Dark Light of Day (30 page)

Suddenly, I felt like running over to Empyr’s western windows to press my nose up against the glass. But Peter sat still, gazing east. I knew now why he had wanted to sit here with a view to the east. How much had the Grindstone increased his powers of observation? Enough to see in the dark? Enough to see into the past?

“Do you see the tomb?” I whispered.

P
eter hadn’t actually seen the tomb, but with what he’d discovered so far we had a pretty good idea of where to look. The Pippins’ effect had largely disappeared but Peter’s enthusiasm had me agreeing to accompany him with shocking alacrity.

After penning a quick note to be delivered to Ivy to let her know I was with Peter, we caught a cabriolet on Angel Street. Peter told the driver to take us as far as Sheol, a cluster of about a half-dozen homes at the far eastern edge of the city. Beyond that were only woods and uncultivated fields. The driver grumbled a lot about going so far out. He’d never pick up a return fare, but Peter shushed him with a wad of cash and we rode the rest of the way in silence. I wasn’t having second thoughts exactly. But the farther away from the city we drove, the louder Ari’s voice became in my head.

If Peter finds the Reversal Spell, will you let him cast it over you?

If I answered honestly, only fear would make me hesitate. Fear of the exact effects of the spell. Fear that Peter, skilled
though he was, might not be a match for a spell as powerful as the Reversal Spell. Fear of demon reprisal. Waste was a serious crime, as Copeland had made me realize during Sin and Sanction the day after I’d declared. Possibly even, although I didn’t want to admit it, fear of what Ari would say, although I still didn’t understand why he was so averse to me reversing my magic. If he liked me with waning magic, wouldn’t he like me even better with waxing magic?

I knew full well that fear wasn’t a good basis for making decisions. Fear might keep soldiers one step ahead of the blade during battle but woe the warlord who used it to chart the course of war. And woe the woman who used it to chart the course of her own life. Fear had not kept me from declaring. So fear would not keep me from allowing Peter to cast the spell should we find it.

The high stone, iron, and glass buildings at the city’s core quickly gave way to the shorter, squatter shape of suburban sprawl. In minutes that disappeared, replaced by the older, more dilapidated homes, barns, and sheds of Sheol.

The cab slowed and came to a stop, its headlamps illuminating a makeshift barricade of rough timber at the end of the street. Peter exchanged a few words with the driver—I hoped they were working out the arrangements for our return trip. We were at least fifteen miles out and had more to walk if we were going to search six leagues east of St. Luck’s tonight. I was already bleary-eyed thinking about classes tomorrow morning.

The cab drove off and we were left alone. In front of us was an old farmhouse. Its windows were completely dark; its inhabitants likely asleep for the night. We walked over to the barricade, scrambled over it, and dropped down onto a narrow dirt path that snaked its way through tall grass on either side. I glanced nervously at all the greenery around me, envisioning a blackened path of scorched earth that would take the land months to heal, but Peter quickly cast a protective spell over the path’s grass edges and then took the lead in crossing the field.

He walked fast and, since he was taller and his strides
longer, I almost had to run to keep up with him. Around us, the night wind blew sporadically as if in prestorm mode. I glanced up at the sky, thinking how stupid it was that we hadn’t even considered the weather before setting off. We’d been too caught up in the momentousness of it all. Who worried about umbrellas and slickers when they were searching for the greatest archeological and ecclesiastical find of all time?

With each whip of wind the wild grass crackled as if an unseen army was moving through it. It made my hair stand up on end. I scurried after Peter, ignoring the impulse to stop and turn around. My feet scuffed through the dirt and I was thankful I’d chosen to wear low boots this morning instead of sandals.

