Atonement

by Tanith Frost

  My mouth goes dry. “It’s not our power. It’s not like anything I’ve felt.”

  Daniel turns to me. “You feel it that distinctly?”

  “Yeah. Like how I felt the werewolves’ power, even before I’d really become familiar with it.”

  He watches me carefully for a few seconds, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t before. “And vampires. What do you feel from us?”

  I glance around quickly, but for the moment the house is quiet. “I feel the void in us. We all have the same power, but when you open yourself to me, I can feel changes in it depending on what you’re feeling. The power itself doesn’t change, but… I don’t know. It’s the same power, but filtered through you, and that makes it different.”

  I’d always assumed we all experienced this, that it was something like what Daniel taught me about sensing intentions in other vampires’ power. But that’s a blunt instrument. This is finely tuned.

  Another thing entirely.

  We should be hunting. Searching. But his attention is all on me, his gaze so intense I feel like I might break under it. “I wonder whether we were wrong about the nature of your gifts,” he says. “If you feel—”

  Gunshots echo through the house from the broken window, followed by shouts from outside, reminding us how short our time is running. If Genevieve was right and there are more troops coming, we won’t be able to hold them off for long.

  We split up, checking behind every closed door leading off the hall, opening every closet and cupboard. There’s nothing unusual except for the fact that a lot of people have obviously been staying here. Every room is packed with single beds with foot lockers at the end.

  There’s no sign of Helena, though.

  I don’t let myself wonder where she found all these people or what made them all so willing to follow her and give their lives for her mission to destroy us.

  Daniel is leaning against the wall when I emerge from the master bedroom, eyes closed, shoulders slumped.

  “Basement?” I ask.

  “I suppose. Though it seems unlike her to let herself be trapped like that.”

  “Maybe she has an escape passage.”

  He nods. “Wouldn’t that be just our luck?”

  “Hey.” I take his face in my hands. He opens his eyes. “Don’t give up now. We’ll make our own luck if we have to.” Edwin’s unearthly scream rings out, but it’s not a battle cry now. It’s all rage and raw pain that washes over me like an icy ocean wave, leaving me frozen to my core. “They’re still fighting.”

  Daniel stands up straighter and takes my hands in his. “So am I.”

  He starts toward the stairs, but I hesitate.

  The blue power is here, and it’s hers. However she got hold of it, whether it’s some protective gift from an angel or something else entirely, it should be strongest in her body if it’s what’s been healing and sustaining her all these years. And I can feel it, so I should be able to follow it to its source. After all, the two powers inside me, my own dark depths and the shining warmth I can’t get rid of no matter how I try, are both agitated, reacting to it.

  But they’re still battling each other as I struggle to keep Silas’s unintentional gift under control. It’s impossible to focus when I’m so divided.

  I can’t keep fighting like this. Whether I like it or not, this golden power is a part of me now. Gift, scar, curse, it doesn’t matter. Everything is perspective, and everything has potential. All it took for Hannabelle to discover the gifts that lay dormant within her was to accept what was already hers.

  What I’m considering is hardly the same thing. It’s more akin to inviting a hostile invader in for tea.

  But I don’t know what else to do.

  “Daniel, wait.”

  He pauses and turns back.

  “I want to try something.” I take a long, deep breath. If we’re really a team, I have to trust him with this. “Remember how I stalled in training because I was fighting myself too hard?”

  He looks wary. “I do.”

  “I’m going to let go of my hold on the fire. The werewolf power. I want to try using it instead of fighting it. I think I can find her.”

  I’m not making sense, and I know it. But it’s the best I can do.

  Daniel comes back up the few steps he’d already descended and places his hands on my upper arms. “You don’t know what will happen. If just letting it loose makes you ill—”

  Shouts rise from downstairs, and there’s a pounding on the back door. I can pick out Genevieve’s voice, and Trent’s, and they sound frantic. Someone is beating on the door with what sounds like a battering ram.

