Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2

by Shayne Silvers

  But from the outside looking in…

  I wasn’t sure if we could be seen as the good guys. Maybe we were actually the villains.

  I’d trapped a freaking Angel on a ring around my thumb. How was that a good thing? Even if he had Fallen, there were already rules and precedents in place to handle that kind of thing.

  And none of them included some upstart wizard in Kansas City kicking the doors down to keep the Angel for herself.

  I realized, suddenly, that this had always been my cross to bear. It was such an epiphany that it almost broke me out of my meditation. I very calmly relaxed again, focusing on the shifting image before me in a very unspecific way.

  Look, meditation was tough. Take my word for it. If I say I focused in an unfocused way, I know what the hell I’m talking about.

  I heard Cain grunt and realized I had spoken the thought out loud. My entire construct wavered—on the verge of collapse—but I gripped it defiantly for a moment, enough to solidify it again, like I was righting a wobbling canoe. Then I set it back adrift. It settled, flickering slightly, and I let out a deep breath of relief.

  I didn’t dare risk snapping out of my meditation because, as bizarre and conflicted as my thoughts were right now, they were just thoughts, and fuel for my focus. I fed them—the fading sounds of Cain beside me, the chirping birds in the trees, and the sensation of warmth from the sun—into my construct. The shifting-winged-double-feather-white-rose-chi symbol that represented my rock-solid understanding of myself.

  Just trust me.

  The totem began to shift and pulse as if breathing, pleased that it was allowed to be without my interference.

  I thought about the quest, the Doors, Cain, Last Breath, the Sons of Solomon back on Earth, how I was going to choose the next Door, what was motivating my choice in the Doors, and what I was willing to do, what price I was willing to pay, what I really wanted from all of this…

  Everything and everyone were focused on one single place…Solomon’s Temple.

  It was said to house all the riches of the world. All the knowledge of existence.

  I realized I didn’t really care about that. Power sounded nice, but only insomuch as I could utilize it for good in the world—to right a wrong.

  Knowledge was the same. If it helped, great. If not…I didn’t really care. I wasn’t like Nate, who loved learning things for the sake of learning them.

  I realized that I wanted, more than anything, to make sure no more little girls were left on the steps of a church, all alone, without parents, in a world full of monsters. That without evil, none of that would have taken place.

  The little girl would have lived to see her parents’ faces.

  The focal construct burst into flame, the rose and feathers and wings igniting like a magician’s flash paper, knocking me out of my meditation as surely as a bucket of cold water had been dumped down my spine.

  I opened my eyes, panting to see Cain staring over my shoulder. “Oh, good. You’re done braining. We have company.” I turned to see three Shepherds approaching at a swift jog about a hundred yards away, coming from the building where I had met the Conclave. The official headquarters of the Vatican Shepherds.

  I climbed to my feet, facing them directly. I kept my hand free of the hilt of the katana at my hip, momentarily surprised to find it still there and not wedged in the grass from my fall. Cain had his bone dagger sheathed at his belt, but I shook my head pointedly as his hand drifted closer to it.

  “Let’s see what they want, first,” I said under my breath.

  Cain was frowning at the approaching Shepherds. “Since when did Arthur become a Shepherd?” he asked warily.

  I turned to see Arthur leading two other Shepherds my way. His face was hard and uncaring.

  “The Conclave awaits you, First Shepherd Penrose,” he said formally, lowering his eyes. Beckett Killian and Claire Stone dipped their heads as well. Like we were not close friends, but an unquestionable command structure. And apparently, I had broken the glass ceiling. First Shepherd…

  I shared a long look with Cain, but his faux façade of serenity was a gentle reminder that this place wasn’t what we thought. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn’t.

  But me being the First Shepherd pretty much confirmed that it was a nightmare.

  Chapter 29

  The three Shepherds led us into a familiar room to face the Conclave of milky-eyed wizards who essentially ruled us. None of them looked familiar to the ones I had met in the past.

