With All My Soul (29 page)

“You won’t even get a shot at them,” I said, and Avari
laughed.

“I may not understand emotions like love and compassion, but I
can anticipate their results, little
bean sidhe.
Human heartstrings function like a marionette’s strings if properly manipulated.
They will come for you because they value your company. Just like you came for
your father.”

Leave it to a hellion to define love as “valuing” someone’s
company.

As for his actual point...

“Ms. Cavanaugh’s friends and family are under my sworn
protection for the duration of our arrangement.” Ira hadn’t been pleased with
that particular clause when he’d agreed to it, but now pleasure echoed in his
voice, as his announcement produced Avari’s rage. “Even if they come for her, I
cannot let you take them.”

That was my fail-safe. If my plan worked, my friends and family
would never try to rescue me because—thanks to Levi’s lie—they thought I was
truly gone. They thought my soul had been recycled and that I was finally
resting in peace.

But just in case one of them figured it out—Tod had the best
chance because of his subconscious memory and because he worked with Levi—I had
Ira. And Ira, as far as I knew, was the only being in existence who could stop
Avari from doing what he did best. And Avari obviously knew it.

The sound that burst from the greed hellion’s mouth was unlike
anything I’d ever heard. It was a roar of outrage. A bellow of fury that crashed
over and through me so thoroughly my bones quivered and my teeth clacked
together, completely beyond my control.

Ira seemed to swell with the sound. He took it in, sucking it
from the very air like a sponge absorbing water, until Avari realized he was
feeding his new nemesis and bit the roar off with a painful-sounding
gurgle-growl.

But that wasn’t the end of his rage. Though he probably had no
idea, that was only the very beginning of what he would eventually feed Ira, as
payment by proxy for the deal the hellion of rage and I had struck.

“Well played, little fury,” Ira said, loud enough for Avari to
hear, even if his ears were ringing like mine were. “Hellion rage is not as pure
and satisfying as that of a mortal, but what it lacks in quality, it makes up
for in quantity. This rage will burn within him for decades.”

And that was just the tip of the anger-iceberg.

“You’re paying him with my wrath?” the hellion of greed
demanded, and yet more fury leaked out with his words, a verbal appetizer for
Ira.

“Yes.” In part. And I was well aware that Avari’s anger would
not improve my treatment at his hands. But there was nothing I could do about
that, so I tried not to think about it. “Let’s talk terms.”

“You surrender. Your father goes home. Those are my terms.”
Avari was more furious than I’d ever seen him. More furious than I could ever
have imagined. Ice grew beneath his feet, spreading slowly down the steps and
over the sidewalk toward us, and he didn’t even seem to see it.

“That’s the general idea, but it does me no good to free my
father from you if you’re just going to go after him or someone else I love
later.” And he’d do it, after my deal with Ira expired. “With that in mind, I
have two demands. If you turn down either one of them, I will walk away from
this deal.” He didn’t look like he believed me. I didn’t give a damn. “First, we
both agree that in exchange for my immortal soul, you will free my father.
Immediately.”

“Agreed.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Avari was
rolling featureless eyes at me. “In fact, that is the offer
I
presented to
you.
”

Yes. But I needed his offer to me to stand
separately—officially—from my real demand.

“Good. Second, I want your word that once I’ve surrendered, you
will never again attempt to contact or hurt any member of my family or any of my
established friends, in any way, shape, or form, personally or through any other
agency acting on your behalf.”

Ira had helped me with the phrasing. Based on Avari’s
still-escalating expression of fury—he was nearly speechless—the wrath demon
didn’t regret offering me that little bit of assistance at no additional
charge.

Avari growled through clenched teeth, and the familiar—and very
human—demonstration of his anger almost pleased me. “For what duration?”

What part of “never again” did he not understand?

I propped both hands on my hips, pretending to think it over.
“How long do you plan to keep my soul?”

“As long as I like. The blink of a hellion’s eye stretches well
beyond a mortal’s understanding of the passage of time, and I intend to enjoy
the torment of your soul for much longer than that.”

“So, forever, at least from a ‘mortal’s understanding’?” I
said. “Is that a reasonable assumption?”

“Depending on your definition of ‘reasonable,’ yes.” He looked
hesitant to admit that. Suspicious.

“Well then, I think ‘forever’ is reasonable in this instance as
well. You will have nothing to do with my friends and family,
forever,
beginning the moment I surrender to you.”

“No.” Avari seemed to take a perverse pleasure in that one
word.

