Chapter Thirty One
"Belief," Metatron muses, her silver-framed spectacles balanced on the crook of her long nose, "is such a funny little thing."
Over the corner of her dusty book, Metatron glimpses Audiat, the only other she-angel in the library, raise her head curiously from the rack of books she'd been so religiously studying.
"Why would you think that?" Audiat wonders, her head tilting to one side. "I rather like belief. In fact, belief is often an amazing thing."
"Belief in God, I mean," Metatron elucidates abasively, tapping a single finger onto the page. "Such a pathetic mindset. That we all belong to a greater scheme – we are all just little beings in the web of things, and there is no spider weaving it together. We must simply hold on as tight as we can and pray not to fall into oblivion."
"That's a very pessimistic way of thinking," chides Audiat, arching one white eyebrow. "My belief gives me strength. I believe that we do serve a higher purpose. Through God, I believe that every goal can be achieved, every boundary crossed, and every restraint broken."
The far off rustle of leaves and the distant echo of laughter is captured dimly in his ears. Bryon raises a hand calmly, but Raphael continues to walk forward with his warrior's prowl, rustling the leaves as he does so. Annoyance thickens the sound of his throat clearing and irritation blazes in his eyes as he glares reprimandingly at the angel.
Raphael, too, falls silent, cocking his head to better hear the sound of three people and the rustle of four gentle paws against the leaves far in the distance. His eyes widen, and his wings flex excitedly.
Though he attempts to straighten his face and stiffen his expression into indifference, the gleam of enthusiasm and glee manages to escape through Raphael's navy blue eyes. "That's them, isn't it? They're just over the ridge."
Bryon leans on his staff, his fingers tracing a coarse knoll near the top of the wood, smiling to himself. "Mmhmmm. On a completely unrelated topic, your wings should be just about ready for flight now. No need to drag me along…"
A particularly alluring wind whispers through the trees, its fragrant breeze ruffling through Raphael's stagnant feathers and whipping the cloak around Bryon's legs.
The angel doesn't waste the breath to usher a farewell, the thought of flight bringing on a storm of lust in his gaze.
Bryon flicks his fingers in a lazy salute to the rapidly rising silhouette of a fallen star joining its place in the heavens once more. He watches the speck until it disappears over the horizon – and, as it does, unease squirms in his stomach like a slippery eel. His smile fades from his face, replaced by a bleak frown.
Bryon shakes his head, attempting to dispel the feeling that he'd made a grievous mistake.
"See?" I whisper, my lips at Paige's ear. "It's fun, being on top of Scruffy."
Hesitantly, Paige sifts her fingers through Scruffy's coarse fur, stroking his neck as he plods along with a great slavering grin. There is caution in her aura, a caution not present in her earlier days alongside the wolf, but the caution quickly deteriorates. Gradually, the corners of her lips spread further and further apart until her smile mirrors his own.
"It's fun!" she exclaims, all fears of riding the tall wolf long forgotten. "He walks a bit like a horse. Except his butt shakes more."
"Told you he wouldn't hurt you," Hugo comments from the ground, obviously still miffed at being pushed from the back of his wolf in order to allow Paige and I's ascent. At the sound of his master's voice, Scruffy affably sniffs up Hugo's neck until the boy is laughing. Enthused by the reaction, Scruffy yips happily, head bobbing up and down excitedly as Hugo wanders from his reach.
"She wasn't afraid of him hurting her," I scold, narrowing my eyes scathingly. "She was the one of us that first accepted Scruffy, remember? You threw him his stick, baby girl. Seriously freaked Raffe out, you did. Remember that?"
"Yeah." She nods, leaning back against my chest, her hair tickling my throat. "Yeah, I'm not afraid of Scruffy. I just don't like being high up. The saddle makes it better."
"Sure you're not scared?" Hugo verifies hopefully.
"It isn't too high," Paige admits, peering nervously over Scruffy's shoulder at the ground that swirls with each of his long strides. Her fingers tightening around the bushels of Scruffy's mane she'd gathered, Paige adds, "But I'm glad you're here, Penryn. He's very rocky, even with the saddle."
"Good Penryn, bad Penryn…," my mother babbles aloofly from the fringes of our group, her large black eyes darting wildly about. "Choose a side… blue or red… here he comes… the challenger… blue… but red… blue…"
An awkward silence follows that rather bewildering rant. My mother wraps her arms around Ogden's torso and begins whimpering. Petrified, Ogden glances my direction and mouths: "Help me."
