by Isis Rushdan
Then they went to Cassian’s room. Painted the same pale green as the meditation room, it was simple and organized. Talus went to a bookshelf and pulled out a book by Khalil Gibran, called The Prophet. She drifted to his bathroom and picked up a gold ring. Staring at it, she stood motionless.
Framed posters of movies and cars hung on the walls. Serenity walked around the room, passing posters of Blade Runner, Silence of the Lambs, Bullitt, and Marvel’s Avengers.
In a small sitting area across from a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall was a professional setup of weights, complete with bench and rack.
Serenity turned to check on Talus who stood holding a large pair of scissors. She rushed to the bathroom as Talus held her braid and snipped it off, leaving her hair short, hanging just below her chin. Serenity snatched the scissors out of her hands and set them on the sink.
“Are you ready?”
Talus stared at her with a blank expression.
They went down to the garden. Cyrus and Abbadon came out of the back of the house, carrying Cassian. Cyrus was dressed in a black linen outfit. Cassian’s body was bound tightly in white cloth. They put him in a simple coffin, then lifted it and carried it together. She followed them beyond the lemon grove to a beautiful spot near a thicket.
A large burial vault was open in front of two trees. Mrs. Carter was there with a stunned look on her face. She kept shaking her head in disbelief. Serenity was surprised to see her. She had forgotten she would be there for work that day. They put his coffin down into the vault.
Talus dropped to her knees beside the grave, cradling the items she’d selected close to her heart. Serenity stood near Cyrus and held his hand. Mrs. Carter took a handkerchief from her purse to wipe her eyes.
Abbadon spoke for several minutes in their language. She wished she could’ve understood his words. He placed two amulets in the coffin. One was the eye of Heru. The other was a scarab with wings. Talus put the items she had collected next to Cassian and her lock of hair on top of him. Cyrus closed the coffin. He sealed the vault with a heavy lid. On top of it was a metal plate, which simply read Cassian Amatus Harmerty.
Abbadon drifted off toward the lake. Mrs. Carter went back to the house.
Cyrus trudged over to Talus and knelt. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she erupted to life in a hail of swinging fists, growling.
“It’s your fault he’s dead!” She punched his chest and face. Her fists struck him like gunfire. “If you had killed that bitch when you were supposed to, he’d still be alive.”
He didn’t back away. He took her thrashing with a stone face in silence.
Sorrow melted Serenity’s heart and tears fell from her eyes as she stood helpless to comfort either of them. Talus flogged him until her arms and fists petered out and her rage ebbed. She collapsed into his arms, her head slid to his lap.
“Why didn’t you kill her?” she sobbed. “Why?”
Chapter Thirty
Serenity stood at the window on the second floor, watching Cyrus hold Talus outside near the burial vault.
Darkness had fallen by the time they came in. Cyrus carried Talus to her room and stayed with her. Serenity went to her room and showered, trying to scrub away the memory of what had happened. She threw on her robe and fell into bed. Exhaustion encouraged her eyes to close. She rested lightly, hovering somewhere short of sleep.
Sometime during the night, Cyrus slid into bed. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed his body into her. His hot tears cascaded down her neck. She interlaced her fingers through his. He was so quiet. If it hadn’t been for the moisture on her skin, she never would have known he was crying. His anxiety and grief perforated her with a thousand tiny holes. Distraught with anguish, she cried with him. If she could have taken away his pain, so only one of them suffered, she would have done it without hesitation. She wanted to roll over and kiss his tears, but he held her tightly, fastened in place, facing away.
After sunrise, he slipped out of bed and left the room. She opened her eyes and stared at the clock, six-thirty. Still fatigued, she closed her eyes, but instead of darkness, she saw Cassian’s body, falling. How could anyone take pleasure in killing him? There had been a smile on Lysandra’s face, the same face Cyrus once touched, once kissed and loved.
