Iniquity (The Premonition Series Book 5) (20 page)

Reed stays my hand. “You go first. I’ll follow right after you.”

“Okay.” I shift direction and place the earphones on my ears. Using my thumb, I flip on the music. My body contorts and I’m extracted from the cold world around me and thrust into darkness.

I
know
where I am the moment I spill out of a record player portal onto the exquisite parquet floor. It’s Xavier’s home in Grosse Pointe. I’ve been here thousands of times. I know my way around it—can navigate every inch of its five stories. It’s almost like being home.

The well-used record player spins on a turntable in the loft room at the top of the massive house. Xavier and I used to sit for hours here after school, listening to music on it. I never once suspected that it was anything other than a benign way to play music. He never once told me what else it could do. Nor did I ever question why he always let it spin, even when the music wasn’t playing. I thought it had been funny, the way he’d set up a little purple-haired troll in the center of it, letting it travel around in circles. He’d ended up giving me that troll. It was in my room for a long time until the Gancanagh took it. A familiar feeling of angst nearly overwhelms me for a moment.

My hands are still freezing. I rub them together and watch for Reed to come through the portal. He is way more elegant than me when he arrives. He lands on his feet. He turns around, removing the needle from the record player, stopping it from spinning. He closes the lid, locking the portal from our side. I get to my feet. “No one can follow us here, can they?” I ask.

“No—at least not through this portal,” Reed replies. He turns and faces me, catching me as I throw myself into his arms. My knees weaken as my lips yield to his. His hand touches my hair. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. You?”

“I’m fine.”

“What happened with Atwater?”

“We fell to the bottom of the cavern. He gave me the boatswain, told me not to tell the Seraphim that I had it or they would attempt to kill me like they had him. He said there’s a reason they aren’t being told the plan—I would know what it is soon. He said he’d find us later. He wished me ‘Godspeed’. Then, he disappeared into a portal of his own. I narrowly avoided Xavier and found you.”

“It would be nice if any of this made sense.” I turn away from him, looking around me. The room is exactly the same as I remember it. High ceilings, soft overstuffed chairs, and an inlaid wood floor with a map of the constellations set into it. A few fat couches lounge in front of shelf upon shelf of the most exquisite books I’ve ever read. Xavier has a larger, more formal library on the first floor. This smaller one on the fifth floor, however, has always been my favorite. I would often choose a book, and then walk out onto the rooftop patio and read it in the sunshine, or under the moon by twinkle lights and lit wall sconces.

Nothing has changed. Xavier must have had some kind of service maintaining his residence; automatically paying the bills or something, because he was gone for months and it is still immaculate. “Do you want me to tell you the notes for the boatswain?” I ask Reed.

He nods, lifting the chain and boatswain from his neck. It catches the light and glimmers. I shiver, unable to shake the dread it elicits in me. I have no desire to be transported to the past—I’m afraid of what I’ll see and feel there. I don’t want to remember another moment with Emil. I also don’t want a gateway to Sheol to open up and drag me into it. The boatswain is bad news. I wouldn’t mind destroying it right now by squeezing it into a small paperweight.

“We can’t destroy it yet, love,” Reed says, as if reading my mind.

“It’s a really satisfying fantasy, though.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve indulged in it several times myself already.”

I hum the tune for him. He listens intently, and then flawlessly hums it back to me.

“That’s it,” I say breathlessly. I walk to the dormer window. My fingertips skim over the cool metal of Xavier’s telescope mounted on a tripod. The brass shines as if it were polished just yesterday. I lean over, draw my eye near the eyepiece, and close the other one. Before anything comes into focus, I already know what I’ll see. It’s a view of the water—Lake St. Clair in all its frozen splendor. Freighters with red and black hulls crash through the ice on their way to and from the Detroit River.

I straighten and glance over at Reed. He’s staring at a picture of Xavier and me. Xavier is kissing me under the mistletoe at Cole’s girlfriend, Kirsten’s, Winter Wonderland party. Reed lifts the framed photo and turns it over face down on the table. “Where are we?”

