Destined (Desolation #3) Page 6

Is it me? Am I singing?

  It’s a legitimate question. Maybe I’ve gone insane. Maybe I’ve lost my sanity along with my hope, my sorrow, my love.

  “He’ll reach for me, I’ll reach for him. Together we’ll make an awful din! He’ll reach for me, I’ll reach for him, he’ll think to give but I will take, I’ll take and not give back to him.”

  I hear the words; hear the music that rambles with such meaninglessness that I know. These are not my words. Not my tune. But I do know them.

  “Come little one, I’ll be your mother, and you will never pine for another. Come little one and reach for me, I’ll let you shelter betwixt me!”

  With the music, a sharp staccato punctuates my endless sameness. And then a light, bobbing through the darkness. I move my head, hiding my eyes behind my hair. And so I see, through this curtain of strands that fall endlessly before my eyes, the unlikeliest sight of all.

  Ophelia bobs and sways onto the ledge, the little creature I tried so hard to make friends with, clinging to her skirts.

  “Why look at that and that looks, but why?” Ophelia holds the lantern out in front of her, peering at me—as if the light would be sufficient to reveal what has been hidden so long. She bursts out laughing, and even through the muted sounds of Helheimer, her laughter is like a thousand hammers grinding against metal.

  “Lookie, lookie!” She chirps to the creature at her ankle. “It’s the Dark Princess. The Princess of Darkness.” She sits down on the ledge across from me, her legs dangling over empty space.

  “Not a very cozy place you’ve got for yourself here, Princess. Could do with a little fixin’ up, I think.” She pets the head of the little genii that has crawled onto her lap. “But you’ve got lovely friends here, don’t ya? So lovely.” The little one smiles beneath her hand, showing teeth as sharp as a saw.

  Ophelia looks up, peering straight into my eyes as if she can see my face behind my hair. Her lips quirk upward and she drags her tongue over her own sharp canines. Her teeth aren’t normally like that, I know. It’s a game she’s playing—with me or the genii, I don’t know.

  After a moment of staring, I decide to try the card I’ve been dealt.

  “Ophelia,” I croak. “It’s so nice to see you.”

  She throws her head back and laughs some more. Behind her dangling feet I see a light. A light in the darkness. Ophelia doesn’t take notice of it and for some reason I feel grateful the light is beyond her line of sight. I don’t want her to see it.

  “I suppose you’ll be wantin’ me to let you out, now won’t you?”

  I remain silent, not sure what the right answer is. Every fiber of my being is screaming yes, but what is it Ophelia wants to hear? Has she come as Father’s messenger? She is one of his cronies, after all. Or has she come for some other purpose? I can’t hope to know, unless she tells me herself.

  “Ain’t got nuffin to say for yourself, Princess? Or do ya think you’re too good to be saved by the likes o’ me?” She frowns at the genii on her lap, but continues to pet it. It cuddles against her and she presses its head against her chest. I wonder why the little creature lets her touch it, when it’s always been afraid of me.

  “I—” Careful. I must be careful. Ophelia is evil, but a little less sane than the rest of Father’s generals. There’s a huge discrepancy between Ophelia and, say, Emperor Xin. I have never known why father granted her such rank. “I am honored to have your company, Ophelia.”

  “Ah! She’s honored, she says!” Ophelia sings to the ceiling. “She’s honored to have my comp’ny, she says.” This last to the creature in her lap.

  “Have you come to release me?”

  “I didn’t even know you was here—but the Master and his whore don’t exactly keep me informed, so. Surprise!” I’ve said the wrong thing. Suggested she isn’t as special as she thinks she is. Opened up the whole nasty line of thought that could uncork her volatile temper.

  She stares at the genii, petting, petting, petting.

  “I only came this way ’cuz my friends live here. They’re beautiful ain’t they? My little rock babies. My rock-a-babies. That’s what I call ’em. My rock-a-babies.” She looks at me then, her face hard and dangerous. “She doesn’t love ’em, ya know. She’s forgotten all about ’em. She only cares for her fancy worlders—oh I’ve heard the whispers. They think I don’t listen, but I do. She thinks she can just take this place back.”

