by S. M. Reine
I could keep this body for a few years.
The idea revolted her—letting God walk the Earth in James’s skin.
He coughed. Blood stained his bottom lip. “He betrayed you as thoroughly as he did me. You owe nothing to this man. Let me stay. Let me heal.”
Elise raised her sword. It would be so easy to plunge her sword into James’s heart again, just as she had the last time that he had been possessed.
As if Adam could read her thoughts, He said, “You can’t kill me without killing him.”
You’ll lose both of us.
She had contemplated, once or twice, what she would do about Death’s Hand if she had been standing over James’s possessed body again. Would she have killed him to exorcise the demon? If she did, would she have used that dark power to bring him back to life, irrevocably binding their souls together?
The answer had always been, “Yes, a thousand times over,” but that had been before she knew what he had done to her.
It was so tempting to walk away. It would only be fair.
Elise kneeled in front of him on the cold ground. “James,” she said, touching his cheek.
His face darkened. “Eve…”
Adam was still in control, on the surface. But maybe James could hear her. “I’m tempted to let you die,” she said softly, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his chin, scraping her fingernail down the white hair in front of his ear. “Both of you.”
“But I love you,” he said.
I love you.
Elise could see how it would end so clearly. She wouldn’t even have to dirty her hands by ripping out his heart or throat. She could simply release the darkness. Fade into the early morning gloom. Wrap her body around James’s and swallow them hole.
They would deserve it, after everything they had done to her.
Her whole life had built to this—even the parts that she thought had belonged to her had only been a foundation for this death. Elise had been created by Metaraon, abandoned by Isaac, meant for Him, and used by James.
And now it was the end.
Her grip on her body slipped, making her skin fray. The hand on James’s cheek faded so that she could see his skin through hers.
“You deserve to die,” Elise said.
You can’t do it.
“Do it,” James said, and there was new gravity in his voice. It wasn’t Adam speaking. For a moment of clarity, it was him—just James.
She opened herself to the sky. Elise felt the stars, the sun, the moon. She felt the place where darkness and light met.
Elise looked into James’s eyes, and she wasn’t sure if she saw him or Adam on the other side.
An alien warmth filled her, tinged with love and compassion. Some part of her didn’t want James or Adam to die. It was the same part that thought of all angels as her children, couldn’t bear the thought of killing, and still believed that she could find a happy ending to a brutal, bloody life.
Elise thought that she had left Eve behind in the garden, but it seemed that James wasn’t the only one carrying a piece of Heaven with him.
“Don’t think that this means forgiveness,” she said. “You got me?”
Lifting her wrist to her mouth, Elise ripped into the skin with her teeth.
Fluid flooded her mouth. It was sweet, with a woodsy aftertaste, and only the barest hint of copper—barely even recognizable as blood. She was still bleeding sap from the Tree.
Adam jerked, trying to sit up despite His weakness, but Elise’s hand tightened on James’s jaw to hold him in place.
She shoved her wrist against his lips. He struggled against her. Blood smeared over his face. “Swallow,” she said, squeezing her fist to make the blood flow faster.
He shook his head. She pinched his nose.
Blood spilled over the sides of his lips, trickling down his jaw. His eyes widened with panic.
Then he swallowed her blood.
Elise released James and stood.
He curled onto his side, gripping his stomach, and began to heave. His shoulders shook. Black tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes.
James’s grunts would have once broken her heart. Now she felt nothing—nothing but the touch of dawn’s warmth on her skin, and the weight of knowing that she was done. She had turned Adam and James over to the hands of fate, and Eve was satisfied.
Elise didn’t stay to watch. “If you survive, James…come find me.”
She walked into the dawn, sap trickling from her wrist.
XVII
In the light of day, underneath a pale blue sky, the meadow seemed surprisingly peaceful. There were no bodies left, no blood, and none of the Union’s BearCats, either. There also weren’t many trees—they had been snapped off at the bases, leaving behind wooden shards that jutted toward the sky in jagged spikes. Lines covered the earth in the shape of the lightning that had struck, radiating out of craters left by mortar rounds.
Anthony had to step carefully over the rocks to keep his footing, and he still almost slipped into one of the craters. “Jesus,” he muttered, catching himself on the edge of the hole. It was deep, at least five feet. Deep enough to be a grave.
That had been Lucas and Anthony’s first order of business at sunrise—burying Malcolm Gallagher. It hadn’t taken long. They had jammed a knife into his burial mound and tied a bandana around it as a temporary grave marker, said a few prayers, and went their separate ways. Lucas was exploring the forest now while Anthony searched for any other survivors.
There were none.
It chilled Anthony to recall the way that Elise had destroyed the meadow with bolts of energy. The memory of everyone screaming as she shattered into darkness and devoured them were even worse.
He had used to sleep with her, for fuck’s sake. Now that he had watched her kill hundreds of people, it was hard not to think back on all the nights that he had slept in her bed while she remained awake in the corner, sharpening her swords, watching his unconscious body. She’d been human at the time, of course, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling. He was never going to be okay with what she had become.
A shout from the trees made his gaze snap to it instantly. The voice had come from a part of the forest that hadn’t been destroyed by Elise, and he couldn’t see further than the first row or two of trees.
