Desolate (Desolation)

by Ali Cross

  We fell into silence again, but this time I felt uneasy, like something big lurked behind me, a demon, a threat—the truth. I wasn’t ready, or prepared, to face any of them. Not for the first time I wished I was a regular teenage girl who’d skipped school to hang out with her boyfriend.

  Wished the only thing he had to forgive me for was being so cute other boys wanted to hang out with me.

  Wished the only thing I’d ever done was cheated on a science exam.

  Instead, I was the devil’s daughter. I was the girl who’d sent Michael, my love, to Hell where he suffered an eternity of torture and brainwashing—and other things I didn’t want to think about—before being sent on Satan’s errand.

  Sent to destroy.

  “Michael, what—”

  “I don’t think I—”

  We laughed, self-conscious as our words tripped over each other’s.

  “You go,” I said. I didn’t really want to know the answer to my question anyway. I didn’t really want to know if he knew what he was doing, what he’d been sent to Earth to do.

  His eyes looked tight, strained, and it didn’t take any more convincing to get him to speak first.

  “I don’t think we can wait for the others. And besides, I don’t think they’ll be able to help at all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Looking for Heimdall—I think only you and I can do it. And look what’s happening back there—” He gestured toward the school, but I knew what he meant. Miri’s mom—all the moms and dads, sons and daughters out there who should be quietly slipped into their graves but must be, even as Miri’s mom, trying to walk back into their lives. People everywhere would be living a nightmare soon enough—if they weren’t already.

  I said nothing, only tightened my lips into a thin line. Hate filled me to the core. Hate for Eleon who’d taken Mrs. Carr’s body and made an already terrible situation worse. Hate for Father who not only allowed him to do it, but who orchestrated this whole thing. Suddenly the thought of going back to Hell filled me with a kind of cold joy. I’d make Father pay for all this suffering—for everything.

  “The only thing is—should we get Knowles?” Michael asked, his voice hitching a little. He cleared his throat and looked away.

  “No,” I said a little more sharply than necessary.

  Michael sighed and dropped my hand, raking both hands over his brush cut instead. “I think Loki would be quick to guess what he was up to, if we sent Knowles in.”

  “Well, he’s not going to think I’m there to resume my role as dearest daughter.”

  “He might—he wants to believe it, you know. If he catches us, it probably wouldn’t be difficult to convince him.”

  He looked at me with such intensity, almost madness, and I leaned away, taken aback by this new Michael. “I don’t know. I’ve been pretty clear about where I stand.” But Father had visited me recently. Twice.

  He seemed to think I’d returned to him. And the mark over my heart . . . I tucked that truth away, unable or unwilling to look at it too closely.

  “He tells me you have changed your mind.”

  Ice flooded my veins in an instant and my eyes whipped to his, searching, demanding the truth. “He tells you? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Well, told me. Before you . . .” He fingered the whale-tale charm I’d put on him. “He-he was still giving me orders, still telling me what to do—I don’t know how it’s possible, but he doesn’t seem to know that I’ve regained my memories.”

  “Regained your memories,” I said, my voice low, hard, flat. “Regained them—but not forsaken your mission.”

  He squirmed under my gaze and reached out for my hand. I stood up and took a step away.

  He stared at me for a moment, as if still hoping I would drop my questions and go along with him. But I stood my ground; arms crossed over my chest, chin down, eyes burning into him. I felt my shadow-self stretch inside, felt the cold tingling as it lingered on my right arm. There was no spark now—the ice made no room for it.

  Finally his shoulders drooped and he dropped his gaze to the ground. “I feel like me. I Remember . . . everything, I think. I know who I am, who you are. I remember that I love you.” He glanced up at me, but my expression hadn’t changed so he returned his gaze to the cement. “But I can also feel . . . him. Like a whisper, like an uncomfortable feeling under my skin. Like I can’t quite breathe, like I can’t quite feel . . . happy. And even now, wherever I go, whatever I do, whatever I think—I can feel him, watching, listening, whispering. I’m sorry Desi. I should have told you—I just . . . . couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

  My whole body trembled. Fear and something weird like relief warred in my mind. Fear of what this meant for Michael, and relief that he wasn’t as perfect as he once was. He was more like me now. I hated myself for thinking that.

