chapter twenty-six

In the basement room, we found Longinus and Father Cornelius huddled over a book, arguing quietly. Miri sat with her sleek, silver Mac on her lap. Knowles slumped in his chair, kneading one temple.

He looked up as I crossed the threshold and his mild eyes met mine.

“You’re here,” he said, his face wide open with shock. Everyone looked at him, but I knew what he meant. He ignored them, staring at me. “I heard him come.” His voice quivered and when he lowered his hand from his temple, I noticed it was shaking, too. “It took all my strength not to fly to him when he commanded you to come.”

His face was as pale as the moon and his jaw hung slack. “How did you resist him?” He looked at me with such awe, like I’d just committed the greatest act of heroism in the universe.

“I—I didn’t.” I gestured to Michael who stood so close behind me that my hand touched his chest when I lifted it. “Michael did.”

Knowles’ gaze left mine and crawled above me to Michael. He stared at him for a moment, then nodded, slowly, just once.

Raised voices drew my attention from Knowles and toward Longinus and Cornelius.

Longinus brought his fist down onto the book with such force the table shook.

“He will not get it—I will protect it with my life!” Spittle flew from his mouth, giving him the appearance of a crazed dog.

Father Cornelius placed a hand on Longinus’ arm. When he spoke, his voice had the soothing timbre of a parent consoling their child. “I know you would never willingly allow Akaros to acquire it, my friend. I know. But you’ve never yet had to face a foe like this demon, and we need to be prepared for every possible outcome.”

Though the concession seemed to cost him much, Longinus took a deep breath and stepped away from the table. He ran his hands over his military-short hair. The man was covered in marks. A jagged line ran across his forehead and down his left temple. A row of nasty scars around his neck matched those around both wrists—they looked like barbed wire, and I wondered at the torture he must have endured.

“Forgive me, Father,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. He looked up, as if noticing for the first time they were not alone. “Forgive me.”

I didn’t know what to do but nod, my eyes never leaving his face.

He took another step back and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked directly at me, and the blue of his eyes startled me. They weren’t the dark pools of James, or Miri’s bright diamonds—his eyes were as blue as the Aegean Sea, and seemingly as deep.

“Forgive me, Lady,” he said with such passion it embarrassed me. His hands dropped to his side as he bent into a low, formal bow.

“Uh, it’s okay?” I said, looking around at the others for some sort of clue as to what was going on. Miri raised her eyes from the computer screen and tried to smile—but there was so much weariness etched there, I didn’t know if it would count as an actual smile. Still, she was here, and her presence meant something to me. Made all of this somehow less psycho.

Father Cornelius cleared his voice and when I met his eyes he gestured toward the chairs. “Have a seat, child—we have much to discuss.”

I sat beside Knowles, our shoulders touching. There was a part of me that knew normally I’d have recoiled from such familiarity, especially from him—but this time I thought maybe he could take some comfort from me. I wondered what was happening to me. Shouldn’t my Becoming have claimed me? Defined me? Instead, I felt more divided than ever.

Miri leaned over a little so she could see me past Michael. “Hey,” she said, her gaze holding mine for only a second before turning back to her computer screen.

“What are you looking at?” I hoped to turn the conversation away from whatever it was Cornelius thought we had to talk about. I needed a moment to process . . . everything.

“Well, that is one of the things we have to discuss.” Cornelius took his glasses off and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes.

Michael and I relaxed—a little. Sitting in that room, there was precious little evidence of what had just happened in the cemetery—Longinus sported a new scar that crossed the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek. Otherwise, everyone seemed unfazed—well, with the exception of Knowles whose body still quivered from time to time. Impossibly, I longed to squeeze his hand, to let him know I understood. Because it seemed that I did.

Instead, I snapped, “Well, get on with it.”

Father Cornelius bent over the papers on the desk, muttering, Longinus leaned against the wall, studiously examining the floor at his feet. In the distance, thunder rumbled. I wondered if it was finally raining. Michael traced patterns on the palm of my hand. Miri closed her laptop and fixed her gaze on Cornelius.

“Well, quit muttering to yourself, old man,” Knowles finally said. “Did you find it or not?”

Cornelius looked up and stared at Knowles. “Yes, yes I think so. Would you tell her, please?” He gestured toward me and Knowles sighed.

“Akaros’ return portends grave danger for Earth,” he said. I didn’t bother telling him I already knew that. “It is the first time he has stood on Earth since Hitler, and even then, he did not stay long—he couldn’t get what he wanted.” Longinus looked up at that, his eyes burning into Knowles. I couldn’t figure out what I was missing, or what I saw on Longinus’ face. Sadness? Regret?

“Unfortunately, this time, it seems he is more determined than ever to reach his goal.” Knowles angled his body toward me. I squirmed under his mild blue gaze and focused on the feel of Michael’s hand on mine. “It seems he is no longer looking to incite war and destruction among humans, but is striving to break the balance between all the worlds.”

Abruptly, he stood and paced the small distance between his chair and the table.

He stopped just as suddenly and stared down at me. Try as I might I could not tear my eyes away.

“Lucifer’s plan has been set into motion. One he’s mobilized many times before without success. A plan to destroy Midgard, so no one can Ascend, not ever again.”

“Then he’ll fail again,” I shot back.

Shook my head.

