by J. R. Ward
I do not believe that includes being in a car as it careens off a cliff.
We would have had the whole trip down to the ocean to talk. The driver was drunk, he would not have heard us, anyway. And there was plenty of room in the back seat of that SUV.
It was not appropriate a’tall.
You are such a stiff, Sister mine.
Tell me how you are, Brother.
The Omega drifted over to the marble balustrade that ran around the grand, theatrical staircase. The main lights had been dimmed as the facility was closed for the night, but sconces glowed sweetly upon many a wall and the wrought iron chandelier that hung from a heavy chain over the descent of marble steps cast soft illumination.
I am very well, thank you.
You can stop this, you realize. The Scribe Virgin moved closer, but not too close. This war that was started so long ago can be voluntarily ended upon our agreement.
Can it? The dingy hood shook back and forth as the Omega seemed to be looking down the stairway, down to the broad and beautiful entrance foyer with its statues upon pedestals and carved messages of intellect. I do not believe it can.
Simply stop fighting. Stop attempting to kill what I have created for sport. And then it is over.
Ah, Sister, but what I do is not for sport. It is my nature to destroy. Balance to the force of you and all that, the pair of us created with deliberation by Father. We are the Alpha and the Omega, Analisse. Do you not speak of this truth with some regularity? Surely it is not something I must teach unto you after all these centuries.
The Scribe Virgin backed off and went on her own wander, moving herself across the floor until she reached the closed double doors of the rare book room. Through glass insets that were reinforced with chicken wire, she stared at the collection of leather-bound volumes and felt a draw unto the old oak shelves and the peaceful contemplation offered by so many pages filled with so many words.
She had always loved libraries. Collections of prose. Stories that were based upon real life. And had this congress with her sibling been of different circumstance, she would have touched the glass with a plaintive, yearning hand. But she knew too much of her brother. No appendages should be extended nor weakness shown.
You will be destroyed, she intoned as she faced her sibling.
You sound as though that would be a regret for you.
You are my brother. Of course I would mourn you.
I am your enemy. The Omega rotated around so they were squared off across the polished floor, two opposing chess pieces on a life-sized board of black and white marble squares. It has always been thus—and further, I cannot exist without you. As well, you cannot exist without me.
That is untrue. The Prophecy provides so.
No, the Omega corrected. That stanza states that there is one who would see the end of me. Simply because the wording lacks mention of you does not mean you shall be unaffected. Would you not say that you urge me the now to quit more to protect yourself than out of any familial love for me?
No, I would not say that.
Then you lie. There is me in you as there is you in me. You can be quite as devious as I can, Sister. Which brings me to my purpose in seeking this audience. The Omega’s transmission of words grew deeper in tone, falling an octave. I expect you to stay out of the conflict. Per our agreement.
What say you the now, Brother? I am uninvolved.
You most certainly are not uninvolved. Or do you think I am unaware of your little visit in church with the Dhestroyer earlier this eve?
The Scribe Virgin felt her ire rise. I am permitted to interact with my creations.
You are not allowed to sway them with respect to our conflict. The contest must be fair—you yourself stated this long ago when you insisted we codify our roles and obligations. And this evening, you warned the Dhestroyer such that he has sequestered your borne son from the field. Unfair, Sister.
The Scribe Virgin deliberately shielded her thoughts. Are you aware that I have stepped aside?
Stepped aside how?
I have relinquished my role of overseer of mine creation to another. Did you not know this?
Given the long pause that followed, it was evident he did not.
I have, Brother mine. I am no longer in my Sanctuary. I have assigned my authority unto another and I have departed.
The hood moved as if the Omega recoiled. Whyever for?
Over the course of eons, I have determined that my strength is in creation. It is not in the maintenance of such creation. She thought of her borne son and daughter. The act of bringing into being a mortal—or many of them—is not the same as parenting them. One does not know this until it is too late, however. Until one has done damage that is regrettable.
It was a relief to speak her truth aloud, but she stopped herself. Her brother was hardly a trusted confidant and she had likely given him too much already.
Meanwhile, the Omega tilted his head and drifted by at the balustrade, staring down to the staircase, to what was below. When he came back toward her, she braced herself for some kind of pronouncement. Or a triumphal insult about her lack of fortitude.
Where do you stay the now? he asked instead.
I spend time with Father. But mostly, I drift through the centuries and observe my behavior. I try to see where I went wrong. There is much to review in that regard. An urgency to change her sibling’s course made her want to go unto his side, but she kept herself where she was. And that is why I say unto you, stop this. Relinquish. Depart the field of conflict and save yourself.
The Omega shrugged beneath his tattered robe. And then do what?
Exist. Learn— As the Omega made a dismissive sound, the Scribe Virgin tightened her tone. ’Tis better than not existing.
I may still win, you realize. The hood turned toward her. You take for granted the outcome shall be in your favor.
Surely it is better to concede than to risk being destroyed.
