The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1)

by Fernando Rivera

  “Lucy!”

  Her impaled body plops into the font, adding to the crimson hue of the bloody water. My instinct explodes, and I throw my arms back, sending James and Micah soaring into the stone pillars behind me. I phasm into the pool and lift her head above the surface. “Lucy?” No response. “Lucy?”

  I pull the wooden stake from her chest and peer into Lucy’s lifeless eyes. A part of me expects her to heal and come back to life, but she doesn’t. Instead, more blood seeps from the hole in her heart — and it’s just blood. There’s no blue vapor like with the other Disciples, and her body hasn’t turned to ash, either. It’s still whole, and it feels hollow — completely hollow — like her spirit has departed.

  My voice explodes from every corner of my mind. “No!” The water around me sprays up in all directions, like a bomb has been detonated from underneath us. I remove Lucy’s body from the pool and set her down at the base of the font.

  “You’ll thank me later,” Wolfgang says.

  I turn to face him, disgusted by the sight of his smug expression. Instinct possesses my legs and catapults my body out of the water. I soar over the Demiguard’s head, landing in a predatory crouch between him and the blockade of Sires. My skin hardens, and my claws extend.

  Wolfgang holds up his hand. “This is how we grow, Emmanuel. Experience. Knowledge. Pain. This is how we know God.”

  “Your God.”

  “Our God. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. What I tried to tell Gabriel. He is not your God.” Wolfgang points at the hanging statue of Christ on the cross. “Jesus was a corrupt piece of the puzzle. A pawn. He can’t save you. And your faith, your deeds, your confessions. It’s all rubbish. It’s the truth, Emmanuel, the truth that will save you, that will set you free. Not faith.”

  Wolfgang’s self-righteous talk only exacerbates my rage, and the larger it grows, the stronger my instinct feels. So I let them snowball together, allowing my pain and power to rise higher, like a separate entity looming overhead.

  My eyes connect with the Demiguard’s, and a thought escapes my mind in a frequency higher than any of my previous echoes: What do you know about truth?

  Wolfgang and the other Lycains touch their ears in disbelief.

  ‘His echo, did you hear it?’ one Lycain echoes.

  ‘Yes. But how, if he isn’t a Lycain?’ another replies.

  ‘Wolfgang, how can it be?’

  ‘Yes, Wolfgang, how’s he doing it?’ I hear them say.

  I can hear them. I can hear the Lycains’ frequency.

  The Demiguard claps. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Don’t you see, Emmanuel? You’ve already made your way into our pack, as the Blood Moon foretold. Our lost lamb has been found.”

  Micah and James exchange confused glances.

  “And this passion you feel, this emotion, this loss” — Wolfgang steps aside and points at Lucy’s body — “this is the push you needed to realize your full potential. To become closer to God. Bravo, my child.” The Demiguard extends his hand. “Allow me to guide you on this journey.”

  The Lycains acknowledge Wolfgang with praise.

  James steps forward. “Don’t believe his lies, Manny. God had no part in this.”

  “He had every part in this,” Wolfgang growls. “Mortality is essential to salvation, Emmanuel. For how else would we join the Father in heaven? As Children of God, dying is our duty.” The silver sheen spreads across his eyes once more, and the air thickens with the stench of wet dog.

  They’re about to turn.

  The Disciples grim and attack, but the unturned Lycains keep them at bay with their stakes and crossbows while the pack undergoes transformation. Micah and James lunge at Wolfgang, but the Demiguard’s defenses are twice as fast as their assault. He wraps his hands around their necks and holds them at arm’s length. James and Micah try to phasm out of his clutch, but Wolfgang won’t allow it.

  “Let them go.” I phasm forward to help, but Braddock intercepts me. He pins my hands behind my back and turns, locking me in his infallible Wolf grip. I’m powerless.

  Wolfgang’s arms transform, and his claws penetrate the metallic armor of James’ and Micah’s throats. They roar in pain as their blood drips from between his fingers.

  I can’t lose them. They’re all I have left. I close my eyes and think. Power! I need more power.

