Текст книги "Redeemed"

Автор книги: P. C. Cast

Соавторы: Kristin Cast,P. C. Cast
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Neferet

“Sometimes I cannot help but wonder why I have the desire to be worshipped by humans at all.” Neferet lifted her lip in a sneer as she looked down from the mezzanine at the herd of people Kylee had commanded to gather in the ballroom. “Fat, ugly, and unimpressively dressed. I wager their blood tastes like sloth. Kylee, are you quite certain this is all of them?”

“Goddess, these are all of the people Lynette had on her list under the column headed UNATTRACTIVE AND NO SKILLS.”

Neferet rounded on the girl, backing her against the marble pillar and lifting her by her neck so that she gasped for air and twitched like a fish out of water. “I told you I never want to hear that woman’s name uttered in my company again!”

Kylee’s eyes grew wide and her face began turning colors. Neferet watched, enrapt by approaching death, when the head of the thread of Darkness that possessed the human began emerging from her mouth. The Goddess let loose her hold on the girl, allowing her to slide to the floor while she gulped air and the tendril, which disappeared within her again.

“You are right, my child. It wouldn’t do to lose one of you because of a human’s mistake.” She looked down at Kylee. “I forgive you. Do not let it happen again. Now, get me another bottle of wine while my children and I cull our herd.”

Neferet ignored Kylee as she crawled away. She crouched and stroked the tendrils that still clung to her, weak and wounded from being scorched by the wall of flame.

“They have dared to imprison me. They will pay—I vow it. For every one of you they harmed, I will sacrifice one hundred of them. And you may choose whether those hecatomb are human, fledgling, or vampyre.” Neferet stroked the injured tendrils and crooned to them. “And when I destroy the winged immortal, you shall all feast on his blood.” She stood and pointed at the group of nervous humans huddled together in the middle of the ballroom. “Until then, those of you who have been wounded, feed from this herd and restore yourselves.”

The scorched tendrils moved slowly. Their kills were awkward. They lacked the beautiful razor edges—the neatly severed limbs—with which her healthy children killed. Annoyingly, the screaming went on and on.

Quivering around her, eager to be loosed and join the feeding frenzy, her unharmed children pulsed and throbbed.

“Be patient, as am I. You shall all be fed.” Then the first of the humans died, and Neferet closed her eyes, concentrating on the rush of power she felt as she absorbed the humans’ energy, thinking, Sloth-like or not, they feed and renew us. They are not worthy sacrifices; they are necessary sacrifices.

Kylee returned with a new bottle of wine as the last of the herd stopped breathing. “Ah, excellent timing. I am going to retire to my penthouse.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Well, then, give me the bottle and go back to your receptionist’s station and await my next command.”

Kylee obeyed her instantly, and as Neferet entered her penthouse elevator alone, the Goddess shook her head in disgust. She wouldn’t tolerate hearing Lynette’s name spoken, but that didn’t change the fact that none of these humans could take her place.

Irritated, Neferet strode from the elevator, through her spotless penthouse, and out to the wide stone balcony.

The night was clear and cold. She approached the stone balustrade cautiously. Slowly, Neferet extended her hand. As it neared the edge of the railing, the air began to glow red, singeing her fingers.

Shrieking in anger, she hurled her glass of wine at the abomination. “Traitors! Betrayers! You will not cage me!” Unhindered, it flew through the barrier to shatter far below on the street.

Enraged, Neferet stalked around the balcony, careful to stay away from the balustrade. Power swirled around and through Neferet. What an irony it was! She was at her most powerful, and yet she was trapped.

There must be a way out of this prison, she reasoned as she returned inside her penthouse to replace her absent goblet and pour herself another glass of wine. Even the betrayer Kalona found a way out of the oath that bound him to do my bidding. Breaking this wall must be simpler than breaking an oath.

Kalona’s voice mocked her as the scene echoed from her memory.

The winged immortal hadn’t even bothered to turn to look at her. He’d called over his shoulder, “Yes, I remember. I also remember that you could not keep me bound to you.”

Traitorous, forsworn bastard! Neferet’s memory shifted, replaying the night she’d discover him, too badly wounded from Zoey’s tantrum to protect himself, yet still selfish and ambitious enough to agree do her bidding and be bound by the oath she’d conjured: “If you, Kalona, Fallen Warrior of Nyx, break this oath and fail in my sworn quest to destroy Zoey Redbird, fledgling High Priestess of Nyx, I shall hold dominion over your spirit for as long as you are an immortal.”

