The Eternal Tomb (8 page)

“Isn't that dangerous?” Dean asked. “When we traveled into Bane's head, our bodies got attacked by zombies while we were gone.”

“We just have to be more careful,” said Emalie.

“Okay…” Dean looked around and grinned. “This is cool, like a mental hideout.”

“Yup,” Emalie agreed. “Oh, and this is neat, too. Watch: Dean, have you been under Lythia's command since the night at the lighthouse?”

Dean shook his head. “No,” he said.

And Oliver found that he believed him fully and completely. There was no doubt. “Wow.”

Emalie smiled. “We can't tell lies here. This place is deeper than any lie can penetrate.”

“How long do we have it for?” Dean asked.

“You have to rent it a millennium at a time,” said Emalie matter-of-factly, with a sly smile, “so I think we're good for a while.”

“How do we get back and forth?” asked Oliver.

“Check your left wrist.” She held out hers. On the tender skin below her palm was a small black mark, like a little tattoo, of a single, oval leaf. Oliver and Dean found that they had them, too. “You put two fingers on it and imagine this place. To get back, you reach out for your senses. You'll find them and return. But we need to do the Portal first.”

“We can do that while we're here?” asked Dean.

“Yeah,” Emalie explained. “You can bring supplies and do certain enchantments here,” Emalie said, picking up her bag from beside her. “It's included in the rent. And we don't need our bodies for the Portal.”

The three sat cross-legged around the fire. Cool fog washed over them. Emalie placed a small flat square in front of her: the negative of the photo she had taken of Oliver almost a year ago, which showed him as only a blur on the ceiling.

Next, she produced a slim black bottle. Désirée had given them this chemical, saying that it would help develop the photo. What it had really done was reacted with a portal that she had hidden within the Amulet of Ephyra. Emalie dabbed a drop of the shimmering silver liquid onto the blurry form of Oliver. There was a slight hiss and the liquid turned to steam, leaving the negative looking the same.

“And now for the Portal.” What Emalie placed in the circle next caused a small ache in Oliver. It was the browned newspaper clipping from the night of Oliver's siring and his human parents' alleged death, with the title: Christmas Tragedy. Bane had kept this, along with other clippings and trinkets, at the grave of his own human parents.

“You sure it's ready?” Oliver asked.

Emalie nodded seriously. “I'm pretty sure the clipping is now a portal to the night you died.”

“Pretty sure?” asked Dean.

“It was the best object to use, 'cause it was created so close to the actual date,” Emalie explained. “Its natural properties didn't need much changing. And yeah, I mean, my aunt and I followed the steps. Now we just need to activate it.” Emalie removed a small, yellow object from her pocket. It was thin, curved, and Oliver realized it was a fingernail.

“It was a little awkward getting this from Chronius,” said Emalie, “but it should work. I just have to melt it.…” She placed the fingernail in a small metal camping mug and held it over the fire. “We'll definitely end up somewhere.”

Oliver was still amazed to hear Emalie speak so casually about her growing powers. As if Sylvix wasn't enough … Chronius was a big time demon, who existed across fourth-dimensional space. He had to grant access on behalf of his demon race in order for anyone to use a time portal. That Emalie had gotten his permission, in the form of this fingernail, was impressive, and worried Oliver a bit, too. How did she do such things?

“Okay,” said Emalie. She pulled the cup from the fire and poured the drops of melted fingernail over the negative.

Oliver felt a fresh rush of nervousness. After so much, they were finally going back again, to learn for sure this time.
My real parents
… He tried to contain his excitement.

Emalie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then whispered in Skrit: “
Traversethh.
” It meant “to cross over.” When her eyes opened, her irises had turned red again, her pupils glowing white.

A wind began to swirl in the tree. Silver light rose from the negative, stretching into a tiny rainbow until it reached the clipping. The light grew into an orb, the wind increased and a rush of light and air enveloped them all. Details of the tree house washed away, fading within a formless white.

