by Kristie Cook
Nobody answered.
“HELLO?” My shout bounced off the stone walls, reverberating back to me. Concern exploded into panic. Something was wrong. I ran through the entire first floor of the mansion, throwing open doors to offices, bathrooms, staff rooms, parlors, the media room, closets … all except the doors to the Sacred Archives, which wouldn’t open. “Dorian? Owen? Vanessa? Blossom?”
I yelled all of their names as I ran. I thought I caught a flash of pink and then a glimpse of white hair.
“Ophelia! Is that you? Are you here?”
Still no reply. I ran up to the second floor, throwing more doors open, and finding nobody. And then to the third story, even daring to enter Rina’s wing for the first time since she’d died.
“Solomon?” I called. “Where are you?”
Not only was nobody around, but there were simply no signs of anyone being here. No coffee cup left on a side table. No hand towels in the bathrooms looking like they’d ever been touched. Not a single piece of trash in the bins—not a tissue or balled up sheet of paper to be found.
Adrenaline shot through my veins, and my heart sprang into a gallop. I ran back to our suite, throwing the doors open with a bang.
“Tristan, wake up! Something’s wrong. Everybody’s gone.”
He didn’t so much as stir, so I launched myself at the bed and gave him a shake.
“Wake up. Come on.”
He continued to sleep, which wasn’t like him. If anything, he should have shot upright, fists flying in natural reaction. But he did nothing except lay there.
“Tristan, please,” I begged as anxiety turned to fear. I straddled him, grabbed his biceps, and gave him a violent shake. His head only lolled side to side. I peeled back an eyelid, and still no response. His pupil didn’t even constrict. “What’s wrong with you? Wake up, Tristan! Please.”
I yelled at him, jumped on him, hit him with a pillow. A shiny, royal blue stone that had been on the pillow under his neck slid to the side. Another one on my side of the bed caught my eye. I picked them up and studied them, but had no idea what they were. Faerie stones, maybe? Had a faerie who favored the Daemoni done this to my husband?
I took off again, screaming for help. Still nobody came. I ran for the media room and picked up a phone, but dead air greeted my ear. No power in the media room at all.
“What’s going on?” My frustrated screams echoed through the halls.
I blurred back to the Sacred Archives and tried the doors again. I yanked on them, punched at them, kicked at them, threw my shoulder into them, and then my whole body. I blasted a stream of electricity at them, and only then did they finally budge. With another shove, they flew open. Into a dark room no bigger than a coat closet.
Where were the shelves and shelves of books? Where was the sunshiny scent? Where was the Otherworldly glow that usually illuminated the room—which was usually at least five times this size?
I slowly turned and left the room, then made my way down the corridor in a daze as I tried to solve the current puzzle of my life. My surroundings faded out as my mind strained to figure out what had happened to my husband. To my son. To everyone else. To my memories. Without realizing it, I meandered into the front sitting room, where the hearth was dark and cold for the first time I could ever remember. My head tilted as my gaze traveled across the small tapestries on the wall. They weren’t quite right, either, like so many things in this house. I shuffled around to face the big one. The tapestry that stretched from ceiling to floor and wall to wall. The one that depicted the Ames Family Vine with the green silvery leaves for the women and the brown ones for the sons, each of those with their stems broken from the vine, showing how they’d defected to the Daemoni. All of the leaves for the sons were like that except Dorian’s, whose had been brown, but had remained attached to the vine.
Until now.
“No!” I cried out when my eyes landed on his leaf at the top of the vine. It was no longer fully connected, only the tip of its stem still touching the branch. “Oh, Dorian. What did you do? What happened?”
I tried to focus on the last time I’d seen him, tried to figure out what events might have transpired to make his leaf pull away from the vine. The only answers came from my dream, a nightmare actually. One where Lucas had essentially brought Hell to Earth, where Dorian had freed Noah and taken off, where I’d died and gone to Heaven and then to Hell, where Tristan had followed me, but when we’d tried to escape, only I had made it. I’d left him behind in Hell. But that had only been a dream. He was upstairs this very moment, still sleeping.
