Stained

by Ella James

  Julia wondered what would happen if he found the half-demon in the middle of nowhere. Or somewhere in the sky. How would they reach him then?

  “Is it hard to follow him?”

  “No.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Like holding your hand under a faucet and slowly increasing the flow of hot water. The closer we get, the warmer he feels.”

  That didn’t explain anything at all, but Julia knew that was all she was going to get. She crossed her arms and turned to the window, peeved but trying not to be. She glanced at him, and his lips parted. He pressed them back together.

  “What?” she asked.

  Cayne cleared his throat. “What year are you in?”

  “Huh?”

  “At school.”

  Right. That’s what she thought she’d heard. Captain Random. “I was a senior,” she said sullenly.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Did you like it. Past tense. And no, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “I liked some parts okay. But no one really likes school.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t tell me you did.”

  Cayne smirked. “I’m asking the questions now.”

  “And you expect me to answer!”

  He smirked. “Were you a good student?”

  She sighed. “Honor roll.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “In Memphis.”

  “And you always lived there,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m seventeen,” she said primly. “See, some of us know how to answer questions about ourselves.”

  And she had a lot to answer.

  What was her favorite time of day? (Dawn.)

  What was her favorite time or year? (Fall.)

  What was her favorite bird? (Duck.)

  What was her favorite thing to think about? (Interpreted to mean favorite shareable fantasy: swimming with manatees.)

  What she most afraid of? (Spiders. No, Samyaza.)

  What was her earliest memory? (Trying to use a kid potty when she was two. He thought that was hilarious).

  Did she prefer being with people or being alone? (Alone, but with exceptions.)

  And then Cayne asked what she wanted most, and Julia thought of Harry and Suzanne and couldn’t answer. Cayne seemed to get that she was tired of talking—or maybe he was—and by then she was just tired period, and he was driving so well that she reclined her chair and closed her eyes.

  *

  She dreamed of enormous charcoal wings, flapping in great whooshes that became whistles. They beat faster and faster and faster, and the air pressed her still. She saw the landscape below her dangling feet; it was flying too, flying beneath her, flat and colorful like a map. She was excited. She was terrified.

  Through the cold night she flew, to the pyramid that touched the sky. It was gargantuan, wider than her mind could comprehend and larger than the tallest mountain. And Julia, flying too fast and too low, was going to crash into it. She tried to increase her altitude, to use the momentum that propelled her to avoid the giant crystal, but she couldn’t fly high enough.

  Up and up she went, and up and up it went, until the fat clouds were cotton balls stretched around her and the air was too thin to breathe and still the pyramid stretched, all the way up to heaven.

  Chapter Ten

  The charcoal feathers fluttered away, the Power Ranger curtains folded into the mist, and Nathan’s feet touched stone. He ran a hand through his short brown hair as his dark eyes peered across the expanse of flat stone. They were there, as they always were: three lights in the dark.

  Nathan understood the need for the crossing—the need to master himself and his history before he faced The Three—but a part of him, a weak part that he couldn’t quash, wished he saw, if not happier, than at least less painful visions of his past.

  He fingered the small scar on his right check and counted backward until his mind was calm and his actions were automatic. His feet carried him up three steps onto the other half of the massive underground cave—the hidden half.

  It was enormous: more than 1,000 feet long, 500 feet wide, and 300 feet high. While the cave was illuminated by the moon and the stars on the common side, The Three’s half of the pit was all shadows and water. Thirty torches staggered the length of the underground theater, a path of light that led to them and only them. There was no other reason to make the crossing. They were all that was.

  His footsteps sounded like drum beats in the silence. His breaths were gasps. The dark outside the glow of the torches seemed both to stretch forever and to pin him in. Room to hide but no escape. Just like his life.

  Nathan allowed himself a moment to wonder why he had been summoned. Last time, it was because one of the Candidates had disappeared. Perhaps she had been found?