“Grosse Pointe. It’s next to Detroit. I lived a few miles that way,” I use my thumb to gesture over my shoulder. It’s like night and day, huh?” I ask. “The haves and the have nots, so close to one another and yet worlds away.”

“You went to the wealthier school?” Reed asks. “One in Grosse Pointe?”

“My test scores were off the charts. It turns out I have an angel brain.” I give him a doleful look. “My scores allowed me to be bused to this school district. It was a hard transition, though. My only friend was Molly for a long time. She was in the same situation as I. She had amazing scores as well—teachers used to ask us if it was in the water where we lived or something.”

“Was it?” Reed asks with a small smile.

“Umm, no. There was stuff in the water where I lived, but I think it was lead.”

“So you went to a nicer school.”

“I wouldn’t say it was ‘nicer’. Nicer implies kindness.”

“People weren’t kind.”

“Some were. Some thought we were trash being brought in—they felt we tainted the gene pool of their hallowed halls.”

“Who would think that?”

“You’d be surprised at how much money matters to some people. They claim it doesn’t, but the minute they find out you don’t have any, is the minute you become undesirable—a parasite.”

“Those aren’t people you want in your life anyway. It’s okay to let them weed themselves out early.”

“Where were you when I was growing up, Reed?”

“Waiting for you,” he replies, as if it is the only explanation. “So, you and Molly traversed the class line to come to this school district?”

“You could say that. We crossed the line between Detroit and Grosse Pointe for sure. We both had more intelligence than most kids, but not enough money to keep up with them.”

“And then you met Xavier?” Reed asks.

I nod. “He was in a lot of my classes. He transferred in from a school in Germany. His mom was from a wealthy family there, but they both spoke perfect English. She and his father were not together in the traditional sense, at least, that’s what he told me. They were still married, but they hadn’t lived together in years. It turns out that he really doesn’t even have parents, does he?”

“No, not the way you’re thinking. He was born of fire.”

“Rebecca, his fake mom here, wasn’t around much. She was always on her way somewhere, traveling. But I liked her when she was here. She was really kind to me.”

“Was she a Reaper?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe? It would fit her personality. I never even suspected that she could be anything other than human.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Wait, what?”

“You may have suspected she was an angel. You may have even found out, but they wouldn’t allow you to know it for long.” Reed picks up the white knight from the marble chessboard, toying with it in his hand. “You remember Torun?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“A lot of things there were completely destroyed by angels. Even in a blizzard, people saw what was happening in their city.”

“You erased their memories?” I ask.

“Not me. I was with you. A host of Cherubim most likely performed the task, putting things back together and making things right once more. The underground bar probably looks the same today as it did before Valentine’s friends crashed through it to pluck you from it.”

I think about all the things I may have witnessed but cannot possibly remember. I have a key to all of it now. It’s in Reed’s hand. I’m just not certain I have the courage it takes to face my past.

“You spent a lot of your time here before coming to Crestwood?” Reed asks. He picks up another framed picture of Xavier and me. It’s from Homecoming our sophomore year.

“Yeah. I spent a lot of time here, mostly as Xavier’s friend. We were friends before we were anything else.”

“Just like in Heaven?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember that part of it,” I admit. “Do you need me to hum the notes again?”

Reed shakes his head. “I know it. Do you trust Atwater?”

“Not completely, but what choice do we have? I need to know what happened so I can figure out how to kill Emil. He holds all the cards. I want some of my own.”

“I’ll be with you. I’m always with you. Are you ready?” he asks.

“I’m ready,” I whisper. I look at the pictures that line the table next to us. They’re all of Xavier and me. Reed places the boatswain between his lips. The first note sounds like a scream. It raises goose bumps on my flesh. The world around me fades. The next few notes break apart the room, opening it up to pure sky. The final note from the whistles makes the sky collapse in on me. I’m lost in darkness. I fall. The only sound I hear is Reed’s strong heartbeat, until it is replaced by beautiful, mournful sounds from a solitary piano as gunshots ring out in the air.