"Amen," Hugo agrees solemnly, nodding his head in grave solace to her. "Preach it, girl."
"You shouldn't mock her," I scold, biting my lip to avoid snickering, focusing on the back of Paige's head, frowning at the mess of hair, wondering how I should fix it. "It's really bad for –"
A terrified shriek escapes my lips as a strong pair of arms wrap around me from above, the smooth coil of muscles sliding around my torso. The breath is knocked from my lungs as a pair of snowy white wings sweep around me, closing like the lid of a box around Scruffy. And, with the force generated by the mighty downwards flap, I sail upwards with a nauseating lurch at my stomach.
Initially, I do not comprehend the abduction so abruptly interrupting my conversation, nor do I recognize the notch carved into the otherwise perfect cascade of elegant white feathers. I writhe and kick and scream through raspy lungs. But when those arms gently swivel me midair despite all my struggles, when they tenderly clutch me closer to a familiar drumbeat pounding in a familiar chest, I freeze, and at last realize who I have been captured by.
"Raffe?" I whisper, eyes going wide, head craning up from the nest he'd created for me.
A flash of mirthful blue meets my gaze for half a second before focusing once more on the path he takes through the skies. His white-toothed grin grows broader, as if his name had sparked up another wave of pleasure. Thunderous and reminding me of melted butter, Raffe laughs, a sound of pure and innocent happiness.
For a moment, I take a second to drink in the sight of him as he is – rock-hard muscles bound in a caramel hide glowing with sweat, gorgeous face spread in a halcyon grin and eyes lit up like fallen stars, snow white feathers cradling the air.
The only thing missing from this angelic paragon is the sword swinging at my hip.
"Penryn!" he bellows, my name beautiful on his lips. "Oh, Penryn!"
I laugh too as we soar higher, the world a spin of emerald green and sky blue around us. Wrapping my arms around Raffe's neck to grip him better, I whisper for only him to hear, "Raffe…" – I spit hair from my mouth, forcing it to return to the whirlwind around my face – "your wings are beautiful."
He chuckles heartily, the sound reverberating beneath my ear and sending a shiver down my spine. Abruptly leveling out and gliding horizontal to the ground, Raffe seems to trophy his wings, to display them proudly to me – and, shimmering in the bold sunlight, they are beautiful, highlighted with gold and shimmery like satin.
"They are," he murmurs giddily, "aren't they?"
My own happiness speeds the beat of my heart, sending it pounding furiously in my chest. Delight buoys my mood. Raffe's glee only adds to my cheer, as it somehow sheds the angel in an adorable light – the way he grins at his wings, the way he proudly splays them for all to see, his wild abduction of myself with the only reason being those stunning white feathers.
"Raffe, they're magnificent," I whisper, voice jarring with a slight spurn of alarm as he soars upwards further. The ground swirls dizzingly beneath us, traveling into the embrace of the turquoise sky. The moment I recover my breath in the thin air, Raffe's hands squeeze me tighter against him. His heartbeat rumbles through me.
"Say my name, Penryn," Raffe orders huskily, lips brushing my hair. "Say it."
"Raffe." My heart jumps with joy as he does a quick spiral midair, and my breath catches. "Raffe. Oh, Raffe…"
"Not that." Raffe laughs again at my nervous intake of air as he cuts upwards, but lowers his head back to mine. "My name. My real name. Not that nickname. Not" – his voice thickens with dislike – "Raffe."
Once more, I shiver, tightening my grip around his neck to lessen the pull of the winds around us. Craning upwards as much as the bitter cold swirl of gales will allow, I whisper into his ear, "Raphael. Your name is Raphael."
The moment the words escape my mouth, a cold hand grasps my heart, strangling its euphoric beats, and an awful sticky warmth saps up my stomach. As if those words are some primal command to cower, I do so, following the call of the prey animal, shriveling up, retracting from Raffe's – Raphael's – warmth.
Thud.
The beat of my heart.
Thud.
The beat of his.
The sound of my shallow gasping at the thin air drowns both sounds out.
Raffe continues, still caught in the stupor of his happiness. "Raphael!" he thunders, voice like a toll of church bells. I shrink against him more, squeaking softly as he tears upwards, wings spread. "I am Raphael! The Great Archangel! The Wrath of God!"
