"I think Death, or at the very least, the Hellhounds, would have warned us if there were a chance that Izzy might turn cannibal." The irritation was rampant in my voice, serving as a hint that I was approaching the limits of my patience. Shaking my head, I reminded myself that Isis had the emotional development of a toddler. She would act out if she thought it would make her the center of attention.
"That's just it. Technically, it wouldn't be cannibalism, since she isn't really human any longer. For all we know, her kind prey on humans. I don't know about the rest of you, but I prefer to remain at the top of the food chain...."
I was anxious to maneuver the subject away from anything that gave me homicidal thoughts towards Isis. Before I could open my mouth to speak, Izzy began to sing. Following that, I was tossed into a daydream.
This wasn't like any dream I’d ever had before. It held a hint of familiarity to my vision at Josephine's. It felt as if someone were clamping down on my skull, forcing it beneath icy waters and immersing me in a series of images. I was enslaved to the emotions and pictures winding their way through my mind and couldn't shake the slideshow that held me within.
When it was over, sliding away with a hiccup, I nearly fell over from a dizzy spell that swept through me. Using the wall as support, I caught myself, trying to make sense of what had happened.
"Oh!"
"Holy hell!"
"Damn, that was weird!"
All shouted in unison from Isis, Ash, and Griffin.
A voice from the hallway wormed its way towards coherent thought, causing me to look up to find Rafe staring at us. "What happened to all of you? See a ghost or something?" His eyes flickered through the room, as if scanning for possible threats.
We all began to speak as one and it became clear that we were describing the same vision, the same hallways I had walked through to get to Izzy's cell. The twisting of the path had been nauseating until I’d seen the entrance to a room. Its forbidden nature incinerated the rest of the images.
We all admitted to remembering that there was more to the vision, but we couldn't access the rest of the memory. It seemed to be locked away. Again, Izzy let sound escape her and the image of the room implanted itself with a much stronger hold.
"Ouch." Rafe scrubbed his head, seemingly hesitant to voice what he was thinking. "Dang, that hurt. Does she do that a lot?"
The rest of us exchanged dumbfounded looks before crucifying Rafe with a venomous stare, a group effort.
"I take it that's a no. Your phoenix friend is talking to you in the only way she can right now. She's projecting her thoughts."
Maloc came up behind Rafe with an accusing stare, but when Rafe said he was answering questions, the elderly guard walked away.
"Does she want us to go to that room?" I asked, afraid of the answer. Truthfully, all I wanted was to go back to my hospital bed and sleep.
"I can't tell you what she wants. All I can say is that it seems like she is giving you directions." Rafe smiled, his incisors causing Isis to back away and hide behind Griffin.
Ash’s questions were for Rafe alone. "Are her directions correct? Does that room exist? Why can't we remember the rest of the vision?"
"As I told you, I can't say. Though I will say this, the only way to find something that's hidden is to search for it – though, I couldn't tell you if there happened to be something hidden."
Leaving us to ponder his words, the Draconian walked away crisply.
"Well, that wasn't cryptic at all," Griffin snickered sarcastically.
Ash smiled at me. "If I know you, and I do, I'm going to take a shot in the dark and guess that you want to follow Izzy's thoughts? You want to see if the room is really there, don't you?"
I glanced between everyone and nodded absently, wondering what could be hidden behind those doors. Why did Izzy want us to go there and what could be important enough to wipe our memories?
Ash had been right. After Izzy delivered her telepathic message, I couldn't ignore it. It was far too compelling a mystery, and after several more insistent messages from Izzy, none of us could consider putting it off. After Isis left, trying to distance herself from the migraine-inducing communication Izzy was forcing on us, she came back within minutes. Apparently, Izzy's projective thoughts weren't hindered by distance.
It wasn't difficult to spring Izzy from her prison while Rafe conveniently distracted Maloc. We hadn't asked him to help, but we were relieved when he took care of the ancient soldier anyhow.
Now, after a few accidental wrong turns, we stood before the large doors Izzy had shown us. They were massive, resembling something from ancient ruins that had stood against time and ended up here by chance rather than choice.
Liam had caught up to us on our way to the hidden chamber and didn't seem to mind that we were about to break into a room that supposedly did not exist. He even came in handy, silencing the alert system and stopping Isis from breaking the tripwire. I didn't ask where he learned how to break into a high security system, I wasn't sure I would be happy with the answer.
Stepping forward, I pushed and pulled at the door, but didn’t gain any ground. The others took pity on me and joined in, Isis and Griffin to my left, Liam and Ash remaining on my right. Izzy watched from a few feet away. The ancient doors protested our efforts, its aching joints finally giving up a few feet. It then settled, refusing to utilize movements that were likely forgotten.
We walked into the chamber as a team with Izzy bringing up the rear. A fit of sneezing in Griffin’s direction began a chain reaction of dust kicking up, clouding our vision. Somehow, Ash managed to open the only skylight window, while Isis found lanterns for each of us to use.
Electricity seemed a luxury in this room, as our lanterns illuminated the decrepit chamber. The room had seen better days, when it had been visited, but it hadn't had a visitor in a lifetime. The stench of mold was overpowering, but a breeze drifted through the window and swept around the room with a cleansing aura.
