Illuminate (46 page)

“I forgive you. I do,” I said softly, but firmly.

He breathed out a deep sigh of relief. “Can we start over?” He held out his hand for me to shake. I realized I’d had my arms folded, and I gave him one last is-this-a-trick? look. But he looked sincere. It occurred to me that my scars were silent. I placed my hand in his, giving him my strongest grip. “Thank you,” he said. I nodded. “So, if you want, if this is where you’re comfortable, in these glamorous surroundings you’ve led me to . . .” He checked my expression to see how his attempt at humor had gone over, but I held steady. “We’ll do this right here. Actually, this is probably a pretty good place to chat.” And with that, he began unbuttoning his suit jacket. “Aurelia hates it down here—and if she had known that your room connected to all this, she never would’ve put you in there, by the way.” He slipped off his jacket and spread it out on the ground beside where I stood. “And the others are only permitted down here on special assignments, so we ought to have it to ourselves.” He took a seat on the concrete floor, gesturing for me to sit on this makeshift lily pad he’d made for me. “Please.” Reluctantly, I took my place on his jacket on the hard floor, and there we sat, watching each other like we were strategizing in a presidential war room. “How should we do this?” he asked. “You probably have a lot of questions. I’ll tell you what little I know of the immediate danger and then you can fire away. Good?”

“Okay.” I studied him, prepared to take in absolutely every word he said, to burn it into memory and extract from it every bit of knowledge that could possibly aid me.

“It’s probably going to happen around your prom, even though you would think she would wait until all the proms are over because there’s much for her, for us, to gain from these events. But she’s impatient and sometimes she makes a decision based on emotion rather than strategy. That’s a great weakness. She’ll be offended and furious when you officially tell her you won’t join. She’s delusional and used to getting her way so she’s still holding out the hope that today might have swayed you. So she’ll act fast even if it isn’t smart for her. I believe you know about the photos, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“They changed because your powers are just beginning to form. It’s impossible for anyone other than you to know what your powers will be, but based on this, you’re already what we call a ‘soul illuminator.’ You can expose anyone’s true nature. What that means right now is, always trust your instincts because they’re right.”

Something occurred to me and I cut in: “Did you take my camera? The one I brought with me?”

He looked away, all the answer I needed. “I’m sorry. Aurelia ordered one of the Outfit to do it, but I thought at least if I did it then it would somehow be less intrusive.”

“Right, a kinder, gentler theft,” I said mostly to myself. “How’d she even know—”

“Aurelia had your things searched the day you got here—”

“Of course she did.” I sighed.

“But that was even before she knew about your powers and all, so she didn’t know what she was looking for then. Well, she knew that you had extraordinary powers, but she didn’t know you’re a soul illuminator.” He looked pained. “But maybe I can make it up to you with more secrets?” he offered.

“Sure.” I gave in. “Here’s a question: so, my picture is changing too. What’s the deal?”

“It must be telling you something about yourself, about who you are.”

“And your picture? I saw it and—”

“It started to change back a little, right?”

“Yes.” I didn’t understand.

“I saw that too. I didn’t think it was possible. That’s your influence on me, if you can believe that. I haven’t taken a soul in weeks. You make me want to be better than I am. All of my regret shows in that picture now . . .” He sounded appreciative, as though I had done something. “The photos show the subjects’ true souls, that’s why they’re so disfigured. If you destroy their souls, you send them back to hell. So you need to slash those or burn them or do anything that will harm the photo itself and in turn harm the person pictured.”

“I’ll go right now then. What am I waiting for?” I burst out. But I was scared.

“You can’t. Here’s the problem: there’s a small window when you’re able to do this. You can’t go after them until they come after you first.”

“Who made up that rule?” I shot back, angry.

“No one made it up, it’s just how it works. It’s like the sky being blue. You could go right now and stick a knife in the hearts of every one of those photos and nothing would happen.”

