by Lila Felix
My ego was shattered. My heart was broken. I always thought I was his heart’s call.
Finally, the shaking stopped and he let go. He slumped onto the floor next to me. I hadn’t even realized I was on the floor until he crumpled beside me.
I knew all along that it must’ve been against the will of the Eidolon to rescue those in the Fray—to a point. The Almighty just sat on His throne and waited Theo out—seeing if he would obey Him on command—or if He had to perform a little puppeteering.
I was sure Theo didn’t put up much of a fight.
“Somewhere deep inside, he must’ve already chose it.”
“He didn’t tell you?” Collin seemed surprised, but not as much as he tried to make himself sound.
“He didn’t have to.” Not caring who was beside me, I slumped onto the body next to me, Theo’s father. He smelled like leather.
“Colby, don’t cry. He’ll be back.” I wasn’t crying—the only time I’d ever cried was the night I broke up with Theo and the week after Rebekah was murdered.
The taste of salt in my mouth proved me wrong.
“He’ll come back when he’s finished. How many can there be?”
Pema chimed in, “More than you think. Many flashers were lost in the Fray—the last Eidolon did the best he could.”
“I thought you were gone,” I mumbled. I wanted her gone.
“I came back.” Pema was a genius.
Ari said something to me about getting to bed. Her bony ass tried to pick me up from the floor but soon two troll hands curled around either side of my waist, hoisting me up and tossing me over a burly shoulder.
“Well, damn. He really is a Sasquatch.”
Ari joked, but I didn’t have the will to look at her or even attempt to laugh. Theo had taken a piece of me—a larger piece than I wanted to admit, into the Fray—far away, between the folds of this world and the next. It was like I couldn’t get my ends to tie together—they were missing their tether.
I hated how he completed parts of me.
I also kept the notion close—maybe it would bring him back.
.
“Take your gorilla hands off me.” I thrashed and fought against Collin’s hold.
I barely heard him whisper, “I wish you’d think differently of me, female.”
Curling my lip, I didn’t like the sound of his sincerity on my ears, preferring the sarcasm and hollow insults. I could deal with those things. Sincere words were reserved for my ears from Theo’s mouth.
“Just wait here and he will come back.” Collin ordered me.
I stood and looked into the eyes of the Viking as though he were my mortal enemy. I drummed up the fire of my anger and the tornado of my hurt and concentrated them into my stare. Pushing at Collin’s chest, I snarled, “Like hell I will.” Before any one of the nurturing spirits could stop me, I flashed as far away as I could get.
The Fray was like floating in a big bowl of milk. No solid ground beneath me—no rounded sky above me. No clouds—no sun.
I landed in the liquid like someone lands in a puddle after slipping on a banana peel—no finesse to be had.
“Hello?” I questioned with a shout into the wide open that seemed to be empty yet full at the same time. I didn’t really think anyone would answer, but it seemed like the thing to do. My greeting echoed and sloshed around the place.
“Eidolon, is it you?”
White shadows hovered above me. They had no shape—simply a different texture against an otherwise monotone background.
“I’m Theo,” I said.
“You are the one. Take me home!” Without seeing my attackers, hands wrapped around my throat, my wrists, and tangled in my shirt. They pulled, pushed, and tugged at me from every direction. I was being violated, yet felt no violence in the act. I recognized the voices. They felt like home now, when before they were an alien invasion.
“I’m here to take all of you home.” My voice sounded like another man—as though it came from another’s mouth.
The thing was—I didn’t know how. I didn’t even know how I got here—certainly not by my will.
“I don’t know how.”
A million lamentations filled my ears. I hadn’t realized it until now, but most of the voices were female—of course they were, Lucents were primarily female after all.
They continued to claw at me. I was solid and hollow at once—floating and cemented to the ground—vibrating and deathly still.
This was supposed to be a blessing, but it felt like my own version of hell.
The voices consumed me, not as they had before, but on a completely different level. The faces were in front of me, but intangible, where before I couldn’t see the faces. The words and pleas were whispered and shouted in my head as though they’d invaded my cells.
I had to try.
“Almighty, me ajuda.”
There was something so profound about the begging whisper that I’d meant as a last resort more than a request. After all, I had nothing left but to beg.
Just as the words left my lips, I knew.
“One of you—only one—take my hands.”
A faint whisper of hands took mine, and like a storm receding from the sky, the rest of the bodies disappeared, their weight and gravity couldn’t be felt.
These hands were different from the rest. Indentions of knuckles could be felt along the top of the softest skin I’d ever touched. Pudgy, sweaty fingers gripped what they could of mine, barely registering any strength.
Of course—they’d allowed the child to be escorted first.
“Don’t let go.” I mimicked the words Colby had said to me not so long ago. Colby—she was with me as well, somewhere in the back of my head and in the front of my chest, calling to me—sounding eons away. I held on to the image of her—cradled it in my memory.
“Will you take me to Him? Will Mommy be there?”
“I’m going to try.”
Paraiso was subjective or at least I’d always assumed its beauty lay in the eye of the beholder. When I pictured where I’d want to spend eternity, it was, without a doubt, the same place that my mate pictured. Particles of white—rushing waters—sunsets that stretched out for days instead of minutes.
