Everybody except Shatiel. He rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, a statue come to life. “Very nice. You’ll be able to do something with this and really get down to work. Oh, Branwyn. Don’t sleep yet. I need to return him now, and I’m going to need something of you to make it work.
“Do you have to?” said Amber wistfully. “Do you really have to return him? He’s such a jerk.”
Shatiel laughed. “You don’t think you’re redeeming Imani without him, do you? Now, Branwyn, you can lay there, but lift your hand.”
And Branwyn, fool that she was, did.
6
Fools
Shatiel clasped his cool hand to Branwyn’s and sleep instantly closed over her.
After a time, a bright presence moved in the darkness upon her mind. She was aware, but not awake.
Thank you. Now, I’ll need one of your nodes. Do you care which? Oh no, I see the charm to replace. This will be much better than those claws. Stay calm. This won’t take long.
Branwyn struggled helplessly to wake herself, and Shatiel paused. You’re really the only option I have. But I promise: it’s only temporary. Unless you die, of course. Then, well, it will still be temporary for you, but also far too late for him. And meanwhile, you’ll be able to influence him.
Why?? Branwyn shouted silently.
Why? The bright presence paused again, then moved around her. Remember when I said bringing him back would take more than kind words? The truth is, I don’t know how to return him to what he was. I don’t even know if he wants to come back. But he’s needed all the same. So I’ll use your soul as a limiter for a while. If he starts going the wrong way, you’ll be able to stop him, hold him near you until the urge passes.
Oh my god.
It’s not the least bit permanent.
Branwyn broke into a blind panic. But what did that mean, in dreams?
She woke up under the grey skies of full day, in the place of honor on the filthy cot in the rose house, and she knew Severin’s true name. It had been written into her soul by an angel. Instead of freeing his ‘little brother,’ that pleasant, terrifying angel had decided to give her the keys to Severin’s prison.
Branwyn shuddered, kicking off the sleeping bag that somebody had tossed over her. Then she sat up. The ghost Imani was no longer hovering overhead, but Branwyn remained in the ghost’s haunted nightmare world. In the light of day that apparently meant everything came in two shades: overcast and shadow. The shadow houses still stretched across the ground, but an odd assortment of structures no more substantial than tissue paper—woodland cottages, a tiny palace, an alpine lodge—stood atop those shadows. Just beyond the rose house, the inkiness of a disconnected world swallowed the land and sky, but it was curiously easy for her eyes to slide away from the blot and toward the flicker of movement in the town.
AT’s three dogs had placed themselves around Branwyn’s cot, and they all faced at her as she moved. The middle one, with the grey-brown curly coat, gave her a friendly woof, and she held out a hand for it to sniff. It skipped straight to pushing its ears under her fingers. Absently, she scratched as she looked around.
Except for the dogs, she was alone in the rose house. No, not alone. A figure sat across the threshold, camouflaged by the unnatural shadows. Brynn.
She bounded to her feet when she realized Branwyn had woken. The illustrations of the horses were back on her arms while tiny characters covered her chest and hands. But her legs under her pajama shorts were unmarked.
“Hey!” said Brynn. “Want some water? Rhianna says there might be coffee later.”
“Sure,” replied Branwyn, accepting the offered bottle. “Uh, how are you holding up? I see you’re wearing horses again, too.”
Brynn glanced at her arms. “They got bored because there’s nothing nice to eat here. But I’m fine. This isn’t nearly as bad as the last time I did this. That was… thousands of souls, I think.”
“Yeah? How long can you hold them?”
Brynn bit her lip. “I don’t know. I didn’t have to hold them long before. I don’t think they’ll go all at once, though. I’ll have a better idea of how long once they start draining off.”
“All right.” Branwyn exhaled, then held out her arm to her little sister. Brynn joined her on the cot and for a moment they leaned into each other.
“It’s really cool to work with you and Rhianna, but I wish we’d planned it in advance,” said Brynn happily, nestling against Branwyn’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ghost-hunting?”
