Forsaken

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “I didn’t say I thought you were an emotionless cockroach!” Leo erupted, standing up and reaching for her arm. But she moved out of his reach and backpedaled away from him.

  “You don’t have to say it,” she hissed at him, her fiery eyes burning like two yellow flames. “Your contempt oozes out of you like a tide. From the instant I met you you’ve done nothing but batter me with your obvious derision toward me and all of Nightwalker kind! But never you fear,” she said, her hands balling into fists. “As soon as this wish is made you’ll be quit of me and you’ll never have to set eyes on this thing”—she indicated herself with a jerking hand gesture—“any longer.”

  She turned her back on him and stalked angrily away. He opened his mouth to recall her, to argue with her that she was overreacting and being too sensitive, but instead he went quiet and felt a forlorn sort of regret birth inside of him. He couldn’t argue against the truth. But neither could he help his feelings nor the horrifyingly overwhelming distrust that seethed through him whenever he came close to any one of these breeds.

  And it was for the best that he hold on to that, he told himself. It was best that he never forget to be cautious, that he never turn his back on any of them. There was no telling if he, a simple mortal man, would ever survive if he did. He did not belong in this world of titans and demigods. He didn’t even want to know such things existed.

  But it was better that he did, he argued with himself. His ignorance had cost him dearly, had scarred him in a way he might never recover from.

  But as she stopped at a desk across the room, shuffling through the books that were laid upon it, he found himself remembering things about her, things that told him what an honest, valiant heart she had. He remembered how she had wept in devastation as she had clutched their dead child to her breast.

  No. It was an illusion, he whispered fiercely into his own psyche as the memory of the agony he had felt in that moment threatened to overwhelm him. It was all pure fantasy. Pure fiction.

  And yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself as he crossed the distance between them. He stood behind her, struggling with himself so hard it was exhausting him.

  “I was tortured.” Leo jerked with surprise as he said the words aloud. Why should she know that? Why would he want her to know that? She could just use it against him…

  Faith turned around slowly, her surprise written all over her face. But he thought she was more surprised that he had confessed the thing to her than she was about the nature of the thing itself. Then he remembered she could see those words being written onto himself over and over again, and he knew there was no way she could have missed something so deeply ingrained onto his scroll…onto his soul.

  “A Bodywalker named Chatha. He’s…on the outside he looks like a Down syndrome man. I don’t know if you know what that is…but suffice it to say, it’s sheep’s clothing. I let my guard down because I thought he was harmless. He got the drop on me and he…” Leo trailed off, his heart racing and sweat breaking out over every surface of his skin. “Anyway…it’s just going to take some time…I can’t be expected to just forget it.”

  “No. I don’t expect you to forget it,” she said quietly. “But I do expect you to realize that one Nightwalker made of pure evil does not mean all Nightwalkers fit that same definition. And I expect you to be intelligent enough, evolved enough, to understand that.”

  “That’s not fair,” he snapped. “Why don’t you run across that sick fuck and let him fillet you like a fish for a few days and then we’ll see if…”

  Leo’s anger slipped away on a sheet of cold shock when he heard his own words ringing out into the room. He would never, no matter who and what they were, never wish Chatha on anyone for any reason. And suddenly the idea of her being at Chatha’s mercy blossomed horrifyingly within his imagination and he thought he might be sick onto his own boots. He staggered away from her, dizzying nausea trying to win the day.

  But then she was there, stepping up against him, her warm, vital body burning its strength into him. She felt like a tether, a lifeline. He didn’t know why he would see her as such, but just the same he found himself wrapping his arms around her. He hugged her to himself brutally hard, his face against the softness of her neck, his entire body quaking under her touch. God, he had never known such weakness. Such fear.

  “I’m sorry,” he said on fast breaths. “I’d never want you to know even half of what I was forced to learn at Chatha’s hands. I don’t even want to speak his name aloud in your presence because I’m terrified it would conjure him up.”

