The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen)

by Victoria Scott

  Aspen’s lips curl back with panic. “I can’t do this, Dante. Make them stop.”

  I know exactly what she means. There’s only one thing that makes my mind threaten to shut down, and that’s being boxed in. I take her face in my hands. “Listen to me,” I say. “This won’t hurt you.”

  The walls grind closer. The ceiling is five feet above our heads. She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

  “Aspen, stop it,” I say. “Look at me.”

  Aspen grabs onto my wrists but doesn’t open her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” she mumbles. “I want to leave. I want to go home.”

  I put my mouth close to her ear. “I want you to remember the time you and I were in Sahara’s room. Remember Lincoln painted his nails black and Sahara wanted to be spun in a circle? You couldn’t lift her, but I could. I can lift you now, but you have to believe I can.”

  Aspen’s green eyes flash open. They swim with tears as she holds my gaze. “You said you’d never go away.”

  “I never will.”

  Aspen tilts her head to the side. “I don’t want to die. Not without telling him.”

  Confusion crashes through me, but there isn’t time to think on it. The roof comes down and touches the top of my head. I let go of Aspen’s face and fumble for her hand. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tell myself that I am made of air. I am nothing. I am nothing, and the wall is nothing, too.

  The ceiling passes over my head and shoulders. I am left untouched, sliding through the cement like a ghost. Aspen bends down, and tears slip down her cheeks. I lean down to keep hold of her hand.

  “Aspen, you’re not really here,” I yell. “You are back in your room with Sahara.”

  The ceiling creeps downward.

  “You are at Lincoln’s house, laughing at his paranoia.”

  Aspen smiles up at me, though she can probably only see my legs. The rest of my body is invisible, buried in the concrete that isn’t really there. At least not once you stop believing in it.

  I think fast, my brain whirling with what to tell her.

  “Aspen,” I say gently. “You are with Blue. You’re telling him how you feel, and he’s holding your hand. He’s asking you to come with him. All you have to do is stand up and pass through the ceiling. And he’ll be there.”

  Aspen’s gaze moves to our connected hands. I’m losing my grip on her. She swallows and seals her eyelids tight. Then she stands up. Her body slides through the cement like a hot knife through butter.

  We are both on the other side. The ceiling is gliding down our legs. I step up onto it, and Aspen does the same. Then we are being lifted up instead of pushed down.

  “So,” I say, titling her chin up to look at me. “Blue, huh?”

  She releases this nervous laugh and shrugs. “I almost died. Cut me some slack.”

  “You thought you almost died,” I clarify. “If the ceiling had come down on you, it would have crushed you, yes. But then it would have just repeated the torture over and over. No biggie.”

  Aspen manages a small smile. “What a way to spend a birthday.”

  My heart skips a beat. “What did you just say?”

  “It’s my birthday,” she says.

  As Aspen and I are lifted higher and higher toward the next room, the soul storage room, my blood freezes in my veins. It’s Aspen’s birthday. Her birthday. Eighteen years ago, Aspen Lockhart was born.

  And eighteen years ago today, so was Charlie Cooper.

  39

  I Know You

  I gape at Aspen as we are lifted high into the air. All around us is blackness. A void. This is the final step before we get to the soul storage room.

  Every muscle in my body tenses as I anticipate what we’ll see. Will the collectors be there? Will Rector?

  But more than that, I can’t stop thinking about what Aspen said. That it’s her birthday. It can’t be a coincidence that she and Charlie share the same date of birth, the same age. Lucille assigned me to collect Charlie Cooper’s soul, and then Big Guy assigned me to liberate Aspen Lockhart’s soul.

  There must be a connection between the two girls, but I’m not sure what it is past their birthday.

  A square of light flickers into view overhead, and before long, we are lifted through it. The concrete beneath our heels comes to a stop. Aspen gasps, and a hesitant smile touches my lips.

  “Even in hell, souls are beautiful,” I say.

