The Helio Trilogy: Volumes 1-3

by Valerie Roeseler

  What way? I ponder.

  She urges, “It’s in the past. You’ve been doing well now…”

  “Now that I’m not bound to her?” he finishes with a sniff of indifference. I’m stunned, my own thoughts hushed.

  “I’m sorry. I just…” Tallulah pauses for a long moment. Jack stares at her, waiting. She stands from her chair, “I’m going to go.”

  Jack grabs her wrist as she passes him, causing her to pivot back. He appears saddened, “I truly am sorry.”

  Even from my distance, I can feel the pressure building between them, their eyes pleading with each other. My heart pounds hard and slow. Then, its beating ceases completely as Tallulah closes the distance between them. Her lips crash into Jack’s brutally. I spin away immediately, my heart plummeting into the pit of my stomach.

  The sound of their kiss dissipates, and I chance a glance back over my shoulder with tears in my eyes. Tallulah whispers, “I’m sorry too, Jack,” then slips away, retreating into the manor.

  I swipe the bottle of Jäger from the terrace wall. The glass grates against the bricks. Jack’s attention snaps to me, speechless, unreadable. I save him from having to explain and turn away, locking the French doors behind me.

  I know I can’t be angry. How long did I think he would wait? The next few hours pass as I pull my life into perspective. The questions emerge, What now? Where do I go from here? What do I want?

  I know this war with the Horsemen is far from over. Mephistopheles is still out there and could still be spreading the epidemic elsewhere. I recall knocking him out in the sands of Ptolomaea and grasp the reality that he started with Red Meadow to taunt me. There’s still a mystery surrounding who the last Horseman will be, even more so of Cora’s plan and Lucifer’s involvement with them. The next steps we make need to include finding the Enochian necklace Jack gave me and preventing Cora from pulling me into a dream again.

  As for what I want; I want to be happy…and I want Jack and Solas to be happy. How do I give that to them both?

  I twist in the high-backed chair facing the cold hearth, my legs hanging over its arm. I lay my head against the soft backrest, drunk from drinking too much too fast. Sleep captures me, and I dream. I dream of sorrow, of souls, of destiny, of love. I dream of destruction, of pain, of luster, and rebirth. I dream of colors, oceans, and fields. I dream of cold tears, a warm touch, and a weightlessness with contentment.

  I dream.

  I open my eyes to the smell of a familiar presence. Solas appears beside me in the opposite chair facing the fireplace. I examine his demeanor intently to discern his mood and reason for being here. He’s relaxed back with a foot rested across a knee. His eyes are closed, features lax. It’s his breathing pattern and heart rate that give him away. I utter without moving, “What are you doing here?”

  He opens an eye to peek over, then resumes his composure with a quiet, yet heavy sigh through his nose. “Sometimes your thoughts are loud when you sleep.”

  “Really?” I mumble hoarsely.

  He remains motionless, “They’re a mess tonight.”

  “I can imagine,” I jest.

  Very slowly, the corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile. He offers, “Want to enlighten me on the chaotic plans in your mind?”

  After a moment’s thought, I quote, “Oh, what tangled webs we weave.”

  Solas opens his eyes, letting his head lull to the side to see me. “Yes. Though you haven’t learned who is the spider and who is the fly.”

  I shake my head absently with an eye roll, “It’s obvious; I’m the fly.”

  “If you’re the fly, who is the spider?”

  I snort. “The Originals.”

  In a flash, Solas’ irises create a bright blue abyss before me. His deep voice rumbles around me, “Darkness is the spider. We are the flies… But you... You are Teloch. You are the wind, the rain, the fire, and the sand. You are a force of nature—the destruction of the spider and its web. However, you must be careful not to harm the butterflies within.”

  “Why?” I ponder in breathless anxiety.

  “They are that which fill the Light.”

  I wake with a start, falling out of the chair I fell asleep in. I’m covered in sweat. Solas words pass through my mind, echoing like a roll of thunder. I sway on my feet, journeying through the halls of the manor to find Solas’ room. Knowing my increased metabolism should have absorbed the alcohol in my system by now, I don’t believe I’ve been asleep very long. My shoulder drags along the wall until I meet Solas’ door with my forehead. I whine, drunkenly, “Solas.”

