by Ali Cross
I didn’t take my eyes off Miri, willing her to look my way so I could convey my regret, my need to apologize, but she avoided looking at me. I’m sorry, I said in my mind, hoping the room would fill with my apology so Miri couldn’t help but feel it. I stepped forward, planning to sit beside her, but Michael sat down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
Everything felt wrong. Out of place. Miri in Knowles’ spot, dressed in faded St. Mary’s sweats. For a minute my brain hitched on the question, Where’s James? Before I realized that while it felt as if my world had stopped, in reality it kept going on and on. It was a school day—Knowles in class, James at the college. Only Miri and I were out of place here—well, and Michael. It was all wrong that he, a Gardian, should sit beside me, broken, suffering. I was surrounded by suffering.
“We aren’t going to be able to reach Heimdall on our own,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Reluctantly I sat down in the chair next to him, angling my body so I could watch him and Miri. I dreaded this conversation, that Michael—golden, good—would have to say the words, these words. That he would have any knowledge of Hell made my soul weep.
“You know where he is being held?” Longinus asked. I jumped at the sound of his deep, resonant voice—usually he kept his comments to one or two syllables. He and Michael locked gazes.
From the silence that stretched between them, the answer was yes. “I have an idea,” he said. “But we’re going to need help. Where he is being held, I cannot go.”
“But I could,” I said. We were talking about my home, after all. “We don’t need help. I can do it.”
Michael didn’t answer, just stared at his hands, refusing to look at me.
Anger burst through me like a sudden winter storm and I jumped to my feet. “Look. No matter what you think, no matter how it looks, Father would never refuse me entrance. I am still his child.”
Michael looked at me then, reached up and took my hand. He gently tugged me back down to my chair. “I know he wouldn’t deny you, my love. But if you went, you—I just can’t risk losing you.”
“But—”
“The only other way is to be taken as a prisoner, as I was, or-or Heimdall. Either way . . .” His expression bore such love, such tenderness, that the anger melted away and left me with a sigh.
“If Loki claimed you once more, he would never let you go again, and I’m afraid you would be lost to me forever.” He squeezed my hand, his warmth battling back the cold in my veins. “And that is a loss I could not survive.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even really think. I could only breathe. Only feel. I could set aside my pride for this, for him.
Instead, I asked, “Where are they keeping him?”
“I am not certain,” Michael said.
“But you indicated you knew,” Cornelius said.
Michael looked at the priest and nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s true I don’t know exactly where Heimdall is being held—I believe Loki thought if we were allowed to associate, he might help me remember my true identity. That I was more than Loki’s servant.” He spoke the words as easily as if he were discussing the weather, or school, or any number of mundane subjects. Not talking about my failure, my greatest shame.
“But I know how we can find him.”
“Very well. We’ll discuss thi—” His words were cut off by his cell phone ringing “Ave Maria” in his jacket pocket. “Excuse me,” Cornelius said after clearing his voice and retrieving the phone. “Yes?”
His eyes flicked to Miri. “I understand.” He disconnected the call and laid it on the table in front of him.
We all waited, expecting Cornelius to speak—but he didn’t.
“What is it?” I finally asked.
Cornelius looked at Longinus, and heaved a sigh of relief when Knowles stepped into the room.
“Miri,” Knowles said, crossing the room to stand in front of her. He reached out his hand, she took it, and he pulled her to her feet. He continued to hold her hand “You must come with me, but you must be brave.”
Her eyes grew wide and she whispered, “What’s wrong?” Her free hand rose to her throat and her gaze slipped to me before returning to Knowles. “Is it James?” I could tell she barely had it together, could barely wrap her mind around the possibility that she might have lost her mom and James within two days.
My own heart grew cold as I watched the exchange. I literally felt my inner light dim until it felt like I’d stepped out of the sun and into in the shade. Knowles pulled Miri to his side and wrapped his arm around her. I’d never—not once—seen him show so much care and tenderness.
