Desolate (Desolation)

by Ali Cross

  I pulled the door open and walked out.

  The meetings always ended this way. I arrived alone, I left alone. It was better for me this way. Easier. In the twilight, the sun hung low way out in the ocean and there was the hint of autumn in the California air. I loved this time of night, after school, but before evening mass—I had the cemetery to myself.

  Tonight the darkness hung over the cemetery like a thick, wet blanket. No stars. No moon. Even my footsteps on the sidewalk made no sound at all. It reminded me of Hell. Of how all the sound got sucked away there, how everything got sucked away into nothingness.

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and held my breath, listening. When I heard the leaves rustle in the slight breeze, and the distant wail of a siren somewhere down in the valley, my breath whooshed out along with some of the tension. Hell wasn’t here.

  I stopped in the usual place, with its memories of whispered belonging and hopeful kisses. The place that tore my heart right out of my chest. The cherubic angel welcomed me, his praying hands seeming to hold all my hopes and dreams between them. I traced my fingertips over the back of one pudgy stone hand before sitting on the bench directly across from the statue.

  I closed my eyes and sought the memories that stung like ice against my heart—the memories that meant everything to me. I relished every one of those frost-cold bites, because each of them represented love. The love I’d had. The love I’d lost.

  Michael.

  Well, not lost so much as betrayed. Because of me, Michael had been cursed with an eternity in Hell—a place in utter opposition to everything that defined him. Where he was golden, Hell was shadows. Where he was Gardian, a warrior of Asgard, Hell was populated with demons—those very souls Michael had helped to banish from our eternal home. Where Michael had chosen loyalty to the rule of Asgard and the right of all Gardians to Ascension, Loki, my father, stood against all of those things. And Father would stop at nothing to crush him, to rid Michael of his goodness.

  Just like he’d done with me.

  A whisper of thought crossed my mind. But look where you are, baby. Look what you’ve done. I looked up into the starless sky, but I knew I wouldn’t see Lucy there. It wasn’t actually her speaking in my mind—not this time, anyway. I’d gotten really good at channeling her when I felt most alone.

  Lucy would be all about hope. She wouldn’t want me to give up on Michael, but to hope for—to plan for—the day when he would return. Hope isn’t just wishing, she’d say. It’s all about the action, baby. Believe it. Live it. That’s how you make your dreams come true.

  Of course, Lucy’d been a glorified prostitute who died at the hands of a very bad man, so maybe she wasn’t the best person to take life advice from.

  I hated myself for thinking that—Lucy’d been the first person to love me, to teach me how to open my heart to the goodness in other people. To the goodness in myself. It still didn’t come easily to me, but for Lucy’s sake I tried. Every day I tried.

  So I closed my eyes and allowed myself to remember Michael. The touch of his hand against my own. The feel of his lips on mine. The way he always smelled of oranges and happiness.

  “I miss you,” I whispered to the stone angel. And with the words I pushed out the hope, pushed it away from me. It cost too much to keep.

  Beyond my closed eyelids I sensed the day growing darker. With a sigh I stood. I gazed into the angel’s eyes, one stony heart to another, before I nodded my head and walked toward the far reaches of the cemetery where a copse of trees would shield me from view.

  In the safety of their shadows, I closed my eyes, thought of Michael, and Became.

  chapter four

  Clouds overtook the sky in thick, cloying darkness. I embraced my Shadow and allowed the freezing gifts of Hell to invade my soul. I welcomed the cold—despite everything I’d learned about myself, despite the undeniable warmth that clung to me like fine flakes of gold, the cold still felt most like me. My dark, feathered wings beat against the night sky with a steady reassurance. As black as the night around me, I felt free.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as I flew along the coast. I took up a post far atop the Golden Gate Bridge and sat, my knees pulled to my chest, and waited. Tugging Aaron’s coat tight around me I inhaled deeply, but the scent of him—cinnamon hots and kohl—was fading. The long black trench coat that was synonymous with Aaron smelled more and more like me, making me feel like I’d lost Aaron twice.

