by Vicki Keire
No doctors. Jack, hurt? I remembered the time he Dreamwalked into my living room, battered and upset, with a gaping wound down his back. When a Hellhound takes a swipe at you, the wound pretty much cauterizes itself, he’d said.
What if I could help all the Nephilim held prisoner here? Would I, could I, trade that for my own safety?
I followed the smoky forms of the two spectral women out into the stone hallway. Each step felt heavier than the last. I knew better than to drink with demons and believe in their lies. Something horrible was waiting for me, I just knew it. And I hated Belial even more because―for a few seconds―I had actually let myself think I might wind up safely out of here. Now guilt coursed through my veins for even thinking it. He’d probably hurt someone to make me use my request just to torment all of us.
One of the Grey Ladies paused in her silent glide. I couldn’t be sure, but I think she was studying me. I forced my shoulders back and my head up straight. I couldn’t afford to show weakness in this place. No weakness, ever. But she merely hovered, waiting for me to pass. My shoulder and left arm passed right through her as I walked. I wondered if it was uncomfortable for her to come into contact with human flesh, to see the mortality that had been stripped from her. I expected it to feel creepy when I passed through her, but it didn’t. Instead, it was like walking through cool, fine fog.
Cool fog that smelled like roses and promised rain. Not unpleasant at all. When I looked back, she hovered in the hallway like a still cloud. I wished they had faces, the unfortunate Grey Ladies, so I could see what she was thinking, but she was even harder to read than Belial.
e continued down a long corridor made of a duller, rougher stone than that which decorated Belial’s room.
One Grey Lady glided without sound in front of me, while the other followed close behind. walked through what seemed like miles of maze-like corridors, lit only by guttering light. In reality, I knew the distance from Belial’s quarters to here wasn’t all that long; apprehension made the journey seem longer than it really was. As the graceful Grey Ladies led me to a door at the very end of a short corridor and left me there, that same apprehension flared even more. Here I stood, alone, about to face the largest gathering of my kind I had ever known. I straightened my spine and opened the heavy, iron-bound door.
As always, the Shadows chose the worst possible moment to flare to life.
I found myself in the middle of a large, stone slab room where the other Gifted stared at me, and wished I could cut off my arms. The offending limbs were positively crawling with dark Shadows, and there was nothing I could do stop them. I felt as powerless now as I had when the cold, destructive energy first crawled over me, alerting me to the dark nature of my gifts. They looked exactly like snakes twining up me, and I caught myself trying to wipe them off. All that got me was a bit of a cold shock, followed by the smell of ozone.
Whenever I was angry, frightened, or upset, the Shadows appeared on my arms as a kind of self-defense mechanism. Nevertheless, they were my least favorite angelic “gift,” passed down to me through the drops of Nephilim blood flowing through my veins. Blood that made me a target for demons like Belial in the first place.
Looking more closely, I realized the Shadows were thicker and darker than ever. Also, I had smelled ozone when I accidentally touched one, and that had never happened in Whitfield. Could the Shadows be stronger in Belial’s Twilight Kingdom? It made a twisted kind of sense―even as it terrified me―that my dangerous gifts would be stronger here. I fervently hoped not, and tried to hide my arms behind my back.
The large room was dim, lit only by candles along the wall and a big fireplace on the opposite side. The walls were made of the same rough-hewn stone as the corridors, and I could barely see into the corners. The stink of rot and damp wood permeated the place, and several loud coughs echoed across the room. Low tables made of rough planks were the only furniture I could see. It was altogether the most depressing room I had ever been in.
I thought of Belial’s promise as I took in the ragged Nephilim who stood arrayed against the walls. They looked beaten down; only a few could meet my eyes as they watched me by the door. I thought of how much good I could do them with my single request, a gift from a demon. They could have sunlight, perhaps, or better treatment and food. A doctor.
But I could still go home, as well.