Ahead of us were the eastern woodlands. At night, their rough edge loomed before us like an ancient medieval wall. By the time we reached them I was perspiring so much my linen shirt was damp beneath the armpits. We stopped to rest before entering the woods. I was thirsty but we’d brought no water so I made do with taking big gulps of air. Peter apologized for the pace and insisted I wear his jacket. The night had grown chillier and, now that we’d stopped, the sweaty film I’d worked up on the hike over here made me shiver. Peter finished buttoning his jacket around me but left his hands on the buttons, holding me close. The moonlight shone harshly on his face, making its planes and angles appear sharper than they were.

“Whatever happened to… the other St. Luck’s student from Marduk’s?”

I knew he meant Ari. It was interesting that Peter didn’t want to say his name. I knew he remembered. Peter remembered everything.

“He’s still around.”

“He seemed overly fond of you, Noon. Are you… fond of him?”

“Yes,” I said. I ignored the brief look of distaste that crossed Peter’s face and tried to step back, but Peter kept hold of the buttons of his jacket, preventing me from going
too far. He refocused on me, in that eerie, overly intense Angel way.

“Do you know why I never kissed you, Noon?” he asked and I stiffened. “When I was eight, my mother forbid it.” Peter laughed, a harsh guttural sound that sent goose bumps up my spine. “But I am through listening to her.”

He bent his head toward me so that his face almost touched mine.

“Ever since we were kids, I knew you were the one for me, despite the fact that you were born with waning magic. In fact, that’s how I knew. A woman who looks like you is meant to create things.

“With your hands,” he said, grabbing one of mine. “With your heart,” he said, placing his other hand on my chest. Beneath his palm, my heart beat but my demon mark stayed cool. Apparently Ari was the only one who had the power to truly touch me there.

“I knew a birth such as yours would not occur without a reason. From the moment I met you, I knew my destiny would be to reverse what happened to you. I knew if I could cure you, I could have you.” He squeezed me hard. “I want to give you your life’s dream, Noon. And then I want to live that life with you.”

Before I could react, he kissed me. I was so shocked, for an instant, I did nothing. His lips were firm, almost hard, and his embrace was crushing. When we were teenagers, I’d constantly dreamed of Peter holding me like this, touching me like this, tenderly kissing me. But his kisses weren’t sweet; they were savage. After a few shocked seconds, I stiffened. But Peter didn’t seem to notice.

“I hope I’m not too late,” he whispered roughly, releasing me.

“For what?” I asked breathlessly, wondering how—
if
—this would change things. My thoughts scattered in a thousand different directions.

“Just promise me, if I find the spell and cast it, that you’ll be mine—
my
Mederi,
my
wife.”

I opened my mouth. I didn’t know what to say. “Peter…”

But he laughed and released me. “I’m getting ahead of myself. First, let’s find the spell. Come on.”

He grabbed my hand and led me into the forest.

W
e walked for what seemed like hours, although I knew it couldn’t have been longer than half an hour. Sweat pooled under my armpits again and I gave Peter’s jacket back. Somewhere in the distance a low roll of thunder sounded. It rumbled toward us, reverberating through the trees and the ground. I felt it in my feet and teeth, which did nothing to ease my anxiety. The forest had been pitch-black when we’d first entered. The dark, dense canopy of trees had completely obscured the stars and moonlight. But Peter had cast a light spell and we now walked by its solid bluish white light. Its steady illumination made the trees look dead. For the first time in my life I almost wished for fire. Its flickering warm glow would have at least added the illusion of movement and life.

I stepped on a stick, cracking it in half, and bit my lip to keep from crying out. What had sounded like a good idea while sitting in the opulent comfort of Empyr, buzzed from two Pippins, now felt like the height of lunacy. Here we were in the middle of an ancient forest, two hours to midnight and no one knew where we were. We lived in a world full of demons and one demon in particular (if not more) was already ticked off at me. What if Nergal or his lover chose this moment to find me and start harassing me?

And everything Peter had said earlier… It was a lot to think about.