“Miri’s mother is here.”
Silence breathed like a beast in the room as we all tried to wrap our heads around his words. I looked at Cornelius, hoping he would explain—he could always explain—but his gaze was on his hands lying flat on the table in front of him. Longinus didn’t offer any insight either—he watched Knowles.
Miri finally said, “What do you mean?” in a voice so small, so broken it carried no emotion at all.
Knowles squeezed her tighter to him. “She has come looking for you.”
Miri started to cry.
Cornelius finally got up and went to Miri. She fell into his arms and sobbed harder into his black jacket. “It is as I feared it would be,” he said.
“What’s going on?” Examining the faces of everyone in the room it wasn’t hard to see that only Miri and I were clueless in this. Everyone else wore matching expressions of sorrow and fear.
“With the bridge to Asgard closed, the spirits of the dead have nowhere to go.” Cornelius’ voice was low and steady, his tone almost like a lullaby. I remember we’d talked about that, but I didn’t quite see the problem.
“That’s a good thing in this case, though—right? I mean, Miri’s mom isn’t dead!” I wouldn’t have to feel bad about being such a sucky friend if Miri’s mom wasn’t dead after all. Miri would be okay—she wouldn’t be so sad. I looked around, expecting to see my smile reflected on the faces around me—but no one seemed to think this was good news.
The school fire alarm sounded—its distant buzz echoing down the basement hallway.
“What do you mean?” Miri asked, her voice stronger now.
Cornelius pushed Miri back until he held her at arms’ length. “I mean, your mother’s spirit has been forced to return to her body—and she has come here, looking for you.”
“Looking? For me?”
“Yes. Do you know why she would have come for you? Were you expecting her when she—” He swallowed, and I imagined he wished he was anywhere else doing anything else. “When she was in her accident?”
Miri waited a beat before answering, “Yes. She was coming to talk to Mrs. Park about the Shakespeare project. Mom thought we should do it like a show—use the exhibits and performances as a fundraising opportunity for the school.” Miri didn’t blink, didn’t hold any emotion in her words. “She’s totally into fundraising,” she added in a whisper.
“But she’s asking for you—not for Mrs. Park.”
“She’s a-asking?” She swayed on her feet. Cornelius pulled her to him again, holding her up with his embrace.
The fire alarm had stopped, and I felt evil waiting in the silence that followed.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“We must go—we must give Mrs. Carr what she needs because she will not stop until she has it. “Miri, you need to be strong. This isn’t going to go well. Your mother—well, she’s not exactly the same. Her spirit is stuck, like a broken record. She can only think of one thing—the thing she was doing when she died. And she will not stop—indeed, she cannot stop—until she has it.”
Miri nodded numbly. Cornelius opened his mouth like he would say something more, but he said nothing.
“Come,” he directed before walking Miri out the door.
chapter thirty-one
Michael
I fell in step behind Cornelius and Miri, dread making m
y feet feel as heavy as anvils. I longed to fly ahead, to stop whatever was happening and protect Miri from this pain.
Except, I had caused this pain.
Because of me, the Door to Asgard—and the rest for eternal souls—had been closed. Because of me, Miri would endure such sorrow as no one should.
Desi walked beside me and I had a flash of understanding—this was how she felt most of the time. How she felt about her choice to save Miri. How she felt about . . . Well, everything. She blamed herself and feared there could be no forgiveness. I believed Odin would forgive me—at least I had reason to hope he would. But Heimdall . . . I doubted I would ever have the right—or the courage—to ask it.
We came from the hall leading to the cathedral into the school, finding it packed full of students.
“Why is everyone here?” Desi asked in a near-whisper. Her voice slipped into my ears and wound around my heart. She had such power over me—even her nearness made me feel like I could do anything, that I could even forget all that I had suffered at Loki’s hands—at her father’s hands.
“They’ve been confined here—Miri’s mother is out front,” Cornelius answered in a flat, controlled voice. In front of me, he tightened his arm around Miri’s trembling body.
