by Ryals, R. K.
"One of us?"
This is the grand finale, and it is bittersweet. I know what Marcas wants, and I feel my heart sink. I have to keep reminding myself it's not my decision to make.
Marcas looks at Emma. She is trying not to cower, one trembling hand resting now on the long table. Her face is pale. Deidra clings to her worriedly.
Marcas' gaze lingers. It takes a moment for the hybrids to realize his intention, but when they do, it is Lyre who steps forward, her face hard.
"You're kidding, right?" Lyre asks, laughter bubbling cruelly out of her mouth. "Her? Seriously?"
Marcas doesn't answer. His continued stare says it all. If Emma notices, she does not acknowledge it. Anxiety gnaws at my inside. Something is definitely wrong with her.
Lyre throws her hands up in the air. "Look at her! She can't even stand up straight. She's terrified! And you want her to lead us?"
Marcas' gaze moves back to Lyre."You think that's fear?" Marcas asks.
Lyre growls. "Look at her!"
And we do. We all look at Emma. Every inch of her is shaking, her head down as she gazes at the table. Her hair covers her face, hides her expression. Something is way off . . . .
"I'll be damned," Luther breathes as he moves down the table, his eyes on Emma as he faces her, the wood the only barrier between them.
"Emma?" he says quietly.
Emma doesn't answer, and I suddenly realize why. My eyes meet Luther's.
"Deidra," I say carefully. "Let go and back up."
The imp doesn't listen and Will reaches out to grab her by the arm, pulling her away from Emma as Emma's hand pushes harder against the table, her knuckles going white.
"What's wrong with her?" Fiona asks quietly.
I am right. Something is wrong. Emma's power has grown in my absence, and she has no idea how to channel it properly. Her sensitivity to emotion has made her a conduit, a living lightning rod. If she knows how to block, it isn't working. Instead, she is absorbing the energy. The tension in the room, the anger, the fear, the shock . . . it has all been too much, and Emma never said a word because she isn't the type to complain. I'm not even sure she knew an emotional overload would do this to her. I am angry at myself, because until this moment, I hadn't realized it either.
Lyre groans, the sound breaking the silence.
"She's scared. I mean, really, is it that hard to see?" Lyre cries.
Emma cracks then, her control gone. Lyre's anger is the final straw. There is a sudden loud explosion and every piece of china in the cupboards along the wall shatter. A cracking noise follows, and the long, wooden table splits in half beneath Emma's palm.
If anyone screams, I don't hear it. My eyes are on Emma. Her face is a twisted mask of pain as she pulls her arms into her body, cradling herself against the destruction around her. The table falls apart, two china cabinets plummet to the floor and glass rains down everywhere. A loud roar filters through the scene, and the dining room door bursts open, filling the area with the unmistakable stench of sulfur.
Shrieks move through the estate, and I know the drex, the tyrannosaurus rex-like, draconic Demon that sweeps into the room, has startled Alessandro's people. The beast is frightening, but I don't spare the drex a glance. Ace is here because of Emma, and I know she is hurting. The beast is bound to her emotionally. He will harm no one.
There is a moment of chaos, of yells, of commands, and of consoling words in a room full of smashing demolition before the noise finally subsides. I, like the other gargoyles, have instinctively turned to stone, our skin protected from the debris, but the hybrids, the Demons, Dayton, and Alessandro all sport small cuts from flying glass. Alessandro has used his body to shield his mother, and Maria appears fine.
I scan the room. Those present had the foresight to cover their faces, and they look generally unharmed. The glass was far enough down the dining room to cause minimal injuries. Even so, no one seems particularly bothered by the wounds they now sport. They are too busy staring at Emma. Her body is completely untouched.
"And that is the reason why it will be her," Marcas says coolly, stepping over the damage as he makes his way back to Dayton.
My incredulous gaze follows him. He knew this would happen. He knew!
Emma is still shaking, but no one approaches her.
"Where is the spear?" Bruno asks, his voice hoarse with awe, with submission. He can feel power the same way Emma can feel emotions, and he enjoys the power surge. By the way Bruno watches Emma, I know he is willing to go after the spear.