  “I know what will happen if we don’t find her,” I tell him, and lean in to place a soft kiss on his jaw. “I’m not ready for this to end. Not if it doesn’t have to.”

  I step back. He doesn’t try to hold on to me. I almost wish he would. I wish there was someone to forbid this. The fire is rising in me as though responding to the idea of freedom, and the void is doing its damnedest to hold it back. Bile rises in my throat as a wave of revulsion like I haven’t felt since the day I met Silas hits me.

  What if it consumes me?

  Another slam at the door, and the sound of wood cracking.

  I’ve kept a tight grip on the fire for so long that at first I don’t know how to let it go. I’ve spent every day denying it, fighting it, making it unwelcome. I close my eyes and picture that bright, golden scar burning inside me, glowing like the embers of a fire I’ve almost succeeded in extinguishing.

  I will the void to let the fire breathe and grow. To stand down and let the enemy in.

  Nothing happens for a moment, and then all hell breaks loose within me.

  I imagined Silas left me with a scar, a lump of power that I couldn’t cut out, so I twisted and tightened it to a hard knot. I was wrong. His death opened me to a river of fire, and I’ve been building a dam ever since. All it takes is a crack, and my efforts wash away in a flood of warmth and golden light.

  I cry out, but my voice sounds distant. I don’t know whether I’ve opened my eyes or not. My body doesn’t seem like a part of me. I’m drowning. I can’t hold the void back. It responds, fighting against the flood, and I’m suffocating under the weight of the force that’s supposed to sustain me.

  Fire doesn’t belong in me any more than life does. This is what the void tries to protect us from with our instinctive aversion to the creatures who carry this power.

  My veins feel like they’re filled with flames, burning me up from within. I want to throw myself into the depths of the void to cool myself, to swim so deep I never have to emerge. The pain is so intense that nothing else exists for me.

  Oblivion would be a blessing.

  The world returns slowly and unexpectedly. Had I been able to think of anything, I wouldn’t have expected to return to myself at all. But my body is here, whole and entirely unconsumed by flames. Rough carpet scratches my cheek as I try to lift my head, and my mouth tastes of bile and bad blood.

  I give myself a few seconds to rest with my eyes closed, assessing the damage, withdrawing into myself to gather my strength.

  The void washes over me, bathing me in blessed darkness, but it’s changed. It’s weak from the battle, but something is strengthening it from within. A bright current flows somewhere in its depths, diffused through the liquid black night of my power.

  The fire has washed away, but the power is still flowing into me. Its heat has cooled, but the golden glow remains, faint and beautiful.

  The battle is over. Whatever happened while I burned, I feel at peace within myself for the first time since the night Silas died. The turmoil I’ve struggled to suppress for a year is gone.

  But I feel different.

  I push myself onto my hands and knees and look up through the veil of my hair to find Daniel watching me, wide-eyed.

  “Your eyes,” he whispers, and leans closer. “It’s gone now, but for a second it was like they were burning.”<
br />
  “They were,” I tell him. “It’s gone now?”

  He nods uncertainly.

  I can’t let myself worry about it right now. I think I got what I wanted. Everything else is going to have to wait.

  I turn my attention back to the electric blue power that’s troubled me since we first approached this house. It’s still here, but my changed power feels it in a more sharp and focused way, like I’ve put on glasses and am seeing things clearly for the first time.

  It’s strongest above us.

  I stand on shaky legs and let my power—united, focused, and mine—flow through me, strengthening my muscles. I head for the master bedroom, from which the blue energy seems to flow toward me.

  “She’s in the attic.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I’m still stumbling a little as we enter the master bedroom. Daniel pushes a heavy dresser in front of the door, barring us in. I head for the closet, where the energy is strongest.

  My altered void power strengthens me with every step. I can’t afford to pay close attention to it, but I’m grateful for its presence—and for the fact that I don’t feel like I’m being torn apart from within. I feel like shit, but I’m not as weak as I should be.

