I hate her, I thought, and this time, I wasn’t sure if it were my own voice speaking to me.
She stepped out and closed the door. The wards wove themselves back together, a glittering lattice of burning red. The room went quiet and I was suddenly very aware of the blood. I turned to face the bed. The man, Knight, was on his back now, with his eyes shut tightly. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
He grabbed his hair and shrank into himself. For a moment, I thought he might scream.
I heard myself saying, “Are you all right?”
What the fuck do you think? the voice growled.
Knight dropped his hands and turned around to face me. His eyes were no longer black, but the most beautiful shade of blue I’d ever seen. He lifted his eyes to mine for a split second before he dropped them again, looking helpless and angry. He pushed himself up, his eyes milky, distant, and horrified. I couldn’t help but notice that he was remarkably well endowed—he put Sebastian to shame and then some. It seemed almost excessive.
“I … I couldn’t …” Knight balled up his fist and slammed it into the wall, breaking the plaster and burning his knuckles on the wards. “I didn’t … I didn’t fucking stop her! What the fuck!?” When he turned to face me, he shook his head after releasing a drawn-out breath. “And you saw the whole fucking thing.”
“Mother wanted to teach me something,” I responded simply.
With a growl, he was suddenly right in front of me. His eyes were angry and his hands formed fists around each of my upper arms. “Goddamit, Dulcie, that creature isn’t your fucking mother!” He shook me slightly, tears burning his eyes until he furiously blinked and they rolled down his face. “I know you’re stronger than this,” he said in a softer voice. He dropped his hands from my arms but continued to hold me hostage with his eyes. “I know you can break whatever fucking spell she has you under.”
His eyes were awash with something I might have called concern in someone else. He looked a bit like Sebastian, dark hair and tall, but where Sebastian was thin and elegant, this man was carved from stone. Muscles taut with tension, a perfectly defined jaw, and eyes like ice. He emanated raw power.
“I’m not under any spell,” I responded coolly. It occurred to me then that I should probably turn around and leave, but I didn’t do anything. It was bizarre, but it felt like my feet wouldn’t budge.
He smiled sadly at me as he shook his head. “Maybe it’s better this way,” he said finally. “Maybe you’ll never be the same again.” He said the words as if he wanted to believe them, but there was something in his face that rejected the thought. “If this is who you are now, I’d rather you not know the truth about what just happened,” he continued.
The other woman inside me burned me with her anger. “I do know the truth,” I heard the words leave my mouth. “And I’ll never forget it.”
The man jerked his attention away from his hands and back to my face. “Dulcie?” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I … I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t … my body, it wouldn’t, nothing was working, I couldn’t stop it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry …”
“Sorry,” I repeated, growing confused as I shook my head. “You did as Mother bid you,” I answered frankly. I wasn’t sure why, but this man’s sorrow was unsettling to me. He needed to understand that there was nothing he could have done to stop her. What Mother wanted, Mother got. “Mother’s power far exceeds your own.” He immediately began nodding, as if he couldn’t argue that. “There is nothing you could have done to stop her, so there is no point in continuing to lambaste yourself.”
He didn’t say anything right away but just stood there looking at me. It was like he was searching my eyes for something behind them. Or someone.
“Dulcie?” he said my name, and it caused a soft breeze to awaken within me, something that brought a wave of tranquility with it. “Do you know me? At all?”
You killed my father, I thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud.
Of course you know him! the voice yelled at me. You love him and he loves you!
“That’s ludicrous!” I said out loud, affronted. The man’s expression fell immediately. I supposed he figured I was speaking to him. Not that it mattered.
“Where’s Bram?” he demanded, his voice souring.
Bram. Bram. I knew the name, but from where? Another life, another world. A relic from the time before Mother. Whoever this Bram was, he couldn’t have been important. “I don’t know any Bram,” I said.
