The Eternal Tomb (16 page)

“Come along, Oliver,” said Phlox briskly, and swept out the door.

Oliver shook his head. “Wow,” he said, looking to Emalie with a relieved smile.

But her gaze was vacant, staring down at the ash on the floor. “So easy to be dusty…” she mumbled.

Oliver grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

“Wait,” she said, snapping out of it. She grabbed the cylinder with the Kunai scorpion off of Ravonovich's desk.

They caught up with the adults and twisted through the halls. Music from the Ball reverberated in the distance. They crowded into a tiny elevator. It rushed downward. Oliver felt his ears popping at the descent. There were no numbers on the elevator, but Oliver knew the magmalight substation would be deep underground.

The doors opened on a narrow tunnel with a grated metal floor, its walls and ceiling made of rock. Strips of red magmalight lined the walls. Tyrus motioned with his hand and led them forward. The air was hot and thick with steam. There was a deep rumbling of machinery, vibrating the floor. They passed numerous intersections, rats and lizards scurrying at their feet. Soon, an open space appeared ahead. Tyrus stopped at a ladder just before it.

“We can watch from the catwalks around the monitoring station,” he said. Phlox and Sebastian nodded in agreement. They started up the ladder one by one.

At the top was a solid steel door with a keypad, and a catwalk leading away through the rock to the right. Tyrus ducked, spectralized, and crept in that direction. Everyone else did the same, Emalie disappearing as well.

The catwalk turned a corner and ran alongside the front of the control room, beneath large windows. Oliver risked a glance inside, and saw banks of dense computer machinery.

To his right was a giant, cylindrical cavern. In the center was an island of rock. A column of black metal scaffolding dropped down to it from the darkness above, holding an elevator. The island was ringed by a bottomless fissure, its depths obscured by steam. Emerging from this fissure and rising up the cavern walls were huge tubes of magmalight in every color of its fiery spectrum, from brilliant hot whites to cool maroons.

A crowd of black-robed, hooded figures stood on the plateau, facing a gold altar. Atop this stood Malcolm LeRoux, his hood back, holding a small gadget in his hands. To Malcolm's side, Alexy sat in his wheelchair.

Beside Alexy was a large, round mirror, angling upward from the floor. Oliver looked up and found other mirrors on the walls of the cavern. They were bouncing a white beam of moonlight all the way from the roof of the building. The light bounced off the mirror by Alexy, then off another curved mirror that hung suspended on ropes a few feet above Malcolm's head. The beam shot straight down from this mirror, creating a vertical stream of light that ended on a square of black rock in the center of the altar.

“The equinox is moments away,” said Malcolm, reading from the device in his hands.

The moonbeam narrowed, becoming brighter, its strength growing.

Oliver touched his wrist, and sank back to the tree house. “Dean, where are you guys?”

“In passages, underground,” Dean reported. “I think we're close. What's up with you?”

“Almost got slayed,” said Oliver. “Parents saved me. It was crazy.”

“Your vampire parents?” asked Dean.

“Yeah,” said Oliver, and realized he hadn't thought about
which
parents he'd been referring to.

“Well, go do this thing, then,” said Dean. “Before we get there.”

“Right.” Oliver returned to the world. This was it.

“Bring forth the Artifact,” Malcolm instructed below.

Phlox, Sebastian, and Tyrus looked to Oliver. Oliver turned to Emalie. “Ready?”

But Emalie was looking around warily. “This place looks familiar. Like I've seen it before…”

“Emalie, get the scorpion out,” Oliver whispered frantically.

Emalie shook her head. “Right.” She twisted the top off the cylinder. Reaching inside, she pulled out the flapping creature by its leathery wing, its stinger snapping in the air. It was small, with black batlike wings and a yellow segmented body. “Okay, ready.”

“Here it comes,” whispered Phlox, eyeing the side of the cavern.

Two Pyreth demons emerged from a tunnel, crossing a metal catwalk out onto the rock island. They guided a black cloaked form between them. It moved, walking like a person, its hands shackled. Oliver hadn't expected this. He'd just assumed that the Artifact was some mystical
object
.

“Blackness, afraid…” Emalie muttered faintly.

“What?” Oliver asked.