Kalona had failed to destroy the fledgling, though he had somehow broken his bondage to her. Trying to drown the indignity of the memory, Neferet lifted the goblet to her lips—and realization hit her with such force that her hand convulsed and she snapped the stem, sending wine and crystal shards all over her marble floor. Kalona hadn’t broken his oath. The oath could not bind him because the conditions of it no longer applied.

“That fool! He has shown me the path to his destruction.” Neferet ignored the glass that cut her feet and the tendrils of Darkness that lapped at her pooling blood. She was immortal—cuts and blood meant little to her.

She lifted the telephone and punched reception’s number.

Kylee answered on the first ring. “How may I do your bidding, Goddess?”

“Send Judson to me. I believe he can help me with a small matter, and you can help me with another. Do I remember correctly that that woman made special annotations regarding the personalities of the more attractive of my worshippers, their likes and dislikes and such?”

“Yes, Goddess. That woman took notes on everyone she thought you might value.”

“Excellent! Go over the lists and find the nicest of my supplicants.”

“The nicest, Goddess?”

“Yes, Kylee. Are you having difficulty understanding English?”

“No—no, Goddess.”

“Good. Then do as I command. Bring me my supplicants who that woman noted as the most kindhearted, those whose intentions are always good.”

“It will be as you command, Goddess.”

“Of course it will be,” she said. “But don’t bring those people to me yet. I need to speak with Judson first. He will let you know when I am ready to receive my most loving supplicants. At that time, I want you and all of the male members of my staff to escort the group to my penthouse.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

Neferet hung up the telephone. Her victorious laughter mixed with the scent and taste of her blood, and her children rejoiced.

Aphrodite

“Seriously, Z, you’ve got to stop the whole coitus interruptus thing. It’s getting on my nerves.” Aphrodite untangled herself from Darius, straightening her clothes but not getting off his lap.

“You weren’t doing it. Yet. So it’s not technically coitus interruptus,” Stark said.

“How do you even know what she’s talking about?” Z asked him.

“Big Bang Theory.” Stark grinned his ridiculous, cocky smile at Zoey. “Now who’s the dork?”

“Oh, for shit’s sake, you’re both dorks.”

“Oh, I think I get it,” Zoey said, and her cheeks turned pink. “Uh, sorry. Stark and I just wanted to grab a few minutes by ourselves. We didn’t think anybody would be over in this part of campus. You know, too close to Nyx’s Temple for the humans to wander over here, too far from the wall for Aurox or Kalona to patrol.”

“And too near dawn for noisy fledglings to be wandering around. Yeah, exactly what Darius and I thought, too,” Aphrodite said.

“Great minds think alike, my beauty,” Darius said, scooting both of them over so that there was room on the blanket. “Would you sit with us?”

“Being as you already interrupted our plans,” Aphrodite muttered.

“That’d be great,” Zoey said, sitting beside Stark, hand in hand. “I don’t feel like I’ve had a break since we ate after the ritual.”

“Humans are a lot of work,” Darius said.

“And there are so many of them.” Aphrodite shuddered delicately.

“I wish Grandma was here. She knows how to deal with large groups of people. She’d have them all weaving herbs and beating drums,” Z said.

“Well, I heard Lenobia say something about beating, but I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t drums she had in mind,” Aphrodite said, rubbing at a headache that had just begun in her forehead.

“Yeah, she’s pissed that they’re so close to the horses. She and Travis are doing double duty to keep those kids out of the stables,” Stark said.

“I should never have told those mommies that the House of Night vampyres didn’t want to eat them. I should have told them we all wanted to eat them, so they’d better take their Valiums and stay quiet,” Aphrodite said, wishing the damn headache would go away. “I even heard Damien almost lose his temper when some brat asked if he could see his fangs—six times after Queen Damien had already explained, patiently, that real vampyres don’t have fangs.”

Zoey was laughing when Aphrodite realized her headache was causing her vision to blur and narrow. She only had time to reach for Darius when the vision crashed over her.

Aphrodite was in the sky, looking down at a wall of clouds rolling into Tulsa. It was night, but sky lightning was flashing so often that it was illuminating the entire skyline. Nyx, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but T-Town can watch Travis Meyer and The News on 6 for a weather report. It doesn’t take a vision to clue Okies in about wicked weather—we’re down with that.

