Lost in Prophecy: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Ascension Series) (Volume 5)

by S. M. Reine

  A grunt. “See you soon.”

  She dropped the phone in its cradle.

  Lincoln was leaning against the wall, watching her with his arms folded. “What’s the next move?”

  A pressure headache was building in her skull and the wound on her chest was aching again. Elise stood slowly, and just the change in posture made her dizzy again.

  “I don’t know,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I need to think.”

  Anthony gone missing. Assassination attempts in Dis. Wounds Elise wasn’t healing. Thousands of missing people. Thousands more slaves that still needed to be liberated. Neuma and Jerica. Lincoln. James.

  What’s the next move?

  “I’m taking you back to the Great Library to continue working with Isaiah and Aniruddha,” Elise said. Whatever came next, she could handle alone. She needed him where he was more useful. Where he could be helping Elise learn to cast the magic she needed to be strong enough to kill all her enemies.

  “What? You can’t cut me out of this. I’m not going back.”

  “This isn’t a debate.”

  “The demon knew something was going to happen in Two Rivers,” Lincoln said, tapping his forehead with a knuckle. “Your answers—my answers—are in here somewhere, and that means you need me to investigate, not read books.”

  “I need you learning to be a warlock, Lincoln,” Elise said. “I won’t be able to do anything for these people if you don’t. And, frankly, if you’re starting to manifest megaira powers, you’re too unreliable to be on the road with me.”

  “But…this is why I’m here.” His fists shook with frustration. “This must be it.”

  “You’re here because Gerard asked you to help me.”

  “Do you think so?” Lincoln asked. “Do you honestly think it’s that easy? Because if one of your guys contacted me right before you stumbled across trouble with something Judy was doing—well, that’d be one big coincidence, Kavanagh, and I don’t know that I believe in coincidences. Do you?”

  The obsidian falchion was a reminder of exactly how many coincidences were in her life.

  She still wanted Lincoln safe in the library, where she wouldn’t lose him the way she had lost Anthony.

  “Brace yourself,” Elise said.

  He tensed, anticipating being phased again. But before she released her physical form, the bloody handprint on the wall caught her eye. On impulse, she bent down and licked it.

  Lincoln sucked a breath in through his teeth.

  Elise traced her tongue over her lips, pondering the flavor of the old blood. It had been there for at least three days. It was still heady with power. She could taste ice water and pine and the musk of fur.

  Werewolf blood.

  Seven

  IT WAS RAINING hard in Northgate, but the precipitation didn’t quite reach the streets surrounding the fissure; it evaporated into steam before hitting the pavement.

  Rylie walked briskly through the storm, hood pulled over her head to protect herself. She tried not to look down into Hell. It was bad enough that she couldn’t tune out the scents—the melting human flesh, the burnt charcoal, the factories and smelters.

  There seemed to be more Scions guarding the bridge than usual. A small crowd had gathered on the lawn surrounding the statue of Bain Marshall, most of them armed and all of them whispering.

  Disturbance in the fissure? Rylie wasn’t sure that she wanted to know badly enough to stop. She hadn’t told anyone that she was going to be in Northgate, and she preferred to get back to the sanctuary without anyone catching on.

  The wind picked up as she passed the edge of the bridge, carrying the scent of werewolves to her. It wasn’t just Scions talking over by Bain Marshall. Some of the pack were there, too. People who would be likely to report back to Abel.

  Rylie quickened her pace.

  As she passed, a woman unhitched herself from one of the bridge’s pylons and moved to walk alongside Rylie. Elise appeared to be unbothered by the rain. She didn’t even look like she was wet. Maybe she, like the fissure, repelled Earth’s natural weather.

  A thrill of fear raced through Rylie. “What are you doing here again?” she asked without stopping. She liked Elise, she really did, but two visits in such a short period of time couldn’t be a good thing.

  “We need to talk,” Elise said.

  Rylie glanced over her shoulder at the road leading to St. Philomene’s, and all of the people who were now blocking that route. How much had Elise seen? Did she know who Rylie had just been visiting?