  I closed my eyes and sought to see with my mind’s eye. To know when, or if, Hell would arrive. But I found nothing. At one point I jerked my head up, thinking I’d heard something—but nothing seemed amiss. Still, I stayed more vigilant after that.

  Sometime around three o’clock in the morning, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know who it would be. I put the phone to my ear.

  “Time to come home, princess.” James’ voice rasped into the phone, thick and laden with sleep. He probably set his alarm so he could check on me.

  “I can’t,” I said in a whisper, even though no one could possibly hear me from up here. “I haven’t found it yet.”

  “Mir told me to tell you she’s certain the horseman comes in the middle of the night—like around midnight. She thinks that if it’s closer to morning, he definitely won’t come.”

  I looked into the cloud-filled sky that was as dark as it had been before. “Still looks like the middle of the night to me.”

  “Just come home. I’ll leave the balcony door unlocked.”

  Of course he would, because James was like that. When I sighed, long and low, a whole dissertation on loss and loneliness, James said, “See you in a few.”

  I got to my feet slowly, not even wavering a little bit on my tiny perch. I stretched, working the kinks out of my back while the wind buffeted me. It scraped over my body and I imagined the grabbing hands in Hell. The desperate needing hands that never found what they were seeking.

  These fingers were just the wind, I reminded myself.

  I spread my wings and flew home.

  Alighting on the balcony, I eased open the door. My Shadow faded away as I crossed the threshold of my home—the place that used to be Lucy’s and now belonged to me and James. Without James, I wouldn’t have been allowed to stay here—not without an adult as my guardian. But James, though only eighteen, qualified and his healthy bank account (padded by years of doing Daniel’s dirty work) made it possible for both of us to get out of his step-dad’s house. And since Daniel worked for Hell, it got both of us out from under Father’s direct influence.

  Father could still talk to me if he wanted to—if he really wanted to, he could have me killed or dragged back down to Hell. The fact that he allowed me to go about my life without any word from him only added to my unease. In the two months since he’d taken Michael, I’d heard nothing. Father always had a plan, and I usually had a part to play. I shut the door and locked it before creeping across the living room and into the hallway. James’ bedroom door stood open a crack—his way of saying, Stop in, tell me you’re home. As bad as any normal girl’s human father and I loved him for it.

  “I’m home,” I whispered into the darkness of his room.

  “Good. Sweet dreams, princess,” James mumbled into his pillow.

  I closed his door and headed for my room and another restless sleep filled with dead friends and lost love.

  chapter five

  “Anything?” Miri asked, sliding into the seat across from me. We’d opted for lunch in the library, even though it wasn’t really allowed. Rain poured from the sky so the cemetery was out of the question again, and the cafeteria . . . Let’s just say a buzzing lunch room wasn’t the best place to discuss the coming Apocalypse. Plus, I still hadn’t gotten used to the press of noise and need that always surrounded a large group of humans, particularly teenagers.

  I shook my head sharply, unwrapping the veggie pita James had made me for lunch. His studies to be a chef at the culin
ary institute in Desert Peak were a definite plus considering I didn’t know the first thing about food preparation. Or pretty much anything else about human life.

  “Des.”

  I took a bite and I’m pretty sure my eyes rolled back in my head. “Mmm,” I mumbled around a mouthful of the most delicious sandwich I’d ever had.

  “Sheesh. He’s my boyfriend—how come you get all the good stuff?” Miri pulled out a peanut butter and jam sandwich from her skull-and-crossbone lunchbox. “At least it would be nice to have something new once in a while.”

  “I’ll be sure to let James know,” I said with a laugh. “Anyway, I stayed out till three and there was nothing . . . not even—”

  “Well, it’s coming. You’re going out again tonight, right?”

  I stopped, my sandwich poised halfway to my mouth. I set it back down. “The dream again?”

