Dark Destiny (38 page)

Calmly raising his right hand, Michael caught the blade in his hand with ease. The cutting edge opened a tiny knick in the center of his palm. From the cut, a crackle of bright white lightning burst out and enveloped the scythe, snaking down the shaft into Cole’s hands. He attempted to let go of the scythe, but his hands seemed glued to it.

Michael spoke again, his voice cold and forceful. “Why would we need to honor any kind of deal with you? A weak, gutless human who would betray the Horseman?”

He edged closer. “Besides, what crime could
you
have committed that would warrant
my
attention?”

The lightning launched off the scythe and sent Cole hurtling backwards, colliding with the vanity, destroying the sink and shattering the mirror. Michael glared at the broken man, still crackling with electricity and smoldering with flames. Burst pipes spurted water into the air, mercifully quenching the fire on Cole’s body and drenching the tiled floor.

As the last few volts of energy dissipated, Michael spoke again, looking over the scythe still in his hand. “Of all possible armaments, the Horseman chose this ungainly thing?”

Michael shook his head and let out a heavy sigh, tossing the weapon to the soaked man gasping on the floor.

“Would you like to try again?” he said with a mocking smile. Without waiting for a response, Michael turned his back and strode away, coming to a halt next to the sleeping Revenant. Raphael appeared next to him, a wide smile on his face.

“No,” said Cole, his voice a barely audible whisper. He tried to drag himself to his feet, only to fall back down to one knee. Mustering everything he had left, he forced himself upright and made one last desperate rush at Michael, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Before he made it halfway to his intended target, Gabriel
blinked
in his path. In a single, swift motion, Gabriel’s hand shot out, smashing into the bridge of Cole’s nose and lifting him off the ground. Gabriel swung him headfirst into the wall, forcing him to drop his scythe, which shimmered away moments before it hit the floor. The angel let out a satisfied snort and drove Cole’s head into the floorboards right next to where his weapon had almost fallen. For good measure, Gabriel stomped his foot on Cole’s face, driving his head even deeper into the ground.

Grimacing at his brother’s zest for destruction, Raphael said, “I think that’s enough. He’s done. Let’s just get this over with.”

Gabriel scoffed. “He asked for it.”

He shifted his attention to Michael, who was standing quietly over the still sleeping girl. “What now?”

Gazing down at Sara with cold eyes, Michael waved a hand at his brothers. “Clean this place up. We were never here.”

Raphael nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

He pointed at Cole, lying motionless on the floor. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“The traitor human deserves everything he’s gotten and more,” Michael said. “Leave him outside in the ditch.”

Gently brushing a strand of hair off Sara’s face, his expression softened. “It’s okay, small one. You’re safe now.”

His eyes glistened. “We’ve come to take you home.”

Wednesday, 7:01 am (Purgatorium)

At the mouth of the alley, a haze of heated air rippled as Sebastian
blinked
. The second his foot hit the pavement, an ominous sensation swelled within him. Here, watching him in the shadows, was a dark and dangerous presence. It was heavy, so much so that he felt it pushing him back. Maybe trying to keep him away, intimidate him. A hiss came. Then another. On his right, animated shadows flickered with jerky movements. His eyes shifted from one shadow to another, penetrating the darkness.

Too many to count.

Stalkers completely filled the area, their true forms hidden in the shadows. Several pairs of yellow glowing eyes opened wide and then narrowed. Others blinked. A gaping maw of razor sharp teeth snapped open and shut. All of the eyes gazed straight at him.

He took a step forward, daring them to come, but they retreated farther into darkness. Sebastian furrowed his brow, watching their shadowy forms slither away.

Pressing forward, he ventured into what he called “Jared Alley”. It was the same as he remembered it. Burnt wood smell. Charred brick walls. On the ground, a dense, shimmering mist that drifted into the walls.

“Jared?” he called out.

Broken and decaying brick lined the alley. On one side, bricks had fallen away, leaving behind a twisted checkerboard, but instead of black squares there were holes of pure darkness. Sebastian thought perhaps Jared would be flattered that he’d dubbed this place Jared Alley.

Sebastian couldn’t even remember how long Jared had been in Purgatorium. A day? Two? So much had happened to him since the moment of his best friend’s death. And what had he been doing this whole time? Obsessing over Sara? Fighting Archangels? None of that mattered. Right now, he needed to apologize to his friend, to make things right.

“I should have come sooner,” Sebastian said out loud to himself. “But I got wrapped up in my own drama. I’m so stupid. Who knows what Jared has been through?”

He pushed the feeling of guilt down, but it still weighed heavily in his stomach. Like a knife twisting in his gut. He only hoped Jared would forgive him.

Bringing forth his scythe into creation, Sebastian sliced forward, cutting into Jared’s haunt. The air ripped apart in a slit as if it were a canvas made of light. Sebastian stepped inside the haunt, listening to his boots ring off the concrete as he continued forward. It was the same alley, but slightly different
—
an exact replica of where Jared had died. No decaying walls, no broken bricks or holes of pure darkness. Even the donut shop, the last place where Jared probably ever ate, sat perfectly intact.

“Jared? It’s me, Sebastian.”

A deathly silence ensued.

“It’s time to go home. Your sister is waiting.”

Sebastian walked deliberately to the very center, his senses venturing out into every corner of the alley. Nothing in this place was hidden to him. But no Jared.

He extended his awareness into every other haunt, searching farther.

And then he knew.

Reaper, your friend Jared—

“He’s not here, I know. This doesn’t make any sense. Could he have been destroyed by Michael’s blast?”

If that were so, his haunt would cease to exist.

“If he’s not here, then where is he?”