  Aspen grins at me, and the gesture lifts my spirit. The shelves are aligned one after another. They stand forty feet tall, and each one has thousands of cutouts for the souls they hold. The shelves almost make the place seem like the world’s largest library, where each soul is a book—a story of someone’s life. Of course, these stories would lead to nightmares.

  The souls glow like a million fireflies, winking as we pass wall after wall of them. It’s cool in this area of hell. Not to the point where I shiver, but in the way you’d expect a cavernous room to be far beneath the earth’s crust. Breathing in, I relish a thick, musty scent similar to rain. This room feels euphoric after the ones we’ve passed through.

  “This place is amazing,” Aspen says, her hand resting over her heart. The light casts playful shadows across her face, catching on her mouth and eyes and even the diamond in her nose.

  “It’s hard to think these people deserve to be here.” I touch a finger to one of the souls. It twinkles beneath my touch like I’ve tickled it.

  Aspen stops and meets my gaze. “You didn’t deserve to be here.”

  My hand drops to my side. “Yeah, I did.”

  “No, I don’t believe—”

  “I lived for myself, Aspen,” I say, my tone tightening. “And I wasn’t a nice person. It’s harder than you think to find favor in heaven. People down here, people like me, we worked every day to make ourselves happy. And we never worked for Big Guy. We wouldn’t have. He expects his followers to do for others, not just themselves.”

  Aspen studies me, turning over what I said in her mind. “You’re different now.”

  I let the conversation go and move past her. “We need to find Charlie’s soul.”

  “How?”

  I walk along the pristine hardwood floor, wondering the same thing. “I’ll recognize it.”

  I hope.

  Aspen moves in a different direction, and within a few seconds, I don’t hear the sound of her footsteps.

  “Aspen?” I call out.

  “I’m over here,” she answers. “Just looking around.”

  “Don’t go too far.” Despite the lowered temperature in this room, sweat still coats my brow. I don’t forget where I am for a single second. If one collector knew we were down here, the others probably do, too. The question is, how many of them are here?

  When I remember the determined scowl on Patrick’s face, I pick up my pace. My feet move faster as I pass rows of luminous souls. I approach a towering shelf that feels…different. My hands twitch as I move down the aisle, searching for what made me hesitate.

  But there’s nothing that screams to me. It’s more like a whisper.

  I shake my head and decide it’s not here. If it were her soul, I’d know it like a bat to the skull.

  Aspen’s voice resonates through the hall. “Dante!”

  Her tone isn’t alarmed. It’s more surprised. I leave the aisle I’m in and rush in the direction of her voice. When I find her, she’s stooped over something. Her back is arched like a question mark, her dark ponytail caressing her cheek.

  “It’s a letter or something,” she says as I approach.

  I move closer until I can see what she’s referencing.

  It’s a scroll.

  The second scroll

  It’s enclosed in a glass case like we’re in a freaking museum. I debate telling her what I know about the scrolls, which is pretty much zilch. And that this could be a fake like it was at the Hive. Not that seeing the real one did me any good. I look closer to see if there are any words on this scroll—

&nbs
p; But something stops me.

  It isn’t a whisper. It’s a scream.

  And it’s coming from the next aisle over. Aspen doesn’t seem to hear it, which means it’s only in my head. This could be it. I move away from Aspen and toward the place that calls out to me. As I approach, the sound overwhelms my body and causes my legs to shake.

  I turn the corner, and there it is. There’s a carved column that stretches to my abs, and above it floats an iridescent ball. It glows and spins like a child’s toy. My breath catches as I near the ball. Inside there’s a soul, and it’s the most remarkable thing I’ve ever seen. It glimmers as I approach, almost as if it remembers the night I collected it.

  Behind me, I can hear Aspen calling my name. She’s talking about the scroll, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about that thing. Not when Charlie’s soul is singing to me. I move closer and reach out my hand.

  Is there an alarm?

  Will the ball hurt me if I touch it?

  It doesn’t matter. I can’t stop myself from reaching out—

  “Dante, this thing is really freaking me out,” Aspen says.