  But…I couldn’t really remember any of the faces I had seen during my last visit with the Conclave. The more I stared at the men before me, the more familiar they became, and I could faintly recall private discussions with them from previous weeks when we had formulated our attack plans for the Knights Templar, led by Olin Fuentes.

  Malachi, the head of the Conclave cleared his throat, looking like he had been healed of the wound that had almost killed him a week ago. The room wavered for a moment, but I ignored the dizzy spell as I focused on my long-time mentor.

  “Congratulations on your victory over Olin Fuentes and the Templars. I trust you brought proof?” he asked with a bureaucratic smile, letting me know he didn’t doubt me and this was just a formality.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a silk pouch full of werewolf fangs. I rattled them in my fist, then handed them to Claire. She didn’t meet my eyes as she accepted them and took them to the table for the Conclave to inspect. She returned to my side, eyes downcast.

  “Thank you, Miss Penrose. You fill our hearts with pride,” Malachi said.

  I nodded humbly. “I couldn’t have done it without Shepherd Killian’s assistance in locating their hideout, or Shepherd Stone smoking them out with the frontal assault.”

  Malachi nodded. “They will be rewarded for their contribution, but at this time I want to extend an honor that none have ever received. The Spear of Longinus that you entrusted to us has been restored.” He stood, and lifted a long, white spear from the table that I hadn’t noticed until now. My fingers itched hungrily but I kept my face calm.

  Cain murmured something behind me, and it sounded troubled, but I held out a hand to calm my old friend. I’d told him—at least a dozen times—not to speak before the Conclave.

  “Please accept this weapon and know it will be of great aid against Hell’s Horsemen of the Apocalypse, led by Nate Temple and his ilk.”

  I nodded grimly as I approached, feeling a flush of anxiety that I kept hidden from my face. “I will end the plague of Horsemen, as the Vatican demands,” I vowed.

  “We know, Shepherd Penrose, we know. You have always acted in the best interest of the Church. We have faith in you,” Malachi said, a hidden smile on his face as he motioned to a door on my right.

  I hesitated, my hand almost touching the spear. His milk-white eyes—like all the other members of the Conclave—had briefly flickered darker. My fingertips tingled this close to the Spear, eager to snatch it up. So close…

  Cain was suddenly behind me, and I heard other members of the Conclave grumbling about the break in protocol. I glanced over at him, ready to chastise him for the disrespect in front of my superiors. “Get back in your place—”

  Cain was pointing at a door to the side of the room. I glanced over to see a strange, Silver door that hadn’t been there a moment before. I frowned, puzzled.

  Then I heard the clanking of chains on the other side of the room. I turned to see Nate Temple, bleeding and shackled, a leather gag over his mouth to prevent him from speaking, from Singing, shuffling out from…

  A second Silver door.

  My world rocked suddenly, and my hand grasped the Spear. I gasped as power flooded into me, rocking me back on my heels. Cain caught me, supporting me so I didn’t fall. My eyes settled on the Conclave who were grinning wickedly, pointing at the shackled wizard.

  The Horseman of Hope.

  “Execute him, Miss Penrose,” Malachi snarled acidly.

  I flinch
ed at the tone, turning to meet his gaze. But…his face was calm and composed, not matching the tone I had just heard. And the other members of the Conclave weren’t grinning. In fact, they looked terrified to be so close to the bound man.

  What was happening? I felt so strange…

  Like this was some dream. Some nightmare.

  A familiar voice whispered in my ear, but it was all I could manage to hold the Spear in my palms without unleashing a torrent of power that would likely kill us all.

  “You love him…”

  I gasped as if he had just stabbed me in the kidneys. Did I love my enemy? Nate Temple had torn the world apart with—

  Wait, no he hadn’t. He’d been the only one standing up for mankind, hadn’t he? I glanced back up at Malachi, shaking my head in confusion. His eyes flashed from white to black, his face contorted from malicious grin to somber frown, back and forth, too fast to be real. Which meant…

  The world flashed Silver and I shuddered at what I saw. Demons had possessed the majority of the Conclave. I glanced back to find the same with Claire, Arthur, and Beckett.

