“Four,” the lion corrected. “Four fathers.”
Solomon sighed. “Right. Four,” he muttered. “I always forget that last one.”
The lion looked upon Solomon, his face horrified. “He’s kind of the most important one.”
I fell to my knees as a wave of pain crashed through me. I was shaking my head stubbornly, holding back tears that threatened to spill. I had no idea how to answer his questions. Any of them, and it physically hurt to realize this.
How could I not name my own father?
Richard was suddenly crouched down, staring directly at me with his icy eyes. He shook his head sadly, his leonine ears swiveled back. “All that power at your disposal—invincible from all those sticks and stones—and mere words hurt you,” he said sympathetically. “It must be tough to be so invincible. But…what Solomon is trying to tell you is that it will get even tougher the further you proceed down this path. The more powerful you get, the more pain you will feel.”
Solomon nodded sadly, not appreciating that he had been the bully in the example but accepting full responsibility. “On top of these harsh truths, I must heap on another fact…killing Samael will not bring you peace. It will not bring Cain back.”
“My brother,” I corrected in an instinctive snarl, a sudden flare of passion helping me to overcome my anxiety. Solomon shrugged. “You don’t know how powerful I am,” I told him defensively.
Solomon scoffed dismissively. “Of course I do. I have stood in your shoes. Faced the same trials. Made my own choice. As have countless others.”
I blinked at him incredulously. “And which did you choose?”
He gave me an amused look. “If you could recall anything about yourself, you would realize how humorous that question is. You, caring about what others choose or do not choose.”
“Am I supposed to know who you two really are?” I asked tiredly, desperately needing to change topics. “Because I don’t like your face,” I said pointing at the lion. I still felt a vague sense of familiarity about them but couldn’t place why. Was this all some elaborate ruse to mess with my head?
Richard glanced at Solomon as if asking permission. The man gave him a meaningful look before slowly nodding. Richard turned back to me. “You may know me as Last Breath.”
The familiarity grew noticeably stronger, but not enough for me to understand.
“Like I said, my name is Solomon. I was once a fool. A sage. A wizard. A warrior. A tyrant. A deviant. A saint. A sinner. Some of those still apply, but I’m doing my best.”
I glanced over at the stained-glass window, gathering my thoughts. “I don’t like that part,” I said absently, pointing at the one corner I had been able to study—the man on the unicorn. I felt like I had seen him recently. Had he given me one of my artifacts? I noticed a weight in one of my pockets and pulled out a silver charm shaped like a butterfly.
My hand began to visibly shake as I stared at the charm, but it wasn’t any magical power. It was something internal. That charm…bothered me somehow. I hastily shoved it back into my pocket.
Solomon was smiling in amusement at my statement. “Not many people do like him, but he has his uses. He will be important soon. As will others.” He studied me thoughtfully, seeming to debate whether or not to say something. I narrowed my eyes in warning and he finally sighed. “Perhaps you could be important, too, someday. If you remembered why.”
I grunted indelicately, turning back to the man with the unicorn. “Or I could take him out of the picture,” I suggested. Something about him screamed a warning of wild, raw, chaotic magic. A worthy opponent. But also, something more than that. “Maybe after I found just a little bit more power. I could be greater than him, whoever he is.”
“Indeed, you could,” Solomon said seriously. “You could also be his lesser.”
I shot the man a murderous look, but he met my gaze levelly, letting me know it hadn’t been a criticism. “The same can be said of anyone, ever. We choose what we become, whether we admit it or not.”
I stared back at the stained-glass window, this time focusing on the center. I frowned at the burning cross and the white rose wreath. Then harder at the two figures before it. “I expect this is all some sort of symbolism. That man looks broken, but the girl is even worse—a weak, clueless, little creature. A self-righteous man who once thought too highly of himself and was humbled for it, holding hands with a vapid girl who followed him blindly, never thinking for herself.”
The rooftop was silent for a time, so I looked back. The two were staring at me intensely.
“Perhaps she never defined herself. Didn’t learn her I.” He mistook my frown as a lack of understanding, but it was more than that. Those words had sent a chill down my spine. “How can someone say I love you if they never defined the first word in the sentence—their definition of self, their values, their ethos?”
His answer only made the chill grow worse, so I redirected my frustration back on the window. “Perhaps,” I said. “But it doesn’t change anything. Still a stupid girl and a man broken by the weight of his own misplaced arrogance.”
I sensed them nodding in my peripheral vision as they waited for me to decide.
“The key to life…but I’ll forget it the moment I touch it?” I asked, repeating what Solomon had said.
“Yes. But perhaps you may find it again someday.” He waited for any further questions, but finally took my silence as an answer. “Have you decided?”
“You won’t try to stop me from using the other Door…” I asked, glancing at the door to Samael. The door to my vengeance. The door Cain deserved.
Solomon nodded. “You could avenge your brother. Then, for many years you could wander the Doors, amassing power for the rest of your days. You will shine like the sun. None would ever dare throw a stone at you—and it wouldn’t matter if they tried. What good is throwing a rock at the sky?”
