Desolate (Desolation) (7 page)

“There are only two of us who can make their way into the bowels of Hell—and only one of us would actually survive the trip.” I purposely didn’t look at Knowles, though I felt every head turn in his direction. “I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Miri said. “Shouldn’t we do something about the horseman? I mean—he’s probably part of this whole thing, right? Maybe he could lead you to Heimdall.”

It was a pretty thought, but I knew better. “I think the one probably doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”

“I’m afraid Desi is right,” Cornelius said, placing his hands on the book in front of him. “Knowles, do you have any remaining contacts in the Underworld?”

Knowles glanced at me, but looked away before I had the chance to read the truth in his eyes. “I still have some, yes.”

“Then see if you can ascertain where Heimdall is being held. Until we have some information, there’s no point in running blind. Doing so could mean the death of us all.

“In the meantime, we cannot allow the horseman to wreak havoc on the Earth—destroy him, and then we will rescue Heimdall.”

“If we can find him,” I added.

“I will go,” Knowles said.

“Come on.” I didn’t care that my words crackled with disbelief. “You wouldn’t last a second there—Father would have your head the moment you stepped foot in his kingdom.”

Knowles couldn’t deny it. He held my gaze for the span of one . . . two . . . heartbeats. Then he looked away.

“I’ll take care of the horseman—if he ever shows up. Get whatever information on Heimdall you can—when I’m done with the horseman, I’ll take a little trip home.”

“Desi—” Miri half-stood, but James put his hand on her hip and coaxed her back down. “Well you can’t just let her go alone,” she told the group.

But we all knew we didn’t have a choice.

“It’s okay, Mir.” I tried for a reassuring smile—she didn’t protest so I must have done a decent job of it. “I’ll be okay.” I didn’t add that I was desperate to go—because maybe if I could get Heimdall out, I could rescue Michael, too.

The way Miri pressed her lips into a thin line and narrowed her eyes suggested I hadn’t convinced her at all.

chapter ten

I watched the Coke fizz in my bottle, entranced by the zing and pop of the bubbles. I sat curled up on Lucy’s white couch, her grandmother’s quilt wrapped around me. James lounged opposite me in a large overstuffed chair, Miri on his lap. I could feel James staring at me.

“Des.” He didn’t have to say it. I knew what he wanted to know. I didn’t even need to read him—I only had to know him. And James would dig through all my crap until I told him the truth. He would have made a great Inquisitor. Or Gardian. He must have been a great Gardian.

But for now, he was just a guy, starting out in life, with lots of junk in his past and lots of hope for his future. And me stuck in the middle. “Des,” he said again.

“What?” I could still try to play dumb if it bought me some time.

“How did you find out about Heimdall?” Of all the questions the others had asked me, this had not been one of them. I think they knew the lengths to which I would go to get the answers we needed—only James had the balls to call me on it.

I took a big gulp of my pop and grimaced as it burned down my throat like a fist of fire. When I could finally speak, I still paused for a beat. I glanced up at James then, and found him, as I expected, staring at me. Waiting.
Damn him
. He could wait forever if he set his mind to it. Miri concentrated on their entwined hands rather than me. But I saw the smirk on her face. She knew I had no choice—James was at least as obstinate as me. Maybe more.

“I talked to that kid—Eleon.”

“You mean, the
demon
, Eleon. The one who
pretends
to be a kid.” James raised his eyebrow, a Spock-move that drove Miri crazy with happiness. This time he aimed it at me and Miri didn’t even see it.

“Well, yeah. Whatever.”

“Did you hurt him?”

“No.” My eyes hardened as James stared me down. He chuckled as he gave up and turned his attention to Miri’s hand in his.

“Are you okay?” For a human, James understood so much. Maybe too much. But then again, I suppose being raised in Hell-on-Earth, AKA his step-dad’s house, would do that to a person.

I saw in his eyes that he’d already guessed the truth. He knew I’d embraced my Shadow to get Eleon to talk to me. He knew the way that kind of power and authority made a person feel—knew that the temptation would be beyond huge for me. Knew I would have been tempted to fly to Father and never look back.

He knew all that, but he still met my gaze with tenderness. He knew whatever I’d had to do to get Eleon to talk, I was here now, and that was saying something.

“Are you? Okay?” he prompted.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

He watched me a moment longer, then smiled. “Good.”

“But I’m going patrolling tonight.” My voice tightened; daring James to argue.

“Of course.” James laughed, and oh, I felt grateful for him. Miri hopped off his lap and James stood, stretching like a cat.

James made this human life possible for me—allowed our home to be a place of solitude, a place where I could be me. Whoever the hell that was.

Suddenly James lunged forward and thrust his arm out, fist clenched, eyes fierce. Just before he made contact with my shoulder I blocked his hand with my palm, the adrenaline zinging through my veins, my breath gasping. This so wasn’t good. I had to be much cooler than that. I had to be ready. Every minute of every day. Father and his minions wouldn’t give me the heads up they were on their way—they’d come when and where I least expected it.

I forced myself to breathe—in through my nose, out through my mouth.

James laughed softly. He relaxed his body and he slipped his hand from mine. He put a finger under my chin.