“No deal, then.” He started to object, and I spoke over him.
“Why should I give myself to you to save my father if you’re just going to go
after my friends and family later? That’s not me saving my father—that’s me
delaying his torture and inevitably painful death. I’m not going to sell my own
soul for anything less than the absolute freedom—from
you
—of everyone I love.” My heart thundered within my chest. My
pulse was the fevered race of fear through my veins as I turned to Ira to say
the words that would either pull Avari into our trap or trigger the collapse of
everything I’d lied, stolen, and negotiated for. “Let’s go.”

He nodded triumphantly, virtually glutted on Avari’s rage, and
we started to turn.

“Wait!” Avari roared at my back, and the sound rolled over me
like an arctic gust, raising chill bumps the length of my body even as it threw
me forward. I stumbled to keep from falling, grinning the whole time. I could
practically feel his greed, at just the
thought
that
some other hellion might make off with the prize he’d been chasing for
months—which obviously didn’t feel like a “blink of the eye” at the moment.
“Fine. I agree,” he said, and the words sounded like icicles shattering on
concrete. “Once I take possession of your soul, I will have no further contact
with your friends or family members, directly or indirectly. From now, until the
end of my own existence, should that day ever arrive.”

I glanced up at Ira. “Does that about cover it?”

“I believe it does.” His black orb eyes shined. “And that means
this is goodbye, little fury.”

My pulse raced out of control, flushing my system with fear and
dread. Panic tripped in my chest, and my heart skipped one beat, then another.
My hands tingled, and I could no longer feel my feet. “Don’t forget what you
promised....”

“Like it or not, I am a hellion of my word. We all are.” He
shot an amused look at Avari, who seemed to hate the hellion of wrath with an
all-new passion. “One more kiss for the road?”

I nodded, and Ira leaned down to kiss me one more time, in
front of three other hellions and assorted creepy-crawlies that had gathered to
watch, no doubt waiting for the chance to grab a scrap of flesh or a chip of
bone should one be tossed their way.

But that kiss wasn’t just a goodbye between me and Ira, who was
only playing the part of my friend because I was paying him. That kiss was a
vital part of my deal with the hellion of wrath.

This time when his lips met mine, he inhaled and warmth seemed
to flow from my body, pulled through my throat, then from my mouth into his. A
bitter cold remained in its absence, and suddenly I couldn’t
remember...something.

There was something I’d known a moment earlier, but
couldn’t...quite...recall. Whatever it was, it was important. So important it
had to be removed before Avari could find it in my head, when he took me
apart.

And now it was completely gone.

Ira stepped back and licked his lips, and more ice spread
across the ground toward us from beneath Avari’s feet. “Your father is waiting,”
he said, and little crystals of ice seemed to fall from his words.

Greed is a cold emotion; wrath is white-hot. Stuck between
them, I felt like an icicle on fire.

“Fine.” My head spun, and my stomach cramped. Avari had told me
months ago that in the Netherworld, my existence could stretch into eternity,
but I’d never imagined that my eternal existence would belong to
him,
much less that I would give it to him of my own
free will.

But I had no other option. Nothing else would protect my
friends and family, and if I’d learned anything about Avari over the past year,
it was that he would not stop hunting us until he got what he wanted.

Until he got me.

“It has to be your choice,” he reminded me, and I nodded. I had
to agree to stay. I had to give him my soul.

I took in a deep breath, more out of habit than any real need
for air. Then I said the words that had been rolling around in my head for the
past couple of hours.

“You’ll let my dad go if I give you my soul?”

“Yes.”

“And beginning from the moment you take possession, you’ll
never again try to contact anyone I care about, forever and ever, amen?”

“This redundancy is exasperating, Ms. Cavanaugh.”

“Just say it.”

He growled in frustration, and Ira chuckled. “Yes. Beginning
the moment I take possession of your soul, I will never again attempt to contact
your friends and family for any reason whatsoever.”

I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed the massive lump in my
throat to keep from vomiting. “Fine. My soul is yours.” My world changed in that
moment. It...darkened. Narrowed. Spiraled toward infinite despair. “Come get it
before I change my mind.”

Avari’s hand closed around my arm. Belphegore and Invidia
released my father. The instant they let him go, his eyelids began to flutter.
Ira disappeared from my side and appeared at my father’s, holding him up.

“Kaylee?” At first, my dad looked as confused as he sounded.
Then he blinked, and horror came into focus in his expression as the Netherworld
came into focus around him. He looked at me, then at Avari. Then at the demon’s
hand around my arm. “No! Kaylee, no!”

Tears filled my eyes for the millionth time in the past four
days. “This is the only way, Dad.” My hands shook. My teeth chattered. My entire
body seemed to be
convulsing
with fear and dread.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t find some other way.”

