Chapter Fifty Eight
"So, it was you all along," Bryon snarls. "You drove that archangel around like a puppeteer, moving his lips and forcing his words. Not only did you suck everything away from Gabriel that made him so incredible in the first place, but you sucked up all of Gabriel at all."
Is this what you wish to discuss? Her bronze whip of a tail slashes through the air, so astonishingly bright it causes me to wince. Delaying the inevitable? Very well, then. It was I, yes, that ordered many of the things Gabriel was accredited for. He truly did receive whispers from the Lord. Little did he know 'twas not his God.
"So ever since then, you've just been sitting in that carcass, awaiting rediscovery?" he asks.
Why do anything else? After some gracious assistance from you, the wolf kept coming with more and more offerings, stimulating my mind and feeding me her little servants. She didn't expect me craving more than they could offer. Pathetic creature.
"Why?" Bryon demands, squeezing my hand tighter – as he does so, my mind soothes, the ache caused by Theobella's presence diminished. "Why did you bring the angels down? Why then of all times, in the midst of that sprawling human majesty?"
They had to be united.
"…Excuse me?"
My parents. I simply noticed that her life was slipping by, and his was being wasted upon alcohol. They needed to be tipped in the right direction, else I never exist.
"So you started an apocalypse." Bitterness bites deep into Bryon's voice. "Great idea. Very romantic. Do you even realize what you have done? Does that massive loss of life even affect you? The heartbreak? Are you even fazed?"
A shiver runs down its spine, causing its long scales to jangle frighteningly. Such circumstances were required. I need not explain myself to you.
Bryon snorts. "Because you've got no argument whatsoever. There's something I teach to all of my students before I take them on as trainees: you must first understand the value of a human life before you are qualified to take it. This disgusting rate of casualty is unacceptable."
People die all the time. I don't understand your fuss about it. They will be stunted for a few years, maybe even a century – but who truly cares? Tell me, when was the last time humans fussed over the hive of bees that was half wiped out one year? The herd of deer that were almost annihilated that one time? The rare weeds picked from a garden? They shall grow back. It matters not.
"You have no understanding of emotion!"
And yet, strangely, here I am with the upper hand. She almost seems to smile, lifting that slender head and centering the sun's rays between her two horns. Certainly over you, it would seem. You are hardly one to scold the loss of human life. Perhaps my memory fails me, but was it not you that pulled the trigger and unleashed the wrath of the heavens upon the earth?
Bryon flinches as if she'd slapped him.
"That was not me!" he snarls, bowing his head, baring his teeth. "It was not! It was…"
It was what, Bryon? How amused you make me when you sit here and stammer! Do not even attempt to spare yourself. 'Twas your finger. 'Twas your aim. Take responsibility for your actions.
"Bryon?" I focus on him, blinking repeatedly. "What's she talking about?
Has he not told you yet? As if I were facing Lucius, when those great eyes swing to meet my gaze, I slam my eyelids shut and swallow nervously, terrified of her crawling up and sitting upon my shoulder. How strange. He obviously knows of his role in this, and yet he has not informed you. Does he not try to push you away? His personality would indicate to such a response – oh.
Through the slits between my eyelids I can still see out of, I watch a slow, nasty grin spread over her face, baring teeth as white as Lucius's skin, so wide and menacing it seems to devour her entire face. Her tail thrashes thrice upon the body of Gabriel, as if a smacking her knee with laughter. Brindled wings fold and unfold.
Do you still cling onto the belief that it was a bad dream that tormented your sleep? I assure you, dear Bryon, I am so much more real than a nightmare. The scales on her mane bristle, standing on end in a beautiful ray of copper and gold, shimmering around her head like the beams of sunlight. But that is of little concern. Almost quicker than they'd spread, the layers of scales flatten against her neck. After all, if your friends, your family know… what difference would it make if you refused to accept your wrongs as your own?
Again, her tail slaps against the bare chest of Gabriel. Chills climb up the nuque of my neck, and I can't shake the feeling that something's happened.
"There you are!" Bryon snarls, his voice riddled with emotions I've never heard there before – desperation, imploring desperation, and a great sense of noble submission. "You've made it clear to all the monster you made me become – why torment me further? It's worse than any other pain you could possibly inflict!"
Her head cocks, the movement almost mechanical, like a windup doll. Is it truly? I shall have to find that out.
"Look at that!" Audiat gasps breathily, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Look! A video popped up!"
"Yes, that's the magic of computers," Hugo explains patiently, not bothering to turn to her, instead transfixed with Bay as the Fallen angel stares longingly out the window, watching the golden afternoon light slowly deepen and darken, becoming orange as evening extends its first few salutations over the land. It richens the color his skin and adds splices of brilliant color to his midnight eyes.
Audiat sighs tediously. "I know that, Hugo, I'm not an old maid! But – I've never seen this video of Bryon before! Is that… Gabriel, there in the background?"