  I reached into my pocket, feeling something that reminded me of a kiss, for some reason. It was warm in my hands as I wrapped my fingers around it. My hand latched onto something else, and I pulled both items out. A silver butterfly charm and a black feather with a red orb at the tip.

  I lifted my eyes, time still moving slowly thanks to my Silvers, and glanced at Nate Temple.

  His eyes were chaotic storms of white and gold. Not a sliver of black to them.

  I took a deep breath, ignoring the hubbub of the Shepherds slowly advancing, sensing that something was wrong. I flung out my hand, hurling the silver butterfly at Nate Temple’s face.

  It struck his mouthpiece, tearing it free.

  At the same time, I lifted the feather and shouted a single word as the world snapped back into real time. “GRIMM!”

  A black bolt of lightning struck the center of the Conclave, tossing their bodies outward or incinerating them on contact. The room erupted with shouts and screams as a black unicorn appeared in the center of the rubble of bodies and the remains of the wooden desk where the Conclave had sat. He met my eyes and they were white fire, his silver hooves pawed at the floor, flames licking at the carpet and catching the rubble on fire. His coat and mane were long, black feathers with red orbs at the tips.

  Grimm abruptly impaled Malachi in the forehead with his horn and a demon attempted to flee his body, snarling and cursing as it erupted in black flame, cast back to Hell.

  I pointed my spear at Nate Temple without breaking eye contact with the unicorn, ignoring how close that gnarled, bloody, black horn was from my throat. “Save him…” I pleaded.

  Grimm snorted, his nostrils flaring with deep, inner flames, and then he galloped past me, scooping up Nate Temple and shattering his chains in one swift swipe of his horn. Nate’s hands came free and the room erupted with chaos as balls of flame roared through the air, walls of thorns rolling over any survivors. He opened his mouth and…men of the cloth burned.

  Claire and Beckett died horribly, impaled by wicked black thorns as large as spears.

  It was over before it had even truly begun, only the gasping death throes of those too stubborn to die quickly remained. Nate and Grimm stared warily at Cain and I, ready to react at even the slightest provocation. I met Nate’s hard eyes and gave him a very faint smile, my heart fluttering at the chaos and destruction flickering in those depths.

  Because in that chaotic storm of madness…

  On his lips…

  Was the Song of Creation’s Chaos.

  I settled the butt of my spear on the floor and gave Nate a careful curtsy. Then I grabbed Cain by the shoulder and shoved him towards the Door that Nate had exited from as a prisoner.

  Malachi shouted out behind me. “Traitor! You have doomed the world!” But as a complement to his voice, I heard a mad cackling sound, and I saw a double-vision of a demon crouched atop the table, his head bobbing up and down as he clapped his slimy, scaled hands together. “Enjoy the Spear, White Rose, it’s whispers are so sweet it chills my blood.”

  I ignored it, racing through the door, gasping in confusion but also a supreme sense of accomplishment. I had done something right. Nate Temple was no enemy. He was my friend.

  “Fuck this place,” Cain growled, tucking me close as we fell through the Silver Doorway. He was careful to keep the Spear out of the way, but he kept right on with the cursing as we fell into darkness.

  Chapter 30

  I sat in a booth across from Cain at a greasy diner. The adjacent table of twelve was cheerfully singing a birthday song to a child who cared only for the birthday cake and candles placed directly before him.

  Cain stared back at me, his face aghast. “Callie!”

  I nodded. “Yeah?”

  “Put the goddamned Spear away!” he hissed, leaning forward. I flinched to find I was holding the Spear of Destiny propped up beside me on the floor. I focused on it furiously, wondering how no one had yet pointed it out. It winked out of existence a moment later, just as the waitress rounded the corner, meeting my eyes.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there, hon,” she said with a genuine smile. “Sorry for the noise. Coffee?” she asked, holding up a pot in her hands. I nodded woodenly, and she deftly poured us each a cup.

  “Just the coffee is fine,” Cain said hurriedly as the waitress pulled out a notepad to take our orders. I mumbled my agreement and she shrugged.