Chairs laid upside down on circular tables covered in scrolls and leather-bound books. Cabinets, bookshelves, and desks had been left in disorder, as if the room had been vacated quickly, forcing the occupants to leave their work and personal effects behind.
I wandered aimlessly, not sure what I was looking for, but needing to be productive. The others did similarly. A rectangular shape lay against one wall, imposing in its silence and posing a daunting task. The ghost of the desk’s past owner lingered in the stray letters, pens with the ends bitten, and bits of décor.
Trailing my fingers across the rough surface of unpolished wood, I noticed a frame coupled with fractured glass in the shape of a web. Inside was a photograph, its edges torn from age. The picture was of the room we were currently in, though it vastly different, teeming with people – scholars bent over books and scrolls while warriors guarded every bookcase, desk, table, and entrance.
Gathering the frame, I unhooked the back, detached it, and withdrew the aged photo. The edge that had been hidden behind the border was now visible. A figure stood within the shadows, both part and apart from them. The underworld had reached through the floorboards to tangle around his body, an extension of his hollow soul that was connected to Hell.
The man was dressed in a black suit that had seen better days. A seam was torn across the jacket and his pants looked faded from wear. He wore a fedora angled to one side and he was penetrating the camera with a look that could incinerate an entire town.
My vision eclipsed, leaving me paralyzed with fear, as the man within the picture changed position. He no longer stood in the background; his massive shoulders blocked out most of the background, leaving little room to question the change. I felt like I was holding a photograph taken minutes after the original, but it was the same one.
Holding the photo before me, against its decaying counterpart, it shifted once more and disappeared. I was suddenly alone in the room, as it had been in its prime. The others were gone and I was staring into the eyes of Asmodeus
. I was beginning to get used to these visions and his annoying habit of popping up in them.
I wasn't sure that was a good thing.
This clip of the past reminded me of a silent movie – shades of black, white, and grays. Neither of us moved or made a sound, though our faces conveyed more emotion than conversation ever could.
"Does this make you uncomfortable?" He spoke and I cursed him for ruining the moment. I had almost forgotten the evil his words had a habit of leaving behind.
"I'm always uncomfortable when you're around."
Asmodeus smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment then." He gestured to the room around us. "It's different than today. Do you know what this place is used for?" I shook my head, waiting for him to continue. "It's a library of forbidden texts. Scrolls, prophecies, and all other evidence that we aren't supposed to know about, are locked away here."
I deliberately baited him with a venomous tone. "If it's forbidden, why was it so easy for Liam to break into?" It irritated me that the answers to my questions would come from the one male I couldn't stand. Besides, Asmodeus was supposed to be expunged from my life. He was dead. So why did he keep haunting me?
"It was a little too easy, wasn't it?"
My stomach churned at the smile he directed towards me. The room became a hazy tomb as I focused on my surroundings, willing them to remain. If I was going to have Asmodeus shoved into my mind, couldn't I at least dictate the terms?
Concentrating on his form, I held onto that image, ignoring the walls around me as they flew by. It felt like I was strapped into the passenger seat of a racecar, unable to maneuver the events unfolding around me, but trying desperately to find a piece of substance to hold onto, something that might bring my world to a pause long enough for me to process and react.
Asmodeus reached towards an overly large book on top of a center bookcase, pulling it down and opening it to reveal a scroll. It was rolled tightly and tied with what looked to be human hair in strands of gold, brown, and auburn. The edges coiled inward, as paper did when it hadn't seen the light in an age. He grasped the document, and his eyes reached mine, and his lips moved, telling me something. His words were left behind as my consciousness smacked back into my body.
CHAPTER 9
WILLOW
I stopped in the common room after leaving my domain, needing a break from all the events that had taken place. I was overwhelmed; everything was unfamiliar and the stress was astounding. Curling up in the corner of the sofa, I cradled a small pillow to my midsection. It was a small comfort, but one I needed.
Across from me, the fireplace blazed a husky glow against the rose quartz it had been carved into. The small embers glistened off of the surface to create the illusion of a shimmering light throughout the room. It was lovely, but made my exhaustion that much more obvious.
Fatigue washed through me, making me wonder what time it was. Since I had woken up this morning, I had been led from Hellhound to Hellhound without even a meal. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. My stomach aired its grievance at its mistreatment, but I ignored it the same way everyone else seemed to be doing.
Without clocks, or a window to show the sky, I had no way to tell if it was lunchtime, dinnertime, or bedtime. Death might be in a hurry for me to go through the change, but I needed rest or I was going to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.
On the floor next to the couch was a basket with blankets. I pulled a downy plum-colored Snuggie over me, rested my head against the pillow, and closed my eyes. I had barely begun to drift towards a warm slumber when a loud creak squelched any chance of resting that I had.
Using the back of the sofa as leverage, I pulled myself into a semi-sitting state to look over at the doors in the common room. When I had first seen them, they'd reminded me of guardians or prison guards; now they served as torturers. Their reckless clamor had torn through my peace and left me with a dour-faced Death.
