Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4)
Page 22
“Alone?”
“No. There has always been the shadow of horns framing mine on the worn planks. For a time I thought it was Sil though the horns weren’t right. Then I thought it was a sign of my steady decline into insanity and darkness. But now, I believe I have always seen you there beside me.”
Her hands fisted in his shirt. “Me?”
“My future has always been intertwined with yours. As Sil used to say, she and I started in the middle. I fell in love with you long before our beginning and your soul was already tied to mine the moment you were born. We only had to find each other.”
Each word was poetry to her ears. She drank in the declarations as if they were fine wine.
Lydia loved him. Truly, madly, so much that her mind wanted to splinter into a thousand pieces when she thought of him. She was nothing and everything with him by her side.
Just like the world was nothing and everything if they didn’t save it. Guilt made her chest seize with anxiety.
“Pitch I-”
“Hush, love.” He pressed a finger against her lips. “Don’t speak. Let us enjoy this afternoon together and not remember the world is falling down upon us.”
“How did you know I was going to bring it up?”
“I can see it in your eyes.”
“We have to talk about it at some point.”
“But not right now,” he lunged upwards. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his arms cradling her against his chest. “If I need to distract you, I will.”
His lips feathered against her throat, his hands unbuttoning the back of her gown. And for a few hours, they both forgot about everything but each other.
Lydia lurched out of bed, falling onto her hands and knees with a thump. Ashes coated her tongue. The lingering scent of too many Juices to count made her mind foggy and her lungs burn.
“Lydia? Lydia!” Pitch leapt from the bed and knelt on the floor beside her, pulling her up to stare at him. “What is wrong? What happened?”
“It’s burning,” she shook her head. “No, it will burn. A Juice shop, a little Juice shop but it’s making my soul hurt.”
She could feel the glowing and fragile film inside of her. The tiny piece of soul which made her alive while all other things did not. It was so easy to tear, and the vision was a blade pressing against it.
“What shop? One of mine?”
“No no, it was covered in plants. There were plants upstairs and a… a tub? I don’t know why that’s important.”
Pitch went white-faced.
“What?” Lydia asked. “What is it? Who is it?”
“Wren.”
The girl was important to him. A child, a daughter, the next bright light. It was why she had chosen Wren to be part of the prophecy in the first place. He trusted his own creations, and Lydia agreed.
“We can’t lose her, Pitch.”
“When is it burning? Is she in it?”
“I don’t know.”
“When!”
“I don’t-” she grasped her horns in frustration. “I lost it, I don’t know!”
“Find out.”
Swells of shadows created clouds behind him, great thunder heads which crackled with energy. He knew pushing her wouldn’t work. Lydia knew how to control her power, but even she couldn’t find a vision sometimes.
“I’m trying, Pitch.” The webs of time unfurled in front of her. She didn’t see the life force that made up the dark man. She didn’t see the living magic of the house. She saw only a web she could bend to her will.
The thread was still there, white hot and dripping molten metal. Every time she touched it, the thread sizzled and burned.
Lydia cried out, but continued trying. Each touch unraveled her psyche, but this was important. She had to know. The world had to be saved, Pitch had to get there on time, Lydia needed to do what she was born to do.
Her physical body stopped breathing. Her heart stuttered, thumped once, twice, then skipped a beat. Tingling in her fingers and toes warned failure, but she grasped onto the thread of Time desperately.
And sank into the vision.
The sun set on the horizon, and a man made of dust and desert winds started the fire on worn drapes. She stepped through the ramshackle shop on silent feet. Moths had eaten through the comfortable leather booths, but they were still in use.
A center island glowed with numerous exotic Juices. Lydia glided up the stairs, white light shimmering behind her like the train of a gown. The upstairs was in even worse shape than the shop. Some of the floorboards were missing, a window was broken, and the empty room had little more than a mattress on the floor, a tub in the corner, and hundreds of plants.
It was well loved. She saw tiny imprints of Wren in every corner of the home. The health of the plants. The way the broken floor was clean. Tiny painted drawings on the walls hidden beneath crumbling bricks.
This place would burn to the ground, along with everything in it. There was nothing Lydia could do to stop it.
She sensed the man downstairs disappear in a whirl of power that tasted like a dust storm. Sand showered upon the ground, but would remain unnoticed once the building crumbled to the ground.
Her mind pulled back into her body. Pitch’s hands were bruising on her biceps.
Lydia looked up into his frantic gaze and whispered, “Tonight.”
“Is it too late?”
“It’s too late to save the house, but she’s not there.”
“That house is all she has.”
“You can’t save it.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “I have to try.”
“There’s a Genie there.”
“Not a Djinn?”
“No.”
Pitch growled. “A Djinn I could have convinced to leave it alone, but a Genie complicates things. My sister made them after I created the Djinn, and they are worse than their cousins.”
“Be careful.”