  He reached the halfway point, when the last of the lake’s mist receded and the hidden gods revealed themselves. Like each time he had appeared before them since the first, Nathan searched for changes in their appearance. He was both comforted and disappointed, as their features became visible, that he found none.

  The right and left, or left and right, might have been twins. Both were old, impossibly old, with slick bald scalps that rumpled at the forehead, bushy gray caterpillars for eyebrows, and age-lined faces. They sat in thrones raised seven feet, yet their thick gray beards touched the floor.

  They flanked the middle, who was even older. His eyes had sunken to slits in his face, his nose was no more than a gnarl above thin lips, his skin was crisscrossed with a millennium’s scars, and his beard stretched 30 feet; 10 feet from his perch above the other two to the ground and another 20, to where Nathan bent to kiss it.

  Here he would wait for them to speak.

  He did not wait long.

  “Our minds are turned toward hers,” the right said. His voice was like thunder, and Nathan had to touch the floor to steady himself.

  “We shall make contact soon,” the left said, his voice like the hiss of steam.

  Nathan nodded. “What do I need to do?”

  “Make yourself ready,” the right said.

  “Ready for what?”

  The right and left were silent. They were deliberating with the middle, Nathan knew. He, the oldest and greatest, who never spoke aloud. Only to two minds did he project his thoughts; they, the right and left, were his voice.

  “The tracker we sent to fetch this Candidate from her home did not return,” the right said.

  “Perhaps the Hunter,” the left mused.

  Nathan blinked in surprise. He was not aware that a tracker had been dispatched. That he had failed was alarming.

  “We cannot lose her,” the right thundered.

  “We cannot allow him to have her,” the left hissed.

  The hairs on Nathan’s arms stood up. Someone had her? “Who? Is she in danger? Do I—”

  “We cannot determine his motives,” the right declared. “His mind blocks ours.”

  “Very unusual for a Nephilim,” the left whispered.

  They lapsed into silence again, and Nathan turned his attention to the middle. He was still as stone. Nathan had wondered before if the tall, thin man who was more than man was even alive at all.

  The voice of the right shook him out of his musings. “She is with a Hunter.”

  Nathan nearly choked on his tongue. The familiar fear and rage grabbed him inside, a cold burn that threatened to strip his control, to leave him bare before the gods. “A Hunter,” he exclaimed. “Then what the hell are we waiting for? I’ve got to get her now! He could kill her!”

  “He has been her companion for a week,” the left said.

  “What?” It didn’t make any sense. “Does he know she’s one of us?”

  “We cannot say,” the right said.

  “The time for action is approaching, regardless,” the left said.

  Nathan wanted to
scream at them, to challenge them, to disobey them, but he stayed his temper. He was as a fly before them. He had to trust their judgment. “I am to retrieve her?”

  “Yes,” the right said.

  Nathan nodded. “I will assemble my team.”

  He waited for them to dismiss him, but no word came. They were conferring again, and Nathan was not prepared for the bombshell they were about to drop.

  “Child of the Light,” the right said, “this Hunter is among their most deadly.”

  “And,” the left whispered, “he is one with whom you are acquainted.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Julia spent the black a.m. hours with her eyes shut, listening to the purr of the wheels on the road and thinking about Cayne.

  Losing her first and only real family could’ve put her in some hellish new foster home, or even in a homeless shelter or hospital. But here she sat, comfy in the air-conditioning, reclining in a leather seat, wearing the sort of clothes she’d wanted in her closet for most of her life. And under the protection of someone who looked like a Ralph Lauren model. She couldn’t help but feel grateful, despite Cayne’s persistent less-than-chattiness.

  She rested her forehead on the window, scrutinizing her sidekick through the thickness of her half-shut lashes.

  Of course he didn’t scrutinize back. He didn’t do anything but be intense.

  For a while she watched his eyes jump from the rear-view mirror to the road to the sky and back again, a rhythm so practiced she doubted it was conscious. When her eyes finally tired of following his, she gazed at the landscape, rolling hills with lonely trees and grass that looked Etch-A-Sketched under the dim light of the night sky.

