Path of the Heretic (The Beholder Book 2)

by Ivan Amberlake

  Jason knotted his eyebrows. “Why? I’ve never seen her before.”

  “Well, you are the Beholder. You can do things even a Sighted can’t.”

  “How many times do I have to repeat it? I’m not the Beholder anymore. She said the Beholder is going to disappear. And this girl’s appearance might be proof of that.”

  “How?”

  “Did you see her aura? It’s exactly like mine.” Jason knelt down to take a closer look at her. What bothered him was the resemblance of this young woman to Emily: the color of eyes and hair, the same flawless skin.

  “I did see it,” Tyler said, “and I can’t wait to hear what she has to tell us.”

  Jason placed her hand in between his own. Cold and seemingly lifeless, it soothed his wound a bit. He closed his eyes, concentrating on this touch, trying to give as much of his warmth as he could to her, and then pictures started flickering frantically before him. People he’d never seen, kids laughing and smiling. Then darkness, dim corridors, and a familiar silhouette.

  Someone whispered in his mind. The voice was so close Jason started, but he managed to keep his eyes closed. That voice. He couldn’t mistake it for any other, and now he was afraid to lose it. “Violet, you’ll have to find him. Find him before the Darksighted do.”

  The images of Violet’s life flickered before his eyes again—her parents, a young man, graduation party, people whose faces never meant anything, then Emily looking him straight in the eye.

  She appeared so unexpectedly Jason recoiled, forcing himself out of the vision with a groan. He dropped the girl’s hand, probably too fiercely.

  “What did you see?” Tyler asked, his gray eyes scrutinizing Jason.

  “Who is she?” Jason answered with his own question.

  “As you already know, they haven’t picked her at random,” Tyler said. “Look here.” He pushed the sleeve of her costume up, and Jason’s eyes widened. There were two letters imprinted on the flesh, woven beautifully into the fabric of the porcelain skin. Two letters E.

  It was Emily’s mark. Emily Ethan had marked her.

  Jason shot a wary look at Tyler. “That means—?”

  “—that Emily kept more secrets from us, I’m afraid.” Tyler sighed. “And probably even more secrets from the Dark Ones.”

  Chapter 2

  When Jason and Tyler left the hideout, the Darksighted had already gone. Broken glass was sprinkled all over the place like frozen tears, the cars damaged, most of them empty, the people still not sure what had just happened, but already brave enough to go out. Police sirens wailed in the distance.

  “This way,” Tyler said, pointing to a Ford that stood nearby, its driver’s door open and no driver inside. He and Tyler laid the unconscious girl on the back seat, then got into the car. Jason took the passenger seat while Tyler turned the key and the car purred lightly.

  “It’s better to stay in the Sight, just in case the Dark Ones return,” Tyler said, changing gear and setting the car in motion. Pieces of glass crunched under the tires.

  A few people sat on the curb, wincing from pain as EMTs tended to their wounds.

  Jason still felt stupid for not being able to control his emotions and for destroying that Legate. People could have died because of him. He looked away from the chaos that he had caused.

  “Don’t worry, Jay. No one got really hurt,” Tyler said.

  “I know, but I feel so stupid,” Jason said. “Where are we going?”

  “First to McAlester’s and then we’ll pick up Debbie.” Tyler turned to Jason. “Is everything all right? You’re not in the Sight.”

  Jason rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. “Er, just not sure how you can manage to do it with so many people around. Their thoughts, conversations, and the cell phone waves are killing me.”

  Tyler smiled weakly. “How come you haven’t gotten used to it yet?”

  “I don’t know. Seems like I have trouble being in the Sight in New York.”

  Tyler chuckled. “You mean New York hates you or something?”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  No one said anything for a moment. Tyler turned the corner, and found a parking spot close to the entrance of McAlester’s. Jason checked the back seat to see if Violet had come round. She lay still, her chest rising and falling peacefully.

  “Any ideas what we’re going to do when she wakes up?” Jason nodded to the unconscious girl.

