“Glory Skollen. You have the honor of the presence of Nevaeh Henries, my queen and consort. The Inescapable. Future Queen of New and Old. Justice for our kind. Kneel before her and pledge your allegiance.”
Queen? With a lot of titles too. When I don’t kneel fast enough, the demon on my left claps a hand to my shoulder and pushes. I go down to my knees. Head bowing instinctually. My eyes on the dirt in front of me.
No, not an angel. There was something too cruel in her eyes. Something to the set of her jaw, lips. Something that spoke of darkness, anger, unhappiness.
“This wolf-girl, the progeny of one of my sentinels. She seems inadequate for our needs.” Her words project over the top of my head with an accompanying sound of out-of-tune chimes. Like the scrapping of a metal fork on tin-foil.
The progeny of one of her sentinels? The Demon my mother called from the underworld and procreated with works for this frightful queen?
I keep the questions back behind my pressed together lips. I’ll not play into their hands by blindly revealing how little I do know.
Damn Grayson. Why couldn’t he just have clued me in a little? Demons! The Devil! His queen! I am in shock, but not. If I can accept that I am a werewolf, how can I not accept other supernaturals? I’m bumbling through my discoveries like a first-timer at an Olympic hurdling event. My legs tripping over Each. And. Every. Hurdle. Painfully.
“Inadequate. Perhaps.” Alastor returns. “But when she taps into her fury - a sight to behold. She can be trained to be a weapon for us, or her death will be a call to our ranks; a heralding of what’s to come. The catalyst.”
My death.
My death. A catalyst. For what?
I lift my head to see what this angel fairy woman will decree. Please let me live.
Funny the clarity one receives under an imminent threat of dying. I want to live. I want to go to Nick. Our time together has been two mere moments in the span of fourteen years. I need more, and in my gut, in my heart, I know more is possible with him.
Her eyes have gone inhuman. Copper red to match her hair.
“She’s no shield. And of no consequence. Proceed as you will, Alastor.” With a small pop, she disappears.
He nods to the demon at my shoulder.
Dull force at the top of my head, I’m falling and the night is collapsing darker in my vision.
Chapter 17
The dark is still there when I wake.
On the ground. Still naked. Dry dirt stuck to my skin. This place smells of sand and heat. And my senses feel the smallness of the space. I breathe in, hearing the echo of sound against the walls. I stand, needing to confirm it with my hands.
Two steps forward, my palm hits brushed metal. I slide along that barrier, feeling the space out. Round. Eight feet in diameter? All metal walls. Seams where the metal is welded together. Dirt floor and dark ceiling. I sense the ceiling is high. Maybe twenty to thirty feet above me. Where is this place? Where am I?
“Hello?"
"Hell-o-o-o-o?”
My voice reverberates off the walls echoing back to me.
Sheer panic balloons in my stomach. It launches me into a memory of swirling, flooding water. An uncontrollable factor, that has my hands shaking.
Pulling air into my lungs. This is not that time. The scents are of earth and dirt. Not water and cold.
Still, the fear pushes at my spine. My muscles tense with preparation.
Will it always be my berserk form that appears now when I’m scared or hurt? Am I capable of even calling my normal wolf?
Yes. My mind and heart know the answer. The assurance that I won’t be an ugly uncontrollable beast calms me a bit.
I sit.
Alastor has thrown me into a dark pit. How very medieval of him. What does he want to happen? I can only think of two things.
One. The beast to come out. Could my berserker form punch through the metal walls? Climb to the top, where I assume there is a hatch or door of some kind?
Two. Or if I don’t turn - my death. He hasn’t killed me outright because he is banking I’ll change into the berserker. What do I know about berserkers? Nothing. Medieval tales? Was it Viking legends? I am a medieval weapon of mass destruction.
I lean my back against the wall. The support eases my always present low-back tension.
Demons. Devil. Queen. Weapon. War. Catalyst. Answers.