T
he smooth ivory
-colored piano keys beneath my fingertips are cool to the touch. Forlorn notes float in the air while I play Cannon in D for the monster standing behind me. Emil’s ever-present, oppressive shadow looms nearer, darkening the keys. The scent of his flowery shaving soap is enough to make me physically ill. With it, I smell the acrid odor of smoky gunpowder in the air. Terrifying rapports of guns and bullet shell casings rain onto the floor above us. They taper off as I come closer to the end of the song until the only sound is the achingly beautiful fade of the final note. Then…stillness. The silence is even more frightening then the noise.

My mind is buzzing with thoughts of Xavier. He should be somewhere close. I’m supposed to meet him by the bridge. My scattered thoughts and prayers hurtle through my mind, making me flinch as Emil’s fingertips brush my hair away from my nape. He bends and presses his lips there. I don’t move, but my pulse races with fear and loathing.

Emil lifts his lips and sits beside me on the piano bench with his back to the keys, facing me. “You play so beautifully, just like an angel, Simone.”

“Do you believe in angels, Emil?” I ask. I can’t even remember formulating the question, but it’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Of course. I have one beside me.”

“I mean real angels.” I shouldn’t be speaking. It will upset him.

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Why not.”

“If there were angels, you wouldn’t exist.” The truth I never meant to say.

“The world needs me to rid it of its imperfections.”

“Who are you to judge anyone?”

“I’m the one with all the power.”

His hand rests against my skin, rubbing my cheek. He moves his hand downward. My fingertips touch the fabric of his trousers. I glide them up the length of his thigh, watching his pupils grow larger until my fingernails bump against the supple leather of the holster of his sidearm. Emil’s hand cups my breast. A soft gasp whispers from me before I swallow back the bile in my mouth. I skim my hand over smooth leather, feeling the transition from warm hide to cool metal. My heart hammers in my chest.

Emil reaches to the back of my dress. He deftly slips the ivory top button of my collar through the eyelet. I feel sick. Our eyes are locked on one another’s. I touch the handle of his gun. The second button on my dress springs free of its eyelet. I ease my arm back, heavy gunmetal slithers against leather. With my shaking thumb, I push the safety off. Finding the trigger with one finger, I use my other hand to pull back the toggle of the pistol. It slides back into place.

Emil’s hands have stilled, recognizing the sound of me arming his Luger. “Do you intend to shoot—” I push the barrel against his ribs. The trigger clicks as I pull it, but nothing happens. It doesn’t fire. My eyes leave his as I fumble with the toggle once more. It’s in the up position, indicating that there are no bullets in the magazine. I cock the toggle anyway and try to fire the pistol. Again, nothing happens, except that the toggle springs back to the up position once more. I lift my eyes to Emil’s. He’s amused.

“We’re running low on ammunition. I gave my cartridges to Axel so he could dispose of the staff. I am, as you see, out of bullets.” I can’t seem to swallow. I stare into his cold, blue eyes. “I thought you loved me, Simone.”

“I don’t,” I hear myself whisper. “I hate you.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No. Not even close.”

The violent crack of his backhand across my cheek sends me toppling from the bench. Landing hard on the floor, I pull my heels up to me so that I have a better chance of rising fast. His Luger flies from my hand, spinning to a halt underneath a table.

“Pity,” Emil says. “
I love you.
You’re dear to me.”

My palm cups my throbbing cheek as I look up at him. “You love to torture me. It isn’t the same thing.”

He rises from the bench, towering over me. “It is to me.” He lifts his cane from against the side of the piano. The silver wolf head shines in the light from the window. “You’ve grown rebellious. Why is that? It’s as if something has given you hope. Is that it? Do you hope, Simone? Do you believe you will be liberated by my enemies?”