  It was just as dim in her dreams, where it appeared in broken, smeared images. Cayne was there, too, surrounded by massive mountains. He was younger; much younger: a child.

  The pyramid was a real stone and mud pyramid, but she was underneath it, looking up. She saw Cayne fly over it. He was listening to an iPod, snapping his fingers to a tune she couldn’t hear. The sky was dark gray. Charcoal.

  Julia awoke when her ears began to pop, but for a moment she feigned sleep and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was humming with the radio and watching the road like a cat eying a mouse. She could tell he was onto something, so she pushed herself up and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “Where are we?” she murmured.

  Cayne’s eyes slid over her. “In Utah. Twenty miles outside Salt Lake City.”

  “Did you have any trouble getting gas?”

  “No.”

  “How long was I out?” she asked, opening the visor mirror to inspect her hair.

  “Almost six hours.”

  “Mmm.” Julia stretched. “Can we pull over and get me a drink?”

  Cayne’s mouth tightened; he inhaled. “I’ve found our friend.”

  “You have?”

  He nodded. “Somewhere in Salt Lake City.”

  “Somewhere,” she said. “So what’s the plan?”

  He stared ahead, remote as the sun. “Find him.”

 

  The mountains that lorded over the city were massive, purple, snow-capped towers of earth. They made Julia’s heart thrum with misplaced elation. It was crazy to be so excited about hunting a demon—well, a half-demon. But as Cayne navigated the widening Interstate, her heart pumped 100 miles per hour.

  They bypassed the city, and Cayne grew quieter, tucked into himself. He seemed ready. Julia wondered if she was.

  He exited a few miles west of town, and her eyes jumped from dusty buildings to matchbox houses and service stations. Several miles later, she was mostly watching trees.

  Cayne muttered something about being close. The car slowed. Julia chewed her cheeks as he turned onto a dirt road that twisted between rows of pines. The sun had all but vanished behind the great blue bags that filled the sky. Julia wondered if rain would be good or bad. Could Samyaza fly with wet wings?

  Better question: Could Cayne really take him? She wondered about what he’d told her back in Memphis. About how Samyaza had caught him off guard. If they caught Samyaza off guard, would they come out on top?

  Their path led to a squat wood building hidden behind a copse of pines. It had two shuddered windows and a steel door. Someone had painted it the same brown as the tree trunks around it. Definitely not inviting. Julia counted her breaths as Cayne parked in a pine straw circle about a dozen feet away.

  He closed his eyes, and Julia thought she might have a heart attack while she waited for them to open. She blew out a hot breath when they finally did; they were sharp. Wary.

  “He already left,” Cayne said flatly, not looking at her. “Recently.”

  Julia was more relieved than disappointed. “So what now?”

  “Something happened…”

  “What?”

  He shook his head as he opened his door. “You stay in the car.”

  “No way.”

  “I don’t think you want—”

  “I’m safer with you than by myself.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s true, but I don’t think you want to see what’s in there.”

  Julia didn’t have to guess at what he meant. And he was probably right. But she didn’t care. She felt compelled to follow him.

  She let her anger fill her up as she slid out of the car and followed Cayne’s rigid form to the door. The wind blew her hair off her back and sent a chill down her spine. Even with the breeze, there was a stillness in the air—the feeling that they were the only living people left on Earth. Julia wrapped her arms around herself.

  Cayne sniffed the air, following the doorframe like a cartoon bloodhound. He twisted the knob. It turned. He glanced at her, she nodded, and he swung the door open.

  Julia knew when the foul air rushed to meet her that something bad had indeed happened. She could taste it on the roof her mouth. For one long moment, she thought of turning back. Going back to the car, turning on the radio, pretending she was somewhere else. Then she noticed Cayne’s eyes on her. Assessing.

  She followed him inside.

  The entry hall was no larger than a closet. A bare bulb cast dirty light over four drab walls and a simple stone floor.