It sounded like Lucas.
Anthony clambered around the edge of the crater and headed into the trees.
The closer that Anthony drew to the other kopis, the more energy pulsed over his skin. It felt like a crackling, electrical waterfall pouring from his crown, covering his flesh in invisible stinging ants, and it filled Anthony with the desire to run.
Once he saw what the other man was crouched over in the forest, he forgot to flee.
James Faulkner, white-haired and tattooed, was stretched out with his hands folded on his chest, like he was about to be buried. His eyes were closed. He wore a glove on one hand. Blood stained his face, although Anthony didn’t see any injuries that could have caused that much of a mess.
Was he dead or asleep?
“What do you think happened here?” Lucas asked.
Anthony held a hand over James’s body, feeling the surrounding air. The sensations reminded him of the way that Ann Friedman’s attic had felt after the fight against Death’s Hand. “That tingling feels like the residue that sticks around after a demon gets exorcised from a body,” he said. “But it’s not right. It itches too much.”
“Maybe he wasn’t possessed by a demon,” Lucas said. He hesitated, then pressed his fingers to James’s throat.
Anthony folded his arms, jaw tensed, shoulders so tight that his muscles ached.
“Well?” he asked when Lucas was silent for too long.
Without responding, Lucas grabbed James’s arm, crouched, and pulled him over his shoulders. He stood with James’s limp body draped over him like a hunter bringing home a deer.
“Is he alive?” Anthony repeated, hurrying to follow him.
/> Lucas staggered through the trees. “He’s alive,” he said.
Anthony wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not.
He escorted Lucas back to the village, keeping an eye out for any straggling hybrids or Union soldiers.
Elise was waiting near Alsu’s house, silent and unmoving. If Anthony hadn’t seen the black hair drifting at her back, he might have thought that she was a statue rather than a living being. She looked as normal now as she ever did. She wore typical human clothing, the swords were nowhere in sight, and her expression was neutral.
Lucas paused, shifting his grip on James.
They were probably thinking the same thing: Was it safe to go back with Elise waiting at the house?
They didn’t have to decide. Elise erupted into fragments of shadow. She vanished within seconds, leaving behind no hint that she had ever been there.
Anthony and Lucas exchanged looks.
“Let’s get James inside,” Lucas said.
Lucas took care of James while Anthony went off to look for a car. He had his choice of vehicles—the Union and the evacuees were gone, leaving a lot of SUVs with keys in the ignition.
Oymyakon was an eerie ghost town. Anthony walked through it for hours, looking through windows and seeing the lives that had been abandoned. Strange as it was, it was easier than dwelling on what he had seen the night before.
He was pretty sure that he would be having nightmares about that for the rest of the life.
Anthony picked a vehicle, parked it behind Alsu’s house, and went inside. He had to step over Lucas’s sleeping body to cross through the living room. Guess they weren’t leaving just yet. That was fine with Anthony—he felt like he could sleep for a few days, himself.
He went looking for an empty bed, but stopped short in the hallway.
Elise haunted the doorway of one of the bedrooms, a slip of feminine curves and drifting hair.
Anthony almost couldn’t breathe at the sight of her. She was as frightening as she was beautiful—an inhuman wraith with a hand on the doorway, legs fading into nothingness, as if caught between worlds.
Seeing his semi-transparent ex-girlfriend was not quite as shocking as the raw emotion in her eyes. Her entire face was crumpled, as if she were on the verge of tears. Anthony couldn’t remember ever seeing her look like that before. Normally she was hard as rock, and as empathetic. But something had changed for her in the garden.
It was hard to imagine that she had been the one to kill all of those people the night before when she looked that crushed.
When she saw Anthony approaching, the spell was broken. Her forehead smoothed. Elise became solid again, almost passably human-looking. She wore an oversized sweater borrowed that looked like it had belonged to one of the village boys. It was long enough to be a dress.
He looked into the room over her shoulder. James was stretched out in bed, too long for the tiny room; his body was twisted so that his feet dangled off of the side of the mattress. He was only covered in a blanket from the waist down.
“Waiting for him to wake up?” Anthony asked.
“No,” Elise said. “I’m seeing if there’s any hint of God left in him. James was possessed by Adam. That’s why I chased him last night, Anthony—because he was possessed.” Did she actually sound defensive? It was hard to tell.
“That doesn’t explain everything else you did,” Anthony said.
“No,” she said. “It doesn’t.”
“So is there any God left in James?”
She shook her head. “No. Adam is dead. And I think James is going to survive.”
Elise grabbed the doorknob as if to shut James in the room, but she hesitated for a long moment. It was fascinating to watch the emotions slide across her features, which were normally so impassive. It was like the battle in Oymyakon had opened some wound in her, and now everything inside her heart was bleeding out where he could see.
That didn’t mean he understood her any better, though. Anthony didn’t get why she looked so angry when she shut the door, and he wasn’t prepared to ask.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen,” she said.
It was the first time that Anthony had seen the kitchen empty. The clock on the wall said that it was already eight o’clock in the evening. Anthony had spent longer than he thought wandering aimlessly through Oymyakon. It wasn’t even dark yet.