The scene shifted, focused on downtown, and something fell out of the sky. Suddenly Aphrodite wasn’t an outside observer anymore. She was inside the body as it tumbled, end over end, hurtling toward the earth below. She tried to make her wings work (wings?), but they wouldn’t obey her. She tried to brace herself, but the shock of hitting the ground reverberated throughout her body, breaking her bones. Gasping but unable to draw in air, her fading gaze found her body. There was a bloody hole where her heart should have been and her broken wings lay useless, their raven black color turning red as her life’s blood seeped from her body.

No, she thought as the mind she’d inhabited lost consciousness. Not my body. Kalona’s body!

Warn him, so that he may choose freely … The Goddess’s voice pulled her from Kalona’s dying body and was her conduit to return to herself.

“Aphrodite! Talk to us! Aphrodite!” Zoey was holding her hand. She couldn’t see her, of course, because her eyes were filled with blood, but she knew Z was there. Just like she knew Darius’s arms were around her and Stark was standing protectively over them.

“Kalona,” she gasped. “You have to take me to Kalona.”

“You need water and your bed,” Zoey said, her voice sounding shaky. “And we need to get all this blood cleaned up.”

Aphrodite knew it was bad. She could feel the warm wetness that had washed down her face and soaked through her shirt. She ignored it and squeezed Z’s hand—hard. “Afterward. Get me to Kalona now.”

“He’s somewhere walking the perimeter. I’ll find him,” Stark said.

“I’ll carry her to Nyx’s Temple. That’s the closest building to here,” Darius said.

“And I’ll stay with her,” Z said, still holding her hand even though Darius had stood and was already moving.

“And I’ll just lay here and dream about the Xanax and wine that wait for me,” Aphrodite said, resting her head against Darius’s strong shoulder, keeping her eyes shut tightly against the pounding pain.

Kalona

“Kalona! You have to come with me. Aphrodite needs you right now!” Shouting, Stark ran up to Kalona as he and Detective Marx were making a perimeter sweep and discussing options for housing the increasing number of humans who were seeking sanctuary at the House of Night. Kalona had been enjoying Marx’s company and his sense of humor, and feeling renewed and well-rested after spending time on the roof of Nyx’s Temple. Stark’s appearance changed everything.

“Has there been a breach in campus security?” Marx shot out the question.

“No, Aphrodite’s had a vision. She says she has to talk to Kalona.”

“I will go to her.” Kalona sprinted off.

“Wait!” Stark called after him. “She’s not in her dorm. She’s in Nyx’s Temple.”

That news didn’t serve to dissipate the foreboding Kalona was beginning to feel, though he changed direction and raced toward Nyx’s Temple, with Stark and the detective doing their best to follow.

He tried not to hesitate at the door of the Goddess’s Temple. He wanted to stride in, confident that Nyx would allow him, but his hand trembled as he touched the handle of the arched wooden door. He paused.

Stark almost ran over the top of him. “What’re you waiting for?” The boy flung the door wide and hurried within. Kalona held his breath and followed him.

The opening did not turn to stone, nor did the door close against him. Nyx allowed him entrance.

Now on Stark’s heels, Kalona passed through the foyer and entered the heart of the Goddess’s Temple. The sweetness of vanilla and lavender candles mixed with the metallic scent of fresh blood. Aphrodite lay on the ancient table that held an exquisite statue of Nyx. Darius sat on the table, cradling her head in his lap. Zoey was arranging a wet T-shirt over Aphrodite’s eyes, which still wept blood.

“Oh my God!” Marx rushed into the room. “She’s crying blood tears.”

“I’m not crying. I’m visioning. Big difference.” Blind Aphrodite turned her head as if she were listening. “Kalona? Are you in here?”

Aphrodite tended to alternately amuse and annoy Kalona. He’d never understood why Nyx tolerated her attitude, which always seemed to border on blaspheming. But as he approached her, a profound sense of reverence came over him. This girl is a true Prophetess of Nyx and thus worthy of my respect.

“Yes, Prophetess, I am here in answer to your summons,” he said, kneeling beside the table.

“Good. My vision was about you. Actually, in my vision I was you. And you died,” she said, wincing and rearranging the wet shirt that covered her bloody eyes.

“Kalona is immortal. He cannot die,” Darius said.