Low voices and the fire’s dull roar were the only sounds in the room. The other Nephilim cast furtive glances at me. Some seemed as if they were trying not so much to lean against the wall as they were trying to merge with it. I didn’t recognize a single person. Where was Jack, the only other soul I knew in this place? The whole atmosphere was charged with fear, and I knew some of it was coming from me. On an intellectual level, I knew these were people with gifts like me whom Belial had decided to collect for his army. I had thought that would create some kind of bond between us, the fact that we were all his victims; from the vibe I was picking up in the room, however, the others felt nothing but fear at my appearance.
I stood near the entrance, the Grey Ladies hovering at my side, not knowing what to do. My hand and head throbbed where I had injured them, and my stomach growled painfully. I tried to remember the last time I ate, and thought of Asheroth’s cheese pastries with a pang of regret. I wanted food and rest, but even more than that, I wanted answers.
Jack burst in through the doors behind me, pulling an attractive woman with dark blonde hair with him. He was barefoot, as always, and had pushed the sleeves of his white linen shirt far enough up his arms that I could see the whorls and special characters that made up his protective tattoos. The woman looked heavily pregnant, and Jack kept a careful hold on her upper arm, steering her well away from the eerie Grey Ladies. I noted his protective stance, and the way he held himself slightly in front of her. She peeked out from over his shoulder, and I realized just how pretty she was.
I also noticed Jack didn’t seem injured in any way. I had heard what I thought was a punch to his stomach, and having been hit by one of the Fallen before, I knew their strength could crush bones.
“Are you all right?” I demanded, mortified to realize my voice shook more than a little.
“What happened to your hand?” Jack said. At the same time, his words rushed together as his brow furrowed over eyes flecked with molten silver stars.
The woman behind him looked at me with keen interest, and stepped sideways to get a better look at me. Jack moved as if to object, but he let her pass without a word.
She leaned in close to my hand as if she didn’t even see the Shadows, let alone was bothered by them. From the edges of the room, murmurings arose. Some people even crept closer as if witnessing a spectacle. She poked my hand, careful to avoid the Shadows. The pain was immediate and intense. I yelped, and stuck my hand behind my back again in what I thought of as self-defense.
“Ow!” I said. “What did you do that for?”
Then she looked at me, really looked at me, and I fought down another urge to yelp. I had seen her before, in a newspaper article about her own death.
Miranda, the Nephilim healer so powerful she could reportedly bring people back from the brink of death, stood poking my injured hand with her index finger. I recognized her from the grainy newsprint photo that had run with her obituary. Her Nephilim gift had drawn the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of man. I remembered, with a shudder, that her husband was serving prison time for her murder after beating her for years. The bastard had gone on to speculate that Miranda was probably, “…in hell, where she belonged.” Belial must have taken her like he did the rest of us to help build his army of Nephilim for his war against the Realms of Light.
A tiny part of me wondered if she wasn’t actually better off here. Then I thought of Belial’s offer, and my own chance at freedom. If I made that choice, the one that would put me back in Ethan’s arms, it would mean the extremely pregnant healer would have to stay and have her baby in the Twilight Kingdom. Another Nephil
im descendent for Belial to torment. I found I couldn’t meet her eyes.
“This is broken in several places,” she said, intense concentration etched on her features. She moved as if to poke me again. I winced and danced backward, only to discover that the Grey Ladies had vanished without me knowing it. I wondered where they went when they weren’t needed.
“You can tell all that just from touching me?” I asked, skeptical.
She nodded absently as if it were no big deal.
“Belial broke my ribs when he punched me,” Jack said softly. “Miranda healed me after I left you. We’ve been on alert, looking for you ever since. I had a feeling you might leave in worse shape than when you arrived.” He grimaced.
“Well, he’s certainly dealt out worse if that’s any consolation,” Miranda said, looking me over from head to toe.
Beside her, Jack nodded. “Caspia remembers when I showed up at her apartment in the Dreamtime with a great big swipe from a Hellhound down my back.” He nudged the distracted healer with his shoulder. “That was before Miranda came.”