Right …?
Reality slammed down on me, caged me like a monstrous Demon claw, capturing me within its talons of Hellfire that burned from both heat and cold at the same time.
“NOOOOO!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, the wail sounding like those from the suffering souls in Hell. I collapsed in a heap on the floor, and something in my corset poked me between the breasts. My fingers grasped the corners of thick paper stuffed into a hidden pocket inside, and I pulled it out, smoothed out the folded postcard, gazed at the picture of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial in springtime, cherry blossoms blooming all around the tidal basin. Tears filled my eyes and dropped onto the creased postcard. My head shook violently. “No, no, nooooo.”
The visions of fire and black ice, of Satan in both his suave and beastly forms, of Demons swinging their weapons and monsters pushing through the walls, obliterated the scene around me. The howls and shrieks of burning souls filled my ears and mind. I sank into a crouch and fell backwards as my hands grabbed at my hair. This couldn’t be happening. Everything from my dream—the war, the losses, the trips to Heaven and Hell—they couldn’t have been real. The memory of Mom, Rina, and Cassandra with their Angel-like bodies in a white, foggy space flashed in my mind.
It was all real. So very damn real.
“How could you do this to me?” I screamed at them as I rocked up to my knees and lifted my face upward as tears streamed down. “You sent me here to do this alone? What am I supposed to do? I can’t even leave!”
Exasperation brought another angry scream that started in my belly, tore through my throat, and launched itself out like a dragon finally set free. The power was so great, my back even arched, cracking and popping, and I cried out again, this time with pain. It passed in a moment, and then a big shadow loomed over me.
I shrieked and jumped to my feet. Something very large and very dark was behind me. I spun, landing with my knees bent and my hands out, ready to fight. But it had moved with me. I twisted around again, and it followed. And when I knew this familiar game, I could no longer scream out my frustration. I could only double over with a fit of insane laughter.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
One side of the thing lifted and spread out as if to prove that it was there, the tips hitting the wall four feet away, and it wasn’t even fully extended. My eyes cut sideways, looking at it out of curiosity, although most of me fumed over its very existence. Well. At least it was pretty. The other side spanned out as well, then they came together behind me, then back out, creating a breeze and a fluttering sound. The scents of baby powder and sunshine wafted in the air.
“Wings,” I said out loud. “I have wings.”
And here I’d thought I’d escaped the monstrosities.
I had to admit they were stunningly beautiful. Not white anymore or pearlescent like Mom’s, Rina’s, and Cassandra’s. The feathers were purple, the deep, royal purple of the Amadis matriarch, darkening toward the quill tips, which were a shiny black, as though they’d just been dipped in ink. Like no wings I’d ever seen, real or imaginary. My hand reached out and hung in the air, hesitating for a moment, before I caressed my fingers over the feathers. I gasped at how soft and silky they felt to my fingertips. A tingling, like my favorite sensation of someone brushing my hair, ran through the shafts and along the wings to my spine, causing me to shudder.
“Oh, those are nice,” sa
id a very female and very British voice behind me.
I spun around, my wings brushing the walls and knocking over a chair. The feathers had hardened with my surprised response, and the tingling sensation changed, becoming more like that of fingernails dragging across a hard surface. As more of a reaction than a thought, the wings closed in behind me, tight against my back.
A white-and-pink-haired woman with a voluptuous body clad in a fifties-style dress with cherries on it stood in front of me. She craned her neck, her big, blue eyes still trying to see my wings.
“Mine are pink, see?” A flash of gauzy, hot pink wings showed, shaped more like a butterfly’s than a bird’s, like mine. They disappeared before I could barely catch a glimpse of them. When my eyes flew to her face, it seemed to have momentarily changed, too—a more impish nose, eyes uplifted at the outside corners, and pointier ears—but when she frowned, everything looked normal again. “Been havin’ problems.”