"What?" Ripped from his daydreaming, Hugo turns, looking at the screen. "Whoa – holy shit! The fuck did this come from?"
"I – I don't know!" Audiat waves her hands around in a panic. "What… what the hell?"
Hugo shushes her by clapping a hand over her mouth, watching the video intensely. The video shakes slightly, as if unbalanced in its placement or held by shivering hands. It pans from Gabriel to another figure, this one of Bryon, sitting close to the camera, perched upon a rooftop. Without even seeing longer than a few seconds of the grainy footage, Hugo can tell there's something wrong, because Bryon doesn't move like that, and he definitely doesn't know how to load a gun.
"Oh, Lord," Audiat mumbles against his hand, her horror muffled yet still steeped with dread.
"No way," Hugo whispers. "No! No, he hasn't even really ever picked up a gun, and he's never aimed one. Never loaded one! No, no, no, no…"
"He seems to be loading and aiming that one very well," Bay says darkly, appearing behind Hugo and resting a hand of comfort upon his shoulder. "Did you see his eyes there? In that shot? Go back a few seconds, pause."
Hugo's fingers shake on the keyboard. He mutters beneath his breath, not regulating the words that come out, not truly registering them, either, but by the way Bay's grip on his shoulder only grows tighter, he assumes that it can't be good.
"What the hell?" Audiat squeaks. "Oh, no, oh, no, I bet it's the same thing that ate up Gabriel! Remember what she said about his eyes?"
"One blue." Bay gently sets a finger on the screen, tapping twice at the dragon's face. "The other gleaming. Blue and bronze. That's similar, but I'm not seeing any other similarities. Bryon doesn't talk in his sleep. He doesn't scream."
"But he goes on midnight walks all the time," Hugo says slowly. "And he always has this eerie way of keeping calm. Sometimes, his decisions cause skeptics to cock eyebrows. Like his decision to bait Lucius out of his cage and into the action. He used Penryn to do that. That… doesn't sound anything like Bryon."
"And the holy fire." Audiat's eyes shimmer in fear. "Remember what she said? She would find him talking to fires that didn't burn. That's Bryon's holy fire. I've seen him talking to them before. I've talked to them before. It's his darn insignia – a staff enveloped in holy fire."
Hugo begins to shiver. "The thing would need to take out Gabriel so he didn't blab. It might've needed another host to use as a scapegoat. And it might need another host even after that. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. Oh, God."
"Unpause it," Audiat squeaks through quick, tiny breaths.
Bay's hand leaves his shoulder for a few seconds, leaving Hugo otherwise frozen as his fingers move shakily to double-click the triangle. He quivers like a leaf in a gale, watching the king aim the gun from the roof. Just as the awful gunshot echoes out of his speakers, the Fallen angel's hand returns, and this time, he brings with him a paper bag. Audiat nearly snatches it from his hands.
She makes unholy noises into the bag as she slips off the bed, falling with a thump to the ground. Unfurling her wings and curling them around her, Hugo only half-hears the tearful, shocked cries, and the crinkle of the bag folding and unfolding.
"It was him," Hugo whispers in horror, a lump forming in his throat. He leans back into Bay, his hands desperately clawing towards him, making fists around his boyfriend's shirt. "That's why I could never find out who it was. It. Was. Him. Holy shit, Bay, holy shit, the thing's going to kill him, just like it did Gabriel. That is, if the angry human mobs don't get to him first."
Bay's arms wrap around Hugo, the tight bands of muscled stirring fluidly beneath his velvety soft skin. "Have faith." Gently, he presses a kiss to the top of Hugo's head, his tickling breath softly wafting through his hair. "We don't know for sure. Just know that your uncle loves you very, very much. He'll do anything to keep you safe. He'll fight for you."
"He can't." Shock spreads over Hugo as a sob causes his body to spasm. "Don't you see that? He can't. Or he would've told us, he would've… he would've… he wouldn't have done any of that!"
"Then we'll fight for him." Bay pets at Hugo's hair, peppering gentle flurries of kisses along his exposed hairline. "Stay strong, Hugo. Stay strong. If this is true, then our toughest playing piece has been eliminated, so we all must now stay strong."
"We can't let him know that we know," Audiat whispers quickly, then returning back to her bag. "It might do terrible things to him."
"Do what?" Sariel pipes up curiously. "Who? Are you crying?"
"Bryon?" My voice quavers. "What's going on? Who is that? …It's not really Theobella, is it?"
"No." His grip on my hand almost becomes crushing, and I can feel the emotion he struggles to send through the gesture – his rage, his hatred, his self-pity. "No, not anymore. That's not anything you and I know. It may call itself Theobella, but it's even worse. It's a thousand times worse."
"What is it?" I squeak, not really sure I want to know the answer.
An heir to the throne of heaven. Theobella's nasty grin grows larger, showing pink gums from which her ivory teeth grow from. In other words, I could be your next God. I would show respect, but of course, that's only my opinion.