  She pets the genii with more vigor, pressing down and down. The creature squirms beneath her grasp.

  “And the Master! Well. He thinks he has her wrapped around his little finger, he does. But I know women, and it’s her what’s got ’im wrapped around her pinky. She pulls him around by his ding-a-ling, she does. The Master thinks she’ll be his queen.

  “I should be his queen!” she screams. She throws the little genii into the great chasm between us, and it falls to its death in silence. Her words echo off the walls around us and are answered by screaming rocks.

  I am shocked. Speechless.

  Sorrow for the little genii pools in my heart along with all the other sorrows I keep there. The rocks screech as they fall against one another, crawling toward Ophelia who stands as they encircle her.

  “Ahhhhh! Get back!” She screams at them. The sound is mind-numbing. Ophelia is like a detonated bomb, leaving the ground blackened and empty all around her. The genii cling to the mountain. “You will serve me!

  “Only I remember you. You think she’ll come back? Think she cares anything for you? Only I care. Only I remember!”

  And to my horror, the genii detach themselves from the walls and move to her feet. They pile atop one another—not to send her to her death, but to reach out for her hand. She takes them and does a curtsy as if they’re about to dance in some old ballroom. Ophelia giggles and picks up the lantern from the floor. She saunters away, hand in hand with the stacked genii. She never once looks back. She leaves without remembering me at all.

  “Wait!” I try to shout. But my voice is raw, hoarse. And the rocks are following her, tumbling away and stealing any sound I’ve managed to make.

  I’m alone again.

  Except for the light.

  The two tiny pricks of light.

  They appear closer now and I don’t care if it’s my imagination or just hope or the crazy finally setting in.

  I love the lights. I cling to them. They are my hope. My reason for breathing another day.

  I watch the lights draw nearer.

  Nearer and nearer and nearer.

  I think; I will die when they reach me.

  I think; They are soul eaters.

  And oh, I welcome the death of my soul. The release from this body, from this existence.

  “Come on,” I say to them.

  And they come.

  I don’t know if soul eaters have light. I don’t really care. Maybe there are good and bad soul eaters and the bad ones only eat good souls and the good ones only eat bad ones. Maybe the good ones have light and they’ve come to eat me, to eat all my darkness and replace it with light.

  I sleep. Or I don’t. And dream of nothingness. My waking and sleeping are the same.

  Des, I hear.

  D.

  Speak to us, baby. You can do it.

  Lucy?

  I’m here baby.

  Aaron?

  I’m here, D.

  I’m crying. Great, gut-wrenching sobs that threaten to drown me.

  I can’t breathe.

  Can’t think.

  We’re here, baby.

  We’ve got you, D.

  And oh.

  Oh.

  Please let this be death. Please let this be forever.

  I’m not alone.

  I’m not alone.

  Wake up, baby. Come on Desolation, wake up for me now.

  Lucy?

  That’s it baby.

  You’re here?

  Open your eyes.

  I thought they were open. Thought the blackness wasn’t the bla
ckness of my mind. It was all the same, anyway.

  Except—

  Except this time when I try to open my eyes, they burn at the light, at the brightness before me.

  “Ah” I cry. “It’s too—” I’m breathless, my eyes squeeze shut against the burning. The burning, burning, burning.

  Try again, baby. Is this better?

  It takes me a very long time but I try again.

  It’s easier this time. Better.

  And I see . . .

  “Lucy,” I cry. “Aaron.” I cry and cry and cry.

  I want to reach for them, to hold them, touch them, but they are Ascended and I am shackled and there is no way this is real.

  “You can’t be here,” I say to them. I can say whatever I want, because they aren’t real. They can’t be. My arms are stretched above me, affixed to giant shackles to the underside of a cliff at the end of all the worlds—no one’s here. No one but me. Even the genii have left.

