by Ali Cross
Her bright blue eyes were bloodshot and her spikey blonde hair was a little munched, but it didn’t matter. For the first time I noticed there was something about Miri that was a whole lot like Lucy. A simplicity. A purity that shone from within despite all the crap. Despite all my father had done to ruin her.
Suddenly my blood surged with a need greater than anything I’d ever felt before. It was fed by fire, a desire that Miri not fall into Lucifer’s clutches—not now, not ever.
“Miri,” I said, my voice ringing with urgency, “you need to promise me something.”
Her eyes grew wide and round. “Anything,” she said so adamantly my heart swelled—so much like Lucy. She didn’t pull away, didn’t balk at the suggestion that I might want something from her.
“Please, don’t open the liquor cabinet.” My hand was on her arm now, squeezing, pleading.
Miri blinked. Stared at me for a moment before she finally asked, “How . . . how do you even know about that?” She swallowed hard and looked at me carefully, like she might find the answer on my face.
I shook my head. “I . . . I don’t know. I just do.” I tried to fill my eyes with honesty, with truth. Tried to compel her—but I didn’t know if my Shadow gifts would work that way. “Please.”
Miri took a deep breath. She pulled her arm out of my grasp and put her hands at ten and two on the steering wheel.
Crap, I thought. I’ve ruined it.
But then she turned, and while there wasn’t even a trace of a smile in her face, she didn’t push me away, either. “Fine,” she said. “But if I promise not to . . . do that . . . then you need to promise me something too.”
This I had not expected. I leaned away from her, the door handle pressing into my side. “Okay,” I said, a lot less enthusiastically than she had responded to me.
She put her hand on my arm, her face soft and open once more. I breathed out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Promise me you’ll come to school tomorrow.”
I nodded before I could think better of it. At school I’d see him.
“Desi!” Enrique sauntered across the drive, swinging a pair of expensive sunglasses from his fingertips. I wondered which of Daniel’s guests he’d stolen them from. But then it didn’t matter. None of this—this business of Father’s, this world, this life—mattered.
“Leave me alone, Pedro,” I said, turning for the door. I fumbled with the handle. “Crap.” I felt the heat of Enrique’s body behind me. “Really? Do you really want to try again?” My body quaked with sudden and fierce rage as I turned sharply toward the carhop.
“Okay, okay,” he stuttered, holding his hands up in front of him. The sunglasses fell to the textured cement doorstep, the lenses shattering into several big pieces. “Whatever, man.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” I forced the door open and stomped inside. I ignored the voices around me, the smell of fear, the taste of desire in the air. I focused on my feet on the stairs, on the key in the lock. On the feel of the door against my back when I shut it closed against everything I loathed. Except there was still me, staring back at me from the mirror in my little dojo.
I slid down to the floor and gripped my head in my hands. I would not cry. Not again. Never again. The utter lack of control felt too wild for me, too unpredictable—I couldn’t afford such freedom.
chapter thirteen
I woke to the door pressing into my side. A shadowed figure slipped inside my room and gathered me into his arms. My hands fisted and my back arched—I’d kill whoever dared touch me.
But it was only James.
“Shh,” he soothed. And his hands were strong and gentle. Comforting.
So I let him pick me up, my head resting against his chest as he carried me to my bed.
He laid me down and stretched out beside me, pulling my afghan over the both of us. I fell asleep that way—cradled in James’ arms while he stroked my hair.
I stand on the precipice between worlds; balancing on a thin strip of light between Asgard and Helheimer. Someone holds my hand—the touch warm and familiar. But my body leans toward the darkness—to the cold emptiness I know and crave. I move into the shadows, my arm stretched behind me, only the tip of my fingers touching the warm hand of Heaven.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
And I step into the cold embrace of Hell.
I sat up, clutching the afghan to my chest and pulling air into my lungs like a drowning person.
“Shh, princess. Shh.” James, not quite awake, reached out and pulled me down. He wrapped me in his arms, hugging me tighter. “Shh . . .” His voice trailed off into even breaths as sleep claimed him once more.