"Don't listen to her," Bryon says assuagingly, his bronze eyes turning to mine and trapping me in their gentle whirlpools of emotion. He smiles, and I feel the instinctive sense of terror, the part of me that wants to creep into a corner and hide and weep the apocalypse away, begin to fade away, melting into a pile of mush inside of me.
Hold your tongue or I shall rip it from you.
I study the dragon fearfully, still subtly trying to open the door, uncertain why it'd locked in the first place. Her bronze eye seems to glow brighter than her blue, caught in the rays of sunlight like a mirror, more brilliant than a gem of any sort. Luckily, the awful smile has faded from her face, replaced again by the eerily serene expression.
"Who the hell do you think you are," I whisper, shaking my head slowly, "threatening Bryon like that?"
A second after the words exit my mouth, as they hang in the air like breath on a cold morning, I realize that perhaps, she might take such an accusation as rather irksome.
The idiocy of your niece is astounding, Bryon. The distaste in her voice wants me to shrivel up into a ball and die, but her next words are mellower, reluctantly tolerant. He is mine, Penryn. A man of God – have you never even truly considered the words? Explain to her, Bryon. Explain to your niece where you have wronged her. Explain each and every way you have betrayed her.
"I will not!" Bryon growls, his desperation turning his voice into a breathy whine. "I will not doom her to this half-life!"
"Bryon?" With wide eyes, I stare up at him, feeling the most horrible sensation of dread curling in my stomach, like a cold snake twining around the inside of my belly. "What… what is she talking about?"
Go on. Her head dipping down with slow grace to rest elegantly against her own breast, Belle wraps her tail around her legs, the tufted tip twitching like a panther's. Answer her question. What am I talking about, Bryon?
"I don't know."
Answer her question.
Bryon gnashes his teeth, the click of bone on bone setting my nerves on edge. "I won't! I won't answer! You can't make me! Punish me any other way!"
Answer her question or my response to it will be the last thing she ever hears. Theobella blinks almost benignly. See, now you've got a choice. You seem to like it when you've got those.
A tremor runs through Bryon. He bows his head slightly, shutting his eyes. His shoulders thrust up and down with each of his shaky breaths. "Please," he begs softly, voice cracking, "don't make me do this! She… spare her."
"Bryon?" True fear writhes its way into my voice, causing me to sound scared and ridiculously small. "What's going on? What happens if you answer my question?"
"Why do you think I wanted you to burn the book?" Upon the meeting of our eyes, I notice the tears glazing the surface of the thick, molten bronze of his eyes, and resist the urge to wrap him in a big hug. "Knowledge has a price. This is the price. If you know too much, she can bind you, use your own mind to enslave your thoughts, she can…" Taking a shuddery breath, he tightens his grip on my hand. "She can do exactly what she did to me. Stop asking. Please, Penryn. You – you don't want to know!"
Are you going to answer her question or shall I?
With a shaking inhale, Bryon begins. "I was so stupid, Penryn, I really, truly was. I believed I was doing the right thing. I was serving my God – I had no idea. I didn't know. I didn't. It didn't even cross my mind – it didn't – oh, God, Penryn, I was a fool. There is a reason your fabled devils are the only ones that ask for men to sell their souls. I should've seen the signs. My God is not benevolent, nor does he give a single damn about me."
"What?" I whimper.
Driven by power, you were. A fool is right. You craved the might of your master, and answered God's beckons for more. And have I not delivered? Are you not a thousand times more powerful than you ever could've dreamed?
"I don't want your power!" Bryon howls heartbreakingly. "I don't want it! I never wanted it!"
Now, now, Bryon. A cruel sparkle dances in her otherwise lifeless eyes. We both know that isn't true. It was always about the power.
"I just wanted my wife back," Bryon cries out, his hand loosening slightly around mine. "I just wanted my Audiat back! I never wanted this!"
Use whatever explanations you desire. I care not for them, for I saw what was at your heart. And so when He came to you and offered you such power, you signed yourself onto this agreement. It's no one's fault but your own that you did not specify.
"How was I to know," Bryon snarls, "that my beloved God's bitchy daughter was actually worse than Satan?"
The dragon snorts and shakes its mane. You mortals! You're all the same – you ask for no specification upon deals even when such information is readily available, and when you realize that the fine print read words you don't quite agree with, you call unfair and quit the game. On top of that, you act in hypocritical natures. You don't ask a cow if it wants to be slaughtered, or blades of grass if they wish to be cut. At least I extended that invitation to you. You agreed to your fate.
"You're…" I trail off. "You're God's kid?"
Oh, yes. The nasty smile returns to her lips. Five-eighths blood is the only way to go. Impressed? Almost like a woman flipping her hair, Theobella arches her neck, causing her scales to rifle in a gorgeously terrifying manner against the golden light.
"The holy fire." I turn to Bryon. "I saw you – with golden flame. She came to you in holy fire. You prayed to it because it was your God, and she –"
"Stop asking questions!" he snaps desperately, eyes wild. "I promised your father I would protect you! Stop it! Stop!"