  I’m so close to Charlie’s soul, so close I can feel the warmth it radiates even from inside the orb.

  Aspen’s words continue to reach me, though I’m hardly listening. “This thing is saying that there are—”

  Wait, what?

  I jerk my hand back from Charlie’s soul as a current of energy courses through me. “Aspen, are you saying you can read the scroll?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’ve read it three times. It’s freaky as shit.”

  Though every part of me aches to take Charlie’s soul, I hurry toward Aspen. I come to stand beside her, positive that this is another faux scroll. But when I see it, the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

  There aren’t any words.

  I place my hand on the glass case and narrow my eyes. “Are you sure you see words?”

  Aspen glances at me like I’m crazy. “What, are you blind? It’s right there.”

  “I see the scroll,” I say. “I just don’t see any words.”

  Aspen takes three steps back from the case. “Stop messing around.”

  I turn and look at her. Aspen’s green eyes are round with worry. But there’s something else there, too—excitement. “The first time I read it, I sort of knew it was true.”

  “What does it say?” I ask, my pulse pounding.

  Instead of answering, she stands stock-still, staring over my shoulder. I follow her gaze.

  A collector steps out from the shadows.

  40

  Wicked Little Rose

  I recognize him immediately. It’s the same collector who has haunted my dreams ever since the night he struck Charlie and killed Blue.

  “Rector,” I hiss.

  The collector bows his shaved head in acknowledgement. A close-lipped smile stretches his mouth as he brushes off the front of his navy-blue starched shirt. Always with the formality, from his clipped words to his militaristic air. Rector waves his hand forward, and Kincaid steps beside him. The two of them now stand ten feet in front from me, and Aspen is an arm’s length behind me.

  “Is that it?” I ask.

  Rector’s grin widens. “Patrick is here, too. Everyone else is working above ground.”

  “Actually, Patrick is drowning with the water demons,” I say.

  His smile falters, but not for long. “No matter. You are here, and that is all we need.”

  “I brought a friend,” I say.

  Rector rolls his shoulders. “I see that.”

  “She and I are going to kick your ass, old man. Then we’re going to take Charlie’s soul.”

  Beside Rector, Kincaid laughs. “Nice plan you got there.”

  Kincaid is the newest collector on my old team. He pulls on his short blond ponytail like he’s prepping to tango. His nose is too big for his face and his eyes too small. He has a birthmark along his right cheekbone. It’s like a beacon for my fist.

  Aspen steps close to me and puffs out her chest. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

  “I think we do,” Rector says, his dark eyes searching her face.

  Aspen sucks in a breath. The way she does it seems like I’m missing something important. “Are you the one who stole Charlie’s soul from Dante?”

  Rector folds his hands together like we’re moments away from enjoying tea and crumpets. “Dear child—”

  “Don’t you dare call me that. I’m not your daughter, asshole.”

  Oh, smack! Rector done hit a nerve.

  “Let me try again,” Rector says. “The two of you are not leaving here. But I do have a proposal.”

  Fury builds in my chest. A proposal? From him? Screw that. I suddenly remember with painful clarity the way this dick hurt my girlfriend. I remember that he’s the reason everyone I care about has been put in danger. He took Charlie’s soul from me, but tonight I steal it back.

  “Hey, Rector,” I growl. He glances in my direction. “Let’s play instead.”

  I lunge. My mind splits open as I tackle him to the ground. Thoughts of Charlie flash in my head each time my knuckles crack into his jaw. Kincaid lands his heel directly into my side, but it does nothing to tear me from the collector beneath me. Kincaid raises his leg again for another blow—

  And Aspen is on him.

  She leaps onto his back and wraps her legs around his waist. Her hand covers his eyes. Kincaid stumbles around blind as Aspen uses her other hand to grip his right ear. She rips downward, and Kincaid roars.

  Rector wraps his hands around my throat, but I remember everything Kraven taught me. Instead of trying to pull his hands away, I go straight for his eyes. They squish beneath my thumbs, and he jerks his head back. He releases my throat, and I bring my knee up between his legs.