I don’t answer. I’m afraid that he’ll see the truth on my face though. I did hope. I placed my hope in a British soldier who has abandoned me. I rise to my feet with my hand on the nearby table. Backing away from him, he watches me move. My clumsy hand stumbles over the table, knocking over the kerosene lamp, breaking the top of it off. Emil’s eyes go to the growing stain of liquid as it pours out. I retreat from it, my feet walking backward toward the doors to the hallway. Emil goes to the table, catching up the broken bottom of the lamp. He looks in my direction. Flicking his hand at me, the oil from the lamp soaks the front of my dress, splashing onto my face and arms. I close my eyes, trying to avoid getting it in them. Blurrily, I try to wipe it from my face with the back of my sleeve.

“Do you hope, Simone? Do you pray to be rescued? Do you wish for someone to take you from me, now that we are in retreat? Do you believe that I will ever let you go?” He sets the broken lamp back on the table. A matchbox rests next to his hand. Running his fingers over it, he snatches it up. Blood drains from my face as he opens it and withdraws a matchstick. With trembling knees, I force my feet to move.

Driven by terror of the madman behind me, I stumble into a chair, toppling it over. I put my hands out, trying to feel my way across the room while my red-rimmed eyes burn with tears. Managing to find the doors, I fling them wide. The hallway is quiet. Empty. My hands go to the plaster wall and follow it to the kitchen. The scraping sound of a dragged foot follows me as I cross the stone floor. I fumble for the latch of the back door, finding it I fling it open. Leaning heavily on the railing, I descend the stone steps that lead to the cobbled drive.

The hazy shapes of soldiers crowd around at the end of the drive, loading the rest of their belongings into trucks in preparation of the evacuation. I avoid them, switching direction toward the carriage house. The wooden sliding door looms ahead. I hear Emil following me. In desperation, I throw all of my weight into the task of rolling the wooden door open on its glide. A diagonal sliver of light cuts the darkness inside. The space has been cleaned out. There are only a few bales of straw in the loft above. The cobblestone ground is dank beneath my feet. A blackbird flies onto the beam of the high ceiling. Rushing in, I roll the door closed. I try to throw the bolt, but Emil opens the door from without. He calls to his men outside, telling the soldiers to go on to the next location without him—he’ll catch up with them. Truck engines rev and softly fade as his men depart.

I pant in fear, but stand my ground. There’s no point in retreating further. There’s nowhere left to go. Emil slides the door closed behind us. Light from a window near the gables is plenty to see by, but Emil strikes a match anyway. He opens the glass of the wall sconce and touches the fire to it. It flames to life.

He looks down his nose at me, as if I’m some sort of insect he has to dispose of before I infest the world. His lower lip pushes up, curving his mouth down. “Simone, I’m very disappointed in you. You not only tried to kill me, you ran from me.”

“You’re not disappointed. You’re offended. You believe I should love you.”

“You should love me!” he snarls. “I’ve labored to mold and shape you into the perfect woman. You should thank me!”

“I should kill you,” I don’t even try to keep the venom from my voice.

“You haven’t the strength to kill me. I own you.”

“There’s a whole world inside me that you’ll never touch!”

Emil walks in a slow circle, casing me. I want to remain unaffected by it, but my knees weaken and my hands tremble. I’m nauseated by fear as my bravado erodes. Emil swipes his cane though the air, it makes a terrifying whistle. I flinch. I know what it will feel like when it finally falls on me. Brutal. “Ahh, so you do still fear me.” He stops in front of me so I can see his smug smile. “Now I want you to beg me.”

I don’t have to ask him what for, I know he means my life. My whole body begins to shake. “Plea—”

Emil’s fist connects with my upper lip, pushing it into my teeth. My soft flesh explodes. Blood drips between my front teeth. The metallic taste stains my tongue. My head lurches to the side. I crash onto the ground, bouncing off the uneven brick. Emil stands over me. “Get up. I didn’t hit you hard.” But he did and he knows he did. He uses his cane, landing blows on my back and legs. “Get. Up.”