  But maybe now, I wouldn’t feel quite as unworthy of him.

  I sighed and sat on the bench beside him, close enough that our shoulders grazed each other, but wide enough that our hips and legs didn’t touch. “If we go in, how are you going to avoid his call?”

  It was a fair question. The last time Father had called for me, the crypt had crumbled to the ground from the force of it. I’d surely have returned to Hell then if it hadn’t been for Michael bracing me against the maelstrom of Father’s command.

  “That’s why I can’t go in—at least, not yet. But I’m hoping we won’t need to.”

  “Well, are you going to tell me the plan?”

  He swiveled so he could face me. “I’ll tell you, but I think we should hurry, do it before the kids get out of school, before any more of our friends are put in harm’s way.”

  He was different. More demanding, less like himself. I recognized the confidence of Hell stamped on him like a brand.

  chapter thirty-three

  Michael

  I saw myself reflected in her eyes—her dark eyes. I watched the gold flecks nearly disappear as they were replaced by my pale image. I looked crazy. Wild. I looked like hell.

  I knew what she must have thought—how she suspected Loki controlled me. Her distrust pushed away the golden warmth of Asgard, leaving her cold and empty. Loki’s whispers surrounded me, but he couldn’t break through the impervious wall in my mind. Despite what Desi thought, Loki was not controlling me—not anymore. Not ever again.

  Desi let me take her hand in mine and I clasped it tightly, willing away the cold that had taken up residence beneath her skin. She hadn’t said anything, nor did I think the others suspected. But something had changed within her, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  As I watched her face, I saw her struggle with her doubts about me, her fear for me. My love for her blossomed like a fist full of Lily of the Valley. She had me now, and I loved her. Whatever she might think of me, I would prove her wrong. And I would save her.

  “Did your father ever speak of Helena, the creator and god of Helheimer?”

  She drew her eyebrows together and sucked in a corner of her lower lip as she processed my question. She shook her head sharply.

  “I didn’t even know anything about her until Knowles told me.”

  “Is there any part of Hell where you’ve never been? Maybe someplace Loki denied you access?”

  She sighed noisily and glared at me. I knew she didn’t like to think she’d been kept in the dark, but after a moment she dropped her frustration and looked up at the angel. She shook her head again. “I don’t know.” She pulled her hand from mine and twisted her fingers together. “I want to say no, that Father kept no secrets from me. But we both know—now—that that’s not true. Maybe everything, all of it, was a lie.”

  My heart ached to hear the sorrow in her voice. I didn’t come back to torture her—it was the last thing I wanted to do. But we had to find Helena—she was our only hope of rescuing Heimdall. I felt certain of it.

  “Do you know anyone who knows Hell better than you?”

  She sn
orted—a sound I knew she despised but I secretly loved. “No one but Akaros.”

  I should have known—and I did, really. But I had hoped. Suddenly my plan evaporated, leaving nothing behind but regret. I had counted on a secret area, some part of Hell Loki kept hidden from his daughter. Find the secret door and we’d find Heimdall. But if Desi knew of no area to which she’d been refused entry . . .

  “Wait.” Desi whirled toward me, an expression of hope lighting her face. “The Hounds.” Her eyes searched mine, demanding my attention, demanding I think.

  “My guardians—you saw them, didn’t you?”

  “I did not.”

  “The carvings? At my chamber door?”

  “But, they are carvings—like you said.”

  “Yes! Except they’re much more than that. I always thought they were a gift to me from Father, but now I’m not so sure.” She sat down beside me and took my hand, entwining her fingers with mine. “They only obey me. They are bound by the order, “Only by the voice of she who commands them.” I always thought it odd that Father would grant me guardians who weren’t ultimately under his control—but what if it isn’t my voice that commands them, but Hel’s?”