  “The coffee is free—”

  “Perfect,” Cain interrupted impatiently.

  The waitress narrowed her eyes. “If you order,” she added, frowning. “Let me know if you change your mind,” she sighed. Then she left to check on the birthday party. The kid was crying about wanting a larger piece, and then crying harder when he was told he was supposed to share the rest of it.

  Cain leaned forward, wrapping both hands around his mug of steaming, black tar heroin. I took a contented sip, meeting his eyes. “What. The fuck. Was that?” he hissed.

  I shook my head, feeling on the verge of hysteria. I remembered being in Rome only a few minutes ago, fighting for my life against a possessed Conclave. I had watched my best friend die, and I had felt nothing. And…I couldn’t remember how we had gotten there. Or what the fight was about. Couldn’t even remember ever being a Shepherd…

  “Where are we, Cain?” I whispered nervously, dialing back my paranoia and deciding not to share it with Cain. He was already on the edge and didn’t need a shove. Especially since I was on the edge with him and we were holding hands.

  “Let me hold the doors, my dear. It’s chilly outside,” I heard the waitress say from across the room. We both glanced up sharply, something about her words catching our attention. She was holding the doors open for a little old couple shaking snow from their boots. I frowned, not recognizing them. Then my eyes settled on the doors and I felt a slight pinch between my eyes.

  “It’s cold enough outside to rob me of my last breath,” the old man chuckled, thanking the waitress, and ignoring his wife’s indignant squawk at such a macabre joke.

  I gasped as my coffee slopped over my wrist, the memory hitting me like a truck. We were on a quest, a game. The Song of Solomon.

  “Last Breath,” I said, turning back to Cain.

  “Doors,” he hissed back, his eyes wide. Then we were both scanning the room, searching for any sign of threat. But it was an entirely normal diner, no danger. No lion ready to rip our faces off. No Silver Doors. Just us and our coffee. Then I focused on the faint singing I could hear in the background, as if it was coming from outside. That was familiar, too.

  Cain noticed my attention. “Yes, the bloody screaming.”

  I frowned. “It’s a song,” I argued. “Why does it sound familiar?”

  Cain looked uncertain all of a sudden, almost fearful. “Because we heard it the moment we stepped through that first cursed Door. Maybe it’s the Song of Solomon. The tortu
red screams of Last Breath’s victims,” he grumbled. I had no idea what he was talking about. I heard no screaming, only the sweet, distant melody.

  Like an upended box of puzzle pieces, snippets of memory began falling upon the rickety card table of my consciousness—some right-side up, others upside-down. I had watched Claire die in Rome, and I had felt nothing. How was that not sociopathic? Even now, I felt more alarmed at the realization that I hadn’t felt anything than the fact that she had died. She was my best friend. Something was very, very wrong.

  It was as if once I stepped through the next Door, some thread was cut, leaving me with little to no memories of what had happened prior, fully immersing me into the new fabricated reality.

  But…

  I had been holding the Spear a moment ago. The one the Conclave had given me. That was real, or I wouldn’t have been clutching it in this diner. Did that mean Claire really had just died?

  Cain was watching me, nervous of whatever he saw in my eyes, and holding out his hands for me to calm down.

  “None of that was real…Rome, the Shepherds, none of it,” I told him forcefully.

  He nodded very slowly. “Obviously…”

  “Then why was I holding the Spear a minute ago? It’s different than…I remember,” I finally said, pushing through the mild headache caused by the thought. “It really has been modified somehow, but I don’t think in a good way,” I told him. “Almost like it’s rigged to break…”

  Cain’s eyes widened. “Shit. Are you sure?”

  “You told me to put it away, so no, I’m not sure. But it felt…off.”

  He scratched at his unshaven cheeks, thinking furiously.

  Now that I was aware, I thought back on how we had started this quest. It was difficult to draw to mind, but it finally hit me. I remembered talking to an Angel, but not how I had gotten there. Then there was the fountain, Roland meeting with Henri the vampire, and Fabrizio.