“Okay, so after I get attacked or whatever, then I slice these photos, but what about mine or Lance’s or Dante’s? What if someone does the same thing to ours?”

“Unless they’ve sold their souls to us, they—and you—can still only be killed the old-fashioned way.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“All three of you will get tougher to kill as your powers set in, but we don’t really know how strong you are yet. Do you?”

I didn’t want to give anything away, so I simply said, noncommittally, “I’m not sure,” which was true.

“Well, you’ll find out soon enough, I’m afraid,” he said, sincerely sorry.

“So then all these people die?” I didn’t want this on me. I didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of anyone, no matter what monsters they were.

“They were dead the minute they sold their souls. When you kill members of the Outfit or one of . . . us.” He stumbled on the
us.
“We don’t die, per se, we just get turned over to the underworld. Everyone here is part of the upper class of the underworld—that’s why we’re allowed to be here at all, in this transition realm of Metamorfosi. It’s a privilege. But if we fail here and are ‘killed’ then we get banished to the underworld and must do our time moving through the circles of punishment below. Then the Prince—you know the Prince? He
is
who you think he is—”

“I know.”

“He determines whether we get another chance to continue our work up here.”

He stopped for a moment. I had thought I heard my name being called out, but figured I had to be imagining things. But then the scratch of sneakers against the boards of the passageway made us both jump, and I couldn’t ignore the sound of someone else breathing the same stale air.

“What time is it?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch: “Five after ten, why?”

I rose to my feet. “Lance,” I whispered.

“Will he just go away?” Lucian asked.

“No, and I won’t let him,” I whispered back. “Give me a minute.”

I crept back through the darkness to where the ladder emptied out.

“Lance? It’s me,” I called out. In what little light filtered all the way down from my room, I could see his form getting nearer. And then it halted.

“Haven?” The beam of a flashlight zapped in my direction.

“Hi,” I said, squinting into the musty air.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I—”

He started moving again, flashlight still on, dangling from his wrist now. “I knocked and there was no answer, so I—” He reached the last plank and I gave him space. “I thought I’d better come looking. You know your door was unlocked?”

“Sorry!” Lucian called out from the opposite end of our room in near darkness. “My fault.”

The flashlight shined at me again, like an interrogation lamp.

“Are you okay?” Lance mouthed the words this time, whispering with practically no sound at all, his eyes registering the shock.

“I’m fine,” I whispered back calmly.

“Should I ask you hostage questions?”

“No, I’m good. Promise. But maybe a rain check for tonight?” I kept my voice as soft as possible. “I’m doing recon.”

He looked skeptical, straightening his glasses. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I’m serious,” I said, a little bit miffed. He eased up.

“You’re sure everything’s okay?”

“I swear.”

“Come by afterward, just so I know, okay? I don’t care how late it is. Not like I’m sleeping much these days anyway, you know?”

“I will, promise. See you later?”

He nodded back and with one last look in Lucian’s direction, began his ascent.

Lucian was on his feet, pulling something from his jacket pocket when I got back. He looked up and tossed his jacket back on the ground, holding the small item toward me.

“Sorry, I forgot I wanted to get rid of this. I took it back when I was upstairs.” In his hand was that single black flower that had never shown any sign of withering since he gave it to me in February. “It’s poison,” he said sheepishly, tossing it in one easy motion out into the tunnel.

“I know.”

“You never got rid of it though?”

“I figured whatever it was, it wasn’t working.”

“Yeah, your immunity set in earlier than anyone expected.” He gestured back toward where Lance and I had been talking. “He’s a good guy, a lot like you.”

“I know.” And I did. He felt like a part of me.

“I asked him today, you know, about joining the Outfit.” He settled back down, lounging on the floor now. I returned to my spot on his jacket.

“What did he say?” I asked, though I didn’t need to.

“What do you think? He thanked me and said he would think about it and get back to me, but he didn’t really mean it. He’s smart; he’s trying to buy himself time.”