  “Except, they’re carvings.” My heart sank as I tried to follow Desi’s line of thought. I couldn’t imagine how stone etchings beside Desi’s door would help us in the search for Helena and Heimdall.

  “You never saw them? In the flesh?”

  I shook my head.

  “I suppose they felt no need to protect my chambers once I’d been sent from Hell. Maybe they knew I wasn’t coming back.” She swallowed and looked away, leaving me unsure if she was sorry to be here instead of there.

  A flash of worry streaked across my mind. What if Hell was reclaiming her and I sent her there on this mission? Would she return to me? I reached for her hand and blew on it, rubbing it between mine to warm her. She would return to me. She had to.

  “Anyway—what if the Hounds could find her? They might be able to lead me right to her.”

  chapter thirty-four

  Desi

  “Wait. The Hounds!” Michael jumped to his feet and paced. He waved his hands about in his excitement and I couldn’t help the smile that crept to my face, or the warmth that filled my heart as I watched him.

  “I’ve heard stories about the Hounds, but it never occurred to me that they’d be cursed or charmed to reside in stone when they were not in service.”

  “They’re brilliant—except I’d always assumed they were only mine. I liked having guards that Father and his minions couldn’t control. It kind of creeps me out that they belonged to some dead god.”

  Michael stopped pacing and regarded me with a deadly serious expression. “Oh, she’s not dead, my love. Odin says she is very much alive—and I think the Hounds will lead us right to her.”

  He explained his plan and the blood in my veins sang with excitement and anxiety. I didn’t feel afraid, or even the slightest bit of doubt. I trusted Michael completely, and this was Hell we were talking about—I knew all about it. Or at least I thought I did. Plus, I figured if I got sucked back into Hell—permanently—well, I knew what to expect. And my friends, and Michael, would be safe.

  Besides, there was no Akaros in Hell anymore. What was there to be afraid of?

  We stepped around and through the rubble that used to be the old crypt—the one housing the original Door to Earth. If what Michael said was true, Father had Heimdall opening Doors all over Midgard. There would be no stopping him if Hell’s demons had free reign here.

  Briefly, I wondered how Father protected the Doors, how he kept his minions detained in Hell. To my knowledge he hadn’t created any new creatures since the Beginning—once the zabaniyah proved to be deadly and loyal servants, he hadn’t seen the need. At least, that’s what I’d always believed. I’d also believed there were only a handful of the vicious dragon-like creatures but now I wondered. It seemed I didn’t know Father very well at all. I pushed the thought from my mind and concentrated on following Michael to what remained of the Door.

  I hadn’t been back since that night when Father came to claim me and Michael protected me from him. It made me miss Michael too much—knowing that he was on the other side of this Door—one that was forever shut to me. I hadn’t realized how much of it still existed.

  Two of the walls were in complete ruin, one only partially destroyed, while the other wall stood fully intact—the wall with the Door. To humans, the Door represented the path to the afterlife. The marks over the lintel and across the stone carved door suggested it was very old—the writing perhaps Latin, perhaps a prayer for the newly departed.

  It was not Latin, but the Old Tongue.

  And it was no prayer—unless your god was Satan.

  With every step closer to the Door, my body grew more and more cold. It excited and terrified me. My right arm burned so much I gasped and clasped it to my side.

  “You okay?” Michael said from a few steps ahead.

  “I’m okay.” I clamped my left hand around my forearm. I couldn’t let him see the dark tendrils curling around my skin. My Shadow stretched behind me and my feet slowed to a stop. Dread filled me. What if once I got there, I didn’t want to come back? “This might not be a good idea.”

  Michael stopped and turned to face me. He considered me and a darkness passed in front of his eyes. I couldn’t tell what he thought, but my whole soul quivered with terrible foreknowledge. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I said.

