by Scott, Amber
“Heartbreak?” she asked, then understood. She remembered Jen, coming home raving about the perfect guy. “You’re Denny’s?”
“One and the same,” he said, a boyish smirk beautifying his too handsome features. Even his scars were beautiful. Charm wafted from his every pore. “But our little romance came to an end once Elijah gave you to me.”
Sadie found her tongue too stiff to speak. His words scared her despite knowing deep down, Elijah would never give her to him. She stood her ground.
“I’m surprised he gave you away so readily. Or doesn’t he realize what you are now?” He paced a semi-circle around her, examining her, the same way Lyric had in that alleyway. Except Lyric had scared her as a test. Crusoe was caging her in for keeps.
“What I am?”
“The daughter of the last prophet.” He stopped, too close to her face. “You know where she hid her verses for the Book of Sorrows and you are the key to unlocking its secrets.”
“I’m not a messenger.” Sadie refused to retreat.
“I agree. And yet, you are her daughter.”
His hardened eyes belied his innocuous grin. “Jen will suffer more than a broken heart. As will Heather, who is doing well and expecting to be discharged today, I might add.” His cloying scent nauseated her. “The Ackermans will be home soon, Sadie. Time is of the essence.
The Ackermans? The room she stood in swam back into focus. “Why are we here?”
“I want the missing verses. Your mother hid three, here, in this house. Find them.”
“How…I…I wouldn’t begin to know where to look.”
“Well, I’d say you have less than an hour before mommy Ackerman returns from her weekly grocery shopping. Then it will be time for little Lynae’s nap. She gets fussy if she doesn’t get her nap. And Thomas will be home from school, ready to play.”
Bile rose up Sadie’s throat, acidy on her tongue. She wrapped her wings around her shoulders. Shadows of childhood fears slunk into the recesses of her mind. She let herself go back to those deep hollows of worry and uncertainty, watching her mother scurry around the house in the dark, muttering unintelligible nonsense about angels and demons.
She could still feel the rough carpet on her bare feet. Crumbs and toys scattered the floor. How old? Ten? Eleven? A loud thwap startled her. “Momma?” she called, but her voice barely hit above a whisper.
She peered out of her bedroom and saw her mother crouched on the living room floor, a hammer in hand, the side table toppled on its side and the carpet ripped away. “Momma?” Louder this time.
Beverley Graves gasped and looked up, frozen with obvious fright. Her gaze darted about the room, falling on Sadie. “Babygirl! You scared me. Come here, honey. Hey, it’s okay.” Sadie went to her. “Mommy’s just on a project. Go back to sleep.” Her mom gathered her close and kissed the top of her head. “Go on, honey, back to bed with you.”
But Sadie couldn’t sleep. Her mom’s episodes were growing more frequent, even that young, she could see it. Sleep would be impossible. How Heather still slept with all the noise, she’d never know. So she sat in the dark and watched, to be sure her mother didn’t do anything bad with that hammer.
Several more loud thwacks resounded against the floor, splintering Sadie’s ears. Her mom tossed slivers of wood aside, digging into the floor like it was dirt. Then she moved a stack of her books into the hole before puzzling the wood back together, smoothing it with her hands, replacing the carpet. Murmuring over the little grave, she righted the table. A vase of flowers and it would have been the headstone.
Her mother glimpsed her in the dark, the wildness in her eyes quieted. She put her finger to her lips and nodded at Sadie. The weight of the memory ached in her chest, piled among so many others and drew her back to the present. Crusoe’s gaze glittered with anticipation. Recalling her sister, her cousin, the little boy’s room, Sadie would do whatever he asked. She had to if she wanted to see any of them again or at least know they were safe somewhere out there. Crusoe must have seen as much.
“Good girl,” he said and his words reminded her of Elijah.
Would Elijah find them?
Sadie took him along, room by room, pointing to the spots she could remember, seventeen in all. Most were empty. Had her sister found them? Is that how all the boxes that had been in Sadie’s room unopened for so long had been filled? Or had her mother robbed her own little graveyard, moving the paper bodies?
