by D. Fischer
“Such sorrow in a heart made for only terror, demon born of mercy,” a male voice begins.
I frown, trying to place the voice. The last time I heard it, it had echoed in my head, but this time . . . I open my eyes sluggishly. “Fate,” I say, not as a greeting but grudgingly.
In front of me, a dimly lit hovering circle of black and gold dots swirls in the air. I tilt my head, observing this anomaly and wondering if I’m only seeing things. The pentagram comes to mind and all that it means for my future – for our future – and I glare, ready to blame and shame.
When the male voice speaks again, I bristle. “You are born of mercy, Aiden, Thrice-Born, Descendant of Corbin. You’ve always had mercy when faced with choice, have you not?”
I shift my jaw. “I suppose,” I begin, and then ask a question I already know the answer to. “Who are you?”
The voice chuckles and the dots shake to it before forming into the shape of a man. “I am Fate, child. But you know that just as you know I mean you no harm.”
Like hell you do.
Pursing my lips, I reach forward and swipe my hand through the dots. They’re like bubbles and dance away; I can neither grasp nor touch a single one. The movement stirs the air, and his scent – of lemons and sage and something I can’t place – replaces nature’s.
“I wouldn’t try to touch me,” he warns. “It’s nearly impossible to do so, and it wouldn’t be pleasant if you could.”
“What do you want with a simple demon?”
“Hmm,” he starts, drawing out the sound. “You are no simple demon. You are a creature never meant to walk the realms. No one should escape from the void, and yet . . .”
“Here I stand,” I finish for him.
“Indeed.” An owl’s hoots fill the quiet night. “I have a great many things fated for you, demon.”
“No one makes my choices for me,” I grunt. “I make my own. I’m not too fond of the road you’ve paved so far.”
The featureless face bobs in acknowledgement. “I know, but it was done out of necessity. You can take comfort in knowing the other Divine will not take too kindly to what I’ve done.”
I chuff. “Of course, there are others like him. If he’s on this campaign of saving the realms and appointing people and creatures to a greater purpose without the others of his kind knowing, I wonder what will happen to him in the end.” I ask this aloud, rubbing my cheek and lowering my voice in case there’s others listening in besides the persistent owl.
He sighs and remains silent. I almost believe him to be stubborn enough not to answer until he finally speaks. “I imagine there will be great consequences when the others learn of my manipulation. I’m willing to take the punishment if it’ll right the wrongs. However, I’ve always been difficult to handle, just like you. I’m afraid it’s to be expected that I’d take the lead where they were comfortable to not intervene at all. Rest assured, I have other means of ensuring my survival, for if any divine fall, so will all the realms. I won’t allow that to happen either.” I snort, but he continues as though I didn’t. “You, however, have been most difficult to convince to stay the course. Your personal thoughts sway your actions. You mustn’t listen to them. You must follow the path of mercy.”
“So Erline has told me.” Us, really. The others have their fates, but apparently, mine is to show forgiveness and pity and empathy, all things I wasn’t built to have.
“Yes,” he chuckles. “Trying days are coming, and since I can’t guide you to do as I wish, I will ask it of you instead.”
I shift my weight. “Do your worst.”
“You have an unwavering faith in your . . . capabilities, whether you know it or not.”
“You mean killing a woman to feed myself?” I snarl and step toward him. “Is that what you call mercy? Or the many voices I have screaming inside my skull?”
He ignores me and my burst of aggression and continues with a gentler voice. “In the coming days, I will ask you to use that to your advantage. Have mercy where others cannot. Do not try to lead, but instead, guide them to stay in the light. Listen to the voices. It’s all too easy to get lost in the dark as I’m sure you’re aware. Soon, very soon, everyone around you will need a dose of mercy and empathy and, of course, the wisdom of those who speak only to you.” He taps his modeled skull.
Inclining my head, I sigh in disbelief. “You want me to be the voice of reason? To aid instead of control?”
