They say Death is peaceful.
Quiet.
A supposed reprieve from the strife and suffering that Life has so generously bestowed upon us.
I wanted to believe that. Sometimes at the risk of my own mortality. I wanted the Earth to swallow me up and nestle me in the downy-soft embrace of that promised paradise, freeing me of the rust and piss-stained shackles of poverty and abandonment. An afterlife devoid of pain and loneliness, full of light and love.
I wished for it as a little girl who hadn’t even lost her first tooth, or kissed her first boy. I wished for it as a young woman who had yet to have her first epic love.
I wished for Death the way I wished for a family. The way I wished to belong to someone—anyone—who would have me.
Death is a lie. A fallacy. Death is a fast-moving cancer that infects and destroys all it reaches. Just a touch is all it takes. Then it’s all you can taste…all you can smell.
It aches in my bones and rasps in my ears. Its mangled, spiny fingers scratch up my spine.
I feel Death all around me. Violent, retched, gruesome.
Death is here.
Hello, old friend. Glad you could make it.
I wake up in a room I don’t know, wearing clothes I’ve never seen before. I’m stiff, but not sore. My mouth is dry, but not uncomfortably so, and I don’t taste blood as I’d expect. A flavor that I’ve grown all too familiar with these past few months.
I blink against the dim light streaming from a nearby lamp, allowing my eyes to adjust to my unfamiliar surroundings. Vibrant jeweltoned fabrics, draped ceilings, and ornate gold lanterns, reminiscent of Moroccan opulence. Each detail is ecstasy to my eyes.
I sit straight up, faster than I intend to. The last thing I remember is…
That tiny, bare cell. Sitting with my father.
Pain.
The images come flying back to me with lightning speed, flashes of blinding light and sound and unbearable agony. I squeeze my skull between my palms, willing it to stop, or at the very least slow, so my sleep-addled mind can process it all.
I remember. I remember taking Rev’s hand. I remember feeling like my brain was being blended into pulp. I remember that voice…that voice that spoke a language that was too beautiful and melodic to be of this world, yet I could understand it. And I remember knowing that I was going to die.
And I did.
I’m dead. And this…this must be the afterlife.
“No,” I rasp, shaking my head. “No, this isn’t right. I wasn’t ready. I can’t be dead.” My heart pounding in my ears, I lower my shaky hands from my face and take a deep, steeling breath. “I can’t be dead.”
“And you’re not.”
The sound of her voice—so sultry, ebbing on erotic—is so jarring that I actually yelp. I hadn’t even heard her open the bedroom door, as if she merely manifested out of thin air.
The Watcher crosses the room with all the grace and allure of a belly dancer. She dons her usual floor-length sarong and bra top, both in shimmering peacock colors. Much more modest than the sheer, jeweled number she wore the night we met. The bright hues against her olive skin and jet black severe bob make her look like an exotic goddess. She comes to the side of the bed and sits down, her movements lithe yet deliberate.
Out of shock and confusion, I stutter, “What…what’s going on?”
“You’re not dead,” she smiles slyly, a secret on her fuchsia painted lips. In fact, you’re more alive than ever. But you know that, don’t you?”
She’s right. I do feel alive. I actually feel…good. Like myself, but not. More.
Still, I ask, “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been out for nearly three days, Eden. A lot’s transpired in your slumber.”
Three days? I’ve been asleep for three days?
How did I get here? And why am I here? Better yet…
“Where’s L?”
“He’s around,” she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He was here for some time, but he’s been otherwise occupied…all things considered.”
She’s purposely being dodgy, as if she wants my mind to go to that night of her party. She wants me to remember the way she was able to manipulate L into kissing her in front of me. Not just kiss her. Worship her with his mouth. As if the mere taste of her was an intoxicating tonic that made him forget that I even existed.
“What am I doing here, Irin?” I demand, the memory chilling my tone.
She laughs, flicking a lock of hair behind her ear, completely adorned with blue and green jewels. “Get dressed and come find out for yourself. Washroom is over there,” she nods towards a door across the room, “and drawers and closets are stocked. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“You’re welcome?”
