by Lori Adams
“Bailey, you won’t always feel this way. You know that, right?” She shrugs with a sour look so I change tactics. What she needs is a distraction. “Hey, why don’t we go to the theater? Dad says they’re playing a movie: It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“It’s not,” she mumbles and stares out the window. “Just take me home. I’ve got to pack.”
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “You going somewhere? Look, don’t do anything stupid.”
“Been there. Done that.” She scoffs. “It’s for the ski trip. Rachel is dragging me. Aren’t you going?”
I relax. I haven’t been to school in a while and Ka never mentioned it. I tell her I’m not going. Normally, Bailey would demand that I go but she doesn’t seem to care at the moment.
“Ever find out who that spy was?” she asks vaguely.
“No. I haven’t told Rama yet. I’m hoping he’ll have some idea.” I pull up to her house and let the Jeep idle while we sit, thinking. I wish I could tell her about Michael and me. I’m so tempted to, but I know I can’t. Besides, it might just make her feel worse. Instead, I tell her that things will get better.
She sighs. “Well, they can’t get much worse. Damn, I can’t wait to get back. This town is choking the life out of me. I’m so bored, I don’t know how you do it.”
“Get back to where?”
She gives me a funny look, and then she remembers. “Sorry, I told DoOver, not you. I mean New York. Dad took me to Columbia University. You know, to check things out. If I get in, I am so gone from this town.”
She hugs me good-bye and I watch her walk away with a heavy sort of sadness settling on me. After all the time we’ve spent together, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her truly happy. I’m not sure that I really know Bailey.
—
I park outside the theater and cut the engine. A crowd has gathered on the sidewalk and I see Dad and Connie among the moviegoers. He is talking. She is laughing. I am trying.
I don’t join them but head toward my friends. Rachel and Holden are holding hands. Duffy is wearing some funky crocheted Viking hat with an attached beard. Apparently, having a fake beard requires him to speak an octave lower. He sounds like a constipated lumberjack. I say “Hey” just to see if he’s mad at me. He seems to think that it’s my fault whenever Bailey dumps him. I don’t know how I became the designated divider but it sucks. If I had my way, Bailey and Duffy would be together. I never wanted her to fall for Vaughn Raider.
“What’s up?” Duffy asks in his fake deep voice. He doesn’t even look around to see if Bailey is with me. I ask if he’s packed for the ski trip and he says, “Who needs to pack? Just need my britches and my board and I’m good to go.”
Okay, so he’s back to his old self and doesn’t seem to be mad at me. So I ask about that weird remark he made last night, when he bumped into me at the Carnival.
“You said ‘Better watch yourself, Sophia. It’s almost time.’ So what’d you mean?”
He fiddles with his fake Viking horns to make sure they’re straight. “Uh…wasn’t me,” he says offhandedly, and then launches himself at J.D., who’s walking up the street. They wrestle until they fall in the snow. I’d like to apologize to J.D. about last night but he looks preoccupied at the moment.
Mr. James finally arrives, calling out “Merry Christmas,” and opens the doors to the theater. He promises hot chocolate and popcorn—on the house. Everyone shuffles inside. I’m heading that way when a strange sound catches my attention.
It’s so soft I barely hear it but it makes my scalp tingle. I shoulder my way against the wave of people and walk back outside. The sound is sweet and delicate and leads me toward the square. The park is still a mess from last night’s wreckage. Chunks of ice have been turned into slides by a pack of clever kids. They’re belly flopping and whooping up a storm.
The sound is not coming from the square, and I can’t place it. Light and familiar, it makes my pulse quicken. A gradual understanding moves through me at the same moment that Rama Kuan appears out of nowhere. He stands on the sidewalk that frames the park, grinning in his funky Hawaiian clothes. Nearly transparent, he is in spirit form. He stares at me until something over my shoulder grabs his attention and makes him frown.
My second heartbeat steadily builds and I turn around to find Michael marching toward me. He is in spirit form, too, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He carries a dagger with a gold hilt and looks lethal and serious. Michael gives new meaning to the word hot. I want to go to him but Rama is watching.