I attempt to ignore the shivers causing me to tremble violently in his embrace. "Don't get egotistic," I scold through chattering teeth.
For the first time, Raffe seems to notice my trembling, notice the way that, even as the mirth is replaced with concern, I avoid his gaze, the way my arms grip his neck frailly, as if more terrified by him than the threat of plummeting hundreds of feet through the air.
"Penryn?" Raffe inquires, hovering abruptly. "Penryn? What's wrong?"
I tilt my head up after reassuring myself that no tears blur my gaze, meeting the burn of blue eyes. "Raffe," I whisper, voice quaking, praying that somehow, he derives my meaning, hoping that he can repress his glee and calm himself for a few seconds, instead listening to the story I have to tell about Lucius and the deal I made. My pent-up fear and all the nervousness I'd crushed on this trip for the good of Paige and my mother begins to flow.
But he does not derive my meaning.
Not at all.
"Raphael," he whispers, his pupils blowing wide as he ducks down to press his lips to mine.
For half a second, I allow myself to relish in the sweet union, to enjoy the sensation of his lips moving against mine.
But reality sets in, and I find myself faced with the horror of what I have been confronted with.
Frantically, I unwind my hands from Raffe's neck and pound them against his chest. Raffe cuts off with a wheeze, gulping down air to replace what I forced out of his lungs. In his moment of surprise, his grip around me falters, and I fall a few inches in the air. The sense of dropping turns my stomach to lead.
Terror clutches my stomach at the thought of the long plummet to the ground as he grapples to get a better hold of me, the chilling fear making my hands fist his shirt and pull myself back against him. Raffe takes this as incentive to continue.
Fear throbs in my veins with each pound of my heart. I cannot physically resist him without running the risk of free-falling, but I can't talk, either, around the passionate kiss I share with him, so I merely become unresponsive – I still myself in his arms aside from the terrified quaking, and the little headway he makes in my mouth is done without my consent.
Raffe gets the hint within seconds of his lips touching mine.
Recoiling, he meets my gaze, those blue eyes so confused and lost, looking for an explanation. His eyes widen and search my face, as if noticing the panicked expression I wear. Looking me up and down, he only seems to get more and more distressed.
"What's wrong, Penryn?" he murmurs urgently, cupping my body to his. The desperate concern gleaming in his gaze is only sweetened by the tenderness he holds me with, the way his glorious wings seem to cradle around me, even midair.
"L-Lucius," I stammer, lower lip trembling.
"Lucius?" Raffe repeats, exigently searching elaboration. He probably would've questioned further if it hadn't been for the roar.
It echoes through the valley like the colossal bellow of a baleful lion, powerful and incredibly pissed. Raffe's flight quavers, his muscles tightening around me – as if he recognizes the roar, he lifts his head, eyes expertly weaving over the terrain until they find what they're searching for so religiously.
"What does he want?" Raffe murmurs, sounding annoyed.
As the roar comes again, this time louder, throatier, Raffe swiftly decides it's better not to delay and dives. We've descended together before – not quite this fast, but it's still the same. I knit myself closer to him, seeking warmth in the torrents of frigid air yanking at my face and snarling my hair into knots.
The moment Raffe's feet touch the ground, I throw myself away from him, landing on my butt. Ogling up at his wings as they fold gracefully against his back, I avoid the raw betrayed misunderstanding harbored in his eyes as I scramble backwards, fleeing him as if the Devil himself were before me.
Guttural and wild, a snarl sounds from the edges of the clearing Raffe had set down in – I can't see all too much of the creature that'd sounded it, only a pair of slitted bronze eyes darting to and fro, only can hear the heavy thud of inhuman feet pacing back and forth.
"Come on out, dammit!" Raffe barks, his betrayal hardening into ire. With one last scalding glare in my direction, he turns his gaze to Bryon's restless pacing. "What do you want? What is it this time?"
The creature that follows Raffe's instructions, stepping into the light, isn't what I'd expected. A mane starts at the ruff of his hair and stretches down his nape and assumedly a length down his back. His build is hunched and his arms contorted, as if they'd been twisted into unnatural positions. His eyebrows harden and thicken into horns, wrapping around his skull to protrude from the hair over his ears. Bryon's face is gnarled, beastlike. He no longer maintains the appearance of humanity.