My brows scrunched together, and I shook my head to clear it.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, quickly realizing that she was a faerie. Had those been her stones in our bed? Was she holding us captive? She was certainly familiar. “I know you. You were in England. You’re one of the faeries that sent us to the abbey in Whitby. Stacey … right?”
“That’s right, love,” she said, friendly enough. “Debbie and me took care of you then, just like we took care of you now.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Faeries did not do so-called favors, like “taking care of you.” Not without strings, anyway.
“How, exactly, did you take care of us?” I asked. “Did you poison us with your stones? What have you done to Tristan?”
Her eyes widened, sensing the accusations in my tone. “We helped you! Tristan’s missing his soul. That’s what’s wrong with ’im!”
I blinked. Missing his soul … because I’d left him in Hell. My eyes burned, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from trembling, because I refused to cry in front of her. “Then what did you do?”
“We collected your bodies and hid them here. They healed themselves, but we protected you with the faerie stones so you’d be physically strong and good to go when your souls returned from the Otherworld.”
I squinted at her. “What?”
“Your bodies were missing their souls, so even though they physically healed, they wouldn’t last long without your essence. So we helped. Brought you here.” She paused, and her baby blues misted over as her chin trembled. “I’m … I’m sorry about the baby. There was nothing … the blood …”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“Um … it’s okay. I know. I’d already accepted it.” Not that I didn’t feel like a thick shard of glass had just been stabbed into my heart, but I knew she wasn’t to blame for the miscarriage, nor was there anything she could have done.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she went on, as though rushing to move beyond the awkward moment, “but shame ’bout Tristan. I know he’ll come, though. ’Course, I can’t hardly stand to be here myself with what the Normans did to the planet, thanks to Lucas.” Her voice had become watery with emotion, and she cleared it with a cough. “We faeries are creatures of nature, Earthly nature or otherwise. We can’t survive on a near dead world like this one. Didn’t know if you two would make it, either, so we got you as far away from the nastiness as we could.” She tilted her head and crossed her arms over her ample chest, mirroring my position as she studied me. “Seems like you’re okay. Better’n okay by the looks of ya.”
I uncrossed my arms and placed my hands on my hips instead. “Hold on. Just so I understand. You’re saying that you moved our bodies to the Amadis mansion to protect us from the nuclear fallout? And your faerie stones have kept our bodies alive, waiting for our souls?”
“Yeah, that’s right—nuclear and other fallout. Except we’re not at the Amadis mansion. I just gave you that illusion so you’d feel at home when you came back. I’ve never been there, so I did me best copying your memories.”
My mouth dropped open, although I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d noticed the inconsistencies in the mansion. The weirdness. Her explanation was weird in itself, but at least it was an explanation.
“Then where are we? Where is everyone else? Do you know if they survived? My people?”
The corners of her mouth quivered as though she fought a frown. “You’re in a safe place for now. I don’t know about anyone else, or the rest of the world. All I know is the Daemoni seem able to roam anywhere they please, so maybe it’s safe for you and the rest of the Amadis, too?”
“You haven’t seen anyone through the veil when you’re in the Otherworld?”
She shook her head, making my stomach drop, and her hands wrung together. “There is so much going on in the Otherworld … too much to focus on this one when we are there.”
She meant the fighting between the Angels and Demons. The faeries probably watched it for entertainment, passing buckets of faerie popcorn between them.
“Why?” I asked.
She blinked at me, reflecting my bewilderment.
“Why would you faeries go through all of this trouble for us?” I clarified. “You don’t take sides in the war.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh but we have, haven’ we? Some of us have, helpin’ one side or the other out since the very beginning. And the Amadis need you. This world needs you. So Debbie—remember her in York with me when you were looking for your lad?—she and I did what we could to help.”
“You saved us for the Amadis and the Angels?” I asked skeptically. “For the Normans? You don’t even like Normans.”
“Sure we do,” she said unconvincingly. “Except when they destroy the natural energy that gives us life.” She looked away and sucked her cheeks in, pursing her lips together as though for a kiss.
“There’s something else,” I guessed.