A sudden jolt snaps my attention from Michael. A startling sensation that brings my mind front and center. A full awareness of something ethereal consumes me. The soft cry I heard earlier has exploded into sound waves rushing through my veins. It coils up my spine, straightening me from the inside out. It narrows my concentration into a single pinpoint of light. In an instant I hear the sweetest cry—confection in the air. A lost soul is calling for help. My Chelsea Light gathers in my palm and pulsates with heat.
“Sophia?” Michael moves around to look at me. His eyes are wide and full of alarm. He has anticipated this. That’s why he’s come, to follow in case I need help. I want to remind him of our agreement but Rama walks over.
“Why are you here?” he asks Michael.
Michael ignores the question and states the obvious in a panicked tone. “She’s receiving her first call.” He wants to do something. Say something. Help in some way.
Instinct moves me along the sidewalk and into the street. I have the urge to get going, quickly. Michael and Rama follow close behind, arguing. Rama wants Michael to go away. Michael says he’s coming along. I leave it to them to work out and start jogging up the street toward the school. Snow has been pushed against the curbs and I run down the middle. Faster and faster. I take off. Tingles along my skin suggest that my clothes are transforming as I go. I’m shedding one skin for another. My intuition guides me to rush headlong and I launch myself into the air like an Olympian in the long jump, into a sliver of blue light. I pass through as quick as a thought and come out in a new place on the other side, sliding upright in the snow.
I have passed into spirit form and stand in my spiritual clothes of shorts, vest, and boots. My crystal dagger rests at my hip and my crossbow pistols are strapped to my thighs. I brace myself and glance around, on alert. I don’t know where I am; the landscape is endless white but for the faint indentation of a road leading up to a cabin at the edge of some trees. The cabin is charred black from a fire and sits in stark contrast to its snowy environment. Most of the roof is gone and the windows have been blown out. A stubborn chimney stands alone where a wall used to be. Debris litters the lawn in snowy clumps. It’s been a week, at least, since the fire ate its fill of the house.
There is no sound here, not even wind to show proof of life. And then the soft cry comes again. I hear it deep inside me, vibrating my nerves like plucked guitar strings; reverberations that only the supernatural can hear. I sense Rama and Michael’s arrival behind me. They stop and watch. I head for the cabin. Snow beneath my Chelsea Light flashes blue as my hand swings at my side. I approach around the left side, where the front wall has burned at an angle to the ground. A dark-haired girl comes into view and I stop. She is no more than ten years old and standing in the middle of the blackened remains of what once must have been the living room. Her pale face is dirty and streaked with tears. Her white nightgown is marred with smudges. Skinny legs are covered with raw red patches where the flames had their way with her.
“I just wanted to make sure Bobbles was okay,” she explains with a sniffle. “I couldn’t leave until Bobbles got out.”
I nod and offer a soft smile. “Your cat? Yes. I understand. And is he okay?”
“Uh-huh.” She wipes her nose and then points at my glowing palm. “I wanna go home now.”
I hold out my palm and the Chelsea Light swirls into a circle, a gift just for her. She reaches for it while moving toward the edge of the rubble. I
make my way over. Before I can touch her, a shadow ripples to my left and I swing around.
A soul seeker has appeared. I don’t know him but he looks vicious, a cruel smile cutting across his face like a blade. He sees me and his eyes flash in challenge.
We face off. I take up my dagger and he grips his. He seems slightly older than me and far more confident. He moves sideways, licking his lips. I want to throw my dagger but he comes at me too quickly. We exchange swipes and turn, moving by degrees. As he draws closer to the girl, I attack again before he can touch her. We grapple back and forth but I feel my strength outweighing his. Each strike sends him reeling backward. At first he appears stunned. Maybe he thought a female spirit walker would be an easy kill, but he’s misjudged me. And he’s furious. He comes at me, reckless with rage and yelling out. I duck under his clumsy attack, spin around, and swing my blade across the back of his neck.