  “We can’t let her go. I know a few friends who may look after her.” Tyler clenched his jaw that was so angular it seemed to be chiseled out of stone.

  “Friends? Do you mean the Sighted that helped me out last year?”

  Jason remembered a few of them appearing out of nowhere when he was fighting a swarm of Dark Ones. If it hadn’t been for them, he might have never reached Evelyn & Laurens that night and never confronted Pariah.

  “Yes, I think it’s time to introduce them to you.”

  “That would be great I suppose,” Jason said. “Now shall we take her inside?”

  “Yes.”

  Both got out of the car, when suddenly Tyler stopped and turned to McAlester’s, scanning the building with a deep frown on his face.

  Jason knew something wasn’t right. “What is it?”

  “Enter the Sight, quickly.” Tyler’s eyes narrowed.

  His urgency left Jason no choice. He was going to find out if he could still do it. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he clenched his fists, and lines of different colors filled people’s auras. He did it. He managed to enter the Sight filled with bluish, opaque, turquoise and other threads. And yet something didn’t feel right. The colors were dulled, as if a slight mist hung over New York City and McAlester’s. In fact, the whole of McAlester’s building was burning with red.

  “Look at the far end of the hall. They’re both here. Let’s go.” Tyler rushed towards the entrance while Jason picked up the girl and followed.

  Before entering McAlester’s, Jason mulled over what had happened this morning. He, the Beholder, had a hard time entering the Sight. All along he’d had to bear with the pain in his right hand. And to crown it all, he couldn’t manage to see who Tyler was talking about.

  With no time for questions, he just got inside as Tyler pushed the door open for him and Violet.

  Chapter 3

  Debbie looked out of the taxi window. She had to get to McAlester’s fast, and here she was stuck in traffic, wasting precious seconds.

  Her hands shaking, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and hit autodial. A female voice told her for the umpteenth time that the subscriber was out of coverage.

  “Damn it!” she hissed.

  The taxi driver looked at her in the rearview mirror, then stared at the cars ahead. “It looks like we’re stuck in here for a long time,” he said with a gruff voice. “There seems to have been an accident there down the road.”

  Debbie craned her neck and noticed a few police officers and an ambulance in the distance.

  “I think I’ll go from here. How much is it?”

  “That’ll be twelve-fifty.”

  Debbie handed him a twenty. “Thank you, keep the change.”

  “Have a good day.” The driver smiled.

  Debbie got out of the car and shimmied through the maze of cars to the sidewalk. One of the drivers honked at her. Debbie saw him wink at her, but she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  She turned the corner and broke into a run down a narrow empty street, her stilettos clattering way too loudly in the silence.

  Her feet ached from running, but she was relieved she’d almost made it to McAlester’s. Panting, she entered the parking lot, cut the distance to the entrance, and pushed the door open. The main hall of McAlester’s restaurant was nearly empty at this hour, only a few customers having a late breakfast there. Debbie asked the first waiter she met where she could find Mr. Allen, and the waiter pointed to the end of the hall where she, Jason, and Matt had once enjoyed their evenings.

  Used to, sh
e admitted to herself with regret.

  She thanked the waiter and proceeded down the hall, past a few people eating and chatting. Even the quiet atmosphere and the shadowed interior of McAlester’s didn’t relieve the throbbing in her temples.

  She finally spotted Matt, dressed in a single-breasted tuxedo, talking to some waiters in a businesslike manner, giving the vibe of a confident man. He turned around while giving instructions and their eyes met. His face broke into a smile.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” he told the waiters, then turned to Debbie, his hands open for a hug. “What a nice surprise!”

  “Are you kidding?” Debbie pushed him lightly with her hand.

  “Hey, what happened?”

  “Your message freaked me out. Why did you switch off your phone?”

  Matt furrowed his brows. “I didn’t send you any messages. Hold on.” He took his phone out of an inside pocket. “Look, I didn’t switch it off.”

  She snatched the phone out of Matt’s hand and checked the messages sent from his cell. Nothing.

  “You told me that Jason was in danger. Didn’t you send it to me?”