“Yes,” the man insisted, walking towards me again. “Yes, you do.” He grabbed my arm, digging his fingers into my skin. “You know him and you know me.”
I looked down at his hand. His touch was warm and soft. I could feel the pleading in his eyes, a palpable need for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. He seemed on the verge of tears. Heavy, fat tears, the kind you shed when you’ve lost something very dear to you. I couldn’t imagine what that might have been.
“You know me,” he said, his voice growing more quiet, less than a whisper, and trembling.
I stepped back. “No,” I said. “I don’t.” But my heart was pounding and I couldn’t deny the truth I glimpsed in his eyes.
Yes, you do, the voice whispered. I could feel her rage building, throwing herself against my skull until my head was throbbing.
Stop it, I thought, trying to force her back, but she wouldn’t relent.
You know him, she said, you know him!
“No,” I said.
The man stepped forward. “Dulcie?”
You love him, you stupid idiot! the incessant voice ground out.
“No!” I shouted, placing my hands at my ears, trying to drown her out. I screamed, a wordless vibration, and fell back into the wall. The fiery wards burned my skin, but I didn’t move; I couldn’t. I curled into myself, squeezing my eyes shut until I saw stars. Mother wouldn’t lie to me, I thought back at that horrible, awful voice that continued to vex me. Mother never lies. This man is evil! He killed my father! If Mother says he’s evil, he must be!
You killed your father, the voice responded in an unconcerned, almost bored tone. Knight had nothing to do with it. You know Knight isn’t evil! He’s the only man you’ve ever truly loved.
I refuse to believe anymore lies! I railed back at her. You will not convince me that I know this man or that he is anything but a murderer!
A vision filled my head then. Sharp and disjointed, the panicked recall of someone out of their mind. Sheets and sweat and hands against walls, moans and trembling limbs, corded muscles pressed against me. This man, this monster, was going in and out of me with long, deliberate strokes. Staring at me, practically unblinking, drinking in my features as though he’d never see me again.
Suddenly needing air, I threw myself from the room. I could hear the man calling after me, but I didn’t respond. I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against the wall outside, panting. The wards did a nice job of burning me, but they must have recognized me all the same because they released me. As I glanced down at my burned flesh, the wounds immediately began healing themselves until there was nothing left but porcelain, flawless skin.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and nearly jumped with alarm. I looked up to find Antoine, smiling down at me, offering me a cup of tea. “My apologies,” he said, “I should have announced my approach.” He took a few seconds to study me. “Are you unwell?”
I took the tea from him and drank deeply. “No. I’m fine.” Why am I lying to him? I opened my mouth to correct myself, but nothing came out.
Antoine nodded. “Very good. Shall I tell your mother you will not return to the gathering? You seem a bit … flustered.”
“Yes, please tell Mother I’m not feeling very well,” I said and smiled at him with gratitude. He patted me on the back and walked away, whistling.
When he was gone, I dropped the cup and ran. It shattered behind me, a sound I felt all the way to my bon
es, freezing my marrow. I wanted to get to my room, to dead bolt myself inside and scream until my throat was raw. I wanted to tear out my hair and set something on fire.
I ran straight into a tall silhouette, standing coolly in the center of the hallway. “Ah,” he said. “Where are you off to, little one?”
“I … I …” Ezra was staring at me with those curious iron eyes, one brow quirked by the question he wasn’t asking. “I don’t know.” The tears were flowing harder now, blurring my vision, but I refused to let them fall in front of him. I felt foolish showing any weakness in front of a creature who certainly wouldn’t respect it. But I couldn’t help myself.
Ezra took my hand and squeezed it. “Perhaps, Dulcie, I may be of some assistance?” he gave me a look pregnant with meaning, but I couldn’t parse it out. He was smiling, not leering, but he wanted something; what was it?
“Please excuse me,” I stammered, darting past him, fighting the urge to dematerialize to the comfort and seclusion of my bedroom. Instead, I ran the length of the hallway until I reached my door. When I opened it, Sebastian was inside, sitting on my bed, waiting for me.