He falls hard in the snow and never gets up. His head is not severed but his body begins to emit green vapors. I stand over him, clutching my crystal dagger and breathing hard from nerves. A strange surge of exhilaration hits me. It reminds me that I was made to kill evil; I come from a long line of spirit walkers and this is what we do.
The seeker is gone now, and I’m glad it’s over but I chastise myself. He shouldn’t have taken so long to kill. He was pathetic.
“I want to go home,” the little girl says again, and I look up. She’s not speaking to me. A reaper and two more soul seekers have appeared. They stand on the snowy lawn, taking in the scene. Unlike Teriza, this reaper is my height, older, and dressed in camouflage and black combat boots. Her red hair is wild around her face and she has a strange sort of inbred look about her. Her companions have shaved heads and skin as pale as the snow they’re standing in. I’m not sure how things work down below, but I’m thinking the reaper is in charge of her sidekicks. They seem to be waiting for an order. The telltale green smoke from the dying soul seeker at my feet has made them hesitate. Curious.
“I ain’t seen you before. What’s your name?” the reaper asks. I step over the remains and move between them and the little girl. I have a sense that time is running out; the longer the little girl stays here, the more reapers and soul seekers will come.
I stand ready, assessing them. They’re armed with the same type of dagger as the last seeker. The two seekers in the back start whispering about the little girl, what they want to do to her when they Take her to Hell. It’s nauseating and I glare at them, grinding my teeth. The reaper smiles.
“Ah, she’s a new one,” she tells her companions. Then she smirks and motions them forward. They move past her, marching toward me. My rage escalates, sparking energy in my weapons and my dreadlocks. They begin to glow with bright blue light. This startles them. The reaper shouts an order and the soul seekers run at me, hurling their daggers in a frenzied rush. I race forward, thrusting my dagger into the sheath and yanking out my crossbows. I fire quickly, hitting each one square in the forehead while dropping to my knees. Their blades whirl over my head and land in the snow. The reaper has armed herself with a dagger and a whip. She cracks the whip and I dive, rolling in the snow. Again and again, I move and hear it snap next to my ear. When I rise, it spirals around my right wrist. My Chelsea Light flickers in my palm. She yanks me down and rushes over, her dagger coming at me. I flip onto my back and thrust my boots into her gut, carrying her over into the snow. We scramble up and I cut the whip free and then wheel around, sweeping her legs out from under her and slicing her throat in one movement. I feel the blade biting into her spine. She goes down without so much as a whimper.
I stand over her, panting out frost. A quick sweep of the area tells me there are no more waiting in the wings. But I do catch Rama’s smug grin. And Michael. He is gaping with his dagger gripped tightly in his hand; he was ready and waiting the whole time. He lowers the dagger, and I turn away. Marching to the cabin, I lift the little girl over the charred half wall and set her down in the snow. I smile and offer my right hand. She slips her tiny, smudged hand into the bright blue light and our connection is sealed.
“Oh!” She breathes out with delight. She looks up at me, beaming; her tiny face is clear of all soot, her body free of pain. She is a flower opening for the first time.
“Let’s go home,” I whisper, and she nods.
The blue light extends through our fingers in a burst of power. It draws us up from the ground like we’re holding a long blue pole on a carousel. We lift off and approach a lovely mass of rainbow colors that swirl into a whirlpool high above our heads. The girl is giggling, completely enchanted by our mode of travel. I know instinctively to let the rainbow swirl take the lead. And so we climb higher into the cool mist. Familiar emotions breeze by, brushing away any concerns I may have. After a while, the swirling colors separate like thoughts, and the mist turns as white as wings. Here the angels wait. Here the souls gather in the resting place until they ascend beyond the ceiling of rippling water to begin again. I release my companion into the mist of angels, who cherish the sound of her playful giggles.
Euphoria best describes my feelings. Unimaginable euphoria. This is the place where emotions unravel in tranquil waves. Where ecstasy drifts in the air, catching weightless memories like dandelions in a breeze. They settle on the mist, only to swirl back up with movement. My first saved soul leaves a permanent imprint on me. I have been touched by the purity of all emotions: love.