  The door opens to the dimly lit room, and I fall into his arms, “Whoa.” He rights my body, looking me over. “You smell like licorice. Enjoying yourself?”

  “No,” I bark, squinting my eyes in irritation.

  Solas guides me inside. Once I’m sitting on his bed, he asks, “What are you doing here?”

  I snicker. “I could ask you the same thing.” Something triggers in my mind. I worry my bottom lip with my fingertips. “Wait. I did ask you the same thing.” My mind begins to clear.

  Solas gives me a once over, “Are you alright? You seem a little…off.”

  I rise from the bed, rubbing my face to rid the fuzziness of my thoughts as I pace. “I was dreaming. You came to me and said I wasn’t the fly.”

  His brows converge in confusion, “Say what now?”

  I pull my hair off my neck, fanning the sweat on my face. “Is it hot in here?”

  He exits the room, returning with a cold washcloth and a cup of water. I wipe my face and take a sip. He urges, “You want to try and explain this again? You had a dream…”

  I nod, “Yes. You came to me in a dream. I asked what you were doing there. You said I wasn’t the fly. Something about…” I dig into my thoughts to remember the words.

  “A fly,” Solas echoes.

  “Shh!” I exaggerate, gripping my temples with my eyes squeezed shut.

  “Hangover?”

  I shake my head, then freeze as it hits me. My eyes snap to him, “You said that Darkness was the spider and we are the flies. Except me. You said I’m the forces of nature that destroy the spider and the web, but I have to be careful not to hurt the butterflies.”

  “Why not the butterflies?” he inquires as I had.

  “You said they are the Light.”

  Solas assures me, “Your dream sounds of a true omen. You must decipher its meaning now.”

  “I understand the meaning perfectly. I just doubt the truth of it.”

  “What do you not believe?”

  A tear spills over my cheek. My voice cracks, “I thought I was the fly.”

  His arms wrap around me, pulling my head into his chest. He chuckles softly. “You were never the fly. If anything, you were the butterfly; a soul with passion for life.”

  I rove over his hypothesis, coming to an absolute truth. I never would have had passion for life if it wasn’t for Gideon. He saved me. My ears ring sharply, causing me to shudder away from Solas.

  He determines, “Is it Cora?”

  I nod. “Can you stop her?”

  “Me?” he questions in surprise.

  I elaborate, “Camael said you have—Ah!” I pant through the end of my scream and the one in my mind. I grit in pain, “Is there a ward you can put on me to block her?”

  Instantly, Solas’ eyes grow wide. His tone deepens low, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Another shriek rips through me as I grip the top of a dresser. The wood shatters into a billion splinters. I beg weakly, “Please.”

  Grief pours over his countenance, yet he agrees. “Where do you want it?”

  I allude, “Somewhere it won’t be seen.”

  “How long can you hold her off?”

  “How long will it take?”

  Solas takes my hands, allowing me to clench his own as hard as I must. “As soon as I begin, it will lessen her hold on you. It must be complete to be effective. It’s extremely painful.”

/>   I snort with an eye roll past my current torture. “Just do it.”

  He gives a brisk nod, then gathers a bowl, water, rubbing alcohol, and the washcloth I had used. After placing a ward on his door so others may not hear, he leads me to the opposite side of his bed and instructs, “Lay on your stomach.”

  I clutch his pillow beneath my face and lie straight on my stomach. There’s a sound of a short blade being unsheathed, and I think, Oh, fuck.

  He remarks, “Close your mind. If I can hear your thoughts, it could be easier for her to get to you.”

  Cora’s wails of anger burst my eardrums. I bite into Solas’ pillow, closing my mind tightly from anything outside of my empathic wall. Blood trails down the sides of my face from my ears.

  Beside the bed, Solas eases my shirt up my back to the base of my shoulder blades. His hands trail down my spine, mollifying my anxiety. At my lower back, his hands glide to the ward Lilith branded over my kidney to track me down. His voice is a low whisper, “I can destroy this one with the new one, but it will hurt even more.”