“In a way, yes.” His scent becomes overbearing as a breeze gusts my way, scattering the sparkling dots until he pulls them back together. “When it is time, you’ll know what to do with the voices. They’re on my realm too, set to roam free yet chained to someone with great power. The people of my realm call them wraiths. It is what resulted when Corbin pulled the souls from the void. Splitting spirits from the living creatures he’s created was a dangerous strategy, and I must admit I hadn’t anticipated such a move.” He cups his chin, and I fidget under what can only be scrutiny. “The power you wielded on the Demon Realm was mighty. You are capable of sucking the souls from their hosts – you feed from the soul’s energy. Does it not make sense that when you wielded such power, you were a magnet for the lost souls ripped apart, one part lingering and the other placed inside a host?”
“The Gula,” I correct. It’s what makes them so obedient as half a soul, unlike me.
“I do not believe Corbin anticipated this. It could be used to your advantage, but as I said, only when the time is right.”
I chew on the inside of my lip, glowering as I stare at his feet hovering inches from the grass. Of course, there’d be consequences of Corbin’s actions. “And in return?” I ask because my only job is Eliza’s safety. Because my worry shouldn’t be his realm or my sanity. Because there are things more important than deciphering the meaning behind his words. If he wants more from me, if he wants my help, he’s going to have to give me something great enough to sway my resolve.
A mocking laugh causes my gaze to snap to his head. “Of course. In return, I will answer one question.”
I study the dots, none bigger than a quarter size each. Their edges sparkle; even the black dots have a shimmer to them. Despite the sort of beauty to it, it stirs unease in the pit of my stomach. “What will become of Eliza?”
“Ah, yes,” he says in a fatherly tone. “Eliza is meant for many great things, and she will overcome each obstacle she endures, but only if you get out of her way.”
In disbelief, I ask, “That’s it? That’s all I get?”
His voice deepens, dark and dangerous. “Do not test my patience, Thrice-Born. I may be giving and gentle, but I will not be coerced. This is what I say, and this is all you’ll get.”
“But she’ll live?” I press.
“Yes. As long as you practice and preach mercy. As long as you believe in her and the vital part she will play in this war.” He falls silent, and his head swivels to the depths of the trees’ endless shadows. “I’m afraid our conversation has come to an end. Succeed in mercy, or you will be considered a threat. There will be nothing I can do to help you if so.”
His dots shake and dance, circling in on each other until the silhouette of a man is once again a swirling sphere. I squint to the trees, into the darkness, in hopes of discovering what he saw there. But I find nothing. Nothing but the shadows of nature.
“Can I get rid of them?” I ask. “The voices, I mean. The wraiths in my head.”
“Yes. You can. When the time is right, you can. And you’ll know when, too. I’m afraid my realm won’t be as lucky to be rid of the plaguing lost souls. Not until . . .” He trails off, going utterly silent, completely still.
“Fate?”
“I must leave you,” he says hastily, his voice fading as fast as he does. “But I will not be far. Mercy, Thrice-Born. Mercy will make you their biggest threat. Some people believe mercy to be the greatest weakness, and for them, it is true. But you are not ‘some people.’ Mercy takes courage to wield. Mercy is the key t
o finding yourself once more. It’ll be what saves you, and saves her, in the end. Not glory. Not revenge. Mercy.”
And with that, he’s gone. But the silence doesn’t stretch on, doesn’t replace our hushed conversation as to be expected. The melody of the evening’s bugs may have vanished, and the owls have stopped hooting, but this oddity is not what tugs my immediate focus. It is not what sharpens the alarm bells sounding inside my entire body. It is not what makes the voices scream in my head.
The howl slicing through the stillness does.
CHAPTER TEN
ELIZA PLAATS
EARTH REALM
I wake with a drowsy blink, pulled from deep sleep with each new howl. Rubbing an eye, it takes me several moments to remember where I am. My other hand searches the chilly sheets for Aiden’s new rock-solid frame. My fingers fumble across the wrinkles, discovering nothing, and I sit up in the bed. Three more howls vibrate the window and the fog of sleep clears from my mind. A panic creeps into my bones, cold and unsettling, and I grip the fitted sheet by my hips. My gaze darts from shadow to shadow, desperate to find Aiden, but he’s nowhere.