Stared some more while his crazy-talk words filtered through my brain and tried to find purchase. Miri traced a finger round and round the logo on the top of her laptop, and the motion made me furious. I had an irrational desire to grab her hand and make her stop. I dug my fingernails into my palms.

“You’ve got to be joking.” A snort bubbled out of me. False and hollow, tinny-sounding, even to me. “Without Earth, Father has no power—he depends upon the Gardians failing at their quest and being denied Ascension. Destroy Midgard, and Hell’s population—Father’s kingdom—is relegated to obscurity.”

Now I stood. I walked to the door, but it was closed and didn’t offer any help. I turned around and faced them, none of whom moved, all eyes on me.

“Not obscurity, child. I believe he intends to unleash Ragnarok—the Apocalypse. Odin would be forced to open the halls of Valhalla and release the warriors and Valkyries.”

He stepped around the desk and approached me, his eyes holding mine all the while. And when he put his hands on my arms, I didn’t pull away.

“Asgard will be left unprotected—I think Lucifer plans to invade, while Odin—and most assuredly Thor—are distracted by the war on Midgard.” He squeezed, gently, and offered me a kind, if sad, smile. “Your father’s aim is not Ragnarok—he seeks to wipe out the Gardians and claim Ascension for all his followers.

I couldn’t help it, I looked at Knowles. He was already watching me—already anticipating my question.

“From the moment Odin exiled me from home, I have been trying to get back.” He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, as if the very words themselves could be deadly. “But not like this—not as an invader. Once, I thought Ascension should be mine, as a child of Asgard. Once, I let myself believe Loki, er, Lucifer. We had a right to Ascension—all of us. But when I witnessed the brutal destruction he was willing to unleash on our friends, I began to understand, to see the fault in Loki’s plan. Still, I was young and impulsive. It wasn’t until we were forced from Asgard, the blood of fellow Gardians on my hands, that I realized what I had done, how wrong we were. I no longer deserved Ascension—none of us did.”

Knowles stood straight and raised his chin—there, I could see a hint of the proud Gardian he must once have been. “I will stop at nothing to deny Loki and his followers Ascension. They will not pervert the way of the gods. They cannot be allowed entry to Asgard—not ever again.”

And that’s when I knew that everything I’d believed up until now, was wrong. It seemed, I knew nothing at all. Without a word, I sat down.

“Hell has tried, at least three times, to start the Apocalypse. So far they’ve been unsuccessful,” Miri said. I bowed my head—I so didn’t want to hear this. Not with her voice—the voice of an innocent human girl. It wasn’t right. None of this was right. But it didn’t stop her from continuing.

“Hitler, Genghis Kahn, Emperor Qin. I suspect there’s more, but those are the only ones I’m pretty sure about.”

I couldn’t do anything to stop the chill that worked its way from the tip of my head all the way down to my toes. Michael put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, calming me. Claiming me.

I knew the men Miri’d mentioned. Of course I knew. And I knew a whole lot more about them than any internet search or library book could tell. They were some of the most favored of Father’s cronies. Kahn had a high-backed, opulent chair next to Akaros, its ornate beauty nearly rivaling Father’s own.

“We’ve been able to trace Lucifer’s hand in world events all the way to the Spartans and beyond. It’s pretty fascinating. Actually—”

In a flash I stood, my face in Miri’s, forcing her to lean against the chair back. “The Spartans,” I enunciated carefully, “are Akaros’ pets. And you know nothing of Lucifer, or of Hell. You have no idea what he is capable of—nothing of Akaros’ loyalty. Nothing.” I resisted the urge to jab my finger against her chest—I wanted so badly to hit something, to hurt something. Not Miri, just . . . something.

I felt my shadow-self strain, felt the burning need to let go, but I stood straight, balled my fists and concentrated on breathing, on just being. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Then Michael’s hand was on my arm, sliding up, warming me, infusing me with the oh, so sweet comfort of his presence.

I let out a long, slow breath.

“Look, Akaros is wicked. I get it. He’s been Father’s right-hand-man for like, ever. And yes, if what you say is true— about the Apocalypse and all—then Akaros would be the only one Father would trust with such a task.” I forced my body to be still, for my eyes to grow hard and my face to be a mask of strength and knowledge. “But Father’s . . . well, Satan. And in case you didn’t notice, he’s way more powerful than Akaros. Than anyone. We don’t stand a chance against him.”

I turned so I could see everyone, meet their eyes. Cornelius dropped his gaze to the table and smoothed a page in his book. “Well, except for maybe Odin,” I offered, thinking he was the only one who could defeat Father.

I collapsed into my chair, not sure what else to say.

“Desolation,” Father Cornelius said.

“Desi,” I corrected.

“Desi.” He took a deep breath and rested his hands on the table, crumpling some loose papers. He sighed, long and low. “This is our purpose. This is why we were created. It is also why you were created.”

Silence breathed like a presence.

I was created.

I had a purpose.

No one asked whose weapon I would choose to be.

Cornelius looked up at Longinus. “I think she is our best hope, my friend. Give her the spearhead—she must be the one to finish it now.”

Longinus lunged out from the wall. His hands clenched into tight hammers at his side and he raised his chin, his mouth wide in a ferocious scream. He rammed his fist into the cabinet beside him, the wood splintering and flying from the small crater he left behind. “I will die, once and for all, before I let him have it!” He stormed from the room so brusquely, the air whooshed in his wake. We listened while he stomped down the hallway until the heavy doors to the school clashed shut and we heard nothing at all.