  “I’m on my way back to the sanctuary. I have to make sure that everything’s coming together for dinner. I can’t really talk right now.”

  “Tough shit. This is more important than dinner. Are you missing any werewolves?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Elise’s voice sharpened. “What do you think I mean? Has anyone in your pack left or disappeared?”

  Heat crept up Rylie’s cheeks. She had assumed that Elise had somehow learned about the problem with the other werewolves wanting to change the Scions into monsters just like them. “Everyone’s still in the sanctuary and Northgate, tripping over each other every time we turn around. We could use a few of them disappearing, actually, just to make it a little easier to breathe.”

  Elise didn’t smile. Her hard look made Rylie’s intestines just about shrivel up on themselves.

  “How many werewolves exist outside of the pack?” Elise asked.

  “I don’t think—I mean, I’m not sure. Not many. There shouldn’t be any at all, but I can’t guarantee that all of them sought me out when I got called to become Alpha.”

  “There’s at least one. I found werewolf blood today.”

  Rylie’s eyes widened. “In Hell?”

  “Close. Two Rivers, Georgia.”

  She gnawed on her bottom lip, considering. That blood couldn’t have come from one of her wolves. The last werewolf they had brought into the pack was Katja, and she had been forcibly infected with the curse by a demon. That meant that there must have been a stray werewolf in Dis at some point—someone that could have performed the bite, and later escaped to make more.

  But no werewolves had climbed out of Dis using the bridge. If there were any wolves in Hell, they were still down there.

  “I don’t have any reason to think there’s a werewolf in Georgia,” Rylie said.

  “Well, I do. I want you to give me a werewolf,” Elise said.

  “Give you a werewolf?”

  “Someone with a good nose to help me investigate problems I’m having, including this smear of werewolf blood in Georgia.”

  “Someone to take down to Hell, you mean,” Rylie said.

  “Eventually, yes.”

  Rylie tried to imagine a werewolf living in Dis. That place had been haunting her ever since the fissure ripped open and bared the dark city lurking beyond. The fact that she had now been there personally—twice—didn’t change how much it frightened her. If anything, experiencing everything in intimate detail had made it so much worse.

  The hands that grew out of the ground. The smell of melting human flesh. The obsidian everything.

  It was nothing like Gray Mountain, where werewolves had originated from, and where the pack belonged. They were creatures of the earth and trees. They needed the moon to thrive.

  They didn’t belong in that alien wasteland below.

  “Please don’t ask for this,” Rylie said. Elise opened her mouth, but she pushed on. “I want to help. You know I want to help. You’ve done so much for us. But werewolves in Hell—we’d waste away. I can’t ask anyone to do that.”

  “If you won’t command it, then put out a request for volunteers.”

  Someone would definitely volunteer if Rylie asked. The werewolves were becoming bolder ever since Abel had last stirred them to fight against the nightmares—much bolder than Rylie was comfortable with.

  These people had come to her looking for guidance. An Alpha to take care of them. In
the last few years, she believed they had become family more than friends. But the stress of being in the pack, and the stress of the Breaking, had started to turn these normal people hard.

  It scared her sometimes.

  “I could ask for volunteers,” she said reluctantly. Elise didn’t seem to hear the response. She stiffened, pushing Rylie behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  “We have company.”

  Company came in the form of a woman with strawberry-blond hair twisted in an elegant bun. Rylie had been so distressed by the idea of sending a werewolf down to Hell that she hadn’t noticed the doctor approaching on the road from St. Philomene’s Cathedral. “I must say, it’s interesting seeing the two of you together.” Stephanie Whyte twirled the umbrella on her shoulder, making the tangle of vines printed on the inside swirl. She smelled of latex, antiseptic, silicone. “You don’t seem like the likeliest of friends.”

  Levi was standing behind her, half-concealed by the parasol. He hung back with hands in his pockets and looked annoyed. Considering how frequently he looked like that, it might have just been his normal face. Rylie wasn’t sure.

