by Lucy Lyons
“Isabel, you’re taking too long!” she heard a voice say. She recognized it as Abeo’s, who was probably just joking with her.
“I’m coming!” she said after a long pause. She poked out of the line like a splinter and walked back to them, a worried look on her face. “Guys,” she started.
“Alright, I think that’s all of us,” Oz said, not paying any attention to Isabel. It looked to her like no one could hear her cries for help. It was like she had just come in contact with the devil, like she was forced to be in his presence for what felt to her like an eternity. Nothing had ever made her more uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. As they exited the coffee shop and started walking and she found herself peering behind herself every couple of seconds, trying to make sure that no one was following them.
“Hey, are you okay?” Presten asked, worried. His eyebrows were knitted together, and he looked at Isabel like her water had just broke. “Isabel, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said after a long while of staring out into the distance.
“Isabel, you seem distracted,” Oz said, glancing at her briefly before he led the pack to a large patch of shade at the very bottom of the hill. His eyes darted from one person to the other, as if counting all the kids at a field trip. “On our way up, please be careful,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. “We’re here to make our presence known, but that doesn’t mean we should cause a racket on our way up.”
The rest nodded at him like soldiers ready to go to war. A cold war, that is. They started up the hill, their boots sinking into piles of crunchy leaves as they walked. Isabel clutched her stomach, trying to stop herself from hurling. “You don’t look okay,” Presten said, staring at her. “What did you see over there?”
“I saw this lady standing in line… she had her daughter with her. Presten, I’m pretty sure they were—” she paused for a second, as if caught in a trance. The truth was, she had a hard time trying to remember exactly what they were. The pictures that were popping up in her head were nothing but ashen faces resembling egg heads, and they were staring at her. She could’ve sworn the mother had a red blotch at the corner of her mouth, but then she re-visualized the cherry lemonade she had in her hand.
“They were what?” Presten asked, concerned. Isabel could already feel the incline of the hill taking its toll on her calf muscles. She felt drained, like something had sucked the life out of her.
“I don’t know, it’s not important,” she breathed, her eyes fixated on the ground underneath her. It was muddier than last time; Isabel concluded it had rained heavily overnight. Her feet sank into the mud like quicksand and she could feel the strain on her ankles as she wrestled with the ground for her shoe.
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Presten said, peering at Isabel through the corner of his eyes. “You didn’t even get your coffee.”
“I’m just paranoid,” she said, looking behind her. Oz lingered at the back of the pack, which was now sandwiched from both sides by their protectors. The council was still quite a way up; Isabel almost imagined it to be nested amongst the clouds. She hated to admit it, but she was growing tired. It felt like her legs would give way and she would fall face first into the mud. “Superhuman strength, my ass,” she murmured, rather to herself. She could still feel Presten’s eyes on her, but she didn’t mind. On the contrary, a part of her wondered what she did to deserve him in the first place. He was so patient with her, despite her love for Oz and her mood swings that could rattle oceans. He loved her despite herself and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for it.
“Anyone tired back there?” Presten asked, turning to look at them. They ducked down and shook their heads, but Presten could tell they were panting like dogs. “We’re almost there,” he lied. Oz was giving him orders telepathically; telling him where to go, where to turn and which routes to avoid. He was like a compass, the directing force guiding them all throughout. Finally, Isabel caught a glimpse of something, something other than trees and rocks and gravel. She caught a signal from Oz telling her that was it: the vampire’s council.
“Alright,” she said. “From this point onwards, I’m going to ask you guys to be careful, to watch your step and, most importantly, to keep an eye on what’s around you.” The pack trekked carefully through the woods. What was once a hiking trail eventually levelled out into even ground and Isabel found herself able to breathe again. She focused on staying confident, on putting on a brave face. This wasn’t a break in. This wasn’t an invasion. This was court.
The gang reached the gates and didn’t hesitate once before going in. The guards looked at them through heavy-lidded eyes; Isabel knew right then and there they were expecting them. They stood in one line with their hands brought together and their eyes darting sideways, as if contemplating whether or not to open up the gates of hell to those asking for it. One of them flashed Isabel a wry grin; he knew her, he knew she was the chosen one. He was staring at her so hard, Isabel didn’t know if he would welcome her in or throw her out. But he didn’t do either. He looked at the one beside him, but his body didn’t move. He blinked at him once, and instantly, as if triggered by some telepathic force, he swung the doors open, and they parted with a loud creak. Isabel didn’t hesitate. She stepped inside, watching as the shadows danced on the walls. Oz went up next to her. He could feel the guard’s’ eyes on them, but he wouldn’t dare do anything stupid. Presten stood to Isabel’s right, his eyes bouncing between the seemingly endless set of stairs and the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like nooses.
