Desolate (Desolation) (6 page)

He looked at me then, tears running freely down his cheeks. “But if he asks . . .” I threw my head back and laughed the laugh of the gods, infused with power and disdain for the demon at my feet.

“He won’t ask.” Because, really. Father had sent Eleon to Earth to be forgotten. Eleon possessed nothing of value to the god of Hell.

I Became, relishing the way the cottage bulged with my presence as it tried to contain me. When I passed through the doorway, the support beams around the door crumbled. I walked away, leaving Eleon in a puddle on the floor.

I should have gone back to St. Mary’s and reported to The Hallowed, but I didn’t.

Instead, I gloried in the power surging through me. Biting and frigid it filled me with something like destiny and for the moment I praised my name and all it represented.
Desolation
.

chapter eight

I landed on the tallest peak of the Sierra Nevadas. Spreading my arms and wings wide, the freezing wind felt like a warm balm against the Hellish cold of my body. I stood on top of the snow as if I were weightless, yet the mountain trembled beneath me.

“Desolation.” Father’s voice startled me and I whipped around. He strode across the snow, easily maneuvering over the ragged terrain. He wore tan linen slacks and a white shirt open at the collar. His footsteps left no impression on the pristine white snow, though the biting wind teased at his black hair. He looked like Hugh Jackman out for a stroll along the beach. I narrowed my eyes and said nothing.

“I see you have embraced your true nature. Have you returned to me?”

Without meaning to, I pressed my hand against my throat, to the necklace that had belonged to my mother and had once shielded her from Father’s view. Now he frowned, his expression revealing his distaste. But he couldn’t enter my mind while I wore the charm—not unless I allowed it. I dropped my hand to my side.

The cold of Hell melted in the warm spark of goodness that Michael had coaxed to life within me. That seed of goodness had been my first clue I wasn’t only what Father had made me—I was my mother’s child, too. But until I met Michael, I hadn’t known that she had endowed me with the warmth that now raced through my veins—my only real and lasting protection against my father’s power.

“No. I told you two months ago when you carried Michael down to Hell. I didn’t say yes to you then, and I’m not saying yes to you now.”  I wheeled my arms to regain my balance as my feet sank a few inches into the snow.

Father chuckled, an easy sound that grated against my nerves. “Feel how the division within you is a weakness. It’s not too late to rebuke it and embrace all that you can Become—all that I created you to be.” He stepped closer until I could smell the warm musk that lay on him, feel his presence like the aching cold of an industrial freezer.

“I don’t want what you can give me.” Though I wished the words to echo like thunder, they merely whispered, hushed and uncertain.

“Not even to see your lover again?” He tucked his hands into his pockets and regarded me with that infuriatingly charming expression he wore so well.

At the mention of Michael, my Shadow shrank even further. I felt the cold wind, felt every whip of ice in the air as my heart lurched with my love for Michael. It ate at me like a cancer and I felt powerless to stop it. No matter how hard I pushed it away, it only took a moment to fill me up with familiar pain and longing.

Michael
. I could barely think of anything else. And oh, the temptation to join him, to leave Miri and James and The Hallowed behind, pummeled my heart with demanding ferocity. I fell to my knees, sinking deep inside the snow, nearly losing myself to the conflict raging in my heart.

“I would allow you to oversee his training—you are the greatest warrior I possess since you took Akaros from me.”

“I . . . can’t.” I gasped as my Halo overtook me. Heat coursed through my body, filling up every freezing crevice in my soul.

When I looked up, Father had gone, and with him my chance to see Michael. I knew I shouldn’t go to him, knew I couldn’t. Whatever Michael might think of me for allowing Father to take him to Hell, he wouldn’t want me to abandon Miri—or The Hallowed, the cause he cared so much about.

And truthfully, it was my cause too. But I missed Michael so much and I felt so weak without him. How could I find the Door? Without Michael by my side, how could I stand against what might come out of it?

If Father could overcome Heimdall, what chance did I have?

chapter nine

I flew back to St. Mary’s as though the mountain were chained to my feet. Every part of me hurt, but it was my heart that felt as if it might stop beating. After all, if not for Michael, what need did I have for it?

Remember
, my spirit whispered.

But how could I forget? Michael had come to Earth for me—to help me Remember him, the love we’d shared before Odin created Midgard and the quest for Ascension. Michael had fought for me, had given his eternal glory for me—now Father had him imprisoned in Hell, a place I doubted he could survive. He’d come for me, and I had killed him. I had done worse than kill him. I had sent him to Hell to face an eternity at the mercy of his enemies.

As soon as I opened the door to the small room in the bowels of St. Mary’s Cathedral, Miri was on her feet, her expression filled with concern. But it was James who pulled me into his arms and pressed my head to his shoulder.

Tears burned against my eyes but they didn’t come. I stepped back. “I’m okay,” I said.

By the look on everyone’s faces, no one believed it.

When a full minute of silence stretched between us, Cornelius cleared his throat. “What did you discover, child?”