  Matt shrugged his shoulders. “No. Wait. Jason’s in danger?”

  Something clicked in Debbie’s head. This morning’s explosion that shook Manhattan, the message that Matt had never sent to her. These things seemed to be connected.

  “I don’t know. Call him,” she whispered, staring into Matt’s raven-black eyes. “Before it’s too late.”

  Chapter 4

  With confident strides, Damien Bale walked through the wrought-iron gate and headed towards the dilapidated estate. Even a perfunctory glance was enough to tell the building had seen better days. A mere ghost of the stately structure it used to be, now it was filled with barely traceable threads of the past—people in exquisite dresses and suits dancing, flirting and laughing, violins weeping sorrowful tunes. Their voices merged with the music into chaotic beauty. All of this was nearly gone; only echoes remained. The bluish traces of the people long dead contrasted sharply with the intense aura of the man inside.

  Pariah had been waiting for him, the red tongues swirling around the rooms, filling the air with darkness and poison.

  Twilight had already set in, and feeble stars twinkled in the purplish canvas of the sky. Even in the scant light Damien could discern the others standing guard around the house, motionless yet watching his every move, every turn of his head. They bored into him, hungry for his thoughts, but he wouldn’t budge.

  In quick steps, Damien climbed the stairs leading to an arched doorway. The two Legates that flanked the entrance shifted uncomfortably at his appearance, unable to lock their eyes with his for long. Damien gave them a casual nod, and one of them pulled the door for him.

  It opened with a groan, and Damien slithered inside, his movements lithe and calculated. He loved the way reality gave in to his wishes; wherever he wanted to be ultra-fast, reality caved in. A musty smell of mildew and old age hit his nostrils and he grimaced, killing off the unpleasant odor in his mind.

  Another shadow stepped out to greet him—Sean Cryer. Probably the only Dark One, except for Pariah and Catherine Delacroix, that he considered criminally insane, even in the Sighted world. Menace and scorn were chiseled onto Cryer’s face by the angular line of his chin and his crooked lips. Cryer scrutinized Damien with his eyes black as tar.

  “At last. Where’ve you been? Pariah’s been waiting for you, and you know he doesn’t like when people keep him waiting. They’re upstairs.” Cryer gave him a nod and retreated into the darkness.

  Damien raised an eyebrow: he’d thought Pariah was alone in the house, but he was mistaken. The inky blackness of the antechamber was marred by Pariah’s crimson wafting closer to him.

  He entered a high-ceilinged foyer. A dancing hall was to the left, a library to the right, and the way he should take was ahead, up the wide staircase, crumbling from old age.

  Why would Pariah stay here if he could move somewhere more decent? he asked himself. Of course, there was little chance a Lightsighted would come across this estate, or would be that stupid to show up here of their own will. Even after last year’s failure, Pariah remained the most feared Dark One that had ever existed. Even Emily Ethan double-crossing him couldn’t make a dent in his reputation among the Sighted.

  There was no denying that Pariah had changed. Something had changed him. Fear? Damien wasn’t sure. His curiosity didn’t let him push those nagging thoughts from his head. In the past few months, Pariah had summoned Darksighted around himself, and even spared Damien’s life after he’d fled from the Evelyn & Laurens office.

  Damien walked down a corridor inundated with blood-red curls swirling around. His fingers brushed the red tendrils of Pariah’s Energy threads and they flared with white hot flames, hissing venomously. He could read these threads like a book, but the past had taught him not to probe them too deeply as he could chance upon a secret that might endanger his existence.

  The rooms on either side of him seemed to be teeming with Dark creatures, every doorway supposedly posing a hidden danger. Yet there was no one except him and Pariah’s threads. Not a warm greeting. Damien wondered why Pariah would create this illusion. If it was for his sake, he didn’t buy it.

  There was something wrong with Pariah, but Damien couldn’t put a finger on it. In the Sight, he peered behind the doors to find all the rooms empty. As he neared the last door, he heard a harsh familiar voice, “Exit the Sight, Damien. Then you may enter the room.”