The Pyreths reached the altar and stood the figure directly below the suspended mirror, in the beam of moonlight.

“Now,” said Oliver.

“Let the great Vyette be summoned!” called Malcolm. He pulled the black cloak off the Artifact, revealing a head of long, braided brown hair and wide dark eyes, a woman in a long white gown.…

“Emalie,
now
!” Oliver hissed.

But instead, Emalie gasped. “Mom?”

Chapter 13

The Anointed

OLIVER LOOKED FROM EMALIE
to the Artifact. There was no doubt that it was Emalie's mother, Margaret.

“You missed your chance,” Margaret said defiantly to the group below.

Malcolm smiled. “I think not.
Arrivethhh…
” Malcolm intoned.

Flares of colored light began to swirl around Margaret.

Emalie was shaking. “We have to get her,” she said.

Oliver felt at a loss. He turned to Phlox. She was also glancing from Emalie to Margaret. “I take it we won't be killing the Artifact now,” she said.

“We have to get her out,” said Oliver.

“I don't think there's time for that anymore,” said Phlox.

“Salvethhhh!”
Malcolm shouted.

The room was overwhelmed by a flash of light. For a moment, Oliver was frozen in place, and saw that everyone else was as well. The magmalight had stopped moving in its tubes.

A bright disc of light formed near the altar, like a round door, and from it stepped a tall, thin woman with smooth, dark violet skin and blazing sapphire eyes. Her white hair was wrapped high on her head, and she wore a white gown. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She was the only moving thing in the room, striding to the center of the altar, to stand before Malcolm and Margaret.

“Hello, everyone,” she said softly, and the room began to move again. The vampires all stared silently at the higher being, Vyette, arrived from a distant world. She looked around the chamber. “Thank you for inviting me.” She reached into her gown and removed a small, golden dagger. “Who is to be Anointed, and so become an instrument of the rebellion against the Architects?”

“This is the boy,” said Malcolm, waving a hand to his son. “Alexy LeRoux, prepared according to the prophecy.”

“I see,” said Vyette. She looked kindly at Alexy, but shook her head. “He is lovely, but I'm afraid you're mistaken, vampire. This is not the one.”

“What?” Malcolm stuttered. “I—”

“I'm sorry but I have quite a busy day,” said Vyette pleasantly. “So I ask again, who is to be Anointed?”

“It's me,” called a voice from across the cavern. Oliver turned to see Lythia marching in, Dean and her zombie minions behind her. Worried whispers passed among the crowd of hooded Half-Light vampires. Lythia led her zombies across the catwalk to the platform and pushed her way to the altar.

“Lythia?” Malcolm asked. “But you—”

“Relax, Dad,” said Lythia. She looked to her brother. “Don't worry, Alexy, it's going to be fine.”

“I'm sorry,” said Vyette, smiling kindly at Lythia, “you are also not the one.”

“That's what
you
think,” said Lythia.

“Young one, I'm afraid I don't appreciate your tone,” said Vyette.

“Tut-tut, Vyette,” said another voice. “That's no way to speak to my protégé.”

Vyette smiled, but her tone grew cold. “Why hello, Désirée.”

Dead Désirée materialized behind Vyette. “It's been awhile, dear.”

A chorus of whispers rounded the room. Malcolm retreated behind Alexy's chair. Margaret teetered woozily, and backed away slightly as Désirée stepped to the altar.

“Now, Vyette,” said Désirée, “I'm going to need you to Anoint the girl, and then you can be on your way.” Her smile was constant, her white face pleasant, but now and then the skin seemed to bubble as the real face beneath it moved about.

Oliver was surprised to see a look of uncertainty cross Vyette's face, but he knew what it meant: Désirée was the most powerful being in the room.

“Désirée,” said Vyette, “you know as well as I that she is not the one referred to by the prophecy.”

Désirée's eyes melted into flat gold coins. “Yes, well,” she said with a sigh, and flashed her hand at Vyette. “I never much cared for prophecies.” A burst of red energy leaped from Désirée's fingers, slamming Vyette backward in an explosion of flames. She soared off the altar and fell out of sight into the steam-filled fissure.