I thought about that. For about a solid minute, almost salivating. I would be invincible.
I didn’t look up as I spoke. “But power would be my only purpose.”
Solomon was silent for a few moments. “It is almost guaranteed. Risk and reward await you either way. Joy and suffering. The price of free will…” he trailed off sadly.
I stood near the ledge, gripping the Spear in my fist, noticing I was bathed in its Silver glow. I glanced down at my fingers—at my rings. I thumbed the bone dagger on my hip. Then I thought about my other trinkets, realizing they made me feel incredibly safe. I was protected. Almost invulnerable. My entire being crackled with power, but I sensed the truth to Solomon’s words.
That power wasn’t truly mine. I just wore it. I didn’t know why these two even cared about me, whoever I was. I couldn’t even recall my own name when he’d asked me. Couldn’t even remember my father’s name. Just…Cain.
Which made it all so much worse. I was given the option to remember my own name…by giving up on avenging the only other name I knew—my brother.
I sniffled, wiping at my nose as I blinked through tears. “Do you two just stand up here, waiting for someone like me to come along? That’s a miserable existence,” I whispered, studying the window thoughtfully. Something about that burning cross…it seemed to be dripping blood, reminding me of an elusive dream. And that wreath of white roses…hadn’t I seen some white roses recently?
Part of me wanted answers to that damned window. Not for power, but because…it felt like something missing from my life. A curiosity.
I realized that, despite my initial disgust, I wanted to know about those two broken souls. I had enough power to challenge a God right now, but Solomon was right…I felt empty. And other than murdering Samael—I couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted to do with all my power.
Not one.
“The key to life…” I said again, staring at the man and girl holding hands, the brilliant light where their hands touched.
“A fleeting gift,” Solomon said drily. “But you will have your own memories
back. The ones you have traded for power.” He touched my shoulders gently, the gauntlets feeling like warm skin rather than cold metal. I didn’t look up, but I did flinch. “You have tasted raw power. Draped yourself with it. Learned how to make your enemies grovel.” I glanced up at him slowly to find his eyes studying me intently. “You could continue on this path, finding more. Or…you could trade it back in. Have a re-do.”
I hadn’t thought about it like that. I’d come here looking for something. And I’d found it. Well, I’d found something. Power. But I definitely didn’t feel happy.
If I wanted anything, I had the ability to simply will it into existence. A storm. Rain. Fire. War. Death. But I didn’t really care about anything enough to bother with the effort.
None of those thoughts filled me with passion. The fun had been in the chase, not the destination. Here I was, a newborn Goddess, standing on a forgotten roof in a forgotten city.
On the other hand, why would I go back to square one? I’d obviously been unhappy then, too, or I wouldn’t have come here searching for something.
Maybe I had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Had I done something wrong? Maybe I had tasted power and been changed. And that mistake had led me on the path to Cain’s death.
That thought set my pulse racing. I wanted Samael dead. No question. He needed to die for killing Cain. Wouldn’t it be a betrayal to let his murderer walk free—when I had the power to punish him? What would Cain want me to do? As I thought about it, I realized that I had no idea. I hardly knew much about Cain at all. I knew that I loved him as a brother, but…why?
Where had that feeling come from? To know—as an absolute—that I loved Cain as a brother, but to not remember why. That was…oddly disturbing. What if he had actually been a bad man? I couldn’t think of one specific thing about him other than that he had fought beside me and sacrificed himself for me. But why had he done that?
That should have been a very easy question to answer. Like…Solomon’s other questions about myself.
Shouldn’t I know something more about Cain before focusing my entire existence upon avenging him?
And say I did kill Samael…what about after that? I didn’t have any friends. No one to tell about my great deed. Cain wouldn’t even know I had avenged him.
A new thought chilled my blood. What would Cain think if he saw me now? Would he approve or be disgusted by what I’d become? I honestly had no idea.
All I could say for certain was that he had been my ally, my brother, my compass.
And now he was gone. Neither the Door on the roof nor Door in the window could give him back to me…
I felt so goddamned alone.
I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud until Richard knelt before me, nodding in understanding. “Through that Door, you will fully forget your memories. But you will have two close friends—revenge and power. After you kill one, power will be your only surviving companion. But you will also have no fear,” he offered in a neutral tone.
Strangely enough, that made sense to me. I would have no one who could understand my level of power. They would all be inferior—bugs beneath my boots. If I spoke from the heart about my power, they wouldn’t have anything to bring to the conversation. Just…flaccid nods. They would literally have nothing to share with me that would be of interest.
Nothing that I hadn’t already learned without them. Likewise, their problems would mean literally nothing to me, because I would have no basis of understanding for their concerns.
“If you choose the window,” Richard continued, “you will never be alone again. But you will know fear—for yourself and your loved ones, of which you will have many. At times, you will feel powerless, but you will still feel,” he said, emphasizing the last word. “There is no correct answer. It is time to choose what you want most in this life.”
There were risks and rewards to both. Power after I killed Samael was a certainty.
But the idea of a life of uncertainty made my stomach flutter anxiously, letting me feel something different for a change. Almost…an excitement.