When the next howl rocks through the night, closer than the others, I startle. It’s a warning of some sort, I’m certain by the urgency, by the many. My heart patters in fear, thumping against my ribs and painfully spiking adrenaline through my veins. It lights my nerves like a sparkler, settling at the tips of my fingers with a sudden, aching pressure.
A boom rattles the outer wall and I screech. My ears flood with the sound of pumping blood, waiting for something to happen, for something to burst into my quarters or fly through the window, but nothing does.
Oh god, oh god! Swallowing my fear, I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing, on slowing the inhales and exhales to gain some control over myself and the thoughts of the worst that are churning through my head.
Snapping the comforter from my tangled legs, I scramble out of the bed and dash to the window. Aiden and Kat dart into the green grass, glistening under a large, round moon. My attention swivels to what they run toward, darting ahead of them toward the trees. The breath hitches in my chest and my lungs tremor with the effort to hold it.
“They found us,” I whisper to the window, barely a breath. Vampires have invaded our safe haven.
In the center of the backyard, the blurring wall of running bodies comes into focus as they clash into Aiden. His feet are wide, maintaining his balance despite their speed, and his arms swing, punching a vampire. The vampire stumbles backward and Aiden rips another from his back and throws it to the ground. Aiden roars as one bites his arm and another slashes his middle. I grip the windowsill, struck solid with absolute fear.
The only time I can make out their details is when they fall to the ground or pause to attack Aiden. Their speed is incredible, almost streaks of white as the moon’s light barely catches their skin. I had almost forgotten how fast they were. Somehow, Aiden sees each move before they make it.
My subconscious pulls me from the scene, reminding me of the boom that had rattled my wall. Slowly, I look down. A crumbled body is gradually rising from the grass, black-veined and red-eyed. I duck out of view, but too late. We had locked eyes.
I breathe, once, twice, and the knob on my door turns. A scream bubbles in my throat, just as my fingers cackle with electricity. I don’t know what to do. When I wielded the magic on the Guardian Realm, it was pure instinct and I feared for Aiden, not myself. I hadn’t been crippled with the possibility of my own death.
The door sluggishly swings open and I raise my eyes to the grinning vampire, right before his eyes widen with shock and a hand punches through his back. The vampire looks at his chest and then crumbles to nothing but ash.
I shriek and my hand flies to my hammering heart. Electricity crackles under my fingernails, flitting across my t-shirt. Dyson, gaze flicking over my bed, to the floor, to the shadows of my room, whispers my name and I sigh with relief.
Dressed in only a pair of dark wash denim jeans, he swiftly enters and slams the door behind him. He pins me with an angry gaze. His iris’s glow a hue of green which illuminates the dark and shadowed room. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls at me. “You are not leaving this room!”
“Someone has to help him, Dyson. He can’t fight them by himself! What if more come?”
“More are coming,” he admits. “They’re coming for you. You’ll have to strike me down to step outside this house.”
“Dyson!” I yell at him, this time furious at the denial to help the man I love. I stand to my feet. “He can’t fight them by himself! I’m not some fragile thing! I can help.”
With two long strides, he reaches me and grips my elbow. He steers me to face the window and points. I wince as his fingernails dig into my skin. “He’s not by himself.”
I gasp past the pain, to the shock of what’s before me. Billows of orange brighten the backyard. Kat’s hands are living flames. She hurls the fire, aiming for the vampires emerging through the trees. She’s quick with each sling, stalking forward with every stream of fire that engulfs the blood-thirsty creatures. Smoke curls from her nostrils and her jaw is set, hard and determined. I’ve never seen her fight against anything besides her dragon form.
As though they had herded a hoard here, the wolves jump through the last row of trees, leaping onto the grass and skidding across the blades. They stop where they are, and one wolf sneezes from the ash flying in the carrying breeze. Seemingly unsure of their next move, they pace and wait for a chance to join the fight. The flames are too hot; every time they get close, they bounce away from the heat.