The Anointing blade clattered to the floor. No one moved to oppose Désirée as she picked it up. She considered the blade, then gazed around the chamber. “Hello, vampires,” she said theatrically. “You've always been kind to me—not that you had a choice—but I have appreciated how most of you let me run my shop and never did anything unwise such as question what I might really be up to. Others haven't been as smart, or as fortunate.

“Now, some of you know what I am and some of you don't. For those of you who do, you know that I'm really not supposed to be okay with your little scheme to open the Gate. A lot of hardworking beings put their hearts into that Gate, not to mention all the worlds that are held together because of it. I've been getting calls nearly every century asking me to stop you all.

“Thing is,” Désirée continued, “I've come to a different opinion than my peers about the state of things. So guess what? You'll get your Gate opened. It's just going to be Lythia here that's going to do it. She's really the only one who can be trusted to do the job right. Now, that's going to be okay with everyone, right?”

The room was silent in reply, except for Emalie, who whispered so that only Oliver could hear. “Slayed me…”

Oliver turned to her. “What?”

He glanced back and found Désirée gazing curiously up at the catwalk.

Honestly, Oliver
, Désirée suddenly spoke into his mind,
I thought you'd be in Arizona by now
.

You lied to me
, Oliver thought back.

Oh, Oliver, I told you long ago: I don't lie. Though I have been vague, I suppose. Tell you what, to make up for everything, I won't slay you in order to pass the prophecy on to Lythia. I know Ravonovich said it was necessary but really, how much did he ever know about anything? You'll get to spend the time you have left in this world with your friends. So that's something, right?

Désirée's smile widened, causing ripples in her skin. “Now then, Lythia, ready?”

“Yes,” said Lythia, and Oliver thought that she sounded almost nervous.

“What are we going to do?” he whispered to Emalie.

Phlox placed a hand on his shoulder. “We'll be no match for Désirée.”

“This will hurt just a bit,” Désirée said below. Her gold eyes flashed. She made a fist just above Lythia's chest, as if she was grabbing something tightly. Then she began to pull.

A wind rose in the chamber, and now a shimmering silver form began to pull free of Lythia. It writhed in protest, trying to wrap itself around Lythia and dive back inside. Oliver saw claws, horns, fangs, and glowing red eyes. It was Lythia's
vampyr
demon.

“This is horrible,” said Phlox, watching the
vampyr
's removal in awe.

The demon slipped out. Désirée held it in her fist like a fish on string, then in one lightning motion, she lunged forward. Her face seemed to peel back, and a giant mouth of black, saberlike fangs lashed out, gobbling up Lythia's demon in a single bite. Then Désirée was simply standing there again. “Mmm,” she said, puckering as if she'd eaten something tart. “That was a strong one.”

Lythia staggered, her face blank. Oliver sensed a change in her, the demon presence gone.

“And now the box…” said Désirée.

Lythia, her hand shaking, produced the small red stone box of Bane's ashes. She flipped open the lid.

Désirée swept her hand over the box and a long trail of ashes flew out, following her fingers. She swirled her hand and the ashes arced in the air like she was twirling a ribbon.

“Whuu—” Emalie said quietly beside him. “Idiot?”

Oliver glanced at her. “What?”

Emalie lurched and reappeared in the room. Oliver reached to steady her. “I got it, lamb,” Emalie muttered, but it no longer sounded like her.

Below, Dean and the zombies grabbed Margaret, pulled her from the moonbeam, and guided Lythia into it. Désirée flashed her hand and the stream of Bane's ashes flew at Lythia, wrapping around her like a swarm of insects. The spirals began to glow in different colors, and Lythia began to shake.

They had been right, Oliver thought. Remove Lythia's demon, then strengthen her body for the Anointment by using the force signatures from Bane's ashes.

“Now,” announced Désirée over the swirling wind, “let's celebrate the Waning Sun!” She raised the Anointing blade over Lythia's chest.

Oliver watched helplessly. In a moment, he would be free of his destiny, and yet the end of the world would be assured.

“
Tsssss…
” Oliver turned to see Emalie getting to her feet. Her eyes flashed open, her irises bloodred, her pupils white. She looked down at him, her body beginning to glow a blinding white. “Watch out, bro,” she snapped at him, but her voice wasn't merely her own. It also sounded like—Oliver replayed what Emalie had just said.
I got it, bro…idiot?
Those were his brother's last words.