A grimace flashed across her face for the briefest moment, and then she looked back at me with a bright smile. “Well, there is one tiny thing.”
And here it comes. The payback they’d require for saving Tristan’s life and mine. Of course, I couldn’t argue that I owed them, although I’d much prefer Tristan’s soul be in his body. That wasn’t their fault, however. I mentally cringed from the horrible visions threatening to fill my mind and gave them a hard shove out. I couldn’t break down now, as much as I wanted to at the thought of Tristan still in Hell.
I inhaled a deep breath and blew it out. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s not really anything specific. We just need you to win. You have to beat Lucas and make sure arsehole Satan stays where he belongs. And, well … maybe save our folk while you’re at it.”
I cocked my head. “What do you mean, save your folk?”
Her gaze slid away as she averted her eyes. My question hung between us for a moment.
“Would you like a cuppa tea?” She suddenly produced a tray in her hands with a teapot and two cup-and-saucer settings. “Let’s sit.”
Her head gave a small jerk, and the chair I’d knocked over with my wing righted itself. She sat down in it, placing the tea service on the coffee table in front of her. I moved over to the leather couch and began to sit down, but my wings got in the way. I tried sweeping them to the side, but they were too huge and unmanageable. So I straightened up.
“I’ll stand,” I said.
“Can’t you make them hide?” she asked as she poured a cup of tea.
“Hide?”
“Unless you plan on rompin’ all over the place with those whoppin’ things on your back?”
I frowned. Could I hide my wings like Sasha could hide hers? With a simple thought of “hide,” they disappeared. My excitement over this revelation was instantly extinguished, though, with the thought of the lykora. Another family member whose whereabouts were unknown. I hadn’t seen her since she’d chased off a Demon at the Jefferson Memorial, right before I’d died … or whatever I’d done before waking up here.
I sat down with a heavy heart.
Stacey handed me a cup and saucer, and although I took it, I didn’t plan to drink the contents. No telling what was in faerie tea.
“I’m not goin’ to poison you,” she said. “I need you. All the fae folk do.”
I pretended to take a sip and then set the cup on the coffee table. “Explain.”
Her white brows scrunched together with concern. “Some of us are missin’. Lots of us, really, ’specially anyone who helped the Amadis. They’ve just been disappearin’. Like Debbie.”
I recalled the faerie who’d been with her that night in York, when we’d followed Kali, Owen, and Dorian through a portal to England. She’d looked similar to Stacey, but with purple in her hair rather than pink. “Debbie’s gone?”
Stacey nodded. “She was here with us, making sure you and Tristan were okay, and then she went outside and poof! Gone.”
“Maybe she’s in the Otherworld?”
“Oh, I know she is. I know they all are. Just not in a place I can go. Unless I’m taken there.” Her voice filled with fear with that last statement. “Those of us who are left believe Satan’s got them. Punishing them for helping his enemy.”
“You think Satan’s locked up the faeries?”
“Not just the faeries. Several others, too. He’s had entire races locked up for eons. Anyone who doesn’t support him. He’d gone after them before, and now he’s goin’ after the faeries.”
“And you think I can help how?”
“Satan’s only as powerful as the souls in the physical realm allow him to be. They give him the power. If you take out the Daemoni, you knock his power down several notches. My people can free themselves then.”
Okay. No pressure there. She made it sound so simple, but what she asked was no different than what the Angels asked of me. And no less ridiculous. I didn’t even know if she told me the truth or had some ulterior motive.
I leaned back against the couch and studied her face, since I couldn’t read her mind. Faerie minds came as blank slates to me. She seemed sincere with genuine concern, but she was a faerie, known for their trickery. Would she tell me such dire stories in a time like this just for the fun of it? I didn’t know. I didn’t know her well enough, and I really didn’t trust faeries. Even if she had helped us before. Actually, because she had helped us before, which gave her all the more reason to jack with me. Regardless of what she said about some faeries leaning one way or the other between good and evil, they didn’t do anything for free.