Grinning like an idiot, I slowly descend and peer below until I can see Rama and Michael waiting by the cabin. Rama gives me a hang-ten sign with his fingers and thumb. He is bursting with pride. Michael gives me his sideways grin. He is proud, too, but will wait until we’re alone to tell me.
I destroyed three soul seekers and a reaper on my first call. I have done what was needed. I should be elated but a shadow darkens my mood. I worry about the ones I’ve destroyed when they return to Hell. Will they tell others about me? Will they identify me by my glowing weapons and dreads? Will they make the connection that I also killed Wolfgang? Is it possible that Dante will find out that I’m not really with him in Hell? And what happens to Ka and my soul if he does?
Chapter 9
Dante
The inner sanctum was a fair walk from Dante’s chamber and proved to be a precarious trek. As they made their way, Vaughn took the lead, scrutinizing every causeway or corridor they passed. He trusted no one. The Marrow Man went next as he was their official guide. Dante and Ka were surrounded by the guards Grayson, Loaden, Mahl, and Korse. Dante held her firmly by the hand while Ka gazed around in wonder.
Their current level of Hell was mostly made up of private living chambers for the lower nobles, such as Demon Knights, or the occasional lesser cavaliere, baron, count, or vicomte. But farther inland, the chambers gave way to the melting pot of damned commoners and their establishments of ill repute. Crudely stacked stone towers with gaping windows rose in misshapen forms. Their dark walls were wet with condensation from flickering torches and produced a foul sweating effect in the heat. At times the air grew thick and oppressive like an enclosed village too tightly packed with unwashed bodies. The auction blocks were especially rank, the stone slabs dripping blood from shackled, half-naked slaves, otherwise known as lost souls. Slave masters cracked whips against a gathering mob and kept the peace for nobles who were there to buy or sell lost souls.
At times the boiling red sky gave way to stone bridges arching overhead. Crooked pathways led in every direction and were full of shadows and secrets. Underlings were beaten, raped, or dismembered for parts. A wail of agony often followed the wet slapping sound of iron against flesh.
Dante glared into the back of Vaughn’s head. He was furious that he’d led them through the daily disgusts of the damned commoners when there were other paths they could have taken. An alternate route easily circumvented the village of horrors, but it seemed that Vaughn was making a point. He wanted Sophia to glimpse a tiny portion of the ugly side of things.
The Marrow Man did not help things along. Forever shuffling his bone feet against the briny stones, his plodding pace was excruciatingly slow. It allowed underlings and damned commoners to gather along their route, hoping for a glimpse of the future spirit walker. It seemed that everyone had heard about Sophia and was curious to see her. They packed into doorways and windows, their prying eyes making Dante nervous.
The last few yards came as a gradual incline with high walls and a portcullis under the boiling red sky. The causeway connected the mainland of the fifth kingdom to a towering stone structure that stood bold at the center of the five kingdoms. It was the tall, commanding formation of an inverted cone shape with spiral grooves. Some thought it resembled an enormous stone drill that had bored its way up through the pits of Hell. It appeared to have split the kingdoms into five pieces, but that had not actually been the case.
After the Rebellion and the Great Invasion, Hell was divided into four even kingdoms. Centuries later, the first and fourth kingdoms warred against each other. The Dark Master settled the issue by narrowing the two territories and creating the fifth kingdom between them. A new kingdom made from them. Thereafter, those nobles banished to the fifth kingdom were labeled The Bastards by nobles from the original kingdoms, thus, the Royal Court of Bastards was born.
The Order of Reapers would manage the daily drudgeries of the kingdoms so the Dark Master could leave the backbiting to the nobles and return to his deepest desire: tormenting mankind on a global scale with famine, disease, and war.
The Marrow Man shuffled his way up to the iron portcullis lined with twenty guards of the gladiator variety. Two guards stepped forward with long spears to conduct a weapons search, just as Dante and Vaughn secretly sheathed their daggers back into their forearms. Grayson and his men stood aside. They would not be allowed past the iron gate. Once the guards had declared Dante, Vaughn, and Ka free of weapons, the portcullis was raised with a harsh, clattering sound.
