by May Dawson
He quirks an eyebrow. “Maybe you should come back here and teach literature when you graduate.”
“If I survive, I’ll see about putting that on my list,” I promise him.
“Mm. What happened in the detention center? I heard that when you left, you looked rather…” He pretends to choose his word carefully, before he pronounces, “Beaten.”
That word wraps around my heart and squeezes, reminding me of how scared I was in that cell, how unexpectedly thankful I was to have Ever at my side. I don’t remember it, but I must have been just as scared when I was with Elliot facing the Lords as they turned on us. “Some lovely disciplinary methods you have here.”
“Punishment’s meant to be unpleasant.”
“Is it meant to be deadly?”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened in there?”
But I can’t tell him, can I? If I confess to being attacked by the ghosts, I’ll be confessing to my own crimes.
Still, he might be able to share information I need. I just need to be careful, and sitting across from him, his bright eyes on me, I’m not sure I can get more from him than I give. I often feel like the smartest person in the room, and it’s a sensation I savor.
I am distinctly lacking that sensation at the moment.
“I was visited by what appeared to be ghosts,” I admit. “But I’m not sure they were. They could hurt me. Attack me.”
He frowns slightly, the faintest dimple of concern for my survival between his beautiful eyes. Well. Don’t hurt yourself trying to save my life.
“How did they attack you?” he asks.
“They seemed to be able to touch me—briefly.” I pull my shirt over my head, and he tenses. I raise my gaze to find his eyes fixed on my face, tension etched in the lines of his face. Heat flares in his eyes, and this time, I don’t think it’s anger.
I run my fingertips across the itchy, healing skin around the gouges. “Here are some of the highlights. One of them tried to rip out my heart.”
Just like I did to him.
“Who were these ghosts? Did you know them?”
“I saw my brother.” The words come out soft, rushed as if they might choke in my throat. I clear my throat as if dust made my voice sound strange, but his gaze is intent.
“Is he the one who hurt you?”
I shake my head, then pull my t-shirt back on. I don’t want to answer that question, and this time, he might justify my quiet response. He might even feel sorry for me.
He stares at me, and I glance down at my hands knotted in my lap, on top of those silky black gym shorts. I try to look miserable.
“Well?” he says, an unrelenting note in his voice. “Who were there other ghosts besides your brother? Did you know them?”
“There were a lot of ghosts,” I say. Twenty. Nineteen too many. I glance up at him. “But no, I didn’t recognize them.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You know, Eden, I’d like to be on your side. But it’s difficult when you lie to me.”
Oh shit. Did he send the Lords into me as ghosts? Maybe this was one elaborate test. I stare back at him, wondering what’s wrong with me lately. I survived for two years on my own, wanted by the Sent, hated by the Lords. I was ruthless and I expected nothing but cruelty from those around me, and that kept me safe.
Now that safety has been stripped away by the realization that ruthless won’t always serve me. I would regret killing Julian, Ever, and Lincoln. But how do I protect myself now?
“Do you think someone’s trying to kill you, Eden?” he asks.
“Something was trying to kill me in the detention center,” I shoot back. “But I don’t know if it’s just because this school is, by nature, psychotic.”
He nods. “I wonder that too.”
I can’t make sense of this man. Most of all, I remember him in the hospital through a haze of pain, but I remember him being kind. It doesn’t make sense he’d come to a place so full of cruelty and punishment and pain. “Why are you here? At this…and I use the term loosely… school?”
“I’m hoping to save some lives,” he says.
“Mine?” I ask lightly.
He shrugs. “That’ll be far easier if you talk to me, Eden Greyson.”
“Then why don’t you talk to me?” I ask. “Do you really think I’m going to trust you without any cause?”
His lips part in a faint smile. “I’m not sure you’re capable of trusting anyone.”
He’s so wrong. I trusted Lincoln last night, and that trust let me fly.
“I am capable,” I tell him. “I just don’t know that you’re worthy.”
His face remains dispassionate, but heat flares in his eyes. “Outside this room, Eden, I would caution you to be far more careful how you speak to your teachers.”
Right. Not only are these teachers allowed to punish us—to torture us, really, with the detention center and the behavior modification fields—but they’re also allowed to kill us. In the end, they send us into the Culling.
I can’t forget that this man across from me is my enemy, one who will send Julian, Lincoln, Ever, and me through Hell one day.
“Noted,” I say crisply. “May I go?”
He raises his hand in a dismissive flutter. Cold anger tightens my chest, but I say, “Good night,” with forced politeness—look, I can adapt to this miserable school—and rise from my chair.
When I step out into the hallway and close his door behind me, the hallway is dark. Everyone has left behind the academic floor, except for the glow emanating from the frosted glass of the window in Gabriel’s office door.
I expected Lincoln to be here already, or to have managed to get a message to Julian or Ever to meet me out here. My heart thuds strangely at the recognition that I’m alone. I was alone for two years and I liked it—at least, I liked it better than the thought of being with anyone left alive on this earth.
