Desolate (Desolation) (2 page)

“Nope; exactly the same.”

My shoulders slumped, and I’m sure my disappointment showed because Miri kneaded her forehead as though lost in deep thought.

When I touched her arm, her eyes met mine and I searched them, trying to discern any details she might have left out. I could embrace my Shadow, force my will on Miri and see her memories, her dreams, but I hated the way it made me feel. Hated the thrill of cold power that rushed through my veins whenever I released the darkness inside of me. Hated the way it left me wanting more.

Miri’s eyes pretty much told me nothing.

“The gray horseman?”

“Yeah.”

“This is the third night in a row, right?”

Miri didn’t respond as she pulled out her notebook and Shakespeare book and put them on the table in front of her. I shifted my papers around, and opened my book to
Hamlet
. If Sister Mary Theresa caught us without any books, she’d kick us out—and it was raining. I so didn’t want to sit in the cemetery (our only other private place) in the rain. I wished we could go to the Situation Room (as Miri affectionately called the room where The Hallowed met), but Father Cornelius told us not to go there during school hours.

“I think it means something,” she said. I only nodded. I knew the dream was a warning, but I was afraid of what.

“Tell me about it—maybe you’ll remember something.” I’d heard it all before, but this dream was too big, too
real
, to keep it to herself—she needed to share it, to get its stink off of her, to share the responsibility of it with another person.

Miri closed her eyes. “Huge horse. The guy with the long gray robe. Big sword—except it’s not a sword exactly, it’s one of those curved ones like sultans have.”

“A scimitar,” I provided.

“Yeah. And . . . dread. I can taste it, like sulphur and sadness.” Miri talked so fast, if I didn’t already have her words memorized I wouldn’t have a clue what she said.

“And then what happened?”

“I don’t know.” She sat back in her chair, her gaze fixed absently on the library stack behind me. The way she stared, unfocused, I knew she saw the dream replaying in her mind. She spun the pencil around and around between her fingers and over her thumb.

I waved my hand in front of her face. When she looked at me, I smiled.

“I can tell there’s something else—what is it?”

She doodled around the edges of her play book. “Even though I’ve seen it before, it’s still terrible. He’s riding on, and I seem to be flying in the air behind him, like I’m trying to catch him, but I can’t.” She hugged herself and rocked forward. “Then he turns his face toward me and it’s like I can’t even breathe, I’m so scared.”

I waited, hoping something else would surface. “Did you get to see his face this time?”

“No. He was still wearing that hood, but it’s like there’s nothing in there—no face at all. It’s so creepy—it was awful.” She struggled to pull herself out of the dream, and then she stopped—her breath, her blinking, everything. She was like that for so long—at least ten seconds—that I started to panic.

“Miri.” I gripped her shoulder.

She blinked rapidly then shook her head. “I . . . I think I remember something.” Miri dragged her eyes up to mine. “You. I think . . . I think it’s you.”

A chill skipped up my spine. “Me.” Of course it was me—I was desolation, after all. I slumped back in my seat and folded my arms across my chest. The action closed off the world, gating me in.

“Wait, don’t do that.” Miri reached out and pulled one of my hands toward her. I used to think it was weird, when she touched me. Before, in Hell, no one ever dared laid a hand on me—unless of course it was Akaros when we trained together. But I was getting used to this touch. This human connection.

Miri took a breath and closed her eyes in a slow blink. “I think that the person flying behind the horseman, the one trying to reach him and stop him—the one who is always me in the dream—is you.”

My breath whooshed out of my lungs in a rush. I could be the one to fight. I longed for the chance to knock Father down one bad guy at a time. I could deal with this.

But the idea of Miri living in my hell night after night? It killed me.

“I think you need to get ready,” she said. “Something’s coming and I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can stop it.”

chapter three

“Keep looking at me like that princess, and I might not be so pretty anymore.” James made a flicking gesture over his chest. “I think you’re starting to burn holes in my shirt.”

“Come on,” Miri said, bumping her shoulder against James’.

I blinked hard, realizing James was right. I had been staring. It drove me crazy that he was here. I didn’t know if I could lose anyone else. Everyone I cared about was now officially wrapped up in this mess. I’d already lost Michael and Lucy. And now Father had some other plan to bring death and destruction? I couldn’t even bring myself to consider what might happen. Instead, I moved my glare to the wall above Cornelius’ head and leaned against the closed door.

“Do you have a theory?” Knowles asked. He sat in his customary spot where a tall cabinet cast him in shadows. His voice sounded tired and cranky—pretty much like it always did. But I knew something about him now. Something that made me get up, cross the room, and sit beside him. Knowles may be a demon; maybe one time, long ago, he made the wrong choice, but he’d given his immortal life to correct that wrong. Turns out, we are a lot the same.

Tension skewered my brain and made me do a bad impression of Miri. “Yeah, what’s the plan Corney?”

Miri swallowed a laugh, making a snorting sound instead—a lovely habit she’d picked up from me.

Father Cornelius sighed and slipped his glasses from his nose. He pinned me with his pale blue eyes. It took a lot to get on his nerves, but from the tight wrinkles around his eyes, and his mouth turned downward in a tired frown. He looked like he’d lost all his patience for the day.