"Bryon, what's going on?" My voice is a whimper. "What is she talking about? Did you…?"
Heartbrokenly, Bryon turns his head away from me, his hand first loosening, then slipping from mine and balling at his side. "I did not want you to know. I did not want any of you to know. I am… I am weak. I am so very, very weak, enslaved like a mule yet only half as strong. Now, I realize it was foolish to ever conceal it from you, to ever even approach you at all. Stay away from me. I am a monster."
"No," I whisper, shaking my head stubbornly. "You're not. Bryon, you're a good man. Please, let's just leave, we need to get out of here…"
"You're right." His breath becomes ragged. "You do. Have you punished me enough… master?"
Theobella shakes her head, causing the shadows to dance over the floor. It almost saddens me, seeing such a powerful beast broken like an old toy before his own family. But as it so happens, greater punishment is to come. After all… I freeze, paralyzed and quivering so violently that my teeth chatter, as her gaze swings to mine, the pupils to both eyes thinner than sheets of paper. Penryn knows our secret. Your doom was already inevitable before you pried further, witnessing what you did, but now… now I get to decide how I shall chose your ending. A simple death is no longer an option. What should I have you do with her? Snap her neck or enslave her in the same shackles as yours? Pass on the Young legacy…? No, I have no need for another, do I?
Bryon rips me from my stupor roughly, the claws tipping each of his fingers digging into my shoulder. His eyes replace those terrible, terrible ones, bright and full of concern. In the corner of my eye, I'm vaguely aware of him ripping out the door handle and shoving it open.
"I cannot buy you a lot of time," he says urgently, his tone filled with bitter remorse. "Hardly any, in fact. But you grab your sister and anyone else and you get the hell out of here. As far away as possible. You start running and running and never, ever once look back."
"Bryon –"
"Go."
And without another word, he shoves me from the room and slams the door shut behind me. I fall backwards, hitting the ground with a small yelp of pain, but the moment I regain my bearings, I scramble backwards. My heart hammers in my chest, and my mind whirls, each thought more fanatic than the last. Gripping Emilio's knife so hard that my own nails dig into the skin of my overlapping hand, I slide up the wall on shaking legs.
The door rattles violently on its hinges from the force of Bryon's roar of anguish from the other side. Repressing a small noise of panic, I flee, my only thought of rescuing Paige and Raffe from what I know lies beyond that door.
Of course. I'd been so stupid.
Belle. The little baby. The one responsible – and remorseful for – the sloppy killing of Bezaliel.
Theobella. Emotionless aside from her hate, blind and scathing, towards fate. The killer of recent deaths, bearing the knowledge of her God's false promises.
Whatever the hell that was. A creature lead by deluded knowledge and a ravaging thirst for blood, and absolutely terrifyingly beautiful.
And Bryon… my poor, poor uncle.
"What do you mean?" Thea snaps, her eyes sharp as a razor. "There is sunlight in this shot. My son is not possessed. Demons can't possess others in sunlight. It doesn't happen, not ever."
"It's not a demon," Hugo explains breathlessly, sweating profusely. "I'm not sure what it is, but it sure as hell ain't a demon. Bryon has no recollection of this, or he would've told me. He would've. That's similar to demons, I guess, but not quite. I don't know what this is."
"Well, what could it be, then?" Sariel thunders, looking perturbed and extremely worried. "Is there something else that could do this to a person? To my son? Because it wasn't his fault! It wasn't!"
"Well, that's obvious." Hugo rolls his eyes. "But I've got a theory. Whatever it was, it used to be possessing Gabriel for periods of time, or lending him its strength or whatever. He became no longer useful to it, and so it moved onto the next big target, the most powerful one, which would be your son, and my…" His breath hitches. "Once the switch was complete, it had no need for him to be blabbing about this creature, whatever it was, and so it took Gabby out of the picture for good."
Thea twitches. "What can we do?"
"If Bryon knows he's possessed," Sariel adds, "why hasn't he come to us before?"
"Maybe he's scared to."
Hugo whirls around, his heart thudding so wildly in his chest that Bay's arms wrap around his torso. There, standing in the light of the moon, sits a little girl, looking up through the balcony window, the long cascade of hair down her back hiding her nakedness.
Her small voice cracks several times as she chokes out her words.
"Maybe he's frightened and alone. Maybe he doesn't understand why his God is punishing him, why his fate is so cruel. He doesn't want it to be this way. He doesn't want to become a monster. Yet how can he avoid it? He foolishly accepted a deal he did not understand because he loved someone. He loved three people, actually. How was he to know? How was he to know he would become the monster he feared?"
She lets out a frightened breath, and Sariel's hand creeps to the hilt of his sword.
"I don't want to be her. I am Theobella. Theobella! And that is who I am! Who is she? How dare she wear my skin and name! I am Theobella!"
With a confused shriek, the girl hurls herself from the window, disappearing in a whirl of calico feathers.
