Did Jason understand the spell and magic used on Mialani? How had he known to come?
But the first question that came out of my mouth wasn’t any of these. No . . . I was so typical.
“Jason—who’s Kitten?”
He opened his eyes and grinned at me. “You don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
“About Kitten?”
I blanched. “Oh—Rhonda? You call Rhonda Kitten?” I couldn’t imagine anyone calling Rhonda Kitten—and living.
“No.” He shook his head and lifted it, looking at me very serious. “Zoë—Kitten was my pet name for Nona.”
Pause.
“When we were lovers.”
10
I’VE always felt there would be a limit to the ew factor in my life.
And to be honest, I thought I’d already reached it. And I think I rationalized that the instant had been so traumatic I’d core-dumped it from my memory.
So I wasn’t prepared for that.
Wasn’t eeeeeeeeven going to acknowledge it. No. I sat in that limo in complete silence, all the way back to Mom’s. Yeah . . . I had my mouth open. But still.
I could feel Jason grow silent beside me. Even the Symbiont inside him was quiet. I think Nick was a little nervous and turned on the radio. I concentrated on Anastasia’s “Everything Burns” and tried to puzzle this one out.
My mom.
And Jason.
Exactly how old is he?
And when was this supposed affair?
Nick expertly pulled the limo into the back of Mom’s shop. All the lights were on inside, and the moment we parked, the back door opened. Mom, Rhonda, Joe, Lex, and Jemmy came piling out of the door. Rhonda was the first one to Jason’s side of the limo, bending down and inside—with Mom right behind her.
And I watched my mom—really watched her face as she looked at Jason. And I saw—
Zoë?
I jumped at the familiar voice in my head. I turned to see that Joe had opened my door and was leaning in, looking very worried. I grinned at him and took his outstretched hand. “I’m fine,” I said, as he helped me out of the limo.
And nearly fell flat on my face as my knees buckled beneath me. I suddenly did not feel so good. Aches, nausea, and a driving headache. Joe scooped me up in his arms—probably the only man I knew who could besides Jason—and carried me inside the house as I struggled to maintain my dignity and not throw up all over him.
We moved through the kitchen and into the botanica, and Joe sat me in my papasan chair. He removed my shoes and quickly covered me with a blanket before shoving a thermometer between my teeth before I could say a word.
Jason, Nick, Mom, Rhonda, and Lex bustled in next, with Jason helped along by Nick. My eyes widened as I saw the growing red spot on the front of his shirt. It was also evident that Jason, his eyes closed and his head lolling to one side, wasn’t moving anymore.
Nick put him on the couch to my right and immediately unfastened his shirt, exposing a well-developed six-packed chest covered in dark blood. Rhonda moved in quickly, kneeling in front of him with a jar of something—foul-smelling. Eh . . . whatever that was, it reminded me of sewage. And it was turning my already-nauseated stomach over further as the thermometer beeped and Joe snatched it out. I hadn’t realized he was still kneeling beside me.
You have a fever.
I looked over at him. I sort of knew my temperature was elevated. I had a headache. I was sore, achy. Flu symptoms. But—I also somehow knew it was in some way related to my freeing Mialani. Had to be. Which also made me stop and pause. Didn’t—hadn’t I in the past felt, like . . . euphoric after releasing a soul? Wasn’t there always a surge in power and the onset of Mr. Tingles?
Yes . . .
Or at least those were my memories. So I wondered why I felt as weak and frail as a newborn kitten? Why Mialani’s soul was somehow different?
Rhonda stood suddenly, her left hand a bloody, gooey mess as Mom moved in and knelt—not an easy feat for a woman with her breast size—and held her hands out over Jason’s body.
What was she—
Jason is in shock, Mephistopheles’ voice said softly to me.
“I thought you said you were healing him,” I said aloud. Nick looked over at me, and I could feel Joe’s eyes on me as well.
Rhonda turned and frowned. “I haven’t said anything like that.”
I waved at her. “Not you.” I pointed at Jason. “Him . . . or I mean Mephistopheles.”
