by Ali Cross
Akaros then.
He smiled, and the feeling of snakes crawled over my skin. I could almost hear them hissing.
“Desolation.”
I stared, and he stared right back. I’m not sure I even breathed while I processed the improbability of finding him in Daniel’s study. He wore his human form with ease, even if he couldn’t quite pull it off—there was no human charm, no careless sensuality. Akaros felt as coiled as a rattler and just as likely to strike.
He spread his hands wide as he regarded me. “What, no welcome for your tutor?” His voice was warm and smooth, and made me think of caramel and rich, black coffee. “I should think you’d be happy to see me.”
I blinked. Twice. “Wha—” Shaking my head, I struggled to regain my composure. I became intensely aware of all I had done since I left Hell. Of the way the spark had grown. Of all that had changed—how I had changed. “Why are you here?” I finally croaked.
He stood and crossed the room, ducking his head a little so he could look me in the eyes. He placed his hands on my forearms, pulling my hands toward him. “Isn’t it obvious? To celebrate, of course.” His eyes shone, but he did not look celebratory. More like predatory.
I cleared my throat, desperately trying to dislodge the frog that had taken up residence there. I had to protect the secret inside me at all cost, and that meant I had to harness all the cold, hard darkness I possessed. Good thing I had a lot—and that I came by it naturally.
“Celebrate what, exactly?” But of course I knew.
“Ah, Desolation. So humble. That is such a—” he waved his hand in the air as he sought the right word for whatever I was, “that is so cute.”
I pulled away from him and crossed my arms. “So, really. Why are you here?”
Akaros sighed and slid his hands into his pockets. The forced attempt at ease somehow making him appear all the more dangerous.
He stepped closer. In slow motion he trailed a cold finger along my cheek. My skin felt chalky beneath his touch and I resisted the urge to flinch. “My child, I am so proud of you.”
I froze beneath his gaze. I’m sure even my breath stilled within my body. I was nothing. There was nothing. Only Akaros.
I felt his touch on my mind. If he dared, he could speak to me in that most intimate way. But his presence slipped away and he placed his mouth near my ear, instead. “You have chosen.” He looked into my eyes again. “You have Become.”
I breathed.
He breathed.
With speed quicker than lightning he gripped the back of my neck and held me to him. He sucked air in through his nose and fear, immediate and urgent, slammed into me—he’d smell it. The honey.
When he finally released me, I stumbled back, resisting the urge to rub my neck where the skin stung from his grip.
Akaros’ eyes were shadowed and unreadable, but his lips pressed into a smile-that-was-not-a-smile.
“I see,” he said, trailing the fingers of his right hand down the staff. “You really have chosen.”
The staff.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it.
I’d seen that weapon a million times.
Felt it pressed against my throat as I pounded the floor with my fist in defeat.
Felt the sting on my body as it struck me again and again.
I’d seen it, and had not once recognized it.
But now.
Now I saw it and I Remembered.
It was mine.
I could remember its warmth in my hands.
The designs Akaros’ long fingers now caressed, I’d drawn with the tip of my own blade.
So much made sense now.
Why the staff never broke.
Why Akaros never let me hold it. Or even touch it.
And why my fingers practically burned with the desire to claim it.
I’d always thought I longed for the staff because it represented Akaros’ power over me. If I could only get it, wrest it from him in battle, I’d prove to him—and to Father—that I didn’t need to Become to beat him. That I couldn’t be kept under either of their thumbs my entire life. That I could be myself.
Now I watched Akaros as he stroked my weapon and fiery anger burned within me.
And I Remembered.
chapter twenty-three
The sun will set soon. Long shadows stretch across the field where one third of Asgard fight against us for the right to have their way. I stand beside Thor, Michael on my other side. He grips his flaming sword in his hands, his fist so tight his knuckles glow white beneath his skin. Every part of his being is coiled in anticipation of the command. Yet Thor keeps his hand outstretched.
“Hold,” he says.
My own palms slip on my staff. I’m not nearly so anxious to join the battle—I only wish it were over. I can’t bear to see all that I love destroyed. The last thing I want is to raise my hand against any of my friends.
When Loki and Akaros step forward from the tumult, chins raised in defiance, in challenge, I feel an unexpected wave of peace settle through me. The time has come.
“Now!” calls Thor, and Michael and I rush forward.
Michael outruns me, clashing against Loki, the ring of their swords screaming above the battle’s fray.
And there is Akaros.
All falls away, leaving only us. He smiles as he approaches. Slow, easy. And like we’ve done many times before, we circle one another. Akaros favors a tall, thick staff, black as his heart. But his eyes flick to my staff—a mistake, a misjudgment on his part. I take the opportunity, and attack.
The first strike catches him by surprise. The blow falls on the side of his neck, and it is the only one I land.
Akaros never lets his eyes leave mine again.
Every strike I make, he parries—until he has me on the defensive and sweat pours from my hair and runs into my eyes, stinging.
And then I hear Michael yell.
And Loki’s cry of triumph.