"Raffe!"
Upon hearing me, the archangel stiffens, his hearty, contented laugh halting abruptly. Dropping whatever conversation he'd been upholding with Josiah, the only other angel present, he turns to me anxiously, perhaps alarmed by the strained terror in my voice. Relief washes over me like a cleansing waterfall despite the confusion in his eyes.
Losing myself for a moment, I almost crash into him with an embrace. At the last moment, I glance slightly to the side, the hellish red of Josiah's eyes jarring me from my assumption of comfort. Raffe is Raphael again. I can't do stuff like hug him, even at a time like this.
Confused, I pull up short, standing too close to Raffe to be just a mere servant, yet not close enough to snuggle up in his warm arms. I shiver and shake, a remnant of Theobella's otherworldly voice still echoing around in my thoughts. Baffled by my own belatee response to her presence, I watch Emilio's knife jig and bounce in my trembling hands, puzzled by my own inability to hold the blade straight.
"Penryn?" Raffe steps towards me, his confusion turning into fiery concern. "What's wrong? What's happened?"
"Put the knife down," Josiah advises, his voice not quite gentle, but lacking its usual grandiose, angelic tones.
"Laylah…" I look up at Raffe. "Oh, my God, she killed Laylah."
"What?" Josiah barks, now sounding uncertain.
Raffe watches soundlessly as a tear spills from my eye, tracing down my cheek.
My breathing becomes choppy, each inhale much resembling a sob. "I think she's killed, Bryon, too. Oh, God, Raffe, oh, God, we've got to get out of here. She's killed Bryon, she's killed Bryon…"
"What?" One of Raffe's arms launch forward, his strong hand closing around the hilt of the knife, overlapping my fingers. "What are you talking about? Penryn, I think you're going into shock, you're not making any sense…"
I scream slightly in my mouth, jolting my arms out of his hand and freeing myself, my knees practically knocking together. "She's coming for me," I whisper, hair falling into my face. "She's coming for me and Paige. Raffe, we've got to get out of here, we've got to run, she's going to come after us…"
That catches his attention more harshly. His hands land heavily on my shoulders so quickly I scarcely see him move. Intense blue eyes stare down into mine, shadowed by his furrowed brow. An inclement scowl pulls at his lips, eliminating any slightly smidge of softness from his face.
"Who is she?" he questions urgently, his voice deep and dangerous like a tiger's growl.
"Well," Josiah interrupts, drawing his sword, "that right there is not a she, but hey, it looks pretty damn pissed to me. Perhaps you two should continue this conversation elsewhere?"
Raffe's head jerks up, and I squirm from his grip, trying desperately to free myself. From down the hallway from which I had come, a deep, menacing chuckle resounds, more resembling the distance rumble of oncoming thunder than the gentle, melodious laughter I recall. My heart drops to my shoes. I rip Emilio's knife around, holding it towards the sound as best I can, lifting my lips back in a snarl.
There, standing at the end of the hallway, is my uncle, with a nasty white grin greedily devouring his face.
More than anything, Audiat wants to scream.
Come, now, purrs the voice like heaven, hell, and earth joined in song. Don't make this difficult, little dragon.
A tremor courses through Bryon's body – the only time she's ever seen him in such a position of emotional agony was the painful dream of his reaction to losing her. His head is bowed and his eyes are closed tightly, as if to stem the tears continuing to streak down his face. Each breath shivers in his lungs, a candid mixture of both sorrow and heart-wrenching fear.
His breathing wrenches as the snake of bronze scales slithers onto his shoulder, its long, slender arms pulling it around his neck. A pink tongue dances in his ear, slender fangs unfold from the roof of its mouth and daunt before his closed eyes.
Open your mouth, little king. A cruel hiss echoes from the dragon's maw. I know your tolerance for pain. I know you've trained yourself against my entry. Make it simple for me, and I shall not have to inflict such pain.
Slowly, Bryon turns his head away from the flickering tongue, a clear indication of his response. For only a moment, his eyes open, revealing a simmering fury boiling barely beneath his surface, the bronze like fire in his eyes. But then the long lashes seal shut again, crossing arms in a protective barrier.
She thinks you have pretty eyes. The dragon laughs cruelly in his ear, a hissing sound that nearly gives Audiat a heart attack. I wonder if you'd scream if I pried one of them out? I wonder if she would if she saw me devour it with a single gulp?
Again, his eyes flare open, more furious than before.
Ah, yes, there they are, those beautiful little eyes. Planting a paw on either one of Bryon's ears and wrapping her tail around his neck like a boa constrictor, she arches over Bryon, pressing their faces together so that their eyelashes brush and their gazes can find nothing but each other. I can sense her there, you know. I can sense future, past, and present. I am future, past, and present. I wonder if you'd scream if I pried out one of her little eyes? Hmm?
Though his teeth remain clenched together impeccably tight, Bryon snarls, his lips lifting and his shivering body taking upon it the rhythm of his growl. Raw malice burns in his gaze, so fierce Audiat is surprised it doesn't melt away the dragon's skin and scales.
