Revelation: Trinity Part 1

by Gemma Humphrey

  It was that he’d focussed on, as he’d waited for her to return, knowing that his frustration at her willingness to put herself in harm’s way, her foolishness, would all be worthwhile, if it had finally put to rest her need to help Nathaniel.

  But where did that leave them?

  He let out his breath in a rush, already knowing he’d never be able to hold it against her. She may be strong, capable – far more so than he’d given her credit, but no match against the predatory wiles of Nathaniel.

  He allowed himself a moment to revel in his hatred for the Fallen Messenger as Rose dropped her gaze to the quilt beneath them. He despised him for doing what he did to Rose, for the hold he had over her – but most of all for the way she was so determined to see good in him. As if a demon was capable of good, capable of love.

  Rose looked up in panic, a gasp escaping her lips, and he realised, too late, that she would sense his mood.

  “Do you hate me?” she asked in horror, her eyes widening further.

  Christian sighed as his anger dissipated. “Not you,” he said, begrudgingly, “Him.”

  Rose breathed a sigh of pure relief. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, dropping her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. “You’re right I … I shouldn’t have trusted him,” she whispered sadly. “I just thought I could help him.”

  Christian considered her for a moment, before he gave in and reached out to her, smoothing her hair back behind her ear. “You can’t save everyone.”

  Rose nodded, leaning forward, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her grip tighten as she curled into him.

  He rested his chin on the top of her head in contemplation. “Do I need to ask you not to see him again?” he asked dispassionately.

  Rose shook her head. “I don’t want to,” she said, quietly. “The things he said, the way he was …”

  Christian felt her hurt as she remembered and pulled her tighter automatically.

  “I can…” he began, before hesitating. Rose pulled back, feeling the doubt that flickered through him.

  “Do you want him gone?” he asked, simply.

  Rose blinked, before understanding of what he was asking – of what he would do if she asked – dawned in her eyes. He waited quietly, pleased to find she was actually considering it, even if he already knew her answer. He smiled, unsurprised, as she exhaled.

  “I don’t want that,” she admitted, “Even after…” she trailed off, closing her eyes. “No,” she decided, firmly.

  Christian nodded. “I can’t do anything about him being in class,” he warned. “It’s too public – But any other time he comes near you, you call. Understand?”

  Rose nodded against his chest.

  “Then we’re okay,” he said, eventually.

  Rose sat up sharply. He nodded and her eyes shone with relief, even as the tears began to fall. She reached out to him, pulling him to her. He kissed her, tasting her tears as she clung to him, understanding her need for reconciliation.

  He lay back onto the bed, tugging her along with him as her tears diminished. She curled around him, tucking her head into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. They lay quietly, not moving for a moment, before an image sprang to his mind.

  Rose looked up as he chuckled. “What’s funny?” she asked.

  “I was just picturing you throwing Nate across the room.” He grinned in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I would have loved to see it.”

  “Perhaps I’ll show you,” Rose smiled, settling back down. “Next time I see him.”

  “Not if I get there first,” he sighed, contemplating how he could keep Nate away.

  “Hey,” Rose lifted her head to look at him, her hand resting on his chest. “Don’t think about it,” she said. She shook her head, lifting her chin adamantly. “He’s not important.”

  Christian smiled, wondering if she knew he’d needed to hear her say that, before cupping her cheek.

  “I love you,” he said, simply.

  Rose smiled, and reached up to kiss him.

  “I love you, too,” she said, before returning her lips to his.

  ***

  “Don't you ever knock?” Nate asked, returning from the bathroom to find Elle silhouetted in the light from the fridge.

  He closed the door to his room and adjusted the towel wrapped about his waist.

  “Do you always spend so long in the shower, or were you especially dirty?” Elle grinned as she pushed past Nate and settled onto his bed. “Been out playing with mortal girls again?”