But now, I can imagine those ghosts materializing around me in the long dark hall. I consider opening Gabriel’s door again. I could either ask him to walk me home, or draw him into more conversation that will no doubt be unpleasant, but will buy me time until my guys find me. The thought of needing a man to walk me home, though, makes my lips twist bitterly.
I head down the long dark hall, my sneakers squeaking across the polished floors. The sounds seem too loud in my ears, the sound grating. But hey, maybe I’ll annoy the ghosts away.
When I reach the doors to the academic building, I almost expect them to be locked. But no, I push them open and stride outside into the cool night air. I pass the medical building and enter the woods, following the path through the trees to the Nephilim house. It’s the quickest way back.
I feel something shadowing me before I ever see it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I make an impetuous decision. I’m far closer to the academic buildings than I am the Nephilim house, so I abruptly cut to the right, into the woods.
My heart is calm and steady, my mind clear. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to love and friendship, but I know how to survive when something is trying to kill me.
I move quickly and quietly through the woods, looping around them. I’d like to get a look at them, but there will be time to indulge my curiosity once I’ve ripped out their heart.
The moonlight glimmers on the grass in front of me, just beyond the woods. I rush the last few steps, building momentum as I duck around the last few trees. My momentum carries me with speed and grace across the grass, sprinting back toward the academic building.
If Gabriel is the one trying to kill me, then his office will be empty and I’ll face him alone in that hall. I’ve killed many Nephilim men before; I’m far more afraid that what’s following me is something else, something I’ve never seen before.
And if Gabriel’s office is still brightly lit, if he looks up in surprise when I run in his door, well, he might very well be an ally tonight. My instincts say he is, and that’s what I’m gambling on as I rac
e across the grass.
I hear something behind me, a sound of shambling, wet footsteps. It doesn’t sound Nephilim.
Whether Gabriel’s here or not, let’s hope there are weapons in his office.
I race up the steps to the academic building and grab the door handle, yanking it open. As soon as I’m inside, I slam the door shut, but I still glimpse the thing as I slam the door shut: it’s the size of a hulking man, all wet and brown, like it’s made of mud. My fingers frantically search the door for the lock, find it, twist it. Its face is barely sketched in, but when I slam the door shut and hit the locks, I can still see it in my mind: those thumbprint eyes still managed to beam with malevolence.
It’s an unfinished golem. A monster. Even by Nephilim standards, it’s a scary thing.
I race down the hall to Gabriel’s office, just as the door opens and he comes out. His eyes sweep to me, then widen. I come to an abrupt halt, halfway between the golem at the doors and Gabriel.
The golem slams into the door, and I swear, it feels like the building shakes. My senses are keenly sharp, even though my heart is beating cold.
“There’s a golem chasing me,” I say. “Do you know anything about that?”
He pales, but his jaw tenses in the next second—fear flipping to anger, if I read him right. “No.”
He moves back into his office and I come to the doorway, curious. I think I believe him, Heaven help me.
“Why did Esther take Lincoln with her?” I demand. It’s questionable timing, Gabriel and Esther working in tandem to separate me from my men right before something tries to kill me.
Gabriel swiftly unlocks a standing wardrobe in the corner and pulls out a pair of swords.
He tosses one to me. “I wanted to speak to you alone. We think you murdered some of the Lords of Havoc.”
“I’m offended.” I murdered more than some. “Why do you care about their deaths, anyway?”
“Because I think you missed someone, and now they want you dead,” he says. “Do you still have amnesia?”
“I do,” I admit grudgingly. I remember him watching me as I lay in a hospital bed, wracking my brain for memories until my head throbbed.
“I think someone wants to kill you before you remember.”
“Well, do you have any hot tips on how I could get my memories back?” I demand. For someone to see me as a threat, there must be a way.
He starts for the door, and I step into the hall ahead of him.
The hall is eerily silent. No one pounds the door anymore.
“Are there any other doors unlocked at this time of night?” I ask as I imagine our golem shuffling around the building.
“There shouldn’t be,” he says. “If we leave a space unlocked, students around here tend to find it and fuck in it.”
“I’m missing out,” I mutter, and he glances at me sharply.
“How do we kill a golem?” I demand. That’s what matters now.
“We don’t,” he snaps. “I’m going to get you back to the house where you’ll be safe, before one of those boys in your thrall wanders into danger looking for you. Then I will kill the golem.”
“Boys in my thrall, hm? Interesting phrasing.”
He grabs my elbow and drags me down the hall, his other hand gripping his sword at the ready. “You clearly enjoy having men in your thrall.”
“But you called them boys.”
He glances at me, a quick millisecond look that carries an entire scolding. It’s as if he’s noticed that I want him in my thrall. He noticed the way I lick my lips or touch my thighs in this damn little skirt, and he is unimpressed. I rarely feel embarrassed, yet there’s a twisting in my stomach for the second time tonight.
“A girl’s got to do what she has to survive,” I say lightly.
He scoffs.
There’s a sound of breaking glass in a classroom to our right.
“Sounds like you’re going to have to teach me to kill a golem,” I say, and my heart leaps at the promise of a fight ahead. At least during a fight, I know what I have to do.