A cloud passes over the moon, darkening the backyard and turning Aiden into nothing but a shadow. Screeches and roars rise. Kat’s flame allows light enough to see him for only slivers of seconds. It’s not enough. I can’t tell what’s going on with his battle against them, with his fight to survive, with his determination to protect me.
“Dyson!” I point to the wolves and he stiffens beside me.
A new wave of vampires blur into the backyard like ghosts in the night. Bypassing Kat’s flames, they clash into the pack of anxious and eager wolves, completely trained on Kat’s magic. The vampires crash directly into them. Yelps and growls quickly follow as vampires and wolves tumble. Fur flies, snarls vibrate my window, and high-pitched screeches raise the hair on the back of my neck.
It’s beast versus corpse, a sickening sight.
Flames and wind rise with tuffs of ash, making it impossible to know where to look.
“Jeremy,” Dyson whispers, fogging the glass. I look to where he does, to a wolf limping and bloodied.
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “Someone has to help him.” I shove Dyson. “Go! Go help!”
“I can’t,” he grinds out. “Someone has to protect you. They’re here for you, Eliza. You, Kat, and revenge.” He rocks forward, bumping his head against the window.
“I can protect myself. He needs the help!”
“You can’t protect yourself. We brought you here to learn from the witches. Do you see any witches besides Kat?”
A vampire speeds toward Jeremy’s wolf, colliding and straddling the injured creature. He rears his head back, prepared to lash forward and embed his fangs when another wolf comes seemingly out of nowhere and tackles the vampire next to Jeremy.
The only answer of victory, of relief from Dyson, is the grind of his teeth.
Aiden roars and the house shakes. My heart thuds with a consuming, almost painful spike of fear. The tip of the moon shines once more, illuminating Aiden holding a vampire a foot from the ground, fingers wrapped around a black-veined neck. The vampire visibly blanches in the face of Aiden’s anger. The vampire’s body quivers. I watch as his muscles, veins, and skin shrink until all that’s left is a thin layer wrapping his bones.
“Holy hell,” Dyson mumbles. Hell indeed.
As his flesh shrivels, resembling a mummy’s, fear leaves the vampire’s pores and soaks into Aiden’s skin which s
parkles brightly in answer to the sustenance. When I think the vampire can’t possibly have any more fear to give, any more of his body to give, he begins to ash starting at his feet. It quickly spreads, leaving the head for last until Aiden only grips the air.
Fogging the window with my heavy breaths, I blink once, twice, willing Aiden to turn to me. But his body is rigid, his normal posture is gone, and just those subtle hints is all I need to know that Aiden isn’t Aiden anymore. He’s something else entirely. The very something that Corbin made him to be. A weapon.
In my peripheral vision, the last flame shoots and Dyson inhales sharply. Kat’s powerful clouds of fire brightening the night in an eerie glow of orange, hurtled at the last of them. There isn’t enough time for the creatures to scream before they’re carried into the wind as nothing but ember and specks.
The night falls quiet once more and Dyson and I watch on, dumbstruck. He had watched the entire thing with me, stood still and solid, squeezing my arm as his panic raised my own. His words echo back at me, riddling me with shame. You can’t protect yourself.
Aiden hunches further. His heavy inhales and exhales lift and drop his shoulders precariously. From here, he looks like an animal who’s fought for his life, wild and untamed and taking only a moment to catch his breath. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look for me. He doesn’t shift his stance one inch.
“Dyson,” I whisper. His long fingers loosen from my arm when I gently touch them.
After an audible swallow, he says, “Go to him.”
Needing no further dismissal, I dash to the door, wrench it open, and quickly exit the house without another word. He follows, his footfalls louder than mine.
In bare feet and nothing but a large t-shirt, I feel the damp wind cling to my legs. I jog to Aiden and ignore the feel of the piles of ash surrounding him. My soles grit against the tiny particles, as though it’s nothing but dry sand on the beach slowing my pace.
