by Kristie Cook
My eyes scanned over the hundreds of people stuffed into the council hall—at least a quarter of the village had sought shelter here in the time it had taken me to retrieve Dorian. They looked at me expectantly, their faces full of fear and confusion. I glanced around the top of the room, pausing briefly to eye the angel statues, who looked more determined than ever. Would they protect the council hall like they did the matriarch’s mansion?
Maybe we should all go to the mansion instead, I said to Tristan. When he didn’t answer, I looked around the room again. Neither he nor Dorian were in here. Tristan? Dorian!
My thoughts were drowned out as an explosion cracked directly overhead, and the ceiling of the council hall fell. Boulder-sized blocks of marble dropped into the room. Several vampires jumped up and let their bodies break the stones’ falls. Two blurred to cover me, one of them taking me to the floor as smaller marble chunks and dust rained down around us. Magic sizzled and popped in the air as mages rerouted the biggest pieces before they crushed bodies underneath them. But still screams and wails tore through the room.
I squirmed under the heavy body pinning me to the ground, needing to help those in pain.
“Are they gone?” Vanessa hissed into my ear.
“The Daemoni are. Not like drones have minds to read, though.”
“We are not letting you up until we know for sure,” Solomon said from right next to us. They’d been the vampires who’d rushed over to protect me.
Tristan, I yelled out. Dorian!
“We’re fine,” Tristan answered me. I found his and Dorian’s mind signatures in the hallway off the main room. “We’re blocked in, but I can get us out when it’s safe.”
More explosions sounded nearby, each one hurting my heart as I thought about my people suffering or dying. The minutes passed like hours. Sobs and sniffles and wails of pain continued from all around me. And I was stuck, unable to do anything to help them, to relieve their pain, to protect them. After all had been quiet for at least an hour, Vanessa and Solomon finally let me up, and I gave everyone else a mental all clear.
Piles of marble and stone filled what had once been the council hall’s main room. Hands and feet showed first, then arms and finally faces followed, all covered in white dust. People coughed and choked as they dug their way out. After ordering my team to assist the others, I flashed to the hallway and began throwing marble boulders behind me as I searched for my husband and my son.
“Watch out,” Tristan said as a particularly large chunk, wedged under several others, gave me trouble. I jumped to the side at the same time the boulder shattered into pieces, Tristan’s fist punching through.
I grabbed at his hand and pulled. A slightly smaller hand pushed through a hole, too, and I wrapped my other palm around Dorian’s wrist. Using all of my strength, and with their help, I yanked them out of the pile of rubble, then pulled them into my arms.
“Oh, thank the Angels,” I breathed as I held them. Their arms wrapped around me and each other, and we stood in a family hug, relief washing over us.
They weren’t my only family, and unfortunately, not everyone fared so well. After a quick squeeze of my dust-covered men, I broke away so we could help our people and then assess the damage.
“Fourteen deaths, hundreds injured.” Sheree reported the final count a few hours later, her voice thick as she held back a sob. I stood along with the rest of my team at the top of the hill where the council hall had once been. Now only jagged pieces of the four outer walls remained. And the angel statues. Amazingly, all four of them were still in perfect condition, lined up against what remained of the marble front steps.
“We’ve run out of the potion with vampire blood in it,” Blossom said. “The vampires are helping the injured shifters and mages, though.”
“I can give more blood,” Tristan said.
“I can, too,” I offered. “We need to strengthen everyone before forcing them to evacuate.”
I looked to Owen and Char, who’d been assessing the physical damage to the island.
“Not a single structure left undamaged,” Owen said. “Most are completely destroyed.”
“Except the matriarch’s mansion,” Char added. “Damage to the contents again, but the building itself is fine.”
“I should have ordered everyone there,” I said miserably as I pushed a hand through my gritty hair. A cloud of dust poofed out around my face. “I was about to, but I was too slow.”
“You couldn’t fit the entire village in the mansion, ma lykita.”
“No, but we could have saved a lot of them.”
“And how would you have chosen who would be saved?” Blossom asked, and I gave her a blank look, having no answer.
“Don’t blame yourself for this,” Sheree said, covering my shoulder with a warm hand. “This is the work of evil. We will fight back, but as you said only hours ago, there are going to be casualties.”
I turned to stare at her in shock. Sheree was usually the pacifist. Even she’d been pushed to her limits.
I blew out a breath. “Those of us who can need to give blood. Then we need to get all of these people out of here. This island isn’t safe anymore.”
It didn’t take much to convince some people to leave the island, but others stood their ground.
“This has been my home for centuries,” a stubborn old wizard complained. He eyed me with cloudy gray eyes barely visible through the wrinkles in his skin. “I’m not leaving it!”
“You’re not safe here,” I said. “I can’t allow you to stay.”
“It should be my choice. I’d rather die here in my home than be forced to go to some strange land and die there anyway.”
I let out a sigh. The crotchety old man had a point. I couldn’t guarantee that Dingo Bend or anywhere else would be much safer than here in the long run. But I sure wished I had my mom’s power of persuasion.
“I’ll take care of this,” Sheree said, and she nodded toward the pier. “Blossom, Jax, and Owen are back.”