Suddenly he sensed some sort of movement. A black mass was coming down the stairs, followed by another black mass, followed by another. They reached the bottom of the stairs and just stood there, their ashen faces not moving. Isabel didn’t recognize any of them, except one woman she was sure she had seen at the mansion before. She visualized her standing in the hallway with Gavin, the two of them looking as though they would burn the place down. She stared at her with such contempt, such intolerance that Isabel thought she would grab at her throat at any second. The silence leaked into the air and it wasn’t long before Isabel saw something that made her gasp. Standing at the very end of the line was the little girl she had seen at the coffee shop; she had a smile plastered to her face, much like the one Isabel had seen that morning. There was no way she could have mistaken that girl for somebody else. Her mother wasn’t there but she was, and for some strange reason, Isabel didn’t feel that intimidated by her. It wasn’t because she was young, but because there was something about her: something warm that Isabel couldn’t really see in the light of day. Only in this darkness, the darkness of the mansion, could Isabel feel the warmth shining through that girl, and the truth was she had a good feeling about her. She looked over at the rest and they were gawking at her like hawks. Now, they were intimidating.
“Good evening,” Oz said solemnly. “I suppose you know why we’re here.”
“Oh, do we, now?” one of the vampires, a seemingly ageing woman with sparkling silver hair, said. “Consider us ignorant. Tell me, young man, why are you here?”
“We’re here because we want to reach some kind of agreement; in the past, we have tried to do that, but unfortunately, when all else failed, we had to resort to extreme measures,” he said.
“Extreme measures? And what would those be?” the woman asked, peering at her mates through the corner of her eye. She had a smile plastered to her face; Isabel knew she had something up her sleeve. “Speak, for I want to know!”
“Gavin’s with us,” Isabel hissed. The house fell silent again. The vampires were exchanging weird looks, looks that even Isabel couldn’t understand. It was like they were speaking in some sort of secret language governed by brief glances of sheer suspicion.
“Oh, is he, now?” the woman asked, rather sarcastically. She tilted her head and stared at Oz, her grey eyes boring into his. He opened his mouth but no words came out and when Isabel turned t
o look at him, he knew he had to say something. He was their orator, the person they were depending on the most. How could he just let them down like that?
“Yes, he is,” he said again. It was like he was trying to speak but his words were barely finding their way out of his mouth. They rolled off his tongue like alphabet soup, and Oz found himself almost blabbering. “He, along with some other hostages from your pack, are with us at the rebel mansion. They’re being watched over, monitored by our guards, and in order to let them out, some conditions need to be met.”
“And what would those be?” the silver-haired woman asked, folding both arms across her chest. Her hands were veiny: just the sight of them was freaking Isabel out.
“The council needs to drop all intention of starting a war,” Oz said, rather confidently this time. “They need to make peace with the angels and they need to stop recruiting people for their own wicked deeds.”
“What else?”
“They need to evacuate the old mansion… as that was never their home to begin with… and lastly, they need to acknowledge the power of the succubi and incubi as the leading powers of the supernatural world.”
“Wow, that’s a lot you got there,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Oz. She then pursed her lips, turning to the vampires standing next to her. There must’ve been at least seven of them and when Oz was done presenting his case, they all just glared at him, as if offended he had even opened his mouth at all. Suddenly the woman started laughing. “Tell me, Oz, why are you here?”
“I think I’ve already provided a sufficient answer,” he said, his lips barely moving.
“No, seriously, tell me why you’re really here,” she said again.
“Listen, we’re not here to play around,” Isabel snapped, stepping out from the line. The woman looked amused, almost pleased, to have heard her said that. She eyed her up and down condescendingly; nothing bothered Isabel more than when people underestimated her. “We’re here to negotiate, and if you’re not willing to do that, then I guess we’re going to have to make a choice for you.”
“And what choice is that?”
“We’re going to have to kill Gavin and the rest of the hostages.”
The silence fell again. Judging by the look on the woman’s face, Isabel could tell she had made a horrible mistake. “Guards, lock them up.”
“What, no,” Oz said, his eyes darting back and forth frantically. “No!”
Suddenly, Isabel felt herself being hauled off the ground. The room was spinning and she could hear nothing but the sound of the guards’ heels clicking against the hardwood floor. She tried to look down but couldn’t; she could barely even move her neck. She could hear Oz’s screams in the distance. And Abeo’s. And Solange’s. Isabel felt like her body was shooting through the air, like she had no control over it. Suddenly she felt like she was being carried down a set of stairs. Oh, no, not again! That old musty dungeon. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back there. “Let me go, let me go!” she yelled. A rattling sound could be heard and Isabel concluded they were unlocking the gates to the cells. That sound haunted her; she couldn’t believe she was going back there again and that Oz was too. Nothing made sense to her anymore. She felt like, no matter what she did, she would still end up defeated, and nothing frustrated her more.
“You thought you could get away with this?” the woman snarled, leaning in close to Isabel. Her breath was sour; Isabel couldn’t help but squirm away. She hugged her knees to her chest and watched as the ashen faced woman disappeared behind the cells.