"Step back, Raphael," Bryon growls in a low and dangerous voice.
Raffe's eyes blaze defiantly. "Why should I –"
"Step back." The foreboding tones in Bryon's warning influence a certain degree of uncertainty in both Raffe and me.
Slowly, angrily, Raffe backpedals, glancing furiously from me to him. With each step the angel takes back, Bryon takes another step forward, making a beeline for me. Even with the harsh gleam that enters his eyes each time he glances Raffe's direction, Bryon's expression grows softer as he approaches, the hard ridges and lines dementing his face fading into the gentleness I know.
"Are you alright?" he murmurs, extending a hand to lift me from the ground. I ignore the calluses and the haggard claws instead of nails and allow him to lift me from the ground.
Thankfully, he releases me the moment I regain my balance, as if self-conscious about the state of his skin.
"Okay, I guess." I wrap my arms around myself, eyes darting around the clearing.
Bryon's eyes soften further. "And did he…?" Vehemently, he casts a glare in Raffe's direction.
"Afraid so." The whisper might as well have been the rasp of the wind through the trees; Lucius's voice is bodiless, insubstantial. I inch closer towards the center of the clearing, unconsciously towards my uncle as well. I'm not sure if it's the demon's voice or my reaction to it that causes Bryon to growl protectively.
"Who was that?" Raffe demands, seeming uncertain. "What's going on? What did I do?"
"Locked lips with her, you fucktard." Hugo emerges from the same direction that Bryon had emerged. "Jesus, I know we've been out of touch, but seriously, man. You didn't even bother to ask about Lucius? Not once?"
"Penryn?" Raffe's wings shuffle awkwardly on his back as he glances my way. "What is he talking about?"
"Do tell him, Penny," Lucius drawls, his voice booming from all sides. "The suspense is killing me…"
"Don't you get any closer, you cur," Bryon spits, snarling threateningly. His features twist and harden, and a tail pools around his legs. For a reason beyond my comprehension, the staff looks immensely more dangerous in his gnarled hands now.
"Dear me, last time you and I met, I at least was greeted with one of those mighty roars, mister King," Lucius chuckles wryly. "Is that all you have in store for your little niece?"
"That's close enough!" Bryon snarls, remaining focused, impassive to the demon's words.
"She wonders about that, you know," Lucius intones lightly, as if he's delighting over the entire conversation, savoring being in control of everything the way he is. "Oh, we've all heard the story of how protective you are of everything you hold dear, of the fatherly love you hold for everyone – except for her."
"I said that's close enough!" Bryon swings his staff threateningly.
"She wonders why, if you are oh-so-protective of everyone, why you don't try to protect her from one she knows you hate," Lucius purrs relentlessly. "She keeps seeing what you've done, Raphael, in her dreams. I poke around in that head of hers every so often. She sees what a monster you are. Thinks about it. She's thinking about it now. And she knows that Bryon sees your monstrous side, dear Wrath, even now. She's just confused as to why you seem indifferent about that."
"That's Lucius, right?" Raffe flexes his wings, as if preparing them for a fight. "What's he talking about?"
"But you and I, Bryon, you and I know the truth, don't we?" Bryon's jaw tightens. "You and I know that she worries you more than you'll ever let on. Strong, independent woman like that – of course you're worried. She wants to do things her way, whether it's the right way or not. But you don't ever intervene, you always keep your nose in your own business. Why is that, Bryon? Why do you let her choose her own path?" Lucius's voice lowers to a whisper. "Is it because you're afraid?"
Bryon is deathly silent.
"Oh, Bryon, I know," Lucius laughs, a surprisingly warm sound. "I have been there before. All alone, in the dark. Because you always, always run into people like her, don't you? Audiat, Femi, your own brother – and you give them all your heart. You give them everything. You protected them with every drop of blood in your body and fell utterly in love every time. It's in your nature. You give them everything, even if they're unaware they give everything to you in return simply by being there. But they don't stay there forever, do they, Bryon? Well?"
"You can tell all the fancy stories you want so long as you don't get any closer," Bryon murmurs tonelessly.