I gave her an appreciative smile before running over to the trio. Owen had created a portal to Dingo Bend, and they’d gone through to make sure it was indeed safe for our people.
“They’re fine there, but looking forward to having more strength in numbers,” Blossom said.
So we began ushering people through the portal, where they’d come out halfway across the world in the middle of the Australian wilderness. I didn’t envy them. That place hadn’t exactly been kind to me.
“I don’t like leaving you,” Ophelia said to me when her time came. “Someone needs to keep the house. I don’t like leaving my post.”
“You know the mansion will be fine, and there will be nobody here for you to take care of,” I told her as I wrapped my arms around the old witch’s plump body. “The kids in Dingo Bend need you and your kitchen skills.”
“You know I’d take Dorian if they’d let me.”
“I know.” I gave her a smile and a shrug. They wouldn’t let her because nobody wanted the risk of danger he’d bring. “That’s okay. Tristan and I will take care of him, as we should. We do want him around.”
“You keep safe, my dear.” She returned my hug, planted a kiss on my cheek, and sucked in a deep breath, lifting her droopy bosom, before stepping through the portal. A second later, she was gone.
After the elderly and the young were evacuated, we divvied up the remaining Amadis who would go on to fight among the regions, and Owen created portals for them. I stayed to thank each and every one of them—and to say a prayer for their safety. Maybe someday we’d all be able to return here.
My gaze swept over what had once been a lovely village with a main street and an eclectic collection of homes. I remembered the awe and excitement I’d felt the first time I’d been here, seeing real-life creatures that only days before I’d believed to be fiction. They’d been going along on their normal, daily business with barely a care in the world. Watching everyone shop, kids play in the streets, and adults enjoy
ing a pint together, whether some kind of special brew or blood, had been a highlight of my life. And now, their homes had been reduced to smoking wood and stone, and their businesses and livelihoods were nothing more than piles of litter. Too many lives who’d once been bustling along that day were now gone.
What would Rina think if she could see this?
Tears slipped over the rims of my eyes as I stared at the scene before me, darkening with twilight as the sun set over the sea in the distance. She probably could see this through the veil. All of the matriarchs who had once called this place home were probably watching, their souls filled with disappointment and grief.
Tristan sidled up next to me and slid an arm over my shoulder.
“Everybody’s gone,” he murmured.
I scrubbed my hands over my gritty cheeks and nodded. “I’m going to get cleaned up then.”
I flashed to the mansion and trudged up the stairs to our suite. As soon as I was inside, I shed my leathers—white from dust now instead of black—while making my way to the bathroom. After letting the shower heat up to steaming, I stepped inside, sat on the floor, curled my knees under my chin, and let the sobs out.
They came from so deep within, my body physically hurt as they wracked their way out. My heart broke over and over again as the images of my people’s faces and their homes flashed in my mind. My stomach clutched and heaved at the same time. Not even a month had passed since Mom and Rina died, and there had been so much more death and destruction since then. Way too much grief for one person to handle.
And there would still be more. I knew this as much as I knew my own name. No matter how you tried to dress it up—soldiers in fancy white and gold uniforms of centuries past pretending like they were gentlemen as they slayed their enemies, guerilla warriors ambushing their unsuspecting rivals, or privileged politicians using drones to do their dirty work—war was ugly. Despicable. Not for the tenderhearted.
Lucas had put me in this position because he believed I had a dark side—as dark as him, maybe. He slayed Mom so he could watch me shed any Amadis pretenses and show him and everyone in the world that darkness within me. I’d thought at first the Angels had set me up like this for a similar reason—because I had more of that ruthlessness needed for war than Rina or Mom did. My stomach was strong enough, my heart hard enough, and my soul cold enough to do what would need to be done to bring us to victory.
What had I been thinking? What had the Angels been thinking by saying I was ready for this? Even seeing troops fighting each other around the world in Norman wars . . . even witnessing skirmishes like Kuckaroo where people died in front of me . . . war had remained more of an abstract concept to me than a daily reality. I didn’t have enough experience with true destruction and defeat until now. I’d thought battles would fuel me—feed my anger and need for vengeance, keep me focused on the end goal. I hadn’t known how it would truly affect me until it became real. So very real.
The violence and destruction of it all tore me apart. Ravaged me from the inside. I still felt anger and vengeance. I still focused on the goal of ending Lucas and the Daemoni. But I felt hollow now. Empty and hopeless. Unable to see how there could ever be light again.
Tristan found me a little while later in the same fetal position as he stepped into the shower with me. He picked me up, sat down on the built-in bench with me in his lap, and held me as the water rained down on us, my tears still coming just as fast.
“What have I done?” My voice came thick and rough as I asked the question out loud.
“You’ve done everything you could,” he answered. “You’ll continue doing all you can. You were right before. Sheree was right when she said it. War brings casualties.”
“It’s one thing to say it, and another to have it thrown in your face.” I wrapped my arms around him and leaned my cheek against his bare chest. “I hate war. Why is this happening now? Why the war of all wars when I’m in charge?”
He pushed my sopping wet hair away from my face and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You know the answer to that.”
