The Demon Hunter (18 page)

“Of what?” Oliver hadn't heard of Finity.

Bane chuckled weakly. “We'll talk. And besides, Half-Light doesn't even know if their big plan is going to work. They might be wrong about the prophecy, and where does that leave us? Face it. We're lab rats, bro, that's all we've ever been. Living in our little maze. It's too late for me, but not for you.”

Oliver nodded, yet couldn't help asking, “Are you lying to me?”

“Ha. I could see why you'd ask, but no. And if you tell anyone I said this stuff, I'll tear your tongue out.”

“Okay …” Oliver said, stunned by it all. “So, is there really a way? To undo the prophecy?”

“Yeah,” said Bane. “Selene told me how. And I've been working on it. Things were almost ready, then I was gonna tell you, but I got careless. Lythia jumped me at the zoo and I lost my necklace. Half-Light probably already suspected what I was up to, but then they were sure. And next thing I knew, I was in the jaguar with the Nagual. Lythia let me go after the first night, and I wasn't even sure what had happened until I saw that news report. Then I knew they were setting me up, so I went after Lythia, but that Nagual was too strong. It trapped me again and didn't let me go.”

This was almost too much to comprehend.
That
was why Half-Light had been framing Bane. He was a danger to the prophecy because he was trying to set Oliver free. “How?” Oliver asked. “How do I undo it?”

Bane smiled. “You won't believe what I did,” he said, a note of his old cocky self returning. “Really, bro, you've got to see it to believe it. It's gonna blow your mind. But we have to go home first. I've got some things hidden back in my coffin that we need.” He started to stand, but stumbled. “Man, what was
in
that stuff I drank?”

“I don't know,” said Oliver. “Désirée gave it to me.”

Bane's face darkened. “Désirée?”

“Yeah, she said it would help you.”

Bane looked unconvinced. “You can't trust her, bro. Not at all.”

“But, Désirée's helped me figure out a ton of stuff.”

“Did she? Well, it's only what she
wants
you to figure out, believe me.” He staggered, wincing and clutching at his stomach. “Ahhh …”

“Whoa.” Oliver caught him and put an arm around his shoulder.

“I got it, lamb,” Bane said through gritted teeth, pushing himself away.

“Come on, idiot,” Oliver snapped, slipping into old habits. “You need help.”

Bane spun. “Idiot?” He raised his fist, only this time with a slight smile, and threw a punch at Oliver's gut.

Oliver tensed for the blow, and found himself almost looking forward to it, in a weird way. All this time, all his frustration with Bane, only to learn that his brother was actually on his side, and risking everything to save him. The thought made Oliver happy in a way he'd never felt. It made everything different from now on, even a brotherly punch to the gut—

Only the punch never came.

“Whu—”

Oliver looked up to see Bane staring at him, eyes wide and glowing amber, his mouth open in shock. But he was changing—his face crystallizing.…

“Bane?”

As Oliver watched, his brother dissolved into dust.

Chapter 13

Dust, Tears, and Bones

“NO!” OLIVER SCREAMED.

For a moment, an echo of Bane remained, his shocked face sketched in silver outlines … and then the dust fell, raining to the ground—

Only not. Instead, it began rushing away over the grass in a silver stream. Oliver followed it, and watched as it was collected inside a small, red stone box—

In Lythia's hand.

“Thanks, Oliver!” she shouted triumphantly.

Beside her, the zombies held Dean and Emalie at the edge of the clearing. Jenette was trapped, thrashing around in some kind of green energy sphere.

“Ashes to ashes!” Lythia went on gleefully. “And a brother in a box for Lythia!” She slapped the lid closed.

“
Tsss!
” Oliver sprinted toward her, lunging into the air, his eyes glowing in fury—he would slay her with his bare hands—

But Lythia's smirking face swirled into smoke as she evanesced and shot up into the darkness. He landed on his knees where she had been.

The green sphere around Jenette faded. The zombies released Dean and Emalie and dashed off.