There was a flash, and then Oliver found himself looking up at a nighttime scene. It took only a moment to recognize the downtown Seattle plaza, the old stone buildings and cobblestone streets of 1946, the large Christmas tree, the cold rain stinging his face. And leaning over him, the faces of Lindsey and Howard.
Mom…Dad…

Just like last time, something distracted them, and the world spun and blurred, and Oliver found himself floating above the scene. Emalie and Dean were beside him. They watched as a couple huddled next to the fallen carriage. Phlox crouched with Nathan in her arms, Sebastian beside her, hand on her shoulder. And Nathan was screaming.

Phlox cooed quietly, then sank her fangs into his neck. The screaming ceased. Phlox pulled away. Nathan's face was peaceful and still, eyes wide like they were looking at something far away. Two red holes glistened in tender white skin.

As they had seen on their last journey, for a moment a faint white veil of mist rose and swirled above the child's face, then slipped away on the breeze.

Your spirit
, Emalie uttered faintly.

What?
Oliver turned to her.

That was your human spirit leaving
, she said.
I could feel it.

Oliver gazed back down at the scene, but the misty white was already gone. The thought filled him with sadness, imagining his spirit wandering alone, eventually drifting out of the world, or being devoured on its way, like in the Delta.

Phlox stood, wrapped the unmoving baby in a yellow blanket, and handed him to Sebastian, who tucked him carefully into his long coat. They shared an embrace, looking down at the tiny child with tender smiles, and then stole off into the night.

Oliver turned his gaze toward the Christmas tree. There, beneath its wide branches, were Howard and Lindsey, lying still on the pavement.

They're not dead yet,
Dean reported,
but they're about to be.
He pointed. Two more vampires were emerging from a nearby manhole. They approached the tree. Oliver recognized Tyrus and Yasmin, looking younger.

They're here to finish the job
, Oliver guessed. He felt the urge to stop them, but knew there was nothing to be done. They were merely observers in time.

Tyrus and Yasmin knelt by Oliver's human parents. Each pulled aside a shirt collar and bent over, fangs bared—

“Just a moment.”

Another figure had appeared, standing beside the Christmas tree. A tall woman in a long lavender coat, wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a pink flower in it. At first, Oliver thought it was a vampire, but her scent was different. In fact, she didn't seem to have a scent at all.

“Whatever has happened here?” the woman asked innocently.

Is that…
Emalie began.

Oliver recognized the voice, too, and understood that the innocent tone was a ruse.

“Désirée?” said Tyrus.

Oliver's insides burned with rage. Again he felt the helpless urge to intervene.

Tyrus continued, “We're just spreading a little holiday cheer.”

Désirée smiled. “Tut-tut, Tyrus. You should know better than to lie to me. It's big business you're attending to this evening. The Underworld is aflutter with rumors about Half-Light tinkering with prophecies.”

“Well,” Tyrus said carefully, “it is what it is. Not my place to ask. We have our orders.”

“Of course you do, which is why I didn't slay you immediately.” Désirée's hand flashed from her pocket and bright red light burst forth, slamming into both Tyrus and Yasmin. They flew backward and crashed to the ground, out cold.

Désirée knelt between Oliver's human parents and put a hand to each of their throats. Warm light radiated from her palms, making brief, blinding discs. Then she stood.

“There we are,” Désirée said to herself. She looked over her shoulder. “This way!” Three humans approached, dressed in leather bombardier jackets. “Thank you for coming,” said Désirée. “I assume you have made the arrangements to reacquire these bodies before they are buried.”

“We have,” said one of them nervously.

“Excellent. They will appear dead for about four days. Be prepared for them to be quite disoriented when they awaken.”

The humans nodded.

“I'm sure it's obvious that you'll need to hide them very well, but not too well. They must be found, but not for a long time.”

“Th-thank you,” one of the humans replied.

“Of course. Your little group sounds like a fine cause. The Brotherhood of the Fallen, is it? Good luck with all that. Now—ah,” Désirée's voice turned cold, “please don't do that.”

One of the Brotherhood had produced a stake and was nearing Tyrus.