He pressed a kiss against her lips. “I always am.”
Air rustled the unruly strands of hair stuck to her slick forehead as he disappeared. An empty hollow in her chest formed at his absence.
Lydia wanted to help just as much as he did, but she knew the inevitable. Time had a way of taking everything it could. They were too late, and Wren would lose all the things she found important.
Was it because of their afternoon? Had they lost an important piece of their puzzle because they selfishly took a moment for themselves?
She rubbed her hands over her unsettled stomach. What was done, was done. Even she couldn’t change the past.
Wren’s thread smelled distinctly of ashes now. It quivered in Lydia’s mind, shaking with fear or anger. Likely both, considering Wren and E’s thread had intertwined together.
She drifted in the Present, watching Pitch enter the house and leave when he saw the destruction was unsaveable. Worse, she saw Wren rush into the house and see him. She saw the betrayal in Wren’s eyes and the ash swirling like snow around her.
The walls were closing in on her. Breathing became difficult as every inhalation drew too much air into her lungs. She wondered if it was possible to drown on air.
Sheets tangled in her legs as she tried to stand. Lydia crashed to the floor with a cry, but yanked herself up. She bolted from the room, shoulder striking the doorframe which rattled so hard a painting fell to the floor.
“Lady?” Louis shouted from two floors down. “Are you all right?”
She wanted to scream that she wasn’t all right. She wasn’t ever going to be all right again. Instead, she slid down the wall and buried her hands in her hair. Sobs wracked her frame. Hiccups rattled her ribs so hard they ached. Her saliva turned thick and choking.
His footsteps echoed up the stairs. Lydia refused to move, even when he knelt beside her and pressed a gentle hand against her shoulder.
“Lydia, what has happened? Where is Pitch?”
“Off to save the world,” she sniffed. “Not that it’ll he
lp in the end, because I still can’t figure out how to fix this place.”
“Oh, so that is what’s going on.”
She heard him shuffle and ease himself onto the floor beside her. Wiping away the tears burning her eyes and streaking her cheeks, Lydia looked up at him.
For the first time, she noticed how much older he had become. Louis’s hair was almost completely white, even the tips of his tufted ears. Fine wrinkles were now deep grooves that suggested a life full of happiness and laughter.
“When did you get so old?” She asked with a watery laugh.
“That’s a horrible thing to say to an old man.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I don’t ask why you stay so young do I?”
Lydia laughed again and wiped the tears from underneath her eyes. “No, no you don’t. I’m sorry I guess I just… I always see you as the young man with broken glasses who startled me out of a vision.”
“I’m not that young man anymore.”
“And I slept through all of it.” She squeezed her hands in the plush carpeting beneath them. “I’m sorry for that too.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Louis reached behind her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His presence had always been comforting although she wasn’t certain she knew him as well as she used to.
He pressed his lips against her hair and asked, “You’re feeling a little overwhelmed aren’t you?”
“A little?”
“It’s a lot to take on, even if you are two hundred years old.”
“I wasn’t even awake for most of that.”
“What brought on all this? You’re usually rather confident in your abilities, or you have been lately.”
Lydia took a deep breath, unsure of how much she should tell him. Her soul wanted to purge all the information she knew, all the terrible things she had seen, but Lydia settled for, “Pitch’s creation, the Legion, just lost everything.”
“Ah. And you feel like this is your fault?”
“Yes.”
“Oh Lydia, none of this was caused by you. Just because you can see what will happen, doesn’t mean you can save every little person. And you shouldn’t do that, even if you could. Bad things have to happen for people to appreciate the good.”
He had a good point. A spark of light glowed inside of her once more. Hope. It was such a dangerous emotion but so necessary to life at the same time.
“When did you start being a philosopher?”
“Oh I’ve always been one. Why do you think I have the glasses?”
She snorted. Phlegm caught in the back of her throat, making her cough violently before shaking her head. “I’m sorry I missed so much of your life, Louis. You deserve better.”
“But you’ve always been a part of my life. I married my wife because she had your calm grace and quiet demeanor. I raised my daughter on stories of the sleeping goddess who walked our future and our past. And I always made sure I was here for you when you woke up. You never left my side, Lydia.”
“I’m a legend to you?”
“A myth, and a person all wrapped up in one. There’s two people in you, whether you can hear her voice or not. You never lost that frightened human child who wanted someone to talk to in a scary house full of shadows.”
“I lose more of her every day.” And that was her worst nightmare. She could feel the burning passion of her power. The white molten lava of magic which could burn a hole through the very fabric of time.
“That’s not true, and you know it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
Louis’s words startled another barking laugh out of her. It had been over two hundred years since someone had taken that fatherly tone with her. But that was exactly what she needed.
She wiped the tears off her face one more time, took a steadying breath, and shook her head firmly. “Right. Okay. I’m okay now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now we’ll get you back into bed.”