  “Mortal boys actually,” Nate responded. He smiled emptily at Elle's raised eyebrows. “Ran into a little trouble in town,” he concluded.

  “Trouble?” Elle smiled wickedly. “You?”

  "Are you on your way somewhere?" Nate gestured to Elle’s charcoal-coloured dress and knee-high boots. “Please,” he said, eyes flashing as a wry smile playing on his lips. "Don't let me keep you.”

  “Can't a girl make a little effort for no reason?” Elle pouted, examining her black nails nonchalantly.

  Nate smiled darkly. “You never do anything without reason.”

  “You know me so well Nate,” Elle purred, looking up coyly from lowered lashes. “I miss that.”

  “Hmmm…” was the only response Nate offered, hiding his distain as he turned to the kitchen. “Drink?”

  "You don't have anything, I checked.”

  Nate opened the fridge and wrestled an ice encrusted bottle of Swedish vodka from the freezer compartment. Grabbing two tumblers he moved to join her on the bed, sitting down beside her before handing her a glass, now with an inch of liquid in the bottom.

  Elle lifted a hand to touch a large bruise that was forming on Nate’s ribs.

  “You have been in the wars,” she smiled as if the idea amused her. “I hope you didn’t break anyone in public?”

  “Just a little physical catharsis.”

  “You should have called me,” Elle drawled, as her hand trailed down his stomach. Nate pushed it away with a sigh.

  “Do you still want to kill the girl?” he asked.

  “Your idea isn't working and I’m bored of waiting,” Elle shrugged, tipping back her glass. “I’m just looking for the right opportunity.”

  “Who?” Nate asked, deadpan. “Who’s going to do it?”

  “Are you going to be difficult Nathaniel? I don’t want you getting in the way.” Elle’s look was inquisitive, searching Nate’s face for any trace of emotion. He knew she would find none.

  “You can’t send little boys again. Those last two were pathetic.”

  “Last two?” Elle queried.

  “Alastor? Raum? The monkeys that attacked her in the park?” He raised an eyebrow. “A Naphil could have scared them off.”

  “Nothing to do with me,” she said, looking blank. “They must just have been attracted by the Pull.” She shuddered delicately, and Nate knew she could feel it too, the desire to follow the tug in her belly to its source.

  “She’s learning her gifts,” he cautioned, thinking of how effectively she’d picked up Repulsion. “You’ll need to send someone … talented.”

  “Yes,” Elle mused, “I can feel it. She’ll be too strong if we wait much longer.” Her expression soured. “Soon she'll be far more than just the shapeless brat you're so fond of.”

  “I want to do it,” Nate stated, coldly. “I’m perfect for the job.” He turned away to refill their glasses so she wouldn’t see his eyes.

  "My, my Nathaniel, what a difference a few weeks make!" Her eyes widened as she took in his apparent lack of concern.

  "Nothing has changed,” he shrugged, nonchalantly, “not for me – but the Guardian has been a problem. He’s too close to the girl for me to have any chance.” He frowned, allowing a trace of frustration to show on his face.

  “Yes, his involvement has been surprising,” Elle conceded with a delicate nod. “Still,” she smiled brightly. “I have someone else in mind. Someone I trust one-hundred-percent.”

/>   “There's a party at the end of term,” he suggested, even as his heart jumped in frustration at his compliance. He fought to hold her gaze, determined not to let her see his agitation.

  Elle laughed, delightedly. “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “You could do it there,” Nate clarified. “Everyone will be busy celebrating. Lots of noise, lots of distractions.” He paused, smiling. “They call it the May Ball.”

  He could tell she was intrigued as she crossed her legs, resting her glass on her knee. Nate watched attentively, knowing that the Ball would attract her flare for drama, and it would give him the opportunity to witness it himself. To prevent it, his mind whispered in betrayal. Nate pushed the thought aside in irritation.

  “I think I may have been a little harsh on you when I was here last,” Elle confessed, placing her hand on his arm. “I was convinced that little witch had some sort of hold over you.”