  “It’s all right,” she said softly against his ear, her breath spilling over every curve and hollow of it.

  “No. It’s not.” His shaking hand traveled up to the back of her delicate neck. She was strong and she was powerful, but she would be just as fragile as he had been under Chatha’s vicious blade. The thought was obscene as he stood there bathed in her warmth, the sweet scent of her filling his senses. “It will never be all right for as long as that thing lives. I will never rest easy as long as it’s alive.”

  She drew her head back just far enough for her to see into his emotion-ravaged eyes.

  “I’m going to say something, and you might hate me for it, but I want you to think about it. Okay?”

  He felt a wary sense of dread, but he nodded awkwardly just the same.

  “When a Politic Bodywalker is reborn, it Blends with the soul of the human that hosts it. Then they see the world together with joined eyes. But when a Templar Bodywalker is invited into their host’s body, they do not Blend in the same way. They subjugate the host soul, forcing it to lie in complete and utter helpless submission. The originating soul must simply stand by and watch everything the Bodywalker says or does.” She drew a breath. “So somewhere inside Chatha there is a sweet, innocent soul, the soul of a Down syndrome male, who has been watching everything this psychopathic Bodywalker soul has been doing. He will feel it all, smell it all, and remember it all. He will suffer under it every single day until someone puts Chatha down like the rabid dog he is. As much of a victim to Chatha as you were, that innocent is a thousand times more a victim because he has to watch as his very own hands and eyes do to others what he did to you.”

  Leo didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know it. Anger and outrage warred within him, sick disgust their companion. He wanted to sit down, his legs weak beneath him, his body shaking uncontrollably as his mind struggled to reconcile what he had been feeling every minute of every day about that monster that had brutalized him with the image of innocence and sympathy she was forcing onto him.

  “No. No, God, I can’t do this. I can’t do this!” He shoved himself out of her hold, staggering to the desk, his hands gripping at it as if it might suddenly be snatched away from him and along with it all of his strength and composure. “Don’t do this to me!”

  He felt her hands on his back, felt her warmth ebbing into him as she slid her touch to his shoulders and gripped him tightly there. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She’d said it all already, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she forced the idea onto him that was currently ripping away at him?

  The idea that there was a victim out there suffering a thousand times more than he was.

  “He should be killed,” Leo rasped out, his neck tight with tension. “I already thought so…already knew that I wouldn’t rest until I had destroyed him, but now…” Leo fought back the burn of tears as he forced himself to keep breathing. “That kid. Andy. The real Andy…he’s stuck inside that thing. Isn’t there something we can do? Isn’t there some way we can rip Chatha out and leave Andy intact?”

  “No,” she said gently.

  “What about what Apep did to Jackson? He severed his souls, right? What if we sever just the one and leave the other intact? Couldn’t that—”

  “That’s too simplified, Leo. It doesn’t work that way. The Blending, however much or little has taken place, makes it impossible to separate the souls. Although ther
e are two separate tethers for Jackson’s souls, the souls themselves are like conjoined twins. Each twin has its own umbilicus, but they can’t be simply pulled apart. There isn’t any way of ejecting Chatha without killing Andy. It’s been tried before and it’s never succeeded.”

  “Are you sure?” he said, turning toward her, knowing his every emotion was stricken across his face…written across his scroll for her to see.

  She nodded, gentle fingertips reaching to smooth through his hair at his temple. His eyes slid closed for a moment as he fought to understand why, in this sea of horror and misery, that single touch had the power to soothe him. She did it again, like a mother comforting her child, like an owner petting a beloved companion. It exuded strength and affection, bringing them together to provide a shield to fortify him and armor to protect him.

  When he looked into her eyes he was not offended by the sympathy he saw there and that was surprising. The idea of someone feeling sorry for him should have enraged him. But he knew it was not pity she was feeling when she looked at him like that. It was understanding. It was commiseration. She knew it was a hopeless situation, just like he did. She knew that she had taken away the clarity of his hatred for Chatha. She knew that it was no longer so simple for him to want Chatha at his cold mercy.

