Instruments of the Angels (Hallows & Nephilim: Waters Dark and Deep #1)
Page 17
When she reached the Roman walls, she ducked under a half-archway into the dim shelter, hidden by columns of brick dating back to 300 AD. She found the brick that was softer than all the others, marked by a symbol that looked like two tildes crossing each other, and pushed on it. The stone platform she stood on descended slowly, then more rapidly, until she was plummeting into the depths below.
The platform stopped abruptly, almost as quickly as it had started. She stepped through a narrow hallway that twisted between the slabs of stone, molded with picks over hundreds of years, then smoothed by the traffic, like the stones in a river bed.
Underneath the streets, another city centre thrived under brilliant, artificial light meant to mimic the sun. The light was supercharged, enhancing the Hallows’ supernatural powers and allowing them to draw freely from the source, like a battery in a recharging station.
She walked up the steps and paused at the entrance.
The city was structured like a stadium, with a metropolis of restaurants and shopping at the core. The houses wound outward from the centre like winds spiraling around the eye of a tornado, each outer ring sitting slightly above the inner ring on an incline. From where she was standing, the empty space between the faux sky and the buildings formed the bottom half of a sphere.
“La Ciutat dels Lladres d’Ànima,” she whispered to herself. The City of Soul Catchers.
She stepped forward, moving toward the center of a sprawling quad with a large fountain surrounded by gray stone benches. Walkways and concrete paths sprouted from the fountain, each one leading to a different district of the city. The fountain was surrounded by some of the most important and frequented Hallow haunts, like L’alquímia Antiga, a fun tourist storefront completely molded from clay. There was an interactive science lab inside, and the gift shop sold replicas of everything from ancient crucibles to transmutation circles.
She kept walking, until she came across a building of glass and metal, fondly called l’Apotecari, though it had grown much larger than a plausible apothecary over the years. It was more like a research facility and hospital combined. Thessa shuddered, remembering the time she spent in the fertility unit, many years ago. She remembered Bes, promising to stand beside her even though she could never have his children.
The fist in her chest tightened, though she knew she had no time for old memories of lost love.
People’s lives are at stake, she reminded herself. There was no room for her emotions in this task. There was no room for error.
Determined, she made her way to the meeting point she had been given—a building with large letters spelling “Ajuntament” over the doors.
At the front desk, an unfamiliar young woman smiled at her. “Good morning! How can I help you today?”
The woman’s cheeriness seemed out of place in the cold, sterile building, and her slight drawl sounded like it came from somewhere in the southwest of the United States. She eyed the woman’s nameplate suspiciously. Natassia. She was clearly American—perhaps stationed in Spain by the New Order? The Hallows had city centres all over the world, though, so it was unusual to see an American in Europe.
“Thessa Torres,” she whispered. “I have an appointment with—”
“Oh, yes, Thessa Torres!” the woman said eagerly. Several people looked up at the two of them, and Thessa noticed two girls at the other end of the room whispering to each other.
To the outside world, the girls looked the same age as her—all Hallows looked like they were in their late teens or early twenties—but she could see a brightness in their eyes that she hadn’t seen in her own reflection in many years. That was what she disliked about the city the most; it sparkled and glistened with the promise of eternal youth, but she knew that age was a state of mind. One could tell a person’s true age not by the wrinkles on her face, but by the exhaustion in her spirit.
She gave Natassia a thin smile. “Please, keep your voice down.”
The woman let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry Ms. Torres, I forgot you’re a bit of a celebrity around here.”
At the word “celebrity,” she cringed. Yes, she was well-known among the Hallows, but only because she had not aged for nearly two thousand years. And that was only because she couldn’t have children; Hallows began the aging process when their children replaced them.
She took a deep breath. Focus, she told herself. She exhaled slowly, counting the seconds in her head. “I have an appointment with President Vega,” she said calmly.
Natassia gave her a bubbly grin. “Yes, President Vega is waiting for you,” she said in a stage whisper, loud enough that the entire room could probably still hear. The girl winked at her and held out an inch-thick metal cylinder with a squat letter Z engraved in black. “Have you used one of these before?” she asked. “Bend the ends into a Z-shape and push down on the symbol. You’ll be transported to your meeting.”
She looked at the contraption. She had never seen anything like it before—it had to be new technology used only in the city centres. Perhaps she had lived off the grid too long, hiding out in the hilly snow-crested mountains of the Dakotas.
She did not like the thought of using new technology in a dangerous place like this. “Where will this take me?” she asked, careful not to touch the device.
“I don’t know,” Natassia said cheerfully, back to her normal sound level. The woman had all the discretion of a bullhorn. She leaned in conspiratorially. “President Vega has chosen a secure location for your meeting. He doesn’t come to the centre anymore. Security risk.”
She grimaced; she had heard that President Vega had grown more and more paranoid since he’d first taken over nearly 100 years earlier. All the same, she did not like the idea of transporting to a place she didn’t know beforehand. What if it was a trap?
