They had come to the last door. Anna closed and locked it behind them, turning her eyes on Helen. “And Raum?”
Helen looked down at her feet. “I haven’t seen him. Not since that night.”
She had sat in Alastor’s library with Griffin’s head in her lap. At some point, she fell asleep, waking to the heat of the sun pressing against her eyelids. Darius and Griffin were still unconscious, but breathing.
Raum had disappeared.
No one came. No one inquired about the noise or the mess. It was as if all of Alastor’s staff had turned to ash right along with him.
Some time later, Griffin stirred. When she looked down, it was into his mysterious hazel eyes. Darius woke soon after and they made their way back to the Channing house where she nursed their wounds before collapsing onto her bed, still clothed, beside Griffin.
“So Raum will not face the Dictata’s judgment after all.” Anna’s voice was a murmur without accusation.
“I suppose not,” Helen said.
Anna nodded, moving farther into the room. “You’re not here to discuss Raum, are you?”
“No.”
“You’ve found it, then?” Anna asked.
Helen nodded. “How long have you known?”
“Almost since the beginning.” Anna gestured for her to sit. She poured water from a steaming pot into a delicate teacup, handing it to Helen. “Well, I suppose I should say that we were fairly certain Darius and Griffin didn’t have it, which left you by process of elimination.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Helen whispered, staring into her cup as if the tea at the bottom held the answer.
Anna sighed. “It’s a burden, being the Keeper of the key. We thought it better—safer—that you should not know in case you were questioned. Those from the Legion have… methods for extracting information. None of them pleasant. We simply wished to protect you and the key until such a time as the executions could be put to a stop.”
Helen looked into her eyes. “Why me?”
Anna smiled, shrugging. “I suppose the Dictata knew you were the best person to have it. The most worthy.”
Helen’s laughter was bitter. She stood, pacing to the mantle. “I am far from worthy. I let my parents burn. Enlisted the help of the man who ordered them murdered. Came, even, to see him as a friend.”
“A friend?” Anna prodded.
Helen could not meet her eyes. Friend was hardly a strong enough word to describe her feelings for Raum.
Anna stood, crossing the room and touching Helen on the arm. “Come with me.”
Helen was puzzled, but Anna was already making her way to the staircase, and Helen followed her into the now-familiar recesses of the cellar laboratory. They traversed the tunnel, immaculate in comparison to the sewer tunnels beneath London, in silence. When at last they reached the laboratory, Helen’s eyes were drawn to the Orb, the strange connection she’d felt to it still present. She didn’t know if it was her imagination, but the Orb seemed to move slightly quicker than it had just last week. Gazing up at it, she thought it a beautiful world. That one and the one on which she stood as well.
“They have already begun appointing new Keepers,” Anna said with a smile. “The Orb will grow stronger, day by day, as will the world it represents. But that’s not what I want to show you.”
Helen followed her to the Orb, staring down into the tiny point of blue light that was the only access to the records.
“Try it.” Anna tipped her head at the lock.
“What? The key?”
Anna nodded.
“But… isn’t it against the rules or something? I thought I was simply supposed to keep it safe.”
“You are,” Anna said. “But I don’t think anyone will mind its Keeper having a quick look from the door. Besides,” she added, “my father’s authority is bequeathed to me, and I’m quite sure he would do the very same thing.”
Helen removed the pendant from around her neck. She held it close to her face, looking again at the pointed, scrolled filigree at its end. It seemed impossible that it should open anything. That it should fit the pinprick of light at all.
She lifted her eyes to Anna’s. “What do I do?”
“Place the pointed end of the crown against the keyhole.”
“But it won’t… It won’t fit.”
“Trust me. Place the point at the end of the crown against the point of light on the floor,” Anna instructed.
Helen lowered herself to the floor, sitting back on her knees as she studied the light. Such an innocuous-looking light, and yet she could feel the energy, the power, flowing from it, reaching upward and enveloping the Orb that spun above her head.
Part of her didn’t want to confirm what she already knew. It was the last vestige of her denial. Once she placed the end of the pendant in the keyhole, her ability to unlock the records would be confirmed. There would be no turning away from her place in the Alliance.
And yet, she found that she didn’t want to turn away. The Alliance and her role in it had come to matter to her. It was a legacy of her parents, a way in which she would be forever connected to them and to the people that they were.
And to Griffin, Anna, Galizur, and yes, even Darius.
She had barely settled the end of the crown against the point of light when it expanded, a mini-explosion rippling outward before collapsing in on itself. The other end of the pendant grew hot in her hand. Helen held tight to it, not wanting to lose it and not sure what would happen if she let go.
And then, the strangest thing happened.
The scrolled end of the pendant, once an elaborate, hollow crown, flattened itself against the light, the two merging as one, expanding into the floor in a familiar design of overlapping circles, tiny flowers forming in its geometric design, until both the pendant and the symbol it had invoked disappeared in a flash.