But I was through with sleep. I didn’t like what it brought me.
Instead I lay there, my body as still as stone, and stared at the folds of gauzy, white fabric that draped across the four posters of my bed. Though my body felt warm in James’ arms, nothing could touch the cold nugget of truth that burned in my soul.
Images flashed before my eyes. Lucy, still and dark on the shadowy floor of the gazebo. Custom-Made—Will—or what was left of him, crumpled at my feet. Akaros, in his true and glorious form, wings spread wide behind him, laughing with satisfaction at my choice to obey him and Become what he had long crafted me to be.
Miri, the tenderness in her eyes so much like Lucy’s.
James, my new friend’s boyfriend, so ready with heat-filled touches and kisses that spoke of a need that went deeper than simple lust.
And him. The boy from my dreams, the one who was bound to make my time at St. Mary’s a living hell.
And finally, inevitably, Aaron.
Always, always Aaron.
I’d forgotten.
If I hadn’t, none of this might have happened. I wouldn’t have cared about Lucy—I would have done what a good little daughter of Lucifer would do. I’d have turned my back, and let that man have his way with her. At least one person wouldn’t be dead.
At least I wouldn’t have Become.
And I wouldn’t have made Miri believe we were friends. I wouldn’t have cried. I wouldn’t have needed her.
I certainly wouldn’t have warned her.
So I forced myself to Remember.
The look on Aaron’s face as he told Daniel he loved me. The way James’ kisses burned and froze me in place. The briefest touch of Aaron’s hand against mine when he gave me his coat—the last touch.
Because Aaron had died. And Lucy had died. And everyone else I cared about was bound to die too—unless I Remembered.
I drifted in and out of sleep, the sound of James’ heartbeat a constant soundtrack to my dreams. When he woke me in the morning, the sunlight streaming through the windows seemed thin—like it couldn’t be bothered to put the shine on for someone as dark as me.
“Oh,” I groaned, trying to run my fingers through the nasty snarl of my hair.
James laughed. “You are quite the sight, princess.” He slipped off the bed and moved to the door.
“Wait,” I said. “You and Miri?” I tried to sound accusing, to hurt him, just a little, though I didn’t know why, exactly.
He sighed, low and long, then leaned against the doorframe as if he suddenly lacked the strength to hold himself up. “There is no me and Miri.”
“Don’t lie to me James—she told me. I know you don’t love her.”
He didn’t answer for a long time. Just stood there, chin to his chest, staring at the floor. “I’m not lying—she broke up with me last night.” He grunted, a sound between a cough and a sob. “And I do love her. No past tense.” He looked up and met my gaze and there was something in his eyes I’d never seen before. Love. And not for me.
I searched my feelings and realized I felt totally okay about that. And seeing James like this I thought, maybe Miri could be good for him, like she’d been good for me.
Crossing the room, I kept my eyes glued to James’. When I reached him, I simply pulled him to me. I didn’t need to know why he was always
with me, kissing me, touching me. I didn’t need to ask, because I already knew. I held him for a long time, like Lucy had held me. Like James had held me last night. “Then don’t give up on her.”
I let go and James stepped into the hall. He met my gaze for a moment, then nodded once, in a kind of uncertain sort of way, then shut my door behind him.
I sat at my desk, watching the closed door, pondering this little piece of James I hadn’t known existed. I never would have pegged him as the kind of hold-a-girl-all-night-and-not-make-a-move-guy, the guy who wouldn’t ask for a single thing in return.
I took more care getting ready this time—which was doubly difficult considering the state of my emotions the past twenty-four hours. When I entered the kitchen looking for something to eat, Daniel greeted me from the kitchen table.
He folded his paper and regarded me with fathomless eyes. I’d had enough of eyes that gave nothing away. Why couldn’t people just be honest once in a while? I snorted. That would never happen.