Colby was the ocean.
I was the sand.
Paraiso could be nothing other than the most perfect beach.
Putting the puzzle pieces together, I visualized my paradise.
But nothing happened.
“Mommy. I want Mommy.” Words flowed from what I imagined was a tiny mouth to match the tiny hands, now clammy in mine.
“Tell me about her. Tell me what she looks like.”
“Her hair is long and brown. She cries a lot. She rocks in the rocking chair in my room.”
I knew I could never get whatever she was picturing in her head exactly, but I could try my damndest.
“Tell me about your room.” In small words and even simpler details, she drafted a girl’s bedroom in my mind. There had to be an easier way to do this. If I had to go through the details of every soul’s life, I’d be here forever.
I couldn’t be here forever—I had my own life.
Or maybe my life wasn’t my own anymore.
I did my best to create her vision in my head. The rocking chair—the sunshine that filtered through the window above her bed—the Minion curtains—the white carpet. She spared no detail.
“Ready?”
There was no reason to wait.
I flashed to that place that wasn’t real but was so tangible in her mind.
And this time—it worked.
My feet hit the floor and my soles depressed into that white carpet beneath us both—the little girl and me. Hannah, somehow I knew her name was Hannah, and from a distance her mother called her name.
“Mommy, I’m here. I’m here!”
I felt like her guardian, waiting to make sure I wasn’t leaving her in some place unknown to common man—alone. I hoped Collin was protecting Colby in the
same manner.
“Remember how you told me about Mommy’s hair?” I prompted.
“Mommy’s hair is brown and down to her booty.” She giggled at the word.
“Tell me more.”
“Her eyes are green. Her nightgown has yellow flowers.”
Another presence absorbed every spoken word. It was as though the love and warmth in the heart of this child was creating the presence of the one who consumed her heart. Bit by bit she formed before us.
“Mommy!” She screamed. I plugged my ears instinctively.
“Hannah, you’re here!” The woman, identical to Hannah’s description, held out her arms and crouched, bracing herself for the impact of the now running girl.
This was how Paraiso was supposed to be. Souls meeting in their own heaven—mated couples, parents and children, brothers and sisters converging in a place of their own, where time would cease to pass and eternity melded them together.
Hannah and her mother fell to the floor in an embrace that would give the Hallmark Channel a run for its money. Tears flowed down my face from knowing that I had a small part in it—that the Almighty had honored me with this gift and job.
I watched them for a while until Hannah’s mother smiled at me, letting me know everything was all right.
My presence was an intrusion. I was no longer needed, but their elation invaded my veins and I couldn’t deny the attraction—the obsession that was building because of the influx.
The surge was akin to adrenaline—that feeling of stepping on a stage—finishing a race first—the first touch of an anticipated kiss. Shivering, I met the eyes of admiration—almost worship. They needed to be redirected.
“The Almighty gave me this gift to help you.” I pre-empted any praise, not wanting the Almighty to think I had already maladministered my duties.
“But we can thank you, can’t we?” The mother’s voice sounded in my mind, instead of from her mouth. She was still a figment of my imagination. But the place was real—or not.
“I suppose. There are others.” Our conversation had already grown cold.
Before I could make the transition, it was made for me—taking me back to the sloshing cream of nothingness.
The crowd had dispersed and no more hands grappled for my attention this time. In its place was a line of sorts—and I was the main attraction.
Seeing them—their desperation tangible like taffy in my mouth, the overwhelming task enveloped me—and forced me to my labors.
Anger enveloped me as soon as I knew Torrent was near. I’d taken to calling him Torrent since that made me not want to strangle him every second. If he was Theo’s brother, there was a bit of empathy.
I swore to all that was holy, if those people didn’t leave me alone, I was going to throw a shit fit so massive that the Synod would be crapping out their manicured nails.
“I have to stay. I have to protect you. You wouldn’t run off on Theo’s brother, would you?”
I hated when he did that.
Torrent’s bullshit could be smelled a mile away and that’s exactly how far away from me I wanted him to stay. He’d shown up not long after I pushed myself away from the dramatics of everyone around me. An hour—that’s all I asked for—an hour.
They couldn’t even give me that.
“I don’t need protecting. I protect myself.” I threw a rock in his direction.
“By running.”
I scoffed. “Who needs running when you have flashing? Please. Just stay over there. That way you can report to whoever that you’ve kept your eye on me.”
Torrent’s slicked back hair had become feathered out in his flashing. He was messy. His lightning was dingy, like the cloud it descended from. It was mucked up and soiled. The air around me smelled singed when he came near. The warning signs rolled off his shoulders and reached for me.
He was walking and talking brimstone.
“Whatever you say, Princess.” He sat down next to me, despite my empty threats.
Bile rose in my throat at his use of a childhood pet name.
I may have been a princess at one time—but now I was no one’s fairy tale.
All I needed was a little silence—a shot at being closer to heaven—a shot at being closer to wherever Theo was.
Everyone knew where he was.