I look away, just for a moment, my eyes drawn to where Michael stands, Loki’s blade pressed to his throat. Where is Thor? Someone help Michael!
Time slows once more as I turn from Akaros, my feet running before my mind considers anything else. My staff falls from my hands, forgotten.
Odin steps in then, calling a halt to the battle. He banishes the third in a torrent of power that rocks our world—he strips the exiled Gardians of their Halos, leaving them with only a Shadow of their glory. With Michael in my arms I close my eyes against the burning light as Heimdall opens the Door and calls the banished Gardians onto Bifrost, the bridge to the other worlds.
When I open my eyes again, Michael and I are still there, safe once more.
But Loki, Akaros, and the others—a full third of the citizens of Asgard—are gone.
And so is my staff.
But here it was. Not five feet in front of me. My staff.
The one Odin gave me. I Remembered.
The bitter taste of sulfur flooded my mouth.
And then the honey followed.
Akaros cocked his head, the smallest curve to his lips making him appear noble and enigmatic.
But my smile was full of confidence. Odin gave the staff to me, and I would have it back.
Perhaps, Akaros said in my mind.
“Leave,” he said aloud.
I remained standing, while Daniel and James left the room, their heads bent low in submission. They didn’t know who Akaros was—at least I was reasonably certain James didn’t. And really, even if Daniel did know, his human mind could never truly comprehend the nature of Akaros, the extent of his evil, or the eternal nature of his existence. He was a god over them, and they were nothing.
“Shall we meet one more time then, child?”
I squared my shoulders and dipped my chin, a gesture of respect and honor for one’s teacher.
“We shall.”
I watched as Akaros’ human form dissolved until only his Shadow remained. Without another glance, he vanished. He, and my
staff with him.
chapter twenty-four
When I left Daniel’s study several minutes later, I found James leaning against the wall in the hallway, his phone in his hands. He slipped it into his back pocket and stepped forward to meet me in one lithe motion.
“Has she answered yet?”
Without answering, he placed his hand on the small of my back and I felt myself relax into him. This was James—warm, solid, ever unchanging.
“You all right, princess?” He tipped his head toward me as though I’d whisper a secret to him, but of course, I wouldn’t. I never had, and I wasn’t about to start.
James stopped and plucked at something in my hair. “What is this? More paint?” His voice held a laugh, and the gleam in his eye suggested if I’d give the word, he’d release his laughter so it carried us both away. For a moment I let myself think how lovely that would be. How wonderful it would be to go back to the Desi I was before. The oblivious girl with no hope, no taste of what it meant to love. To be loved.
Careless and sinful. Free and unburdened by anything resembling honor, nobility or goodness.
“Here, let me get the rest,” James said, placing his body in front of mine and walking me back against the wall.
For a second, I’d been tempted to let myself go. Let myself believe the impossible.
That I was just a normal girl.
That I knew nothing of Lucifer or Akaros.
There were no angels or demons.
No Shadows or Halos.
No right or wrong.
Only a boy and a girl. Two bodies. Two wants fulfilled.
But want no longer defined me—or, if it did, it had taken on a new meaning. I didn’t want meaningless encounters with James.
I wanted love.
I wanted Michael.
I breathed the old Desi in.
And then I let her go.
“James.”
“I love Miri,” he blurted. I forced my eyes to focus. While I’d been debating my own choices, James had made his own. He loved Miri. Whatever game we’d been playing, we both knew the stakes were too high for us to pretend anymore. There were people we loved. And that demanded things of us.
The time for indecision had passed.
James stepped back, taking stock of the change in my demeanor with a look of . . . what? Curiosity? Relief? Respect.
I smiled at that last one. James, I realized, was much like Lucy—a simple sinner who only lived in the now, the moment of satisfaction. There was no want, no greed. Only now.
“I have to go,” I said, pushing past him, but sparing him a small smile I hoped he’d take for gratitude. Because I was grateful—for the perspective James’ simplicity gave me. I could be the same as I ever was, or I could be something more.
Though he’d never comprehend it, James—and Lucy—had given me that gift.
James followed me to the kitchen, where he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter, and I picked a random set of keys from among the vast collection hanging on the wall beside the garage door.
“Where are you going, princess? It’s after midnight.”
Palming the keys I turned to look at him.
“I’ve still got some walls to paint.” I smiled, letting the warmth reach my eyes, letting James know . . . something. Just that he was something to me, because I think I meant something to him.
But right then, there was someone else I needed to see. Someone who’d waited a thousand lifetimes for me—someone I hadn’t Remembered at all, until now.
I took a sleek silver Mercedes. I even put on my Fave Mellow soundtrack.
For just these few minutes as I drove from Daniel’s home to St. Mary’s, I wanted to pretend. I was just Desi Black. Normal girl.
I forced all the thoughts that told me otherwise out of my mind.
Instead I turned up the volume and sang out with all my heart.
I didn’t know how I knew, but things were going to change. I could see the spire at the top of St. Mary’s cathedral and in less than five minutes, I’d be there. Here—where I was inside at that very moment—would never exist again.
