The Darkly Luminous Fight for Persephone Parker

by Leanna Renee Hieber

  In a horrific sensation, Percy felt energy leaving her: her child, the child she’d not even had a chance to think about, to welcome, let alone cherish. Her heart and body cleaved in excruciating pain. When Alexi realized what was happening, his cry was just as unbearable.

  “No!” Percy screamed, tears choking her, her hands clawing at herself with rage, her face contorting in anguish. A great wind whipped her snowy hair, her eyes ferocious suns. “You’ll not have me! Not my love and not my child! DEATH WILL NOT HAVE MY CHILD!”

  There were lines, apparently, even Darkness should not cross. He wholly underestimated the breadth of love’s power. He always had. Blinding white light exploded from Percy’s body in a thunderclap of brilliancy that made everyone wince, the rays actually dazzling shards that pierced directly through her foe and every vile spirit that happened to be near. The blast cracked the ribs around where Darkness ought to have had a heart, and it pulverized his torso, sending him hurtling into the lapping water at the bottom of the auditorium. His dogs splintered and dove into the water, howling and whining, the light too bright for their eyes. All insects and agents of decay were incinerated.

  But the dual strains of the force she commanded and her loss of blood broke Percy’s mortal body. She collapsed, caught by Alexi, who was barking orders for the leaders to continue striking Darkness without mercy. He lent one more blast of his own power, falling to his knees, sweat pouring off his brow, chest heaving. Remaining the sole living conduit for such a mass of eternal fire threatened to break him, too. But his fading wife needed him.

  Beatrice was suddenly at his side, and a handsome dark-skinned man. “Oh, Percy,” she breathed, seeing Percy’s grave state. She turned to Alexi, seeing his and Percy’s flesh reach their limits. She closed her eyes, and a surge of blue fire coalesced through her hands into Alexi, feeding him power to energize the gathered Guard who chanted for strength and to heal the mortal incarnation of their goddess. Alexi was a most powerful leader, but Beatrice had been one, too.

  Jane directed the healing, she and Aodhan deftly gathering and cleansing her precious blood from the stones and surging it back toward her, replenishing what had been lost. A small ball of light that did not seem directly connected to Percy hovered just above Percy’s abdomen, hesitant, like a fading star about to fall from the sky.

  “Ah, ah,” Jane said, tears falling from her eyes. “Michael,” she murmured, “help!”

  With exceeding care, the light of Jane’s hands guided the tiny star back. It hovered as if unsure, confused. Michael dropped to his knees beside it. “ ‘The light shines in the darkness,’ ” he wept at the small, sparkling orb, “ ‘and the darkness shall not overcome it.’ The darkness shall not overcome it!” The star of wonder dove back into the safety of its mother, and Percy’s drooping eyes shot open. She gasped, a surge of pain accompanying the flood of warmth.

  Michael’s tears getting the better of him, he stood and looked around for Rebecca. His soul leaped to see her, ashen-faced, beyond the doorway. He nodded that the worst seemed to be passed, and she put a shaking hand to her mouth, steadying herself against the door frame.

  Percy stirred. What had been an unimaginable amount of blood lost was returned again to her veins, the horror reversed.

  Leaders pummeled Darkness with inexhaustible vengeance. His bones broke piece by piece; his miserable form disintegrated. The blue Phoenix fire living in the walls of Athens streamed in luminous waterfalls from the bricks, the scale having finally tipped in their favour, the grey pall reversed that had made this place the Whisper-world’s domain.

  Percy wanted to sit up, to see. She cleared allies from either side. Healers of The Guards, in rows around her, urged her to sit back and lie still. But she struggled to stand, feeling her strength surge back into her with the force of righteousness, unable to cope with the threat that Darkness might still hang over them.

  Alexi’s eyes were wolfish, his jaw clenched. One arm was back to protect Percy; his other hand continued casting fiery bolts into the shuddering pile of bones below, no matter that his magic was past spent; his fury sustained him. He would not stop until Darkness was dust.

  Beatrice took the moment to present the distinguished, handsome Egyptian by her side. It was the man who first recognized Percy in the Whisper-world, and the man for whom she had fought so hard. Mr. Tipton bowed.