"So noble! I know the truth." Lucius's voice grows brutally sharp, almost… angry. "They all left you, didn't they, Bryon? You gave them all your heart and soul, you sacrificed everything for them, and they repaid you by leaving you all alone. They all were ripped from your arms or slaughtered like common swine. A man's heart can only be mangled so many times until he breaks. Face it, mister King, you are a broken man. A broken thought has formed in your broken mind, a thought that maybe, just maybe, if you don't give her any instruction, if you don't shield her the way you did the others, everything will turn out fine. Maybe if you don't tempt fate she'll take care of things herself. If you don't intervene, maybe, just maybe, Penryn might live."
Bryon is absolutely silent. He does not stir or twitch, his shoulders do not rise and fall with the cadence of his lungs. Lucius had hit a nerve, I realize.
Hugo, who'd been studying Bryon's face with his eyebrows pinched together, abruptly seems to anger with this, as if by pulling Bryon's strings, Lucius had found an enemy in the usually cheerful boy.
"Why don't you go fuck off?" Hugo snaps, half-drawing the string on his golden compound bow. "Get any closer and an arrow goes through your eyeball. That doesn't feel good, I can assure you."
"But, Hugo, fellow dealmaker, you know I can't just leave without reaping my payment!" Lucius cries with saccharine affection. "Are you getting jealous? Because I didn't include you? How ridiculous! Hugo, you already know why Bryon doesn't fret over you, don't you? Why do we need to go over it again? Pour salt in the wound?"
"Last warning," Hugo murmurs, fixing a steel arrow to the shimmering string.
"Oh, Hugo, I know the feeling of adoring one like a father!" Lucius mourns, sarcasm fading from his voice. "I know how it must seem to you – the great and powerful man, so strong and wise. But tell me, Hugo, if you've ever seen mister King over here treat you like a son? How many years have the two of you been together? Since you were a toddler wobbling around on all fours! And still, he looks at you as nothing more than – than – an accomplice! You will never be his son!"
"No shit." Hugo pulls back the arrow. "Man, I do not have a deadbeat devil as a dad. Don't even try to pin your problems on me. I don't want 'em. I got enough of my own."
"They're not just my problems, Hugo," Lucius sneers. "One trickster to another. Play your cards however you want. I just know how to call your bluffs."
"You think he's improvising this?" Hugo murmurs out of the side of his mouth, glancing towards me. "Or do you think he has a script that says 'Insert Bad Card Wordplay Here'?"
"Hilarious." Lucius seems slightly embarrassed about Hugo's rebuttals. "Hiding all that emotion beneath words. But I have more pressing issues that require my attention. Penny, darling, you and I have business to attend to."
"Don't call her Penny," Bryon growls.
"He just vanished," Hugo reports, bowstring going slack. I grip Pooky Bear's hilt with strangling force, much to her annoyance.
"And you two have no business together, nothing at all," Raffe adds, finally awakening from the way he'd stupidly gazed about with the thick look on his face.
The keen interest in Lucius's voice almost makes him sound like a delighted infant. "Does he not know?" Lucius pauses, expecting an answer. "Does he really not know? That wasn't the first thing you told him when the beautiful reunion occurred, Penny Poo?"
"Well..." My eyes fall to the ground.
"My fault," Bryon laments. "I told him to try out his new wings. My fault."
"So he had no idea as he so fervently pried your lips apart that it was part of your deal with me, no idea as he shoved his tongue down your throat?" Lucius laughs candidly. "Fate is beautiful."
"Would someone kindly explain to me what the hell is going –" Raffe's frustrated rant is broken off as he tilts his head up, eyes going round.
A dark blot passes over the sun, like an eclipse, but for mere seconds – as if something had flown over the sun's face and left a blemish in its light for a few precious moments. Too large for me to make heads or tails of the shape printed on the ground, the shadows flutter and move, like a creature beating its wings. Though initially met with a rather solemn silence, the strange shadow kick starts Lucius's plans.
"That would be a good incentive to stop my prattling about." His voice is rushed, as if uneager to meet the creature that'd cast the ominous shadow. "No need to overstay my welcome. I will collect what is mine to take, and I will be out of your hair."
I stumble back away from where both Hugo and Bryon are focused intently, drawing Pooky Bear. Never before has her flare of wrath been so welcomed, so appreciated by me. Her silvery blade reflects the noonday sun, reflecting it like a mirror. For a split second, I think I see something black and immense hidden beneath the canopies, but as I whip my gaze around to see what might be shrouded by the shadows, nothing awaits me.