  Elise jerked a knife out of her boot. She flipped it so that the hilt was cradled in her palm, blade pointing up. Throwing position. “Hi, Stephanie.”

  “Hello again. How’s James doing?”

  “He isn’t dead.” Her tone could have turned the rain to snow. “How’s the cult life treating you?”

  A thin smile from Stephanie. “Business as usual, I suppose. I was told that you don’t typically visit Northgate. Levi said that he hasn’t seen you visit even once during his tenure as informal mayor.”

  A laugh slipped out of Rylie before she could stop herself. “Mayor? Levi Riese? Are you kidding?”

  He glowered at her, but didn’t rise to take the bait. He never missed out on a chance to argue with Rylie. She wondered if he was sick.

  “Nobody else has been helping here lately,” Stephanie said. She spoke a little loudly, as though trying to keep attention on herself. “Who’s been feeding the Scions? Who’s been organizing recovery efforts in the outlying farms? And where have you been, Elise?”

  “She doesn’t take care of Northgate. I do,” Rylie said.

  “Not lately, you haven’t.”

  “Levi took the cathedral. He drove Isaiah, and many of the others that led the Scions, back into Hell.”

  “You didn’t exactly fight him on it, did you?” Stephanie asked. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Rylie. I know you’re…preoccupied.” Her eyes were gentle, but her mouth was a hard line. “Levi’s doing his best here. You should be cooperating with him. The two of you could make all of our lives easier.” Her gaze cut to Elise. “Much easier.”

  Elise’s fist tightened on the dagger, leather glove creaking.

  But it was Rylie who stepped forward. “Abel told me what you said to him. If this is your idea of being more cooperative, I don’t want to see what it’s like when you start making trouble.”

  Elise circled Stephanie slowly. When she got close to Levi, he took a quick step back, moving with werewolf speed. Staying out of reach. “What do you know about the House of Volac, Doctor?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stephanie said.

  “How about the obsidian falchion? How about three thousand missing people? Or Two Rivers, Georgia?”

  “Whatever you think I know, you’re wrong,” Stephanie said. “I’m surprised, Elise. I won’t pretend we’ve ever been friends, but I think you know me better than this. Tell me—how much do you think I have to do with the affairs of Hell?”

  Elise cracked her knuckles. “None,” she conceded. “None whatsoever.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Scions collected on the other side of the bridge had noticed their conversation. They drew nearer to watch the women talk. The weight of their gazes made the hair on the back of Rylie’s neck prickle.

  “If you’re having trouble in Hell, Elise, perhaps you should return there and never come back,” Stephanie said. “We’ll figure out a way to close this fissure sooner or later. We’re drawing close to a solution now. You can be walled off in your Palace, play queen all you like, and leave Earth to its own devices. You’ve meddled enough.”

  “What’s your solution?” Elise asked. “Going to pull more pieces of Shamain out of Heaven? Going to kill more people in a ritual that summons a nightmare from Hell? Which one of the Apple’s greatest hits are you going to repeat?”

  Stephanie stopped spinning the umbrella. It shadowed her eyes from the flames of the fissure, allowing the dancing orange light to play over her lips. “You can’t begin to guess what we’re doing.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m going to stop you.” Elise said it matter-of-factly. Rylie wished she could have that kind of mulish confidence that Elise and Levi had. It would have made it so much easier to drive the Apple out of her town.

  Except that Levi wasn’t flashing his usual confidence around. He didn’t even have a hint of swagger. It was almost like he was trying to melt into the background unnoticed.

  “Rylie, what do you know about Elise?” Stephanie asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you know why she’s called the Godslayer?”

  “Yes,” Rylie said. It wasn’t hard to guess. That was a pretty descriptive title. But James Faulkner had given her and Abel quite a few of the gritty details, too—more than Rylie honestly wanted to know.

  “So you know that she assassinated Adam, the First Man. You’re aware that she was involved with a lengthy conspiracy to imprison our Lord.”

  That was a weirdly loaded question. Like the fact that Rylie knew about that implicated her in some way, too. She didn’t like the way that the doctor was looking at her at all. She especially didn’t like the fact that Stephanie was talking loud enough for others to hear them, like she was trying to attract attention.