Again, the dragon laughs, her long, pink tongue probing at his lips, causing them to slam shut again. I found it. Her tongue recoils inside her mouth, and her own fangs slam shut around it, spreading into a wide, terrifying grin. Don't be ashamed, you pathetic little thing, every one of you has one. It's the weakness of emotion – weakness itself. So now that I've found the chink in your armor… Quicker than a strike of lightning, the dragon returns to twining around his neck like a scarf, her horns nearly piercing the skin on each go round, leaving white marks on his throat. How shall I prod it?
Bryon's growl softens slightly. He tilts his head upwards, like a creature deprived of light straining for the sun, his eyes closed in an expression of quiet pain.
I know. It streaks down his body, head dipping into one of his pockets. Perhaps this shall incite some emotion…
Its head thrusts back, flinging something into the air and bringing a cry of distress from Bryon's lips. Instead of arching across the room and slamming against the floor, against the wall, as Audiat had anticipated, the object drifts, gently spiraling to the ground like a little fairy, or a falling leaf released from an autumn tree. It seems fragile and ancient, as if, with the wrong gale, it could turn to dust and drift away in the wind.
"No," Bryon cries, his hand lurching forward, fingers outstretched, as if trying to grab one of her own downy feathers, to hide it once more in his pocket. "No, please –"
The dragon's head bucks back, and, with a single belch of golden flame, Audiat's feather disappears in a torrent of fire.
Bryon's expression is broken. Not even the ash of her feather floats downwards in a little spiral of dust. The golden fire had consumed it all, leaving not even smoke to cloud the ceiling. His shoulders slump and the hand he'd desperately reached out to catch the feather falls back to his side. Opening his mouth slightly in despair, Bryon crashes to his knees, momentarily disconcerting the little dragon.
Heartbreak sings in Bryon's once infuriated eyes. "That was all I had to remember her b–"
Upon the word "by", the creature releases a foul shriek the likes of which nearly seems to resound through time, and dives into his opened mouth.
Bryon gags, his eyes bugging from his face, but does nothing more than thrust his head back, as if paralyzed by the dragon's entry. Audiat's skin crawls. The sleek scales slide down his throat, causing him to choke and retch, followed by a thick body and two wings. His face reddens. Taloned claws assist the crawl by latching onto his bottom jaw and pushing off of it, disappearing down his gullet.
As the final tuft of her hair disappears down the dark tunnel, Bryon's lips slam shut, his head straightening upon his neck and the very tips of his horns craning back to the sky. He sits there for a very many moments, breathing heavily, his eyes shut and his brow furrowed, his face devoid of expression. Although she knows she should be thinking about many other things than his beauty, Audiat cannot help but admire that the way his cloak pools like molten bronze around his legs, the way his hair spikes out around his horns, and the rough perfection of his delicately balanced, beautifully human features makes him look like a god.
A terrible chuckle echoes from the pit of Bryon's chest, and his lips twitch into a scornful smirk.
His eyes open. One is too bronze, too viciously bronze to be his. Another is as blue as the summer sky, almost luminescent.
A voice like his echoes in her ears – so close to his, almost his, but instilled with a merciless, emotionless, terrible tone unlike anything her gentle, strong giant could ever have, echoes around in her mind like the toll of a bell.
"I find it rather touching that his most treasured object was not his cloak, nor his staff, but a fragment of you, don't you, little eavesdropper?"
His head lifts, and, somehow, someway, despite the indefiniteness of her dream's vision changes. She finds herself caught, unable to look away from those eyes dwelling beneath his ridged brow, bathed in shadows. They look simply wrong. Where have his eyes gone? What has happened?
"I wonder what he would do if he lost all of you, don't you?"
Grinning, Bryon – or whoever this alien man is – shoots to his feet. His smile holds the most terrible kind of madness: the thoughtless instinct of a clever, clever predator with a great thirst for blood. The cloak billows around his feet, but not in a way that seems even remotely average. It's almost as if it's trying to escape.
"I expect it'll break his heart." His grin grows and his eyes flex wider, so unnaturally wide – and yet there is no end to the pupils, no whites of his eyes. "Especially if its his own hands to do it. In fact, I expect he'd rip out his own throat in grief, don't you?"
He leans forward, his canines thickening, elongating like lines of drool dangling from his mouth.
"Run, little eavesdropper, run!" he whispers, his voice chillingly flat. "I want him to have the memory of you running, of you screaming, as he thrusts his hand into your chest, through your ribcage!"
Throwing back his head, Bryon calls with bloodcurdling serenity, "I want him to feel your heart gliding down his throat, pumping and red and hot and oozing! Run, little eavesdropper, run!"
"Raffe," I snarl, pounding at his chest once as he shoves me through the door, locking it behind him.
"Penryn!" His voice is every bit as furious as mine. "Do as you're told! For God's sake, I'm trying to save your life!"