Stumbling back, heart pounding, I walk into something hard. The skin of my arms brushes against the silky fabric, much like that on an expensive suit. As I whip around, though, I see nothing, nothing but air.
"Stay calm." Bryon's voice is sweet as honey, his gaze soft, confident, pacifying. "Hush, now, Penryn. Shh."
I realize that each of my breaths had come out like panicked gasps. With much difficulty, I try to calm their wild sucking noises, but my success is limited.
"Remember to closer your eyes, dearie," Lucius purrs. "It wouldn't be very pleasurable for either of us…"
"Calm down, Penryn," Bryon soothes, his voice a bit more forceful, piercing through the veil of fear Lucius's presence creates. "Deep breaths. Deep, long breaths. Oxygen is good for you."
"What's he going to do to her?" Raffe interrogates, accosting quickly towards me. His lips are pricked in a protective snarl. "Penryn, I won't let him –"
And that's when it happens.
Luckily, I remember to close my eyes as a frigid hand grips my chin and a lean arm wraps around my waist from behind. My face is wrenched back, lips arched upwards, and a cold mouth clashes against mine.
I don't know if it would've been worse had his saliva been hot instead of icy – all I know is that the cold, serpentine tongue not only lapping down towards the back of my throat but wrapping around my tongue like a ribbon makes me quiver. I try to fight, lifting Pooky Bear and slicing a nick into his perfect white suit, but as I do so, Lucius grunts in annoyance and knocks it with his elbow from my hands.
Lucius could keep me here for all eternity if he pleased. My limbs are locked, paralyzed, as if his tongue in mine has some sort of poison. Raffe's roar of rage, however, breaks through the ice gripping my limbs, his anger heating a pool of fury in my stomach as well.
Lucius vanishes abruptly, leaving me with my mouth still ajar and my eyes squeezed shut. I open my eyes slowly, afraid of what I'll see.
Raffe rages past, barreling around the clearing and bellowing irefully at nothing in particular, raking hands through his hair to let off steam. He still seems slightly confused, but it's as if he's figuring it out slowly by the look of growing horror on his face. Hugo is perched on a boulder, scanning both the surrounding terrain and the sky – makes sense to look around, what with the mystery beast and angels undoubtedly within earshot.
A warm hand rests at the small of my back, and a cloak drapes around my shoulders, its borrowed warmth allaying some of the violent shivers wracking my bones. Bryon's voice, gentle and firm, comes from beside me.
"Spit the taste out, Penryn. Go ahead. Get it all out."
I gather some of the foul liquid and do exactly as he says – my stomach squirms as it lands on the ground not far at all from where I stand, giving me a clear shot of its nasty gray color. I recall the oozing black texture of his tongue as we struck the hellish deal in Jane's den, and nausea grips me.
"Penryn." Bryon's arms wrap around me from behind, hugging me against his warmth. "Deep breaths. Close your eyes and spit some more. Don't worry about where it goes. Just get it all out."
He breathes lethargically, his lungs forcing mine to imitate them. With each word, the mighty vibrations harbored in his chest assuage me, and with each slow breath he forces me to take, I grow more and more aware of his tranquil heartbeat, only parting with it to lean forward and spit.
"Bryon," I whimper between hacks. Some of Lucius's juices had found its way to my stomach, where it sloshes about toxically.
"I know." A callused thumb wipes the tear from my cheek before it'd completed much of its journey, hiding it from the view of all others present. "You'll feel better when he's out of your system. Try to get as much of it out as you can. The rest… it'll make you sick, but not for long."
It takes much more time than I thought it would, but, at last, I open my eyes, trembling aggressively. "I'm done," I croak, throat dry and mouth still foul.
"I'll go get her a water bottle from the packs," Hugo decides somewhere in the distance.
"Good idea," Bryon thrums. Gently, he releases me, turning me around until I face him again. "Oh, Penryn," he sighs, looking miserable. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let Raphael off his leash."
"Don't play the blame game." My fragile wheeze of a voice seems to jar Raffe back out of his pacing. The proud muscles in his back stiffen and Raffe turns on heel, facing me with wide, expecting eyes.
Before he can say a word, Bryon lifts a corner of the cloak around my shoulders and dabs gently at my lips. My cheeks heat as I realize it's coming away smudged with demon spit, mottled clouds of both tar black and stormy grey.
