“Cool.”
“Yes. I am very cool. You know what else I can do?” he pressed.
I was starting to feel something very faint and pushed my senses out a little farther.
“No. What?” I asked, distracted.
“I can tell when someone is using their power.”
I stopped breathing.
My senses closed down like a book being snapped shut. I’d been caught red-handed; now I needed a strategy.
I coughed. Delay tactics 101.
“Really?” I replied, my pitch telltale high. I coughed again. “That’s handy. Could you by any chance tell that I was just using my senses?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he said, smugly. He knew we were now playing a game. I had an awful feeling he was well practiced.
“Oh, well, that’s good. I…umm…was just practicing. You know, I don’t get out of the city often, and whenever I try and use my senses there, I always pick up a lot of different stuff. I thought being out in the country was a good opportunity to see if…”
This was not going well.
I didn’t really know why I couldn’t just tell them that I thought I sensed something at the airport the other day.
Because I should have checked at the time, but I forgot about it and they’ll think I’m a loser if I tell them now. It’s probably nothing anyway.
“And?” Rudyard prompted.
“And,” I swallowed, “nothing. I can’t sense anything.”
“Right. Well, perhaps you can practice when we get a little closer to where we are going,” he said.
Griffin turned from his driver’s position, looked at me, and raised a purposeful brow. The we’ll-be-talking-about-this-later look. Excellent.
Never lie around a truth detector. I was at least grateful that he didn’t out me in front of everyone.
We drove past the farmhouse Magda had described. It was small and decrepit. Massive piles of scrap metal, broken glass, and general junk littered the front paddocks. Around the property, there were no other signs of civilization. It was a perfect hideout; no one would come here freely, and no one lived nearby to notice anything. We could all sense the presence of exiles.
Trying to remain inconspicuous and to buy reconnaissance time, Griffin parked down a dirt track not much farther down the road. Before we got out of the car, Rudyard suggested I try out my senses. I knew it was a bit of a taunt, but I actually thought it was a good idea.
Much to Nyla and Rudyard’s amazement, I was able to narrow it down to three, possibly four, exiles inside the rotted house, with one other exile walking the perimeter. We carefully trekked through the bushes and dense shrubbery that surrounded the building. When we reached a mountain of scrap metal, we crouched.
“I’ll go take care of the perimeter guard,” Nyla said, sounding a lot more formidable than usual. I half expected Rudyard to argue, but he just nodded. “I’ll try and disable him so we still have an element of surprise for the others, but if I have to return him, they’ll be able to sense me, so be ready.” She took off.
I watched Rudyard for a moment, to see if he was worried. He didn’t look it. Instead, he turned to me, taking in my confused state.
“She is a woman, yes, but mostly she’s a fierce warrior, Violet. Much greater than I have ever been or will ever be. She has taken down more than double the number of exiles I have in our many years together. And anyway”—he paused, just briefly but enough for me to notice—“it will do her no favors if I throw myself in the line of fire just to be noble. Our relationship has gone beyond that.” His eyes bore into me as if he were giving me some kind of warning.
All I could think was: they’re perfect.
We waited for a few minutes, all increasingly anxious. There was a flickering light visible through one of the blackened windows. Possibly a fire or a lamp. Then we saw what could only be described as a showering of color—like glitter gently illuminating the trees.
“She returned him,” Griffin said, now on red alert.
“She mustn’t have had a choice,” Rudyard said, defending Nyla—something I was positive he would do to the end—even though Griffin wasn’t questioning her.
Nyla was back in seconds. She crouched down beside me as the front door to the shack opened…or kind of fell open. Out came three exiles, but despite the weak light coming from the house, we couldn’t see them properly.
“No point hiding. They know we’re here,” Nyla said, standing up, completely unafraid. Griffin stood with her as Rudyard and I followed suit a little more hesitantly.
Here we go.
We walked out to the small clearing in front of the rickety porch, avoiding the worst of the broken glass that was scattered in front of the house, a vicious do-not-pass security system.
As we got closer, the faces of the exiles became clearer. I gasped before I could stop myself.
“Are you okay?” Rudyard asked.
“I’ve seen one of them before, at Hades last night,” I said, locking my sights on the ginger-haired exile who had been so casually lounging on the sofa there.
“You were in hell last night?” Rudyard asked quietly beside me.
“Yeah, it’s a bar. He was there.”
Rudyard nodded, but then tapped Nyla and Griffin on their shoulders.
“Two of them are fear-users, the two on the right. Be careful. The other is no problem.” Then he turned to me. “You need to put up your defenses. They’ll try and put your worst fear before your eyes; you have to defend yourself from this. Now!”
I nodded and concentrated on putting up my walls, on trying to protect myself and my power. As I did, I could feel the probing start. It was like when Rudyard had looked into my power at the airport, but different. Violent. I had felt this kind of invasion before, from Joel and Onyx. I knew it would take a lot to keep them out. Right now, I couldn’t face a movie montage of my worst fears. I was already freaked out by the thought of discovering which one would make it to the top of my list.