My death.
They thought my death would bring out whomever they are fighting. Is Grayson, the council, on their side? My gut tells me - no. Grayson would’ve used me if he thought I had something...usable. He’s a balancer. Quid pro quo.
The memory of our recent discussion pops into my brain. He had said ‘war’ too. At the time I thought he was referring to the destruction of Rick’s pack. But did he mean it against someone else? Was Rick working with Alastor and Nevaeh?
What names. What positively snobbish pronunciations. Niv-e-ugh On-ree. Al-ugh-star Moon. I roll my eyes and then realize no one is here to see it. I’m having entire conversations in my head. Great.
Demons. Devil. Queen. Weapon. War. Catalyst. Answers.
How had they found me? My trip to Colorado Springs had been completely spontaneous. If they had been watching me, they could’ve snatched me anytime I did one of my regularly scheduled shopping trips to town.
Demons. Devil. Queen. Weapon. War. Catalyst. Answers.
Would they be out grabbing Justice next? I have been a terrible sister. I’d been so naive to believe that everything would go back to normal after Independence’s challenge. Her near-death. I hadn’t even thought to check in on Justice!
Demons. Devil. Queen. Weapon. War. Catalyst. Answers.
Would Grayson even be looking for me? He’d find the car abandoned at the destroyed house. Then what? This place doesn’t feel or smell like Colorado to me. Of course, I’ve lived in Colorado my entire thirty two year existence so how would I even know the difference?
Demons. Devil. Queen. Weapon. War. Catalyst. Answers.
The Inescapable. She had said I was the progeny of her royal guard. Sentinel is the word she specifically said. Were the demons with Alastor royal guards? My father. A mouth breather.
I visualize my mother working in secret one night to call one from the underworld.
No, that’s not right. Her notes specifically said, ‘other side.’ Not the underworld. Not hell.
I may have not grown up religious, but I have the same generalizations and pop-culture references humans do. Underworld. Hell. Purgatory. The devil’s lair. All the same.
That place your soul goes when you die if you’ve committed any of the seven deadly sins.
Could it be that there is simply a plane of existence that these creatures are from that is parallel to ours, without human labels? Most certainly.
And...what? They want to take over our plane. The mid-west? The United States? Earth. It’s a plausible theory.
My stomach growls, the ache of hunger settling low in my belly. When was the last time I ate? Breakfast. I skipped lunch and dinner. Went berserk.
Ha. I went berserk. Punny. Maybe I’m losing it. Or already lost it.
I lay down, thinking that I should hate this dirt bed. But truth be known, I don’t. Earth and dirt. I’ve always found comfort in them.
How long before they come for me? Will it be Alastor or Nevaeh? Their henchmen?
Chapter 18
They haven’t come for me. It’s now apparent they mean to starve me into submission.
My Berserker. Their weapon. My death. Their catalyst.
I can’t count on a white knight either. Gray had no way to track me. The council either. I was alone.
I try calling the fury. I try changing into that form that is powerful enough to rip an oak from the ground and topple a house.
She huffs and she puffs and she blows the house down. I giggle.
That nursery rhyme has new meaning to me. It has truth.
But that part of me is just not there. I had tapped i
nto it by accident. I had tapped into it to avenge all the wrongs done to me as a child. I had used it, fueled it with an anger three decades repressed. It exploded from me. And now it’s gone.
Ironic, that I surrender to what they want and it’s not possible. I feel defeated after the attempt. Close to giving up.
“It doesn’t work!” I holler up at the ceiling. “I can’t do it. I tried!”
The only answer is my own voice ringing back to me in echo.
In the darkness, I can’t see my moon. I can’t tell if it’s been two days, three, or five. I’ve dedicated the opposite side of the circle to my personal matters. Dug a hole with my hand and covered it up. But it’s been a while since I’ve had to. Maybe it’s been a week. I feel weak. I laugh again.
I call my other form. My wolf.