Dean spun to give chase, but Emalie grabbed his shoulder. “No, Dean,” she said, turning back toward Oliver.

He scrambled around on the ground, looking wildly for—“Bane!”
My brother is gone.
“No …” Oliver moaned.

“Oliver,” Emalie began. She put a hand on his shoulder.

Oliver slumped. That was it. He had no energy to move, ever.

But no—he lurched to his feet and ran.

“Oliver, wait!” Emalie shouted, but she let him go.

He had to move. Hurling himself through the trees, through blackberry bushes that tore at his hands, clothes and face … running … until finally he reached the bluff edge, where he collapsed to the ground in pain and anger, and some new, empty feeling like he'd never experienced before. He could only imagine that a human would call it despair.

Oliver didn't know how long he sat with his head in his hands, but when he first noticed the light through the gaps in his fingers, he wondered seriously if it was dawn.

Let it be the sun,
he thought. There was a slight hissing sound.
Let it burn me to dust.
He was almost disappointed when he remembered that the bluff faced west.

Besides, this light was different. White …

Oliver slowly pulled his head up. Below his dangling feet, the sound of lapping waves drifted softly through the fog. Oliver could see over the low, rounded banks of mist to the open water, where a large cargo vessel blinked, its engine churning. Beyond that, sleepy lights were clustered around the inlets of the far shore, and the snowcapped peaks of the Olympic Mountains were just visible in the moonless night. Oliver wondered at how peaceful the night was—indifferent to what had just happened.

Bane
…

It wasn't hard to remember a time when Oliver might have smiled at the thought of his brother exploding into dust, getting what he deserved after all the annoying torment. But now Oliver felt like he was one of those bats in the zoo, only his cage had just been opened. In a single moment he'd learned that really, there was something much larger, with so many more possibilities—
a brother who was trying to help me all along
—only to have that cage door slammed closed in his face. He'd wondered if the animals were better off not knowing the world they were missing—the world they could never have. Maybe they were.

No!
He didn't want to think about it anymore. It was all much worse than some thought about animals, much worse than anything he had ever felt, and maybe that surprised him most of all. Oliver didn't even know that feelings like this were possible for a vampire. And if they were, what did you do with them? What did you do with this horrible ball of empty pressing out against your guts?

Let me help.

Oliver reined his gaze back in from the far mountains. That wasn't Emalie's voice. He noticed that white light again that he'd mistaken for dawn. He turned, and found a glowing figure sitting beside him.

It was the apparition.

Hey,
it said.

Its human shape was clearer than ever. The outline of jeans and sneakers and a sweatshirt. Of shaggy hair, but beyond the faint line of a nose and mouth, and the impression of eyes, the white glow made the face impossible to pick out.

Hey,
Oliver said back.

Sorry about your brother,
the apparition said.

Oliver didn't reply. He didn't know what to say or think.

Here, this will help.

The apparition pinched its forearm, its fingers sinking into itself. There was a bright pulse of white light, shooting sparks of blue, and it pulled a tiny sphere of itself free. It held this out to Oliver.

What is it?
Oliver asked.

Between its fingers was a marble-sized sphere of glowing white. It was translucent, swirling like liquid.
It's part of me. For you.

Oliver reached out and took the sphere between his thumb and first finger. It felt warm, squishy.
What do I do with it?

Eat it
.

What?

Oliver, you know you can trust me.

Strangely, Oliver felt certain that he could. He placed the sphere in his mouth.

And gagged. His body convulsed, tightening like a knot, his throat constricting, his eyes squinting shut, his guts flipping in on themselves.

Then he felt a huge release, a terrible, tearing feeling inside like a dam breaking. His body slumped, muscles failing, a great rushing sound in his ears.
“Tsssss!”
He hissed.

Silence.

Oliver's face fell to his hands. After a moment, he lifted his head and felt something strange on his palms. He looked down and saw streaks of water. He touched his cheeks below his eyes and found tiny rivers of liquid. A drop reached his mouth. It tasted salty.

