Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) (16 page)

“No.” It’s Canaan, his mind open for all to hear. “You don’t get to make deals with my charge.”

“I wondered when you’d pipe up.” The Prince raises his eyes to Canaan’s. He smiles then and lifts the halo from the sky. “It’s nice,” he says. “A magnificent crown. But I’m certain I could do better.”

The Prince raises his hand, and Damien moves to his side. “Take them home,” he says.

“But, Lord Prince,” Damien stutters, “you wanted both. I brought them both.”

“And you’ve been rewarded for doing so. But now that I’ve seen them, I think I’ll talk to the girl alone.”

“We’re not leaving without Brielle,” Jake says.

“Oh, but you are.” All hilarity has gone from his face now. For the first time the Prince looks evil. “She’ll be returned to you. I don’t keep many promises, but this is one you can count on.”

“Forget it,” Jake says.

“Why drag Jake out here if you’re going to turn us loose?” Canaan asks.

The Prince’s nostrils flare, but he’s silent.

“Ah.” There’s laughter in Canaan’s mind now. It’s subdued, but it’s there. “You’ve not been given permission to keep him.”

“I don’t need permission,” the Prince says, but the words are delivered through clenched teeth, and everyone present knows this is a lie only he believes. He turns to Damien.

“Take these with you.” The Prince gestures to demons circled about. “I’ll keep the rest of the Guard with me.” He turns then, flying toward the desert floor. Toward Brielle. Jake fights against Canaan’s hold, but it’s fast.

Damien barks a laugh. “Even if you could break free, boy, what could you do but fall?”

Canaan intervenes. “Are you to be my jailer, Damien? Is that the reward you get for turning over my crown?”

16

Brielle

T
he minutes pass and I’m frozen here, on my knees. Sweat soaks through my shirt, the salty air sticking to my face. I think of the ocean, of Bellwether. I think of the rain. I’d give anything for a little fall of rain here in the desert. I’d give anything to see another sign of life. Another anyone.

I didn’t bother turning my head left and right; I didn’t whip around when Jake disappeared. I know what disappearing means. I know it means he’s either as safe as a Shield can make him or in mortal danger. I did try to will my angel eyes to return, to let me see through the terrestrial veil, but they wouldn’t cooperate, and now as the seconds tick by I’m forced to imagine the worst.I’m not sure now entirely

For whatever reason, I can’t see the fear now—it disappeared with Jake—but I’ve learned to sense it. I know what it feels like when it takes me, when it breaks down the walls I’ve built around my heart to protect it. I know how it chills and bites as it enters my bloodstream, and I know the very moment I’m in its clutches. I try to breathe, to count the salt formations before me, but four little letters interrupt every attempt at distraction.

G. O. N. E.

Canaan’s gone. And Jake. Again he’s been ripped from my side, and though I knew we’d be separated, I didn’t expect to be left here alone. I envisioned a scene with the devil himself, with demons and chains, with pain. But I didn’t expect to be abandoned. It surprises me that I’d prefer the company of Satan to the complete and utter aloneness before me. But the salt stretches far and wide. Along the horizon the heat plays with my mind, haunting shapes that stare deep into my soul, smears of unearthly color that mock me.

And then a voice, an intoxicating voice grows from the desert itself.

“I’d ask you to stand, but you’re captivating on your knees.”

I can’t tell if the words are in my mind alone, but with no one else around to hear them, it hardly matters. They’re meant for me.

And they’re lovely.

I feel the fear gurgle and slow to a trickle. I’m not alone.

I’m not alone.

I’d give anything to hear the strange disembodied voice again. Something deep inside my chest tells me I shouldn’t want that, that I shouldn’t entertain this speaker, but I do. I want to hear him say other things. My name. Yes! I want to hear him say my name.

“Gabrielle, isn’t it?”

I shove to my feet and look left and right. I spin, searching the squash-colored salt platforms. I search the sky. Where? Where?