  “You can do it.” He reached out his hand for me, and oh, he was warm. I looked at my hand in his, my other hand still covering the marks on my forearm, and I felt his warmth seep into me. He was a Gardian—if not he wouldn’t be so warm. I nodded my head. If I couldn’t trust Michael, there was no one in all the worlds I could.

  Michael kicked away some rubble, then bent to haul the bigger pieces to the side. The Door felt quiet, probably from disuse. I didn’t sense any danger lurking behind it. He pulled me down off the hill of rubble and we stood together, facing the Door.

  I wanted him to keep holding my hand, but he slowly pulled away, letting his fingertips trail over mine. He placed both hands on the Door, and I copied him. I shuffled closer until my toes touched the cold stone. I rested my forehead on it and breathed deep. The Door might be closed, but it still hummed with power. Still provided a direct link to the world I’d left behind.

  “Call them,” Michael said quietly, and I let out a long slow breath.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated. Let my thoughts wing across the distance that separated Midgard from Helheimer—the world at the bottom of all the worlds, my one-time home. At first it was easy. At first it felt natural, welcoming, as if all the defenses surrounding Hell were wide open, waiting for me. I didn’t stop to question this, or wonder at it—I assumed it was because it was me, a daughter of Hell. It’s only daughter.

  I let my mind reach toward my rooms, where the Hounds of Hell stood guard, frozen in stone. They stood at attention, each a mirror copy of the other. They appeared as the ancient Egyptian god Anubis. Taller than man, and broader by far—they were almost as big as Heimdall himself. They held their staves and ankhs crossed over their chests. Their weapons appeared harmless but were absolutely lethal in their hands. And not only lethal to man—even the dead could not stand against a Hound.

  I let the cold of Hell caress me, working its way through my mind, through my veins, through every bit of my being. I sent my Shadow flying through the halls of the palace, until it found my Hounds, whispering my commands all the while.

  As one they lifted their heads, snouts sniffing the air, ears pricking forward. They heard me. They knew me.

  I tugged my Shadow away, winging across the distance, and pulled it back into myself with a shudder. “They will help me,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

  Michael placed his hand on my back. It did nothing to warm me.

  I looked at him, and though I saw shadows lurking in his eyes, I sti
ll didn’t think, still didn’t question what he had asked me to do.

  “Ask them who the grand mistress is. Ask them if they know where Hel is being held.”

  “Wait. If they know, why haven’t they sought her out before now? You said they are sworn to her, sworn to protect her. How could they resist her call to release her? Because surely she called them.”

  “I don’t know, but maybe they cannot release her. Goddess that she is, she is not as strong as Loki. She is not as strong as you.”

  I heard the words, felt the sincerity in his tone—but I didn’t believe him. Or rather, I knew he was wrong. I was not strong. And definitely not strong with the constant battle being fought inside my own soul. They say a house divided against itself can’t stand. I feared it especially true of me.

  The Door opened inward and I stepped across the threshold, my fingertips brushing against Michael’s hand as I passed him.

  I Remember the feel of the polished skulls that lay beneath my palm on the throne that sits beside my father’s.

  “This is not a punishment—for her,” Father says to Knowles who is bowed low at his feet.

  I Remember the way I could not find the words to save myself from being sent to Earth—a task I felt utterly unable to perform.

  I Remember Akaros towering above me, his onyx skin and wings magnificent in Father’s great hall. He looks upon me with satisfaction as he says, “I have no doubt you will choose to Become.”

  I have a moment to breathe, to realize he had predicted truly. For I had Become exactly the thing I never wanted to be—my father’s daughter, a child of the Dark.

  I Remember the endlessly reaching hands, the pleas for something—anything—to alleviate the pain of the damned. And I Remembered how I plowed through them, forcing them to part before me like a river around a boulder. I am immovable. Impenetrable. And utterly unsympathetic.

  I fell through the portal into the Great Hall, landing on my knees and retching onto the polished black floor. Beside me, a zabaniyah’s eyes glared, blood seeped across the stone where it was almost entirely severed from its body. The other guard struggled in the arms of one of my Hounds. Helena’s Hounds.