  Percy opened her mouth to greet him, but before any pleasantries could be exchanged, her eyes were drawn to her enemy’s bones, still encased in the neutralizing blue flame of Alexi and many other leaders. But, Darkness yet stirred. He would perhaps always be partly alive.

  The bones jumped. Something whistled through the air. A long shard of bone hurtled directly toward her, a clear and unobstructed arrow seeking to pull her into death’s arms after all. Time slowed, aching, terrible. Percy opened her mouth to cry out.

  Jane stood just to the right. In that fraction of a moment, something changed on her face.

  She took a step to the left.

  A sickening crunch sounded as the javelin of bone struck her in the back and burst through her. Blood bubbled up from her lips, a gory shard jutting out just below her brooch.

  The wailing cry Percy heard from The Guard, living and dead, would haunt her forever. Jane’s body slowly pitched forward. Aodhan was at her side but unable to catch her with his incorporeal hands. Alexi released Percy and jumped forward, sweeping Jane gently to the floor, his eyes wide with shock.

  The Guard healers swarmed. Jane was bathed in light, chants, words, cries. But Jane did not stir. They tried again. Stillness. The healers hung their heads and stepped back, stunned.

  Rebecca, shrieking, sank to the threshold of the doorway, shaking her head and refusing to believe. Michael ran to her and cradled her, unable to look at this final unexpected loss. Josephine had backed herself against the stone wall, tearing her hair and ripping her sacred locket from her neck, causing a gash and hurling the pendant aside.

  The blue-fire mortar of Athens, still working on bringing the room back to its normal state, erupted in its own reaction. Alexi’s fury melded with it, fire leaping from every pore of his body, tumbling Percy aside with its intensity. Every Guard leader gasped, for their bodies, too, gave up the borrowed ghost flame to create a roiling, gigantic flurry of winged fire and talons.

  The watery traces of river reversed to again become the lip of the Athens auditorium stage. Alexi’s fiery bird swept down toward the pile of bones, raging, evaporating any lingering vile spirit and enveloping the shards of Darkness in an oblivion of blue.

  To Percy’s ears, all went quiet. All she could hear was her own breath and her heartbeat. And fainter still, she imagined another heartbeat. A tiny one. Her tears flowed as she stood deathly still, but the world kept wailing silently as they stared down at Jane’s body.

  A glimmering, shimmering transparent form—sexless, gorgeous, its hands lit with glowing light, a pearlescent spirit unlike any ghost the London Guard had ever seen—lifted from Jane’s body. The spirit had a music to it; as it wafted in the air it made a sparkling noise, a symphony of stars, the exquisite orchestration of their Grand Work.

  “Her possessor,” Rebecca choked from the doorway, stumbling forward into the room. “A Muse.” The healing spirit looked sadly down, bent to kiss Jane’s body and took flight. It soared to the front of the stage, where it swept in and among the other Guards, administering music and glory, beauty and hope, though it had lost the bodily instrument it so adored.

  It suddenly dawned on Percy that something not of this world had long had hold on Jane, and that perhaps she’d wanted to give over to that embrace, as Beatrice had even suggested. Percy forced herself to look at the body. Aodhan floated nearby, kneeling at Jane’s side, stroking her cheek with phantom fingertips, murmuring odes of aching love, his grey face paler than she’d ever seen it.

  Jane’s greyscale spirit, lacking colour not vibrancy, lifted out of her body with a laugh. She floated several feet above the mel
ee to look down at everyone. Aodhan leaped up with a cry, reaching to touch the hem of her garment and thrilling that he finally could. He did not bother to hide his joy.

  Beatrice, who’d been watching with her hands clutched around Ibrahim, moved forward. “You see? It’s all right.”

  The spirit of Jane smiled and moved to take her outstretched hand. She turned to her fellows. “What on earth are you all wailin’ about?” she insisted, her brogue thick with delight. They stared at her dumbly, so Jane turned to Percy. “Oh, that’s right, Percy. Would you tell them what I’m sayin’?”

  “She…” Percy gulped. “She wonders what on earth you all are wailing about.”

  “We need you,” Josephine cried.

  Jane looked around and shook her head. “No, you don’t. It’s over.”