“Because Lucas gets a kick out of tormenting his own daughter. It’s all part of his game.”
“You are the biggest challenge he’ll ever face, and he knows it. He probably gets a sick hard-on over it. That much is true.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over my forehead. “But that’s not really why this is happening now. He’s not really the one in control.”
“Then why, Tristan? Why are the Angels doing this to us? Why is God allowing all of this?”
“I don’t know, Lex. I can’t begin to know what God has planned or what the Angels are thinking. But I do know they believe in you and your ability to handle this.”
“Well, they’re wrong.”
He pulled back and looked at me with a lifted brow. “You’re calling God and the Angels wrong?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know who it is, but someone up there, in the Otherworld, has made a really bad call.”
When he tried to argue with me, tried to convince me how wrong I was, I shut him up the one way I knew how: I covered his mouth with mine. I didn’t need more arguing and tension tonight. I needed his body wrapped around mine. I needed love like a dying man in the desert needs water. I needed his love to fill me back up with everything today’s attack had sucked dry.
Unfortunately, too many minds occupied this mansion—the only safe place on the island—who could hear me if I really let go of my inhibitions, so I didn’t get everything I needed. But at least I got some time alone with my man.
Later, when the mansion was quiet, I lay in our bed next to Tristan and stared at the sheer canopy above us. Whenever I closed my eyes, not only did I witness Mom’s death over and over, but now I also watched the Amadis village exploding with unseen bombs, the scene looping on repeat. The Daemoni and the norms had found a way to breach Owen’s shield. How? It had to have been the work of the sorcerers, of course, but what exactly had they done to those first bombs that we hadn’t noticed? That allowed them to sit back and wait until they could catch us by surprise again? Lucas and his Daemoni always remained several steps ahead of us, even Tristan. How would we ever win this war at this rate?
Unable to lay in bed pretending to rest and regenerate a moment longer, I slid out of the blankets and made my way down to the Sacred Archives. I hadn’t been in there yet since becoming matriarch. I’d been curious to know if I’d suddenly be able to read all of the books lining the walls, but not enough to overcome all of the other emotions I’d been dealing with since Mom’s and Rina’s deaths. The time had come, though. I could only hope somewhere in there answers could be found.
Because right now, I had none.
As always, crossing the threshold felt like entering a different world—or a different realm. An unearthly glow lit the room and all of the books on the shelves lining every wall. The air itself felt heavier yet also lighter and smelled clean and pure, like sunshine. It left a sweet flavor on my tongue and the back of my throat when I inhaled. Except . . .
I licked my lips and drew in a breath. There was something different this time—a tinge of bitterness in the air. Was this new or something only matriarchs could distinguish?
I hadn’t known why I’d expected the Sacred Archives to be different for the matriarch than it would be for the daughters after her. I couldn’t recall Mom or Rina ever telling me this. I’d created the theory on my own after my first visit here, when I discovered I could barely read anything in any of the books contained within. The pages of most of them were filled with swirls and lines, some heavy and others light, that presumably meant something, but I hadn’t been able to decipher them then. So I’d concluded it was the language of the Angels and only the matriarch could interpret it.
With high expectations, I reached for a random book on the shelf in front of me. My fingers caressed the smooth, soft pearlescent cover before lifting it away. The strange symbols marked the inside of the book, but I could decipher them no more easily th
an I could during my first visit here over two years ago, right after my Ang’dora.
My assumption had been wrong.
I blew out a breath as I replaced the book on its shelf and turned in a circle. My hopes for what I’d find in this room had soared even higher than I realized, and as disappointment came crashing down, the feeling of abandonment overwhelmed me.
“Isn’t there anything I should know? Isn’t there anything you can tell me?” I asked aloud, pleading with the Angels or my ancestors or whomever might be listening to me. “I’m weak, and inexperienced, and ignorant about way too much. You’ve chosen the wrong person. I’m not equipped or prepared to serve in this way. Please . . .”
I turned in another circle, my gaze sweeping over the hundreds of book spines. And then, finally. A book slid out of its spot completely on its own. It lifted into the air and floated over to my outstretched hands. I opened it hurriedly, turning the pages greedily. But they were all blank.
The urge to throw the book on the ground and stomp on it like a two-year-old nearly overpowered me. If I didn’t have a special soft spot in my heart for all books in general, I just might have done so. But right when I was about to send the worthless thing back to its spot on the shelf, black marks started appearing on the first page. Swirls and lines, some heavy and some thin, that looked a little tribal and a little Celtic at the same time.
“What good is this if I can’t understand it?” I demanded aloud. My inner tantrum-throwing child pushed harder against the surface. I stared at the drawing, beautiful in its own way, and as I did, the meaning began to clarify in my mind. The swirls and lines represented my name: Alexis.
More marks started showing, as though bleeding through the page, and I plopped to my butt on the floor while watching them appear. I didn’t know how long I sat there, possibly hours, but the symbols themselves taught me how to read them. And I learned this language was personally for me. Every matriarch had her own, and the books in the Sacred Archives were filled with messages they’d received from the Angels. Nobody could read them, not even other matriarchs . . . unless the Angels deemed it necessary.