He grabs my shoulder and eases back, drawing me with him. The two of us move quietly down the hall.
He leads me into an auditorium I hadn’t noticed before. Once the two of us are inside, he tries the doors, making sure they’re all locked. Beyond us are the rows of seats and a dark stage, ringed with curtains.
“We’ve got to get close to him,” he warns me in a whisper. “It won’t be pleasant. We can cut off pieces off him to slow him down, but they will regenerate as his clay form reshapes. Did you see where he’s marked?”
I try to summon the memory of his face; I was so unnerved by those thumbprint eyes that seemed unseeing, but fixed on my face anyway. “There should’ve been a marking on his forehead, shouldn’t there? But I didn’t see one.”
“The marking can be anywhere,” he tells me. “It must be erased to halt the golem.”
“You should hide,” I tell him, glancing at the stage, already beginning to lope down the long slope toward the stage. “He wants me. I’ll distract him.”
“I don’t think so.” He moves with me toward the stage.
I swing the sword in my hand, hearing it swoosh satisfactorily through the air. “Trust me.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I flash him a smile.
“That I live to fuck things up grin you get doesn’t make me feel more confident in your decision making,” he says.
Something thuds into the door. Sooner or later, the golem will break through the door to get to me.
“Someone’s definitely trying to kill me,” I say. “So that’s helpful to know. Get in the curtains, sir.”
There’s a splintering at the door.
“I’ll be right here,” he promises.
Will he, really? Or will he watch the golem try to kill me?
“Distract the golem, but keep your distance,” he tells me as he steps back into the curtains.
I offer him a salute and turn to face the doors just as they splinter open.
I scream as the golem shuffles down the slope toward me, pretending to be frozen in place in terror. He’s enormous, and he carries this scent, this earthy scent that washes over me as he climbs the steps to the stage. I wonder how conscious he is as I run from him, fleeing into the wings, then running across the stage.
As I fight with the golem, chopping off pieces that fly across the stage and hit the wood with oddly wet sounds, my sword trembles in my hand. It distracts me for a second, as flames curl across the sword’s blade, freaking me out. The golem manages to lash out, his hard-as-stone hand connecting with my head. I fly across the stage, and I have to scramble for my sword as it follows me, its footsteps slow, heavy.
He’s reaching for me, and I realize maybe Gabriel is never coming, just as I turn and drive my sword up into his chest. But it doesn’t kill him; he grabs the blade like it’s nothing and wrenches it out of his chest.
He’s grinning as Gabriel comes flying out of the wings and slams into him, knocking him down. He drives his sword down through the golem’s head and through the stage itself, pinning the golem to the floor.
“I see it!” I shout as I see the symbol on the golem’s calf, now that he’s laid out. No wonder Gabriel didn’t see it; it’s a tiny mark, hidden carefully on his body.
Gabriel’s gaze follows mine, both of us trying to reach it at the same time, as the golem wrenches the sword from his face. The golem’s complete silence is unnerving.
Gabriel wipes the mark away, his thumb carving deep into the golem’s clay leg, and the golem lashes out one final blow and knocks Gabriel across the stage.
Gabriel hits the ground hard, his head slamming into the wood with a thud. The golem disintegrates into nothing but a pile of mud across the stage.
“Did you survive?” I ask Gabriel, coming to stand over him.
“You know what’s interesting,” he says, studying me with cool eyes. He’s got both hands pressed to his head, and he makes no effort to ge
t up, as if his head hurts. “You were in trouble, and you ran to me.”
I laugh out loud. “Oh, the audacity. You were the most logical choice. Closest ally.”
“But you saw me as an ally,” he presses.
My lips purse.
Just then, the doors explode open, like someone has kicked them open.
Julian, Ever, and Lincoln stride into the theater, looking like fury incarnate.
“Hi, boys,” I say. I’d like to prop my foot on the golem’s body like a hunter with my prey, but, well, I was supposed to be the prey.
And he’s nothing but mud now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gabriel
“HOW DO YOU KNOW EACH OTHER?” Lincoln grinds out. He must be the most jealous one, although the three of them all stand there with faces livid with wrath. Because they feel protective of Eden? Certainly.
Do they feel annoyed I was the one to fight her monster alongside her? I’d bet money on that too.
Eden gives him a look that’s all wide-eyed innocence. “Have you two not met? This is Gabriel Bright, he teaches ethics for angels, which is a valiant but probably impossible exercise—”
“Before that,” Everett cuts in, crossing his arms. “I know you two have some kind of history.”
I glance at the piles of mud across the floor of the stage, still heaped roughly in the shape of a man. “I think it’s time Eden and I had a discussion. Then she can decide what she wants to share with you.”
They bristle at the thought.
She smiles as she studies them, then turns to me. “We can discuss it together.”
She trusts them. That realization is a jolt; I didn’t think Eden could trust anyone. “And here I thought you let yourself be arrested so you could murder them.”
Her lips twist. Everett shrugs as if he’s bored by the revelation; the other two stare at her in shock.
“You didn’t figure that out, really?” I ask. “Fine. Let’s go someplace…cleaner.”