  To Julia’s surprise, Cayne’s hand closed around hers, and they walked together down a long, narrow hall, her heart pounding in time with their footsteps. When they approached two wide, wood doors, spots of color bloomed behind her eyes. Pain. Lots of it.

  Cayne placed a hand and an ear against one of the doors. He looked at her, his eyes offering one last chance. She almost took it.

  “I’m staying,” she hissed.

  Carefully, quietly, and so slowly Julia thought she might faint from the tension, Cayne pushed one of the doors open, revealing a wide common room. And there, past the round ridge of his shoulder, Julia saw death. Everywhere, death. Bodies—naked, mangled. A severed head lay beneath a tall-backed chair in one corner, brown hair matted by blood. Julia could see veins and tendons in the middle of a flapping circle of skin, and the neck bone, sticking out into the carpet. The body lay sprawled nearby, a gruesome gash where his kidneys would have been.

  So much blood: painting the walls, staining the carpet. Men and women, young and old, missing hearts, limbs, intestines. And the parts, scattered about like so much garbage.

  Julia stepped back and a spongy noise drew her eyes to her shoes. Blood pooled around her All-Stars.

  Her knees gave out, and Cayne’s strong arms encircled her. He turned her into his chest. “Don’t look.”

  His long fingers dug into her shoulders; the pain brought her down, so instead of floating, dizzy, Julia focused on the fabric of his shirt. She smelled him, that lovely blend of guy and grass, mixed with the blood and death.

  Past his arm she saw what spun her world. The starburst, Julia’s starburst, the crimson stain on the back of her neck. The body by the table had an identical mark just under her collarbone.

 
Julia couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Seconds were hours, minutes were days. From some still-functioning place inside her mind, she saw Cayne’s brows clench, and she saw him lift his right hand. Then he slapped her, a good, strong hit that echoed through the room. He grabbed her elbows to steady her. He whispered things like look and listen. She struggled to follow.

  But she saw the mark on others. On a stomach that was sliced open. On an arm bent at a broken angle.

  Her eyes jerked to the—oh my God—the head. The head that was lying on the floor. To the neck. Her imagination made it thinner, framed it with dark hair. Her hair. Any of these people could be her. And suddenly she knew why Cayne hadn’t told her anything.

  Because it was too horrible.

  Her body jerked like a puppet’s, wooden legs carrying her out into the hall.

  “Cayne…” Her mouth snapped shut.

  “I’m sorry.” His arm came snug around her shoulders, pasting her to him. Making her safe. “We’re leaving now. I shouldn’t have—”

  “My mark,” she squeaked; even to her own ears it sounded pitiful. Julia cleared her throat and tried again. “They have my birthmark.”

  Cayne’s thick arm tightened around her.

  “Will you…?” Julia swallowed the bile that sloshed in her throat. “Will you check them? Will you look at all of them?”

  “I don’t need to,” he said. He led her down the hall, to the car, where he found some hand sanitizer in the glove box and leaned out the door, cleaning his hands.

  Once they pulled off dirt and onto pavement, Julia’s pulse stopped hammering. When she was able to breathe again, she ordered Cayne to pull over and stumbled out of the car. He tried to follow, but she yelled at him to stay put. She was not going to puke in front of him.

  “I want to know now,” Julia said ten minutes later, back in the car and finally able to speak. “What does he want? What do I have in common with those people?”

  Cayne seemed deep in thought, and Julia felt a bolt of anger. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  He hesitated. Julia knew it. After almost a week, she knew his mannerisms. Knew when he wasn’t being open. A quick glance at his aura confirmed her suspicions: Cayne’s radiant silver was touched with brownish green.

  “You’re thinking about not telling me.”

  He said nothing, and she drew her knees to her chest. “Yeah, just keep not telling me, all right? Why don’t you just keep it to yourself! So I’ll be like that, and you won’t be able to find my birthmark because my head’s ripped off!” Cayne’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. “What the hell does he want with me? What’s wrong with me? Tell me now.”