An image of her father, a pool of crimson beside his head, slithered to the forefront of her mind.
Her parents had tried to spare her this, premature death. Safe surrounded by humans, away from the collective, out of the line of fire from bloodthirsty mercenaries and far from the clutches of heartless Paladins. They had been willing to forsake redemption to keep her out of harm’s way, even if it meant keeping her from Cyrus. And she had squandered their sacrifice by walking right into the middle of danger. With a shudder, she slid out of bed.
As she dressed, disquietude snaked up her spine, slithered down her chest and coiled in her belly.
Death was coming for her, stalking her since she’d bumped into Kindred in Central Park. And every day she spent with Cyrus its icy claws drew closer.
A shiver crawled over her skin. She rubbed her arms, trying to beat the chill away. Pulling on a sweater, she hurried out of the room to check on Talus.
Abbadon came around the corner, passing the library. “Are you well?”
“Yes, I was going to see how Talus is doing.”
Abbadon put his hand on her shoulder and steered her back toward her own room. “Talus is not coping as we would have hoped.”
She stopped. “Coping? Her brother was murdered in front of her two nights ago.”
“Once the dead are buried, we cease to mourn. We believe grief traps their souls here. We seek to celebrate their lives and deeds. And hope the Creator will renew their energy and send them back to us when the time is right.”
She swiveled and headed for Talus’s room.
“Cyrus and I will look after her for now.” Abbadon caught her arm, ever so lightly, a tender cup of hand, but enough to make her stop. “You may discuss it with Cyrus later. It would be best for Talus if you didn’t see her now.” He released her.
Serenity searched his face. He didn’t hide behind his blank slate. Worry and exhaustion riddled his brow and hung heavy in the cant of his shoulders. “Fine.”
She returned to her room and did the only thing she could. Eyes closed or open, death loomed, Cassian’s face ablaze in her mind. She made countless sketches of him until she captured the essence of his beautiful spirit. She set up a primed canvas and laid out her paints.
With painstaking, careful strokes, she created a portrait of Cassian for Talus from memory. She didn’t know how long it would take until Talus would be able to look at it without feeling sorrow. Perhaps years, but Serenity was confident one day Talus would find comfort in it. She put the painting in the corner, facing a window to dry.
Cyrus loaded a tray with sandwiches and soup. The days had bled together, a wash of sorrow. Mourning should have ended per their custom three nights ago when they laid Cassian to rest, but Talus had fallen into despair and trapped all of them in the darkness with her.
Dusk rolled into night when Cyrus entered the room. Serenity sat on the sofa, her wild curls piled high on her head.
“I should call the Council and tell them what happened,” he said, putting the tray on the coffee table and sitting beside her. “Once they know I’ve found you, they’ll order us to return to Herut. I can buy us enough time for me take care of Lysandra.”
She stared at him, shaking her head. “I won’t go.”
“You will go. You have no choice.”
“No choice? Now you want to take away my freedom to choose.”
A swirl of panic and dread nipped their joined energy stream, rankling his insides. The stirring emotions slashed deep, but distinctly not his.
“I want my life back!” She popped to her feet.
“What?”
“My life, I want it back! You took it away without even asking, without my consent.
The safe life I struggled to make where I could count on walking the streets without being followed or running the risk of being kidnapped. When I was free to come and go as I pleased. The life where I made people happy by designing soul tattoos for them. The life I had before you, where I didn’t have to worry about mercenaries or Paladins finding out about me. My mother left me alone in the world, a confused five-year-old with nothing to hold on to but the meager kindness from passing humans because she thought it was better for me than this. Cassian was murdered right here on the estate. I can’t take this! I want to feel safe again, Cyrus.”
Raw, jagged pain speared his chest. He couldn’t speak, ambushed by her declaration. Gripping the arm of the sofa, he pushed off it to help him stand. He put one foot in front of the other, bumping into the coffee table, and made his way to the window. He had no idea what ripping her from her old life and thrusting her into his might do to her. Warring Kindred factions, brethren turned into crazed beasts by the curse, mercenaries, violence…this was his life.
