Lichgates: Book One of the Grimoire Saga (an Epic Fantasy Adventure) (11 page)

Kara screamed again as he looked down at her and blinked.

“Take care of yourself. I love you, Bear,” he said. His voice was calm.

He bent down and kissed her forehead, but she couldn’t speak. His face started to ripple, the skin peeling and cracking once more as he spoke.

“You need to look in the bottom of the photo cabinet. I’m starting to think you’ll need what I found before we left Tallahassee.”

His face melted. Drops of skin rolled along his cheeks like wax and pooled in the growing cracks on his face. His brow wrinkled and peeled, revealing Deidre’s flawless face underneath. Kara froze in horror as the isen took over once more, unable to move until the dark brunette curls finally popped from his head and her dad was gone.

“No! Dad!”

Kara grabbed the shotgun out of his corpse’s lifeless hand and set the barrel against the isen’s forehead. Deidre’s eyes were still unfocused. She stared ahead, unseeing, as the thick barrel made a dent in her smooth skin.

Kara pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

He hadn’t loaded the gun.

Kara grabbed the shotgun by the barrel and whacked Deidre in the face with the butt of the gun, sending her to the floor. She jumped over the demon without waiting to see where she fell and bolted to the hallway, fighting for her breath as she tore open the drawers of the photo cabinet. She found a small, antiquated chest in the bottom drawer. It had a worn brass lock and no key hole.

“There are only a few things in this world that you should never do,” Deidre said from behind her. “Pissing me off is one of them.”

The isen seized her arm, spun her around, and shoved her into the cabinet. Glass shattered. Cloth ripped. Kara’s arms and neck stung. Deidre sneered and pressed her deeper into the glass and memories. Picture frames crashed to the floor. Thick shards of the broken shelves sliced Kara’s arms, cutting through her already stained shirt.

“I’ll kill you!” Kara reached for the isen’s face and ran her nails along the icy eyes, drawing blood from one eyelid. Deidre screamed and threw her against another wall. She landed with a hard, heavy thud.

Kara’s head spun. Her vision blurred. The right side of her body was numb. The floor became the wall and the roof disappeared as the world tilted around her. A hazy figure loomed on the ceiling—or was it the floor? The shadow had dark, wavy hair. Five of its fingers reached for her neck.

Another hazy figure materialized behind the first one. They both dissolved into darkness as the throbbing pain in Kara’s head forced her into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE KINGDOM OF HILLSIDE

Cozy warmth engulfed Kara in a comfortable blend of just right and perfect. A hot towel lay on her forehead, and as she brushed the warm cotton, a bead of water fell down the crevices in her fingers. Orange light poured through her eyelids. Her head ached. She would have given anything to never have to open her eyes or think or feel or hurt again, but an urgent worry tugged on her mind and she couldn’t ignore it. She ran her hands over the space beside her, savoring the chill of a satin sheet and the soft indents of a mattress. A cold draft of air blew across her cheek.

All at once, she remembered.

She screamed and bolted upright, her vision still blurred from the throbbing ache that wracked her skull. Every muscle burned. Her ear and eyebrow stung.

Green figures loomed everywhere, each with no face and no outline. Brown columns and gold pools surrounded her. The figures leaned in. A dozen hands pushed and pulled her backward, back into the pillows and sheets. She fought them. Murmuring buzzed through the room. She shot a kick toward the nearest figure and caught him in the chest.

“Ow! Kara, relax!”

It was Braeden’s voice. She stopped.

The hands released her, and she rubbed her eyes until her vision cleared. The brown columns were bedposts on a canopy bed. The sheer gold curtains that surrounded the bed frame had been pulled back and draped over the posts in thick folds. A green comforter wound around her, tangled in her legs and arms, and a full-length mirror in the corner reflected a forest through the window. The hands belonged to several gaping women, each wrapped in a long, green dress. Some held towels and water while others balanced piles of white gauze in their hands, but every one of them wore an identical, confused expression.

“Ladies”—Braeden’s voice came from her right—“may we have a minute?”

He sat in an ornate wooden chair beside the bed, his hair a tangled mess. Deep bags puffed under his eyes, and black smudges streaked along his chin and neck. Red patches stained his clothes. Blood. Kara shivered.

The ladies hurried out of the room, setting the gauze and other equipment on a table at the foot of the bed. Most avoided her gaze, but the last to leave smiled warmly through the crack in the door before it clicked shut behind her.

The smile was probably meant to be reassuring, but the woman’s brunette curls and the freckles on her nose just reminded Kara of the way Deidre had sneered when she’d shoved her into the glass photo cabinet.

Vomit tickled her throat. Her cheeks flushed again. She occupied herself with analyzing the stitching in the comforter, counting the threads to avoid thinking or remembering. She didn’t notice Braeden speaking until he lifted her chin.

He shifted to sit on the blanket and studied her, stretching his arm as far as it could go. His callused hands rubbed against her jaw line as he tilted her head.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling away from him.

“You hit that glass cabinet head first. I wanted to make sure that the wounds were healing. They are, but you’re still in shock. How are you feeling physically? Is there any pain?”

Oh, there was pain.

She returned to the gold thread, but even counting the curves in the lining couldn’t stop the coming flood of tears. She hid her face in her knees and gripped her legs closer, trying and failing to stifle the sobs. Her dad’s face haunted her.

“I got him killed, Braeden. I led Deidre right to him, even after Adele—” Her voice broke, and she cried into her torn and bloody jeans. Braeden patted her once on the back and cleared his throat several times.

“He, uh, he’s not—” Braeden sighed and shifted closer. “Look. This is my fault. I let you go when I was supposed to just bring you here. Hey, look at me.”

