Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

by Martucci, Christopher

  An uprising was on the horizon, a violent uprising. The Sola would helm it. She was the linchpin, the unmatched being among them who would lead them to triumph. Desmond did not think her capable of such a task. He did not believe she possessed the capability to separate from the species she’d existed in her entire life, to turn from them, to take their lives. He was wrong. Dead wrong. Agnon was certain of it. Desmond did not understand that with each day that passed, the human side of the Sola seeped from her. The human blood she was born with was being replaced with the essence of her true self, weeding it out much like the witches and warlocks of the world would weed out human beings. She’d always possessed traces of her true essence, but had existed as a hybrid creation; until now.

  In the past she’d likely enjoyed benefits associated with being a witch such as a high threshold for pain, robust immunity and a body far sturdier that the average human construct that was less prone to injury. Now, however, she was sure to be at the great precipice of her transformation, on the verge of plunging into the most glorious moment he, and all those like him, would have the privilege of witnessing. That is, if Desmond did not dissuade her from embracing all that awaited her.

  Free will remained a potential hitch in their destiny. The celestial joke of all celestial jokes and proof that the Creator had a wry sense of humor, free will hovered above his people like an invisible ax waiting to fall. Though it had not been foretold anywhere by anyone, there still existed a slight chance for her to avert her fate. And right now, Desmond was hell-bent on exploiting that slight chance. If he held even the most trivial of influence over the Sola, he could sway her. He could destroy all that Agnon had been waiting for. He could not allow his son to prevent the revolution from happening.

  Agnon pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Tension heaped at his neck’s nape and bunched his muscles unpleasantly. He knew he needed to act. He needed to stop his son.

  Stopping Desmond would not be an easy feat. He would not listen to reason. Brute force would be necessary. And that would be a challenge. After all, he had trained with the best. He had trained with Agnon. While he could not bring himself to murder his own son, he did know of someone or something rather, that would be eager to do it for him. Charged with ensuring Agnon’s safety for as long as he could remember and aptly named after the Greek god of death, Thanatos existed beneath Agnon’s compound, perpetually ready, waiting to kill.

  Thanatos was gifted to Agnon from an elder warlock centuries ago. A legend maintained that Thanatos had transcended time and space and was from an ancient realm. Judging from the beast’s appearance, Agnon could hardly argue the legends. Thanatos’ sole purpose was to protect his master. He patrolled the frozen landscape while Agnon slept and had thwarted more assassination attempts against him than could be counted. And now, he would be dispatched to deal with Desmond.

  As Agnon walked from the window to the kitchen, a slight pang of remorse caught him off guard. He knew Desmond had to go, that there was no other way. But dying by Thanatos’ hands seemed excessive. He was well aware of Thanatos’ skills, how he was unrelenting when pursuing prey. Desmond would not die a quick, honorable death. The thought sent a shiver up his spine. He would need to force such details to the back of his mind. He was acting for the greater good, for the whole of his kind. He repeated that over and over again as he grabbed a large key from a hook on the inside door of a large pantry closet. He gripped it tightly as he left the room and went directly to the first door in the hallway off the kitchen. Beyond the door was a wide stairway that led to a finished basement. Stark black tiles glistened in the bright overhead lighting. The soles of his shoes moved soundlessly over their heated surface as he sped to a door in the far corner. With each step he took, his grip on the key grew tighter and tighter until the metal punctured his skin. He breathed in short shallow pants despite his stellar physical condition, a rush of emotions crawling through every part of him.

  Intent on ignoring them, he raced down a narrow stone staircase, and stopped in front of a large steel door. His fingers trembled and fumbled with the single key. Sweat stippled his brow and he brushed it away with the back of his forearm.

  Beyond the door, a guttural howl scraped down the corridor and caused every hair on Agnon’s body to rise. As if the beast sensed his master’s approach, Thanatos could be heard clambering loudly.

  Agnon took a deep breath and slid his key into the lock and turned it slowly. Thanatos burst forth eagerly, each of his four powerful arms flailing wildly.