  For a second, he stood there, thinking about whether he should obey the order or not, then complied, and the corridor wilted to darkness.

  Pursing his lips, he wrenched at the door handle and entered a room as dark as the corridor. A candle was burning on the desk, the flame rippling.

  Damien’s gaze fell on a corked vial he hadn’t seen before. The vial was empty. Interesting, Damien noted.

  Pariah raised his eyes from a book in his lap, the flame of the candle dancing in his eyes, two beacons in pools of pitch blackness. Even without the Sight, Pariah exuded that ominous aura that made Damien give him a wide berth.

  “Finally,” the Dark One said, laying the book beside the vial.

  Edgar Allan Poe. Short Stories. Damien noticed the gilded letters embellishing the hardback volume.

  “Classical literature always inspires me to try something new,” Pariah said. “What do you think about the Auras?” He nodded towards the door.

  “Inventive,” Damien replied. “I was sure the house was full of Legates.”

  “Excellent.” Pariah’s eyes twinkled as he nodded in satisfaction. “It’s better to make sure that if someone wishes to kill you, you will not let them find you easily. Right, Damien?” Pariah grinned, massaging his wrists where his lashes used to be. Pariah had had to dispose of both after Jason Walker ripped one out. “What took you so long?”

  “Tyler Woods messed things up. Walker had warned him before we attacked, and he managed to get past. He took Walker and the girl somewhere. I tried to find them, but I couldn’t.”

  Pariah squeezed the armrests, the wood cracking under his fingers. “Tyler Woods.” He gazed at the candle flame and it quivered even harder. “We’ll take care of him soon. For now, I wish to know if my plan has worked.”

  Damien shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I acted as you told me: Find and destroy the girl, then attack the Beholder. I don’t know how you knew it was going to happen, but Walker’s aura disappeared for a few seconds when I broke Violet Jones’ neck.”

  Pariah’s smile widened; he let go of the armrests and rubbed his wrists again. “Then it must be working,” he muttered.

  “We could’ve finished him, but there was something, some hidden power, defending him.”

  Pariah tilted his head. “That’s curious. There must be something we haven’t taken into account.”

  “The girl is still alive,” a female voice said behind Damien.

  He turne
d on his heels to look into the emerald green eyes of Catherine Delacroix.

  “Good evening, Catherine.” He gave her a nod, looking her up and down. It still unnerved him that he wasn’t allowed to enter the Sight. “What are you talking about? It’s impossible that she survived after her vertebrae snapped.”

  “It’s just a few vertebrae. You know perfectly well that for a Sighted to fix it is a piece of cake. Anything’s possible with that Violet girl. Until today we didn’t even know that she’d survived. I’d say we don’t know anything about her or the others.”

  “The others? You mean there are more?” Damien asked.

  Pariah gave her a glaring stare, like she’d given away a bit more than she was supposed to. Then his muscles relaxed. “Catherine’s right,” he said, getting up from his chair. “I thought it was suspicious that Emily had asked to destroy all the Pillars of Light that protected Jason Walker. It’s good I only let her deal with a few. I could never imagine that she would let them live.” He snapped his head up to look at Damien. “Your next task will be to find out as much as you can about what Emily was doing during those last few days.”

  Damien nodded.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Pariah added. “I need to find out anything about the man who helped Emily dispose of the Beholder’s defenders. All I know about him is his initials: AHS. This Sighted must be the key to all the doors that Emily tried to keep shut for us.”

  There came a sharp rap on the door.

  “Come in,” Pariah said.

  A silhouette appeared in the doorway. Damien squinted and recognized Sean Cryer’s scowl in the semidark. Cryer gave him a sideways glance, then his gaze traveled to the vial. Damien noticed Cryer cringe a bit then look at Pariah.

  “Simon called,” he said in a gruff voice. “They reappeared. Walker, Woods, and the girl.”

  “And,” Pariah said.

  “The girl’s alive but unconscious.”

  Pariah’s eyes narrowed whereas Catherine spat a curse.

  “They’re at McAlester’s now,” Cryer continued. “The kid’s heading there as well.”