  “Again.” She peeled the crust off her sandwich which Connie—her housekeeper/maid/surrogate mom—always left on no matter how often Miri asked her not to.

  “The same?”

  “The—”

  A loud crash from the front of the library startled me and I jumped, the slim blade I kept in a holster around my upper thigh now in my hand before I’d finished standing and turning.

  A group of teens who called themselves The Chosen were closing in on Sister Mary Theresa, the potted fern she fussed over a tangle of green, dirt and pottery on the floor. The normally fierce nun shrank against the counter, trying to get as far away as possible from the evil that confronted her—because these kids and the demon who led them were evil.

  I slipped my blade back into place.

  “Try not to hurt anyone,” Miri said, her voice thick with grim acceptance. I’m sure my face looked like a thundercloud. I was tired of these wannabes. They had no idea what horror awaited them in Hell. Perhaps I should send them there.

  I knew they were innocent—relatively. The true fault lay with Eleon, the demon masquerading as their leader. A handsome teenage boy, Eleon twisted the truth until the humans practically begged for eternity in the cold wasteland of Hell.

  I marched to the front desk. Eleon turned slowly, his gaze easily finding mine past his crowd of groupies. In a flash I understood—he knew I was here. Knew I’d come to check out the disturbance. All of this—maybe even his entire little gang—was designed to get my attention. He smiled, his eyes cold, and radiated with want. I didn’t bother to smile back. I would never give him what he wanted—a coup. Eleon belonged to a very tiny faction in Hell that wanted to unseat Father and place someone—maybe me—in his place. And if I became the queen of Hell, maybe Eleon could be my second. Whatever he might think, it would never happen.

  His eyes on me, his lips twisted into a feral grin, he hissed at Sister Mary Theresa. The nun turned an even paler shade of white. Eleon whipped around, his mild Catholic school uniform somehow adding to his aristocratic air as he strode away. Each of his followers hissed or growled at the shaking nun as they followed dutifully behind their leader. His little display did nothing to impress me.

  I stepped past them and reached out to touch the sister’s arm, or do something that normal people did in such situations to offer comfort. My hand hung in midair for a moment before I dropped it to the counter. I wasn’t much for giving comfort.

  “Are you all right?”

  At first she didn’t respond. With one hand gripping the edge of the counter, and the other pressed to her chest, she gasped for breath. But I was wrong to think she would let me help her. Soon enough she turned hard eyes on me and though her voice shook, it lacked nothing in authority.

  “I thank you for your concern Miss Black—but I would appreciate it if you would go back to your table.” She turned to step around the counter before adding, “And you and Miss. Carr had best get some work done, I’ll not have the two of you gossiping when you should be studying.”

  “Yes, Sister,” I said with well-practiced humility. I didn’t like the woman, but I understood her need for authority when she had just been cut down in front and all the students in the library. They had been smart enough to turn their faces back to their books—I was the only one foolish enough to let her know I’d seen her at her weakest. I walked back to my table where Miri stood, her arms wrapped around her waist.

  I expected her to be relieved. Glad I’d managed to keep it together and act relatively human—not always an easy task for me.

  Instead her expression darkened as she stared at something behind me. I thought she must be watching Sister Mary Theresa, but when the hair on the back of my neck stood up, I knew it was more than that. I looked behind me and my stomach sank. A few of The Chosen had stayed behind and were walking toward me. I sighed. This happened far too often of late and I never knew how to handle it.

  I sat down and focused on my book, hoping the wannabes would keep walking. But hope hadn’t worked out too well for me so far. I hadn’t even had time to read the first line of Hamlet when the leader of the little group slithered up to my table.

  She leaned her elbows on the surface—her legs spread wide, almost in the splits. She tapped her black fingernails on the sides of her unnaturally white face and pursed her black lips. She stared at me while her friends struck poses of calculated fierceness—none of which impressed me. When the girl in front of me smiled, I noticed her incisors were sharpened to a lethal point. She flicked her tongue against the tip of one tooth.

