked like they’d been lit with nuclear waste. On a bench beside it sat Luc, absently twirling a silver chain with a carved locket between his fingers. He had on the same dashing tuxedo he’d worn at the Hall of Angels. Minus the stab wounds, of course.

  “Jeez, can’t you take a hint?” I grumbled. “If you want to be useful, go get my boyfriend.”

  Luc sighed. “Amelie, Jack can’t save you now. He may care for you, but he’s only mortal.”

  “Mortal or not, he can kick your ass.”

  In the dim starlight, I was stunned how well I could see Luc roll his eyes. “This isn’t working.”

  “Figured that out by yourself, genius?”

  Luc held up a hand and shut his eyes in a rock star diva moment. Who knows, maybe he was consulting an oracle. When he tuned back in, the carved locket had begun to glow green, and from his pocket he drew out a small vial of red liquid.

  “Jackson says if you’re to understand, I need to do this properly.”