I stand before him, glaring into those navy blue eyes, refusing to budge an inch further into Audiat's penthouse. "Bryon told me to grab Paige and get the hell away from here. This is a stupid, stupid idea!"
"I don't know if you've noticed," Raffe says bitterly, "but your uncle isn't really one I'd count on for sound judgment at the moment. Your sister is fine, I made sure Bay picked her up in his mad dash to get Hugo to safety. I don't want you to leave this room. Bryon would never allow his wife to be hurt by… by whatever's possessing him.
"Theobella," I insist. "It's Theobella!"
He shakes his head firmly. "I refuse to believe that until I see it with my own eyes."
"Well, whatever you choose to believe," Audiat says crisply, startling us both as she swings her legs over the edge of her bed and walks calmly towards us, "know that she's not all that hunky dory here. I don't know if you've noticed, but her uncle isn't really in control of his actions right now. He's being driven against his will towards those that mean the most to him so that, for some reason or another, he'll feel our hearts slip down his throat. It's not a very good idea for a high concentration of us to exist."
"It is a good idea, however," Raffe mumbles distractedly, already searching through drawers for weapons, "for two of the most deadly women I know to join forces in this hellish world."
"Raffe, you can't make me –"
He cuts me short, grabbing my wrist and holding it tightly, his eyes shining with a sliver of desperation. "Penryn, I've lost my leader, my ex, and maybe my best friend – I have no idea if Josiah lives to tell the tale of what we've seen. I can't lose you, too. He's a killing machine, and has this nasty habit of turning up where you least expect him. Staying inside of a barricaded area is your best option right now."
"You don't get to decide that!" I shout at him. "I need to leave, I need to get to Paige, she's probably terrified right now…"
"How about we compromise?" Audiat steps forward, holding out her arms in an offering of peace. "Penryn, I'll keep you here, but at the first sign of trouble, I'll fly you out to the human base. A bit of all; everybody wins."
"I'm fine with that." Raffe moves to check the structure of the door, jostling it roughly. "Penryn?"
Audiat gives me a shooting glare, cocking an eyebrow and smirking behind his back.
"…Okay." I cock my head and mouth a question at her. "I'm cool with that."
"Good." Raffe turns back towards us. "Now, Audiat, you said it was coming for those he cared for? So, technically, if all those he didn't love stepped aside and did absolutely nothing, he would leave them unharmed?"
"That's right." Audiat's eyes narrow. "You seem to have a good grip on his behavior. Have you ever faced my husband like this before?"
"Once." Grimly, Raffe looks me up and down, as if dissatisfied with my lack of armor, or perhaps the lack of any weapon besides Emilio's puny knife. "That was the worst experience I've ever had with him. It was harrowing, seeing him act like such an animal, ripping up people on the streets that dared stand in his way. I didn't connect the dots until now – his eyes were fucked up, same as at the moment. It mislead me. But we don't have much time. I'm going to get Sariel to come up here and stand watch with you all."
"Bad idea," I negate. "He loves his dad. I think we can handle having two valued people in the same virtual area, but three? That's just asking for trouble."
Raffe hesitates, then nods. "Alright, you're right. I'll go join the effort, then. Keep her safe, Audiat, understand?"
"No, Raffe." Audiat's eyebrow quirks, her expression unimpressed by him. "Penryn is quite capable of taking care of herself. Give her your sword."
Raffe's hand jerks possessively to Pooky Bear's hilt. "I need it. I'm more than likely going to come across him as I search for Sariel."
"You can do hand-to-hand combat like nobody's business," I point out.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Raffe wonders, his lips quirking and his eyes flashing with just the slightest edge of warmth. "If so, you're not bad, either."
"Yes, well, she's a quarter-blood Nephilim, and you're a stocky archangel." Audiat cocks her head to one side. "She needs your sword much more than you, even if she can do hand-to-hand combat – not that you even really need it at all. Bryon hates you with a burning passion, despite his civility. That much I know. So, if anything, you'll be a deterrent for him."
Her cruel words bite the air like the nip of frost on a cold winter's day. They're not meant to be scathing, they're simply observational, detached, and logical. After a moment of painful hesitance, Raffe looks down at me, his blue eyes meeting mine.
"Raffe," I whisper, a half-smile touching my lips, my heart twinging with sorrow. "You don't have to."
"Yes, I do." Raffe sighs, getting to work on the buckle to his scabbard. "After all, I've invested a lot in you to have you die here and now. It'd be a shame, really. Here. Give her a suitable name this time, please."
I wish I could say it's an accident, the way I overlap a few of our fingers as I take the sword, and I wish I could say it doesn't cause my stomach to flurry, the emotion in his eyes as he watches me half-draw his sword from her scabbard, testing that my old friend Pooky Bear still accepts me. Nodding, trying to look like I know even a smidgen about angel swords, I slip her back into the scabbard and smile up at him.
"She still accepts me."