"You're going to be okay, Penryn," he assures, smiling tenderly at me as he wipes away all signs that the demon had been there at all. "I will not permit this breach again." His head cocks, and a firm resolve slides into place. "Don't worry. I'll make sure it never happens again."
Initially, my dream is more of a nightmare.
The roiling of demons and devils haunts my sleeping mind, their gnashing teeth and grating voices like a hammer on my subconscious thoughts. Their gazes instill fear and the lash of their tails swirl around my feet like slimy venomous snakes. High peals of cackling voices cause me to curl into a ball, sobbing into my legs in a fragile attempt to avoid the long, serpentine tongues lapping at my ears and flickering at the edges of my lips.
I don't understand most of what they say – only some seem able to speak in English. And those sparse few always seem to be dragging bodies in their wakes; a little girl's head dangling from the bloody strip of her spine, a living man with screaming heads poorly stitched onto the stumps of his arms instead of hands, half of an old woman with her ribs hanging from her torso like the bells on a wind chime.
Once, I think I glimpse Bay, but, even though it seems he's trying to push through the crowd towards me, he disappears behind a robust demon with the head of a bull.
In the far, far distance of the endless blackness, I can see a mountain forged from onyx, atop it three great silver thrones. The largest hosts a massive demon, his face hidden by a bleached ox's skull, two wings sprouting from his back large enough to blanket the sky and hide all light from this little pocket of hell. Clad in cruel black armor, he is the most fearsome of them all.
To his right is a demon half his size, with his face shielded, too, with some sort of African looking mask. A flaming sword hangs at his hip, and a shield is propped up on his leg. On the opposite side is a smaller demon, so small that, had he not been the only speck of white in the darkness, I wouldn't be able to see him. As it is, Lucius is still difficult to spot, being so far and so miniscule when compared to his sinister family.
I have no doubt it's that pompous prince of hell that'd brought me here in the first place.
But, as I watch the disorderly and rude dancing of the demons as they prance around me in circles of rowdy construction, I can't help but notice that the scene seems to change. The sharp edges of their racks of antlers grow dim, the bright glares of snapping red fire grow dull. With a sensation like I'm falling backwards through the floor, my world fades into white.
The whiteness is accompanies by a hollow ringing noise in my ears, broken only once by Lucius's frustrated cry before all is lost to me, and I wake up sitting cross-legged at the end of a long, cobblestone corridor.
At the very end is a vibrant stained glass window, and along the hallway, there are more, murals of things that seem vaguely familiar, even though I don't dwell on them long – a man and a woman exiting a garden, men slumped in trenches throwing World War I grenades at one another, and the descent of Gabriel onto a crowd of people – but countless others are foreign, as if they had yet to come. Silhouetted against the massive window at the far end of a hallway is a dark black shape, two triangular ears rising from the huge shadow draping over the window's vibrancy.
I rise on steady legs from the ground, and begin to dash desperately towards the dark shape. I'm not certain as to why it's so imperative that I reach the end of the hall, but it sends my feet flying forward and my heart hammering in my chest. I have to reach him before…
Before what? I ask myself.
Sluggishly, the shadow begins to rotate, as if a great head is turning to face me. As it does so, the ringing begins to return ever so gradually to my ears, the whiteness fogging my vision. Instead of violently bright shades of color seeping in through the windows, the white light dulls the vibrancy, turning them into unfocused pastel blurs.
It continues to turn its head, and I continue to force my way forward. It's almost as if the whiteness is turning the world around me into pudding, slowing my strides and tarring up cries of greeting in my mouth. It grows closer… closer… and the whiteness grows to such intensity that his black form is the only thing I can make out, the ringing swelling to such pain that the sound of my feet hitting the ground is lost to me.
The shape of a canine head is poorly outlined by the white. It turns to me, and its eye slides open, revealing the dazzling electric blue pupil hidden beneath the monstrous lids of the creature.
Whispers echo in my mind, a deep, throaty voice. My vision tunnels around the blue. Though mostly an unintelligible mass of words and phrases, one thing is clear to me in the flood of whispers: Don't wander far.
Lost in the power of that bright blue gaze, I feel myself slipping, ebbing away into the white…
Sorry about not posting this for so long – it's taken a long time to write and edit. Couldn't quite get it the way I wanted it.
POLL: Lucius tried to get under both Bryon and Hugo's skin with words Hug dismissed and Bryon ignored. Could there be some truth to them?
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh