Desolate (Desolation) (26 page)

But I didn’t care about them. Not any of them, save for one only.

Sitting on my throne, her fingers curved possessively into the eye sockets of the skulls that graced the armrests, sat Helena. She wore no Shadow but she filled the throne, filled the room with her presence. Next to her, my father seemed small in comparison. Weak. Common, even.

In response to my thoughts, he stood and between sitting and standing adopted the glorious form of his Shadow.

He stood as tall as two men, easily as big as Heimdall. Skin as black as onyx, leather-like wings that spanned so wide he cast all of us in darkness. Pitch-black ram’s horns curled back from his skull and he opened his mouth to reveal the wide, sharp-toothed maw of a demon. He breathed ice and hatred, fire and perversion, but I stood unmoved.

For the first time in my considerably long lifetime, I did not cow at the feet of my father. I approached, did not bow, and sat on Akaros’ bench.

Father descended from his dais, each of his feet, now cloven hooves, clattering on the stone like deafening drums. But when he stepped toward me, between one step and the next, he discarded that form and adopted his preferred countenance—the benign face of an elegant man in his late thirties. He used to do it to annoy me, but now I thought the affectation pithy, nothing more.

He stroked his hand on my cheek. “Ah, Desolation.” His tone dripped with sorrow at my condition—the Gardian in my DNA robbing me of the glorious darkness of a demon, trapping me in this disgusting no-man’s land where I pretended to be part Gardian, part demon. I wanted rid of the Gardian. I wanted no part of my Halo.

“Get it out of me,” I whispered.

“My child. I would if I could.”

“
She
could.” Because I had come to understand something. Helena was much stronger than me. Stronger even than Father. Michael had been wrong.

He paused, as if consulting with her, as if considering it. He stroked his fingers down my hair. He leaned in, his breath on my ear. “Her allegiance is as yet . . . undecided.”

I didn’t bother to follow his lead. “And yet you let her sit on my throne.”

Hel laughed out loud and slumped back in my chair, kicking off her stilettos and tucking her feet beneath her. She shook her head from side to side as if she couldn’t believe my naiveté. Her lips moved and I knew she was saying, “You’re so silly.”

I looked back at my father, a man who had never chosen my needs over his own, and saw my fate written in his eyes. He would not help me. In fact, the pleasure he took in my discomfort fed him, enlivened him.

He rocked back on his heels, the smile never leaving his face, and said quietly, “Go.”

My resolve weakened. My grip on my Shadow slipped.

But the spark, the one thing that had made me feel okay about not being all that my father—and Akaros—had hoped of me, was nowhere to be found. It seemed I belonged nowhere, to no one.

And Daughter,
Father said in my mind.
I have prepared a gift for you. If you wish to atone for your betrayals, accept the gift. Then you and I both will be united in purpose. You will be glorious—as you were meant to be. You will bring desolation to Odin’s precious Midgard. You will be my fist of retribution.

When he released me from his mental grip, I was only a mere girl, and far less than I’d been when I’d left Hell two months ago. I no longer had Aaron’s coat to wrap around me, comfort me. I would not go back to Lucy’s friendship to protect me, mother me. And I could never again forget who I’d been. I Remembered it all. Every joy, every victory. Every kiss, every embrace. Every hope. Every betrayal.

And the knowledge that the betrayal had been mine.

All mine.

chapter forty-one

Michael

I stared at my hands in disbelief as Desi became a memory between one blink and the next. I felt as though I’d held her heart in my hands and I’d watched it turn to ice. And crushed it to dust.

Or had she crushed mine?

But it wasn’t her, I knew it wasn’t.

I saw the serpent twisting over her heart. I knew all too well what that meant. I felt the pull of this place, like the very ground grasped at my feet, my hands, my heart and mind. It felt like a cancer that wouldn’t stop until I lay demolished in its fist.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my sorrow to a dark corner of my mind and faced the river. Suddenly those boulders seemed like a great idea.

The lava-water-liquid-ice crept past the rocky shore like grasping fingers. I decided not to think about it.

The first boulder, a slab-like monstrosity, rose out of the water about ten feet from the shore. I dared not call upon my Halo in this place—the magic of Helheimer drained my strength like a vampire sucks blood. I leaped and landed solidly, placing my hand flat on the surface. I snatched it back with a hiss—the surface burned as truly as any fire.

While I crouched low on the rock and took stock of the next boulder, the “water” splashed beside me. When I looked I saw nothing different than what I’d seen before—lumpy, swirling, thick-looking water that seemed halfway between lava and blood.

The next boulder would be much harder to reach. It rose from the river almost like an obelisk and loomed from the sludge about twelve feet away from where I currently crouched. I stood, backed up as far as I could, and took a deep breath through pursed lips. The air tasted of sulphur, coating my tongue and making it hard to breathe.

I backed up to the edge of the stone. Rubbed my hands on my thighs and wished. But there were far too many wishes for me to voice and so I offered a prayer to Odin and hoped I had not fallen too far for my king to hear me. When I opened my eyes, I saw a handful of the damned had come to the water’s edge on the other side. They reached out to me, their mouths agape. I remembered Desi called them the wanters and needers. It made sense to me now. I shuddered to see their soulless eyes—such a tragic end to my Asgardian brothers and sisters.

One moved forward, his feet stepping into the water. For an instant I thought I knew him, thought he knew me. I stood up, trying to get a better look. He moved deeper into the water, his arms outstretched. An inexplicable se
nse of dread ignited within me.

“Wait!” I called out—but of course he was oblivious to my words. And what danger could lurk here for those who were already sentenced to eternity?

But even before the sound of my voice had stopped bouncing off the side of the mountain, a creature flew out of the water. It looked like a stingray, but its fins appeared to be razor sharp, its skin translucent red. The creature latched onto the man’s chest and clung to him there. Licks of flame crawled over its surface, burning away the man’s flesh. He did not cry out, though his mouth opened wide—in horror or pain I did not know.

When the creature’s body filled with a black, smoky substance, I understood.

This was a soul eater. Monsters much like it lived in the darkness of space, feeding upon Ascended Ones who failed to protect themselves. They are a rare creature there—but this . . . I’d never heard of such a thing. A soul eater of the damned. A fate far worse even than Hell itself.

In the seconds it took me to realize the nature of this creature, the man I thought I knew burst into a thousand particles of dust. The soul eater’s skin pulsated a deep burgundy color as it delved beneath the surface of the river.

Cold dread filled my veins. I had to get out of here.

I stood, prepared myself as best I could.

And then I leapt.

chapter forty-two

Desi

I stumbled out the Door, falling onto my hands and knees in the rubble. My eyes fell on the toes of a pair of pink sneakers. St. Mary’s sweats. Hands hanging between her knees. Pale face beneath pale hair.

Miri.

I rocked back on my heels, then sat cross-legged right there in the midst of all the mess. Miri watched me, sitting on a tumble of rocks.

“How long have you been there?” I asked when the silence stretched on a beat too long.

“A while,” she answered in a voice that sounded empty. Dead.

I swallowed, trying to work up some moisture in my mouth—I suddenly felt dry. Dry of everything, as empty as Miri. I desperately sought something to say, the right something to say, but came up empty.

“Are you all right?” I finally asked.

She shrugged. “Would you be?”

I watched her, trying to decipher what she wanted from me. “I guess not.”

“Where’s Michael?” she suddenly asked.

And I realized—I didn’t know. I’d left him there. Abandoned him. “I-I don’t know.”

“He’s still there.”

“I don’t know.”

Miri stood, brushed her pants off, swiped her hands together as if she were washing them of responsibility.

“What happened to you?” And I didn’t think she meant literally. Miri had always been perceptive, always had a way to cut right through to the heart of things. She asked so much more and I didn’t have anything to give.

“I don’t know,” I said again. Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.

She stared at me for a minute, sizing me up, judging me. Dismissing me. Miri turned away and climbed over the rocks toward the entrance.

“Wait.” I got up and hurried after her. “Where’s James? And—the others?”

Miri stopped. Over her shoulder she said, “Cornelius and Longinus are at the cathedral. There was supposed to be a funeral today.” She snorted. “You can pretty much guess how that went.” She turned and left the crypt. I stumbled out to the cemetery and called out to her again.

“But where’s James?” Sudden fear gripped my throat, choking me, suffocating me.

“James and I split up where we thought you might come out—I got this one. He got the bridge.”

A wave of relief washed over me. The Door at the bridge. Surely Heimdall would have already closed that one. James’d be okay, then. “And Knowles?”

Miri turned all the way around to look me square in the eye. “He went to find you. To rescue you.”

She watched me, waiting for . . . something. For me to break down in tears. To beg forgiveness. To be human.

She walked away. I watched while she pulled out her cell phone and made a call—probably to James. She didn’t look back.

I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I felt empty of all belonging. I didn’t belong to Father. I didn’t belong to Odin. I didn’t belong to Miri, or Cornelius or Longinus or James. And I certainly didn’t belong to Michael.

I sat on the bench facing the little stone angel that had gotten me through so many moments of helplessness. But this time I drew no comfort from the statue. It was just stone with a heart as empty as my own.

Against all odds, Michael had come back to me. He’d beaten Father, cleared the darkness from his soul. He’d still wanted me. Still loved me.

Father had been proven to be even more vicious, even more of a liar than I thought him to be.

And me? I’d ended up being what I always thought I was.

“Desolation?”

I whipped around, standing and drawing my shadow-self to the ready all in one fluid motion. But it was only a girl—well, not just any girl. Vamp-Girl.

“It’s Taige. Remember me?” She stepped out from the shadows of the path and joined me beneath the gaze of the stone angel.

“What do you want?” I let my Shadow fade into the darkening day. I sat down on the bench, not caring if she saw weakness in me. I didn’t care about any of it anymore.

“Well, I—” She stumbled over her words, but then seemed to gather her courage from somewhere. She drew herself up so she stood tall in front of me. Man the girl had balls. Father would have liked a daughter like her, for sure.