by P. C. Cast
“Okay, no problem. I was going to go for a jog. You know what they say: a chubby gay is not a happy gay. Duch can take some laps with me. She’ll be too exhausted to obsess over you.”
“It’s so cute that you jog.”
“You don’t say that when I’m hot and sweaty afterward,” Damien said as he stood up and fished Duchess’s leash from the winter-browned grass.
“Hey, sometimes I like you hot and sweaty,” Jack said, smiling up at him.
“Then maybe I won’t take a shower afterward,” Damien said.
“Maybe that’s a really good idea,” Jack said.
“Or maybe you should take the shower with me.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Now that’s more than maybe a really good idea.”
“Tart,” Damien said, bending to kiss Jack deeply.
“Linguist,” Jack said before kissing him back.
Duchess wriggled her way between them, huffing and wagging and licking both of them.
“Oh, pretty girl! We love you, too!” Jack said, kissing Duchess on her soft muzzle.
“Come on, let’s go get some exercise so we stay properly svelte and attractive for Jack,” Damien said, pulling on the big dog’s leash. She followed him, but with obvious hesitance.
“It’s okay. He’ll bring you back soon,” Jack said.
“Yep, we’ll see Jack soon, Duch.”
“Hey,” Jack called after the two of them. “I love you two!”
Damien turned, picked up Duchess’s paw, waved it at Jack, and yelled, “We love you, too!” Then they jogged away, Duchess barking excitedly as Damien pretended to chase her.
Jack watched them go. “They’re the best, ever,” he said softly.
The sword he’d just put the final fold on was the last of the five he’d made. One for each of the elements, Jack told himself. I’ll hang these five and let them be the testers.
As he cut the fishing line and threaded it through the last of the five, Jack’s eyes kept going upward, seeking the right spots from which to hang the decorations. But he didn’t need to look long. The tree seemed to be showing him where he needed to go. The thick trunk had been split almost in two, causing the sides of the massive old oak to tilt so that the thick branches leaned precariously close to the ground. Where before Kalona had escaped from the earth, the lowest branches couldn’t have been reached with a twenty-foot ladder, now his eight-foot ladder gave Jack more than enough height.
“Up there. Right up there is where the first one should go.” Jack gazed straight up from where he’d been sitting beside the little table at one of the major limbs of the tree that hung directly above him like a sheltering arm. “It’s perfect because it’ll hang over where I made all of the swords.” Jack dragged the ladder closer to the table and held the first of the five paper swords by the long length of fishing line he’d tied to its hilt. “Oh, oopsie. Almost forgot. Gotta practice,” he said to himself, pausing to punch the controls on the portable iPhone dock he’d carried out there with the table.
Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I’m through with playing by the rules
Of someone else’s game …
Rachel’s voice began the song, strong and clear. Jack paused with one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, and when Kurt took over the lyrics he sang with him, matching his sweet tenor, note for note.
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep …
Jack moved up the ladder as he and Kurt sang, pretending he was climbing the steps of the Radio City Music Hall where the Glee cast had performed on tour last spring.
It’s time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap!
He reached the top rung of the ladder, paused, and began the first chorus with Kurt and Rachel while he reached up and threaded the fishing lure through the bare winter branches.
He was humming along with Rachel’s next lines, waiting for Kurt’s part again, when movement at the split base of the tree caught his attention and his gaze shifted to the damaged trunk. Jack gasped. He was sure he saw, right there, an image of a beautiful woman. The image was dark and indistinct, but as Kurt sang about losing love he’d guessed he’d lost, the woman became clearer, larger, more distinct.
“Nyx?” Jack whispered, awestruck.
Like a veil lifting, the woman was suddenly fully visible. She raised her head and smiled up at Jack, as exquisitely lovely as she was evil.
“Yes, little Jack. You may call me Nyx.”
“Neferet! What are you doing here?” The question burst from him before he could think.
“Actually, at this moment, I’m here because of you.”
“M-me?”
“Yes, you see, I need your help. I know how much you like to help others. That’s why I’ve come for you, Jack. Wouldn’t you like to do something for me? I can promise you that I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Worth my while? What do you mean?” Jack hated that his voice sounded squeaky.
“I mean if you do a little thing for me, then I’ll do a little thing for you, too. I’ve been away from the House of Night fledglings far too long. Perhaps I’ve lost touch with what makes their hearts beat. You could help me—guide me—show me. In return I would reward you. Think about your dreams, what it is you would want to do with your long life after you Change. I could make your dreams come true.”
Jack smiled and threw his arms out wide. “But I’m already living my dream. I’m here, in this beautiful place, with friends who have become my family. What more could anyone want?”
Neferet’s expression hardened. Her voice was stone. “What more could you want? How about dominion over this ‘beautiful place’? Beauty doesn’t last. Friends and family decay. Power is the only thing that goes on forever.”
Jack answered with his gut. “No, love goes on forever.”
Neferet’s laughter was mocking. “Don’t be such a child. I’m offering you much more than love.”