  I release a shaky breath and swallow past a dry throat. I twist to regard him over my shoulder with glazed eyes. My voice is rough, “Then, hurt me.”

  With a warm touch, his palm caresses my hair away from my face, then over my eyes to relax me. He kisses my temple. A cool breeze rustles over my damp skin, then his hands are on the scarring of my unwanted ward. A gentle song of whispers spills from his lips continuously. The scar begins to warm, then burns with his kiss.

  The moment Cora attempts to drag me into her dream world unwillingly, I cry out in pain as Solas digs into my flesh with his dagger. Cora’s pull disappears, but the pain Solas is inflicting does not.

  I bite down harder, blood forming in my mouth. Solas continues the Enochian chant as he works. After a few minutes, I believe the worst of the pain is over.

  I’m wrong.

  The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol hits me the same time its contents are trickled into my wounds. Instinctively, I jerk away, but Solas holds me down. One of his hands finds mine. Our hands tense together, shaking with angelic strength, refusing to let go. Solas drenches the wound with rubbing alcohol again to replace what had evaporated. A squeal builds from my core. Solas utters against my ear, “I’m sorry.”

  In lightning-fast succession, there’s a scratching noise, a soft crackling, the smell of sulfur, then the agony of intense heat across my back as the open wound is seared by flames from a match. My own shrill cries threaten to deafen, shaking the room with its force. The fire dies after absorbing the rubbing alcohol, and my screams transform into weeps.

  Solas scoops me into his arms, kissing my hairline repeatedly, “I’m so sorry. It’ll be over soon. Let the Darkness out and heal yourself. It’s alright. I promise. I won’t let anything happen.” I release my Darkness, the pain becoming void, and I’m able to catch my breath from the comfort of his arms.

  I fight against the pull of sleep as long as I can while his fingertips delicately caress my bare arm. I bring to question, “Why were you chanting? I’ve never heard you chant creating a ward before.”

  His deep voice rumbles in his chest against my cheek, “It wasn’t a chant. It was a prayer.”

  The unexpected answer takes me off guard. “A prayer?”

  There’s a tranquil lull to his tone, “Yes. Even after my fall, I never stopped praying. If those prayers are answered through The Creator, I’ll never know. It’s an element designed to humble your soul or essence. If beings knew of a prayer being directly answered, it could give them a sense of entitlement, fill them with greed.”

  I ponder, “What were you praying for?”

  “The usual…and to lessen the pain.”

  “What’s the usual?”

  Solas doesn’t reply right away, his hand halting along its path. It resumes its course as he admits, “For guidance in my path, strength in my resolve…and the same for you.”

  “You pray for me?”

  “Every chance I get.”

  In the silence of our thoughts, I lose the battle against sleep, remaining in Solas’ arms through the rest of the night.

  The atmosphere during breakfast is heavy and awkward. I sit at the end of the dining table with a plate of fresh fruit and warm toast, blowing into a steaming mug of scalding black coffee as my attention shifts among the others. Solas and I decide to keep my new ward to ourselves. It was an intimate, yet grueling experience I don’t wish to relive it by telling to the others. Jack avoids eye contact with anyone, scarfing down his oatmeal. Tallulah and her team left early this morning to check on the others at the Gilbert dorm. Alice is unusually quiet. Remnants of tears stain her cheeks.

  Eric drops his fork with a loud clank against his half-empty plate of eggs, then throws himself back into his chair. “If no one else is going to say it, I will.”

  All interest is drawn to him with a thick coat of unseen dismay. Alice sniffs. “Don’t.” He gives her a disappointed look with a tight grimace.

  I prompt him to continue, curious as to what he’s implying, “Say what?”

  He and Alice stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment, begging for forgiveness. Jack’s chair scraps the floor as he stands with his empty bowl. He licks his thumb, taking his dish to the sink. “Alice and Eric have seen this epidemic before,” Jack states as he rinses his dish. No one speaks. He dries his hands on a dish towel, then turns his back to the counter, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. “Haven’t you?” he asks them pointedly.