  Rector curls into himself and I shove him to the ground. Then I spring on top of him. He manages to rise onto his hands and knees before I land on his back like I would a horse.

  “Giddy up, shithole,” I yell.

  Aspen laughs from where she’s fighting Kincaid, which makes him furious. He rushes toward her, blood gushing from his ear and down his neck. He almost grabs her around the middle, but Aspen leaps to the side. She’s a snake one moment, a rabbit the next. She’ll throw her weight into one of his vital organs, then hop out of his grasp. Aspen seems to know she can’t take on a man if he falls to the ground. So she stays upright no matter what. I’ve seen her stumble more than once, but she shoots back up like a life vest beneath the sea.

  Under me, Rector drops to his stomach and rolls quickly to his right. I don’t expect the maneuver, and I lose my hold on him. He pulls himself up and lands a fist directly into my gut. I groan and cover my stomach. Wrong move. Kraven would have told me to ignore the pain and protect myself at all times.

  Rector’s hand whips across my face.

  Holy crap. The dude just backhanded me like a dirty-ass pimp.

  Anger bubbles inside of me until I fear I’ll explode. A snarl builds in my chest. Rector must sense the change because he takes two quick steps back. I race at him like a Mack Truck, and he seeks cover behind a row of souls. I’m almost to him when I notice the row rocking back and forth.

  I stop cold and try to retreat. But it’s too late. The towering shelf comes crashing down. From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Aspen reaching out to me. Seconds later, Kincaid takes advantage of her diverted attention and tackles her to the ground.

  The shelf lands on me, and I’m out.

  …

  When I come around, Rector is standing over me. “That is it? A few seconds? I thought you would be out for at least a day or so, Mr. Walker.”

  Aspen chokes on a sob. The sound is half sorrow, half relief. Kincaid has his arm around her waist. I know she could escape his hold, but she must have decided that Rector is too close to my body. That he could do too much harm to me if she struggled now.

  Rector rubs his hands together as pain spreads through my
legs. The shelf has fallen on my pelvis, pinning me to the ground. I try to push it off and cry out when the enormous shelf doesn’t move a hair. All around, souls pepper the floor, twinkling like white Christmas lights. Numbness bites at my stomach as I fall back and stop struggling.

  Rector squats down. I contemplate driving my fist into his knee, but just the thought of attempting it sends a fresh wave of agony over my lower half. The pain becomes a living, breathing thing; it eats away at my muscles—at my mind—like a virus.

  “It took so little to take you down,” Rector says, his nose wrinkled.

  I lock eyes with Aspen, and even though I’m filled with fury, my pulse slows. She’s waiting for my direction, but she won’t want to hear what I have to say. She could fight her way past Rector and Kincaid, I think, but she’d have to leave me behind, and maybe Charlie’s soul, too.

  “You know, I figured you might try something like this,” he continues. “But I never thought you’d be stupid enough to bring her with you.” Rector draws himself up and walks toward Aspen. She brings her gloved hands up and assumes a defensive stance, even though Kincaid tries to hold her in place. “Such a wicked little rose.” Rector brushes the side of her face, and for some reason, she lets him. Though her quick breaths tell me she won’t tolerate his touch for long. “Such beauty. But your thorns sting, don’t they?”

  “Take your hand off me, old man,” Aspen spits. “And help me lift that shelf off Dante.”

  Rector lets his hand fall away. He grins. “Or?”

  “Or I’ll kill you.”

  “Aspen,” I croak, “get out of here.”

  “Not happening,” she responds, her eyes locked on Rector. “Not without you. And not without Charlie’s soul.”

  In a flash, Rector snatches the chain from Aspen’s neck. It breaks with an audible chink.

  Aspen’s face goes slack with shock. Rector loves to do this, to take what’s important from those he’s harassing. I’ll never forget that the last time we met, he had my red sneaker on his gnarly feet and my father’s penny in his palm.

  Aspen’s eyes narrow like she’s decided something. “Take it. I don’t want that noose anyway.”