It would always be like this, until their people were redeemed and a new era began.
He stared at the darkness beyond the glass. “You and I will never truly be safe until we have a child and put an end to the curse.”
“Here we go again! Stop trying to cram a baby down my throat. I can’t be a mother.”
Pivoting, he met her gaze. “Growing up without your mother must make it difficult to imagine being one yourself someday. I can’t fathom the depths or the complexity of our situation for you, but as long as we’re together, we’ll be targets, hunted until we have a child.”
“Maybe there’s another way,” she said, wringing her hands. “We could publicly agree not to have a baby, maybe at the next great gathering of the Councils from all of the Houses.”
He shook his head. “This is madness. We’ll be hunted until one of us is killed or we have a child. There’s no other way. Besides, there’s so much more at stake. Kindred are dying. We used to live for a thousand years. Those of the Psi class are lucky to make it to a hundred. The dark veil and sangre saevitas are wiping us from the face of the earth.”
“Humans feel privileged to live to a hundred. Aren’t you afraid to lose your ability to fly or your incredible strength?”
“If it is the Creator’s will, I do not fear it.”
“Who are we to decide this for an entire species? Who are we to force this on them?”
“You sound dangerously similar to my kabashem,” Abbadon said from across the room.
Icy shards of terror streaked through their stream as Serenity wheeled around. Abbadon stood in the doorway connecting their bedrooms. How long had he been standing there?
Abbadon slipped his hands into his pockets and he walked in. “The desire to hold on to power, the craving for more is why the ancients were eradicated the first time. The thirteen that survived were tested again and failed. We are their progeny, you and Cyrus are the reincarnated soul of one, but none of us are doomed to repeat the same mistake.”
He circled closer. “Kasmira,”—his eyelids lowered like window shades—“my kabashem, seeks to retain power regardless of the cost. There are many who share her perspective. You and Cyrus must end this cycle and redeem us, all of us. We will not be given a fourth chance. We’ll simply cease to exist. A sacrifice must be made, but the choice is yours.”
Abbadon locked eyes with Cyrus. The laser beam gaze burned a hole right through him. There was no need to say the words. Cyrus knew what his brother was thinking. Duty first.
“What happened between you and Kasmira?” she asked.
Abbadon’s head dipped forward. “We used to see one another as often as possible. Those were the days when I thought I’d do anything for love, for her love. The last time we met she asked me to betray Herut. Knowing I was close to Cyrus, she wanted me to wait until he met his kabashem and to report back to her. I never knew she was a Paladin until that day. Their numbers are secret, their members secret. She had orders to kill me if I refused. When I did, she stuck a blade in my chest, less than an inch from my heart. She could have finished me, but left my life in the hands of fate.”
Cyrus didn’t envy the suffering of his old friend.
Abbadon’s steely gaze flickered up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you two. Cyrus, the team has arrived. Hotep has come up with a few leads on Lysandra. We’ll await you downstairs.” Abbadon left the same way he had entered, but closed the door behind him.
As Cyrus approached his kabashem, he collected his thoughts. He caressed her shoulders, preparing to reason with her one last time. “At Herut the mercenaries wouldn’t be a factor and once the redeemer is born no Kindred would have a need to hurt you.” He kept his voice tight, controlled. “It’s the only way. We have to end the curse. We have to have a child.”
“I was perfectly safe in the city without a baby three weeks ago. Now I’m always two steps away from death. How long until the next close call? A day? A week?”
Her words cut through his heart. He turned from her and he shut his eyes. She didn’t think he could keep her safe. Why should she? He couldn’t even save Cassian.
“Abbadon said it was a choice.” Her voice hardened as her distress raked him, piercing through their energy stream. “Well, where’s my right to choose? This was all just hurled at me, all at once, without my consent!”