Lex’s eyes widened, as did Nick’s.
“You can hear him?” Lex snapped.
I gave her a half-snark look. “Yeah. And he said he was helping Jason earlier, but now he’s in shock.”
I am. My blood, my bond with him, is what is keeping him from leaving this body. But it is at its base a human body. And not quite old enough to regenerate easily. He paused. He needs . . . I need . . .
I sort of knew in my head what Mephistopheles didn’t want to say as I watched my mom’s hands glow a soft blue. Her eyes were closed as she moved those hands over his chest, never touching him.
“He needs blood,” I said.
Lex hissed.
But Mom held up one of those hands, commanding silence. “Yes. Mephistopheles, can you take control?”
Take control?
What the fuck is that?
And then, abruptly, there was a shift in Jason’s body—not something physical because I realized I was seeing this on a different plane—as the skin took on a soft glow. And then, to my horror, Jason sat up, his eyes closed, and my mother continued to hold out her right arm.
Jason’s eyes opened. I gasped. They were milky white, much like Archer’s. Shadows gouged out the hollows of his face, making him look darker.
Malevolent.
He reached out with his hands and took Mom’s arm.
Okay—so I’m not always up with what’s going on in front me. I’m more like the movie watcher with her popcorn and soda being dragged along with the audience for what comes next.
Same then. Too late, I realized what was about to happen.
“No!” I shouted, and tried to hop off the papasan so I could pull my mom away from him.
But Joe was holding me, his arms wrapped around my shoulders.
Jason leaned in to my mother’s wrist, staring at it. I expected fangs to either materialize or slide down from beneath his lips. In amazed horror, I saw her skin split so much like a seam giving way under tremendous pressure—and blood come rushing out. He brought her arm up to his mouth and began to suckle that wound as Mom gasped and leaned her head forward.
Every bad vampire movie I’d ever seen in my short life sprang to the forefront of my thoughts. I yelled out at him to stop and pushed at Joe. Rhonda was beside me, as was Jemmy, as Joe pushed me back into the papasan and tried to shush me in my mind. I gave him a mental smack as I clawed at him to get to my mom.
Too late I felt the shift, triggered by my need to get to my mom. I’d fought to bring her back, had teetered on the edge of despair when TC took her, and I was not about to let her die in front of me just to feed some damn vampire.
I could see my hands moving from human to Wraith. From flesh to dark shadow. I heard Rhonda gasp as Jemmy cursed softly under her breath. I felt their hands fall away as I stood—
—and faced down Lex. I saw her then—Lex’s Symbiont, Yamato—an image of power superimposed over Lex’s visage. She was as tall as me—and powerful. I could see and feel the vibration of her surrounding me and the room.
STOP! came Mephistopheles’ voice in my mind.
I winced.
She winced as well.
I moved to the side to see that Jason was no longer feeding from my mother’s wrist. Instead, he was sitting up on his own, Mom’s head in his lap, and he was stroking her hair. Nick hovered over the two of them, one hand on Mom’s neck, the other tilting a watch where he could see it. He looked at me, his eyes widening for an instant, and nodded.
; Your mother is fine. She knows me, almost as well as Nick does. Trust that I would never harm her, Zoë. Never.
I stared at Jason as he stared at me. Abruptly, the whiteness left his eyes, as did the shadows in his face. His eyelids fluttered as he fell back, Nick catching him and easing him down. Jemmy moved in to rouse Mom, the two of them moving away.
It was then I realized I stood in front of the papasan transformed into a Wraith.
The new Wraith.
Rhonda was staring at me with a mixture of horror and fascination. She pointed. “You—”
Lex sighed. All trace of her Symbiont gone, tucked safely inside. “The Wraith has finally emerged, I see. Mephistopheles told me what you did.” She bowed deep and with a great deal of composure. “I am in your debt,” she said upon rising. “Mialani meant the world to me, and I’m happier knowing she is now free and not forced to endure eternity inside of a rotting corpse.” She pursed her lips. “If you will excuse me—I need time.”