  Nate trailed his eyes over her curves, not bothering to disguise the direction of his gaze or the pleasure he took from what he saw.

  “Not really my type,” he said after a long moment, raising an eyebrow as he drained his glass. “Refill?”

  Elle smiled, tracking the course of his gaze as it swept over her body. “I’ll get it,” she said, getting to her feet and smoothing the fabric of her dress. Nate watched her exaggerated strut to the kitchen, amused that he still affected her.

  She’d always favoured him, despite his previous lowly status as Messenger in Heaven. They’d been close before his abasement, and her influence had helped him rise through the ranks of Hell, earning him a place beside her for centuries. Not exactly a hardship, he smirked wryly, as he watched her return. He’d always enjoyed her, and would enjoy what was coming too – despite his paradoxical thoughts of Rose, the idea of whose death left him in turmoil, and her Guardian, whose Conclusion he would very much like to take care of personally.

  “Penny for them?” Elle stood before him holding a glass at his eye level. Nate realised he was glaring. “Old times,” he lied, raising his eyes to hers and flashing the look that he knew she enjoyed, pulling her onto his lap.

  Elle smiled, resting an arm across his bare shoulders. She lifted her glass to his lips and he took a long sip before she deposited it on his bedside table.

  He gripped her hips, the fabric of her dress ruching up around his fingers, and she lowered her mouth to his, smiling in delight as he ran a hand up her thigh, sliding under the fabric with accustomed ease.

  “A Ball,” she murmured against his lips. “Whatever shall I wear?”

  Nate captured her mouth with his, effectively cutting off any further comments, and they slowly sank onto his bed.

  21

  Rose cuddled into Christian arms as they lay on his sofa, his stereo turned up against the rain that hit the windows. A fire burned low in the grate, and blankets were strewn across their laps.

  The last few weeks had been hard work. Despite Nate being notably absent – not even bothering to attend his lectures anymore – Christian had pushed Rose into finding out more about what she could achieve, with little success.

  She’d managed to use her new repulsion skill only once since the incident with Nate, and only through frustration at the lack of progress. She had figured out how to project her thoughts to Christian, but it was erratic at best. No matter what they tried, she seemed unable to grasp the potential of her power, despite feeling it inside her.

  Today they were moving on to something that Christian felt he would be able to teach her – how to transition to Purgatory.

  “It’s a bit like stepping off a merry-go-round,” Christian was trying to explain. “You have to shift your balance just right so you don’t fall over.”

  “You’ve been on a merry-go-round?” Rose questioned.

  Christian shrugged, his fingers running down her arm. “Of course.”

  “Why?” Rose asked. “Isn’t that sort of … mundane for a man who can fly?”

  “Do you remember the time you were in London with your parents?” Christian asked, “They let you ride the horse on the carousel?”

  Rose smiled as the memory came to her. “I do.”

  “Well I was there too,” he said, with a shrug. Rose giggled, picturing him astride one of the decorated horses. “Focus,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

  Rose sat up, pulling the blanket from her lap as she thought about what he was trying to explain. “So you just … shift your balance?” she asked, frowning.

  Christian nodded. “I don’t know how else to describe it,” he said. “It’s kind of second nature to me.” He thought for a moment. “You went through it before – perhaps we could start there?” he mused.

  Rose winced as she remembered the nausea that accompanied her last trip through purgatory. It seemed like a long time ago.

  Christian grinned at her expression. “Close your eyes,” he instructed. “It might make it easier.” She sighed, before closing them as requested.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded, holding her breath as she felt them shift, as if she’d moved her weight from one foot to the other, feeling a pressure change.

  She opened her eyes, and looked at Christian. “Are we there?”

  He grinned and nodded. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Not dizzy or sick?”

  “No I’m fine,” she said. “It was fine.”