Helen was still staring, still trying to understand what had happened to her pendant, when a doorway of pure light opened in the floor before her.
“Don’t worry.” Anna’s voice was soft. “Your pendant will come back when the door is closed.”
The light that emanated from the door was pure and golden. It shone like the light of the sun. Not as on the hottest of days when Helen feared her skin would grow pink, but as on the days when she would sit in the garden, her head tipped to the gentle warmth of it.
Through the door, Helen could see a staircase, descending far beyond into the light.
“The records are in there?” she finally asked.
“Yes.” Anna took a deep breath. “It’s an awesome responsibility, Helen, to be the Keeper of the key. To the past, present, and future.”
“That’s why I don’t understand. Why me?” Despite her awe at seeing the entrance to the records, that was still the question that burned in Helen’s mind.
Anna stuck a hand into the light. It disappeared in a flash, narrowing to a tiny pinpoint until it looked just as it had before. Helen’s pendant dropped into Anna’s open hand.
“Helen.” Anna tipped her head, a gentle smile playing at her lips. “Don’t you see? The Dictata has access to the records. They have looked into the past. Into the future. And they have chosen you.” She pressed Helen’s pendant—the key to everything—into Helen’s palm. “Perhaps it’s time to trust in their judgment.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Helen didn’t mean to end up at the burned remains of her home. It was daylight. She couldn’t jump back to the Channing house, which was just as well. She wanted to walk. To think upon everything Anna had told her and everything she had learned.
She aimlessly traveled the streets of the city. The brothers, it seemed, finally trusted her to take care of herself, though Griffin would still worry if she was gone too long. She waited for a carriage to pass before crossing a street, heading toward the scent of fresh bread. A moment later she looked up to see the ruined facade of the home she had shared with her mother and father.
She smiled at the creak
of the iron gate. She would not hear it again. The next time she came to this place, it would be to give orders for new construction. She couldn’t live with the Channings forever. Whatever happened between her and Griffin, she did not want to be beholden to anyone. Not even him. She wanted to stand on her own. To have a home that was hers. Most of all, she wanted to see it all again.
The parlor. The library. The garden where she had held tea parties with a blue-eyed boy.
It was this she was thinking of as she stepped through the front door, making her way down the front hall. She entered the ruined parlor, and for a moment, it was just as it was. There was Father with his paper, grumbling about the state of affairs. Mother was at the piano, playing so beautifully that it made Helen’s heart ache. She turned in a circle to take it all in. Remembering.
She was surprised to feel wetness on her cheeks. Lifting a hand to her face, she touched the tears with wonder. They were proof that it had all been real.
And that maybe, she was real, too.
“It was lovely,” a voice said from the door. “I can still see it.”
She turned, realizing she had expected Raum all along. Had hoped he would find her here.
She turned her gaze back to the room, seeing it all one last time before it faded into the ashes around her.
“I can see it, too.”
They stood in silence. Raum stepped carefully toward her. He touched a gentle hand to the cut on her brow, a reminder of her battle with Alastor.
“Are you all right?”
“Do you care?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “I’m afraid I do. Too much for my own good.”
“Then why did you leave?”
He took a deep breath. “I wanted to face the Dictata on my own terms.”
The words startled her. “You’ve… you’ve seen the Dictata?”
He nodded.
“And what…” She was afraid to ask. Afraid to know what they would do to him.
He chuckled. “Well, it’s a funny thing. It turns out they aren’t going to do anything at all. Unless you count indentured servitude as punishment. And it may be.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
A hesitant smile turned his mouth up at the corners. “It seems the Dictata wants to be more proactive in the future. Get them before they get us, you might say.”
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.” Helen felt daft, but it was true.
“They’re expanding the existing corps of assassins to form an elite battle group that will be able to act on threats like the Blackguard before they reach such dire proportions. It will provide Descendants an opportunity to serve, if they so wish, though I think it will be most fitting for those of us with less… conventional talents.”
Helen looked into this distance, trying to imagine this new world in which she would take her place as Keeper and others like her would hunt for demons to keep them—and their world—safe.
It would be a dangerous task for all those involved.
She looked into his eyes. “And they’ve agreed to let you be a part of this new corps?”
The grin came more easily this time. “You might say they insist. I think returning the sword went a long way toward proving my allegiance.”
She smiled up at him, knowing there was more, and knowing she would not like the next part at all. “What will happen now?”
He looked away before turning back to her. “Now I prepare to leave.”
She nodded. “Where will you go?”
He shrugged. “Wherever they need me, I suppose. They’re still recruiting. Still puzzling it out. But the general idea is that we’ll travel to the site of possible threats and go undercover to investigate them. If they’re real, it will be up to us to destroy anything from the Legion before it can do significant damage to the Keepers.” He hesitated, his voice softening. “To you.”
His eyes burned into hers, and she turned away. She could not afford to be lost in those eyes again. “When do you leave?”