Marcas makes it to Dayton before answering.
"Enepsigos has it."
A sob escapes Emma, and I break. I no longer care about my resolve to maintain distance, and I no longer care if she wants me or not. I take her in my arms, her head just below my chin, her fingers curled into my shirt as her drex, Ace, keens at the front of the room. This time she doesn't pull away.
Chapter 5
Emma
"I'm a freak. A dangerous freak."
I keep repeating the words over and over in my head. My face is planted against Conor's chest, his woodsy smell and soft, worn white t-shirt a comfortable anchor in a room full of prying eyes and chaotic emotions. I am drained. I am weak. I am scared. I have destroyed Alessandro's dining room, and I have injured people. Worse yet, I'm not even sure how or why it happened. I have lived in the same house with the hybrids for months, and this is the first time the pain I've been feeling lately is too much.
"Emma," Conor says gently.
I ignore him. The humiliation is too great. Even now, the emotions surrounding me are beginning to build a tense wall just inside my chest . . . awe, jealousy, anger, admiration, fear. I don't know what to do with them.
Conor shifts, his hands coming up to hold my arms gently.
"We need to clear the room."
Conor's words are firm, commanding, and I hear shuffling feet crunching against shattered glass as the hybrids mumble irritably, their departure a relief. An embarrassing relief.
"Emma," Conor says again.
The tightness in my chest is suddenly gone. It's an immediate reprieve, but I don't look up. I shove away from him instead, my legs coming up against the broken table behind me. Conor takes a step toward me, and I stare at his white, dirt-streaked sneakers. Even if I wanted to run, there is no where for me to go.
"No one here will harm you," a voice cuts in, and I recognize it as Marcas Craig. His interference startles me, and I stumble, my hand gripping what's left of the table. There are no stray emotions swirling around me.
"Everyone left in this room knows how to block. There's no need for control," Marcas explains, and I know he notices my confusion.
Even Conor is a blank to me. At the Acropolis, I had been aware of his feelings. Now . . . nothing. I'm not sure I like his new control, the way he holds himself aloof.
"I want to leave," I whisper.
Conor's sneakers move forward again, Nikes with a black stripe down the side.
"Do you?" Conor asks, and I hear the doubt in his voice. It makes me angry, and the anger is enough to make me raise my head. When my eyes meet his, I know he notices the red streaks on my cheeks. It's another reason to feel humiliated. I hate crying. And for me, there is no way to hide it. When I cry, I shed tears of blood.
"Don't pretend to know me," I say.
Conor flinches, and I can't help but feel guilty. My words are harsh, but he left us with no explanation. None. I understand his reasons. And now I'm even aware of what he's done in his absence. He's fought to help Marcas and Dayton, even hybrids to an extent. But it only takes a single moment to say goodbye.
"Emma," a soft voice says, and my grip on the table tightens. Dayton. I don't know her, but she's Conor's best friend, a part of his past, and this means she knows him in ways I never will. Our short time at the Acropolis, the feelings I felt sure he and I both felt, seems ridiculous now, almost obsolete. The trembling girl in an Atlanta hospital is gone. The tall, strong gargoyle Guard
ian is still just as strong but different. Haunted maybe.
"Don't," I say, my eyes still on Conor's. "You disappeared. Good cause or not, you left. And now you come back. For what? To recruit me. To ask me to lead the hybrids against my birth mother?"
The hurt in my tone is obvious, but Conor remains impassive. Dayton appears next to him, her image blurry from gathering tears I refuse to shed.
"We need you, Emma. You could be a hero in your own right. You could solidify a nation created to harbor hybrids just like you."
Dayton's words are low, soothing. She smiles, and I want to smile back, but I can't. I had a life before this one. Albeit, I was dying then or thought I was. But I had a mother who loved me, who still loves me. I had a home. Now? I still have a family, but they are a strange mix. It is a house full of drama, of tension, and of fear. We could give reality TV a run for its money.
"Your idea of morality is misguided, Ms. Chase."