  Tears fill Alice’s eyes. I reach out to comfort her, but she disappears from the room. Eric growls with exasperation. “What the fuck, man?”

  Solas urges, “Do either of you want to enlighten us?”

  Jack presents a hand to Eric, “It’s all you.”

  Eric rolls his eyes, “Dammit.” He sits forward, folding his hands on top of the table. “A little over four centuries ago, Alice and I were given the mission, along with a few others, to guide the souls of a large group of people. There was a mass poisoning, and the people had the same symptoms like those from yesterday.

  “We always thought it was the influence of a Fallen rogue who turned the people against each other; poisoning one another.”

  I remember Alice telling me the story and make the connection, “Roanoke. They had seeping boils and bled from their faces before they died.”

  Eric snorts. “She told you then?”

  I begin to nod, “Yeah—” then shake my head, “No… I mean, she told me a long time ago.”

  Eric expresses, “She never tells anyone that story. It’s hard for her.” He squirms in his chair, then taps the table with his index finger, “The thing is, we were wrong about the Fallen rogue. It wasn’t him. It was Mephistopheles. It makes so much more sense now. He’s a Throne. Being Fallen, he naturally resists his duties. Instead of inciting peace, he creates chaos. In place of humility, he gives overconfidence, which turns to greed.”

  Jack accuses, “And if we would have known the truth four hundred years ago, Mephistopheles would be dead, and the people of Red Meadow wouldn’t have suffered.”

  I raise a palm to Jack, “Hey. It’s not his fault!”

  Jack shakes his head to the ground. A snicker slips past his lips. “I’m not angry with Eric. He’s not the one who has misled us to believe it was a random rogue.”

  I coax, “Who then?”

  “Who do you think?” he counters.

  Solas answers coldly, “The Originals.”

  My sight tunnels, unblinking in Solas’ direction. He was wrong.

  “Who was?” Solas asks aloud.

  I refocus. “You. I mean, the omen was wrong and missed something. It said Darkness was the spider and you are the flies, yet I’m the force of nature to destroy the spider and its web.”

  “What do you think?” Solas prods.

  “The Originals are the spider. They create the web which tangles the flies. You are not the flies. The flies are the Darkness.
And the butterflies caught in the web are not humanity… You are the butterflies.”

  “What are you saying?” Eric tests.

  I hasten-to-say, “I was warned not to harm the butterflies because they are the Light. Yet the omen was telling me I’m the destruction of the spider and its web. Is that what this is all about?”

  “The Horsemen?” Eric questions.

  Jack reinterprets in a series of statements, “You think it’s a setup. You think the Originals designed the Apocalypse to bring the world down; a cleansing per say. Yet there’s the prophecy of Teloch. You were conceived through Divine intervention. Now, you question whether you were meant to only stop the Horsemen or if the Horsemen are just an obstacle in your true destiny. After all, Teloch is ‘the end of the end.’ If the Originals crafted the end of the world, they are the true ending. Thus, making you their ending.”

  Solas adds, “A force of nature that destroys the spider and its web.”

  The kitchen falls still. Eric bursts out in disbelief, “Come on! You really believe Azrael, your father, and Jack’s father would plan the end of their own families? And what about Raphael and Gabriel? You really think they would do something like this?”

  The words leave my mouth before I can think to keep them to myself, “Never…but Michael would.”

  Jack steps closer to the table, “Then, we need to be careful when we return to The Keep. Don’t lead on that you think something is amiss, but watch your back.”

  Solas suggests, “I’ll let Theodora know and have the Griffins keep an eye on things until we get there.”

  My eyes squint closed as I suck in air through my teeth. “About that…” I look to my most trusted advisors, “I’m not ready to go back yet. Camael and I think Cora has the Enochian opal.”

  Jack throws his arms wide, “I knew you lost it.”

  I defend, “Excuse the fuck out of me. I gave it to Telly to hold while I was in Sheol. I didn’t know she was the Devil.”

  He counters, “It can’t be in Sheol. It would never go through the portals.”