Or I could spend a life chasing more and more power—the thrill in the conquest, but ultimately holding an empty prize since I didn’t have anything I wished to do with that power. Like a life spent chasing butterflies.
Something about that made me smile and reach into my pocket.
I squeezed the butterfly charm, thinking.
I already had one butterfly. Right here in my pocket. And I didn’t think I had obtained it here. It smelled different. Familiar, somehow. And it was just sitting in my pocket with nothing to do. Like one half of a kiss. Why would I want to collect more of these?
Maybe I could do with a little mystery. Some answers.
I smiled at the lion. “Thank you, Dick. What do I need to do?”
Solomon coughed, but the lion narrowed his eyes for some reason. “You fall, or you walk.”
Then he stood and walked over beside Solomon, waiting for me to decide.
Chapter 39
I climbed up on the ledge, staring out at the window. The ledge was six-feet wide, more of a walkway than a ledge, but even with a running start it would be close.
Because as I made my final decision—to retrieve my memory—I saw a Silver Door between the man and the girl in the window. The Door was both impossibly large and impossibly small. I would have to be very precise.
I let my Spear disappear deep inside me and ran as fast as I could for the edge, leaping into open air.
I flew towards the Door, cringing as I came closer to the window, because they no longer felt like images, but living people. The white-gold hair on the girl’s head even seemed to shift slightly from my rapid approach, and the man’s shoulders appeared to tighten.
They didn’t let go of each other’s hands, and the Silver Door grew larger as I neared—hopefully large enough for me to fit through or my suicide would be very disappointing.
The Door did not open as I struck it.
My weight shattered the entire window in an explosion of colored shards of ancient glass.
And in that explosion of glass, I suddenly felt like I had been reborn…given a name. An old name, but a name I knew well. It fit me just perfectly.
Callie Penrose.
I fell into a dark, forgotten church, and found two vampires trying to smash an ornate metal cross with clubs directly before me. They looked up, startled by the cacophony of broken glass and the crazy bitch flying at their faces.
Without consciously thinking, I had drawn two wooden, silver-tipped stakes from my belt the moment I saw them. I proceeded to bury the stakes in their foreheads so deep that I was forced to let them go as I rolled past them. I realized I was smirking at their death throes, but I didn’t bother looking back. Grit fell from my fingers, and I glanced down to see my rings of power crumbling to dust.
I shook off the dust and then washed my hands in the vampire blood covering my knuckles, spreading it evenly over my skin like lotion.
Then I walked onward into the church…
Into the darkness of this abandoned, hallowed ground, wondering how vampires had made it inside with impunity.
Only to find two Angels sweeping down upon me from the rafters, their scarred faces a rictus of hatred, elitism, and disgust as they hurled spears at me, skipping allegations to commence with their final judgment.
Which wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
My shoulders exploded with fire as wings of stone and ice erupted from my flesh to shield me from the spears. I waited for the two impacts and then swept my wings at the ground to catapult me upwards to meet them midair. Silver Claws bloomed from between my knuckles just in time to impale their heads through the soft flesh beneath their chins—one on each fist. They gasped and struggled, their wings falling slack as I slammed their heads into the ceiling, burying my claws into the wooden rafters so hard that dust rained down.
With a twist of my wrists, I broke off my claws and hurriedly bent the ends so that th
ey were like hooks, leaving the gasping Angels to hang like strung-up fish. I drifted back down to the ground and shook my head sadly at them. “We should have been allies.”
Black dust crumbled from around my forehead, and I realized I had lost the black halo crown. And a wave of memories beat at my heart, filling me with an inner fire.
“My father’s name is Titus!” I screamed my Nephilim father’s name loud enough to shake the walls of the church.
“My father’s name is Terry Penrose!” I screamed my adoptive father’s name loud enough to crack the pillars holding up the ceiling of the church.
“My father’s name is Roland Haviar!” I screamed my mentor father’s name loud enough to crack the floor and make me stumble as the church groaned in protest.
My shouts echoed off the walls, but the only other sound was the gasping Angels and my rasping breath. I debated giving an honorable mention to my fourth father. Everyone’s Father. The Big Dog. But I was pretty sure the building would collapse at another shout.
I stared up at the ceiling and placed a hand on the Shepherd’s Crucifix at my throat—the one that had belonged to Fabrizio’s friend, Anthony.
And I knelt, tucking my wings back. “You know who You are…” I said respectfully towards the groaning ceiling, dipping my chin slightly. “I’m probably about to make you regret giving me Free Will,” I admitted, “but You should forgive me. I know I’m a sinner, but I’m trying to act like a saint.”
I thought I heard a rumbling chuckle, but I was pretty sure it was just the church struggling not to collapse in on itself.
I climbed back to my feet and strode on, wondering what other enemies stood between me and my memories. The space ahead of me was now pitch-black, but the light from my brilliant, blue wings of shifting stone and ice illuminated a ten-foot radius in every direction. The ground vibrated in agitation, warning signs that I didn’t have long before the church crumbled. The tips of my wings trailed frigid blue flame across the cracked marble floor of the church.
Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2 Page 52