Desolate (Desolation) (19 page)

When he fell through the Door he had created, Loki pounced upon him and shepherded him out of my sight. I returned to my rooms—Desi’s rooms I’d been told—and never saw Heimdall again. But if I’d survived I had to believe he would also. Though at what cost I couldn’t say.

And as long as he was imprisoned, Loki had free reign over the world—over all the worlds. He could, where he desired, conquer without censure. He would be a god over all the gods.

Impossibly, I must have slept again, because when I woke the drapes were pulled wide and sunlight bathed the small, bare room with warmth. I could smell Desi, as if she’d only just left, and I heard dishes rattling from the other room.

I scrambled around the drawers and finding nothing that would fit me, wrapped a blanket around me, and stumbled out into the living room.

Seeing her, her black hair glistening in the sunlight, I drew up short. She was stunning, but I could feel the coldness in her soul even from where I stood—and my earlier thought that something was not right with her flared within my heart.

Desi turned, a plate with a sandwich in one hand and a bowl in the other. Cornelius stepped into view and Longinus stood from where he sat near the window. No one said a word. No one made to greet me. And I suppose that’s to be expected—I had come bent on destruction. I remembered what my task had been. What I had been shaped into. What I didn’t know was how I came to be myself again. I didn’t know what had changed. Perhaps it was seeing Desi again—surely my heart would always know her, always Remember her.

“Michael, my son, you look well. Come, sit down,” Cornelius said, bustling forward and pressing a plate into my hand. “Have some soup.” He set a bowl of tomato soup on the low table in front of me. Unsure of what to say, I stared down at the golden-toasted grilled cheese sandwich in my hand.

“Thank you,” I said, dropping onto the soft cushions of the old couch. Across from me, Longinus sat in an old leather chair and when I met his eyes, he nodded. Desi still stood near the kitchen. The corner of her mouth twitched and I knew—I knew she wanted to sit with me, but for some reason she held herself apart. And, I will admit, I wasn’t ready to be near her, to be so cold again. I had longed for warmth so long that the cold radiating from her filled me with dread.

I watched her and the others around her, looking for some indication, some explanation of what that cold meant. Was she no longer mine? Had she decided to embrace her Shadow only? But then why would she be here? With them?

There were too many questions, too much guilt and shame, remorse and sorrow, for me to find voice for any of it. So instead I traded the sandwich for the soup and concentrated on sipping it slowly while I considered my dilemma.

They sat and watched me—or didn’t watch me in Desi’s case—and for the first time in forever, I felt a need, a want, that I had forgotten. They needed to comfort
me
. They wanted me to be okay. They wanted to give, not take.

Except for Desi. She needed, though she’d never admit it. She needed me to look at her, to accept her, to love her.

She needed me to forgive her.

So I did look at her. I looked at her until she finally dragged her eyes from her untouched soup and met mine. And . . . oh.

Forgotten was the cup, the blanket.

Forgotten was my confusion.

Forgotten were my doubts.

She was in my arms then, my hands cupped around her face, her hair falling in silken waves down, around, through my fingers. Her tears on my lips. Her kiss.

Together, we banished the cold.

In a flash of exquisite warmth and light we were transported. It filled me, every part of me, cast out the shadows, rejected the darkness. It filled her—I could feel it in her skin, her touch, her kisses, her thoughts.

There was only us. Only this. And nothing else.

No one else.

Not the past, not the future, none of it.

I kissed her, whispered her name, stroked her skin, her hair, her face.

She held me, tears streaming down her cheeks, my name on her lips over and over.

In that moment I knew: I would walk a journey of a million lifetimes in the cold recesses of Hell just for this moment. All for her. Always.

When our kisses slowed, when our grip on each other loosened, I opened my eyes and found her watching me. I didn’t need to see the golden sparks in her eyes to know she was all mine.

She smiled, the tiniest quirk to her lips, our noses touching, her eyes full of questions, full of doubt, even after everything. As in my kisses, I held nothing back and let everything I felt show in my smile and in my eyes. And then I gloried as my love’s eyes shone back at me with all the happiness in my own heart. Yes, she was mine, and now she knew—

I am hers.

My fingers slipped down her arms and curled around hers. Warm, warm, warm—how could I have ever thought she’d grown cold? We laughed, self-consciously now, as we remembered we weren’t alone—only to discover that we were, in fact, alone. Which made us laugh all the more imagining how Cornelius and Longinus had snuck out while we lost ourselves in each other.

I pulled her to the couch where we sat as close as possible, our feet propped up on the beaten coffee table; hers clad in her silver-marked sneakers and mine humble and bare—yet I felt like a king sitting next to my queen. I pulled an old quilt over both of us and Desi leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder.

Her body shook with gentle tremors.

“Shh,” I breathed, my lips against her hair. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” she said. But she was. So stubborn, always so stubborn. I knew what troubled her, knew it would take so much more than kisses or even words, to convince her.

“You did the right thing, my love.” I willed my voice to be strong, to not convey the difficulties I’d endured in Hell, though surely she would know whether I ever said it aloud or not. “I went willingly, even gladly. Is Miri all right?”