Griffin took a final step forward. “We want information. We can get it from you willingly or we can take it from you!”
The exiles didn’t respond. I was realizing it wasn’t that they did not care about their existence, but rather the opposite. They were extreme narcissists. They truly believed in their supremacy and that they could not be beaten—up until the second after a dagger went through them and it was all too late.
The one to the left—the one I recognized—moved toward Nyla. It was tactical, trying to disable her first, thinking she was the smallest, and therefore the weakest.
Big mistake.
Nyla stepped back, feigning caution to encourage his advance, bringing him in as close as she could to where she stood. Then, with freakish speed, she spun and jumped. On the way down, her dagger went straight into the exile’s upper thigh. It didn’t kill him. But instinct told me that if she’d wanted to, she could have. Easily.
The exile dropped to the ground, grabbing his thigh as Nyla simply reached down and ripped the dagger from his leg while he screamed.
“Move again and it goes in your heart.”
The other two exiles, who must have been shocked to see her annihilate their buddy so quickly, barely blinked. Instead, I felt them pushing again at my power. It was like they were turning all the doorknobs and rattling all the windows, looking for a way in.
Griffin kept talking to them, demanding information. They kept refusing, intent on watching me. I was the target—the only one they were trying to infiltrate.
I caught glimpses of images. I rejected the intrusions, tried hard to stay focused, keep the walls up, but I still saw the broken snapshots, pictures sliding past my eyes in a fast-motion blur. Despite the quick movement, they were definitely there.
First I saw him, the one that always seemed to feature in these moments. Even now—with all
I have faced, feared, conquered—he still haunts me, accessing that place in the pit of my stomach that can send terror flooding through my body. The teacher who attacked me, threw me on a wooden desk and ripped at my clothes while pushing his hard calloused fingers into my arms as he forced me down.
I hated that this—that he—was somehow a part of my internal structure now, something I could not tear from my being or my history. I saw his face flash by—just a glimpse. But a glimpse was enough.
My hands went to the side of my head as I tried to physically hold myself together. But then…the vision settled on one scene.
It wasn’t him I was seeing as much as me.
Oh no.
I knew where this was going.
I was back in the desert, reliving the moment when I had put his face to the silhouette my dark angel had told me I must kill. I watched now, as the events once again unfolded, separate from me somehow, in another place. I could see myself crying, begging not to be there. I held the dagger in my hand and pulled it back, ready to make my strike, and then watched as the figure morphed into a new shape—me—just as I drove the dagger up into the heart.
There were three of me: the now me, watching this vision; the killer me, holding the dagger; and the dead me, dropping to the ground in a pool of blood, lifeless and…gone.
I vaguely felt something burning in my legs, but I couldn’t concentrate. I needed to not be here, to not see this. I couldn’t go through it again. I drew within and worked furiously, trying to put up my defenses. It started to work and then, all of a sudden, as my barriers sprung up, shutting down the images of my past self and the desert, something smashed me across the face.
I opened my eyes, and I was once again in the clearing outside the little farmhouse. I was kneeling on rocks, jagged metal scraps and shattered glass, in the midst of a pool of blood. Nyla was standing above me, a scary combat-ready look on her face. Griffin was crouched at my side, looking more concerned.
He stood and put a hand out. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, tasting blood in my mouth. I must have bitten down on my tongue at some point. “They…they were both—I’m sorry, I just wasn’t ready,” I said, embarrassed that I had not been able to stop them.
“They were strong, Violet. Very strong. Two of them together would have been nearly impossible for any of us to hold back. They weren’t going after us—just you,” Rudyard said, as Griffin pulled me up.
“What happened?” I asked, looking around. The two fear exiles were gone.
“Returned. We had no option. Fear can kill,” Griffin said.
Oh.
“What about the other one?” I asked, looking over to where Nyla now towered over the less powerful exile.
“That’s why I slapped you. Sorry. I need your help with this one,” Griffin said, leading me over.
She gave me a nod. “All right?” She sounded so different from normal, in complete battle mode.
If it doesn’t need to be said right now, don’t say it.
“Yep.”
Griffin crouched down beside the exile, whose leg was now healed. “Can you see her?” he asked him, pointing up to me. “Can you feel her power?”
The exile looked at me and then down at the ground.
“Have you heard about what she can do?” Griffin continued, taunting. “I bet you have. She can strip you, make you only human—rotting, rancid flesh with no power, no matter what your choice.”
My mouth dropped open as I listened to Griffin verbally torture this exile, but Nyla gave me a look that stopped me from interrupting. I knew she was right, but still—Christ.
“Where is the Grigori Scripture? We know you know. Tell me now or I’ll tell her”—he looked up at me again—“to go ahead and get a little retribution. Get me?”
The exile didn’t lift his head but nodded.
Mother of God.