  Daniel, however, is still faltering.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask him as I dig deeper into the closet than I did when we were searching before, shoving and tossing aside clothing and accessories, coats and bags. The door is nearly invisible, just a panel of wood that doesn’t match the rest of the wall, but I have no doubt that the source of the power is hiding behind it.

  “I’ll be fine,” he says. “I don’t know what this is, but my body is fighting it. I’ll recover.” He wipes the sweat from his brow. “Let’s finish this.”

  I watch him for few seconds, trying to decide whether he’s lying. A gunshot downstairs reminds me that it doesn’t matter. Our only option is to press on.

  There’s no knob on the door, and no time to search for a trick to opening it. I throw myself at the panel, shoulder-first, and it cracks. It only takes us a few seconds to tear it apart enough that we can squeeze through the opening.

  The staircase beyond is shadowed, but lights are shining above us. They hang in a long row from the central beam of the roof, flooding the open attic space with light.

  We don’t try to sneak up the stairs. The sound of the door cracking will have alerted anyone who’s up there. I take the lead, knowing Daniel has my back, and leap up the last few steps.

  The room, if it can be called such, is blindingly bright. The underside of the roof, sloping toward the floor on both sides, is whitewashed, as are the triangular walls at the ends of the space and the pair of posts supporting the structure. The wall closest to the stairs is covered in white cupboards. Shining steel hooks hang from the ceiling, and silver chains lie coiled in neat piles on the floor.

  The only piece of furniture is an armchair upholstered in white leather at the far end of the room, on which Helena Slade sits with what looks like a cross between a gun and a hand-held crossbow. It’s resting casually on her lap, loaded with a wooden stake. Her cane leans against the arm of the chair in easy reach. She’s wearing black slacks that fit close to her legs, heavy leather boots, and a loose-fitting black top with three-quarter-length sleeves that leave her hands exposed. One grips the handle of the crossbow tight, drawing attention to the scarred skin and enlarged joints. Other than this small gesture, she seems at ease.

  The only splash of brightness about her besides her silver hair is the pendant on her necklace. It’s the same symbol as I found downstairs, this time carved through a flat circle of pale green jade.

  There’s no question now that she’s the source of the power I’ve felt since we approached the house. It’s far stronger here, invisible but unmistakable. I only wish I knew what it meant.

  Daniel and I split up, moving as close to the sloping roof as we can without crawling, pacing toward her. It’s not unlike how the wolves at the sanctuary hunt, knowing that their prey can only divide its attention so far before something gives.

  We’re not halfway across the room when Helena points the crossbow at Daniel.

  “That’s close enough,” she says. Her voice is low and husky, and entirely calm. “I will shoot. Not that I believe either of you will care if the other falls.”

  Her gaze locks onto Daniel’s, and for a second I think he’s got her, that he’s twisting her thoughts toward calling off her troops and letting us go, or maybe turning her weapon on herself.

  “None of that.” Her rasping whisper echoes through the empty space. “I’m protected by a power far stronger than you, but I feel what you’re doing.” She narrows her eyes. “I remember you.”

  He glares back at her. “You must have an excellent memory, considering all of the vampires you’ve seen.”

  “And killed,” she adds, and turns the crossbow toward me before I can take advantage of her distraction and move closer. “Don’t forget that.”

  A wave of sickness passes over me. Not like what I’ve felt from my warring powers, but a feverish nausea and the weakness that accompanies it, along with the familiar bone-deep ache of illness and a taste of garlic. It passes quickly, swallowed by the void, but for a moment I feel like Daniel looks.

  “You looked healthier last time,” she tells him, and looks back to me. “I remember you, too. So kind of you to let me finish what we started the other night.”

  “You died,” Daniel says, drawing her attention back to him. She points the crossbow at his chest. “I saw it myself.”

  She smiles. “In all my years of fighting the darkness, I’ve faced many dangers and had plenty of close escapes, but God has always protected me. Angels have sheltered me against my foes, even in the midst of battle, and I have always lived to fight again. But that night, I almost thought it was the end.” She shifts in her chair and touches the head of her cane. “I did die. Your forces were strong, but the one who guides me is stronger.” The smile fades. “I returned to a shattered body, but my mission was not over. No pain could keep me from completing my duties. I will not rest until every vampire is dust.”