Jack looked at Neferet—really looked at her. She’d changed, and in his heart he knew why. She’d accepted evil. Utterly, completely, totally. He’d understood it before without really knowing it. There is nothing of Light or me left within her. The voice in his mind was gentle and loving, and it gave him the courage to clear the dryness from his throat and look Neferet squarely in her cold, emerald eyes. “Not to be mean or anything, Neferet, but I don’t want what you’re offering. I can’t help you. You and I, well, we’re not on the same side.” He started to climb down the ladder.
“Stay where you are!”
He didn’t know how, but Neferet’s words commanded his body. It felt like he was suddenly wrapped tightly, frozen in place by an invisible cage of ice.
“You impudent boy! You actually think you can defy me?”
Kiss me goodbye
I’m defying gravity …
“Yes,” he said as Kurt’s voice rang around him. “Because I’m on Nyx’s side, not yours. So just let me go, Neferet. I really won’t help you.”
“That is where you’re wrong, you incorruptible innocent. You’ve just proven that you’re going to help me very, very much.” Neferet lifted her hands, making a sifting movement in the air around her. “As I promised, here he is.”
Jack had no idea who Neferet was talking to, but her words made his skin crawl. Helplessly, he watched her leave the shadows of the tree. She appeared to glide away from him and toward the sidewalk that would take her to the main House of Night building. With an oddly detached observation he realized her movements were more reptile than human.
For an instant he thought she really was leaving—thought he was safe. But when she reached the sidewalk she looked back at him, and she shook her head, laughing softly. “You’ve made this almost too easy for me, boy, with your honorable refusal of my offer.” She made a throwing motion at the sword. Wide-eyed, Jack was sure he saw something black wrap around the hilt. The sword turned, turne
d, turned, until the upraised point was aimed directly at him.
“There is your sacrifice. He is one I have been unable to taint. Take him, and my debt to your Master has been fulfilled, but wait until the clock chimes twelve. Hold him until then.” Without another look at Jack, Neferet slithered out of his sight and into the building.
It seemed a long time before midnight came, before the school clock began chiming, even though Jack closed his mind to the cold, invisible chains that bound him. He was glad he’d put “Defying Gravity” on a loop. It comforted him to hear Kurt and Rachel singing about overcoming fear.
When the clock began chiming, Jack knew what was going to happen. He knew he couldn’t stop it—knew his fate couldn’t be changed. Instead of pointless struggle, last-minute regrets, useless tears, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then—joyously—joined Rachel and Kurt in the chorus:
I’d sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I’m defying gravity
I think I’ll try
Defying gravity
And you won’t bring me down!
Jack’s sweet tenor was ringing through the branches of the shattered oak when Neferet’s lingering, waiting magic hurled him off the top of the ladder. He fell gruesomely, horribly, onto the waiting claymore, but as the blade pierced his neck, before pain and death and Darkness could touch him, his spirit exploded from his body.
He opened his eyes to find himself standing in an amazing meadow at the base of a tree that looked exactly like the one Kalona had shattered, only this tree was whole and green, and beside it was a woman dressed in glowing silver robes. She was so lovely Jack thought he could stare at her forever.
He knew her instantly. He’d always known her.
“Hello, Nyx,” he said softly.
The Goddess smiled. “Hello, Jack.”
“I’m dead, aren’t I?”
Nyx’s smile didn’t waver. “You are, my wonderful, loving, untaintable child.”
Jack hesitated, then said, “It doesn’t seem so bad, this being dead thing.”
“You’ll find it isn’t.”
“I’ll miss Damien.”
“You’ll be with him again. Some souls find each other again and again. Yours will; you have my oath on it.”
“Did I do okay back there?”
“You were perfect, my son.” Then Nyx, the Goddess of Night, opened her arms and enfolded Jack, and with her touch the last remnants of mortal pain and sadness and loss dissolved from his spirit, leaving love—only and always, love. And Jack knew perfect happiness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rephaim
The moment before his father appeared the consistency of the air changed.
He’d known Father had returned from the Otherworld the instant it had happened. How could he not have known it? He’d been with Stevie Rae. She’d felt Zoey become whole again just as the knowledge of his father had come to him.
Stevie Rae … It had been less than a fortnight since he’d been in her presence, spoken with her, touched her, but it seemed that their time together had been an eternity ago.
If Rephaim lived for another century he would not forget what had happened between them just before Father had returned to this realm. The human boy in the fountain had been him. It hadn’t made rational sense, but that didn’t make it any less true. He’d touched Stevie Rae and imagined, for just a heartbeat in time, what could have been.
He could have loved her.
He could have protected her.
He could have chosen Light over Darkness.
But what could have been was not reality—was not to be.
He’d been born of hate and lust, pain and Darkness. He was a monster. Not human. Not immortal. Not beast.
Monster.
Monsters didn’t dream. Monsters didn’t desire anything except blood and destruction. Monsters didn’t—couldn’t—know love or happiness: they weren’t created with that ability.
How then was it possible that he missed her?
Why this terrible hollowness in his soul since Stevie Rae had been gone? Why did he feel only partially alive without her?
And why did he long to be better, stronger, wiser, and good, truly good for her?
Could he be going mad?