CHAPTER 12
“Oz, Oz,” Isabel whispered. She had been stuck in the same position for a couple of hours now; it was getting cold and she had no extra clothes, nothing to keep her from shivering convulsively. The cells were darker than last time; she thought it was because the winter was setting in. “Oz,” she said again, and this time, she felt a movement in the cell next to her.
“Hey,” he said, his knuckles the only thing visible behind the wrought iron bars. “I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to lay low, don’t want to cause any more problems.”
“Yeah,” Isabel breathed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” he said, his lips curving to a wry smile. His teeth had a yellowish tint to them; Isabel couldn’t care less. She leaned in and kissed him, but he pulled away, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I just can’t focus on anything right now. I won’t be able to give you my full attention, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said, the silver of her eyes glowing in the moonlight. It seeped in through the barred windows, illuminating Oz’s face. Suddenly she felt a hand come over her own, and she let out a gasp, pulling her hand away.
“Isabel, it’s Presten,” a voice said. Isabel reached out and, realizing the iron bars didn’t hinder her, touched Presten’s face.
“Presten, is that really you?” she asked. “It sounds like you.”
“It is me,” he said, grabbing her hand and kissing it. Isabel didn’t know whether to feel awkward or flattered. The place was pitch dark; it was almost impossible to make out the faces of the people in there.
“Are we in the same cell?” Isabel asked, feeling around for his hand again.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I just didn’t realize it until, you know, I heard smooching sounds.”
Isabel’s chuckle sounded more like a sigh. She was careful not to make a noise, but in the silence of the cells she was secretly suffering, Presten’s presence was but a roadblock to her, a reminder of how hungry she felt. Suddenly she heard a sound that made her jump. “What was that?” she asked. Her eyes were darting back and forth, trying to discern the source of the noise. Her gaze landed on the ashen face of a little girl staring back at her through the bars. Strands of her hair were glowing in the light and she smiled at Isabel as if trying to reassure her. A little more light seeped into the room, illuminating the girl’s face. Once again, Isabel recognized her as the girl from the coffee shop.
“I know you,” she said in a small voice. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.”
“You know me?” Isabel asked, blinking at her. “What do you know about me?”
“I know that you’re the chosen one,” she said, her pearly teeth showing through her smile. “And I know he’s the chosen one, too.” She patted Presten on the back, making him jump. “There, there,” she said again. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“How do you know me?” Presten asked, squirming away.
“Like I said, I’ve seen you in my dreams.” She patted Presten on the back again, but this time, he didn’t flinch. She flashed Isabel an even wider smile, but before Isabel could say anything, the girl’s face fell away from the light, and she disappeared again.
“Isabel! Isabel, look,” Presten said, nudging her with a piece of rolled paper.
“What is that?” she asked, taking it from him.
“She left this. It literally just fell off my back,” he said. Isabel unrolled the paper and lifted it up in front of her. The blue haze of the night allowed her to read what was written; I will be back by sunrise.
“I will be back by sunrise?” Isabel asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “Who do you think this girl is, and is she on our side?”
“Guards!” a woman’s voice echoed across the cells. “Bring them to me!” The gates swung open and Isabel found herself being handcuffed and forced to leave the cells. Presten was right behind her, but they didn’t take anyone else.
“Isabel! Isabel!” she heard Abeo yell, his voice getting more and more distant as she went up the stairs. She squinted at what seemed to be the light at the end of the tunnel, but when she saw that same old woman standing at the top of the stairs, she rolled her eyes in disgust.
“You don’t look so happy to see me,” the woman snarled, her eyes darting from Isabel, to Presten, and then to Isabel again. “Now, let’s just cut to the chase; is Gavin dead or alive?”
“He’s alive, but not for l
ong,” Isabel said.
“So you’re dead set on being stupid, on being reckless?” she asked, her nostrils flared. Isabel didn’t say anything. “Alright, then. Guards, take them back! And listen here, Isabel, we’re going to send out rescue missions all over Paris… and we’re going to find Gavin and the others, whether you like it, or not!”
“Well, good luck finding them,” Isabel said coldly.
“Oh, we’re going to,” she hissed. “And when we do, we’re going to kill off all the rebels, including you!”
Presten snarled at her like a dog before the guards took him away. A million thoughts were racing through Isabel’s head and when she finally settled into the depressing quietude of the cells, she felt powerful again. It was ironic, but she reminded herself that this was all cause and reaction; if they didn’t intimidate the vampires, none of this would’ve happened in the first place. “It’s almost dawn,” she said, rather to herself. A little under an hour later, the sun’s rays slashed through the windows and Isabel could breathe again. She waited for the girl to show up and when she noticed her shadow on the wall, Isabel rose to her feet attentively. Her hands were balled up; Isabel could tell she was holding something. The girl walked slowly towards Isabel and, making sure no one could see her, she handed Presten another note, and Isabel, a brown cloth bag.