And then he’s before me, standing on the platform adjacent to mine. Human, but most certainly not. Black curls hang around a
face so pale I fear the scorching sun will blister it. His face is perfectly symmetrical, a plump bottom lip nestled lightly between his teeth, his eyes the palest blue I’ve ever seen. He stands there, his fingers twined before him, in a shirt precisely the color of his eyes. The collar hangs open and the sleeves are folded neatly at the elbow. His pants, the same soft color, hang loosely on his hips. His feet are bare and everything about him seems to shine, even to my terrestrial eyes. Another warning trills through my body, but I’m terrified he’ll leave me. Terrified I’ll be left alone.

I stand and walk to the edge of the platform, my toes sending a shiver of salt to the desert floor. It’s only then that I see the danger in his eyes. Beyond anything I could have imagined, he’s striking. Like a cobra, like a scorpion, like a crystal goblet& ainow full of cyanide.

Like forbidden fruit.

And I force myself to acknowledge what I’ve been stifling.

This is the Prince.

Not some handsome boy who can be trusted. Not an all-powerful Creator. On the contrary, he, too, is a created being. Like me. He’s selfish and arrogant. And he wants to destroy everything I’ve been given.

Hatred floods me. Because it seems to be the only thing keeping the fear in check, I let it. It makes my muscles throb with a desire to lash out, to kick and flail and scratch at him, this fiend who’s stolen so much. I bite back my question—the one my heart screams in staggering little gasps. But I don’t ask him where Jake is. I won’t. I refuse to discuss the things I love with seduction itself.

But I have to say something to this demon man. I have to say something to this desert snake staring back at me with mirrors in his eyes.

“What do you want?” My voice shakes, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear or anger. Probably both.

“Ironic,” he says. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” He’s not like the other angels I’ve met. He’s closer to Jake’s height than Canaan’s and has a similar boy-like charm. His eyes light up when he speaks, his tongue wetting his lips.

“I want to go home,” I say.

A broad smile, the contagious kind, drops dimples into his cheeks, and the hatred I’d reined in only moments ago feels less important. I remind myself to hate him. To fear every word he breathes.

“The smell of cows and greasy diner food? That’s what you want to go home to?”

“It’s my home,” I say.

“I thought you couldn’t wait to leave Stratus. Perhaps I’m doing you a favor.”

“The desert is a favor?”

“Sure. It’s exciting. Exotic.”

“Smells like rotten eggs.”

He laughs, and I can’t help the smile it brings on. I’ve only known one other person whose laugh carried that kind of power. My chest is tight, sick with emotion, and the hilarity hurts. And just like that, it’s not funny anymore.

The Prince cocks his head, his own laugh falling silent.

“Offensive odors aside, when did that pinprick on the map become your world?”

He wants me to talk about Jake. But I won’t.

“There was a time when you wished for more. You wanted beauty and art. A stage. AnI’m not sure yowpD; audience.”

He leans forward, his shoulders squared. His arms are
extended just inches from his sides, but it gives him a look of power, of authority. And when he speaks, I almost believe him.

“I can give you that.”

I’m not tempted. I’m not. But he’s right. There was a time when our ugly little town nauseated me. When the lights of a city—any city—held such sway I would’ve given anything to touch them. I turn my face away, looking out over the yellow desert. Things have changed. I’ve changed. And my goals are different, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss that person. The girl who believed that all dreams were within her grasp. That she controlled her own destiny. It’s an intoxicating notion, after all. But it’s a lie.

“I know that look,” he says. “You’re writing me off.”

“Because you’re a liar.”

He turns his palms up and shrugs. “Placate me, will you? Let yourself believe, for just a moment, that the what-ifs in this life are attainable. That to reach them, all you need is a little help, a little assistance from someone like me.” He spreads his arms wide to match that smile of his. “Imagine this desert is my platter. Imagine that I could craft the very things you most want and offer them to you. What would you ask for?”