One of the stained robe’s sleeves lifted, and the black shadow of her brother appeared to be lifting a forefinger. Ah, but remember my nature.
Even if you are the one annihilated? Surely that is a foolish testament to your character.
At least it is my purpose culminated, which is more than I can say for you the now.
The Scribe Virgin shook her head. Creation is linked with nurturing. Or at least it should be. I have excelled at the former, I seek to discover the skills of the latter. I would say that is a worthwhile pursuit.
You and I are so different.
Yes, Brother mine. We are.
An evil tone entered the Omega’s communication. I would rather be destroyed than disappear.
That is, of course, your decision.
And I shall take you down with me. Either way, whether I win or lose, you will no longer be free. In the former, it will be because you mourn the deaths of your precious creation, the prison of your pain an eternity in Dhunhd I will have the perpetual satisfaction of knowing I made manifest. In the latter, it will be because you will implode with me. The universe cannot be unbalanced. Our Father will not allow it, and He will sacrifice your existence to maintain His own legacy, trust me. If I go, you go.
It was strange for an immortal to fear the end of themselves. To brace against the snuffing out. To wish to avoid such an outcome. And the Scribe Virgin kept all of those feelings far, far away from the tip of her consciousness’s spear.
That is not up to us, she said. Father will determine the consequence, if any, if you cease to be.
Well, He is certainly going to determine one other thing. The Omega’s satisfaction colored his words with an arrogance that was another attribute intrinsic to his nature. You violated our agreement and therefore I am due restitution. You changed the course of the game, therefore I am permitted a redress.
When did I do that? By speaking with Butch tonight? I most certainly did not change the course of anything. Brother mine, you are unreasonable—
Father has always been
our intermediary, at your request. Therefore I shall seek an audience unto him and he will decide what is fair.
The Scribe Virgin kept her emotions in check as frustration surged. And this declaration is the reason you brought me here?
Yes. It is.
Your contest of my action is naught but pretense. Nothing in the course of the war has been altered—
Your borne son is now out of the field and heavily protected as a result of your interference, and we both know that he is an integral element of the outcome given his unique importance to the Dhestroyer. So there has been a very material shift in power, one that inures unto your benefit, and that deserves redress.
The Scribe Virgin recognized the aggression being projected unto her for what it was: the thrashes of someone who was greatly diminished and yet avoiding the nature of that reality. The end was near, and her brother’s losses were tallying up. He was flailing around, and therefore, so much more dangerous.
Yet she trusted their Father.
Do what you must, my brother, she said remotely.
I always will.
Is this all you require of me at this time?
There was a pause, as if the Omega had expected a stronger response. Had counted on it. Had looked forward to protest and argumentation. He had always loved conflict.
Yes, that is all, he said tersely.
All right, then. I shall expect Father will inform me of his decision when he is ready.
The Scribe Virgin turned away and floated over toward the stairs. There were other ways of leaving, but she did not wish to miss the experience of descending down those grand and white marble steps.
In the event it was the last time she did.
When her brother joined her, it was a surprise, but she welcomed his presence. As always, the pair of them were separated by the brass handrail, him taking the left side, her the right. And as always, she was the one who set the pace, although whether that was him stalking her or adhering to protocol, she never knew.
Well, she could guess.
The Scribe Virgin proceeded slowly as there was another finality that could be occurring. She did not know if she would e’er be in the company of her sibling again. Indeed, this could be the last time for that as well.
At the bottom, he stopped and she was compelled by his halt to do likewise.
You should know something, the Omega said quietly. I deliberately never went after Vishous. I have known all along that I could, and I am precisely acquainted with how his elimination could be of benefit to my position and survival. But I declined to involve him.
The Scribe Virgin looked across the bannister. I must say, this is unexpected.
He is family, after all. He is my blooded relation through you. And it is as I stated. There is a bit of your goodness in me.
You have my gratitude, she murmured.
Alas, this means you gave yourself a disadvantage for no reason. You did not have to go unto the Dhestroyer and plant the seeds you did. Your birthed ones have always been off-limits for me.
For a moment, she was tempted to fight. To point out that she would have made a different choice, if she had known of his reticence. She elected to let the animus go.
Thank you, she said simply.
Upon that note of gratitude, she spirited herself away from her fraternal twin, leaving the Omega to whatever course he was set upon.
Her brother was the autumn wasp wandering upon a windowsill, bathed in the last sunlight of summer, unaware of or refusing to believe of the death that would soon come and carry him unto his back, his legs curled in as mobile became immobile.
His stinger was something of which to be especially watchful.
And thus she would allow him the petty victory he was claiming.
She had concerns of far greater magnitude. She had always taken solace in the Dhestroyer Prophecy, assured that however great the losses and the pain sustained by her creation at the merciless hand of her brother, there would be an end.