Lucian and I sat there talking until nearly dawn, barely noticing as the quiet hours passed. It was as if the clock had stopped and the night had gone elastic, stretching to accommodate however much time we needed for me to learn everything I possibly could.

True to his word, Lucian answered all my questions. And I had many.
How had we ended up here in the first place?
One of them, a representative of the underworld, sat on the state’s Board of Education. Each county had a program like this, and we had been recruited first because we had something that they wanted, that could be used for their purposes—all three of us had powers on the verge of taking shape.
What’s this revolution that they’re recruiting for?
It’s a movement underground to gain a foothold here. They wanted to take over, be free to create chaos—that’s when they’re at their most joyous and exalted. Death, destruction, war, madness, they thirsted for it, that’s all they wanted. “Now that I’m starting to feel again,” he said, “I can see how this must sound, but you get rewired when you become part of the underworld, and the things that make you happy aren’t things you would ever have expected. You crave these things, you need them.”

He was impressed that I had witnessed an induction. He did explain a few mysteries: the tattoo was infused with the blood of the Prince, and it corrupted the bodies of the Outfit and changed them to devils from within. The necklaces and cuffs were given later after members had established themselves and signified greater responsibility while also giving Aurelia and the Prince greater control over the wearers, the ability to track them wherever they roamed and also maim them when necessary. “These precautions are necessary when our members are in the realm of Metamorfosi but not when they’re returned to us below.”

“Then what happened with Calliope?”

“She escaped at exactly the moment when her necklace lost its hold over her, when she was supposed to return to the underworld. But she ran. That had never happened, hard as it is to believe. The necklace generally keeps a balance regulating the flow of the devil’s blood from her tattoo, keeping it from destroying her instantly. But when Beckett cut that off, then she withered fast. And she knew that would happen—she must have planned to die on the front steps of the hotel like that. To send a message.” He shook his head, like he really did mourn her loss. “Beware of Beckett. He’s gunning for my job now and I suspect it will be his . . .” He trailed off.

I didn’t need him to finish that sentence. I understood that with each word he was sealing his own fate more securely. My greatest confusion was how a soul was actually bought and sold. He chuckled when I asked, which I took to mean he was making fun of my naiveté—it must be some highly sordid or prurient act, things I knew precious little about.

“I don’t really appreciate the laughter,” I said, scowling.

“No, it’s only because it’s so much easier than anyone would ever imagine. No two are acquired the same way, but it can honestly be set in motion simply with a verbal agreement.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed now.

“Yeah, so you’re the one who needs to get their mind out of the gutter,” he joked. “It just requires the expression of a deep wish, whatever it is, and then the willingness to give up everything in order to have it. It’s that simple. We can’t seize a soul by force. A person has to give it willingly. You must go of your own volition to the dark side. And once you do, once you say you would do anything, give anything for something to come true, it’s mostly done. There’s a process called coding that proves to us the soul is ready to be taken over and then it’s all sealed with the blood and the tattoo. Then you’re fully controlled.

“No two are seized the same way, each is a new deal. Now, there are ways that we entice. As you found, judging from your supplies upstairs,” he said, his voice heavy with regret, “all the food and drink is infused with certain enhancers to impair judgment. Even the flowers in the lobby have powers to help influence and break down defenses. And”—he looked away now—“I would be lying if I said there wasn’t, at times, some sort of show of . . . affection that went along with these proceedings. But that’s not all the time and when it is, it’s more just added color, not any requirement necessary for the transaction of the sale.”

“So I wasn’t so off base after all,” I said coldly.

“But nothing is final until they sign their contracts. That seals their fate.”

“Well, isn’t that just so . . . civilized.”

He could sense my patience waning again and the anger creeping back in, I could just tell. And it’s true, I felt stuck in this cycle, wanting to hear all of this and yet unable to listen to it without these emotions flaring up, much as I tried to bat them down.

“I have a question for you,” he said soothingly, breaking me out of my simmering fury. “Do you know what you are?”