I wanted to tell him not to worry about me. That I’d be fine.
But that wasn’t true. I wouldn’t be fine. Avari would make sure of that.

“No!” My dad tried to stand, but he was still too weak.
Confused. He didn’t seem to realize Ira was holding him up.

“You’re safe now. Avari can’t touch you—any of you.” And they
were under Ira’s protection. That much I remembered, but the rest of my deal
with the hellion of wrath was... It was
gone.

Terror furled through me at that fresh realization. What if I’d
gotten something wrong? What if I hadn’t covered all the bases? It was too late
now. I couldn’t even remember the details. I’d have to trust myself. I’d have to
trust Ira, as much as any hellion could be trusted, but that was really just
trusting myself to have made sure he gave his word.

“Kaylee!” Now my father was crying, and Avari let me watch.
Avari
made
me watch, because my pain was already
feeding him.

“Make him forget!” I shouted at Ira, and only once I’d said the
words did I remember that he had to. I’d negotiated for that.

Ira put one hand over my father’s eyes and whispered something
into his ear. Something I couldn’t hear and could no longer recall the specifics
of, even though I’d made him promise to say it. To...do whatever he was
doing.

Then they were gone. Just like that, my father was gone. He was
safe.

I was alone in hell.

Avari spun me to face him. The world twisted around me, and
pain spread through my flesh at his touch, like his fingers were icicles
stabbing into me, spreading through my veins, freezing the blood in them. I
would have fallen to my knees if he wasn’t holding me up.

“I always knew this day would come, little
bean sidhe.
I knew that someday you would scream just for me. So
open your pretty little mouth, and let’s have a taste of forever.”

His hand clenched around my arm, and pain like a thousand
needles shot through every muscle in my body, driving away all thought and all
sight. My mouth dropped open, and a scream of agony ripped free from my throat,
shredding the soft tissues as it poured out of me.

Avari laughed, and I realized I heard him in my head, because
my ears were full of my own screaming. As he dragged me down the cracked
sidewalk, my toes scraping concrete, snagging on vines and thorns, his next
words seemed to take root in my brain, bypassing my ears entirely.

“Welcome to hell, Ms. Cavanaugh. Please make yourself at
home.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The pain begins, and within
seconds it consumes me. If I’ve ever felt anything else, I can’t remember
it. Maybe I loved, once. Maybe I was loved. Maybe I touched something soft.
Maybe I tasted something sweet. Maybe I heard something
beautiful.

There is none of that here.

Here is every face that ever taunted me.
Here is every heartbreak I’ve ever felt. Here is every doubt, every lack,
and every failure.

In hell, I am the sum of my
flaws.

This lasts for eternity, though I have no
idea how long eternity really is. There is no time here. A minute, a day, a
century, they are all measured by how much agony can be stuffed into a
single heartbeat.

I scream as my flesh burns and my organs
shrivel. My skin blackens and peels, and flakes of it fall to the floor,
like a rain of ashes. This must be hell’s version of snow. I’m horrified by
my own disintegration, but I never lose consciousness. He won’t let me miss
a moment of my own torture, and he leaves my throat intact, because my
screams are the soundtrack of his triumph, and somehow in hell I never lose
my voice.

What he wants most from me is screaming,
and I have no choice but to deliver.

Then, when there’s so little left of me
that I can’t recognize the charred, twisted remains of my own body, he puts
me back together so he can start from scratch, and there is no end to his
imagination or to the pain it inspires. I cannot think. I cannot breathe. I
cannot sleep. I can do nothing but suffer and scream, and here it becomes
clear that I deserve nothing more. He shows me that I’ve ruined every life I
ever touched, and I will spend eternity paying for every mistake I’ve ever
made. I will pay, and I will pay again, then I will pay some more, and
forever will come and go while I am still paying for sins I’ve long since
forgotten I committed.

He wants to know every part of me. Every
thought in my head and every cell in my body, and he seems to think that
taking me apart one piece at a time—one leg, one finger, one memory, one
thought—will show him how I feel things he can’t possibly understand. Things
like love and pity and compassion, few of which I can even remember, with my
own screams carving canyons through my mind.

But dissecting me won’t help. He will
never understand any human emotion that doesn’t feed his appetite for greed
or for suffering. Hellions don’t have that capacity. And when he figures
that out, his anger swells like the ocean tide until I’m afraid we’ll both
drown in it, and I know his fury should make me happy, for some reason I
can’t quite remember, but it doesn’t, because in this place, his anger only
means my pain. In fact, his pleasure means my pain, and his confusion means
my pain, and his very presence means my pain.