  We’re real, D. Aaron smiles, but he doesn’t have his piercing. He doesn’t have black hair flopping over his eyes. He looks like a spic-and-span version of Aaron. If he was my dream, I’d remember him the way I loved him. All pierced and tattooed. All lonely and mine.

  Aaron laughs.

  And oh, it sounds just like him.

  There’s no time, D. Are you with me?

  I feel like I’ve missed something. A conversation I’m only getting half of. “Did I sleep?” I ask the figments of my imagination—they should know, right?

  Something like that, Aaron says. But I need you to concentrate now. Can you do that, D? Can you concentrate?

  I laugh. “Sure, whatever, Aaron.” Anything to keep dreaming this dream.

  He reaches one hand toward me, his fingers stretching. I’m fascinated by them. They’re long and slender, infused with light. There are no tattoos. No crosses and knots. No fear against the dark.

  I wish I didn’t fear the dark.

  I wish I could be free. Ascended, like Aaron.

  But that will never happen for me.

  If you want it, there is something even greater for you, baby, Lucy says. She isn’t trying to touch me. She floats in the air behind Aaron, looking like a goddess—not too different from the way she looked in real life. Her black skin is radiant with light.

  “You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

  She smiles and says, Just like you baby, just like you. Except I knew she’d say that. Lucy always told me I was beautiful. Figures that my brain would pull on old material.

  And then Aaron’s finger is touching my forehead and white pain is searing through my body and it burns, it burns, it burns and . . .

  Oh

  gods.

  I feel as though my body is alight with fire, but not the bad kind.

  I am a torch.

  Fire in the darkness.

  “What—” My throat still hurts, my voice still rasps. I think this is still a dream. Because I’m not Ascended, and of course I never will be, so there’s no way I could be made of light. “What did you do to me?” I gasp.

  He’s sharing his light with you, baby. Can you feel it?

  I can feel it. I nod.

  Can you feel your own light?

  I look at her, at the hope on her face. Why does she look like that? I search inside myself. Nope.

  I shake my head.

  No. No light.

  Look harder, Lucy says, and there’s a breathless quality to her voice, an urgency I can’t make sense of.

  I mean, it’s my dream, right? Can’t she stay forever?

  Another burst of fire-light burns through me and as I watch, Aaron’s light dims. Just a little. I think it’s maybe because I am brighter—maybe he only looks dim because I am bright.

  It has to be that.

  Look again, Lucy says, reaching out but stopping short of touching me. Desolation! The sound of my name on her lips, in a voice that says, Suck it up. Do it. Now. startles me into action, and I look.

  I close my eyes and think of the spark. Think of Lucy. Of the day she took me shopping in my new car, with my new sunglasses, with the shiny new phone—all things Lucy picked out for me, knowing I would love them.

  I Remember the sound of her laughter, the way her voice fills my heart with sunshine and honey. I Remember the way she holds me.

  She holds me now—not really, but it feels like it. I can feel her arms around me, hear the beat of her heart as surely as if it’s happening.

  And then I feel it.

  There.

  Tears jump to my eyes and a sob cuts through the muck in my throat because it’s there!

  The spark.

  The golden piece of Asgard my mother blessed me with.

  I wrap my soul around it, squeeze it tight. I hug it and hug it and cry and cry.

  I am not lost. At least, when I die, I will know.

  Asgard didn’t leave me.

  I have to go now, Lucy says. I look into her eyes, radiating so much light and love—and it’s no longer impossible to look into them.

  “Why?” is all I can think to ask. “I don’t want you to go.”

  I need to tell Odin. Tell Michael.

  “Why?” They can’t rescue me. They can’t even find me. “Can’t you stay with me until I die?”

  Lucy laughs, but Aaron doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t even smile. His mouth is set in a grim line. He’s not shining very much. He’s still touching me, but he’s drifting lower, his forehead nodding toward my shoulder.

  Lucy’s gaze flicks to Aaron, then back to me. Shine, baby. Shine with everything in you. Let the light burn out all the darkness. Let Aaron’s gift make you free.