  He had imagined thousands of ways he wanted to visit revenge on Chatha, but now…knowing what he knew now…he could no longer have the satisfaction of the fantasy of it. It was no longer black and white. Good and bad.

  “I need to walk,” he said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. He moved away from her, looking quickly around the room for an exit. He’d not seen one as yet, but maybe…maybe he had missed it. He needed to get out of there. He needed silence and solitude…just for a few minutes. Just long enough for him to wrap his mind around all of this and come up with…something. A new answer? An altered version of plotting Chatha’s death? Chatha still had to die to set Andy’s soul free. To give him peace.

  And part of the problem was that he knew…he had always known that, as a simple mortal human being, there was no way he could have gone up against a being as powerful as Chatha. Not if he expected victory. It would be just like being mauled by a lion, and then getting up and walking into the lion’s den. It was madness. Suicide. Asking for more defeat and more horrifying agony.

  “Leo.”

  He looked at her and saw her pointing to the back wall. A door made of stained glass with an elegant brass handle stood where no door had been just moments ago. It told him that, while he was not present physically, Grey was watching them closely. He had heard Leo’s need and had provided for it.

  Leo didn’t have the focus needed to be angry about that. He just walked to the door, opened it and stepped out into…

  Sunshine. Although it had been full night a moment ago inside of the library, the moment he opened the door he was looking at a vast sunshine filled garden. It was tranquil, peaceful and, Leo thought as he began to walk along the garden path, it was a place where no Nightwalkers would be.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Leo sat outside for what felt like a very long period of time, but it was not time wasted. The sunlight seemed to sear a kind of strength into him, a kind of quietude that softened the raging thoughts and emotions inside of him. He was so tired, he realized. Tired of being so angry so much of the time. He had never been the bitter sort, though he had been known to hold a grudge. But he never let those grudges fester. He went after the source with a vengeance, satisfying it however it needed to be satisfied. What quickly came to mind was Benitio Montalbano. He’d been a powerful man, living on the Mediterranean coastline in the town of Cinque-Terre, Italy. But his home in that idyllic setting belied the monster that Benitio was. He was wealthy and powerful and he had been one of the most notorious pedophiles ever to walk free in Italy. But his power and position had kept him free of the long arm of the law and he had continued to traffic in little girls, both for himself and for others, destroying their psyche’s thoroughly before discarding them when they grew too old or developed things like breasts and other accents of adulthood.

  Benitio had captured the daughter of a woman, thewidow of David Rabinowitz, one of Leo’s best buddies from back in his army Ranger days. She had come to him, beside herself looking for her missing child, begging him to help her and get her daughter back…by any means necessary. Leo had known David’s daughter since the day she’d been born. She had been nine when she had disappeared from her very own street in the bright light of day.

  It had taken every resource he’d had, every favor he could think of. He’d been stunned to learn she’d been not only kidnapped but sold and shipped out of the country. Eventually he had traced her to Italy, and then to Montalbano’s home.

  To say he had exacted revenge had been an understatement. But it had taken time and very careful planning. He had needed to remove his emotional attachment to the situation in order to see David’s daughter safely retrieved…and to see to it Montalbano would never touch another little girl again.

  And that, he realized, was what he needed to do now. He needed to excise the emotion connected to the way he felt toward Chatha. No easy feat that, but he satisfied himself with knowing the time for emotion would come. There would be satisfaction one day. He didn’t know yet what method or face it would have, but it would be done. He and Faith would see to Jackson’s safety and then together they would find a way to make Chatha pay—

  Wait. What? When had Faith become a part of his fantasy of dealing with Chatha?

  When she had made you see there would be more to it than just vengeance against a psychopath.

  She had robbed him of the rage he’d been wallowing in, robbed him of the single-minded revenge he’d been fixated on. Why would he want to include her in his plans?