“Could he possibly meet me here?” she asked.
Natassia’s grin faltered and her eyebrows shot up. She opened her mouth, looking unsure of how to respond. “I… I really don’t have any way of contacting him.”
She imagined that no one had ever questioned President Vega’s intentions. She wondered if she could get the girl to do what she wanted. “I’ve travelled a long way for this meeting,” she said suggestively. “I’m exhausted.”
“Oh, it’s a quick trip!” the girl exclaimed, missing her meaning. “You won’t feel anything, I promise.” Natassia smiled brightly, but the slight flash of understanding in her eyes gave Thessa the sense that the girl was smarter than she acted.
She rubbed her arms, trying to release the tension in them. She had run out of excuses—if she outright refused to use the device, it would be obvious that she didn’t trust the president. In the Hallow world, that was akin to declaring war on the New Order.
Thessa took a deep breath and grabbed the cylinder from Natassia. She took a few steps back from the desk and configured the metal into a Z-shape, like Natassia had demonstrated. Then, she exhaled and pressed her thumb to the symbol, feeling a familiar cold all over, the kind that came with traveling quickly. The building and Natassia faded into black, and she braced herself for the dangerous man that awaited her.
Chapter 2 - Brie
Outside, the Honolulu sky was a bright island blue, crisp and clear and absent of pollution. But from behind the tinted windows of their SUV, everything looked dim, reminding Brie van Rossum that no matter how beautiful the island was, she still lived in its shadows.
She sat in the backseat by herself, fidgeting with her skirt, her heels, her long mahogany mane. She pulled the strands into a high ponytail on the top of her head, only to rip the elastic band free a few moments later. She started a French braid, but couldn’t get the pieces to lay right without a mirror. She twirled it into a bun before realizing how stiff she might look on camera. Finally, she gave up and let it cascade across her shoulders. It will be okay, she told herself, even though the dancing nerves in her stomach told her otherwise.
She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 8:43am. A little
over eight hours left to get through without incident. Her brother Pilot would kill her if she caused a scene today, even if it wasn’t her fault.
She dreaded the moment the SUV would stop and he would force her to get out. She had been avoiding her first day at her new school for three days now, but today, Annie had threatened her with boarding school if she didn’t get out of bed.
Not that Annie could really send her off—she was their house manager, not her mom.
Her mom had died two months earlier in a plane crash.
She was pretty sure Annie thought that was why she didn’t want to leave the house. But Annie was wrong; Brie had a secret that she didn’t think anyone would believe, even if she wanted to tell someone—which she 100% didn’t.
8:45am. Cold air rushed toward her from the air-conditioning vents, chilling her skin. She longed for the warmth of the sun, but knew that it came with a price. The paparazzi. They would be on her the second she left the car. Maybe it was better then, that she left her hair down, so she could hide behind it when the moment came.
Pilot’s best friend Rykken glanced back at her from the passenger seat. “You look cold,” he noted, fiddling with the AC knob on the car’s dashboard. Immediately, the backseat flooded with warm air.
She smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” Since their mom’s death, after moving from New York City to Honolulu to live with her father, Rykken seemed to be around more often than not. She had known him for what felt like forever; and yet, she didn’t know much about him at all. He seemed to keep Pilot distracted, which could only be a good thing.
Pilot was lucky to have a close friend in a strange new home. He would tell her, though, that it was her own fault she didn’t have friends in Honolulu—after all, he had spent the summers living with their dad. She had spent the summers in New York City, with her mom. Where she belonged.
8:47am. The car slowed to a halt when they reached the DeRosa Academy parking lot.
“Not this again,” Pilot muttered. She looked out the window and saw a line of people dressed in black lined up along the road, waiting for them. The paparazzi. DeRosa was a small private high school, so they couldn’t come any closer, but she had a feeling they would still get their shot.
She hopped down from the SUV, feeling suddenly self-conscious. A quick glance at the other kids milling around the school doors told her that she was completely overdressed in her a-line skirt, button down blouse, and high heels. Too late to change now, though. She would have to live with her outfit for the day.
As she walked across the parking lot, the flashes spotted the horizon like dancing Christmas lights. Of course, those flashes came from cameras that actual people were holding. But she had come to think of them as just flashes, devoid of personalities or morals. They saw her as a piece of meat, so why shouldn’t she do the same? Detaching the flashes from the humans who were responsible for them helped her stay calm when the publicity surrounding her mother’s death became too much for her to handle.
A female paparazzo who didn’t quite match the others drew her eye; she wore a black hooded jacket over her head and face, and her camera covered her eyes and nose. If it weren’t for her stature, Brie wouldn’t have known that she was a woman. She squinted her eyes to get a better look, but the woman disappeared behind the line of photographers, as if Brie spotting her was a cue to move.
“They came out for you,” Pilot remarked as he strode past her, interrupting her thoughts. “Everyone’s been waiting for you to emerge.”