I blink. Tears seep from my eyes. More blows strike me, tearing my soul away with my flesh. I can’t stop the pain. My breath rattles in my chest. My ribs ache. It feels as though they’re pressing into my lungs. I manage to push myself up to my knees. The rough brick cuts them. A part of me wonders why I’m bothering to move. The distressing answer is I want to live, but I doubt this time that I will. He’s always been in control of his vicious nature, but his control is slipping. He’s giving in to the darkness inside him and it’ll only stop when I’m in pieces.

His cane hits my arms that I lift to protect my head and face. The bones in my hand shatter. I realize vaguely that I’m screaming until he punches me in the stomach. A whoosh of air goes out of my mouth. I land flat on my back, looking up at him hovering above me. All sound is muffled. Emil is saying something. He leans near me and shakes my shoulders. His face looms in front of mine. I squint at him. My eyelids are swelling. Blood oozes into them from open cuts on my brow. Sound crashes back in.

“You’re pregnant?” Emil demands with a desperate look in his eyes. He touches the ground beside me, lifting his palm; it’s covered with my blood. “Tell me!” He shakes me again. “Are you pregnant with my child?”

A gush of blood pours from me, wetting my thighs as my abdomen contracts violently. I moan. “My child,” I croak. “Never yours.”

Emil swears in anger. “Why didn’t you tell me? This is entirely your fault! I wouldn’t have struck you there if I had known.” He touches my forehead with his bloody palm, pushing back my hair from it. “You cannot leave me, Simone.” The room grows darker. I lose focus on his face. He shakes me again until my teeth rattle. “Why didn’t you tell me you were carrying my baby?” He’s afraid. I’m slipping away from him.

“Never your baby. Just mine.” I look over his shoulder. Sparkling embers of golden light, like glowing dust, falls through the crack of the open door. Amid the light, a charcoal-colored feather blows toward me. It gently falls against my swollen cheek. My cloudy eyes become clear. Dark, widespread wings show on either side of Emil as he kneels over me. A large hand encircles Emil’s neck, cutting off his breath. Emil jerks away from me, lofting into the air, held up by an angel. I blink. The angel strangles my enemy with one hand as his flapping gray wings beat the air.

Emil’s face turns blue. His hands claw and slap the angel’s fist, trying to pry it from his throat. Strawberry-blond hair waves disheveled and messy on his forehead. A mask of agony contorts his face as his legs kick the air. The dark-haired angel has a look of vengeance. He bares his teeth, closing his fist harder, crushing Emil’s spine. Emil’s arms drop and his legs no longer flail. The angel says something to Emil, it sounds like music. His wings continue to move as his other hand reaches up and twists Emil’s head at an unnatural angle, breaking Emil’s neck. Then the beautiful creature rips Emil’s head clean off his shoulders, spraying blood on the floor and walls. He lets go of Emil’s body. It crashes to the floor in a tangled heap. My abuser’s blood mixes with mine in a pool on the ground.

Still hovering in the air, the angel turns in my direction. I look into his green eyes, the color of a field in summer. “You feel no pain,” the angel says to me in English. His deep voice echoes in my mind. All pain evaporates from me, floating away as if it had never been, but I can’t move. I’m broken.

The angel’s wings rustle. He lands near me, but his wings still flutter—restless air fans me. Reaching down, the angel picks me up, extracting me from the cold cobblestone floor. My cheek rests against his bared chest, leaving streaks of red on his perfect skin. I hear the powerful beat of his heart. Mine slows, making me pant for air. He flies us upward, landing on the loft. Gently, he lays me in the straw. His hands move over me, checking my injuries. I know it should be painful, but it isn’t.

A growl turns his expression dark. His perfect mouth twists in anger as one of his hands touches my ribs. I feel him move the shard of bone, pulling it in a way that he shouldn’t be able to if it weren’t broken. There’s a sucking sound as he moves it.

I can’t breathe!
My eyes go wide in distress. Quickly, he moves my rib back. Whatever hole he’d opened by shifting the bone from my lung fills once more. The angel gathers me to him. He sits and leans against the dusty wall with me in his lap. I look up at the exposed rafters of the carriage house. His hand goes to my forehead, moving my blood-soaked hair from my eyes. I cough hard. Blood spills onto my lips.