We stopped in front of the doors; the security guards resigned to allowing dozens of students to lean against the glass, trying to get a view of what was going on. I could see a line of police cars out front, their doors open while the officers stood about, their attention focused on the front lawn. This would not go well. I put my hand on Miri’s shoulder and squeezed gently.
“Somebody should call James,” Desi whispered, her hand tightening around my own.
Cornelius turned, his gaze sweeping past Desi before settling on Miri. “He has been called,” he said.
He took Miri’s hands in his, making certain she made eye contact with him. “This will be difficult. Perhaps more difficult than anything you have experienced before now.” Considering the torture Miri had endured at the hands of Loki’s demons as they tried to drive her deeper and deeper into a drunken stupor until she gave up her right to life entirely, Cornelius’ warning carried astounding weight.
Miri stared at him for a moment, her mouth slightly open, her hands hanging limply at her sides. Finally she nodded her head the slightest bit.
Cornelius turned for the door and I angled to the side so I could take Desi’s hand as she stepped forward. She didn’t look at me as her hand slipped into mine—instead she focused on the doors, on the police, on the kids gathered around, on Miri. She moved forward and I fell into step beside her.
The swell of kids parted like the Red Sea as they realized who was walking past them. They even whispered about me—wondering where I’d been the past two months, wondering what was going on. They had so many questions and I didn’t have answers for any of them.
“She looks so pretty,” Miri whispered as we stood on the sidewalk. Mrs. Carr stood alone on the brown grass, wearing a peach-colored suit, her hair carefully styled. “It was her viewing today.”
Before I could respond, Cornelius led Miri onto the lawn. Dozens of policemen stood gathered around, talking amongst themselves, some gesticulating animatedly. No one seemed to know what to do with a woman who should be dead.
Miri and Cornelius stopped walking. His arm tightened around her. Mrs. Carr took several stiff, stumbling steps toward them. Miri began crying in great, body-shaking convulsions.
“Mom,” she sobbed.
“Mmm . . .” her mother intoned as she approached. “Mmm-eee.”
Miri surged forward. Cornelius tried to hold her back, but she wrenched her arm free and fell forward, wrapping her mother in her arms.
A girls’ scream, echoed by two or three others, came through the open windows of the school and an officer fired his gun. He either missed or shot it into the air, because Miri still held her mother. She stood motionless, her body only moving to and fro with the waves of Miri’s tears.
“Hold your fire!” an officer shouted. “Get it together or get out of here,” he ordered.
“Mmm-eee-rrrr . . .”
“I’m here Mama. I’m here.”
Without warning, Mrs. Carr lurched backward, wrenching herself free of Miri’s arms. She turned in a circle, repeating her strange syllables.
“Mama,” Miri cried, taking a step forward, then stopping.
Mrs. Carr stopped with her back to Miri, staring straight ahead. I could hear the kids in the school squealing and shouting “Zombie!” behind the windows.
“Margaret!” Mr. Carr shouted as he jumped from his car. I hadn’t even noticed him pull his silver BMW over the curb near the walkway. He left his car running, the door hanging open while he ran across the yard.
“Stay back!” The officer who seemed to be in charge hurried forward in an effort to halt Mr. Carr.
“She’s my wife, you idiot!” Mr. Carr shouted back, shoving the policeman aside. “Margaret!”
Mrs. Carr turned around at the sound of her husband’s voice and even though I knew differently, knew she wasn’t truly capable of rational thought, of conscious thought, I still felt my heart leap, like she would be okay, like she could be alive.
Without warning she jumped forward, her arms wildly reaching for Mr. Carr.
Pop! Pop-pop-pop! Pop!
Jagged soot-colored holes littered the front of Mrs. Carr’s jacket. Her body shook and she took a step backward, stumbled and fell. I sought the source of the gunfire and identified a young officer, his gun hanging limp in trembling hands, tears coursing down his face.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he kept saying.