I burst in and threw myself into his arms, now sobbing uncontrollably. I gasped and heaved and choked, my lips stretching, my heart tearing, and my stomach eating away at itself. I dug my nails into his arm and into mine, more than longing to die at that moment.
“Sweet princess,” he said. “What on earth happened to you?” He stroked my hair and held me close, shushing me.
I shook my head, burying my face in his shirt. “I don’t know!” My mouth opened in a silent scream.
“Shhh,” Sebastian soothed me. “You’re safe now, Princess.”
The other woman inside me laughed. The only person who will keep you safe is Knight.
Shut your fucking mouth! I thought back at her furiously.
“Darling,” said Sebastian. “Look at me.” He kissed me. I kissed him, and then … We were naked and hiding, trying not to think. I let him bury himself inside me again and again and again, grabbing me, squeezing and pulling like a child until I was bruised, but the voice wouldn’t go away. It tore my mind to pieces, filling me with memories I couldn’t bear to watch. Beds and sheets and blood, a dark dungeon and strong arms grasping my shoulders, night clubs and dark hair, blue eyes that always kept their promises.
“Mother?” I said, trying to scream, but my voice wouldn’t work. A dog, a woman, a witch, a friend. A building with white walls and a motorcycle, a blanket on a cliff, hands on my wrists, holding me down, delighting me with orgasm after orgasm … “Mother.”
Stop calling her that. Your mother is dead!
An army, a portal. A library. A gun in my hand. Smiling at the vampire on the brink, victorious. A bullet buried in Melchior’s body. A sting in my back when my father rose, just enough breath in him to pull the trigger and kill me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Knight
I stood there for a long time, staring at nothing, alone in my fucking prison, naked and burnt and cold. Bleeding from the pricks in my neck, my stomach, and my arms, I felt numb from the inside out.
What the fuck just happened? I thought. Over and over and over again, I was unable to think of anything else. How could I do what I’d just done? And in front of …
I couldn’t finish the thought. The image of it ran through my mind again, set on permanent replay, an infinite loop of fire and ecstasy laced with the lightning jolt of fear. Cold skin and dark hair and … and Dulcie … just standing there. Watching passively.
And then I wasn’t alone anymore.
“What the fuck do you want?” I spat at the shadow I spotted in the corner of the room. The air in front of me turned hazy white, and the foggy silhouette of a man began to form. He appeared to be in his fifties, judging by the grey in his hair, eyebrows, and beard. Although he was older, he appeared quite fierce—as powerful and strong as any representation of Neptune or Zeus. His presence was large and imposing. He was built exactly as I.
That was quite a display, his voice quivered, sounding as if he were underwater.
“Display?” I swallowed the urge to scream and pounce on him. Not that it would have done any good—he was transparent, merely a spirit. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
It was not a conflict that concerned me.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
I never kid. He waved his hand, and there was a hiss in the walls like something breathing.
“What was that?” I asked.
The wards are gone, the spirit responded. You are free to go now.
“You couldn’t have done that ten fucking minutes ago?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain at a stage whisper.
No, he answered, but he started explaining once my brows rose in question. Meg would have noticed you were missing and raised the alarm. She is not alone in this house—and clearly, you are no match for her, let alone her companions. Even as he was speaking, his form continued solidifying, his words coming faster. It was gradual, but the fog of his being was still condensing into something that almost looked real.
“Whatever,” I said. “Thanks for nothing.” I started heading for the door.
Stop! he commanded.
And I stopped. Frozen like stone, I couldn’t move for the better part of ten seconds. Not paralyzed, exactly, but compelled. As though whatever he was about to say was the most important thing I could possibly hear.
I summon you by your honor and your charge, by the fires that bore you and the darkness that fed you, by your ancestors and the sacred duty they upheld—
“What the hell are you talking about?” I spat out at him, still motionless. “Summon me?”