“Belial didn’t hit me,” I said with a sigh. It almost sounded as if I was defending the demon, but it was nothing but the truth. I had done this to myself. “I got this when I punched him in the face.”
Miranda and Jack both recoiled slightly, wincing as if I had hit them in the face instead. The murmurings from the corners of the room rose and swelled around us. Miranda shook her head , sadness in her eyes. “I’m surprised he let you live.”
“She’s an Azalene,” Jack said, his eyes still round with shock. “I knew that was a valuable ability, but wow. She must be more important than we initially realized.”
I didn’t like the thought that I might be especially valuable to Belial.
“Come on,” Miranda said, placing her small hand on my lower back as if sensing my rising dread. She guided me to the heavy double doors. Whispers rose and fell behind me.
“Don’t worry,” Jack said near my ear as we left the room. “They’re just interested in seeing another Azalene.” But I couldn’t help and look back at the dismal room as we exited. I couldn’t recall seeing a more dispirited group in my entire life. How long would I have to spend here before I became as downtrodden as the rest of them? My gut told me it wouldn’t be long.
We rounded the short corridor and came to another identical stone hallway. This one was lined with doors on both sides. “This would be your room,” Miranda said, stopping in front of one that looked just like all the others. Because the rest of the place was so dank and depressing, I prepared myself for the worst.
And was pleasantly surprised when I stepped across the threshold.
A plain bed stood against the far wall. It was piled high with pillows and blankets. A tall wooden wardrobe stood half open, so that I could see lots of dark fabric with glints of silver. There was a small desk and chair near a smaller door that I assumed was a bathroom. It reminded me a bit of a college dormitory, except for the ghostly form of a woman standing by the window.
A Grey Lady.
No one else seemed to find her presence odd, so I assumed they waited on all of us. Her features were too blurry for me to really see her face, but I thought she was the same one who had waited for me in the corridor. She was corporeal enough to reach into my closet and pull out a neatly folded stack of black fabric with silver trim. I recognized it as the same fabric I had seen almost everyone wearing. Jack wore pants made of it now. The only person I had seen wearing something different was Miranda, who wore a loose, light blue cotton gown. I had to think her clothes were different because she was pregnant.
The thought of Belial kidnapping pregnant women made me sick all over again. I already had evidence that he had kidnapped a child, too. I wondered what other surprises I was in for.
“We wear a uniform here,” Jack said, disgust lacing his voice, turning it a shade deeper. “Those are Belial’s house colors.”
“I didn’t know demons had house colors,” I said, crossing to the bed to finger my new clothes. They were made of a sturdy fabric that nonetheless felt soft to the touch like a velvet-denim blend, although I knew that was an impossible combination.
“Belial does,” Miranda said, crossing to the bed and motioning for me to sit beside her. “Come now. Let me take a look at that hand. I can do something for it.”
The Shadows had faded somewhat, but they still snaked and climbed up my arms. I didn’t want to hurt the first person who’d been nice to me since I’d gotten here. Jack didn’t count. I was still mad at him.
“Let me take them from you,” whispered a low voice in my ear.
Jack was so close that his hot breath grazed my neck; this wasn’t the only time his presence had caused a reaction in me. I thought about my very first journey to the Twilight Kingdom. It had happened in a dream where he had healed me with his bare hands. And now here we were, except this was most definitely not a dream.
I nodded because there was no other choice. I was too agitated to find the kind of calm I would need to fight the Shadows. Instead, I let Jack find my hands and slide them under his, his hold on me light, but firm. I watched the many tattoos across his arms and neck begin to shimmer. If I watched closely enough, I knew that I would see the edges of them move very slowly. Instead, I stared into his silver-flecked eyes as the sparks there burned more and more fiercely.
Shadows began to thin into lines rather than ropes. They grew fainter and streamed toward the tattoos decorating Jack’s body. I had long since torn my gaze from his face, and watched in both horror and amazement as the tattoos absorbed my Shadows until there was nothing left but my pale arms, decorated with my familiar silver bracelets.