Glad to have their attention diverted to something else, I hurried to share my news. “There is another Door. Beneath the water near the Golden Gate Bridge.” My words fell in a flat monotone. If I unbolted the door to my feelings, to let a little enliven my words, I felt I might never get it closed again—the dam of emotion would overwhelm me. How could I tell them all that happened? I caught Knowles’ eyes and held his gaze.

“Anything else?” Cornelius asked. His voice pressed me. He had an uncanny way of knowing when I held anything back.

My gaze didn’t leave Knowles. “He’s captured Heimdall.”

Though I barely voiced the words, they rang like peels from a bell tower in the small room. Knowles lurched back in his seat with an
oof!
—like I’d punched him in the gut. I watched as tears gathered in the eyes of this haggard, ancient demon and I thought he’d never looked more human, more vulnerable. He held no trace of his Shadow—as if he truly had become mortal. But no. He would live with the consequences of his choice to follow Father the whole of his very long life. And he would continue to feel every crime against Asgard and its people as if he himself had committed it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes glued to mine. “I’m sorry.”

There’d been a time when I enjoyed Knowles’ suffering. A time when I felt every word he said to be a lie. That he couldn’t possibly be a demon while leading the charge against the dark. But I felt differently now.

On wooden legs I walked forward and Knowles rose to meet me. He fell into my arms and I . . . I clasped him to me while he cried.

We understood each other better than anyone in all the worlds could. We both knew what it was to love Father and despise him. To be drawn to him, yet resist him against all odds. We both wanted something more—a something we could never have again. A peaceful eternity in Asgard. A hundred lifetimes with the ones we loved. Ascension.

Now there was only this. Small comfort between unlikely friends at the beginning of an unwinnable war.

Knowles pulled back and wiped away his shame with his handkerchief. I lowered my gaze, allowing him what dignity I could.

“Desolation,” Cornelius said, even though he knew I despised that name. “If Loki has taken Heimdall, then . . .” He looked up, recoiling when his eyes met mine. I’m not sure what he saw there—raw pain, hatred for my father’s evil, an utter lack of hope—but he swallowed and looked away. He took a couple deep breaths, as if gathering the courage to meet my gaze again. I waited, and when he looked up, I felt ready for whatever he had to say. Because nothing good starts with
Desolation
.

“Desi,” he tried again, his tone softer, willing me to understand, to open my heart and mind. I nodded, a small gesture I hoped would convey that I’d do my best but couldn’t make any promises. “If Heimdall has indeed been taken to Hell, then the bridge to Asgard will be closed.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending the importance of his statement.

He slipped his glasses onto his nose and sat down, his fingers turning pages in the book before him, seeking the words that would enlighten us. I waited, ever aware of Knowles, who stood like a statue behind me. Of Miri, who stared at her laptop, and James who held one of her hands in his. And Longinus who exuded hyper-awareness like a lion prepared (always prepared) to protect his pride.

“Without a way to Asgard, the spirits of those who leave this life will not find their way to Valhalla,” Cornelius said.

I nodded. With Heimdall as his captive, Father essentially owned the Bifrost—of course he would deny travel on the rainbow bridge unless it suited him. And allowing Gardians to choose Valhalla or Ascension? It would never happen. They had waged war against him, they had refused his offer to live as he dictated—he would not forget their betrayal.   

“But,” my mind struggled to put into words the fear that welled up inside me. “That’s it then. No Valhalla, no Ascension—no death. Right?” I looked around, an uncomfortable smile spreading wide on my face. A burst of laughter cut through me. “We’ve won. Father thinks he’s dealt us this great blow, but—we’ve actually won!”

Because there’d be no death.  No death meant no more people going to Hell for an eternity of punishment at Father’s hands.

No one said anything.

No one laughed with me.

Or returned my smile.

“What?” I asked, my voice laden with frustration.

Cornelius sighed, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

I felt cold all over, certain I would not like the next words to come from his mouth. Why did this victory feel like a loss? Why would no one look me in the eyes?

“We most certainly have not won,” Cornelius said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Loki has not changed the nature of this world—there will still be death.” He looked up, caught my gaze and willed me to understand.

“Say it,” I commanded. Suddenly I knew why this was no victory—but it was so mindboggling, so cruel, that I struggled to believe even my father could be capable of it.

“People will still die. However their spirits will not find refuge. They will be trapped here, trapped within their bodies.”

“Their dead bodies?” James’ voice startled me and we all looked at him. But no one answered. “Like “Night of the Living Dead”?” he pressed.

“Shh,” Miri hushed.

I waited for anger to fill me, give me action, but it didn’t come. I felt numb, hoping someone would shut James up because I felt incapable of it. I’d just learned that my father had turned this world into a giant horror movie, but I felt strangely . . . numb.

My heart beat.

I breathed.

And waited for inspiration. Purpose. Anything.

It was Knowles who finally broke the silence. “We must rescue Heimdall.”

And everyone spoke at once:

“Are you mad?”

“And just how do we do it, old man?”

“I’m game.”

“Totally.”

“Stop!” I meant to yell only loud enough to get their attention, but instead my voice reverberated in the rafters, showering us in drywall dust. “Stop,” I said again in a more reasonable tone.