She felt the heat rising from her cheeks and instinctively grabbed the ruby necklace hanging from her neck—a gift from her mother on her fifteenth birthday, given just a few months before her death.
Neither she nor Pilot were strangers to the public life; her father James was the lead singer of Dragon Lizzie and her mother came from old money on the Upper East Side. But the media had never found Brie interesting until she had grown into a teenager, a younger version of her well-known mother. And even then, her star hadn’t begun to burn on a national level until the news had hit that her mother had died.
Still, she didn’t understand why the media wouldn’t leave her alone. She slowed her steps, letting Pilot and his friend to get several feet ahead of her. Pilot had had his share of the media’s cruelty, but he didn’t realize how miserable the comparisons to her mother made her. She didn’t want to look in the mirror and see a constant reminder that the one person who had been her rock—who had always been there—was now gone forever.
When Pilot and Rykken reached the doors, her brother stopped and waited for her.
She waved her hand, giving him a confident smile that didn’t match the nerves she felt. “Go ahead. I’ll be okay.”
“You’re sure?” Pilot asked. He walked back down the steps, toward her. “I’m worried about you,” he said in a quieter voice.
“I’m fine,” she promised.
He pressed the palm of his hand against his mouth, cupping his chin. “If anyone gives you trouble today—”
“No one will,” Brie said, though she didn’t feel nearly as sure as she sounded. She felt students staring at her as they passed by, headed into the academy, and her stomach dropped.
Rykken came up behind Pilot, just as a huge group of people passed by, clearly talking about them. “Do you want me to introduce you to some people?” he asked. “I know a few girls your age who you might get along with.” There was something in his tone, a protectiveness that she had only experienced from her brother, that surprised her.
“You’re both sweet, but I should probably make my own way today.”
Pilot nodded. She knew he understood. Their mother had raised them to be strong, and this was something she needed to do on her own.
Rykken’s umber eyes lingered on her for a few seconds before he finally looked away as well.
“You want to head to practice?” Pilot asked Rykken.
Rykken gave a curt nod, turning away from them and heading back toward the school.
Pilot put his hand on her shoulder. “Come find me at lunch,” he said. His eyes met hers for a second before he turned away as well, following after Rykken.
They disappeared into the school, and Brie took a deep breath. She reviewed everything that was riding on her first day at DeRosa. Every time she had stepped outside their town home in New York, the paparazzi had found a reason to write a story about her. Once they moved to Honolulu a few weeks ago, the stories finally stopped, but only because she never left James’s house.
Pilot thought some time out of the spotlight would end the media nightmare, and she hadn’t wanted to be on the island anyway, so she didn’t care if she had to stay inside for a few days to give her brother peace of mind. She knew the media’s endless fascination with her upset Pilot, only because he was worried about her.
But she couldn’t hide forever. And now that she was back in the public eye, she needed to make a good impression; partly for Pilot’s sake, but also for her own. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of the students of DeRosa if she had to spend the next three years of her life with them.
She reached the doors and entered the building. She walked down the hallway as quickly as she could, ignoring the whispers emanating from the crowd of teenagers that cleared a path for her. She followed the numbers on the lockers that lined the walls until she reached the one that belonged to her. Everywhere she passed, the blaring conversation fell to a low but urgent hiss, coupled with bursts of soft laughter.
It was only 8:53am, which meant she had seven minutes to kill before classes started. Her plan was to spend several minutes fiddling with her school supplies at her locker, leaving only enough time to get to class a few seconds before the bell rang.
“Look at this,” a loud girl said, holding up her phone to a group of students. “Zoey Fromme has before and after shots on her gossip website already.”
“Seriously?!” another girl exclaimed. “That explains why she looks so different in person.”
One of the twins, the kind-looking one, touched the second girl’s shoulder. “Give her a chance,” she whispered. “The story is probably a lie.”
“Doubtful,” the first girl said. “Her dead mom’s inheritance probably paid for them.”
Several of the other girls laughed and she felt her face heating up with embarrassment. They were talking about her when she was standing barely ten feet away, loud enough so that everyone in the hallway could hear them. She bit her lip, determined not to show emotion. Every magazine in the country had published lies about her family for months and months. She couldn’t let a group of teenage girls derail her now.
She tilted her chin upward and straightened her posture. She had no idea what the girls were referring to specifically, only that they were talking about her. A part of her wanted to pull out her cell phone and check the news right then, but she couldn’t give them the satisfaction.
She stared straight ahead into her locker, pretending to sort through several notebooks. A photograph of her mother slipped out from between her brand new school supplies. She picked it up, recognizing it from just a few months earlier. She was in the picture and they were both smiling. It was probably one of the last pictures they had taken together.
She slipped the picture along the back edge of her locker, wedging it between two ridges of metal.
When she turned around, the ringleader with the short, curly hair was standing right in front of her.
“Brie van Rossum,” the girl said. “I’m Sheila Wright. I just wanted to make sure that you’re feeling okay after your big operation.”