“Where?” Griffin pressed.
“I can’t tell you a specific location, just…how to find it, that’s all. But you have to let me go,” the exile said.
“Tell us what you know, everything you know, and I will let you go for tonight,” Griffin said, and as he did, I could feel him inject truth into his words so the exile would feel assured, but also so that he understood he had to tell us all that he knew.
“Okay,” the exile said, standing up.
We all moved back a step, keeping the right striking distance.
“The Scriptures are where all the Rules were first placed,” he said, a small smile creeping into his sour expression.
“What?” I responded, starting to realize what it was that kept making me feel uneasy.
“Where all the Rules went. In the beginning. The Rules. For the three that existed on earth, welcome or not, there were rules and other…instructions, as needed. Find the place of the Rules, find the lost Scriptures.”
I moved forward. Griffin put a hand out to stop me, but I pushed it away. I was closer to the exile than was wise, but I figured he had been sufficiently petrified about what I could do to him and wouldn’t be overly stupid now.
“I’m going to ask you one more question. Griffin over there is going to know if you tell the truth. If you do, you can go. If you don’t…”
The exile’s eyes darted between us all. I didn’t need to turn around to know the threatening looks he would be getting right now. They had my back.
“What?” he growled.
I spoke slowly. I knew what I was about to say was potentially major. I needed to keep my voice steady even though the very idea of what I might be suggesting was horrific. “You said there were rules for the three who existed. You said Scriptures, not Scripture. What else is with the Grigori Scripture?”
His smile broadened. “He’s been waiting for you to figure that out.”
“Who?” I snapped.
“You said one question—which one?”
I swallowed hard. “The first.”
“Humans found their rules close to three and a half thousand years ago. The others, one for the Grigori and one for the Exiled, remain in their original place of belonging”—he sighed—“though not for much longer.”
“What is in the Exile Scripture?” I asked even as my stomach turned.
The exile’s eyes lit up. “The promise of hell on earth.”
“What does that mean?” I pushed.
“Can’t say,” he answered. He bowed his head to me, then looked at Griffin.
“That’s all he knows, Violet,” Griffin confirmed.
“I’ll be on my way then,” he said as he took off running, super fast. We all just watched, a little dumbstruck.
“God help us,” Griffin spoke quietly. “We need to find those Scriptures before they do. Now, more than ever.”
“Let’s start by getting Violet cleaned up,” Nyla said, putting an arm around me as we started the walk back to where we had left the car.
I hadn’t taken much notice until that point, but the cuts on my legs were deep and my knees were starting to swell.
The drive back was quiet. There was a lot to talk about, but right then, I couldn’t do it, and I knew everyone else respected that.
I gave Steph a call to let her know I was on my way home.
“No worries,” she said. “We caught up with Spence and Zoe, and after the rant ended, they filled us in. I came back to your place just in case your dad called. He hasn’t yet, but if he does, I’ll just say you’re in the shower or something.”
“Thanks. Be back there in about half an hour,” I said.
“Are you okay? You sound wasted,” Steph said, concern growing in her tone.
“Yeah. Just exhausted. I’ll fill you in when I get home.”
After I hung up, Griffin turned to me. “Don’t you want to go back to Lincoln’s? Get those knees healed?”
; “Oh…” I looked at my knees. The bleeding had mostly stopped. They’d hurt like hell tomorrow, but it would be the weekend, and I just couldn’t cope with any more tonight. “No. It’s just a few scratches. They’ll heal on their own.”
“If you say so,” he said, not buying it but not pressing.
As we neared my street, Nyla inched a little closer and spoke quietly. “Violet, do you want to talk about it?”
I knew what she was asking, but even acknowledging the fear the exiles had reawakened was more than I could handle.
“No,” I said, working hard to remain focused on nothing. I’d taken enough visits down memory lane today.
“Okay,” she said, realizing I wasn’t a share-share kind of girl but giving my hand a pat anyway.
Just one more block and then I’m out!
Getting into my building took a while since I had to loiter outside, waiting for the security guy to go for a wander down the halls so I could slip in unnoticed.
When I finally made it inside my apartment, I closed the door and locked the dead bolt, just like any other day. I held myself together and opened the door to my bedroom. There, sound asleep in my bed, lay Steph.
I whispered, “Steph!” checking she was asleep, hoping she wouldn’t wake up.
She didn’t.
I moved on autopilot back out to the living room, turned on the TV softly to mask what was coming, walked into the kitchen, leaned back against the counter, and slid down to the floor, matching the speed of the tears that poured from my eyes. I tucked my knees, sore and swollen, close to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.
For too many hours, I cried silently and screamed inside.
“The terrible thing about the quest for truth is that you find it.”
Remy de Gourmont
I woke in the morning, stiff, tender, and swollen, curled up in the corner of the couch, to a serious glare from Steph.
“I left you for as long as I could, but, Vi, you need a shower”—she handed me a cup of coffee—“and this.”
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