  Because she can see things you can’t. Because she will keep you honest. Because she will make certain your rage doesn’t make victims of innocent collateral damage.

  And because he somehow felt more centered when she was around. He felt calmer and stronger now. Sure, it was likely because of Grey’s manipulations, but he knew that there was a vein of truthfulness to the whole thing. Not so much that they would end up lovers, but that they each had new insights into the other and could understand each other on a more visceral level.

  That they could trust each other.

  The thought calmed him. Come what may, Faith was the only Nightwalker he knew of that could be considered an ally.

  Except for Jackson.

  The thought leapt into his brain before he could stop it, before he could force it down with his newfound prejudices. Leo sighed and rubbed at his temples. Jackson. What was he supposed to make of all of it? And Marissa…capable of becoming a murderer? How could that be? The woman he had been coming to know had not seemed anything like the monster he had seen.

  But it wasn’t until he had lived a future where there was no Jackson in his life that he really felt fear of losing him, whatever he might be. He’d been around him for over two weeks and everything had seemed so…Jackson, but was that a truth or was it a facsimile? Jackson or just something that wore his face?

  Jackson. It was Jackson. Leo realized it so suddenly and so sharply that he felt wetness in his eyes and tightness in his chest. He had to be Jackson because Leo couldn’t imagine life without him. He was everything good that Leo was not. He was Leo’s anchor and moral true north. Jackson kept him honest, and he needed to be kept honest. He walked the edge too often to run around without that anchor.

  It was a leap of faith. Believe or don’t believe. Like Santa Claus. Only Jackson wasn’t a myth. He was real. And Leo had been pissing on what had been the deepest relationship he had ever had.

  And how had he come to realize this?

  Faith. His ally. A trustworthy ally. And he would need that ally not only for dealing with this Jackson thing, but when dealing with his mode of recourse against Chatha. He would need her power…and her levelheadedness. He would need h
er to keep him honest and on the right side of good. Just like Jackson.

  Leo was not an evil man and he would not allow Chatha to make him one. He would much rather have Faith and his friend to keep him from becoming one.

  Leo exhaled, soft and long.

  Good, he thought.

  Good.

  By the time Leo returned to the library, Faith had finished constructing the wish she was going to make. It had taken a few drafts and a lot of careful thinking, but eventually she had come up with something she could tell herself was reasonably satisfactory. A Djynn as clever as Grey could find a loophole in any wish, she was sure, no matter how careful she tried to be. She just hoped that the Djynn was a man of his word and that he was above such petty amusements. But she did worry, just the same. Usually the older a Djynn was, the more powerful he was, and the more easily bored he was. If Grey was looking for a way to divert himself, Faith could very well be making herself the perfect entertainment.

  All she could do was pray that, for all their sakes, this was not the case. Leo was struggling enough as it was with trust and his understanding of the world around him. He didn’t need a Djynn reinforcing his mistrust of all things Nightwalker.

  Leo looked significantly more settled, having had the time and the peace to put himself back together. She had known that he had been putting a lot of energy into fantasies of how he would take his revenge out on Chatha. For all he was human, he was a man of action and deeds, and if he was imagining doing it…then it would most likely get done. The problem had been that he was thinking in linear human terms, totally disregarding that there was a great deal more complexity involved than what met his unpracticed eye.

  She had not wanted to be the one to rob him of his illusions, but neither had she wanted him to throw his life away without seriously thinking about what he was doing. In a way, Leo was going through a massive grieving. He was grieving the loss of himself. The loss of the man he had thought himself to be and the power and control he had once thought he had. In the blink of an eye he had gone from being a badass mercenary to a victimized, insignificant, mortal man. That couldn’t be an easy thing to cope with. And on top of it the trauma itself? She couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like, what he must have suffered. All she had was the scrawling, fiery words that had streaked across his scroll in a wild, acidic jumble as he had struggled with her earlier.