  “Easy, Thanatos,” Agnon spoke. “Easy.”

  Thanatos stopped thrashing and straightened his posture inasmuch as his haunches would permit. Almost standing, he towered at nearly seven feet tall. Every inch of him was muscled. Four hulking shoulders protruded just beyond his thick, short neck and extended to four equally hulking arms. Pectoral muscles rose like mountains in the upper portion of his torso and descended to the only set of twelve abdominal muscles Agnon had ever seen. His narrow waist flared to two brawny legs sturdy enough to balance the tremendous mass of his upper body. Thanatos looked every bit the predator he was. And his face, perhaps the most arresting part of his overall appearance, looked even deadlier. Closely spaced eyes bearing the color and hardness of topaz glared out from a forehead that overhung them. Between them, a narrow bridge sloped down to an upturned snout that rested atop a mouth with a considerable under-bite. Two large canine teeth, pointed and waiting like spears, jutted out from his jaw, too large to fit inside.

  While most would have gasped or fainted at the sight of Thanatos, Agnon had grown used to him.

  “Thanatos, I have a job for you,” he said.

  Thanatos could not speak, but the generous stream of saliva that dripped from his mouth indicated his readiness.

  “You will find Desmond,” he ordered.

  The beast cocked his head to one side.

  Agnon did not believe Thanatos meant to question him, but bristled, nevertheless. Desmond was his son, and even a creature as dense as the one before him understood he was second only to Agnon himself, the most powerful warlock in the world.

  “You will find him and kill him,” Agnon asserted.

  Several eager huffs erupted from Thanatos and one of his colossal legs began to scuff the concrete floor he stood upon, scraping impatiently like a bull preparing to charge.

  “Go!” he ordered him and the beast turned from him and stampeded in the opposite direction, to where the underground tunnels split. One side led to Thanatos’ lair, and the other to the frozen world beyond the compound, to Desmond.

  Agnon closed his eyes and listened to the thunderous clamor of Thanatos’ hooves as they tore off, the sound as pulse-pounding as the hurrying of the horsemen of the apocalypse. Dispatching the beast all but guaranteed his son’s demise, a thought that left his head whirling. But Agnon took comfort in the fact that Desmond’s end meant the dawn of a new era. He would sacrifice his only son so that their kind could rise to power.

  Chapter 10

  Arianna stood in front of the cheap, full-length mirror she’d purchased at the local super store and attempted to get a feel for her new outfit. The fact that the mirror reflected a slightly distorted image did little to bolster her self-confidence. She should have splurged and bought a more expensive one. She did have a substantial amount of money now, thanks to Kane and his crazy followers. But old habits were hard to break. A lifetime spent clipping coupons and counting pennies had made it impossible for her to splurge on luxuries. Even the outfit she’d bought to wear out was chosen from a reduced rack at a retailer she never would have dreamed of paying full price at.

  She ran her hands down the front of her new jeans. The feel of the dark-wash denim was a better quality than any she’d ever worn before. It hugged her curves in all the right places. She twisted to glimpse her backside and a fleeting thought of Scott breezed through her mind. He’d been nice to her in the last few days, and helpful, just by acting like a norm
al high school senior. Normality was something she’d desperately needed, especially after all the cloak-and-dagger nonsense surrounding her abilities and her destiny. She didn’t know what all the secrecy was about. She was the Sola, therefore, logic reasoned that she ought to be the most informed person of her destiny and her abilities. But she guessed logic had flown out the door the day she’d flicked her wrist and slid a chair across a room. It had also escaped her when she’d watched her mother and Luke die.

  A twinge of guilt stabbed at Arianna’s heart. Here she was preparing to go to a party with her new friends when her world was upside down at best. Her mother’s death, Luke’s death and then the mortifying incident with Desmond had not been minor setbacks. They’d been crushing obstacles. If she were like any normal person, she would be in her pajamas nursing a cup of chamomile tea and tending to her shattered heart. But she wasn’t normal, was she? She was Arianna Rose, a damned super-witch with superpowers who hadn’t the vaguest idea what the hell she was supposed to do with them. Her temples began to throb. She rubbed them with both hands and contemplated calling Jess and canceling.