Had Sadie been cursed with the prescience to dream this moment coming?
At each destination, Crusoe defied the molecular structure, forcing his hand through, retrieving three separate journals from a bedroom corner, a closet, the laundry room. At least when the Ackermans came home, they’d remain ignorant to the violation in their home. Or be able to ignore the sense of it, having no physical proof.
Crusoe trailed a finger over the last cover, faded butterflies and hearts. Now he would want her to read them. Her mother had left her boxes of journals. But Sadie had never opened them. She’d read too much of them in her childhood.
Nights stolen mirroring her mother, peeling back itchy carpet, the musty smell of dirt and prickle of spiders watching her fingers shake. Her hands did now. Crusoe stood, the gleam in his eyes on fire. She lifted her chin defiantly, pushed her hand out, ready to face what he wanted.
“No,” he said and his excitement was palpable. “Not here.”
How much of the surface had Elijah, Holly and she scratched? Holly. Where was Holly in all this now? The color of blood filled her imagination, the flash of an image. Sadie painting rabid strokes onto a canvas of Elijah and Crusoe in battle.
Where would Crusoe take her now? Whose blood would he spill next?
He shoved the journals into her pants like a shoplifter. The incongruity made a nervous giggle bubble up her throat. She swallowed it back. He grabbed her arms and for a horrific moment she thought he would kiss her. She bent away. The air began to turn and she saw he only meant to steal her into another place, further from Elijah, from her family. She wanted to push her energy in opposition to his, to kick off of his transport and swim through space and place. But so long as he had her, those she loved were safe. Sadie didn’t struggle as the toy-ridden room and its cedar scent sucked away.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Twenty-eight
Muffled screeches and banging on walls. The room spun around her as she fought to ground herself. The tang of antiseptic burned in her nose. Stale coffee scented the air. A hospital. But no quiet bleeps or muted conversations between nurses. The dingy padded walls hurt her eyes. The distant crash of metal, a yowl of a plea. She told herself not to panic. Taking her here amounted to a manipulation, a threat. He could not take her to an asylum, she was not really here…was she?
No!
Crusoe shoved one of the journals at her. Sadie opened the pages, refusing to acknowledge the amusement crinkling his eyes, dark and sick. She sat on the cushioned floor and blocked out the noise. The words in front of her blurred. Tears coursed down her face. She swiped them away.
Her mother’s distinct scrawl strung words together.
Ezekiel and Ecclesiastics. Lies and lies and lies again and more. See them now, see their wings. Daughters. Too much burden, the soul is burden and weight you wear now and again and the veil shall collapse and water will tread his all. All and all and all again. He shall come for you. You are not time. He is time and you must wait and bide. Raphael will lie. She leads him down the path and beckons with her witch tongue on fire. If they succeed all will fall. The change must come. The change will come and first.
Sadie frowned. She paged through and realized why Elijah had planned to coach her answers. The scribbles made less sense now than they had back then. They’d thought she could fake this? Or had she fooled herself into thinking she would know or see whatever her mother had been trying to translate from her poor demented mind.
Another muted scream, the kind of emotional torture she feared most, rang in the air,
muffled by walls and doors and padding. She could only imagine how shrill it must be in person. Even now, prickles barbed her scalp with pain. She’d screamed like that once. After Heather had found her, back cut, gripping a knife, desperate to rid herself of the pain and bizarre thoughts.
Now she knew she’d been trying to free her wings. Her thoughts had been part of her transformation. The meds must have staved the change off. No more, though. She was a seeker now. She had to be brave now.
Crusoe crouched before her, a calm about him that fit his chosen setting all too well. “Tell me what she says.”
Sadie peered down at the page and read out loud. “Force the truth if it shall set them free that bliss is not the ignorance but the ending. Crash down with might. Levity is the heavy cloak of the father that forgiveth.” She paused, wary of his reaction but unable to ignore it. His fists clenched the air, unclenched. A low, quiet whine penetrated the air. She heard it. More than that. She felt it, too. “No heaven and no hell unless this is the hell, but to join the two are the salvation and the sin in one. He cannot see. Make his eyes peel the light back from the grapes.”