“Yes. That’s what one usually says after they’re thanked for quite literally saving one’s ass. Didn’t those wretched public schools teach you anything?”
Stunned, I don’t respond. I don’t feel like playing games, especially the ones Irin has in mind. And I’m still stuck on the saving my ass part.
She reads the confusion on my face, wholly amused, and repeats, “Get dressed. The others will be just tickled that you’re awake.” She claps her hands and pulls them to her bountiful cleavage.
“Others?”
“Oh yes. They’ve been waiting.”
Without any more explanation, she rises to her feet and heads for the door, hips swaying with hypnotic seduction. I silently watch her overly theatrical exit, afraid of what truth could be waiting for me on the other side of that door, yet anxious to find out what happened to me.
I expect to be a bit shaky on my feet after being out for three days, but when I slide out of bed, I feel…solid. Strong yet feather-light. Even my walk feels different, as if someone else guides my bare feet across the cool hardwood.
Eager to assess myself in the mirror, I dash to the bathroom, fully expecting to see someone else’s reflection looking back. But it’s me. Bewildered brown eyes, a silver mess of bed hair, and chapped lips, but me all the same. But even with the evidence very clearly staring me in the face, something’s off. I feel it. Not wrong—no. Just…different.
Realizing I’m not going to get any answers by ogling myself, I step out of my borrowed silk nightie and turn to the claw-foot tub to draw myself a much-needed hot bath. The water is heaven on my skin, and I’m tempted to spend an hour luxuriating in the suds. But first…answers.
As promised, the wardrobe is stocked. However, Irin failed to mention that it was with only her clothing. Well, clothing that she would wear. Sarongs in every color, pattern, and fabric. Midriff-baring bra tops studded with jewels and lace, several sheer enough to expose nipple. Even Hell had better offerings than this.
I end up settling for a black sarong with a scalloped hem and a matching bell sleeve wrap top that hits above my navel. It’s the least obscene thing I could find, yet it still leaves me tugging at the shirt to cover more skin. I luck out with the shoes; Irin has so kindly included several pairs of satin flats, embellished with colorful beads and gemstones. Very bohemian and actually pretty damn comfortable.
After attempting to tame my matted hair, I leave the solace of the beautifully exotic room to seek out what I so desperately need: answers. I’ve never been in this part of Irin’s mansion, so I follow the hallway to a huge space outfitted with dozens of plush lounge chairs and giant pillows along the walls. There’s a stage and bar backlit with a soft red glow. I remember…this was the main area designated for the party I attended. And at the bar, propped on a stool, sits a drop dead gorgeous boy with bronze skin and dark, alluring eyes. He’s slender, almost feminine, yet fit. His lush, black hair hangs to his bare shoulders, accenting his straight, elegant nose and bowed lips. He wears only a short white sarong, barely long enough to cover his boy bits, and sandals. The young man, who can’t be older than seventeen, smiles brightly, and gracefully slides off the stool to approach me. When he stops before me, a smile still gracing his lips, I notice that his cheeks have been brushed with a gold shimmer, and he may be wearing eyeliner and mascara. That, or he has the thickest, most amazing lashes known to man.
“Hello, Eden,” he greets with an accent I can’t quite place. “I’m Kairo. It’s nice to see you again.”
Again? I’d like to believe I would have recalled this beautiful creature, but the last time I was here, we were surrounded by stunning men and women. Plus, I was impaired, to say the least.
“Irin asked me to show you the way to her quarters, just in case you don’t remember the way.”
He extends the crook of his willowy arm to me, and after a few seconds of quick contemplation, I hook my hand to his elbow. What else am I going to do?
“I hope you found your accommodations comfortable. And the clothes…did they fit ok? I had to guess,” Kairo comments, leading the way down an opposite hall.
“Yes. Thank you,” I reply quietly. I don’t have the heart to tell him that while the room is beautiful, I’m not a fan of the fashions.