I know that voice, and I grit my teeth as Luther steps over glass to stand at the table behind me. I haven't forgotten what he did to Conor and me. I haven't forgotten he abandoned us to a drex. I haven't forgotten that he nearly got Conor killed.
"You have powers that need to be cultivated. You may hate the idea of feeding off emotions, but you really don't have much choice. It's the power you were born with. Embrace it," Luther says.
I close my eyes briefly. "I won't use anger or fear to destroy anyone."
My stubbornness may seem ridiculous, but the only thing I have left is my own resolve. Luther snorts and seems ready to argue, but Marcas stops him.
"Leave us," he orders.
Fear envelops me. I don't want to be left alone with the hybrid king. I open my eyes to find Dayton giving Marcas an exasperated look before nodding at Luther. They both move toward the exit. Conor remains.
"I won't go."
Conor's refusal is firm. There are lines around his mouth, stubborn lines, and despite my anger, I find myself relieved.
Marcas doesn't argue, but he does move between us. There isn't much distance between myself and the hybrid ruler and anxiety threatens to overwhelm me. His terrifying eyes are so dark, they are black. They have changed colors three times since the hybrids arrived. Blue, red, black. I'm not sure what the black means, but it can't be good. They bore into me.
"I know what it feels like to hate what you are," Marcas says quietly.
I start to shake my head, but then pause. He's right. If I'm being completely honest with myself, then I would have to admit he's right.
Marcas reaches out, placing a hand gently against one of my shoulders.
"Being a hybrid doesn't necessarily mean we're evil. Life chose us. And in the end, it may not be the map we wanted to follow, but it's the map we're left with. The path you choose is the one that defines you. Our race deserves a chance."
His eyes slowly change again, the black bleeding into midnight blue.
"What if the path you're asking me to take is the wrong path?" I ask him. "I wasn't raised a hybrid. This whole Hell and Spear of Destiny thing doesn't make a lot of sense. And you're asking me to take it from Enepsigos. She's my birth mother. What does she have to do with the spear?"
Marcas sighs, squeezing my shoulder briefly before letting his hand fall.
"The Spear of Destiny is a lance once used to pierce Jesus in the side when he was crucified. There are many depictions of it, many legends, many false truths. But one thing remains. It is powerful, powerful enough to protect a kingdom. The most effective example I know to give is your history's Hitler. The spear can be used for good or for evil. It depends on the hands holding it."
I look over Marcas' shoulder at Conor. He is quiet, his eyes on me, his face remarkably expressionless. He trusts Marcas, and I let Marcas' words move through me. The spear gives the wielder power. And from Marcas' explanation, I gather Hitler was once a bearer. It makes me want to laugh. The irony is too great. The hybrids are like the Jews in history. We are being slaughtered, marked with prejudice. For years, we have been in hiding to avoid destruction and Marcas is asking us to give up that sense of security.
"We are the Jews," I repeat to myself, my gaze on the floor. I let the thought sink in before finally looking up.
"And what part does Enepsigos play in this?" I ask.
Marcas watches me carefully.
"Your mother is an interesting Demon, Emma. She isn't even evil in general. She is fierce, powerful, independent. For years, she was a slave to the Biblical King Solomon. He came to depend on her prophesies, on her healing abilities. Maybe it was Enepsigos' time among mortals that changed her. Even enslaved, she was immune to the wrath most of us have felt at Lucifer's hands. Demons do not live good lives. It is filled with abuse. When released, I think Enepsigos refused to return to that. She fought for control of her own kingdom for many years. But it wasn't until Hitler's demise, mortal years, that she won with the help of the spear. She uses it to protect her kingdom."
I know my mouth is hanging open. It has to be. "And you want me to take it from her? You want me to open her kingdom up to destruction?"
Marcas' eyes stay locked on mine. "Not exactly. Look, I realize this is not an easy choice, but if the hybrids fail, we will either be slaughtered or forced to march with Lucifer. With the hybrids, Lucifer would have a big enough army to launch an attack against Heaven. His war would be fought on Earth. The repercussions are great."