Crusoe lunged at Sadie and propelled her upward by her throat, choking her. “You will not play games with me,” he hissed. “Or you will die screaming for help like your filthy mother.”
His words knifed at her. No one was safe from him. Not her sister, not her cousin. No one. Rage coiled inside Sadie and with it, power sprang to life. The pages said if realm lines collapsed, humans and immortals alike would perish. It said that until the change completed, the lines had to remain in place. “My… mother?” she coughed past his grip.
Until the change completed. What change? Changelings? Human evolution?
If she told him these things, what would he do?
Struggling to breathe, his grip tightening, her feet fighting for purchase, Sadie closed her eyes against his bloodshot glare.
“I won’t kill you, Sadie. I’ll kill Jen. Heather. Elijah. One by one, in front of you.”
Her power swelled but unconsciousness threatened, too. She needed air. Fearing she’d fade into the encroaching black oblivion, Sadie latched onto the static building within her. She heaved her legs up against his chest, grasped his bicep and shoved. A shockwave pulsed out of her body and knocked him away from her.
Crusoe landed on his back with a grunt.
Sadie crouched to the floor and readied to springboard herself into the nearest space that wasn’t this one. Her mother’s words one by one, rearranged themselves in her head. Change…changelings…joining realms…each realm passage….
Crusoe’s growl pierced the air. Sadie’s heart pounded. Her energy gathered inward once again and she pressed for it. Before she could spiral into a transport, Crusoe’s fist smashed into her face. She careened backward. Ignoring the throb in her cheek and jaw, she somersaulted off the wall and launched against his midsection, shoulder first. A grunt knocked out of him, giving her courage. She might have a fighting chance after all.
She followed the hit with a twisting kick. A crack resonated in the air. Her shin lit with bright pain but the contact satisfied her in a primal way, feeding her energy. Crusoe leapt sideways into the air. He disappeared with a soft pop. Sadie spun, ready for him to reappear, but uncertain where he would attack. The seconds ticked by. His earlier words burned in her ears. Your filthy mother. Had Crusoe known her mother? Snick. She swung left too late. He tangled his ankles around her waist and flung her body against the far wall. The padding had to be what kept her conscious because the force was beyond her imagination. Her confidence wavered.
Crusoe came at her. She rolled aside and pushed off the floor. Her wings arched in flight and with such short ceilings she could do little more than hover before dodging each new assault. His fist crushed into her thigh instead of her head. She screamed in pain. She grabbed her leg and fell from the air. He kicked her in the face, sending a spray of blood at the wall.
The blackness threatened again. She was alone in this. But if he killed her, would he go after Jen and Heather? Lies. Sees. Daughters. Her mother’s words again restrung themselves. Sadie might have some messenger in her after all. Because the nonsense was becoming lucid.
Were Heather, Jen and Sadie three separate links to the Book of Sorrows. But why was Sadie the only changeling?
Sadie rolled. She didn’t know if she was rolling to him or away but she had to move. She sensed him coming in again. He would not stop. Until he had what he needed. Her head grew dizzy as her mother’s words circled faster and faster around it. What could they mean? What could she say to make him stop?
With him bide time. One by one, each daughter—wait a minute. Jen was a daughter, too?
She forced her vision to locate him. A blur of black wings sped at her. She rolled and tucked, sending a pulse off of her skin. The bubble blocked his assault but did little to damage him. Crusoe laughed, a deep melodic sound that would send any person’s mind over the edge. It was the sound of childhood night terrors. “Nothing can save you now. Not even your Elijah.”
Crusoe attacked again. Sadie shot another pulse outward, curling into herself and pressing the energy into a weak membrane. But he hit again, seemingly enjoying her newfound trick. He struck at all angles, testing it. Her body trembled, shaken and depleted. The words strung themselves in her head. A clear meaning appeared within them. But would telling him what she saw stop him? Would it only enslave her to him?
Were her mother’s cryptic words worth dying for? No. She had to live for them. She had to. For Jen. For Heather. They would change, too.