I’m done listening. “I want to go home.”

“No, you don’t,” he says with obvious disgust. “You’re much too special for Stratus. With all your potential, everything you’ve seen, you expect me to believe that the greatest desire of your heart is to go home?”

I’ve disappointed him, and for a fleeting moment I wonder how I could have deigned to fail such a magnificent being. It’s a strange thought, an out-of-place thought, but as he continues to speak, it burrows into my mind. “Which of us is the liar now?” he asks.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about desire. Need. I’m talking about that gigantic hole in your chest that leaks fear.”

I look down at my chest. And he’s right, the fear’s back. Hatred couldn’t keep it at bay for long.

“I’m talking about the only way to stop the bleed, the only way to cap the leak. I’m talking about satisfying the monster that keeps chewing free. Tell me what you really want. Because we both know it isn’t Smalltown, USA.”

I want to tell him. I don’t know why I want to tell him. Maybe it’s just so I can hear Jake’s name, feel it on my lips. Maybe it’s because I want someone to tell me it’s okay to be self-centered. I don’t know, but the need to say it out loud feels like an open blister, every word he says stinging air on the wound. I want my feelings to mean something. I want my need to fit&3OowpD; into someone’s plan.

But I know it’s the magic of his voice. The sorcery of his words.

“You’ve heard a lot of things about me, I know, and much of it is true. But there are things they’ve glossed over, things I could help you understand. I’m sure you have questions. About your friend Ali. About your mother.”

He’s grabbing my emotions, manipulating them like clay. I know he is, and yet I’m chained to how I feel. I don’t know how to act against it.

“Gabrielle,” he says, stepping toward me. “Come. Sit with me.”

His platform is three or four feet from mine. He crouches and then throws his feet over the edge, where they dangle a foot or two off the desert floor. He waits there, looking up at me, a twisted Romeo and Juliet kind of moment. I force myself to step
back. It’s a small victory, considering how tired I am, how much I could use the simplicity of rest. But every inch I give him is a battle lost, I think. I know I can’t barter with the devil.

“I said sit.” His voice never rises, his face never reddens, but I am shoved, violently shoved to the ground. I land hard on my backside, my back cracking and my left leg going numb. “Isn’t that better? Sitting. Relaxing. I’d just like to talk for a minute, Elle.”

“Don’t call me that,” I say, repulsed—truly repulsed for the first time.

“Your friends call you that, don’t they?” he says with a shrug. “In fact, everyone calls you that.”

I rub at my leg. “You’re not everyone. You’re certainly not my friend.”

He leans forward, both of his hands curling around the lip of the salt platform. “Then what am I?”

I stare at the mirrors in his eyes. I need to see myself say the words. “You’re my enemy. The enemy of my soul.”

His smile turns patronizing. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means you want death for my soul, and I want life. That makes you my enemy.”

“Your soul is eternal, gifted one. There’s nothing you or I can do about that.”

For a minute his words baffle me. “Don’t play games with me. I’ve told you what I want: I want to go home. Now it’s your turn. What do you want?”

“You,” he says, crossing his ankles as they dangle. “There. I’ve said it. I’ve been honest. You can tell me, Elle. What is it you want more than anything?”

I’m silent.

“It’s only polite. Come, you may not like me, but I&ing the owpD;’m not awful to look at. Not awful to talk to. And the Creator’s seen fit to let you choose. I won’t force you to do anything.”

“But you’ll try.”

“Like Canaan’s tried? There’s no use denying it. He’s tried to convince you to see the world the way he sees it.”

His choice of words is ridiculous. “I do see the world the way he sees it, or haven’t you heard?”

He ignores me. “I can’t blame him.
I’ll
certainly try, but the least you could do is be honest. We both know what it is you want, don’t we? You wouldn’t be telling me anything I don’t already know.”

That ticks me off. “You don’t know anything.”