Raffe snorts. "Don't you dare let her know I said this, but I think she's grown to like you, the same way a person loves a chittering squirrel that visits their backyard every now and then. You're excellent amusement for her. Apparently, my problems are all boring compared to yours."
I laugh tonelessly. "The life of an archangel, dull? Never! Now, you get out there, and don't let yourself be killed. I'm not… I don't know… please, try not to let yourself get hurt… or Bryon, please?"
"Stop saying 'please,'" Raffe scolds. "It makes you sound like a peasant. You be careful. Be suspicious of everything. He'll be coming after you two."
"Which is probably why we should scram," Audiat acknowledges.
"If we do that, we won't be dealing with him in an enclosed area like this, but instead, have him possibly be in any nook or cranny throughout all of America." Raffe casts her an annoyed glance. "Trust me, it's much better this way. At least we can try to minimalize the casualties."
He leans forward and grips me in a quick, awkward hug, pressing his lips to my forehead in his special way, the way that doesn't quite qualify as a kiss, and turns, exiting without another real word.
"Lock the door!" he calls from the other side.
"Got it!" Audiat answers, her tiny fingers flying over the knob.
"You were sleeping," I press the moment I hear his footsteps trace elsewhere. "What did you see?"
She stands to her full height, staring up at the false stars she had painted on her ceiling, sighing to herself and shutting her eyes, as if recalling sour memories. "I saw Bryon's possession, which would've been very recent past, but past all the same, I suppose. Then I put in a plea for Black Wolf – I hope he'll listen to me, even after all I've done, I hope and I pray. God knows he and White Wolf are the only ones with any hope of standing up against a creature with five-eighths blood. Lucius might, but why should he? Besides, there's no guarantee he won't kill Bryon in the process."
"Five-eighths blood…" I scrunch my brow, thoughtfully following Audiat through the apartment as she first retrieves a long dagger, then searches for her scattered armor pieces. "Five-eighths blood… she said something about five-eighths blood, too. Theobella. What does that mean?"
"A very, very dangerous combination." Audiat begins to painstakingly attach her armor. "A hair missing of one thing and just slightly too much of another. Three-eighths human, five-eighths blood something else. The only other one in existence is Lucius. It makes such awful sense that Theobella's one. Blast! Screw this world!"
Carefully, I watch her, wondering how much she knows, how much I can dish out. "Bryon was the one that killed Gabriel, you know."
"Yes, I'm quite aware of that, thank you." Audiat freezes, looking up at me with big eyes, leaning forward to grab my forearm in consolation, shaking it gently. "Oh – I'm sorry, that was rude! It won't happen again! But yes, I realized that just about an hour ago. We were in the middle of a powwow with his parents about Bryon's little possession issue before everyone dispersed and ran for the hills."
I layer my hand over hers, squeeze it once, then allow both our arms to fall by our sides. Her eyes twinkle like warm rubies. Blushing at the tenderness there, I look down at the blade in my hands, pursing my lips. "Then you know that it's because of her – Theobella – that we're in this mess."
"Thought occurred to me, yup. I would thank her for reuniting me with my husband, but she did in the ugliest way possible." Audiat giggles, hiding her mouth with a little hand.
"Then you also know that she did to unite her own parents, right?" I verify, watching her face, uncertain of whether to laugh along with her.
This seems to slap her across the face – with a loud gasp, she drops her hand, staring dumbfounded at me. "What? No! Damn! There's no way we can figure out which mother is giving birth to her, either… damn!"
"Wasn't she found in that city the Clockwork Angel helped or whatever?" I question, rubbing my thumb over the hilt of Raffe's sword, her flood of rage nurturing my frayed, frazzled brain. "Over in Africa?"
The most awful thought occurs to me – Bryon had been the one to order the Nephilim attack of Africa. Could she have been possessing him from that long ago? Why? What purpose could that possibly serve? Stressfully, I sigh, removing my hands from the hilt of his sword and rubbing at my forehead, trying to relieve stress.
Is this what Bryon had been so frantic to tell me in that one dream? Was it Belle, or Theobella, or that thing, whichever, to have chased White Wolf from the lands? And why on earth did Jane serve the creature hidden beneath the soil? Did Lucius know about it?
Something wet lands on my nose.
Audiat looks up at me, blinking in surprise, then goes rigid as a board.
Another droplet lands on my forehead, this one wet, sticky, warm.
"Don't look up," Audiat instructs tensely, her words freezing my motion to wipe the droplets from my face, even as another one streaks over my cheek. "Don't look anywhere but me. Don't freak out, either, but the balcony door is cracked open. There's also a heartbeat above us, and breathing, too."
The words don't quite compute yet. "But Theobella… she doesn't have a heartbeat, right? That's what Josiah said. He said he couldn't detect her heartbeat."
Audiat' s smile is like glass: frail and transparent. "But, Penryn, Bryon does."
POLL: We have Belle and Theobella as names for the different phases of this creature, but what's the true name, or title, of the last?
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh
~wolfluvermh