“The funeral’s on Friday,” he said. And I knew he meant Lucy, not Custom-Made. “I’ve invited her father—but do you know how to reach her sister?” I just stared at him. “Desi?” His eyes darkened just a little and I smiled. Finally—a bit of truth. This, I could deal with.
“Why the hell did you do that?”
Daniel spread his hands open in an attempt to look, what? Human? Caring? What a crock.
“Her dad’s a bastard. And her sister’s dead.” I slammed down my cup of coffee. Scalding hot liquid splashed onto the back of my hand and onto the newspaper.
Daniel chuckled and leaned back so Bones, our chef, could wipe up the mess. “That’s right,” he finally said. “I’d forgotten.” But the look in his eyes said he hadn’t forgotten a damn thing.
“You’re a son of a bitch, ya know?” I grabbed my bag, the car keys and a bagel and stomped into the garage.
I got into my car, my body singing with fury. I was this close to tears, but I held them at bay, focusing on the anger instead. Lucy would hate, hate, hate to have her father at the funeral. He’d be the last person she’d want there. Heck, the only people I thought she’d want were James and me—and maybe not even me. Well, and probably all of Daniel’s girls—Lucy took care of all of them, dishing out her unique blend of friendship, sisterliness and mothering. Lucy could be anything you needed. She was the best kind of friend.
My knuckles gleamed white on the steering wheel and I realized time had passed and I’d gone nowhere. I heaved a shaky sigh, and forced the tears away. I didn’t need them—I’d already made my choice. I’d Become, just like Akaros predicted.
I’d see him soon too, and I’d make it blatantly clear I hadn’t chosen him—I hadn’t chosen Heaven at all. Really, the choice I’d make should have been obvious all along. When icy tendrils wrapped around my heart I let out a sigh. It felt good to know where I stood. I pulled out of the garage and into a new day.
I stepped into Mrs. Park’s classroom and the first thing I did was notice the boy in the back of the class. The one with the golden voice. The one from my dream. He’d been watching the door, like he’d been waiting for me. And when I saw him, he looked right back at me and smiled.
I made my heart a rock and didn’t smile back.
“What’s with you?” Miri whispered as I took my seat beside her. She looked over her shoulder, probably to see who had turned my face to stone.
“Nothing.” I pulled out my book of Shakespeare’s plays and my notebook. The smell of Mrs. Park’s sweet coffee made my mouth water. What I wouldn’t give for a steaming cup right about then.
“Well, it sure looks like something.” There was a little edge to Miri’s words and I glanced at her. Her eyes shone and bright spots stood high on her cheeks, almost like a clown’s. I paused in what I was doing and really looked at her—looked beyond the glassy eyes and rosy cheeks. She blinked slowly, and placed a trembling hand against her forehead.
Miri was in withdrawal.
The spark flared and empathy tugged at my heart.
My mind filled with things I could say, things I could do. Just reach out and touch her. Offer some comfort. Tell her I’m proud of her for sticking to our deal. Tell her everything will be okay—and I’d help.
But I didn’t say or do any of those things.
I cleared my throat, pressed my lips together and gave way more attention to my book than it deserved. I knew Macbeth by heart, anyway.
“Let’s pick up where we left off yesterday, shall we?” Mrs. Park announced once she’d finished with roll call and morning announcements (there’d be a pep rally tomorrow). “Jillian, Michael and Desi—will you please read for us again?”
Michael.
His name, which I’d avoided, rang like a bell in my mind. Michael. Michael. Michael.
I felt like my world was closing in on me, collapsing—I wasn’t in the classroom anymore, I was in that horrid garden, the light too bright, the smell too sweet and full of him. Of Michael. Lion eyes, soft curls slipping through my fingers, and the feel of his lips on my own.
“Desi?” Mrs. Park’s voice cut through the memory and dragged me back to reality. “I hope this isn’t a pattern of things to come, Miss Black?” Her words were harsh, but her eyes softened when I met her gaze. She wanted me to do well—hope for me and my future radiated from her in nauseating waves of goodness. Well, she could hope the best for me all she wanted, but I was going right where I wanted to go—straight to Hell. And really? I was totally good with that.