Conor steps up next to Marcas."Think of your mother, Emma. The one who raised you. Think about what war on Earth would mean to humans, to her."
My heart breaks. There are countless wise quotes that wax poetic about choosing a path in life, poetry about the road less traveled, but there is nothing that says either path is easy. Each path requires sacrifice, each path is full of scars.
I look down at my hands. "She'll know I'm coming."
Marcas doesn't disagree.
"She already knows," he says. "Getting the spear won't be an easy endeavor. Your mother is clever. She'll kill for it if she has to, Emma."
His comment surprises me.
"If she knows, how do you expect me to get it?"
"You're her daughter," Marcas points out. "She's always known you would march against her."
Memories bombard me. There is going to be an uprising, Emma. You will lead it. Enepsigos' words are eerie now, prophetic. I look back up at Marcas.
"She helped us get away from the Acropolis."
Marcas doesn't falter. His stance remains strong, sure. I can see the draw he must have for Dayton. He doesn't have a lot of charm, but his confidence makes up for it.
"In the end, your mother wants you to succeed, but the spear is important to her, to the Demons who follow her."
I release the table before drawing in a deep breath. "Then why not form an alliance with her instead?"
"I've tried," Marcas answers. "But her followers do not trust hybrids. We're wild cards, Emma. Our blood is mixed with mortal blood. We're considered weak, incompetent. To maintain her leadership, she must listen to her people. As a ruler, I admire that. But, despite her position, she has developed a loop hole."
"A loop hole?"
Even I hear the doubt in my voice.
"Yes," Marcas answers. "A deadly one. She has hidden the spear within a labyrinth."
I'm confused. "A labyrinth? Like a maze?"
I gaze boldly into Marcas' eyes, and I see his lips twitch. I'm tall for a girl. Most of the time, I hate it, but right now it works for me. I'm not quite eye level with either man, but I'm close enough.
"Not a maze. Religiously, culturally, labyrinths have often been used for meditation or to represent a spiritual journey. There are no dead ends, no wrong paths in a labyrinth. There is only one path that leads to one purpose. Enlightenment. But there is nothing enlightening about Enepsigos' labyrinth. It is a death trap. The journey to the center will be fraught with terror."
I let this sink in.
"And you think the hybrids can survive it?" I ask.
Marcas raises a brow. "I'm counting on it."
"And what happens if we succeed?"
Marcas looks from Conor to me. "Then I go into negotiations with Enepsigos. Her people expect a show. The labyrinth is her gift to them. If you succeed, they cannot deny our strength."
What Marcas is trying to tell me finally sinks in.
"It's a tool to prove your kingdom is an acceptable ally. Our success is the first step to negotiation. They'll be forced to ally with us if we have the spear," I say quietly. It's not a bad ploy.
Marcas nods, reaching out once more to place his hand on my shoulder, his eyes boring into mine.
"And I need your help to do it."
Chapter 6
Conor
"She's stronger than she looks," Marcas says, his eyes on Emma.
We've moved from the dining room into a downstairs den. Like the dining area, the colors are dark and vibrant. Deep wine-colored sofas with opulent throw rugs in rich earth tones cover dark, shining brick floors. The ceiling is vaulted, the walls painted the same wine color as the sofas with low recessed lights shining from cast iron sconces. But it's the ceiling-to-floor picture window that catches the eye. Covering one wall, it looks out onto the vineyards just beyond the property's edge. They too belong to Alessandro.
Emma is kneeling near the window, her hands planted against Ace's head. The large drex is still keening, his anxiety calming as Emma speaks to him softly. Deidra is behind her. The imp was the only hybrid brave enough to lead Ace out of the dining room when the group was ordered to leave. She, like Emma, is stronger than she looks.
Alessandro stands a few feet away from them, his gaze distant. Looking at him, I can see his resemblance to Emma, and I am reminded of his revelation two months earlier. Marcas' need to ally himself with Enepsigos' kingdom will be hard on more than just Emma.
"I trust you, Craig. But she isn't ready for the labyrinth," I say.
Emma is more than just strong, she's resilient, but her power is like nothing I have ever felt before.