  Rylie dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. “Why are you doing this, Stephanie?”

  “Elise Kavanagh is dangerous,” she said gently. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “I can take care of myself.” Rylie tried to keep her voice down, but it was too late for that to help. Stephanie wasn’t trying to be quiet. She was trying to make a show.

  “I’m sure you can, where most things are concerned, but Elise is not ‘most things.’ She is a demon now. She is a traitor to the human race. She is at the crux of all of Earth’s ills.”

  The werewolves and the Scions were watching. For once, there was none of the usual awe that they seemed to have for Elise and Rylie. Their expressions were distinctly judgmental.

  Rylie looked at each of them in turn. It was easy to tell which ones Levi had been talking to. She could smell his soap on them, see his swagger reflected in the way they stood. He had been marking his territory and she hadn’t even noticed.

  Felton stood in the back, hands clasped with Deepali. Their eyes were the most judgmental of all. Maybe Abel had been right—Rylie’s compassion hadn’t accomplished anything.

  “Elise is our ally,” Rylie said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Everything about Adam, and—and, I don’t know, conspiracies—all of that is rumor. None of us know anything about that. What we do know is that Elise Kavanagh is responsible for every single human that has come out of the fissure. All of the Scions would be dead or enslaved without her. Every single one of them. She’s a friend of the pack, and we’re friends of hers.” Rylie mustered all the Alpha strength that she could and focused it in her glare toward Stephanie. “The Apple has caused the pack nothing but trouble, and they are our enemies.”

  Murmurs spread through the crowd.

  “It’s too bad that you feel that way.” Stephanie spoke blandly, but Rylie could see the hurt in her eyes, and the sight made her cringe inwardly.

  It was too late to take the words back. Rylie squared her shoulders, stood strong. “Northgate belongs to the werewolf pack. I think Levi has overstayed his welcome. If anyone has a problem with tha
t, they can take it up with me at the sanctuary. That goes for all of you.”

  The Scions shifted on their feet. Felton turned and left, taking Deepali with him.

  Not exactly the rousing show of support Rylie had been hoping for.

  Levi was grinning. He didn’t need to say a single word and he still made Rylie’s stomach twist with nausea.

  She picked a pack member out of the crowd—Paetrick—and focused on him, tuning out all the mutters of dissent. “Elise needs a werewolf volunteer to investigate a crime. Someone to assist her in finding missing people. I hope someone can repay her for everything she’s done for the pack by helping out.”

  But nobody stepped forward.

  Elise glanced at her wrist, checking her watch. “I’ll be back in a few hours for my wolf. Spread the word.” She gave a final, hard look at Stephanie. “Goodbye.”

  She evaporated into smoke.

  The air surrounding the farm outside Valenciennes smelled faintly of rain, though the starry sky was clear. There was no fissure in France, no smoke spewing from Hell to clog the air, and not even a glimpse of a shattered Heaven.

  In rural France, far from the nearest Union outpost, the world almost seemed…normal.

  Elise felt her shoulders unknot as she approached the farmhouse and heard voices pouring from the windows. They were high pitched, shrieky, and ear shattering—the kind of noises that Elise never thought she would have been happy to hear.

  The front door opened before she could knock.

  “Aunt Elise!”

  Two small tornadoes slammed into her legs. She was prepared for it, but it still staggered her.

  The McIntyre girls, Dana and Deborah, and grown since the last time that Elise had seen them. Both of them looked to be several inches taller. The kids were blond, though not as blond as they had been before, losing that baby-fine hair that had been bleached by Las Vegas sunlight. One of them had hair that was faintly pink from old dye.

  Leticia appeared in the doorway behind them. She was thinning out, too. Usually a big-hipped woman with a generous belly roll, the witch now looked shrunken in her baggy clothes. Food just wasn’t as cheap or convenient as it had been before the Breaking. Not with most of America’s farms decimated. It was hitting everyone hard, even those who had safely escaped.