It’s not as if I’d never wondered what a life with Peter would be like. I’d spent years of my adolescence thinking about it. We’d grown up together; we could grow old together. Our families’ estates bordered each other. Night could raise his family on the Onyx estate and Peter and I could live in the Aster house. Peter and I were roughly the same age and, in modern times at least, it wasn’t uncommon for Angels and members of the Host to marry.

I supposed my life would be near perfect with Peter as
my husband. There would be no end to my mother’s gratitude if Peter found a way to reverse my magic. Even my father would likely give Peter anything in his power to give (which was substantial). Despite Peter’s recent leave of absence, he was well respected at the Joshua School. One day there might even be a place for him on the Divinity Council. Our children would grow up in Etincelle. They could climb trees, swim in Cocytus Creek, run races in Elysian Fields… My mind positively raced with the possibilities.

Peter could give me all of that.
But did I want all of that with Peter?

Four months ago I would not have thought twice. He was my oldest friend. He had understood what I wanted and needed better than anyone. But now… I rubbed my demon mark furiously, trying to ignore my conflicted feelings. A sense of unease so profound I almost couldn’t breathe enveloped me.

We stepped into a clearing.

There were still trees but they were spindly and short, spread out and thin on the ground, all of them diseased or dying. With a crack, a bolt of lightning struck not half a mile from where we stood. Instantly, thunder boomed and the firmament of Halja broke loose. Rain fell in sheets as if the whole Lethe was being poured on our heads. Peter’s light spell wavered as he concentrated on moving forward. I wondered how much distance we’d traveled. Were we six leagues due east of St. Lucifer’s yet?

With the next blast of lightning, I knew. There was no mistaking a graveyard no matter how old it was. Small mounds covered the ground. Row upon row of them, too straight and evenly spaced to have been anything but manmade. And more than half of them still had headstones, or what was left of them. Jagged slabs of rock jutted vertically out from most of the mounds. I was suddenly struck by an image of what the field must have looked like after Armageddon, covered in the gory remains of what death had left behind. The place reminded me uncomfortably of Lamia’s double row of rotting, decayed shark teeth.

How much blood had been swallowed by this ground?

Peter consulted something, a pocket pedometer or compass, and kept looking around. Rain splashed off his head and face, dripping from his nose and cheeks. My linen shirt clung to me, feeling as heavy as Peter’s leather jacket had.

“What now?” I shouted, spitting a mouthful of rainwater out. It tasted off here, like water from a contaminated well.

“Look for the tomb,” Peter yelled, fighting to be heard over the roar of the storm. He motioned for me to go east while he went north. I wasn’t happy about splitting up, but figured the sooner we found the tomb the better. I stumbled along, hugging my arms close to my side, shivering.

It wasn’t long before I lost sight of Peter. The rain was relentless. I kept my head down and wound my way through the mounds. The rain soaked my hair and dripped into my shirt collar and down my back. I shielded my eyes with my hand and searched for the tomb, or anything we could use as shelter from the storm. Peter had taken his light with him and I quickly realized I would find nothing on my own in the dark and the rain. I picked up a large stick from the ground and considered it. I was capable of making light and heat on my own. I didn’t have to search in the dark and the cold. Thinking to make a torch, I tried to light the end of the stick with magic.

Nothing happened.

I tried again. Still nothing. It was puzzling and frustrating. What was I doing wrong? With my power, it shouldn’t have mattered how wet the wood was. Yes, my magic control and consistency left much to be desired. Sure, I still inadvertently set things on fire from time to time. That was why this situation was twice as infuriating.
Now that I actually wanted a fire, I couldn’t light one.

I threw the stick to the ground and smothered the area around it with a light spray of highly combustible magic. I flicked my wrist toward it for focus and then spread my palm flat across the area hoping to ignite it, half expecting the whole area to ferociously explode in a blast of heat and light.
I was even prepared to leech oxygen, so great did I think the conflagration might be, but no containment measures were necessary. The ground remained wet as a bog and my frustration level ratcheted up another notch.