Wednesday, 7:03 am (Purgatorium)

Jared sat on a bar stool, one elbow propped on the bar, his face buried in his hand. In front of him sat a glass filled with a dark liquid. Picking it up, he took a sip and grimaced, followed by a small shimmy of his head. Disgusting. But what else did he have to do? Innumerable sips later, he placed the empty glass back on the bar and exhaled. “How can the dead drink this stuff?”

He was getting a headache obsessing over the events of the last couple of hours. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Sebastian soaring off into sky, abandoning him.

After Sebastian left, Jared returned to his haunt and watched for several hours as Purgatorium reconstructed itself. It was a haunting scene, floating pieces of city in a vast void of dark brown and black clouds. Below it was a vortex that led into a great abyss. At first, the noise outside his haunt had sounded as if he were standing in the eye of a hurricane. After several hours, it settled to what sounded like a light wind.

Outside his haunt, Purgatorium seemed to be mostly reconstructed. Jared had been bored, so he decided to go to the only place in Purgatorium he knew about: Morose’s bar. When he got there, he’d found the place empty except for a bartender. The other Souls were probably still in their haunts sleeping, or crying maybe, or having breakdowns, or whatever they did in their spare time.

He sat, ordered a drink, and replayed the events that had led him here. He couldn’t stop thinking about the whisper. At the moment of his death, he’d heard it—a whisper. It had been so soft, so gentle. And familiar. He’d ignored it then. There’d been so much else going on. He hadn’t recognized the voice then. It wasn’t until after, not until he’d been sitting in his haunt obsessing over everything, that he understood whose voice it had been.

His mother’s. She’d been calling to him, welcoming him with her love. Her warmth. And he’d ignored her.

When Jared and Hope were five, his mother was killed in a horrible accident. It hadn’t been a drunk driver—just terrible luck. Simple mechanics. The brakes failed on the car that had slammed into her. The insurance company paid a generous out of court settlement, but Jared and Hope’s father went into a slump that he never came out of. Every month, he gave Jared and Hope an allowance, an excuse not to be a father. He’d never yelled, never abused them. Never cared.

Jared was okay with his dad not being a part of their lives. When he heard his mother’s voice again, he realized he’d forgotten what it felt like to be loved. Then, Sebastian had snatched him away. Robbed him of that opportunity, of that love, and condemned him to this dark, haunted world. And why?

When he had spoken to Morose, the great leader had told him he could see behind Jared’s tragic eyes. Morose had said that he liked him and promised to help in any way he could. Mr. Zombie had said Morose could be very helpful in Purgatorium, maybe grant power to any Soul under the rank of Shade, and all it would cost you is a favor here and there.

Jared trusted all of what Morose had said. He had no problems working for the guy if he needed to. What was a favor here and there anyway? Especially when Morose had told him the truth about Sara—no, not Sara—the
Revenant
.

Jared allowed his eyes to glaze over as he ran his finger around the rim of his empty glass. That’s when he noticed it. His finger. He blinked a few times, thinking his vision was going, but no. His finger had turned ash gray. What had Mr. Zombie said about decay? Since Sebastian had left him here, he was starting to lose hope. He would be in Purgatorium forever.

And now he was starting to decay . . .

“Great,” Jared muttered.

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking?” came a voice from behind him. He recognized it as belonging to Mr. Zombie.

“It’s vanilla-chocolate-cherry-cheese-Dr. Pepper. Apparently, because I was under age when I died, it’s the
only
thing they will serve me. Now and evermore.” Jared violently threw the glass at the mirrored backsplash.

Both the glass and the mirror shattered on impact. Jared looked around for the bartender, waiting to be yelled at, but all was quiet. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t care. Likely the latter.

“Oh, by the way, I put it on your tab,” Jared said.

Pulling out a stool a couple of feet down the bar, Mr. Zombie took a seat and retrieved a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He took a puff and the cigarette lit instantly. “It’s fine. Where’s the bartender?”

“Who knows? He went in the back a while ago. Something about making shrimp.”

“Only God can make shrimp,” Mr. Zombie replied with a smile.

Jared raised his eyebrows at Mr. Zombie. “You can cut the act. The Master told me everything, okay? You can drop the,” Jared waved his finger over at Mr. Zombie, “veil or whatever you call it.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“So, you know about the
—
”

“Revenant? Yup. And Sebastian. And most importantly,
you
.”

Mr. Zombie shrugged. “I guess you’re right. I don’t need to keep this.”

He snapped his fingers. Glittering light sparked around his body, which fell in a crumpled heap onto the filthy bar floor and disappeared. What had Morose called her? The Witch of the Seals. She was something of the Seals anyway. And it didn’t start with a W. It started with a B.

She sat primly on the bar stool and Jared took his time appraising her appearance. Pretty face, black knee high boots, fishnet stockings, leather jacket, highlights that matched those familiar eyes. Violet. Striking. Man, he hated her.

Amber glanced at the smoldering cigarette in her fingers and flicked it. “Ew. Nasty things.”

She spat on the floor and crossed one leg over the other, inspecting her still mismatched nails.

“Classy,” Jared said.

“Thanks,” she said, paying him no mind.

“Why did you smoke that anyway? It’s a disgusting habit.”

Amber’s gaze ventured from her nails over to his face. “When I take on the appearance of a host, my spells always bring over some of the host’s characteristics. Annoying, actually. Like the bad puns.”

“And . . . I regret asking.”

“Oh, don’t be that way. Besides, I’m here to help.”

Jared scoffed. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, why?”

“Seriously? You’re actually offering to help me?” he griped. “Whatever.”

“Oh, dear,” Amber said. “You’re in one of
those
I see.”

“Guilty!”

Amber sighed. “Jared, you’re falling into a funk. You can’t let it happen. Besides. I have a present
—
”