  Her finger tightens on the trigger.

  “Why?” I ask, and she pauses.

  I’ve got to keep her talking, to give Daniel a chance to recover more of his strength. He doesn’t look like he could dodge a shot if she took one. My chest tightens painfully as she adjusts her grip on her weapon.

  “Darkness,” she says, answering me but still watching Daniel. She lifts a finger and presses down on the arm of her chair. Panels in the ceiling open, revealing massive skylights.

  The sun hasn’t risen yet, but it soon will. And though the room is already illuminated by electricity, I feel the shift in its quality as a pale hint of natural light joins it.

  I glance at the hooks on the ceiling and the silver chains on the floor and fight back panic as I realize that vampires might have met their ends here, weakened by silver, strung up to burn in the sun.

  Helena glances at me. “You can’t tolerate the light. Not the sun, and not the metaphorical light that separates you from the one who guides my path.” Her mouth twists into an ugly expression of disgust. “You are unnatural parasites, feeding on life, hiding in the shadows, entirely heartless and without purpose save for fulfilling your vile lusts.”

  Daniel glares at her. “You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

  Her scarred lip lifts in a sneer as she turns back to him. “How are you feeling, then? You look unwell.”

  He doesn’t answer, and she lifts the crossbow a little higher. “Your current weakness is all the evidence I need. Had you been able to resist the call of blood tonight, had you even a scrap of decency and left my people’s throats alone, you wouldn’t be in this wretched state. You’ve signed your death warrants in blood.”

  “You poisoned your own troops?” Daniel asks. The feverish shine hasn’t left his eyes, but he looks a little more alert.
/>   Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part.

  “They volunteered,” she says, and tightens her grip on her cane as she holds the little crossbow steady in the other hand. “They believe in this cause. Thanks to vampires’ competence in covering up their crimes, it hasn’t been easy for me to build an army. But every person you fought tonight, every one who died in the attack on your feeding den, has lost someone to your kind. No matter how you twist the truth to hide from justice, no matter how many lives you destroy in the name of keeping your secrets, the light will find you.”

  I shoot Daniel a quick, questioning look. I’ve never asked about how we covered up after the rogue killings, how we always seem to manage to cover our tracks. A part of me hasn’t wanted to know. I don’t doubt that we’d do anything to keep our secrets, though. No one would have cared if Daniel had killed that cop who got a little too suspicious.

  We preserve our stock in the club because it’s convenient for us, not because their lives matter.

  Helena is right. We’re not the good guys here. We bring death, chaos, and darkness everywhere we go. We cultivate addiction in our prey. We steal life and give nothing but pain in return. The world would undoubtedly be better off without us.

  Daniel’s got his eyes locked on Helena. His gifts are useless, his power is drained, but he steps forward.

  “Shoot, then,” he says.

  My mouth goes dry. She’s got one stake in her crossbow. If she uses it on him, I’m free to attack. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d do the same for him without a second thought. My fear of facing oblivion after a stake to the heart is nothing compared to the cold horror that fills me at the thought of losing him, of escaping and facing the next few centuries in a world without Daniel.

  Helena is wrong about one thing. We’re not entirely heartless.

  Maybe we come from darkness, or from demons, or from a place that’s the antithesis of light and life and every good thing in the world.

  But we have this. And if we can choose to overcome our instincts for the sake of a love that’s forbidden in our world, our fates are not dictated by our origin. She may be right about us as a species, but not as individuals. She doesn’t know about the sacrifice Trent made for Lucy, didn’t smell cookies baking for human children, doesn’t understand that Edwin’s rage against the living comes from a deep respect for what he lost when he died. She hasn’t heard our laughter. Hasn’t seen the way Daniel looked at me as light from stained glass windows illuminated my body, or caught the far softer glances he gives me when he thinks I’m not looking. She doesn’t know our hunger or our power.