At the very least, in it I have better eyesight, keener smell.
There’s no new information to be gleaned. It’s still a round metal room with a dirt bottom. A small silo maybe? How do those look on the inside?
I lay down in my dirt bed. In heaven I’ll be able to hold my Selene.
If there is a heaven? I’m not so sure anymore.
Martyr. Catalyst. Same thing.
At the table, Justice places her book, open, next to her soup bowl. She reads as she eats. God bless my sister. She doesn’t complain. She doesn’t whine or cry. No, she is lost in words. She finds an escape in those pages. I envy her that.
I won’t see her lose it. No. She’ll stay in school until she graduates. I’ll make sure of it.
And tonight is our last night of my ‘special’ soup. Chicken broth and herbs from the garden. Just enough to splash into two bowls.
How can I get to town? How can I get food for my sister and I?
She’s been gone almost three weeks. I fear that she may never come back.
Curse her for taking our car. Mother.
A rumble of thunder in the distance. Our summer evening storm.
For me, I savor each spoonful, hoping at the end of it, there will be answers.
Thank god school has started back up and Justice gets a meal plan. Breakfast and lunch.
My vision spins a little when I stand. Not enough food. I’d been skipping breakfast and lunch in my attempts to make the food last longer.
A knock at the door as I put the bowl in the sink.
My sister’s eyes and mine meet.
Only one way to find out who it is. I see that Justice is behind me, curious as I am.
When I swing the door open, I’m not totally surprised to see our alpha. I lean on the door, unconsciously using it as a shield and hiding my sister.
“Rick. How are you? What can I do for you?” The questions tumble out one after the other.
“Where’s your mother?” His eyes are red-rimmed. He’s breath smells of alcohol.
“She’s just out delivering some teas.” Total lie. But my instinctual response to our alpha has always been caution. His wife died in childbirth. His daughter is near my age. And our relationship has always been respectful acquaintanceship.
He eyes me up and down. “Your mother…”
I shift my weight in my feet. “I can give her a message. Tell her to come see you when she gets back.”
“You know, Glory you are a woman now.” His words send chills up and down my spine. Straight predator vibes are rolling from him.
“And your mother thinks some prophecy will protect you. But the thing is…” He steps closer, crowding me. He pulls my hand into his own. Traces circles on the back of it.
“...I’m not sure I entirely believe her.”
I am frozen. An icepick of fear into my heart.
“I’ll tell her you stopped by.” I pull my hand back and move to close the door quickly. His palm slams against the wood preventing me from shutting it completely.
He leans his face in the small opening.
“You do that. Glory. And make sure to tell her, I’m growing impatient.”
I give him a nod, and he steps back with Cheshire-cat like grin. Madness all around me.
I close the door, locking the deadbolt. I don’t care if he can hear it. I want as many barriers between us and him as possible.
I want that sense of security. Even if it is superficial.
More thunder. My eyes meet Justice’s as she stands on the stairs behind me.
Her worry is visible in the set of her frown.
The wind kicks up, blowing against the window panes.
“What do you want to do, Glory?” Justice clasps the book to her chest.
“We’ll give it a little bit more time.” I really mean her. We’ll give our mother a little bit more time.
“Just a little bit more time.”
I get my bath. Lay in bed listening to the ever-rumbling thunder and wind. Will it ever break? Will it unleash on us?
I ponder Rick’s words. Prophecy. Has mother been protecting us from him by making up stories?
A flash of lightning. An all-too-real bang. Someone’s forced open the front door. My heart hammers in my chest, and I grab the shovel I put next to the bed earlier.
I silently creep down the hall towards the stairs. Someone is coming up them.
I turn the corner. Shovel head raised in burglar-bashing readiness.
“Glory.”
I lower the shovel. Her eyes are crazed. Luminescent. She brings the scent of sunshine and sea with her. An odd duality from the storm and mountains we are in.