Rephaim paced back and forth across the rooftop balcony of the deserted Gilcrease mansion. It was past midnight and the museum grounds were quiet, but since the cleanup after the ice storm had begun in earnest, the place was becoming busier and busier during daylight hours.
I’m going to have to leave and find another place. A safer place. I should leave Tulsa and make a stronghold in the wilderness of this enormous country. He knew that was the wise thing to do, the rational thing to do, but something compelled him to stay.
Rephaim told himself it was simply that he hoped now that his father had returned to this realm, he would also return to Tulsa, and he was waiting here for him to come back—to give him a purpose and a direction. But in the deepest recesses of his heart he knew the truth. He didn’t want to leave this place because Stevie Rae was here, and even though he couldn’t allow himself to contact her, she was still near, reachable, if only he dared.
Then, in the middle of his pacing and his self-recriminations, the air around him became heavy, thick with an immortal power that Rephaim knew as well as his own name. Something tugged within him, as if the power that floated in the night had attached itself to him and was using him as an anchor to pull itself ever nearer.
Rephaim braced himself, physically and mentally, concentrated on the illusive immortal magick, and willingly accepted the connection, not minding that it was painful and draining and filled him with a suffocating wave of claustrophobia.
The night sky above him darkened. The wind increased, battering Rephaim.
The Raven Mocker stood his ground.
When the magnificent winged immortal, his father, Kalona, deposed Warrior of Nyx, swooped down from the heavens and landed before him, Rephaim automatically dropped to his knees, bowing in allegiance.
“I was surprised to feel that you remained here,” Kalona said without giving his son permission to rise. “Why did you not follow me to Italy?”
Head still bowed, Rephaim answered. “I was mortally wounded. I have only just recovered. I thought it wise to await you here.”
“Wounded? Yes, I recall. A gunshot and a fall from the sky. You may rise, Rephaim.”
“Thank you, Father.” Rephaim stood and faced his father, and then was glad his face didn’t betray emotions easily. Kalona looked as if he had been ill! His bronze skin had a sallow tint to it. His unusual amber eyes were shadowed by dark circles. He even looked thin. “Are you well, Father?”
“Of course I am well; I am an immortal!” the winged being snapped. Then he sighed and brushed a hand wearily across his face. “She held me within the earth. I was already wounded, and being trapped by that element made my recovery before my release impossible—and since then it has been slow.”
“So Neferet did entrap you.” Carefully, Rephaim kept his tone neutral.
“She did, but I could not have been so easily imprisoned had Zoey Redbird not attacked my spirit,” he said bitterly.
“Yet the fledgling lives,” Rephaim said.
“She does!” Kalona roared, towering over his son and causing the Raven Mocker to stumble backward. But just as quickly as his rage exploded, it fizzled, leaving the immortal looking tired again. He blew out a long breath, and in a more reasonable voice repeated, “Yes, Zoey does live, though I believe she will be forever changed by her Otherworld experience.” Kalona stared off into the night. “Everyone who spends time in Nyx’s realm is altered by it.”
“So Nyx did allow you to enter the Otherworld?” Rephaim couldn’t stop from asking. He steeled himself for his father’s reprimand, but when Kalona spoke, his voice was surprisingly introspective, almost gentle.
“She did. And I saw her. Once. Briefly. It
was because of the Goddess’s intervention that that gods-be-damned Stark is still breathing and walking the earth.”
“Stark followed Zoey to the Otherworld, and he lives?”
“He lives, although he shouldn’t.” As Kalona spoke he absently rubbed a spot on his chest, over his heart. “I suspect those meddling bulls have something to do with his survival.”
“The black and white bulls? Darkness and Light?” Rephaim tasted the bile of fear at the back of his throat as he remembered the slick, eerie coat of the white bull, the unending evil in his eyes, and the white-hot pain the creature had caused him.
“What is it?” Kalona’s perceptive gaze skewered his son. “Why do you look thus?”
“They manifested here, in Tulsa, just over a week ago.”
“What brought them here?”
Rephaim hesitated, his heart beating painfully in his chest. What could he admit? What could he say?
“Rephaim, speak!”
“It was the Red One—the young High Priestess. She invoked the presence of the bulls. It was the white bull who gave her the knowledge that helped Stark find the way to the Otherworld.”
“How do you know this?” Kalona’s voice was like death.
“I witnessed part of the invocation. I was wounded so badly that I did not believe I would recover, that I would ever fly again. When the white bull manifested, it strengthened me and drew me to its circle. That was where I observed the Red One getting her information from it.”
“You were healed, but you didn’t capture the Red One? Didn’t stop her before she could return to the House of Night and aid Stark?”
“I could not stop her. The black bull manifested and Light banished Darkness, protecting the Red One,” he said honestly. “I have been here since, regaining my strength and, when I felt that you had returned to this realm, I have been awaiting you.”
Kalona stared at his son. Rephaim met his gaze steadily.
Kalona nodded slowly. “It is good that you awaited me here. There is much that is left undone in Tulsa. This House of Night will soon belong to the Tsi Sgili.”
“Neferet has returned, too? Is the High Council not holding her?”