He gently pushed her shoulders back so that she had to lift her head, but she chose instead to stare out the window. The green canopy of a forest reflected hot sunshine, and a mountain ridge broke across the close horizon and the otherwise clear sky.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Hillside.”

“Where’s Rowthe?”

“Rowthe returned to the muses after we arrived here,” he answered, eyes shifting to the floor. “Kara, stop changing the subject. This was too close a call. I can’t forgive myself for what I let you do.”

She pushed her cheek against her purple and black knee, which was exposed through the large rip in her jeans that she’d gotten from the dirt closet. The sting from pushing against the bruise cleared her head.

“I can’t blame you for my choices,” she said. “I knew it wasn’t safe.”

A gust of wind shoved against the outside wall with a sudden blow that rattled the window. Braeden kept quiet, thankfully. Kara didn’t want him to speak. She used the silence to stare and think, and this time, she let her memories take over.

She was five. She stood on her dad’s sneakers as he stomped around the kitchen, swinging her hands around with his. Her mom walked in and started laughing at the awkward dance. They were waltzing, her dad informed her, and she shouldn’t interrupt masters while they practiced.

Kara meant to laugh, but it came out as a whimper.

Her fingers ached, but when she stretched them to alleviate the soreness, she flinched as a sharp and searing pain raced through her entire arm. Every inch of her torso was covered in either her bloody shirt or strips of green cloth that were stained with dark red splotches. Another bandage on her neck tightened as she stretched her back, and the base of her skull stung as if she’d set it against a hot burner. She glanced over to Braeden, whose emerald tunic was ripped up to his elbows.

“We barely escaped,” he said. “So I only had enough time to heal your larger wounds. The longer you wait to heal an injury, the more energy and effort it takes, so your less severe scratches will just have to heal naturally.”

She sighed. “Well, thank you.”

He glared at her, eyes narrowing in confusion. “How are you not trying to kill me?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Well,
I’m
sorry. Hand me your sword.”

“I just don’t understand how you can be so calm.”

Her throat caught on another wave of sobs, but she swallowed hard and managed to quell them. “It’s what my mom would have wanted. She always said to be smart and be nice because what we do affects more people than we think. I can’t blame you for something I agreed to do, even if I don’t want to admit it’s my fault.”

He scoffed, but it evolved quickly into a laugh. “You are stronger than I gave you credit for, Vagabond.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“All of Ourea knows about you now,” he said. “Deidre was trying to attack you, not your father. I hope you know that. She was trying to steal your soul to gain control over the Grimoire. If your father hadn’t stepped in, you would have become her slave.”

“Slave?”

“I’m guessing she was a few hundred years old, but an isen isn’t naturally immortal,” he explained. “They have to steal a soul every decade or so to keep their youth. But when they steal a soul, they also steal its physical appearance, skills, and even its magic. We yakona fear them because they trap your soul for as long as they live. Deidre was definitely aiming for you, not your father.”

Kara cradled her head in her hands and remembered the barb in the isen’s palm. Her heart skipped a few beats at the thought of what it could possibly be like to be trapped in another body, unable to control anything.

“Oh Dad,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

She had a fuzzy view of the room through her fingers, but she noticed something flit across the mirror. A crane burst through the window, landing on the floor and flapping its wings to steady itself in the gale that followed it in. Braeden stood and drew his sword. The crane flickered and grew taller, until its feathers dissolved into coppery skin. Adele now stood before them.

The muse wore the same clothes from when she and Garrett had rescued them, but this time she was armed with a murderous glare. She didn’t even blink as the wind from the open window rustled her hair, churning the pale curls in the same way it toyed with the tree canopy beyond the window.

“How could you be so foolish?” she asked, her gaze fixed on Kara.

“I—”

Adele lifted the circular pendant around her neck. The diamond which had once been one of Kara’s tears reflected green and blue specks of light.

“This becomes warm to the touch when you are in trouble, Vagabond, and did so less than an hour after I left you alone. I know which choice you made. You are young, but I still thought you were wiser than that!”

“I can explain—” Braeden started.

“I was speaking to our Council about the two of you, no less,” she said, ignoring him. “But one does not leave the Council for anything on this earth. I had to wait to be released when I knew that you were in danger and I could do nothing about it. I can’t help you if you do such reckless things!”

Adele took a deep breath and glared out the window.

“However, I can’t be harsh. You made a choice and you will forever suffer the consequences. Hopefully, you will make future decisions more carefully.”

Kara whimpered as the guilt settled deeper into her gut. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived the distorted way his mouth opened when Deidre stabbed his spine with the barb in her palm.

She buried her head in her knees and wrapped her arms under her legs so tightly she could hardly breathe. The lemon scent of her dad’s fabric softener clung to her jeans, mixed with the rotten stench of dried blood and sweat. The mattress shifted under the weight of another body, but she didn’t look up.

“Forgive yourself, but learn from this,” Adele said, her voice close and quiet. “Forgive but never forget.”

Kara sighed. Numbness seeped into her aching arms and neck until the energy, guilt, and hatred evaporated and all that remained was exhaustion. Her skin lost its feeling and its warmth. The world faded until the only thought she could sustain without the urge to cry involved taking a shower.

“I think she needs to be alone, Adele,” Braeden said.

“Call someone to draw her a bath, then. There is more that she and I must discuss.”

“She needs to rest,” he said, grumbling. A second later, his warm hand rubbed Kara’s shoulder. “I’ll be back after you’ve had some time to yourself, if you would like my company.”

She set her chin on her knees and forced a smile, but the only thing she wanted at that moment was the bath. He walked out of the room and shut the door without looking back. Adele continued speaking as if he’d never been there in the first place.