  “I…I didn’t deserve that, Jane,” Percy murmured, guilt overtaking her in a feverish rush. “I didn’t want you to die so that I might live.”

  Jane batted her hand in the air. “You and your child are desperately needed in this world. In that moment, there was no other way. Just like Beatrice said. Some sensible sacrifices have merit.” Percy translated, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Now I’m needed in this world,” Jane declared, floating to Aodhan’s side and caressing his cheek. “We needed to each follow our hearts to get to the appropriate end of this journey. I finally followed mine.” She glanced at Michael. “And Darkness has not overcome me.”

  Aodhan took her hand. Jane closed her eyes in bliss, bringing his now-tactile hand to her lips, kissing it slowly, relishing contact after a lifetime separate. Giggling, she glanced at her friends. “Don’t worry, you’ll see me haunting about. And Percy, tell Alexi that if he blames himself for this—as I’m sure he will—that I will swap his sherry out for Irish whiskey until the end of his days.”

  Percy related this information, and The Guard, while they could not laugh, at least gave a few shaky smiles. The tears returned soon enough, especially once Jane’s ghost jigged out of the room with Aodhan, Beatrice and Ibrahim floating out alongside them, chatting gaily. The living Guard were left with the gruesome reality of Jane’s body, which now lay in the aisle between auditorium seats, the last of the Whisper-world’s dreadful amphitheatre having vanished.

  Alexi bent and lifted the body, the bone that had pierced her having turned to sand. But they were not spared gore, as Jane’s blood poured down his vest and dripped onto the floor in a thick trail. He laid her down upon a ledge at the back of the hall and unclasped his cloak to place over her body, his face a mask of pain.

  He charged suddenly back down the aisle, his torn robes flapping. Centre stage, the sullied red fabric that reeked of dog urine and Darkness’s inanimate bones were a blaze of blue light, burning merrily like a hearth fire, and some Guards lingered on to watch and warm themselves in vengeance’s glow. With a warlike bellow, a terrible sound of grief, Alexi sent the last of his power, wave after wave of lightning, magic, energy, again and again into the remains, as if the more he could just keep pummeling it, the more he could ensure it could never hurt anyone again. But he could not make it right.

  Percy ran down to him, stumbling in her own weakness as she did, Michael darting in to take her by the arm. Alexi’s Guard assembled but hung back, knowing they didn’t dare try to stop him.

  He kept striking until he fell to his knees. Percy rushed to take him in her arms, which found new strength in holding him. Her body muffled his heaving sobs. The blue bonfire of Darkness died down, its fuel gone and the conflagration having faded to flickering sapphire embers.

  A wind picked up in the room, as did an ancient music, a heavenly balm. A murmur sounded, as the thick cerulean flames, entwined within every collected Guard, coalesced into enormous wings, an ephemeral and angelic form that was awesome in beauty and fearsome in masculine strength. “It is finished,” the great angel whispered in all ears, hearts and veins.

  The vision floated out the door, and Alexi somehow found the strength to tear off after it, breathing heavily, moving awkwardly. His Guard obediently up and followed. Upstairs to that sacred seal they ran, chasing the divine bonfire until it swirled over the motto of Athens, sparkling above the dictum of their Work before diving down into the image to rest, settling once more into the stone. With lingering licks of flame and then stillness, Athens was again mere bricks of a normal mortal school, settled solidly on foundations no longer precarious between worlds.

  The six survivors turned and beheld their mass of spectral fellows, whose work was done. Each had destinations, desires, duties, and they wanted to go about them. But first they wished to pay respects. They wafted forward, filing before Percy and Alexi, bowing or nodding.

  Dimly Percy registered what words she was offered. She was told by a few leaders and Hearts that her child would prove important. And while Percy’s instincts told her that this was most certainly true, all Percy cared was that her husband and child were alive.

  Beatrice floated forward from the crowd, her face troubled. “I did mean to tell you that I would have liked to have fought more at your side, my lady. But I needed to find and fight with my Guard—at least, the three of us who are now spirits.”

  “I believe you’ve fought at my side often enough,” Percy murmured.

  “True.” Beatrice smiled. Her quiet, stoic husband was still present, and she took his hand and pressed it lovingly in both of hers. She gestured him forward, attempting again to present him.