I parked in the student parking lot and finished the song before killing the engine. I’d speak to The Hallowed, learn what they wanted me to do.
The hopeful words of the song sounded too good to be true, but for once I’d try to consider the good I might do, instead of how I might just survive. I’d spent my whole life knowing I didn’t want to be like my father, never considering I could really be anything but.
When the song ended, I breathed a long sigh of release. I stepped from the car, closed the door and locked it. For a minute, I stared at the back of the cathedral before leaning into the stormy wind. The air smelled like rain, the distant rumble of thunder an echo of my own heartbeat. I made a beeline for the light shining over a door well on the other side of the cemetery.
When I fixed my gaze on the doorway I saw Michael standing there. His Halo flared, golden and oh-so-beautiful, and he raised his hand in greeting. Despite the sliver of fear I felt, I smiled at the sight of him, and walked a little faster.
As I walked, I Remembered.
My hand in his.
His lips against my ear while he whispers how I am his greatest treasure.
The taste of his lips on mine, like honey and oranges, sweet and tart.
The whisper of drawn steel pressed my feet into a run even while I Remembered the War and how much I’d feared for him.
Except we were no longer in Asgard. Here, another war raged, though not so different from the first.
I stopped, only halfway across the cemetery.
Michael no longer looked as he had—he’d shed his human form and embraced his spirit, a warrior of Asgard—an angel. He shone with glory in the dark night. But he wasn’t shining for me.
Slowly I dragged my gaze from him to the darkness that pressed all around me. This was no ordinary night. This darkness lived and breathed.
As I embraced it, I saw the night heaved with steel as well.
I felt the cold—the unearthly cold that only meant one thing. Demons.
I should have known sooner. I should have known right away. But now I saw they were everywhere, behind, beside, even in front of me. They pressed on all sides, materializing from the shadows of tombstones and doorways.
Their silence spoke louder than any battle cry.
These were no ordinary Shadows. No ordinary demons. Not even an ordinary kind of evil.
These were Akaros’ pets—a breed of man that achieved a particularly nasty evil in their lifetimes and only grew stronger when joined with Akaros in Hell. They were his Spartans, even more dangerous now than they ever were in their blood-thirsty mortal lives.
The demon to my right raised his blade and moonlight glinted on the steely edge of his eyes. When they met mine, his lips curved into a hungry smile.
My mind wanted to scream in fear—how had I not known they were here? How could I have missed it?
Instead I tried to remember that Akaros may be the father of the Spartans, but he had also tutored me. And while I’d never beaten him, I’d always fought hard. And I’d do no less now.
Michael roared in defiance and the sound unfroze the blood in my veins. I moved. For a second I flashed to an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when she had a bunch of vamps coming at her—I laughed out loud, startling the Spartan in front of me as well as myself. What was it they said about life imitating art? Buffy had nothing on me. I raised my eyes to the sky and made Michael’s scream my own. And I lunged into action.
A soldier came at me, only the glint of his blade warning me of its descent. I stepped forward and raised my left arm to block the blow while I swiveled until my back was against my attacker’s chest. As I turned, I grasped his wrist, pulling his arm around the front of my body. I threw him over my shoulder and when he landed with a thud, I reached for his sword.
And caught a fist to my stomach.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
. I know better than to watch the weapon, when I should be watching the man.
I fell hard onto my back. I coughed and choked—it was impossible to breathe. How could I be down already? My eyes stung, but giving up was not an option.
A hard kick to my side sent me sprawling a few feet across the lawn. I rolled down a slight slope which I used to my advantage. It bought me a few seconds to get my head in the game.
On my hands and knees I braced myself for another kick coming my way.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the man. Before his sandaled foot made contact with my stomach. I reached out and grabbed his ankle with both hands, twisting it hard to the left. The soldier screamed in defiance as his whole body lifted into the air. He fell to the ground, his ankle broken, but it didn’t faze him. He stood, balancing his weight effortlessly on one foot. That’s the problem with these Spartans, they might be wearing fancy little skirts and breastplates, but they were no pansies.
Another man was only seconds behind him and when he saw what I’d done to his companion, he sneered. He pulled the belt from around his waist. While he approached I stood and assumed a guarding stance. He’d wrapped the belt around his fist several times—so he intended to deliver some heavy blows. I watched how he walked, where he put his weight, and by the time he reached me, I knew exactly how to take him down.
That guy was all about brute force. But I was fast, agile; he’d never hit me. And I was so much stronger than him.
Again and again he swung at me, while I ducked and rolled out of the way. I faked a twisted ankle and bent over to fuss with it while he came barreling down on me once more. His face took on a look of triumph—I knew he could practically taste the victory, feel my bone breaking beneath his fists. He threw everything he had into that single punch, but I jabbed up, hitting him squarely in the sternum. His feet left the ground and he landed in a somersault on the ground three feet behind me. The wind had been knocked out of him, but it wasn’t enough to stop him, not with the endurance and strength of Hell fuelling him.