“As soon as I have my orders. Probably tomorrow.”
She felt his hand on her shoulder. “Helen, look at me.”
She swallowed hard, trying to banish her emotion before turning to meet his eyes.
“Come with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“Because of him?” His voice was bitter and she knew he referred to Griffin.
“Because of many things,” she said. “I’m one of them. A Keeper. They need me now more than ever.”
“You don’t have to renounce your role as Keeper. They live all over the world.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “Just come with me, Helen. Be with me. I can keep you safe.”
His eyes burned into hers, the strange, indefinable shock wave moving between them.
She wanted to deny it. To push the idea away without a thought. But for a split second, she saw it all. She saw herself in Raum’s arms, traveling the world with him. Loving him.
He leaned toward her, his mouth inches from hers. His lips were smooth and supple. She could imagine them on hers. Imagine the warmth flowing between their bodies as they kissed. His mouth was so close to hers she could feel the heat of his breath. She put her hands flat against his chest.
“No.”
He stopped, hovering near her mouth.
“I can’t, Raum.” She paused. “I won’t.”
He leaned away slowly, the space between them growing cold as he turned from her.
“Do you love him?” he asked in a broken voice.
“I love you both.” And as she said it, she knew it was true.
He spun on her, his eyes full of anguish. “Then, why not?”
She crossed the empty space between them, looking into his eyes. “There’s more to it than love. Too much has passed between us, Raum. Too much sadness. Too much death.”
He nodded as she said these last words, as if he had known all along.
“I’ll always have… affection for you.” Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She marveled that after so many days of not being able to find them, now she could not keep them at bay. “But the things that have happened—”
“The things I’ve done,” he corrected her.
She shrugged. “What does it matter which words we use? It can’t be wiped away.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”
Remembering something, she opened the bag dangling at her wrist. She found what she was looking for a few seconds later and held her hand out toward him.
“This belongs to you.”
He took the object, his eyes full of questions. When he opened his palm, it held an uncut key.
He shook his head. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s the one you dropped in the factory that first night.” She hesitated until her curiosity got the better of her. “Why did you leave them? At the murder scenes.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I suppose part of me wanted the Dictata to know that it was me. That I could steal from them as they stole from me, though of course, that isn’t the way it is, is it?” His voice was bitter and full of shame as he closed his fingers around the key, letting his hand fall to his side.
She reached for his hand, cupping it in hers. “Perhaps you’ll remember me and all we’ve shared when you look at it. Perhaps you’ll remember that serious girl with soft hands who cares for you still.”
They stood in the ruins of the house, staring into each other’s eyes. There was nothing else to say, and Helen braced herself for the moment when he would leave. The moment when he’d say good-bye forever.
Instead, he said something unexpected. “There’s one thing I must ask you before I go.”
She nodded.
“Do you forgive me? Well and truly forgive me for everything I took from you?”
She thought for a moment, not wanting to give him empty reassurances. There had always been honesty between them. That was so
mething, at least.
Looking into his eyes, the blue sky of her childhood, the answer was as plain as day. “I do. Well and truly.”
He lifted a hand to her cheek. “And what about yourself, Helen? Will you ever forgive yourself?”
She swallowed the emotion that rose in her throat. How could he have known that of all the enemies she had fought, it was this foe that haunted her most?
She tried to smile. “That might be more difficult.”
“It shouldn’t be,” he said quietly. “Forgive yourself as you have forgiven me. As we all must forgive our own failings. I don’t think we can be free otherwise.”
His words rang through her mind.
Was it really as simple as that? Could she give herself the benediction of forgiveness that she had given Raum? She didn’t know the answer. But as she leaned on tiptoe to kiss Raum’s cheek, she knew she would try. She would try to remember the girl from the garden and her friend Raum. Their innocence and kindness to one another in the giving of small trinkets and simple friendship.
She would remember it all and grant that love and acceptance to those around her.
And maybe, just maybe, to herself.
She made her way out the door and down the path, closing the creaking gate behind her. She thought of Raum’s words in the darkness outside Alastor’s estate and wondered if perhaps he had been right. If perhaps each person simply needed one other who believed in them.
She didn’t know. But as she walked away from the house and toward her future, she knew she had all that and more.
Two men who knew all her darkness and believed in her—loved her—still. And though she cared for both of them, there was only one who was her best friend. Only one who represented all the love and honor and sacrifice to which she would aspire.
And he was waiting.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As with a child, it takes a village to raise a book. I have been very, very fortunate to have so many people in my corner. It seems only right to thank them if given the opportunity.
First, a big thank-you to to my editor, Nancy Conescu, at Penguin/Dial. We have made quite a journey together. I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have it any other way. You continue to make me a better writer through a unique kind of alchemy that combines a firm hand with a gentle touch. I don’t know how you do it, but I’ve learned so much from you and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. I couldn’t ask for anything more.