  “Aaron’s gift?” I don’t want to look at him. His eyes are closed and his skin is pale. “What’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he shining?”

  Lucy smiles at Aaron, places her hand on his arm. Her light flares and so does his. I see him take a big breath. He’s shining for you, baby. Let him do this.

  Wait, I think. No!

  The plan, it turned out, was for me to sneak into Hell, with some dude named Heimdall’s help, and follow Horonius (as a dog) through the scariest place I could imagine. Find Desi—hopefully in the place Horonius thought she was—release her from her prison, or whatever, and hightail it on out of there.

  Without getting caught.

  Or killed.

  Or worse.

  I didn’t know there could be a worse, but according to li’Morl there was. Something about soul eaters and complete and utter destruction of your eternal soul. I figured it was better not to think about it.

  Miri had pretty much not stopped crying since li’Morl and Horonius left. She tried to convince them to stay, but li’Morl insisted we have some time alone before . . . well, before I went to Hell and maybe never came back.

  We lay on our bed, the afternoon sun streaming over us, painting Miri with the pattern of the lace curtains. For a brief second, a flash, I thought maybe we’d have some goodbye sex or something, but one look at Miri’s face when she shut the door behind li’Morl and I knew what she needed. So we lay on top of the comforter, while Miri curled against my side, practically lying on top of me in her effort to be held as tightly as possible. In my effort to make her feel as loved as possible.

  I held her close, stroked her hair, and prayed my racing heart wouldn’t tell her how freaking scared I was.

  Sure, I’d said all the brave things while li’Morl and Horonius filled me in on the plan. I hadn’t hesitated once I said I would do it. I knew my part. If Miri and the dog-dude were right, there was no way I wouldn’t give saving Desi everything I had.

  But now, lying here with Miri, I wondered if I’d gone about it the wrong way.

  I took a couple deep breaths and tried to get the words straight in my head.

  “Mir,” I started. Terror squeezed my throat the second I began. “I—Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  She froze. Stopped breathing. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, w
hat if I don’t come back? What if—well, I don’t want to be anywhere, even dead, without you.” I moved to the side and slid downward a bit so I could look into her eyes. Man, she has beautiful eyes. And right then they were filled with such sadness and fear.

  “You have to go,” she said in a near-whisper.

  “I don’t. I could stay.” I searched her eyes, wishing I could read her mind, wishing I knew exactly the right thing to do and say. “I don’t think it’s right to leave you. And maybe someone else could save Desi. Maybe they could send someone else.”

  I’d had her all the way until the last line. Up until then she looked at me in that way that made me scared to death and proud as all get out at the same time. But then she kind of recoiled, and blinked, and I saw something different in her eyes. Disappointment.

  “You don’t want to save her?” she asked.

  I shut my eyes, let out a long breath and took my hand from her hip so I could rub my forehead. I always said the wrong things. Wrong time. Every time.

  “No, bright eyes. I do. I just . . .” How do you tell someone you’d die without them? How even being dead wouldn’t be right without them? “I’m selfish, okay? I’m afraid to lose you.”

  The shadow in her eyes fell away as she squished herself closer and kissed me. I mean, really, really kissed me.

  Way before I was ready, she pulled back and tipped her head, so our foreheads touched. I looked at her lashes, at her lips, and pretty much thought nothing but I love you. Always. Always love you.

  “I don’t want you to go either,” she said, her words riding on her breath. “But—”

  She raised her face and looked at me. I searched her eyes and she searched mine, and I knew. We felt the same.

  “You have to go. Don’t you?” But it was a rhetorical question. We both knew.

  I pulled her back to me and held her. I held her until the room fell into shadows and our hearts and tears had pretty much done their thing. When the alarm on my phone—the one I’d set when li’Morl said he’d be back after five—went off, I rolled over and swiped the screen, plunging the room into silence once again. Miri propped her head up on one arm and watched me. I reached over and brushed my knuckles over her cheek. She smiled, a sad and lonely smile that I knew she meant to be brave. And she was brave. She was brave enough for both of us.