I had a sudden wild urge to hug him, and might have done it if he hadn’t stepped quickly away. “Go and see Miranda,” he urged in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the floor.
I did as commanded. The pregnant woman cradled my Shadow-free arms across her belly, staring intently, but not touching. She nodded and murmured to herself before meeting my gaze. Her clear, crystalline blue eyes were solemn, despite the intensity in them that came with her gifted blood. Their color reminded me of the almost too-perfect hue Dr. Christian’s had, but where his gaze was chilly, Miranda’s were warm and comforting like looking at a summer sky. I felt myself relaxing.
“I can fix this,” she said, “but it’s going to hurt.” She pressed my injured hand flat between both of hers and closed her eyes. An almost unbearable burning coursed through my hand, settling in my very bones. About ten minutes later, my lips were raw from where I had pressed them together trying not to scream. Sweat soaked my skin, plastering my hair to my forehead. Miranda still held my newly healed hand pressed flat between hers. It no longer hurt. I wiggled my fingers in amazement.
She followed by healing the sore spot on my head as well; this wasn’t nearly so bad, but it still burned. After that, I was enveloped in a wave of tiredness. I swayed backward toward the pillows. Miranda smiled a little and covered me with one of the many blankets piled at the foot of the bed.
Sleep dragged me under as strong as the tide on a blue moon. “Don’t worry, it’s completely normal to sleep for several hours following a healing,” she said, smoothing my damp hair back from my face.
“But,” I protested. “I have to talk to Jack…”
“You need to get some rest,” Jack corrected me, appearing at Miranda’s elbow. He leaned down as if to kiss me on the forehead. I wanted to pull away, but I was just so tired. Turning seemed like too much effort. But when he leaned in close to me, he whispered, “Try to dream, and I will find you. We can Dreamwalk back to Whitfield this evening.”
Whitfield.
Ethan.
Home.
I fell asleep picturing Ethan, alone and injured with only mad Asheroth for company. I hoped with all my soul that Jack could Dreamwalk us home, even if only for a little while. I had to find out what was happening to my hometown in my absence.
leep, to my surpri
se, did come. Eventually.
After the events of the day, I expected to be too keyed up. I had to find Ethan, and that depended on Jack using his Dreamwalking ability so we could find out what was going on in Whitfield. But Jack couldn’t Dreamwalk with me if I couldn’t sleep. It was kind of like being told not to think of blue elephants, and then thinking of nothing but.
Miranda’s slight weight shifted on the bed beside me, and the gentle murmur of her voice rose and fell as she spoke to Jack of simple things: a meal, an absent friend, a half-remembered dream. His answers came as even softer murmurings, almost whispers, and I realized I had at least two friends in this awful place. People who wouldn’t let anything or anyone get me, at least for now. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt secure. I knew I was as safe as anyone could be in this awful place, at least temporarily.
Burrowing deeper into the warm bed, I relaxed and let sleep take me completely. The room around me faded more and more, replaced by that half-awake ethereal state where the physical world vanishes.
Instead, a world of white surrounded me. I held out my hands, palms first; although my new environment looked like a blank canvas, it felt as insubstantial as fog. Far off in the distance, I could see multiple patches of light, scattered haphazardly through the mist, and a few shadowy patches.
“I’ve been here before,” I said, spinning to take in the entire scene. I had first dreamed of Ethan against such a background, warning me of Shadows and their dangers. I rushed to stifle the sharp stab of remorse. It would do me no good here.
White covered everything. I hoped Jack could find me in it. My mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario: Belial finding out about Jack’s hidden ability. If that happened, not only would punishment be severe, it would spell the end of any chance I had of communicating with the outside world. I thought of all the people I had left behind. I pictured Hellhounds burning my town to the ground. I thought of Logan in hiding. And of course, Ethan was still at Asheroth’s rather dubious concept of mercy. Shadows rose on my arms, cold and electric.