Screw Michael. He was eight months too late.
chapter fourteen
When class ended, I packed up my things and bolted. I felt a stab of remorse when I heard Miri say my name just before I left the room, but I didn’t let it slow me down. Instead I hurried through the halls, head high, bag clutched to my side and did my stone impersonation. Sure enough, the sea of students parted in front of me as I walked straight down the middle.
“Your Highness,” Knowles said when I entered his classroom. He even bowed his head slightly, his gaze falling to my shoes. That snapped me out of it—sort of.
I hurriedly glanced around, but we were alone. Normally, people didn’t hurry to get to calculus.
“I see you’ve returned to your usual stony glory,” he said. I narrowed my eyes, cocking my head slightly. That was awfully perceptive of him. I wondered just how far his talents ran. “Yesterday I thought time in the human realm might make you soft.” His eyes darkened, but his thin lips didn’t show any emotion at all.
I gave up trying to read him—I wasn’t in the mood for it, anyway. “Shows how little you know.” I sat at my desk and pulled out my things, letting the heavy calculus book slam on the table with a loud thwack.
A couple girls came in, talking in conspiratorial whispers, and took their seats on the opposite side of the room. I didn’t bother to look up. If I kept my head down I figured I could pass the entire class without making eye contact with anyone.
I knew the second Michael entered the room. The air grew heavy, warm, maybe even a little sultry. Noise faded away until the voices of the students sounded like a distant hum, and all I could hear was my heart beating. Though I kept my eyes glued to the desktop, I knew he stood at the front of the class for a moment, likely staring at me, waiting for me to look at him. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
I felt him approach, walking down my aisle. I saw his feet, normal feet, normal guy. Except not. I knew he was about as normal as I was. He definitely wasn’t human, not even part human like me. He felt powerful, like Akaros, like a First Order demon—I could see that from the brightness that clung to him like barely-there threads of sunlight. Michael was no demon though—he was a Gardian. An angel.
The minute I said the word to myself, Michael passed by. He let his fingertips graze my arm and I gasped as heat, the most pleasurable kind, seared through me.
The garden, his breath moving the hairs at the base of my neck, his hands as they come to rest on my shoul
ders. His lips kissing mine.
I tore myself out of the Remembering with brutal force and resisted the urge to look at my skin, to see if his touch had actually burned me.
My skin might not be burned, but my hands shook like a junkie overdue for a fix, and I shoved them under my armpits to hide them. I fought to clear my head, to understand why the Memories were plaguing me. Why are the lines between here and there blurring?
During class, Miri cast me sidelong glances laden with hurt and confusion. Knowles’ eyes kept drifting toward me, the questions he wanted to ask hanging like a cloud over his head.
Anger and resentment burned through me. Too many questions, too many demands of me. And through it all, I felt Michael’s gaze on my back, like a warm hand on my shoulder.
Just too much of everything.
My muscles tensed in anticipation of the bell, ready to jump up from my seat and hurry to my next class before anyone could snag me. But then I remembered I didn’t know where my next class was, because it was this time yesterday that I’d freaked out and run away.
I spread my hands flat on the desk. I’d never been one to run away. Or to cry. And yet, both things seemed to be the hallmark of my time here on Earth. I looked at my hands, pale skin and clean, well-kept fingernails. Very serviceable. Beneath my splayed fingers, the black numbers in my calc book peeked up at me, almost like a code I couldn’t figure out. That’s what I was—a code. A totally indecipherable code.
Shouldn’t I, at least, be able to decode it? To figure myself out?
Because I was decently good at being the devil’s daughter when I was in Hell—when all that was required of me was to survive, to exist. But here—here there was just so much. Knowles and his supposed training—though I doubted it would come to anything. Miri and her addiction, her need for a friend—which I felt in her as surely as she felt it in me. And Michael. I could only guess what he might want from me, but he had no idea just how unreasonable that was. Whatever we might have promised each other before I left Asgard, I belonged to Hell now.