  “Hey,” she said at last. I said nothing. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. I knew better than to look away though—it could be dangerous to let these people think they intimidated me in any way.

  “So, Desolation,” Vamp-Girl said. The way she said my name made it sound like a badge of honor, but I despised everything it stood for. “Eleon keeps saying he’s going to initiate us, but he never does. I think we’re ready—” She leaned closer. “At least, I’m ready.” She smiled like we were co-conspirators, two thieves conniving in the dark. But I wanted nothing to do with her or her type.

  Her focus swung to Miri, sized her up and dismissed her. She knew I had the power to give her what she wanted. I could see her thinking, weighing her options. She lowered her eyes, her bearing suddenly meek.

  “I was wondering—” she hesitated. Humility obviously not a practiced state of mind for her. In a rush she said, “I was wondering if you could help me find a demon—someone who would initiate me.” She dared a glance, then hurriedly lowered her eyes again when she caught the loathing emanating from mine.

  She probably thought the look was for her, when really it was for my dad and all the darkness he encouraged in humans. This girl might not be as innocent as most, but she was a child of Asgard. She could still choose.

  In an instant I made up my mind and leaned forward so quickly, Vamp-Girl jumped and nearly fell onto her butt. Her friends laughed at her unease, willing to change sides if theirs lost favor.

  “Listen,” I said quietly, my voice almost a growl. “Cut it out, okay? Just give it all up. Eleon is no good. Lucifer is no good. They’re no good for you.”

  I’d taken the wrong approach, because Vamp-Girl stood up tall, so I was the one made low before her.

  “I am worthy,” she said loudly. Before I could correct her, explain that she had more worth as a human than she’d ever have serving Father, she turned and stormed out of the library, her entourage falling in step behind her.

  I slumped into my seat, a loud sigh seeping out through the corners of my mouth.

  “Ugh,” Miri said. “I hate those kids.”

  It surprised me to hear Miri make such a judgmental statement. Usually she seemed to like everyone—at least she always gave people the benefit of the doubt.

  “It’s not their fault,” I said. “It’s Eleon. He’s seduced them, promised them an eternity of whatever they desire. He’s doing his job.” My job—the one Father sent me to Earth to do.

  We sat in silence for a while and I tried to quell the nausea in my gut.
Eleon and his chosen were another example of how blatant Father’s recruitment efforts had become. His minions barely even tried to keep a low-profile anymore. I could sense the darkness gathering and feel the building tension in the demons who clustered around St. Mary’s like it was the mecca for all things evil.

  According to Miri, Eleon used to keep to himself. Sure, the school slackers had made him their ring-leader, but he didn’t go around promoting the cause of Hell like he did now. And there hadn’t been this freaky vamp-club.

  I sighed again.

  “What’s wrong?” Miri picked at her lunch, not really eating any of it.

  “It’s just . . . Sometimes I wonder why I’m here. I’m not making things any better, and if I went away—I don’t know where, just away—then maybe Father would leave too. Maybe people wouldn’t be . . .” I looked at the door the vamps had taken.

  Miri touched my arm. “It’s not your fault.” I gave her a look that said Oh really? “Hey, at least here there’s Longinus and Knowles—at least we know something. Cornelius is like a walking encyclopedia of all things Lucifer and knows more than anyone—well, except for you, of course.”

  Miri picked up her sandwich and took a big bite. “Thing is,” she said around her food, “if I’m understanding anything at all about the dream, the Apocalypse is coming no matter what you do. But with you, at least we stand half a chance of surviving.”

  Half a chance. That pretty much summed it up. But . . . half a chance was better than no chance at all.

  I rubbed at the goose bumps that rose on my arms and Miri smiled sympathetically.

  “You know I don’t really hate those kids, right? It’s this thing they’re in to. I hate the vampire bit. It’s creepy. And they kind of scare me.”

  I laughed, but it came out more like a bitter-sounding snort. “They kind of scare me too.” And I didn’t say it only to make Miri feel better, either.