“Irin tells me that you were held captive by the Alliance of the Ordained. I’m terribly sorry. I hope you weren’t injured.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good. From what I hear, they can be ruthless brutes. We don’t see their kind often. They find our way of life baseless and depraved.”
Judging by what I can remember from the last time I was here, I can understand why. Homosexuality, promiscuity, intoxication…something tells me Irin has no qualms about sins of the flesh under her roof. In fact, she encourages it.
Before I know it, we’re standing before a set of exquisitely carved doors, encrusted with gleaming red jewels and gold accents. And in the center of each door is an intricately designed eye made of sparkling black diamonds. The Watcher’s lair.
I take a deep breath. The last time I was here, I fled with humiliated tears burning at the backs of my eyes. I’m in no mood for Irin’s narcissism and mind fuckery, but she has information, meaning she has the upper hand. And according to her, she saved my life. And if I remember correctly, Irin never does anything without reciprocity. She’ll expect something in return. Something I’m not sure I’m equipped to offer.
Like the first time I faced these striking doors, they open on their own accord. And what I see nearly makes me break down right then and there.
They’re here. The Se7en.
Phenex, Jinn, Toyol, Andras, Cain, Lilith, and…
Legion.
My lips part and my mouth dries. The words are choked from my throat, and I struggle to swallow. He’s…so much more gorgeous than I remember. Like it hasn’t merely been three days, but weeks. Months. And although it’s impossible, he seems bigger, taller. Even his hair seems darker and those gray eyes brighter as he regards me closely, his lethal gaze crawling up and down my scantily clad body. He is every bit as brutally beautiful as I could imagine. And while I could stay frozen in place like this, our eyes locked in silent battle, my mind immediately goes to…
“My sister. Mary.”
“She’s here. Safe,” Cain answers from where he stands on Legion’s right. I realize that the Se7en are all either sitting or standing beside each other on one side of the room. As if they’re on guard. That’s when I look to the other side of the room, and that wretched knot of emotion throbs once again.
Sitting on the far end of the giant sectional is Crysis, looking a bit worse for wear with his arm in a sling and a bandage on his head. And next to him sits one of the most stunning creatures ever created.
“Niko?” I rasp through the golf ball sized lump in my throat.
“In the flesh, baby,” the young warlock smiles lazily, smoothing the lapels on his dark suit. He stands to make his way to me, and I meet him halfway, nearly crumbling into his chest when he wraps me in his arms smelling of sea and spice and an impending storm.
“I thought…I thought you were gone,” I murmur into his jacket, biting back sobs.
Niko kisses the top of my head. “Oh, you’ll have to do more than that to get rid of me.”
With glossed eyes, I look up at him, refusing to hide the vulnerability that shines so painfully within them. “How? And how did you get here?”
Niko pulls away only to wrap an arm around my shoulders. A hint of hesitation on his brow, he looks to Irin who says, “There’s much to discuss…much for you to learn. Come, Eden. Sit.”
I let Niko lead me to the sectional to a space between him and Irin. He handles me carefully, gingerly, as if I’m a life-size porcelain doll. Maybe he’s stronger here, and he’s afraid of hurting me.
I glance over to where the Se7en are stationed and notice that they each regard me carefully, yet none of them say a word. And Legion…three days ago, he had me pressed against a cold, damp brick wall in an alleyway as he pumped inside me just feet away from passersby. And now he acts as if I’m not even here. What happened? What am I missing?
“Eden, a lot has transpired in the past few days,” Irin begins. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, urging the foggy memories to come forth. “The Alliance. They took me…took us.” I whip my head to Crysis who sits slightly slumped forward on the far end of the couch. “What happened? My father…they captured you, too.”
Crysis nods, a lock of blonde hair falling over his eye. I notice that it’s puffy and yellowish with a fading bruise. “We were ambushed outside the diner. They knew somehow—the Alliance. They had been trailing me. I couldn’t block them. My abilities were nullified.”
“They hurt you.” Sorrow twists like a knife in my gut. Of course, they’d torture one of their own.