Dragging her to Herut would only compound her misery. His House would strip away all of her choices and shove redemption down her throat until she choked. And she’d hate him for it.
But there was a way to restore her life and make her safe again, a way to keep her from the Himalayas, the harsh confines of his House, and off of the Paladins’ radar.
He tamped down his emotions and willed himself to a stony calm. “I’ll say nothing to the Council of your existence. I’ll find Lysandra and the mercenaries and I’ll kill them all. But as long as you’re with me your life will be in danger because our union is a threat until the redeemer is born.”
The weight of his duty, his honor, bore down on him—crushing him. For a second he thought he might not be able to finish. He turned to look at her. “I’ll have Evan’s memory of Kindred and Lysandra erased, so no harm has to come to your human. And I will let you return to your life as it was before me.”
Confusion riddled her face as her jaw dropped. He walked to the door, his knees shook like his legs might buckle, but he drove his heels square into the floor with each step.
She jumped in his path, throwing her hands to his chest. “What are you saying? I don’t know how to go back to a life without you,” she said, a hitch in her voice.
His chest constricted, heart throbbing so hard he thought it would seize up on him. “Then I’ll have your mind wiped clean of me so the matter doesn’t weigh on your heart.”
Her eyes grew wide. He walked around her, rushing for the door before he changed his mind and lost the courage to set her free.
“I don’t want to forget about us, about you.” She ran to him, grabbing his arm. “How could you even think about doing that to me?”
He stared at her, longing to cup her face and kiss her mouth, to hold her until she conceded. “I would do anything to keep you safe, to make you happy, even if it meant enduring a lifetime without you. Erasing the burden of Kindred, of being Blessed, of us, to restore your life as it was, is not something I would do to you. It’s something I’ll do for you.”
Breaking free of her grasp, he left the room, shutting the door. Emptiness swept through him, hollowing him out, as he drifted downstairs.
Something dark and fierce stabbed at him. Agony swelled in his chest, filling his lungs, asphyxiating him.
For two hundred years, he’d put his House and redemption first.
Now it was all her, above all others, above ending the curse, above everything.
The hope of redemption and the faith of his people shattered inside of him. His vain dream of happiness, of a life made whole by her—with her—receded into
darkness.
How could he go on without her?
Chapter Thirty-One
After thirty-six grueling hours of searching for Lysandra and Evan, Cyrus had turned up nothing. It had been easy enough to single out which corporation under the Gallacom Industries umbrella was the front for their black ops unit. Only one company was never mentioned in the media, privately operated with no shares for trade on the stock exchange, remaining quiet and unassuming as if it were trying to hide.
Cyrus and Abbadon had searched all of the facilities associated with the small subsidiary. Every building and warehouse had been cleared out. They were missing something.
“I want Hotep and Micah to start digging into the other companies to find a pattern or some possible lead,” Cyrus said to Abbadon as they climbed into the car. With nothing else to go on they had to head back to the house.
“I already have Hotep doing research.”
“Well, put Micah on it with him,” Cyrus snapped, starting the car. “We need to find Evan. He’ll be with Lysandra. Has anyone tried tracking him down by his cell phone.”
“Dead end,” Abbadon said flatly. “Lysandra has been smart enough to keep him off a traceable grid.”
Cyrus pounded his fist against the dash. “Damn it!”
“You’ve been quite agitated. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” he growled, clinging to his anger.
Rage was tolerable. The gut-wrenching anguish that flared every time he thought about a future without Serenity threatened to tear him apart.
“Has Krevitch, Jude’s factotum, been wiped clean yet?” Cyrus asked.
“No. We have him in a safe house in Long Island. Danika was tied up at House Herut with another matter. She’ll fly into LaGuardia at the end of the week. Why?”
“I need her to stick around. Once we find Evan, I want him wiped clean, and I have another matter I need her to take care of.”
“What matter, brother?”