What's happening to me?
Oliver asked, confused.

They're tears,
the apparition replied.

I'm … crying?
He'd seen Emalie and other humans do this. It always looked so painful, so weak. It felt that way, too, and yet strangely, the feeling was good. It was a relief. It didn't make what had happened to Bane any better, but maybe somehow it did.

It's called grief,
the apparition added.
It heals.

It ended too soon. Oliver felt the tears cease, and almost wanted to ask for more. Instead, he asked:
What are you?

The apparition seemed to smile.
Soon
.

But I know you, don't I?

Yes.
The apparition stood.
Something to show you, first.

Oliver got to his feet. The apparition floated back into the bushes. Oliver followed, pushing more carefully through the blackberry with his already-torn hands. They passed between two crumbled mausoleums. Above, the first birds called in the predawn.

The apparition stopped.
Here.

Two tombstones stood at angles, overgrown with vines.

Oliver reached down and brushed aside the leaves. Moldy, raised lettering read:

Howard Bailey—1923–1946

Lindsey Bailey—1927–1946

Beside these was a small footstone.

Nathan Bailey—1945–1946

“Oliver.” Oliver turned to see Emalie, Dean, and Jenette emerging from the trees. “We've been looking for you,” Emalie said. Oliver saw the puffy redness around her eyes, like she'd been crying, too. “I'm so sorry about Bane, I—” she trailed off at the sight of the gravestones.

“Is it them?” asked Dean.

Oliver nodded.

“How did you find them?” Emalie asked.

Oliver turned to point to the apparition, but it was nowhere to be seen.
You'll see me again,
it said to him from somewhere distant.

“It was here, wasn't it?” Jenette asked.

Oliver turned to her. “You've seen it?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?” Oliver asked.

Jenette seemed to frown. “He told me not to tell you, yet.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Dean asked.

“The apparition,” said Oliver.

“I suppose you could call it that,” mumbled Jenette.

Oliver's gaze returned to the stones. “Is it really them?”

“See for yourself,” Jenette replied.

Oliver almost didn't want to. He felt so tired, so blank. The strange experience of crying left him wanting to curl up and sleep for days. But he dropped to his knees and started digging.

Emalie knelt beside him to help. Dean joined them.

Oliver filled his hands with soil and rocks, scooping it to the side. He hit a tree root and ripped it free. With each handful he dug faster. His nails filled with packed dirt; one tore away. He kept digging. Now that he was so close, he just wanted to know them, to touch the bones that had created his, to make up for the loss of Bane and share what little embrace he could with his parents.

When he hit wood, he raised his fist and punched through it. His hand entered a hollow space, and cracked against bones. Oliver grabbed at the jagged wood edges and tore them away, throwing aside the last barrier. He reached inside, clutched a handful of the cold hard bones, and yanked them free.

Yet he already knew something was wrong—had known it from the second he broke through the coffin and caught a whiff of the old air finally freed—knew it fully when his fingers grazed the bones. Oliver looked at the bundle in his hand. They were curved: ribs that had once held the lungs and heart of a—

“Pig,” said Oliver blankly.

“What?” asked Emalie.

Oliver grasped one bone tight and let the rest clatter back into the coffin. He turned it over in his hand. “This is the rib of a pig,” he said. “Not a human. This …” He felt a rush inside. “These aren't my parents.”

“But why a pig?” Dean asked.

Oliver's thoughts raced. “If you wanted to make a coffin feel like it had a human in it,” said Oliver, putting the pieces together, “it's not a bad substitute.”

“So,” said Dean, “where are your parents?”

Oliver almost smiled. “Alive. Somewhere. Don't you think?”

Emalie nodded. “I
do
think … but what if you get your hopes up and it's wrong? I want us to be sure.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed. “It would be nice to be sure about something, for once. But how?”

“Why don't we go check out the night they died again?” suggested Dean.

Emalie and Oliver turned to him. “Huh?” said Oliver.

“You know, and this time you could take me along.”