Her hair sails in the breeze of the opened front door. She’s wearing a diaphanous dress, cut in angular, irregular shapes. It, too, floats around her body, making her a poltergeist vision.
She comes within feet of me. Sways to music I can’t hear. Raises her palm to cup my cheek.
“My Glory.”
She drops her hand, moving past me without more than that.
I spin to watch her enter her own bedroom.
“Mother. Rick came by.”
She turns to me from the doorway.
“Don’t worry dear. I’ll take care of him.”
I close up the house. Lay back in bed. Finally the rain comes. Large, fat drops plopping on the roof.
An idea for survival flits through my mind. We have a garden. And in it I shall grow our livelihoods. No longer will we stick with her herbs and medicines. It’ll be vegetables. Potatoes, turnips, cabbage. Whatever will grow and sustain us.
Chapter 19
He comes to me in my memory too. He gave me womanhood. He gave me strength. He was the first to show me what’s inside.
Power. I unleashed it on him. And he took it. Swallowed it up. Took care of it. Took care of me.
That’s why I loved him after just one night.
I’m at the end. I know, because at times I was cold, at times I was hot. But now, I’m nothing.
The darkness holds things. Unhappy things. Scary things. Strange things. Unknown.
I have completely ceased to exist. There’s no body here. I am a floating soul. Small.
Am I in my last days? My last hours? My last minutes.
His scent, I remember it. Like he is standing right here in front of me.
It launches me to the dizzying light. This is it. I’m on my way.
Wait for me, Selene. I’ll be there.
Chapter 20
I can feel the tube, hard plastic and foreign up my nostril, snaking down the back of my throat. I feel the needle in the crook of my elbow. Cold liquid shooting into my veins.
A bed, a hospital room. White walls, no windows, fluorescent lights. A dark shape in the chair next to me. On the bedside table, my favorite moon lamp. It’s off, so I wonder if it’s day.
I inhale, choke on the tube, and reflexively go into a fit of coughing. My eyes water uncontrollably, and I rip off the tape holding the tube to my face.
Hands cover mine. Pull them away from my face.
“Glory. Sssh. Let me. Don’t pull that.”
He’s here. I try again to inhale oxygen, but am blocked
by the tube in my nose.
“Calm down so I can pull it out.”
I blow out oxygen through my mouth. Breathe in past my lips deliberately. Nick pulls the offending plastic and it drags across what feels like a million nerve endings inside my throat and nose. When It’s out, I cough, sneeze, and brush the liquid sting out of my eyes.
He pushes the button to raise the upper half of the bed behind me while I compose myself.
“Jeez. Louise.” I finally mange. The words come out sounding like a dried husk being pushed by the wind along desert sand. My hand touches my throat in wonder.
“Here.” Nick hands me a cup of water.
I gratefully accept it, putting it to my lips. The rush of wetness is divine, the coolness against my burnt throat amazing. I chug, washing the feeling of violation from inside me.
My throat closes. I sputter. The water dribbles out my mouth, down my chin.
“Not so fast.” He pulls the cup from my hand and places a napkin there instead.
I wipe the liquid off. My eyes take him in. I’m not dead. I’m not in darkness.
I’m not dead, because I feel everything. From the sheets beneath me, to the sharpness in my throat - the echo of a feeding tube. To the clench of anticipation at seeing him, the wonder and soar of my heart.
“Nick?” There’s a thousand questions behind his name. Where am I? How am I still alive? What are you doing here?
“Glory.” I see unhappiness behind his eyes. He doesn’t want to tell me the answers.
“Just tell me.”
“You’ve been gone fourteen months. I found you by chance. Me and my team. We went in doing reconnaissance.”
Fourteen months? A complete year and two months? There’s no possible way.
His handsome face is serious though. Not a crack in the facade.
I try to place the facts in my brain. In chronological order. I remember leaving Indy that late-spring day. Driving to Colorado Springs. Not being able to get a hold of Justice. The house.
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