  An image of James pops into my head. He’s smiling as he lectures me that night in the pasture: Your passion also feeds your conviction, which is a powerful gift. It’s important you never forget that…

  That’s it — passion. I take a deep breath and pull my instinct down to the tiny spot below my heart, the source of my fear, anxiety, and frustration, the origin of my glass-shattering syncs and boisterous echoes. I think of the people who have brought me to this point in time — Lucy, my mother, James, even Isidore — forcing my gut to swell with emotion. When I feel like my stomach is about to explode, I let go, launching that energy to the top of my head. I sync with the highest frequency imaginable: “Stop!”

  The walls of the church rumble, and every piece of glass within St. Nicholas shatters, littering the floor with shimmering crystals. The Lycains fall to their knees and return, using their human hands to plug their ears — Braddock-Wolf and the Demiguard included.

  The Disciples are unharmed by this — because this frequency is out of their range.

  Micah and James break free from Wolfgang and phasm to my side, surveying the nave. “They’re all returning,” Micah exclaims.

  “Manny must be synced to their frequency,” James concludes.

  “You must do it again,” Micah urges. ‘On his signal, Brothers,’ he echoes to the Disciples. “Now, Manny.”

  I howl again, cuing every Disciple to descend upon an unturned Lycain. Even the Sires guarding the Saved abandon their posts, preying upon the human bodies throughout the church. They bite and claw, ripping every Lycain to shreds. But they leave the Demiguard to me.

  I phasm forward and uppercut my fist into Wolfgang’s chin. He flies back, landing on the other side of the baptismal font with a painful crack. I leap across the water and straddle his writhing body, dropping to my knees. I grab a handful of his silver hair and pull his head toward mine, indulging in the sound of his labored breaths. The pain and fear in his unguarded eyes fill me with pleasure, and I begin to feel a warm tingling in my gums. Wolfgang tries to fight me off, but his human body is too stunned from the blow. He’s trapped.

  The sensation in my gums persists, and I draw my lips back, grimming for the first time. I bite into the Demiguard’s neck and drink. Wolfgang’s blood is nothing like I expect. It tastes sour, like spoiled milk, and it hurts — stings — trickling down my throat like hundreds of tiny razorblades. The more I consume, the weaker I feel, like his veins are filled with Moon Silver, but I keep drinking, sucking on the Demiguard’s throat until his body starts to feel hollow. That’s when instinct tells me to pull back. As much as I want to drain him, I know death would be too good for a beast like Wolfgang Schmitt. I want him to keep suffering.

  I lift the Demiguard’s head so he can witness the destruction of his pack. “I want you to feel the loss I have felt,” I whisper.

  My victory is short-lived. Something rams my side and knocks me into one of the stone pillars several feet away. It’s an Ebony Wolf, the only turned Lycain in the nave. It must have come in after I disabled the others.

  The Ebony tends to its Alpha’s neck, caressing his fresh wounds with its thick, dry tongue. Wolfgang stirs and strokes the Beast’s ears. “I told you…to wait outside,” he mutters.

  The Ebony grunts and snorts, licking his neck more fervently. It continues to lap up the blood from my attack until the area is wiped clean. When the Beast pulls away, there’s no evidence of a bite. He’s healed? Wolfgang grabs on to the Ebony’s thick fur and pulls himself up.

&nbs
p; Another Beast charges through the south entrance, a Golden Wolf. It’s larger than the Ebony, with eyes that shimmer like gold coins. It flanks the Demiguard’s other side, and together they escort Wolfgang out of the battle zone.

  “N-n-no,” I exclaim, dazed from the assault.

  The Ebony spins around and snarls, threatening me with its sharp teeth and onyx eyes. Wolfgang whispers something into its ear, and it breaks from his side to keep me occupied as he and the Golden continue for the door.

  I try to sync, but the residual effects of Demiguard blood continue to hinder my abilities. Even my claws and fangs have retracted.

  The Ebony growls again, crouching low and preparing to attack, but before it can strike, a flash of white charges into its side. James knocks the Beast into the basin font at the entrance of the church.

