Desolate (Desolation) (22 page)

I saw myself reflected in her eyes—her dark eyes. I watched the gold flecks nearly disappear as they were replaced by my pale image. I looked crazy. Wild. I looked like hell.

I knew what she must have thought—how she suspected Loki controlled me. Her distrust pushed away the golden warmth of Asgard, leaving her cold and empty. Loki’s whispers surrounded me, but he couldn’t break through the impervious wall in my mind. Despite what Desi thought, Loki was not controlling me—not anymore. Not ever again.

Desi let me take her hand in mine and I clasped it tightly, willing away the cold that had taken up residence beneath her skin. She hadn’t said anything, nor did I think the others suspected. But something had changed within her, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

As I watched her face, I saw her struggle with her doubts about me, her fear for me. My love for her blossomed like a fist full of Lily of the Valley. She had me now, and I loved her. Whatever she might think of me, I would prove her wrong. And I would save her.

“Did your father ever speak of Helena, the creator and god of Helheimer?”

She drew her eyebrows together and sucked in a corner of her lower lip as she processed my question. She shook her head sharply.

“I didn’t even know anything about her until Knowles told me.”

“Is there any part of Hell where you’ve never been? Maybe someplace Loki denied you access?”

She sighed noisily and glared at me. I knew she didn’t like to think she’d been kept in the dark, but after a moment she dropped her frustration and looked up at the angel. She shook her head again. “I don’t know.” She pulled her hand from mine and twisted her fingers together. “I want to say no, that Father kept no secrets from me. But we both know—
now
—that that’s not true. Maybe everything, all of it, was a lie.”

My heart ached to hear the sorrow in her voice. I didn’t come back to torture her—it was the last thing I wanted to do. But we had to find Helena—she was our only hope of rescuing Heimdall. I felt certain of it.

“Do you know anyone who knows Hell better than you?”

She snorted—a sound I knew she despised but I secretly loved. “No one but Akaros.”

I should have known—and I did, really. But I had hoped. Suddenly my plan evaporated, leaving nothing behind but regret. I had counted on a secret area, some part of Hell Loki kept hidden from his daughter. Find the secret door and we’d find Heimdall. But if Desi knew of no area to which she’d been refused entry . . .

“Wait.” Desi whirled toward me, an expression of hope lighting her face. “The Hounds.” Her eyes searched mine, demanding my attention, demanding I think.

“My guardians—you saw them, didn’t you?”

“I did not.”

“The carvings? At my chamber door?”

“But, they are carvings—like you said.”

“Yes! Except they’re much more than that. I always thought they were a gift to me from Father, but now I’m not so sure.” She sat down beside me and took my hand, entwining her fingers with mine. “They only obey me. They are bound by the order, “Only by the voice of she who commands them.” I always thought it odd that Father would grant me guardians who weren’t ultimately under his control—but what if it isn’t
my
voice that commands them, but Hel’s?”

“Except, they’re carvings.” My heart sank as I tried to follow Desi’s line of thought. I couldn’t imagine how stone etchings beside Desi’s door would help us in the search for Helena and Heimdall.

“You never saw them? In the flesh?”

I shook my head.

“I suppose they felt no need to protect my chambers once I’d been sent from Hell. Maybe they knew I wasn’t coming back.” She swallowed and looked away, leaving me unsure if she was sorry to be here instead of there.

A flash of worry streaked across my mind. What if Hell was reclaiming her and I sent her there on this mission? Would she return to me? I reached for her hand and blew on it, rubbing it between mine to warm her. She would return to me. She had to.

“Anyway—what if the Hounds could find her? They might be able to lead me right to her.”

chapter thirty-four

Desi

“Wait. The Hounds!” Michael jumped to his feet and paced. He waved his hands about in his excitement and I couldn’t help the smile that crept to my face, or the warmth that filled my heart as I watched him.

“I’ve heard stories about the Hounds, but it never occurred to me that they’d be cursed or charmed to reside in stone when they were not in service.”

“They’re brilliant—except I’d always assumed they were only mine. I liked having guards that Father and his minions couldn’t control. It kind of creeps me out that they belonged to some dead god.”

Michael stopped pacing and regarded me with a deadly serious expression. “Oh, she’s not dead, my love. Odin says she is very much alive—and I think the Hounds will lead us right to her.”

He explained his plan and the blood in my veins sang with excitement and anxiety. I didn’t feel afraid, or even the slightest bit of doubt. I trusted Michael completely, and this was Hell we were talking about—I knew all about it. Or at least I thought I did. Plus, I figured if I got sucked back into Hell—permanently—well, I knew what to expect. And my friends, and Michael, would be safe.

Besides, there was no Akaros in Hell anymore. What was there to be afraid of?

We stepped around and through the rubble that used to be the old crypt—the one housing the original Door to Earth. If what Michael said was true, Father had Heimdall opening Doors all over Midgard. There would be no stopping him if Hell’s demons had free reign here.

Briefly, I wondered how Father protected the Doors, how he kept his minions detained in Hell. To my knowledge he hadn’t created any new creatures since the Beginning—once the zabaniyah proved to be deadly and loyal servants, he hadn’t seen the need. At least, that’s what I’d always believed. I’d also believed there were only a handful of the vicious dragon-like creatures but now I wondered. It seemed I didn’t know Father very well at all. I pushed the thought from my mind and concentrated on following Michael to what remained of the Door.