  “Hello, my lady. Ibrahim Tipton at your service,” he said in a rich Arabian accent. “Raised by an Englishman, I learned to appreciate certain aspects of the country you’ve chosen as your own. I am glad to have had a part in fighting for you here, then and now.” She sensed he was making peace with his past in this brief introduction.

  “Hello, Mr. Tipton—and thank you,” she murmured, sharing Beatrice’s smile. “And where will all of you go? I pray you will go on toward Peace!”

  Beatrice’s lips thinned. “Some didn’t make it safely onward this day. Some of us were overwhelmed, dragged back under into the despairing depths, back across the river. Some of these Guard will take to that realm again, to rescue their friends who fell. Some may choose to remain always vigilant. I cannot say. But most of us will go to Peace. Long awaited, and far from here…Peace. I’ve no idea what it will be like, but I’ve never anticipated anything so much as this blessed day.”

  Behind Beatrice, another figure broke ranks. A thin man in dark robes with skin that must have been darker in life and a face so engaging it was hard to look away floated toward Percy. In Arabic he said, “While this war is at an end, keep your heart open to the world, my lady. You never know what battles your lineage may face, in the air, in the ground…Don’t forget us. And don’t close every door.”

  While the words themselves might have an ominous cast, the man, clearly the Heart of his group, was so full of peace, assurance and love that Percy couldn’t find any fear. He bowed and spun back to Ibrahim, clasping his friend’s arm.

  Beatrice spoke. “Don’t mind Ahmed. He’s always been full of tall, albeit brilliant, words. You, my lady, deserve a lifetime of peace. Please take it, for the worst is blessedly over. If Darkness is ever to manifest again, the good news is you’re mortal and it won’t be in your lifetime. And the cycle of the vendetta, at least, is at last broken. Good-bye, my friends. Good Work, and peace be ever with you.”

  “And also with you,” Percy murmured. “Thank you for everything you did to bring me here. I’m sure it’s been far more than I can fathom.”

  Beatrice paused. “Our Lady said before she took form that she hoped she’d have the good sense to thank me.” She smiled. “She’d be pleased you’re so sensible. And kind. She’d be most pleased by that. And by the man who adores you.”

  Percy turned to Alexi and took his hand. Only when staring at Percy did the pain in her husband’s eyes ease. She turned back, but Beatrice and her Guard were gone. The remaining Guards bowed and filed down the stairs.


  The air of Athens was sweetly restive; every hell-raising spirit was gone to oblivion or flung to the outer darkness. The press of dread was lifted from their veins, their minds clear in the stark dawn light. Only grief remained, and none of them was sure what to do.

  Michael gestured toward the trail of pilgrimlike spirits leading down toward the chapel. “Come,” he suggested. “Let us follow.”

  Alexi nodded. “I will bring Jane’s body.”

  Carrying her, it felt like a funerary procession. The Guards directly ahead of them, some in buckskin and feathers, some in ballooning pants and curving hats, were consoling one another. Clearly one of their number had not made it to his peaceful moment. A greyish spirit that would have been a ruddy-skinned woman pressed her hands to her breast, raising high, keening notes into the air that only Percy heard. By the mourner’s side, a man wearing a wolf skin placed an arm around her shoulder, the feathers in his hair fluttering with the tiniest remainders of flickering blue flame. War, no matter how unusual, had its costs.

  Soft pledges were made, vengeances were declared, and above all companionship was renewed, the one constant of their Work. Only Percy heard, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. She was utterly struck by the weight of her own mortality, far from the shifting and everlasting forms of any divinity. Each moment was increasingly precious to her, and each moment urged her never to take even the slightest bit of life for granted. Her hand pressed to her abdomen, she closed her eyes and gave a thousand thanks, the rosary beads against her chest picking up the echo and flooding her soul with blessings.

  As they passed Rebecca’s office, en route to the chapel, the headmistress gestured Percy inside. There Percy found Marianna laid unconscious in a chair, her face peaceful. She rushed forward and kissed her friend softly on the forehead.

  “We’ll move her to the infirmary promptly,” Rebecca promised, and held out her hand. “Now you should rejoin the others.”

  Percy took Rebecca’s outstretched hand and brought it to her lips. “I cannot thank you enough. For everything.”