Sorrow weighed me down. Too many sorrows to count. When I looked for Mrs. Carr, I saw her lying on her back, utterly still.
I expected screams, cries . . . But there was nothing. Silence hung around us as if Loki had sucked the sound from this world, too. I reached out, my hand finding Desi’s. She clasped onto me, let me pull her to my side. We clung to each other as we watched our friend stand next to her father, neither of them touching, neither of them saying a word; their loved one laying on the ground.
A demon’s shadow-self whisked across the lawn and pounced on Mrs. Carr. I felt a thrust of guilt to my gut that left me as breathless as any physical blow. This is my fault. This pain. This evil. All my fault.
She lurched upward into a sitting position. The kids in the school squealed and shouted, “She’s moving!”
Miri covered her face with her hands.
I felt my love’s yearning resonate through her spirit. She longed to do something, to help, to heal. She couldn’t stand by and do nothing while Miri hurt so. And almost as suddenly as the urge to help had washed over her, I felt the cold, dead, breath of Hell crush her desire for good. She pulled away from my embrace.
Miri stood helpless, her spirit crushed in the face of such heartache.
Desi shuddered against the building storm I sensed in her—a darkness that came faster and faster and I knew—I knew—what she faced. I recognized that storm. Was intimately familiar with the turmoil that boiled within her.
Anger bubbled up inside me. Righteous, burning anger until I felt I couldn’t contain it any longer.
“Now,” I said, turning my back on the ongoing tragedy playing out on the lawn. “We need to fix this.” I stormed away, not caring who followed, not caring if anyone helped me at all. I would fix this, restore the order between the worlds. And I would make Loki pay.
chapter thirty-two
Desi
I watched the scene as if from a very great distance. I felt nothing. I thought nothing.
Part of me knew, on some level, that Miri’s heart was being torn from her body and ripped into a zillion pieces. I knew it, but I couldn’t rally the appropriate response. It was like the pain had become so great, the sorrow so deep that it was either lose myself in it or . . . Not.
I chose not.
I pulled away from Michael. Cloaked myself in
impenetrable cold. Removed myself from caring.
I watched Mrs. Carr turn away from Miri.
Watched Mr. Carr call out to her, reach for her.
Saw the demons who crouched around Mrs. Carr, hungry for her spirit—a rare treat, a delicacy in the extreme. I saw Eleon, Taige and the other vamp-kids huddled by one of the windows. Heard Eleon tell them he would have some fun.
Saw Eleon melt away into Shadow and force himself into Mrs. Carr’s body. With ravenous desire he claimed her body, and when he jerked her body upward he laughed while the officers riddled her body with more bullets.
I watched it all and I did nothing.
But when Michael drew himself up to his full height and his Halo nearly burst from him in righteous indignation, his golden warmth brushed against my Shadow. It pressed against my darkness, my resolve. He turned and stormed away, and I found myself following. Around the the cathedral, away from the drama unfolding at the school. Toward the cemetery and the spot where I had always felt closest to him, closest to the warmth that huddled like a small, frightened child in the center of my darkening soul.
We walked without speaking until we came to the part of the path where a stone bench hid in the embrace of a weeping willow. He sat and I joined him, both of us looking up to the little stone angel praying over us.
“I came here every day,” I said, when the silence stretched between us like pulled taffy. “I used to hope you could hear me. Or feel me.” I bit my lip, shook my head. Stupid. “I knew you couldn’t, it’s just . . . I had to do something.”
My words fell like snow between us. Meaningless, empty. They left no mark, melting away into the cement. I tried to pull back my hand—who was I kidding? He couldn’t still love me. I should have done more, when all I did was talk to a stupid stone angel.
“I could,” he said, gripping my hand tighter. “I did hear you. Or feel you. Somewhere inside me, I knew.”
No one knew better than me how completely Hell cuts you off from the other worlds. All you had were memories, and sometimes even they faded if enough time, or enough pain, filled the spots between then and now.