She had never considered the idea that in that termination there would be repercussions for herself. What if what her brother purported was true? Balance had to be preserved, so with him gone, where did that leave her?
Perhaps she was wrong about the inevitability of her brother’s failure, however. She had certainly never seen coming so much of what had transpired.
As great as her powers were, she was not their Father.
The future was not hers to command.
And she had never dreamed of a moment where she might have to choose her own existence… over her creation’s.
CHAPTER FORTY
The train rocked back and forth, the subtle sway and distant clickety-clack of the sets of wheels over the tracks a lullaby that had Jo’s eyelids growing heavy. When she had boarded the Keystone Service 701 toward Harrisburg at 8:18 in the morning, she had been fortunate enough to get a row of seats all to herself, but that had not lasted. There were a lot of people doing the go-to-work thing, so she soon had to put her backpack at her feet to accommodate another passenger.
The trip was just over three hours, and she could have driven, but with New York City sitting in the way of the most direct road route, she had opted out of the immovable object that was rush hour traffic.
Besides, there was something magical about a train. On the far side of the broad window, she watched the landscape change, high-rise apartment buildings replacing the sprawl of suburban neighborhoods as they approached Manhattan; then the skyscrapers coming into view; then the Big Apple’s bridges rising and falling over the Hudson. After that, there was the descent underground and the slowing and stopping under the great city, with a further exchange of passengers at Penn Station. Finally, they were off again, the air in the car smelling of oil and coal as they proceeded out of the subway system’s subterranean tunnels.
Bright light again now, free of the city on the far side, the trees and grass of New Jersey always a surprise given the concrete congestion of New York.
The train pulled into the 30th Street Station on time, and Jo sat quietly for a moment before grabbing her pack and getting to her feet. There was not much of a wait to get off, and as she stepped down onto the platform, she looked around, the hot breath of the hissing engine catching a lick of her hair.
The next thing she knew, she was out of the columned, squared-off building that, with its rows of vertical supports down its glass panels, had always reminded her of a federal prison. Or maybe it was Philadelphia, itself, that made her think things of a penal nature.
Or maybe it was her family.
Using her phone, she got a Lyft to take her out to the house. When she and the driver pulled in between the stone pylons and proceeded up the lane, the guy behind the wheel glanced back at her in the rearview of the Toyota Sienna.
“I thought this was a residence?” He shook his head. “I mean, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter to me—”
“No, it’s a family—well, a couple lives here.”
“Huh. You don’t say.” He looked out to the side, at the specimen trees that were as yet still without buds, and the statuary that remained unchanging through the seasons. “You applying for some kind of a job here or something?”
Jo thought about the role she had played in the household as she had grown up. “I was already hired.”
“Oh, congrats. The pay must be good.”
Well, it had gotten her through college without any debt. But only because she’d gone to Williams, which was her father’s alma mater. She had often wondered how the finances of her bachelor’s degree would have gone if she’d only been able to get into a state school. When she’d been accepted into the Yale master’s program for English, they’d indicated she’d have to pay for that herself.
So naturally, she’d ended up looking for work at that point.
“Holy crap, look at that house.”
“Yeah, it’s a big one.”
The grand mansion loomed at the top of the rise, although she had a feeling
it was the pit in her stomach that turned the place into something threatening, rather than anything behind its leaded glass windows or under the eaves of its regal roofline.
Paying the guy, she got out and waited until the minivan had drifted down the hill. She had a feeling that if there was a car anywhere in view, it would increase the likelihood she would be turned away.
When the Lyft was gone, she took a moment to look around. Everything was in its place, all the bushes draped with hemmed-up burlap cloth to protect them from the cold, the grounds cleared of any debris, the flagstone walkway glowing blue and gray as it cut around the flower beds to the front entrance.
As she stepped up to the gleaming door, she expected some kind of warning bell to go off, the inhabitants alerted that the daughter was on the premises—not that she had been officially kicked out or anything. It had been more a case of tacit agreement that the Early’s compulsion into parenting hadn’t really resulted in a favorable outcome for the adopted or the adoptees.
The doorbell, when she pressed it, made a muted drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl sound, neither bell nor alarm. It was an old-fashioned noise, one generated by a mechanism that she imagined was, like the floors and moldings inside, original to the house. She didn’t know exactly how it worked or where the thing was within the jambs of the entrance, and she wondered, if it broke, how someone would fix—
The door opened.
“Hello, Father,” she said softly. “Surprise.”
* * *
“So are you going to do something with your wardrobe? Or just stand there looking at your shit.”
As V spoke up from behind his Four Toys, Butch cleared his throat and meant to move away from the first of his three racks of clothes. Goal denied.
“Cop, seriously. You’re beginning to freak me out. You’re like something out of Paranormal Activity.”
“That was about ghosts, not vampires. And I’m fine.”
“You’ve been making like a statue there for fifteen fucking minutes. Sixteen. Seventeen… you want I keep this hourglass bullcrap up?”