Oblivion

One curved cutlass sparked violet-silver in the candles’ glow as it whipped toward Varen, its sharpened tip halting just short of his throat.

“I could end this all right here,” Reynolds said, speaking quickly as he glared at Varen down the length of the blade. “And I know that if I pledged to you the girl’s safe return to her world, you would not try to stop me by bending this realm against me.”

Isobel’s mouth dropped open. She sat stock-still, shocked by Reynolds’s sudden appearance, even more stunned by his words, their meaning only halfway soaking in before Lilith interrupted.

“Gordon,” came the demon’s voice, sharp and full of warning. “You know what will happen should you dare.”

“A variation of the same events that transpired the last time I severed your ties to their reality,” Reynolds replied. “The two realms separate. Useless to you, the boy awakens as one of us, another Lost Soul for your collection. You, in the meantime, return to lying in wait, infiltrating dreams, searching out new prey through which to create a new link.”

“There would be one difference this time,” Lilith said, the talons of her feet clicking against the marble as she stepped onto the landing between the angels. “I would know the face of my enemy. And what to do with him.”

Though Reynolds’s blade remained at Varen’s throat, his dark eyes flicked toward Lilith. “You have taken pains to make the price of my treachery quite clear, and while the threat of spending an eternity entombed holds all the horror you intend it to, you forget one thing. For some time, I have watched you from the deepest shadows of this world—those cast by your own hubris. Mired with the deceit you inflict upon yourself and others, they have hidden me well. It would not take a wise man, who has witnessed what I have, to conclude that your plans for me will change little depending on what action I take next.”

“Thank goodness for your sake, then, dear Gordon,” Lilith said with a laugh, a demure smile curling her lips, “that you are no more wise than you are a man.”

Though Isobel couldn’t be certain, she thought she saw Reynolds flinch. When he tore his gaze away, looking sharply back to Varen, she had to wonder if he did so in an effort to hide the momentary slip in his impervious demeanor.

Isobel could never tell when it came to Reynolds. But she was done with guessing, where he was concerned. She could no longer afford to wait and find out what it was that made him tick.

Taking her chance, the only one she thought she might have, Isobel pushed to her feet just as Reynolds dipped the tip of his blade beneath Varen’s collar, nicking flesh as he hooked the chain of the hamsa.

In two fluid strides, Reynolds positioned himself behind Varen, guiding the sword up so that its blade looped the necklace and rested against Varen’s bare, bleeding throat.

Isobel’s hands rose of their own accord, knotting themselves into a single, useless ball. She held them close to her chest, where she could feel the rapid thrum of her heart.

“Your choices, limited though they are, do appear rather clear-cut, do they not?” Lilith asked Reynolds. “Yet you hesitate. And that is what betrays you as being the one lost to self-deception. For, despite what you have convinced yourself of, you have not truly decided at all in whose corner you will stand . . . have you?”

There it was again. Isobel saw it. The smallest twitch on those hawkish features.

“Whether you have been consciously aware of it or not,” Lilith continued, “you have been waiting. Playing sides while biding your time to see whether the girl might achieve the upper hand, might defy your estimation of her once again and, somehow, against all odds, best me. The prospect of your release, I am certain, holds enough allure for you to indulge in such an ambitious gambit. I almost don’t blame you. She is tenacious. But now we’ve arrived at the moment of truth. You stand to lose your wager, as she has yet to live up to your lofty expectations. What will you do?”

Isobel’s gaze found Varen’s. He watched her through the mussed strands of his ashy hair, and like so many times before, he needed only his calm jade eyes to communicate a warning to her.

Hold off, he seemed to be telling her, and it took every ounce of self-control Isobel possessed to remain planted. To do nothing. To merely watch and endure.

“What a predicament indeed,” Lilith went on. “For if you kill the boy and destroy the link, it will prove quite difficult for you to honor your vow to return our dearest Isobel to her so thoughtfully preserved world. Especially since, despite your unique and enviable ability to traverse the realms, which you have managed to keep hidden from me for so long, you would not be able to do so from the place where I would send you. Even if you did manage the feat, you would still have me to contend with upon your inevitable return. But . . . should you do me the kind favor of removing the boy’s talisman and eliminating the small barrier currently standing between me and what is rightfully mine, you would then have something to grant you immunity, wouldn’t you? To purchase a small sliver of the time you have perhaps not had quite enough of.” As if to illustrate her point, Lilith took a single step forward, her increasing nearness to Varen and the hamsa causing her already sunken features to tighten on her skull. Fresh strands of ink leaked from her eyes and mouth, retracing old paths.