She rolled onto her knees with a smile on her face. Louis always made her feel better. The talent was natural, but she had a feeling it had a lot to do with his daughter. He’d never brought his little one to Pitch’s home. A pity, because Lydia would have loved to see a tiny little cat girl.
Pitch’s voice echoed in the hallway, “Now that’s something I never thought to hear another man say to you, Lydia.”
All the blood drained out of Louis’s face, his skin almost matching his hair.
“Oh hush, Pitch. Stop teasing him.”
“But he makes it so easy to do.”
“That doesn’t mean you should.”
Her shadow man scooped her off the floor, tucking her securely against his side. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re always trying to make me a better man, my love.”
“I can’t help it, there’s just so much to improve.”
Louis cleared his throat. “Old man needing a little help here.”
She wrenched herself out of Pitch’s arms and held out a hand. “I’m so sorry! We forget ourselves.”
Pitch followed and grasped Louis’s forearm. Hefting him to his feet, Pitch patted his back. “You’re not that old yet.”
“To a God perhaps not, but my bones aren’t what they used to be. Stop making me sit on the floor and get back up again. And fix your damn stairs!”
“You sound like your father.” Pitch patted his shoulder. “It’s not a bad thing.”
Louis blushed. “You two go talk and save the world. Stop teasing me!”
He huffed as he walked away. Lydia stifled a giggle when she heard his hushed curses and mutterings about young people who thought they knew so much more than an old man.
Pitch crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think he forgets that easily that I’m thousands of years old?”
“I think he forgets that easily that I’m hundreds of years old. So yes, most likely he still sees you as a young boy.”
He reached for her while shaking his head. She pressed her ear against his chest, listening to the steady beats that meant she was still alive. He was still hers.
“I made it home alive,” he whispered in her ear. “I told you I would.”
“I can’t help but worry.”
Power sizzled through her veins. Her fingers clenched the muscles of his spine and her body seized as a vision swept her along in its path.
Fear made her weak. Ash swirled in dust all around her and a man screamed.
“E, if you don’t take control of her, we will both lose her forever!”
The tang of blood coated her tongue. The building before her was already crumbling. The beams groaned under weight they could no longer hold. Wren stood in the center of the chaos, her vibrant hair swirling in the wind.
Jiminy, her Dream Walker, reached for her just as her foot touched a portal.
“No!”
The scream sliced through her as though a blade drove into her chest. She felt his heartache, his pain, his worry, but most of all the incredible sense of loss.
He loved her, she realized. He loved her so much that he hadn’t realized it himself.
Wren’s thread thrummed, urging her forward in time so she could find the girl. Find the woman who already meant so much to Pitch.
To her.
She zoomed through the golden threads, her mind searching for the bright light that tasted of a thousand and one emotions. There. Surrounded by dark smoke, Wren’s thread was weak and infected by Malachi’s poison.
Stepping into this future made gorge rise in the back of her throat. Stomach acid burned as she glimpsed what Malachi’s plans were. Use the Legion as his personal library of creatures. Take over the world. Destroy everything until he was the only person left to burn.
There was only one other option. Let him kidnap hundreds of others, devour their souls, and destroy so many lives. But Wren was needed to save the world. Lydia had already promised her for that.
A story from her childhood blinked through her memory. A train barrels toward a group of five people tied up on the train tracks. She could flip a switch for it to kill one person and save the five. The bottom line of the story was to kill one and save the many.
But what if the one could save the world?
There was no right choice in this situation. Only two wrong choices which led her straight to hell.
She desperately reached forward through Time, her voice and magic so strong that she felt it bend to her will. Pitch had always been the one to manipulate the future for her. She sent him on errands and hoped he did what she told him to.
Now it was her turn. Her magic sparkled like fine champagne. She jumped from thread to thread, searching for the one piece of the future she could change that would stop this.
“Jiminy,” she whispered both in the mind and through physical lips.
He was the key. His love was strong enough to find her, but he would need help. She found his line of the future, floating through his bedroom while he raged at his loss.
She jumped onto another line. Lyra, the little Siren on his team, had connections. She would be the first to search for answer for although she was selfish, there was also a thread of kindness in her. The Black Market was the next step, she would search for a group of Harpies who would give her amulets.
She had gone too far. Racing backward in time, she thrust herself back into Lyra’s line. They would search for Wren but they would go through the Five.
For a second, she jumped onto the light representative of Time. A burst of awareness and recognition made her leap back, her mind feeling as though it was burning.
“That was a mistake,” she whispered. She heard Pitch shouting her name, but she wasn’t done yet.
Lydia ignored her body’s convulsions. There was a puzzle to solve that her mind could figure out. Bodies were insignificant.
She swirled around Lyra, pausing time as she and the Five stood in a meeting room. The air was heavy with magic, but she cut through it. No one would notice she was here. No one but Lyra, whom she would use like a puppet.