I jumped up and moved to the window that sat so high up you couldn’t actually see out of it. Small to begin with, suddenly the room felt suffocating, strangling. A constant whisper of
you don’t belong here
rattled through my brain. I pressed my back to the cold stone wall and crossed my arms. From there I could see everyone—Cornelius sitting at the desk closest to me, Longinus standing (always standing) against the wall on the other side of the window, Knowles in his shadowy corner, and directly across from me James and Miri sat so close together they may as well have been sharing a chair.

“I think we all know what needs to happen now. Something—some demon—is going to attack the Bay area and I’m the only one who can stop it.” I managed to do a decent job at nonchalance, but I knew they wouldn’t buy it. Everyone in the room—even Knowles—seemed to think they knew me better than I knew myself. And, well, maybe they were right. They’d been right about everything so far.

“Desolation,” Knowles said quietly. “You won’t be alone. You don’t ever have to be alone again.”

James chuckled. His eyes were on Miri’s hands which he held between his, slowly tracing circles over her palm with his thumb. “She’ll never believe you, old man. For Desi, it’s action over words, every time.

“Just go do what you need to do, princess.”
How did James suddenly get to be in charge?
“And we’ll have your back.”

“Agreed.” Longinus’ voice was like a deep rumble that swept across the room.

I ignored him and stared at James. This guy who I’d wanted so badly before. So much that I was willing to crush the spirit of an innocent boy for another kiss from James. So much that I’d tried to push Michael out of my mind for one thoughtless, meaningless encounter with James.

So much that I’d missed what a good friend he was.

Thank the stars I’d figured out that last part before I’d lost him forever.

“When will you go?” Cornelius asked.

I pushed away from the wall and walked to the door. “Tonight.” Putting my hand on the doorknob, I waited. But no one responded, no one made the effort to detain me or convince me of another course of action. And even if they had, it wouldn’t have made any difference.

I pulled the door open and walked out.

The meetings always ended this way. I arrived alone, I left alone. It was better for me this way. Easier. In the twilight, the sun hung low way out in the ocean and there was the hint of autumn in the California air. I loved this time of night, after school, but before evening mass—I had the cemetery to myself.

Tonight the darkness hung over the cemetery like a thick, wet blanket. No stars. No moon. Even my footsteps on the sidewalk made no sound at all. It reminded me of Hell. Of how all the sound got sucked away there, how everything got sucked away into nothingness.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and held my breath, listening. When I heard the leaves rustle in the slight breeze, and the distant wail of a siren somewhere down in the valley, my breath whooshed out along with some of the tension. Hell wasn’t here.

I stopped in the usual place, with its memories of whispered belonging and hopeful kisses. The place that tore my heart right out of my chest. The cherubic angel welcomed me, his praying hands seeming to hold all my hopes and dreams between them. I traced my fingertips over the back of one pudgy stone hand before sitting on the bench directly across from the statue.

I closed my eyes and sought the memories that stung like ice against my heart—the memories that meant everything to me. I relished every one of those frost-cold bites, because each of them represented love. The love I’d had. The love I’d lost.

Michael
.

Well, not lost so much as betrayed. Because of me, Michael had been cursed with an eternity in Hell—a place in utter opposition to everything that defined him. Where he was golden, Hell was shadows. Where he was Gardian, a warrior of Asgard, Hell was populated with demons—those very souls Michael had helped to banish from our eternal home. Where Michael had chosen loyalty to the rule of Asgard and the right of all Gardians to Ascension, Loki, my father, stood against all of those things. And Father would stop at nothing to crush him, to rid Michael of his goodness.

Just like he’d done with me.

A whisper of thought crossed my mind.
But look where you are, baby. Look what you’ve done
. I looked up into the starless sky, but I knew I wouldn’t see Lucy there. It wasn’t actually her speaking in my mind—not this time, anyway. I’d gotten really good at channeling her when I felt most alone.

Lucy would be all about hope. She wouldn’t want me to give up on Michael, but to hope for—to
plan
for—the day when he would return.
Hope isn’t just wishing
, she’d say.
It’s all about the action, baby. Believe it. Live it. That’s how you make your dreams come true
.

Of course, Lucy’d been a glorified prostitute who died at the hands of a very bad man, so maybe she wasn’t the best person to take life advice from.

I hated myself for thinking that—Lucy’d been the first person to love me, to teach me how to open my heart to the goodness in other people. To the goodness in myself. It still didn’t come easily to me, but for Lucy’s sake I tried. Every day I tried.

So I closed my eyes and allowed myself to remember Michael. The touch of his hand against my own. The feel of his lips on mine. The way he always smelled of oranges and happiness.

“I miss you,” I whispered to the stone angel. And with the words I pushed out the hope, pushed it away from me. It cost too much to keep.

Beyond my closed eyelids I sensed the day growing darker. With a sigh I stood. I gazed into the angel’s eyes, one stony heart to another, before I nodded my head and walked toward the far reaches of the cemetery where a copse of trees would shield me from view.

In the safety of their shadows, I closed my eyes, thought of Michael, and Became.