“I need them,” Désirée explained. “When they wake up, I'll have fixed their memories so they'll go back to Half-Light and report that the parents were successfully dealt with. No one will be the wiser, as long as you fake the burial. Now, run along and alert the police.”

The Brotherhood members hurried away.

Désirée watched them go, then strolled off down the street. The plaza was empty again, except for Oliver's fallen parents, who seemed to be dead, and yet, weren't.

So, that happened
, said Dean.

Yeah
, said Oliver. It was something, but it didn't tell them where his parents were now, and it didn't tell them why Désirée would want them alive.

A police siren warbled in the distance.

So now what?
Dean asked.

Oliver lowered toward the tree. He reached the ground, stepped past Tyrus and Yasmin, and slowly approached his parents' still bodies, stopping at their feet. They were so silent, eyes open to the rainy sky. His father, Howard, with a sharp chin, deep-set brown eyes.His mother, Lindsey, with a circular face and dark hair, her eyes hazel.

Emalie joined him.
You look like them
, she said.
Your dad's eyes, your mom's face.

Oliver nodded. Even their scent seemed familiar, like he knew it so well, even though he hadn't been with them in sixty-four years. He stared at their still faces, a faint white light playing on their cheeks—

Wait a minute. That light. Oliver turned toward the large Christmas tree.

There, cowering behind the trunk, hidden by branches and festive colored lights, was something small and white, a glowing sphere not much bigger than a goblet. Its edges sparked with electric blue. It hovered, quivering, as if it was alive.

Oliver
… Emalie whispered.

It's my spirit, isn't it?
Oliver asked. He felt a strange longing inside, as if he was looking at something he'd been missing. It shivered, almost like it was cold, or frightened. And yet, it made Oliver feel calm, too. The feeling was familiar.

It is
, said Emalie.

Dean joined them, having to bend to peer beneath the branches.
That's your spirit? So why can we see it? I mean, when Emalie runs into spirits in the surface world, we can't see them.

Because it's not leaving, maybe
, Emalie offered.
Why isn't it leaving?

Oliver gazed at the tiny glowing form. It edged around the tree, and then slowly floated forward, past Oliver, Emalie, and Dean, and lowered over Oliver's parents, lighting their still faces more brightly.

Pretty, isn't it?
a woman's voice asked.

The light darted back into the branches, and the three looked up.

Désirée stood before them. She was still dressed in the styles of the 1940s, but how could she be speaking to them when they weren't even really there?

Désirée smiled at Oliver's thought, and there was something different about her face. It was still smooth and white, but her eyes had changed. Now they were glowing coins of gold, no pupils or irises, more like an insect.
You should know by now, Oliver
, she purred,
that what I do and how I do it is my business. Just like in my shop.

Oliver felt a sudden burst of anger.
You slayed my brother!
he shouted.

Désirée shrugged her brow.
Oh, yes, that. But I also saved your parents. Complicated, I know. I have to admit, I am surprised to see you here. Quite impressive, Emalie.
She glanced into the tree, toward the spirit light.
And now I think you've seen just about enough.

Désirée thrust her hand out and a wave of energy rippled from it.

Oliver, Emalie, and Dean were slammed backward and the past washed away.…

Oliver wasn't sure where they'd end up, but Emalie's basement returned around them.

“Whoa,” Dean gasped, “how did she do that?”

“No idea,” said Oliver.

“Did you see her eyes?” Emalie asked, breathing hard. “What
is
she?”

“Something that even scares Half-Light,” Oliver said, anger still coursing through him.

“So Désirée is working with the Brotherhood,” said Dean, rubbing his head woozily.

“Or was, anyway,” added Emalie. “They kept your parents alive and hid them. Why?”

“Don't know,” said Oliver. Strangely, his thoughts weren't staying with his parents, or Désirée. “I wonder what happened to it.…” he thought aloud.

“To what?”

“My spirit,” Oliver said quietly. Suddenly, he felt lost in his head, like he was walking around the base of a huge thought, but he couldn't quite make out what it was.

“A spirit is a soul, right?” Dean mused.