I am formally calling you to fulfill your purpose.
“My purpose is to get the hell out of here and save Dulcie,” I responded icily.
No, it is not.
“Yes, it is,” I insisted.
He shook his head. No. Lifting his hand, his fingers slowly curled into a fist. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being defied.
“What are you?” and then I felt it. A searing heat in a hollow behind my heart, burning fingers wrapping themselves around my bones, scalding my organs, calling on its sister powers that still lived inside me. I swallowed hard, blinking, my mind filled with visions of magma and black water as a large, square hand reached out through the murkiness to pull me from the kiln …
Creation, the ghostly voice ricocheted through the room, or maybe it was only in my head. The Loki, the legion created in my image to defend the Netherworld.
No, that can’t be real, I thought. You’re nothing more than a hallucination. I’ve lost too much blood, and been through too much.
Listen! He was growing more delineated, more concrete, as the seconds sped on—becoming less transparent and more opaque until it was difficult to see through him. What you witnessed is the original, the very first Loki. Your ancestor.
I immediately shook my head but none of it made any sense. Or rang true. It can’t be.
Yes, the spirit insisted. It is all true.
I gazed in awe as the images of the first Loki being born from the fires of Hades continued to rampage in my head. The first Loki—born generations before me, my historic and ancient relative by many times over, my oldest grandfather. Hewn from hard steel and liquid starlight, fire flowed through his veins, and boiling magma occupied the mere shadow of his heart. A warrior of the oldest order, one of hundreds, forged in the fires of …
I blinked at the apparition. Runes of fire scarred his face and arms, curling into the backs of his eyes, spiraling off into deep, dark nothing.
“Hades?” I whispered, dumbfounded.
Took you long enough, he said, totally unimpressed.
“You …” I shook my head, feeling dizzy. “You … aren’t real.”
On the contrary.
“You’re not. You can’t be.” Hades was a legend, a myth the ancients used to explain the existence of all the planets, as well as
the Earth and the Netherworld, a god to whom they could assign all the stories that clarified why the two worlds were separated. He wasn’t a deity, not anymore, barely more now than a character in a children’s story—no more real than Santa Claus or the boogeyman. He seemed so trite and out of style, having lost most of his clout during the thousand years of war and famine and death, occurrences that he hadn’t bothered to show up for.
In short, he was either a pathetic excuse for a fairy tale, or a totally apathetic god. The latter was definitely the worse.
“You can’t be real,” I said again. Not after everything you’ve allowed to happen. Or the way you chose to leave the world.
Hades sighed dramatically and appeared perturbed but didn’t say anything.
“You’re no more now than a fucking story.” Hades chuckled but didn’t say anything. “No. No, I’m hallucinating or dreaming.” Maybe it was a side effect from Meg’s glamour, or maybe I was going into shock. Fuck, I’d been through a hell of a lot. “This isn’t happening.”
I assure you, it is.
I laughed—a long, bitter sound. I wondered if hysteria could cause hallucinations as well. “You assuring me.” Hades, Hades, I thought. Lord of the Netherworld, my maker, for fuck’s sake. How the hell could I just sit down and swallow that whopper?
Hades rolled his eyes, like he was dealing with an indignant child on behalf of someone else and had no obligation to be nice. I’ll be brief. You know Meg, the self-appointed queen of this twisted coalition?
“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. I even felt like an indignant child. “And?”
You must stop her.
I scoffed. “That’s been the plan from the beginning. Since long before you got here.”
The red runes on his face gleamed brighter, and when he spoke, his voice sounded harsher. No. Your plan is to kill her. You must dismantle her network. Demolish and destroy everyone who still stands beside her.
“And where the fuck were you when Meg started this?” I demanded. “If you’re Hades, the almighty god of the Netherworld, why don’t you do it yourself?”
Pride and Poltergeists Page 14