I hadn’t been back since that night when Father came to claim me and Michael protected me from him. It made me miss Michael too much—knowing that he was on the other side of this Door—one that was forever shut to me. I hadn’t realized how much of it still existed.

Two of the walls were in complete ruin, one only partially destroyed, while the other wall stood fully intact—the wall with the Door. To humans, the Door represented the path to the afterlife. The marks over the lintel and across the stone carved door suggested it was very old—the writing perhaps Latin, perhaps a prayer for the newly departed.

It was not Latin, but the Old Tongue.

And it was no prayer—unless your god was Satan.

With every step closer to the Door, my body grew more and more cold. It excited and terrified me. My right arm burned so much I gasped and clasped it to my side.

“You okay?” Michael said from a few steps ahead.

“I’m okay.” I clamped my left hand around my forearm. I couldn’t let him see the dark tendrils curling around my skin. My Shadow stretched behind me and my feet slowed to a stop. Dread filled me. What if once I got there, I didn’t want to come back? “This might not be a good idea.”

Michael stopped and turned to face me. He considered me and a darkness passed in front of his eyes. I couldn’t tell what he thought, but my whole soul quivered with terrible foreknowledge. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I said.

“You can do it.” He reached out his hand for me, and oh, he was warm. I looked at my hand in his, my other hand still covering the marks on my forearm, and I felt his warmth seep into me. He was a Gardian—if not he wouldn’t be so warm. I nodded my head. If I couldn’t trust Michael, there was no one in all the worlds I could.

Michael kicked away some rubble, then bent to haul the bigger pieces to the side. The Door felt quiet, probably from disuse. I didn’t sense any danger lurking behind it. He pulled me down off the hill of rubble and we stood together, facing the Door.

I wanted him to keep holding my hand, but he slowly pulled away, letting his fingertips trail over mine. He placed both hands on the Door, and I copied him. I shuffled closer until my toes touched the cold stone. I rested my forehead on it and breathed deep. The Door might be closed, but it still hummed with power. Still provided a direct link to the world I’d left behind.

“Call them,” Michael said quietly, and I let out a long slow breath.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. Let my thoughts wing across the distance that separated Midgard from Helheimer—the world at the bottom of all the worlds, my one-time home. At first it was easy. At first it felt natural, welcoming, as if all the defenses surrounding Hell were wide open, waiting for me. I didn’t stop to question this, or wonder at it—I assumed it was because it was me, a daughter of Hell. It’s only daughter.

I let my mind reach toward my rooms, where the Hounds of Hell stood guard, frozen in stone. They stood at attention, each a mirror copy of the other. They appeared as the ancient Egyptian god Anubis. Taller than man, and broader by far—they were almost as big as Heimdall himself. They held their staves and ankhs crossed over their chests. Their weapons appeared harmless but were absolutely lethal in their hands. And not only lethal to man—even the dead could not stand against a Hound.

I let the cold of Hell caress me, working its way through my mind, through my veins, through every bit of my being. I sent my Shadow flying through the halls of the palace, until it found my Hounds, whispering my commands all the while.

As one they lifted their heads, snouts sniffing the air, ears pricking forward. They heard me. They knew me.

I tugged my Shadow away, winging across the distance, and pulled it back into myself with a shudder. “They will help me,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

Michael placed his hand on my back. It did nothing to warm me.

I looked at him, and though I saw shadows lurking in his eyes, I still didn’t think, still didn’t question what he had asked me to do.

“Ask them who the grand mistress is. Ask them if they know where Hel is being held.”

“Wait. If they know, why haven’t they sought her out before now? You said they are sworn to her, sworn to protect her. How could they resist her call to release her? Because surely she called them.”

“I don’t know, but maybe they cannot release her. Goddess that she is, she is not as strong as Loki. She is not as strong as you.”

I heard the words, felt the sincerity in his tone—but I didn’t believe him. Or rather, I knew he was wrong. I was not strong. And definitely not strong with the constant battle being fought inside my own soul. They say a house divided against itself can’t stand. I feared it especially true of me.

The Door opened inward and I stepped across the threshold, my fingertips brushing against Michael’s hand as I passed him.

I Remember the feel of the polished skulls that lay beneath my palm on the throne that sits beside my father’s.

“This is not a punishment—for her,” Father says to Knowles who is bowed low at his feet.

I Remember the way I could not find the words to save myself from being sent to Earth—a task I felt utterly unable to perform.

I Remember Akaros towering above me, his onyx skin and wings magnificent in Father’s great hall. He looks upon me with satisfaction as he says, “I have no doubt you will choose to Become.”

I have a moment to breathe, to realize he had predicted truly. For I had Become exactly the thing I never wanted to be—my father’s daughter, a child of the Dark.

I Remember the endlessly reaching hands, the pleas for something—anything—to alleviate the pain of the damned. And I Remembered how I plowed through them, forcing them to part before me like a river around a boulder. I am immovable. Impenetrable. And utterly unsympathetic.

I fell through the portal into the Great Hall, landing on my knees and retching onto the polished black floor. Beside me, a zabaniyah’s eyes glared, blood seeped across the stone where it was almost entirely severed from its body. The other guard struggled in the arms of one of my Hounds. Helena’s Hounds.