  She looked around, taking in the room. It looked unchanged. She looked back to Christian, and it was only then that she realised that everything was black and white – the only colour being their skin and clothes. She held her hand out in front of her in surprise. “How …?”

  “It’s okay,” he said, feeling her concern. “Remember I said that Purgatory acts like a blanket?” he took her hand, “It bleaches the colour as it does. That’s all.”

  “Why are we still the same then?” she asked. She could still see a faint, washed out colour if she looked hard enough.

  “Life remains true to itself,” he shrugged. “Being here doesn’t change that.”

  “It’s kind of pretty.” Rose looked back to him. “I always did prefer photographs in black and white.”

  Christian smiled. “Is that the only difference you see?”

  “Is there something else?”

  “Look up.”

  Rose looked at the ceiling. It didn’t look any different.

  “Keep looking,” Christian said. “Does it look strange to you?”

  Rose stared at it, wondering what she was supposed to see, before it flickered in the corner of her vision. She turned her head and watched it move, fading into strange shapes that she didn’t recognise.

  When it snapped into focus, she gasped in surprise. She was looking at the room above. The ceiling had disappeared and what she thought had been odd shapes were in fact furniture, viewed from underneath.

  “Can you see it?” Christian asked, watching her.

  Rose nodded. “It’s weird,” she said. “Why does it do it?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” Christian admitted. “Something to do with the absence of Earths governing laws. It’s handy though.”

  Rose looked down to him. “Handy?” she queried, looking up to find the ceiling was back again. She turned her attention to the wall to watch it flicker.

  “It allows us to travel through it,” he explained.

  “What?” she asked. “How?”

  “Watch,” he instructed, moving over to the sofa. He reached out a hand, as if to touch the fabric, and it passed through as though it wasn’t there. “Nothing in this plane is solid,” he said, pulling his hand back. “Not if you don’t want to be. But it can be just as easily.” He did it again and this time his hand touched the fabric. Rose saw it move beneath his fingers. “It’s all about perspective.”

  “What does that have to do with travel?” Rose asked, confused.

  "Have you heard of 'Pauli’s Exclusion Theory?" asked Christian.

  "That's the law that says two objects can't exist
in the same place at the same time, isn't it?" Rose grinned at Christian’s raised eyebrows. “Ben likes to talk through his work when he gets stuck,” she explained.

  "That's the general gist of it, yeah,” Christian grinned, ruefully. "There's more to it than that, but it's not important.”

  "What does it have to do with travelling here?"

  "Exclusion Theory is tied to Earth. It's only really true when you're on the Mortal Plane. Here, in Purgatory, it gets a bit …” he waved his hand as he searched for an appropriate word to describe it.

  "Fuzzy?" Rose ventured.

  "Fuzzy. Yeah.” Christian thought for a moment more before continuing. "Try to think of it not as 'two objects in the same place and time' and more like 'everyplace being in the same place as everywhere else'.” He pulled a face at his convoluted explanation.

  Rose blinked, frowning as she thought it through. "So what you're telling me is that, basically, while I’m here, in the purgatory version of your room,” she glanced around. “I’m also in my room, and in the library, and … anywhere else I want to be?"

  "That's about the size of it, yeah.” They shared a blank look. “You understand?”

  “No,” Rose said simply, shaking her head.

  Christian laughed, resting his hands gently on her waist. In an instant, she was standing next to her bed in her own room, her legs wobbling at the change. Christian’s hand steadied the small of her back as she sat down, feeling nauseous.

  "You see,” said Christian, sitting next to her, "Purgatory is not governed by Earth’s laws. It may look like we're still on the Mortal Plane, but we're not. We may just as well be on the moon looking at a television picture of your room.”

  "So you just … changed channels?" Rose asked shakily.

  "I guess that's a way to look at it,” he smiled at her stunned expression.

  “How do you do it?” Rose asked, beginning to feel normal again.

  “You just tell yourself that you’re already there.”

  “What?”