  “Get behind me,” he instructs. “She’s fast.”

  She? Before I can move, the Ebony lunges in my direction. James catches her by the torso and swings the Beast into the chairs lining the north aisle. He pulls a set of Phantom keys from his pocket and tosses them to me. “Get out of here.”

  I bolt for the south entrance, but the Ebony attempts to cut me off. So James intervenes — but the Wolf anticipates this. She swings around and sinks her teeth into his arm, sending him to his knees.

  “No,” I cry.

  The Beast shakes its snout up and down with James locked between her jaws, banging his head against the floor until James loses consciousness. Then the Ebony tosses him aside. His body slides to the foot of the altar.

  “James?”

  He doesn’t move.

  The Wolf snaps her teeth and growls, readying for another attack. I back away. I could try and out-phasm her, but the effect of Demiguard blood is too debilitating. I won’t get very far.

  The Ebony lunges. I raise my hands in defense, but the Beast never reaches me. Her body jerks back as if pulled by an invisible string, and she smashes into the pulpit. Frail little Edith Dunstan has the Wolf’s thick tail clenched between her bony fingers. She swings it around once more before slamming the Beast onto the floor.

  “Are you Marked?” Edith asks.

  “Marked?” I inspect my body for nicks or scratches. “I don’t think so.”

  “Thank heavens. You need to find a Sire, dearie. Before the New Moon is gone.”

  “I’ve got James.”

  “His blood won’t do anymore. He’s been bitten.”

  The Ebony struggles to regain consciousness, releasing a pitiful cry for help, and within seconds, the nave vibrates with the sound of approaching Wolves — fifteen, maybe twenty.

  “She’s calling her pack,” Edith shrieks.

  Micah phasms through the south entrance. “The Saved and their coffins are being moved to their Sires’ residences, but we must hurry. More Lycains are on the way.” He notices James. “What happened?”

  “Never mind him. It’s Emmanuel we must be concerned with. He still needs a Sire. Micah, you must take James’ place.”

  “Edie, I can’t.” He lifts his arm, revealing a fresh wound.

  “God almighty, Micah. Is it a bite or a scratch?”

  “A scratch. Just a scratch.”

  “Saints be praised, I’ve a bag of wolfsbane in my purse. What about Anthony?”

  “He’s taken Michelle to a sister Fellowship in London. They’ll continue the ceremony there.”

  “What about you, Edie? Can you do it?”

  “Me? Oh, no. That is out of the question. There must be somebody…” She scans the church. The few remaining Disciples are also bloodied from Lycain injuries.

  “Edie, please,” I beg.

  “No. I won’t do it.”

  “There isn’t anybody left.”

  “You do not want me as your Sire. Trust me.”

  The howling gets closer.

  “But — ”

  “I said no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a Desoulate! I’m a Desoulate, Emmanuel, and I would never forgive myself if I couldn’t control your hunger. As a proper Sire should. Not like my last Saved,” she confesses, tears in her violet eyes.

  I remember what James said about Desoulates: Disciples whose Sires baptized them without drinking their blood; Disciples who can never produce a Sire Bond, incapable of protecting their Saved from temptations of the Afterliving.

  “Edie, it’s okay. I trust you.”

  “I’m sorry, dearie. I do not trust myself, and the son of Jacob Isidore Stockton deserves better.”

  The Ebony wails again. This time her cry is answered from inside the church, and two pairs of metallic eyes peer at us from the shadows of the narthex — bronze and gold.

  Edith gasps. “Oh, dear. It’s her brothers. We must go. Now.”

  As she says this, the Golden charges through the glass partition. Micah intercepts him and grabs the Beast by the ears, tackling him to the ground. The Golden jerks and snaps, inching closer to Micah’s face, but Micah won’t let go.

  The Bronze stalks forward.

  Edith sets down her purse and removes her hat. She turns toward the large crucifix above the altar and makes the sign of the cross with a clawed hand. Then her eyes turn blood red, and she grims. Edith squares off with the Beast, mirroring the Bronze with the agility of a tigress.