  Before she went to grab her phone from her bag, she glanced at herself a final time. The clothes were great, the makeup was fine and her hair had cooperated. But inexplicably, she did not feel like herself; perhaps because she wasn’t the self she’d been her whole life any longer. Her eyes traveled down to her feet. Trendy boots in a sleek style made of supple leather rose to just below her knee and made her legs look a mile long. She plopped on her bed and slipped both off before sliding her motorcycle boots out from under her bed. The leather was worn and scuffed in some places and the zipper at the side had to be jiggled several times before it grumpily agreed to rise or fall, but they were more her than the others. A bit distressed and by no means perfect, they felt familiar, comfortable. And in that moment, she realized her mother would want her to grab at any bit of happiness that came her way, just as she had. Cathy Rose had always lived for the moment and never allowed a chance to party to pass her by. Thinking of her mother’s zest for life made Arianna’s eyes fill with tears. She blinked them back, determined to honor her mother’s gusto, and decided not to cancel. Instead, she waited patiently until headlights appeared outside her cabin.

  She watched as Scott climbed out of his Jeep Cherokee and strode to her front door. He rang the bell and she grabbed her coat and bag from the couch.

  “Hey!” Scott said cheerfully as she opened the door. “You look incredible.”

  Arianna felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks,” she replied coolly. “You look nice, too.” And he did. He wore boot-cut jeans that sat low on his hips instead of skinny jeans, a darkly colored hooded sweatshirt with a winter vest over it. He looked like a J Crew model that had fallen from the pages of a catalogue and landed on her doorstep.

  “Thanks,” he said and shifted nervously. Scott looked as anxious as she felt.

  He walked beside her to his SUV. The back of his hand brushed against hers more than once along the way. The feel of his cool skin grazing hers drew the faintest hint of energy. Each time his hand swept hers, she felt an odd sensation crawl up her wrist to her arm. She could not decide whether it was pleasant or not. It was unlike when Desmond touched her. Desmond’s touch whispered warmly through her body in calming waves that thrummed in time with her heartbeat. But Scott’s touch felt different. It crept and prickled unfamiliarly. Regardless, she decided to not waste another second lamenting about the difference in their touches. Especially since Desmond had made it clear that touching her was off-limits. Of course, that information would have been far more useful before he’d begun touching her and arousing her as he had. Scott knew of no such rules. He was just an ordinary teenager.

  “Sorry, but George called shotgun,” Scott said and gestured to teen Herman Munster perched in the passenger seat.

  “Oh,” Arianna said and didn’t mask her surprise at the sight of George. “I didn’t know he was coming with us.”

  She wanted to ask him why they were always together. Under normal circumstances, she would have ribbed him and asked, “What are you two, a set of balls?” but she knew the friendship was new, that she needed to refrain from being her usual self until she got a better handle on their personalities. She assumed Scott could handle her sense of humor, but George was another story entirely. Something about George just seemed off.

  “Yeah, I hope it’s not a problem,” Scott said and drew his dark brows together. “I thought we were going alone, but he needed a ride.”

  Scott seemed so nervous, so normal, Arianna wanted to pinch his cheeks. The look on his face screamed, “Oh no! I’m blowing it!” Little did he know there was nothing to ruin. They were not on a date.

  “Don’t worry,” Arianna assured him as she opened the rear passenger side door.

  The interior light revealed that George was not the only one who’d hitched a ride with Scott. Meg and Paul were crammed in the back seat as well.

  Arianna slid in and said, “This is cozy,” as she quirked a brow at them.

  They laughed and greeted her.

  “Oh my God, I love your boots,” Meg gushed. “Those are vintage motorcycle boots, aren’t they?”

  “You could say that,” Arianna answered and thought, Yeah, vintage Arianna circa two weeks ago.

  “I love them.”

