FIFTY-SIX
Vishous had a plan and not a lot of time. As he sent himself up to the Scribe Virgin’s private quarters, he was fully armed, and sporting two empty two-liter plastic bottles of what had been Mountain Dew.
Evidently, there had been a Saved by the Bell marathon on during the day and Lassiter had had to keep himself awake for it.
As V penetrated the marble walls, he went right over to the fountain. Yes, he could have used a pair of sterling-silver water pitchers from the dining room. Or crystal flower vases from the second-story sitting area. Or gold urns from the foyer.
But hey, he had rinsed these bitches out in the billiards room before he’d made the trip, and what he needed were containers that held water. There was no reason to turn this into a ceremonial thing.
Getting on his knees, he unscrewed one of the green lids and pushed the open bottle under the surface of the water. The fill-up went well, air bubbles coughing out as the level rose inside the Dew. When things were done, he outed it, capped, and put the thing aside.
Repeat.
The plan was to take this water back to the Brotherhood mansion and get an assembly line going down in the cellar, in the room where he made his daggers. The Chosen who were willing to eyedropper hollow-tipped bullets for him so he could seal them with lead caps would undoubtedly be more physically comfortable up here, but he didn’t like the idea of the war invading this sacred space—
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, sure as if a hand brushed his nape.
Stiffening, he sent his instincts out—and knew that there was someone right behind him.
Knew instantly who it was, too.
Closing his eyes, he shook his head and sagged with defeat. “It’s you. Isn’t it. She picked you.”
As the second bottle finished filling up, he took the thing out of the fountain and slowly turned around.
Lassiter, the fallen angel, stood with his feet planted on the white marble floor. His entire body was lit from within, and stretching out on either side of his torso was a magnificent pair of iridescent wings.
Glowing as he was, he was one of the most beautiful sights Vishous had ever seen, as awe-inspiring as a mountain range, as arresting as a perfect sunset, as broad as the ocean, as high as the heavens.
He was too much to be contained in any kind of form, and V blinked, not because things were necessarily that bright, but because the signals that his optic nerves were sending to his brain were too strong, too many, too resonant.
Lassiter’s voice echoed throughout the Sanctuary even though he did not speak out loud. I bring greetings from your mahmen. Rise, and know that you are blessed in this life as you are her son and you are worthy.
V got to his feet with a mind of shutting those blessings down, fuck him very much. But then he thought of Jane and canned the anger.
Still, he felt compelled to say “I don’t believe in my mother.”
Belief is not required.
For some reason, that unsettled him. Maybe because it meant someone else was driving destiny’s bus—but like he hadn’t already figured that out?
“She doesn’t exist anymore. She’s out.”
That which is not alive cannot die. It is as time, extant and all around whether acknowledged or not.
Abruptly, and against his will, the shit came out, the fucking shit that he didn’t want to admit, even to himself…the cocksucking shit that had been bothering him ever since he had come up here and found that dumb-ass, emo missive she’d left for him and him alone:
“Why wasn’t it me?” he heard himself ask. “If I am her son, why didn’t she pick me to succeed her?”
It was the height of narcissism to even wonder such a goddamn thing in passing. To admit it to anyone, much less Lassiter, FFS, made V feel like a candidate for a bitch slap across the crybaby.
Lassiter reached out a hand, but he didn’t touch V. He stopped about two inches in front of Vishous’s chest.
Even though there was no direct contact between them, a warm feeling lit off inside V’s chest and grew in intensity until it suffused his entire being—and him, being him, he thought…man, it was going to suck to come down from this high.
Except then…he realized that the warmth had a pitch, like a song would, a hum that was specific to one and only one entity he had ever been around.
This was his mahmen, he realized. This sense of love enveloping him was…her.
She has not disappeared. She is still with us and with you. Lassiter lowered his hand. And she did not pick you not because she didn’t love you, but because she did.
Even though Lassiter wasn’t rocking the glow-motional connection anymore, Vishous could still feel the sensation deep in his bones. And as he pictured the Scribe Virgin’s diminutive figure in her black robes, with that white light shining out from under her hem, the warmth re-intensified.
She is in all of us. She missed her creation up here, and when she freed herself, she was able to reenter us. She is not gone—she is back where she started and happiest for it.
At that moment, a movement out of the corner of V’s eyes drew his attention to the colonnade in front of his mother’s bedroom suite—and when he saw what it was, he was both utterly astonished…and completely unsurprised.
It was a black cat. But not just any black cat.
It was Beth, the Queen’s black cat. The one she had brought with her to the mansion all those years ago.
As V’s stare met its glowing green one, a sacred aura surrounded the feline, and he realized She had been with them all along. From the very beginning, She had been with them…right in their midst without them even knowing it.
With a feeling of inevitability and peace, the last of V’s puzzle pieces fell into place, the hole that had been vacant filled with an answer to a question he hadn’t been aware of asking for all these years.
Yes, Lassiter said, in spite of her faults, she always loved you and your sister, and now she can show you. And she always loved her creation, too—and now she can show that as well. Therefore, close your eyes and see what is to come as only you can. You must guide the end, do you understand? You shall guide the end—
“—Vishous? V, wake up, sweetheart—”
V bolted upright in the dark, sweat pouring off his face, chest screaming in suffocation, heart pounding.
Only Jane’s voice and scent were able to reach him through his panic, and even then, he wasn’t sure what in the hell was going on.
Throwing out a hand, he grabbed on to her and held her close—and as he felt her arms tighten on him, he started to shake. But it was only a dream, he told himself. What he’d just seen was only a dream—a weird, fucked-up contortion of him having had a late day, and Lassiter-binge-watching TV in the billiards room, and finally the carbonara served at Last Meal.
“I’m okay,” he said into Jane’s soft, fragrant neck. “I’m all right…”
“You’re just fine. Shhh…”
She stroked his hair and his shoulders, soothing him until he released the tension in his body. When he finally went limp, he collapsed back onto the pillows and urged her on top of him.
“What were you dreaming about?” she asked.
The images that came to him were too disturbing, so he shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t…I can’t think about it.”
“Okay. That’s all right.”
“What time is it?”
There was the sound of covers rustling as she twisted around to see the clock by her side of the bed. “Almost six p.m. We’ll both be late if we don’t get up soon.”
“Can we just lie here for a little bit?”
“Absolutely.”
V tried to close his eyes, but that was not a good idea as it just brought the strangeness back. Then again, open and in the pitch-black didn’t work, either.
Willing the lights in their bedroom on, he was instantly calmed further. Everything was just so prosaic and as-it-should-be that context came easily—and in the right direction. All was well and normal.
Just a dream.
He looked at Jane. “I love your face.”
“I love yours, too.” She smiled. “And you’re most handsome when you just wake up.”
V leaned and kissed her, and the next thing he knew he was mounting her and penetrating her sex with his own. Which was even better than the lights coming on, he decided as he began to pump, the pleasure wiping away the dregs of whatever that weirdness had been.
As he started to orgasm, and his female came along with him, he turned his head—
Through the open doorway into the bathroom, he saw that there were two Mountain Dew bottles sitting by the sinks, both filled to the very top, their labels facing out toward him.
“Damn it,” he muttered as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Sure, that shit about his mom was fine. But Lassiter, it appeared, was the race’s new boss.
Great. Nothing like putting a five-year-old behind the wheel of a car and giving the little shit the car keys.
Big ol’ angel wingspans aside, the ride, which had already not been all that smooth, was about to get bumpier than a motherfucker.