And she was gone.
No smoke. No moving out the door with a dramatic slam.
Just . . . gone.
Much like TC loved to do.
Rhonda, Jemmy, and Joe were still staring at me, giving me a wide berth.
Finally, Jemmy cleared her throat. “You—you think you can tone that down a bit, girl? You’re sick. Longer you stay like that, the longer it’ll take your body to recover.”
I looked at her, seeing her for the first time with these new eyes. Jemmy’s aura was so much like my mom’s. A mixture of orange, yellow, purple, and indigo. So much transition. But—at her core—something else burned bright. A vague light I’d never seen before flickered, then disappeared, like a candle being snuffed out.
Tim and Steve appeared behind them. Steve looked indifferent—but Tim’s face reflected to me what I must look like to them. I sighed, took a deep breath, and shifted again.
Instantly, I was falling back, my knees completely useless, and Joe was there, taking me into his arms. It was hard to focus as the shadows I’d seen only seconds before filled the edges of my vision.
“She’s going out,” Jemmy said, as I felt Joe move with me. “Get her upstairs. Gonna need to let her sweat out the fever.”
Fever.
I wanted to tell them I was fine, but then my stomach rolled to the left, and I nearly threw up on Joe. I held on to him as we moved up the stairs, each step accompanied by nausea.
It’s okay, came his tentative voice in my head. I’ve got you.
I moaned. God . . . I hadn’t felt this bad since those one or two times I’d stayed out of my body too long and had to deal with the physical consequences. I felt soft sheets on my skin, but it was getting harder to keep my eyes open.
And I was . . . cold.
Very cold.
Pressure on my chest opened my eyes. I saw Joe, and Rhonda. Jemmy was on my right and made a noise. I’d wanted to ask what was happening . . . but that didn’t come out. I was horribly sick to my stomach and couldn’t move.
I am sorry, Mephistopheles said again in my mind. And I could feel his emotion in his voice. I was dishonest with you.
I blinked a few times before closing my eyes. What was happening to me? There was no way I was going to stay awake no matter how hard I fought.
Dishonest?
Yes. The Archer’s protest was valid to some degree. He knew what would happen if you released Mialani. He knew how it would affect you as well as himself.
I wanted to know, but I also wanted the dark oblivion I could see coming for me.
Mephistopheles paused. When you release a ghoul, Zoë, you don’t receive the benefits of its soul’s release.
I waited long enough on the precipice of that darkness for his explanation.
You take on its damnation.
11
USUALLY, it’s during this time I have some weird, wacky dream. Something that shows just how crazy the internal workings of my head can be. Yeah . . . well . . . I wasn’t disappointed.
I wasn’t on the back porch of Mom’s house this time—nor was I beside a babbling brook or even running through some deranged cave or other freakish nightmare place. This time I found myself in one of the squares in Old Savannah.
And you know how I knew it was a dream?
It wasn’t stiflingly hot like Savannah usually is in June.
I was dressed in my usual: dark pants, shirt, and bunny slippers (happy slippers with pink noses), and the sun was somewhere above the canopy of magnolias and Spanish moss. There weren’t any people out. No bums in the square, no shoppers, no elderly couples taking a siesta.
I couldn’t tell which of the squares I was in. No landmarks. Not even a sign.
Instead of just standing there, I started to walk around, looking for someone.
Anyone.
“Zoë?”
Ah—I knew it!
I turned—expecting to see Rhonda or Mom, or even Joe or Jemmy, Steve or even my dad. I wasn’t expecting the mature, whitehaired woman standing by the nearest tree. Her hair had a soft luminescence to it as it flowed down over her shoulders and seemed to disappear into the white—uhm—clothing she was wearing.
I tilted my head to the left, still trying to discern exactly what it was this person was wearing.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
My gaze traveled from her clothing to her face, and I concentrated on it. She had brilliant blue eyes, and wasn’t as old as I originally thought she was. But as to who she was? I was drawing a wholesome blank. I shook my head. “Hint?”