  “Thanks,” Arianna replied and smiled to herself. She never dreamed she would have a group of friends to go to parties with, and girlfriends to talk about clothes and hair with. Okay, so she’d never had much interest in either clothes or hair, but she would talk about whatever they wanted to, as long as they kept talking to her. Hell, she would even research hair and beauty topics, buy magazines if she had to, anything to keep herself where she was at the moment.

  “And your hair,” Meg continued. “Do you flat-iron?”

  “No, I just shower, comb and let it air-dry. Though, if I’m in a hurry, I blow-dry.”

  “Wow, you’re so lucky. I went to the salon in town and they suggested a straightening treatment and,” Meg began but was cut off by Paul who was sitting between them.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but let’s switch seats ‘cause I don’t give a crap about hair treatments and all this girlie bullshit,” Paul grumped.

  Arianna laughed out loud. “Damn, Paul. Don’t hold back, tell us what you really think,” she said.

  Meg and Scott laughed and so did Paul. Arianna felt satisfied that she’d allowed a bit of herself to leak out and everyone had been okay with it. Everyone laughed, except George. Surly, unsociable George could not muster so much as a “ha!” Arianna did not know what to make of him. But something about him unsettled her.

  Her misgivings about George were distracted by Meg’s backside being thrust in her face as she stood, hunched, and switched seats with Paul.

  “Sorry, pardon my ass in your face,” Meg joked and Arianna laughed.

  “Not a problem,” Arianna said. “At least it’s a good ass.”

  “Ooh, I like where this conversation is going,” Paul teased and raised both brows mischievously.

  “Give it a rest, perv!” Meg fired back. “You guys and your girl-on-girl fantasies!”

  “Yeah,” Arianna chimed in. “Like we’d ever let you watch.”

  Everyone laughed, except George, then Scott said, “I’m in love,” and clutched his chest dramatically which drew even more laughter.

  Arianna had panicked as soon as the words had left her mouth. In light of her recent run-ins with Beth, she did not want to start rumors about herself with a joke. But luckily allowing more of her personality to seep from her had gotten a good response. She began to loosen up and found herself feeling completely comfortable.

  Meg resumed her salon story while Paul and Scott chatted about sports. The conversations were flowing so smoothly, so effortlessly, Arianna hadn’t realized they’d been driving for quite some time. She’d lost track of time and was shocked when she looked at t
he clock on the dashboard and saw that more than forty-five minutes had passed since Scott had picked her up at her cabin.

  “So where are we headed?” Arianna asked and addressed the entire group. “Where is this party?”

  “It’s in Jettison,” Scott answered and looked at her in his rearview mirror. “We have about ten or fifteen minutes before we’ll be there.”

  “Jettison?” Arianna asked and couldn’t mask the surprise in her tone. She wondered why the hell they were traveling nearly an hour to go to a party, and on a school night no less.

  Even in the darkness of his SUV, she could see amusement dance in Scott’s eyes as he said, “Yeah, Jettison. Is that a problem? I mean, do you have a curfew or something?”

  The notion of her having a curfew was ridiculous to her, yet Scott had asked as if it were to him, as well. She’d never had to answer to a parent, but just assumed everyone else in the car did.

  “No, not at all, actually. Don’t you guys?”

  Scott laughed bitterly, a sound that did not quite fit with his squeaky-clean appearance. “Curfew, what’s a curfew?” he joked and glanced at her again in the mirror.

  “I don’t know. Never had one,” Paul added. “And Meg here doesn’t either, right Meg?”

  “Nope, never,” Meg said and shrugged.

  “Shit,” Arianna commented. “This is a first for me. I always thought I was the only one.”

  She scanned the faces in the car and saw that everyone nodded somberly. When she looked up, Scott’s eyes watched her from his mirror again. “You’re not alone anymore,” he said levelly and held her gaze. He paused a moment and she was about to question what he’d said, whether it had more meaning than what was on the surface, but was glad she did not as the conversation quickly returned to normal when Paul belched loudly.

  “Dude, that was nasty!” Scott said and fanned in front of his nose with one hand. “What’d you eat today? Damn!”