Breathe.

James didn’t take his eyes off me. “Well, you’re not going out like that. You’re way too wound up to be any good in a fight.”

Breathe.

“Excellent,” Miri exclaimed, assuming a corny cheerleader position. “Crap, I don’t have my pompoms.”

“You don’t need pompoms to cheer me on, bright eyes.” James grabbed her hips and tugged her to him.

I jumped to my feet. “Whoa, whoa. Take it to your room, or outside or in the bushes or wherever you animals like to go.” I pushed forward, making my hands a wedge to separate them.

They laughed and made kissing noises and groans and moans even louder and crazier because they knew how uncomfortable it made me. Sure enough when I stepped into the dining-room-turned-dojo, the wall of mirrors reflected my super pale skin flushed a faint shade of pink. That was full-on-mega-embarrassed Desi-style.

I slammed my iPod into the stereo and cued up my workout music. Heavy techno blasted through the speakers and I instantly felt my muscles relax. I belonged here. I could live here. Lost in the music and the movement.

Dropping into a side split, I leaned forward, stretching out my back and hips. James appeared, dressed in royal blue basketball shorts and a white T. Miri stepped out from around the corner and I sat up. This was new. She came into the dojo, her eyes on the floor, her cheeks speckled with the red dots she always got when she was nervous. She wore flannel pajama bottoms and one of James’ band T’s.

I quirked an eyebrow, questioning.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, her voice high and fluty. “I’m just gonna stretch.”

“Uh huh.” I smiled as I leaned over my right leg. I’d been bugging Miri to let me teach her a few self-defense techniques, ever since . . . Well, ever since we started into this new normal life. It would make me feel infinitely better about her being involved if she could at least throw a decent punch.

After ten minutes of stretching I jumped to my feet. “Ready?” I stared down at James as he lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t stretched at all.

“You know I’m gonna totally kick your butt, right? You’re not even trying.”

“Princess, I learned several beatings ago that with you there’s no point in trying. You’re gonna kick my ass no matter what I do.”

I stared. Not blinking. Not smiling.

“True!” Then I let my biggest smile take over my face.

James shook his head in that aw-she’s-so-silly kind of way, and walked to the wall of weapons. “So what form of torture will it be today?” He surveyed the array of nunchucks, staffs, short sticks, sais, kamas, swords and shortblades.

“Do you even have to ask?” I strode over to the staffs and pulled a shiny graphite one out of the tall clay pot they stood in.

“Aw you’re feeling sentimental, are you?”

“I’m feeling ready to whoop you, whitey.”

“You. You’re calling me white? Have you seen yourself? You’re like a walking ghost.”

He wasn’t wrong. But I swung around fast and low and caught him in the back of the knees with my staff anyway. He fell to the mat with an
oof!

I tossed him the staff he usually used and stepped back in a guarding stance to wait.

“You gonna fight?” I asked Miri. I didn’t dare look at her—that would be an amateur mistake and now that I’d laid the groundwork for today’s sparring match, James wouldn’t likely let me get away with it.

“Um, I’ll just watch you guys for now. But maybe if you’re not too worn out you could teach me the basics after.”

We all knew I wouldn’t get worn out. What she meant to say was,
“If you’re not mad, you can teach me, but no way am I getting on that mat with you when you’re out to hurt someone.”

James brought his staff around in a whooshing arc and there was no more time for chatter. I blocked his blow with my forearm. “Come on. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

James grinned. And then he attacked. We’d been working out together every day (pretty much) for two months now, and I knew every move he made—because I’d taught him each and every one. But today he came at me with a thrust and spin that didn’t catch me off guard (I wouldn’t make that mistake again), but did surprise me.

In fact, he threw out a bunch of new moves—a whole repertoire that had me focused wholly on movement, movement, movement. He had me on the rails, had me reacting, responding to his attack—and that’s not how to win a fight.

I willed my breath to slow. I concentrated on it, forcing my movements to match it. From there, I could see the pattern of the fight—like a grand-master chess player seeing ten moves ahead.
Movement with purpose
, my old tutor Akaros would tell me. The purpose had to be mine, had to be defined by me—not my opponent.

I moved faster, thrust harder. I used all of my body, the staff an extension of it. The staff
became
me.

In less than a minute I had James on the mat, the butt of my staff pressed (lightly) against his windpipe. He slapped his open palm on the ground. I stepped back, swinging the staff to rest against my arm. James jumped up, a wicked grin on his face. I knew mine was as dark as a thundercloud without even looking in the mirror to my right.

“How’d you like that, princess?” He had a big grin on his face, the kind Lucy called a “shit-eating” grin. I felt powerless in the face of such a smile, and busted up laughing.

“Where the hell did all that come from? You been watching Deadliest Warrior or something?”

“Better,” James said, taking my staff and putting it in the jar along with his own. “Longinus has been teaching me.”

I jerked back as if I’d been struck, but the blow wasn’t physical. “Longinus.” That the ancient warrior would train my friend, would allow him to become mixed up in this life most of us had no choice in, felt like a betrayal.

Miri snickered behind me. “I’ve been dying to tell you—but they swore me to secrecy.”