She smiled. “I’m a Guardian Familiar.”
Oh. Shit! “Alice?”
She nodded. I smiled. Hooo-kay. So . . . I was dreaming about one of Dags’s Familiars. How wrong is that?
“We need to talk—but I’m afraid I don’t have much time in this realm.”
“Realm?”
“Dream time.”
Oh. I nodded. Okay, I’ll play along. “You can do this? Come into someone’s dream?”
“Not everyone’s dream. But Darren shares a deep affinity for you—and you for him—so that makes the communication ea—”
“Wait.” I put up my hand. “Hold it. I do not have an affinity for him.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No. I. Do. Not.”
She glared at me. I sighed. “Go on.” Wasn’t this my dream?
“As I was saying . . . it makes it easier for me to find you when you are dreaming.”
I won’t say I wasn’t a little happy that I’d somehow established some kind of link with Dags—even if it was through some weird Familiar dream-link-thingie. And nothing was going to stop me from saying, “How is he?”
Saying hell. I blurted that out.
Blah.
What I didn’t expect was the confused look on Alice’s face. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and half turned away. “He’s not dreaming.”
“Not dreaming?” I frowned “You can tell?”
“Being”—she looked back at me—“what I am. I’m a part of Darren. Both Maureen and I are. It’s a symbiosis in its own way. Though—since he was fused with the Grimoire—our impact on his life lessened. He can survive without us—though maimed. But without the Grimoire, he will die.”
Yeah . . . I’d been told that. But I was still fuzzy on the details. Dags had his own stories to tell. “And you can see his dreams?”
“I could if I wanted to, but I don’t. I’m not that nosy.” She shrugged. “But the point is, he’s not dreaming. Hasn’t been for several weeks. It was spotty at first, and I’d noticed he was having trouble concentrating. But now—”
“Is it affecting his abilities?”
“Yes. Mostly with Maureen. He rarely uses his left hand when fighting, and I’m getting overtaxed. When he does call on Maureen”—she frowned—“there’s something wrong.”
“Can’t you just talk to Maureen? I mean, are you two like s
isters in this? Share the same condo? Chez Dags?”
She smiled at my quip but shook her head. “Maureen doesn’t know either. She’s just as surprised. And I know if she lies.” Alice shook her head. “We’re not sure what to do—so I wanted to see if you could help us?”
Us?
“Why hasn’t Dags answered my calls?”
Whoa. Wow. Where the fuck did that come from? I had to look inward at myself. Jealous much?
Alice’s confused expression spoke volumes. “You called him? He said he hasn’t heard from you since last month.”
“I called him!” I held out my arms. “More times than I’ll admit to. He’s been in contact with Rhonda though.”
“Well, he’s working for her group.”
I hated that. “So has she noticed anything different?” And now that I know about this not-dreaming thing, I intend on asking Rhonda about it too.
“I don’t know. We’ve been in California most of the month. The SOI had him procuring another Grimoire—though not as powerful as the one he carries.”
“Did he get it?”
“Oh yes.” She looked distracted. “I have to go—”
“Wait.” I tried to take a step forward but found I didn’t have any feet. Figures. Damn dream. I was apparently growing out of the square itself. And my happy, pink-nosed bunny slippers had hopped off somewhere. “Alice—was that what you needed to tell me?”
She wasn’t looking at me anymore—she was walking away in a lazy stroll, through a hedge made of azaleas that turned from pink and red to black and white. The trees turned gray as well as the world became monochromatic—looking a lot like an old horror movie.
And as if on cue, a hand popped out of the ground to grab at my feet. I squealed a little. Okay. I flat-out shrieked because I really wasn’t expecting skeletal hands. And then—
I sat up in bed, and something cold and wet fell into my lap. Blinking, I looked down to see a folded washcloth in front of me. My head felt as if someone had stuffed it full of styrofoam pellets, and they moved from side to side when I moved my head.
Revenant Page 8