Branwyn frowned. “Didn’t Rhianna explain any of this?”
Brynn wrinkled her nose. “She said she didn’t want to steal your thunder, and it was probably classified anyhow. Then she ran off to the other side of town.”
Steal my thunder? “Oh. Well… we didn’t come here for a ghost. I didn’t even know there was one. We’re investigating some missing kids. The ghost and the angel were an unexpected twist. Where did they go, by the way?”
“The ghost is wandering around yelling at people. AT’s trying to talk to her.” Brynn glanced at where Shatiel had been standing. “And the angel left with Sevvy. Neither of them have come back. Uh, do you know what happened there? Yejun said the angel put a new spell on you.”
Branwyn bared her teeth. “Yes, I saw what the angel did and I don’t like it. I don’t know where Severin is. I wouldn’t mind never seeing him again.”
She felt his presence behind her as if he’d sat on the cot. Judging from the lack of reaction from Brynn or the dogs, she decided he hadn’t.
Never, cupcake? I wanted to get your current take on murdering angels.
“Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t gone far. He’s probably just sulking somewhere because he got taken out so easily.” Branwyn stood up, brushing herself off, and the sense of Severin’s presence faded.
She wasn’t going to think about it. Her eyes still burned with tiredness; she couldn’t have had more than four or five hours of sleep and it hadn’t been restful. She was still hungry, still thirsty. Still human.
“They’re moving that investigator camp over here,” Brynn said, watching her with wide eyes. “Your overnight bag’s over in the corner.”
“Brynn, why are you wearing pajamas?”
Brynn looked down self-consciously. “Well, I was sleeping when the Horn picked up the haunt and woke us. We didn’t expect it would take long. And we didn’t think there’d be an audience. Jen went back to the farmhouse for real clothes already. She’s going to bring me something of AT’s.”
“Hmm,” said Branwyn. “And… while I’m thinking of it, did I hear you refer to ‘our first episode?’”
Brynn curled around her knees. “That’s what Amber and I call that Halloween. It’s just a joke.”
“Just checking.” Branwyn twisted her mouth wryly. “Things were… weird last night.”
“They’re still pretty weird.” Brynn unfolded and hopped to her feet, suddenly all lanky arms and legs.
“Yeah? Well, I have to stretch my legs and stuff. Why don’t you come along and fill me in?”
Brynn did. The dogs did too and Branwyn concluded they’d been guarding her rather than lazing around hoping for scritches. She wondered what the biggest threat was. Then she stopped wondering. For fifteen minutes, or maybe even until coffee appeared, she would let ignorance be bliss.
According to Brynn, the ghost town was “kinda sorta real, kinda sorta not.” The Wild Hunt could come and go safely with magic, but from the outside it was clear the haunt really had consumed the town, tearing a hole between world and Backworld that looked like a town’s shadow scorched into the earth. There was no way to return to the dusty, empty ruins Tucker had been before Shatiel had released Imani, and anybody mortal who wandered into what Tucker had become would be trapped.
“I mean, if we weren’t here. Obviously we’ll help you and Rhianna leave,” Brynn added. “That’ll be easy.”
“So what makes it not real?” Branwyn
asked, strolling along the edge of the town. A block over, a shadowy gardener weeded among the now-blooming roses in front of her shadowy house. In the distance, Imani wailed, but the gardening ghost didn’t seem to hear. “I mean, ghosts are real, right?” She hadn’t always believed that, but there was no point in belief now. It was a simple fact.
Brynn pulled her mouth to one side. “AT says this is the happiest haunt she’s ever seen, though I don’t think that’s the right word. And Yejun said everything’s been simplified. I haven’t seen much of that myself because when I arrive the complexity ratchets back up.” She touched the marks on her arm. “These guys, I guess. I don’t understand how it works. But, like, listen to Ghostlady Imani. She’s literally just floating around complaining. She can’t hurt us, of course, but she’s not even trying to hurt Rhianna. She’s not doing much to the other ghosts that have popped up, either, except screeching and zapping them, and her zaps don’t seem to hurt much.”