Another chortle of laughter. Another strike. Her vision flashed black. Sadie’s limbs collapsed to the padded floor. Crusoe stopped attacking. He bent down so she could see his face and, God help her, she could not close her eyes against it. Was this the face of her death? His eyes searched hers and, for a vast moment, Sadie believed he’d kill her. She would fail. At least she’d fought. At least she had braved love, too, had not backed down. If nothing else, Elijah would know he was loved. He would protect her family. And one day, perhaps he’d come to understand why she hadn’t kept her promise to stay.
Sadie shut her eyes and clung to the bizarre hope that Crusoe needed her alive. “It says if the realm lines collapse, immortals and humans will both be annihilated.”
*
Elijah and Lyric arrived to the laundry littered room ready to draw blood. Elijah had pinpointed her faint vibration and hunted its trace. Though a mere whisper, he recognized Sadie’s hum as clearly as his own. They’d been joined. He could feel her now. Crusoe wouldn’t know that. Otherwise, he’d have cloaked it better.
Silence met them in the room. How long had passed? Elijah tried to estimate and failed. Her vibration lingered as well as her soft lilac fragrance, but both could be from any number of moments ago.
Lyric followed as Elijah stalked through each room. They split up. No signs of a struggle showed which could bode well or badly, depending on Sadie’s state and what Crusoe came here for. Based on what Monica had overheard Holly admitting, combined with rumor from her stint on the streets, they’d surmised Crusoe, the Illeautians themselves, suspected more journals existed. Lyric disagreed. Crusoe already had countless journals from the boxes in Sadie’s room. Why go after more? He figured Crusoe wanted to lead them astray and vanish with Sadie until she’d served his purpose.
Elijah paced his breathing, focused his detection.
“In here,” Lyric called from down a hallway. “Over here, by the floor. I can feel her sorrow.”
“What do you mean sorrow?” he snapped.
Lyric closed his eyes and took a moment. When he opened them, he only shook his head. “Deep sadness. Fear. But old fear. A memory maybe?”
Elijah calculated. Elijah knew Crusoe well. A hundred years had to count toward something. He’d underestimated him and had certainly been blind to his lies and true nature, but Elijah knew his pattern. His penchant for significance and meaning in events and pl
aces. That very facet of his nature likely contributed to creating the Illeautian movement.
Crusoe needed meaning. After witnessing so many meaningless horrors while hunting vampires and criminals, Elijah could see how blaming humans for it all, for so many immortals’ downfalls would send Crusoe toward finding meaning in the Book of Sorrows.
If there was no blood to get addicted to, if there was no humankind at all…. Elijah knew better. He never could blame mortals for simply existing. Elijah had faith that the Book of Sorrows championed both realms, though, no matter what Crusoe hoped to find otherwise.
They swept each room for further traces and Elijah’s mind worked. He retraced different hunts with Crusoe. A shifter gone vampire hiding in southern Brazil. Crusoe’s need to collect a pigmy necklace once they’d tracked their target through deep rainforest. The human leader of a blood den in Moscow, Crusoe taking his pinky ring.
Dismay frosted his hot anger. If Monica was right, Holly located Sadie for two reasons: to get Elijah closure and thereby win him, and to give her to Crusoe as well. Crusoe had always played dirty. Crusoe would use fear to force Sadie into submission. He’d use meaning. What would be her worst fear realized—.
“Lyric,” Elijah called.
“What is it? Did you find something?” He flashed to Elijah’s side.
“I know where he’s taken her. That is to say, I know what he’s taken her to. An asylum. The only problem is which one?”
Lyric frowned. Elijah despaired. Which one? Thousands scattered this country, let alone any other, and Crusoe had the world to conceal her in.
“We have to assume he’ll want to keep her nearby. To save his own energy as well as hers. I suspect there is something significant about being in Phoenix. The vortexes maybe?”
“Crusoe had said something when he left. About rebirth.”
“Phoenix rises from the ashes.” Lyric’s eyes glittered. “Was her mother ever institutionalized?”