It took her a long while to answer. I held both her hands in my lap, tracing the lines on her palms, enjoying the feel of them, the look of them, in mine.

“Miri is . . . “ she finally began, “wonderful. Miri is wonderful. She’s with James now, you know. I mean, really with James.”

I smiled, gladness filling my heart. I knew they would be together.

“Except . . .her mom died. And now the fogies think her spirit is trapped inside her dead body.”

The breath had stilled in my throat. I fought against the dam there so I could swallow, so I could find voice for the guilt that riddled me like so many bullet holes. I opened my mouth but found myself empty of words. All I felt was guilt. I decided to ignore this comment, not ready to admit that Miri’s sorrow had been caused by me.

“And James?” I had so much hope for him, he at least would surely be a safe topic.

“Oh.” I felt the love Desi had for him, felt it wrap her up in its embrace and oh, I felt such love for her then. Felt such gratitude for her generous heart. “Michael, he has changed so much. He’s living with me now—I mean, like my brother or something—and he takes such good care of me and Miri. And he’s part of The Hallowed now. But I do
not
like that.” She broke for a quick breath. “I wish neither of them were involved—it totally freaks me out that they are in danger like that, that one mistake and I could ruin their whole lives, like I did with y—” You.

Like she did with me.

“Oh, my love.” I turned her face toward mine, my fingers curled against her temple, my eyes seeking hers, demanding that she look into mine, see all there was to see there. “You did not ruin my life. You saved it. And now I’m here—you saved me again.
You
, my love.” I leaned forward until my forehead rested on hers. Felt her breath on my lips. “You saved me.”

She turned her head slightly and her lashes brushed against my cheek. I closed my eyes and drank her in. The feel of her, the smell of her transporting me to our garden, the heady fragrance of Lily of the Valley infusing the air with love. I would never tell her of my experience in Hell, she must never know. It would break her heart to know.

But there were things that should be discussed, and time could not be wasted. Because time did not play fair in the underworld—and where mere days or weeks passed in Midgard Heimdall would endure an eternity. As it had been an eternity for me.

My love stiffened and pulled away from me. She turned to face me, her strength radiating. She had become every bit the warrior her mother once had been, and every bit as intuitive. “We need to talk to Cornelius,” she said. “Father has captured Heimdall.”

She stood and took a black jacket from the hook by the door.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I knew all about Heimdall’s capture. Because his captor had been me.

chapter thirty

Desi

I waited by the door while Michael changed into the clothes Longinus had left for him. When he returned, my heart leapt in my chest to see him. He still looked pale, still so tired and haggard, but when he smiled, his light flared. He’d be all right. He already was.

He looked a little self-conscious in the borrowed clothes, but he smiled and took my hand as easily as if we did it every day. I had a brief flash of hope that we would—every day for the rest of our very, very long lives.

I followed his lead—it seemed he knew his way around the rectory and it reminded me that he had been a part of The Hallowed before I came to Earth. Not that I cared if we got lost, anyway. I was content to walk with him, to feel his solid warmth beside me. To feel my hand in his. All I needed forever and ever.

The door to the Situation Room stood open and we heard Longinus and Cornelius quietly murmuring as we approached. When we stepped inside, I tried to feel nervous about their attention, like I thought I should. I should be embarrassed that Michael was still with me, that he could forgive me for what I had done. Instead, I couldn’t keep my face from breaking into a wide grin—probably the biggest smile I’d ever worn.

For the first time, all felt right with the world. The one I loved was with me, his hand in mine. And we were going to set things right. I guessed the warm feeling bubbling through my veins was happiness. And even saying that to myself—
I’m happy
—made my smile stretch wider, if that were even possible.

And, to my relief, Cornelius smiled as brightly when he saw Michael’s hand clasped around my own. Even Longinus’ eyes softened and something like a smile played on his lips.

“Michael,” Cornelius said, stepping around the table that separated us. He reached out and Michael pulled away from me to clasp the priest’s hand. “I am pleased to see you looking so well, my son.” A moment longer of hand-squeezing and Michael took the older man into an embrace. When Cornelius stepped back, Longinus took his place, gripping Michael’s forearm. No words passed between them, but the intensity of their gaze made me wonder, not for the first time, just what Longinus’ story was. 

“Hey Michael.” Miri’s voice whisped into the room like smoke. I looked at the empty doorway while Michael turned toward the shadowy corner Knowles favored.

“Miri,” Michael said, his voice hitching on her name.

I hadn’t even seen her there, the way she blended into the shadows of that dark corner. But now Michael fell to his knees in front of her and took her hands in his. He gazed at her for a moment before resting his forehead on their clasped hands.

“It’s okay,” Miri murmured and lowered her head, too.

They sat like that for the stretch of several heartbeats until Miri said, “I’m sorry too.”

My heart lurched inside my chest and regret slammed into me like a freight train. I wanted to melt into the wall and disappear.

Michael stood, kissed Miri’s hand and turned to the group. “We need to rescue my friend,” Michael said, letting his smile slip from his face and determination take its place.

“Indeed,” Longinus said.

“Well, let’s get down to business, then.” Cornelius returned to his seat, pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, and slipped his glasses onto his nose. “Where do we begin?”