And then, when my pain finally begins to
bore him, hell changes, and I learn all new ways to suffer.

I remember me now. I remember who I was,
when I was something other than this. Other than agony given battered shape
and shrill voice.

I was a daughter. I was a cousin, a niece,
a classmate, a friend, a girlfriend.

I am none of that here, and the pain is
infinitely worse now that I know what I’ve lost.

He shows me what I’ve missed as I tumble
through eternity, banged and bruised and abraded by my own memories. He
shows me my friends. My family. He shows me that my attempt to save them has
brought them all to ruin.

Hazel eyes, twisting in pain.

Long, thin hair, streaked with
blood.

Black eyes flashing in fury, in
futility.

Tears trailing down pale
cheeks.

Grief and anger lead to violence, and
neglect, and relapse, and pain that has no end.

I haven’t freed them—I’ve sentenced them
to an existence of guilt and tribulations I’ve caused but cannot fix from
beyond the grave. And I am
so
far beyond the
grave now that the thought of being buried in a dark, quiet hole in the
ground feels like mercy.

He shows me that Emma is lost. She is
drowning in the suffering around her, and it takes over her mind until she
can’t think. Can’t form coherent sentences. This time when they lock her up,
I am not there to set her free. She sits in the corner of an empty room and
screams my name over and over. I am the only thought she can still express,
and the pain in her voice rips through my very center, shattering me into
bits too small for the king’s horses and his men to ever find, much less put
back together. And for no reason he will explain to me, Tod is not there. He
does not help her.

Where is Tod?

My captor shows me that Nash has escaped
Emma’s fate. He’s escaped everything, except for a saccharine euphoria and
the memories he lives in, convinced they are reality as his body wastes away
because he’s forgotten about food and rest and life. He pays for his high
with bits of himself, and remembered bits of me, and when those are all
gone, he pays with bits of Sabine, even as he pushes her away.

Months flow like water beneath the bridge
of their lives, and when she cannot
wakehimshakehimsavehim,
Nash finally lets it all go, and I cannot see the reaper who
comes for his soul, but I know Nash does not resist. He lets the last of his
life fade away while he rides on a vaguely pleasant fog, unaware that it is
dissolving beneath him until he crashes to the ground, to the floor of his
own bedroom, never to rise again. And for no reason I can understand, Tod is
not there. He does not help his brother.

Where is Tod?

Sabine does not go to Nash’s funeral. She
cannot look at him in his coffin, skin molded to the shape of his bones,
cheeks hollow, eyes sunken in dark wells carved out of his skull. But I
cannot look away.

I have done this, and I am not allowed to
forget that. I have led my first love to his ruin, and with him, so many
others fall.

Without Nash, Sabine has no reason
for...anything. No reason to care, to be careful, to exercise control. She
feeds to numb the pain, and in her wake the bodies pile up, but the police
don’t catch her until she lets them. Until she decides she has no place in
society and no right to freedom.

Then there is broken glass, stolen cash,
and handcuffs she doesn’t fight. Sabine stares through the bars every day,
alone in her private hell while the other prisoners shy away from her. She
doesn’t feed from them. She doesn’t feed from anyone, and I realize she’s
starving herself, just like Nash did. Soon she will be gone, and there will
be no one at her funeral because she is fear itself, and everyone who had
the capacity to love in spite of that fear is long gone.

My heart hurts when I realize that they
are gone—all three of them. Prisoner, patient, corpse, I have driven them
all to their destruction, to ends surely as painful as my own miserable
existence.

But even worse than the tragic ends is the
conspicuous absence. Where is Tod? Why can’t I see him?

When I realize I know what his absence
means, I pray for oblivion, but cognizance plays a pivotal role in today’s
torture. My mind is not allowed to wander....

And when my pain begins to bore him again,
hell changes again. And it never ends.

There are infinite variations, and I think
they will eventually numb me, because how can anyone hurt for as long as
I’ve been hurting, yet numbness never comes. Each revolution of torture
brings its own special brand of hell, and each is more agonizing than the
one before, and this goes on forever.

Years have passed, surely. Centuries,
maybe. I bruise, I bleed, I fall apart, I die, then I am born again, only to
suffer and fall anew, but the pain never becomes routine. It is always fresh
and new, welcoming me to an existence I cannot end.

I am hell’s phoenix, forever bursting into
flames only to be resurrected again in the next heartbeat so we can dance
this excruciating dance all over again.

I’ve forgotten my name. I cannot remember
who I am or where I’m from. I think I was born into this. There has never
been anything else. I am hell’s daughter, and my mind is as fractured as the
Nether-realm itself, twisted and torn. There are pieces of me everywhere,
and I cannot gather them fast enough. Parts are missing, surely. Memories.
Thoughts. Names. Places. They litter the ground and I cannot hold them all
together. I cannot hold myself together.