“You’re right, that is weird.” Branwyn thought a moment, then found her phone. “You know what? I need you to leave a message for Marley and Penny. Tell them you’re here too, and I’m taking care of myself. They’re not going to believe a message from me.”
Brynn took the phone but gave Branwyn a skeptical look. “Are you?”
“I’m doing my best. But more importantly, if you don’t convince them everything’s fine, more of us pesky mortals will be showing up to make life difficult.”
Brynn frowned and took the phone. As she called Penny, Branwyn walked away and leaned on a surprisingly solid black and white stone fence in front of a tissue-paper cottage from a different part of the world.
She focused on Severin, recalling the first time she’d talked to him, when she’d summoned him and he’d terrified her, told her she wasn’t interesting enough to bleed for. He’d toyed with and tormented Tarn’s servants, and he’d tried to kill Tarn. She’d hated him so much for that, but she’d hated him more after he saved her from a mess she’d walked into with her eyes open.
He’d showed up, unwelcome, at her family’s house to rope her into another scheme. She’d gone along, suspecting him, desperate to beat him at his own game, only to find out she’d never understood what it was. She’d gotten what she wanted in the end, and he hadn’t cared at all.
Ah, he whispered in her ear. You’ve got a whole scrapbook. Would you like to go through it together?
“How can you be sulking in the Backworld if the Backworld is part of the haunt, anyhow?” Branwyn muttered.
I’m not, he said. Something yanked on Branwyn and she stumbled forward, into a world of velvet darkness and high, bright windows. There was nothing under her feet, but she didn’t fall.
Severin sat in what looked like one of her own armchairs in the center of the windows, slumped low, his head leaned on one hand while the other draped bonelessly over the overstuffed arm. “I expected that would work,” he said flatly. “Well, here we are, cupcake. You’re inside me and I’m inside you. Isn’t this cozy.”
“Oh, so you’re sulking here instead,” said Branwyn, taking the opportunity to finally get a good look at the strange space. But there simply wasn’t much to see. The windows had lifted above her eye-level, and the velvet blackness was the world outside a spotlight. When she looked over her shoulder, she thought she saw a flash of aurora.
She wondered if there was a way out other than Severin’s windows and decided she could always make one if there wasn’t. Her Veil-parting charm was very powerful, if a bit messy.
“I wasn’t in the mood for the prattle of children.”
Branwyn turned back to him. His mouth was thin with annoyance. “I know your name now. Your original name.”
“My true name,” he corrected her. “Say it.”
“What? Why?”
“I want to know what it feels like when you say it. Don’t be tedious, Branwyn.”
“Fine,” she said. “Ramiel.” It was just a word, an unfamiliar name on her tongue, but the velvet darkness rang like the interior of a bell.
“Hmm,” said Severin née Ramiel, only his eyes moving as he took in the shivering windows. “I’ll certainly hear that. But I’ll hear you say Severin, too, so let’s stick to that, shall we?”
Branwyn tamped down the surge of annoyance that made her want to immediately respond with his original name. He just presumed she’d agree—but no. He had every reason to know she’d agree. She respected everybody’s right to define themselves. Mostly. She tried, anyhow.
He smiled and lifted his head. “Next….” With a flick of his dangling hand, Branwyn was yanked forward once again. This time, she fell into his lap. Quick as he ever was, he caught both her hands in one of his and held them under her back. Already emotionally off-balance, Branwyn stared up at him, too confused to be frightened.
Then her confusion abruptly grew much worse as he slid his other hand under her shirt. White hot fire flooded Branwyn’s nerves as his fingers made slow patterns on the skin of her stomach. Gradually, they inched their way up her torso. After a moment of aching, mindless paralysis, thoughts started trying to fight their way through the heat.
He’d never… but it felt so good… She wanted both his hands all over her, and his mouth—
But he’d never… if he just moved his hand a little more, he’d be…
He’d never touched her like this before.