Crysis shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”
“You should’ve seen him when I found him,” Niko adds, his crystal blue eyes going wide. It must’ve been bad. Nephilim have accelerated healing and superhuman strength. What had they done to Crysis? The cuts and bruises, the busted up arm… I’ve never seen him look so mortal.
“How? How did you get here?” I ask Niko. Last I saw him, he was dying, and I was forced to abandon him to save myself. I’ll never forgive myself for leaving him. The image of him fading right before my eyes still haunts me.
Niko winks a mesmerizing blue eye. “Courtesy of you-know-who.”
“What else do you remember?” Irin interjects, steering the conversation. Apparently, she’s leading this little meeting, and playing catch-up is not on the agenda. Still not a peep from the Se7en, which is more than a little disheartening.
I swallow, forcing my memory to dig back to that cold, dim room. “My father had me locked in a cell. He came to me. Told me he would make everything better. He said he would release me from the life I had been cursed with and give me one where I could be free of…”
I look to the end of the sectional, to where the Se7en refuse to meet my gaze. Their coldness is a stab in my heart.
“Demons,” a low voice rumbles.
Legion lifts his head, eyes glowing with silver fire. His expression is stern, detached. It reminds me of that first night in his room—him sitting in the shadows waiting for me to wake up in his bed. Counting my breaths, calculating which one would be my last. I remember feeling fear I didn’t even know existed. At that point, I wanted to believe he was just a man, but I think even then I knew he was something else. Dark. Dangerous. Deadly. He was all those things. But when he pinned me to that bed and paralyzed me with the starlit stare to conjure the intruder of my soul, I knew he was something more. I felt it.
Now, as his glare shackles me to my seat, locking my bones and muscles in place, I feel it again. That inexplicable fear. And the notion that he is again something more.
He looks away, releasing me, and adds, his voice grave, “Your father offered you a life free of demons. And you accepted.”
“No,” I shake my head, realizing the reason behind his coldness. “Yes. It wasn’t like that. I only said that so he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” He snorts.
“Yes. I knew he had you, and he told me he had Crysis. I said whatever he wanted to hear to get you both out of there.”
“We know,” Irin chimes in. She reaches over to gather my hands in her much smaller ones. The gesture is almost motherly. And considering what she is, and what she’s capable of, I know I should pull away and accept this farce for what it is. But I can’t.
“What next, E?” Niko questions beside me, moving in closer. I’m not sure if it’s for comfort or protection.
“I don’t know. That was it. That’s all I remember.”
“No, it isn’t,” Irin accuses. “There’s more.”
She’s right. There is more. But the memory of that head-splitting pain physically makes me ill. Just the thought of that agony, as that haunting voice echoed in my brain, makes the room spin. My vision goes blurry. My mouth fills with the taste of blood and bile. I can’t go in there…that dark water. I can’t breathe under there. It’s too cold. Too deep.
“I know,” Irin whispers. “I know.”
I look up at her with tear-filled eyes, urging her to say what I can’t. Begging her to finish the story of my death. She’s already seen it, I can tell by her rare, solemn expression. Maybe she felt it too.
“He took your hand, and there was unspeakable pain. Pain that split you in two and left you maimed and bleeding. Then he spoke in a voice, a language, you’d never heard before. A tongue not of this world. But it wasn’t you he spoke to, was it, Eden? It wasn’t you who he called out to right before you blacked out from the torment.”
I will myself to respond, but the memory of that pain is still too fresh in my mind. I can feel it again, nudging me to that dark place…to that pool of never-ending blackness.
“No, it wasn’t,” a sweet, sing-song voice answers for me, drawing every eye to the entranceway. The woman who stands there, dressed in gleaming winter white from head to toe with a crown of fiery red hair, is quite possibly the loveliest, most ethereal creature I’ve ever seen.
She steps forward, her silk gown whispering against the hardwood, and stops just feet away from where I sit. Pale, seafoam green eyes fall on me, and for a moment, I think I feel myself being pulled away from that dark place. And that unshakeable fear is replaced with a sense of…peace.
“It wasn’t you he spoke to, sweet Eden,” she smiles reassuringly. “It was me.”