There is little left worth saving
anyway.

Light is pain.

Dark is fear.

The scent of burning flesh is seared into
my brain—what little remains of it—and I think that flesh is mine. Dinner is
served, and I am the main course, and still I scream.

Scars. Screams. Blood. Fire. Ice. These
are the pieces of me, crumbling between my fingers, and I can no longer
remember how they should fit.

I cower in the corner, in drifts of filth,
but I cannot hide. There is nothing left of me. What once intrigued him is
gone. Dead. Scorched beyond recognition, and I don’t know who or where or
why I am, but I know that my time is almost up. I have nothing left to give
him but my screams, and my throat is so, so tired.

His shadow falls over me.

Over the whole room. In the next instant,
I scream, and this time I am lost in the sound of my own madness.

* * *

“Kaylee.”

The voice came from inside my head, because my ears were too
full of my own screams to hear anything else.

My eyes opened, and I saw only shadows. A warm, hard hand
covered my mouth, and my screaming stopped. The sudden silence was profound.
Stunning. Startling.

Disorienting.

Echoes of past screams haunted me, spinning me on edge, hurling
me around inside my own head. Reality would not come into focus.

“Wake up, little fury. You’re going to miss all the fun.” The
hand pulled me by my arm, and reality tilted around me as I sat up. The world
assaulted me with light and color, sharp edges and cruel angles. Outside of my
dirty corner, the room flickered with hundreds of points of light—human fat,
crudely rendered, burning in bowls of curved bone.

The stench had made me sick at first—how long ago had that
been?—but now I couldn’t remember any other scent.

“Kaylee.” He stared at me through red-veined, black orb eyes,
only inches away.

My hands shook as I pushed myself across the floor, away from
him, cowering from those eyes, fleeing from memories I couldn’t bring into
focus.

He reached for me, and I flinched, then lashed out, swiping
with hands that had no claws. Words that had no power. “Don’t touch me!”

My voice was raw. My words were slushy. I hadn’t played with
consonants in...eternity?

“Whether you remember or not, we had a deal, little fury.” He
hauled me off the floor by one arm and I hung there, bare, filthy toes brushing
the dirty floor. “You can come willingly, or I will take you with as much force
as I like. Either way, I will be paid.”

Was this face different? I blinked, struggling to focus through
the pain in my shoulder as I dangled. Did I know this face, the way the flames
flickered in his black, black eyes and were shown on his crimson lips? Did it
matter? I knew his voice, but couldn’t remember how....

“Who are you?” I croaked. For that matter, who was I?
Where
was I? Why had the pain stopped?

He set me on the ground and laughed, exposing a tongue the
color of my own dried blood, and the sound rolled through me, drawing anger from
me like bubbles floating toward the water’s surface. “Today, I find myself in
the unlikely role of liberator, but this knight gallant does not work for free.
You
will
pay me for my troubles, or I will leave you
here to rot for eternity.”

“Pay?”
Troubles? Eternity?
Were his
words supposed to make sense?

“It’s just a kiss, little fury.” He slid one hand behind my
head and pulled me closer, and I shoved against his granite chest, fighting
unburdened by the rational certainty that I’d break my own bruised arms before I
could break his hold. “Shhh, it’s just a kiss.”

His mouth met mine, and my empty stomach churned. Then he
sucked my chapped, cracked lower lip into his mouth and his teeth sank into my
flesh. I screamed against his lips, and he devoured me whole, blood and outrage
as one.

But that wasn’t all he took from me. As he sucked at my mouth,
holding me in place in spite of worthless, wordless protest, my pain and fear
began to coil up from some unknown depth at my center, swirling through me and
into him in a roiling storm of suffering. Fire. Blood. Broken bones. Frozen
limbs. Torn flesh. Bruised skin. Skewered hope. Ruined mind. Shredded
reality.

I lost the torment infusing each excruciating memory as he
sucked them dry, like draining the flavor from a Popsicle of pain, and as he
swallowed the madness in each moment, older memories surfaced. Better times.
People I loved.

My name.

I am Kaylee. Cavanaugh. I am Kaylee
Cavanaugh.

I
was
Kaylee Cavanaugh, anyway,
until the bottom fell out of my world and I tumbled into hell.

He drank from my mouth, drawing things from deep inside me, and
with each second my pain and fear faded, leaving only thoughts I’d forgotten I
ever had. That, and a deep, scorching anger that burned in me unlike anything
I’d ever felt.