No one was willing to say it.
“Come on, Colby—you liked me once.”
He almost sounded like the old Torrent. He swung his jean-clad bent knees toward me, knocking mine over. Looking out over the horizon, a whisper of a thought crossed my mind.
If he would just knock me a little harder, I would go over the edge.
Maybe Theo would catch me.
My heart pounded. I didn’t know where that thought came from. There was no way I was giving up at the first hour of Theo being gone.
I wasn’t Sevella.
No one was going to make me cower and cry.
No one.
Especially not myself.
I had to be strong for Theo—for the Eidolon, as separate and the same.
Shame and struggle wouldn’t be upon our house.
And Rebekah wouldn’t be able to shake her head in disappointment from above.
I would show them all.
“Did you just grunt? Damn, I didn’t hit you that hard.” He touched my knee and I shrank back in hostility. I didn’t want him touching me.
“I didn’t grunt. That was the Earth grunting at your stench.”
He truly looked offended “I don’t stink.”
“Yeah and Pema doesn’t shave her head.”
Theo’s brother raised an arm, took a sniff, and then shrugged, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. “I don’t stink.”
I squinted and whirled my hands around in the air. “Torrent, your lightning—when you flash it smells like you teleported from a dragon’s ass.”
He laughed but didn’t disagree. “Must be all the evil brewing inside.”
“Must be.”
That boy wasn’t fooling me at all. He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t anything but a rebel without a clue.
“You’re like that kid on Peanuts.”
“What kid?” he asked but I knew he had the answer.
“The dirt-clouded one.”
He groaned. “Pigpen. Nice.”
We looked out over the Grand Canyon and let the sun beat down on our shoulders. He was giving me the silence I needed even if he wouldn’t give me the solitude I wanted.
Theo’s wake rumbled in my chest—a piece of him still left behind. He was elated—I knew that much. That knowledge wounded and eased me.
There was some invisible tether between us—enough to feed me insignificant clues, but not nearly enough to satiate me. Nothing but his skin on mine would ever be enough to quell me anymore.
His whisper in my ear.
His dangerous Portuguese passion.
Damn him for making me like her—weak and wanting.
Torrent’s voice dragged me away from my inner struggle. “Why don’t you just walk away while you can—before things get ugly?”
Theo’s counterpart must’ve wanted a swift meeting with the bottom of this mountain. He didn’t know what he was offering—or how much the very thought cut me.
“It’s only ugly for me. The rest of the world will never know how ugly it was—or could’ve been.”
He choked on a laugh—at least that’s what I thought it was. I tried to hate him in that moment but there was a sliver of similarity to Theo that wouldn’t let me loathe him the way I wanted. From this angle he wasn’t so bad. His hair was a disaster, but he shared Theo’s caramel skin color and his eyelashes went on for days when Theo’s went on for months.
Sloughing off the sound of his laughter, I stared out at the falling sun. I’d been sitting in the same spot for hours and hours at a time.
This was how I was going to spend my life—waiting and staring into the sky, waiting for Theo.
“This is it.” I whispered to the
expanse, hoping it would tell me what to do—what my grandmother, in her roundabout way, had once done.
“This is what?”
I gestured around myself in a circle. “This. Me. Waiting on him to finish—waiting on him to come back—whittling my life away, sliver by sliver, until all that’s left is a wooden figurine of a woman long forgotten—no life left—no love left—no hope left. All my valor and light will be gone, fizzled out in the spans of time.”
His chin drew up as a grimace took shape. “I might be Pigpen, but you are a Debbie Downer.”
He was right. I wasn’t usually that depressing. Already Sevella’s legacy was taking a silent toll on me.
No. Not me. Not this time.
I stood up. Only the billowing of my dress took away from my warrior stance. “Screw that. Screw it all. Theo’s doing what he has to because it’s in his heart.”
Torrent rolled his eyes, which were eerily similar to my mates. “Wait, are you bipolar? Three seconds ago you were all look at me, I’m so Radiohead and now you’re all Courtney Love.”
Just as the words left his mouth, his face retracted any emotion attached to them. “Still love that grunge rock, huh? They have that down there?”
Torrent grabbed his hair by the roots. “I don’t live in hell, Colby.”
“I know. But if there were a place for Hole, hell would be it.” I laughed, releasing some of my fury.
“You never did have good taste in music.”
I shrugged. “Saved all my taste for shopping and boys.”
“Just one boy.” His voice drifted with the thought I wasn’t sure I was supposed to hear.
“Always just one boy. Also, I’ve decided to go kill the Synod myself. Thought you might enjoy the show.”
“No you won’t. You’ll say you will and then it’ll be like that time I went to see the Conjuring. They said they were going to have priests on hand in case anyone felt the need to be doused with holy water after seeing it. It wasn’t even scary. The whole thing was a wash.”
He said wash like ‘worshe.’ All the sudden the devil was British.
“Must you reference pop culture every time you speak? It’s a little annoying. And it doesn’t go with the Satan motif.”
He ignored my jab. “What are you going to do, slit their throats with sarcasm and Bloomingdale’s hangers?”