The doors had mostly closed; only one was slightly open, held in Death's grip, as he stood facing me. He looked more casual than I was used to seeing him, as though he had just woken from a nap himself. His eyes were softer, his hair in disarray, and for once he wasn't dressed from head to toe in black. He was wearing a thin, white canvas shirt. It was mostly unbuttoned, showing his chest and abdomen, which led to pair of dark blue jeans and black leather shoes.
Death looked like a character from a romance novel, not one that the heroine would fall in love with, but instead the character with a dark past who always ended up losing the girl. His was the personality that had too many walls built around it, barriers that kept away a chance at anything more than existence. His eyes were soulful, carrying a burden I hadn't thought he cared to carry. His posture was proud, commanding, but stifled by the weight of a world that acknowledged him but never allowed him to be a part of it. He was feared, revered, but never loved. He was the person that everyone loved to hate or hated to love, but was never given a happy ending. Instead he was faced with torment and loneliness.
I recognized these things in him because I had seen the same characteristics in Savannah when she’d first come to our coven. The main difference between Death and Savannah was that S had one life to live. She accepted that and put everything she had into it. She never took it for granted, but pushed through her own insecurities to find something tangible. Death had too many lives to endure, but knowing he had all the time in the world made it impossible to live in the moment.
Death's stoicism flared up, leaving me to wonder if the glimpse I had caught of his inner shell had been a hallucination. Did the shadows behind his eyes mean he was worried that I had seen beneath his mask? Death was many things, but could he have a soul that was more human than monster?
What was a monster? The definition varied based on who was asked. A child would use the most simple definition, a bad man or someone evil. Savannah's definition was based on her childhood experiences, someone who committed an unforgiveable offense against an innocent. Izzy would probably use a single word, Demon. Looking at Death, I realized that I had treated him the way I would if someone were the essence of evil, but did I truly believe that he was?
Death firmly closed the doors behind him, as if warning me away from what I assumed were his chambers. He didn't move away from the doors, but leaned his head back against them and crossed his arms. A duel of silence enclosed around us.
"I'm sorry about my meltdown earlier. It was rude of me."
Death seemed taken aback by my apology, but the look quickly vanished into the same hollowness of his vulnerability. Lifting away from the door, he crossed to stand near the couch with only small cushions separating us. It was intimidating to crane my head to look up at him, and extremely aggravating to find a satisfied grin plastered to his face. I wanted to wipe it off and take back my apology, but knew that would be childish.
"In my defense, you did take me away from everything and everyone I have ever loved. You're planning to change me into a completely different species without giving me any specifics, and you are too arrogant for your own good."
Death's smile vanished, replaced with a thinning mouth which angled down at each end. "You're not very apt at apologies."
"You're not so great yourself. At least I know how to say I'm sorry. You just expect to be forgiven." With emphasis, I continued. "Oh wait, you're Death. You never need to apologize, use manners, or treat others as equals. I think your ego is inflated and you need a reality check. You are not lord and master of all. Maybe you should try treating everyone with more respect." Directing a sheepish look his way, I then began paying special attention to the pattern of the blanket I held in my clutches.
With a bluntness that I was forced to give him credit for, Death replied, "Respect is earned." Then, shockingly, he said, "I'm sorry that you have to be here. I'm sorry I made you choose and you had to give up everything. I'm sorry I gave you an ultimatum, but I'm not sorry that you're here. The world relies on the Hellhounds. They are all that stands betw
een humanity and evil. We need you, and sometimes that means I have to ignore what a single girl wants to put everyone else first." His eyes became shaded. "I'm sorry you're stuck with someone like me, but don't take it out on your sisters. This is just as difficult for each of them."
Death turned, opening the doors in the common room, and left me gaping like a fish. My mouth was wide with so many apologies, but mostly with the realization that I had been selfish.
I twisted out of the blanket and tossed the pillow back onto the couch. When I reached the doors, I pulled without success. They wouldn't open. Stubbornly, I placed one foot against the wall as leverage and pulled harder. Still, the door remained fused shut, as if it had never opened.
"You're not going to get in that way." I turned to find Scrye watching me, her eyes hauntingly white.
"How do I get in then?" I blew a stray strand of hair away from my eyes. She laughed, moving forward to deftly place the hair back into the braid. "It's a door. How else am I supposed to get in?
Scrye furrowed her eyebrows, glancing warily at the doors, before addressing me. "The doors are more decorative than anything. We all have control over our domains. You only pass if he wants you to." She shrugged. "He doesn't like any of us being in there. I've never been invited – most of us haven't. I think he allowed Echo in once or twice, but only because she had a good reason."
"So, how exactly do I get permission?"
Scrye shook her head the way a mother would when asked a silly question. "You ask." She gestured to the door. "Have you ever had anyone visit your home? Don't they knock and speak through the door? Honestly, it may look different here, but many of the same rules apply."
She retreated the way she came. I looked at the door disdainfully and knew I was about to feel completely ridiculous for talking to a pair of doors. Especially when they looked too thick for sound to penetrate.