He sat at the table while Elise helped herself to a mug from the cabinet and started to boil water. Such a weirdly mundane task for someone who had just eaten an army.
“Want a drink?” she asked. Anthony shook his head mutely. “I talked to McIntyre while you were out. He said that you’re a kopis.” She snagged an unlabeled bottle of alcohol out of the pantry. “I never got that from you.”
He propped his chin on his hands. “Yeah.”
“Explains a lot.”
“Yeah,” he said again.
He had thought about talking about Lucas’s discovery with Elise for weeks. Fantasized, really. He had planned on yelling at her. It was her fault that she didn’t recognize the signs and never trained him to use his instincts; he had only been left vulnerable to demons because she had never cared about Anthony enough to train him. But the idea of yelling at her felt ridiculous now that they were in the same room. Especially since Elise looked so ragged.
She opened the bottle of alcohol and sniffed it.
“Vodka,” she said. She poured two shots of it into cups and handed one to Anthony. “In memory of Malcolm.”
He tossed it back. It burned pleasantly down his throat.
“He was pretty cool,” Anthony said.
Elise sighed. “Yeah. He was.”
The water boiled quickly. Elise brewed a mug of coffee, added another shot of vodka to it, and sat down. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Anthony blinked. “For what?”
“You’ve always been good to me,” Elise said. “You’re honest. I was never honest with you, and I didn’t appreciate how well you always treated me. I’m sorry for that. Actually…I’m sorry for everything.”
She rested her hand on his wrist, and he stared at the place where her fingers curled over the back of his hand, so long and pale. She had perfect fingernails, tipped with white half-moons.
Elise pulled away again after a breath, gripping the coffee mug tightly. “So I’m sorry. That’s all.”
Their eyes met, and Anthony didn’t see the black irises containing vast, swirling worlds of darkness, or the blood-red lips, or Yatai’s demon features. It was Elise. Not a demon, not a god, not a killer. Just Elise.
The apology meant a lot to him. Much more than he expected. Anthony felt light. “It’s okay,” he said. “I forgive you.”
Elise smiled and drank her coffee.
The moment of peace didn’t last long. Her gaze fixed on something behind Anthony, and the smile slipped from Elise’s lips. She set the coffee mug down hard.
James stood in the doorway, sheet wrapped around his waist, a hand on the wall to support himself. He looked frail, almost deflated. Even though his skin was unwrinkled, the whiteness of his hair and the pallor of his skin made him seem as ghostly as Elise had in the hallway. It was his eyes that had aged the most, though. Something about his stare seemed ancient. Tired.
“Elise,” he said hoarsely.
She straightened her spine, blurring at the edges, like a photograph submerged in water.
Anthony suddenly had no urge to be in the kitchen. When it came to all things James and Elise, he knew that he was a total nonissue. He might as well have not existed. It had always been like that, even when he was dating Elise, and nothing would have changed in the interim.
Silently, he pushed his chair back, heading for the living room.
“Wait,” Elise said, catching Anthony’s arm again. She was looking at him, actually looking at him. “Don’t leave until we talk again.”
The fact that she spoke Anthony at all wasn’t nearly as surprising as how readily he agreed. “All right,”
he said. “I’m not going anywhere.” He gave James a thin smile. If Elise could manage the feat of willpower it required to be nice, then so could Anthony. “Good to see you.”
James inclined his head in response. “And you.”
Elise squeezed Anthony’s arm once, and then he left.
In Anthony’s absence, the kitchen was very quiet. Elise stood against the opposite wall, rippling with power, her flesh fraying, as if she were about to vanish. James could see the wallpaper through her knees.
After walking so long to find her, and fearing that he had lost her in the garden, it was hard to see her fading away.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t go.” He hated how much it sounded like begging, but the idea of losing her again was too much for him to handle while exhaustion still weighed so heavily on him. At least when he had been in Limbo, he had known that she was waiting on the other side.
Her hair wavered. The pale brilliance of her skin flickered. “Give me one good reason to stay.”
“Because you asked me to find you if I survived,” James said.
Elise solidified, fragment by fragment, until she was no longer transparent.
It was little comfort. She was still walled off, preventing him from penetrating her mind through the bond. “So you remember what happened out there,” Elise said.
Yes, he did. James remembered being possessed perfectly. He remembered how strange Elise’s blood had tasted, and the pain that had followed. And he had experienced every excruciating moment that Adam had burned in his veins—including the instant when He had died. It had felt like James was dying with Him.
But he was awake now, and Babushka’s house in Oymyakon was hardly any kind of afterlife, so he knew that he had to be alive.
“It seems that I owe you my life again,” James said.
Elise pushed off the wall. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
He led her toward the room where he had woken up. It was the same tiny closet that Elise had rested in after her first return from the garden.
They stepped inside and closed the door.
James’s old clothing had been ruined by the trip through Hell, so he was pleasantly surprised to find jeans, a shirt, and a jacket all folded on the chair beside the bed. The pants were too big around the waist. The shirt was too long. Probably McIntyre’s borrowed clothing—the man was girthy.