The voice in her mind, his hand to hers, and that strange touch on her neck sometimes; his hands on her hips, and once, his mouth on her collarbone. That was all, the limit of the ways he’d really touched her.
All the other ways he’d touched her had been in her dreams.
There had been so many of those. She’d tried to forget them upon waking, wrote them off as the whims of a sleeping mind. But she remembered too much. And now, with his fingers trailing over her sensitive skin, she wanted even more.
His eyes were very bright as she looked up into his face. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
“Stop,” she repeated softly, unthinkingly.
He laughed, his fingers still moving. “You don’t mean that. I wish your sister could have held her tongue a while longer, cupcake. You can’t imagine how annoyed I was that she’d provoked such a delicious meltdown when I couldn’t enjoy it.” His teasing fingers unlatched her bra.
Remembered shame and humiliation overtook the heat making her boneless. “Stop it,” she said. Sharply, firmly. What she wanted right now wasn’t what she would want tomorrow, or even in ten minutes. She was more than her physical cravings.
Severin’s fingers slowed, then stilled. He bent his head so his forehead was resting against hers. “Ah. Bad news, cupcake. That’s not going to stop me at all. If you want to tighten my leash, you’ll have to call my name, over and over and over again.”
He lifted his head, withdrew his hand from Branwyn’s shirt and released her hands all at once. She sprang to her feet and staggered a few feet away before sitting down abruptly on the velvet darkness.
“I don’t want to be anywhere near your stupid leash,” she said bitterly, her heart pounding. Her bruises and muscle aches had faded under his burning touch and stayed gone now. That seemed deeply unfair.
“Yes, it’s a pity Big Brother Shatiel doesn’t take requests,” Severin responded, his voice once again cold and flat. “Whether you want it or not, there’s a collar around my neck and tied to you.”
“Why did he do that? Why did he think he needed to?” Branwyn demanded.
Severin only looked at her, his eyes glinting as he rested his head back on his hand.
Some fucking leash, Branwyn thought. She climbed to her feet. “Come on, Ramiel. If I’ve got the—”
As the velvet darkness rang again, he was behind her, holding her around the waist, his mouth at her ear. “Each and every time you use that name, you will pay a price.” She suddenly remembered, with shocking clarity, a night in Faerie: when she’d found him torturing one of Tarn’s changelings. He’d thanked her for
bringing the rest to him. She’d never felt so helpless, and the only way she’d saved any of them was to beg him for their lives.
It was a memory she’d mostly buried, even when going over her ‘scrapbook’ earlier. She’d remembered what he’d done, but not how she felt, what she’d done. She had done her best to forget.
He released her and stepped away. “Go ahead,” he said, his voice glacial. “You take the chair. Dogs sit on the floor.”
Branwyn said, “What the hell?”
“Take the chair, Branwyn,” he said, and every word buzzed in Branwyn’s head like a suppressed exposion. Numbly, she sat on the edge of the armchair. Severin knelt on one knee in front of her, a grotesque parody of a knight before his queen.
“You asked why. Because, my mistress, I am a very, very bad angel and I have finally run out of what few fucks I had. I do not care about preserving any part of this world, especially if instead I could watch it burn.”
Branwyn found herself lifting her feet under her as if the acid in Severin’s voice was creeping across the floor. He watched this distantly before continuing. “Shatiel believes that, given enough time, I’ll revert to an attitude he finds less offensive. Until that happens, he intends for you to restrain me from… indulging myself.”
His gaze flicked over her from head to toe. “You will, too. And you’ll hate it. Is that my consolation prize, or just serendipity, I wonder?”
Branwyn, already feeling a twinge of guilt for using the name he’d asked her not to use, flared up. “I’m not going to be your regulator. That’s fucked up.”
A familiar smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “But it will cost you so little, cupcake. You can’t even feel what you’re doing to me.”
“Is this all because of Imani? Was she, like, the only person in the world you cared for or something?” She half-expected him to tease her about being jealous.
But instead his face shuttered again. “She was a game I’d forgotten I was playing.”
Fury Convergence Page 8