  James stirs. I go to his side. “Are you okay?”

  “Go,” he urges.

  “Go where?”

  “The estate.” He tries to stand.

  “Why would I go to the estate?”

  “Nicholas. He guards the allotment…during Baptisms. He’ll be at the estate. He can sire you.”

  “I don’t even like Nicholas.”

  “Neither do I, but we don’t have a choice.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.” I help James up. His skin feels like it’s on fire, much like Henry’s did this morning. It must be the Fever.

  I stop. “Hold on. Let me get Lucy.”

  “No.” He looks down at my watch. “There isn’t enough time.”

  “I’m not leaving her.”

  “Emmanuel, Lucy has served her purpose. You must let her go.”

  “No.”

  “It’s the only way.”

  “But — ” My eyes return to her lifeless body.

  “Son.” James cups my cheek with his burning fingers, pulling my gaze away from Lucy’s corpse. “It’s the only way,” he repeats.

  “I can’t leave her. Not again.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  I nod.

  “Then let her go.”

  I don’t want to — but I know I have to. Because she’s gone. My Lucy-Goosey is gone. “Fine. But I’m not leaving you, too.”

  “And I’m not leaving them,” he says, indicating Edith and Micah. “Just find Nicholas, and ask him to Sire you. Go.”

  I sprint toward the south entrance but stop when I see Edith’s purse. “Edie said there was Wolfsbane — ”

  “Emmanuel, the clock is ticking,” he barks, pointing to my watch. “Go!”

  The clock is ticking? Of course! The timer on my watch finally make sense: 2 HRS, 10 MIN. That’s how long I have to find Nicholas. That’s how long I have to die.

  1HR, 47 MIN.

  I jump out of the Phantom and run toward the allotment. “Nicholas? Nicholas?” He isn’t there.

  1 HR, 22 MIN.

  The house is dead-still. “Nicholas?” No answer. I search the library first but come up empty-handed. So I roam the hallways, inspecting every room and opening every door. Nothing.

  1 HR, 15 MIN.

  I circle back to the main foyer and find the front door ajar. “Nicholas?” I whisper. The house remains silent.

  A faint light
flickers at the top of the stairs.

  By this point, the toxicity of Wolfgang’s blood has decreased, allowing my senses to become more acute. So I sniff the foyer. I’m relieved to find no traces of Lycain dander within the house, but something else lingers in the air: water, blood, and…perfume?

  There’s a creak from upstairs.

  “Nicholas?”

  Still no answer.

  I reach for the front door but stop when I hear the distant baying of Wolves — dozens of them. How long will it take them to get here?

  “Dum-dum, dah-duh-dah. Dah-dah, dah-dum. Dum-dum, dah-duh-dah. Dah-dahhh…” Her humming drifts down from the main staircase.

  “Who’s there?”

  The woman doesn’t respond, but she continues reciting the tune of “Amazing Grace.” I follow the melody up the stairs, and the scent of perfume becomes more distinct. Orange blossoms? It leads me into the West Wing lobby, where the fireplace is alive with dancing flames.

  The humming stops.

  I go weak in the knees. “Lucy?”

  “Hello, Emmanuel.”

  “But you’re…” I take a step back. “You’re dead.”

  She takes a step forward. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “You’re supposed to be dead. Wolfgang killed you.”

  “I’m sorry for deceiving you, but it was the only way to save Michelle.”

  “I don’t — Who — What are you?”

  Lucy comes closer, but I keep my distance. “You needn’t be afraid, my love. You know you’re safe with me.”

  My love? Only one person has ever called me my love.

  “I told you we’d be reunited sooner than you think,” she declares.

  “It’s not possible.” I take another step back. “You can’t be her.”

  Lucy nods.

  “Maggie? You’re Miss Maggie.”

  She smiles. I turn to run, but she appears at the top of the stairs before I take my second step, having phasmed faster than any of the Disciples I’ve seen. “Now, Emmanuel, let me explain — ”

  “Stay away from me.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”