“I know you hate this kind of stuff, but could this vision be one of your symbolic ones?” Zoey asked.

“It didn’t feel symbolic. It felt dead. Real dead,” Aphrodite said.

“How was I killed?” Kalona asked.

“You fell from the sky and you had a big bloody hole where your heart should have been. I’m not sure which killed you—the hole or the fall. Your wings were all broken up, too. Either way, you were totally, not symbolically, dead.”

“Man, that sounds bad,” Marx said. “Do her visions always come true?”

“She’s right here, and no, they don’t,” Aphrodite said. “Which brings me to the rest of the vision. Nyx told me to tell you”—she paused—“the you being Kalona and not you, Marx, that I was supposed to warn you about what I saw so that you could choose freely.”

Kalona’s gaze went from Aphrodite to the statue of Nyx. “You are sure it was the Goddess who spoke to you of me?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you are certain Nyx said that you were given the vision so that I might choose freely?”

“One hundred percent. It’s not like this is the first time. I do know a little something about Nyx,” Aphrodite said with her usual sarcasm.

“Do you know why there are always vanilla and lavender candles burning in Nyx’s Temples?” Kalona asked the Prophetess.

Aphrodite shrugged. “My guess is because they smell good.”

“It is because they carry the same scent as her skin,” Kalona told her. “You see, Prophetess, I know a little something about Nyx, too.”

“Fine, you trump me. But I do know her voice, and I’m sure it was Nyx who said to tell you about my vision so that you could choose freely.”

Kalona stared at the statue as the most painful of his memories flashed through his mind. For the first time in uncountable eons he embraced the memory and relived it honestly.

He was on his knees before Nyx, and he was weeping. His Goddess watched him, not with a stone-like expression that lacked compassion but with equal measures of sadness and resignation.

Don’t do this! You are mine!

I do nothing, Kalona. You have a choice in this. I have given even my Warriors free will, though I don’t require them to use it wisely.

Instead of painting Nyx as the villain, as he had in his memory for so many self-deluded centuries, Kalona forced himself to relive the scene truthfully. This time, he acknowledged the tears that had begun to spill down Nyx’s face—and the fact that it was his own expression that had hardened, his own voice that had become spiteful, and not hers.

I cannot help myself. I was created to feel this. It is not free will. It is preordination.

Yet as your Goddess I tell you what you are is not preordained. Your will has fashioned you.

I cannot help how I feel! I cannot help what I am! Remembering the scene honestly, Kalona cringed at how like a petulant child he had sounded.

He had stopped weeping, but Nyx’s sadness could not be contained. Tears spilled from her eyes to wash down her cheeks. In a choked voice, his Goddess had said, You, my Warrior, are mistaken; therefore, you must pay the consequences of your mistake. Then it was not with a thoughtless flick of her fingers that she cast him from her; it was with regret and tears and despair that she gathered her divine energy and hurled the consequences of his own choice at him.

The memory faded, leaving him in the present, looking up at the beautiful statue of Nyx.

“I believe you, Aphrodite. This is not the first time Nyx has bade me make a choice,” he said as the finality of her vision settled within him.

“Was there anything else in your vision that might help us figure out how Kalona is going to be attacked?” Darius asked her.

Aphrodite hesitated, then said, “It’s always harder when I’m inside the person the awful thing is happening to. Everything gets jumbled because time is passing so fast and, well, awful things are happening. I know he was in Tulsa. I think downtown because I remember seeing the skyline below me. Oh, and a big storm was rolling into town.”

In the distance thunder rumbled and the stained-glass windows of Nyx’s Temple quivered as the wind shifted and increased.

“Ah, hell!” Zoey said.

Kalona’s newly awakened memory flashed several other scenes through his mind: his trespass into the Otherworld … his battle with Stark … Stark’s death in the pit … Nyx’s intervention and that the price of her intervention had been a piece of his immortality.

Kalona silently agreed with Zoey.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Neferet

“Thank you, Judson. I knew you would find exactly what I needed. You may leave it on the table there, beside the door to the balcony. Oh, but please don’t go. My need for you is not finished. As you can see, here comes Kylee, right on time with the little group I asked her to fetch for me.” Neferet’s smile included the frightened-looking group of humans who were reluctantly entering her penthouse, as well as her male staff members, though she truly smiled only at her children who possessed the men. “I do appreciate punctuality, Kylee. Pour me a glass of wine.”

Neferet counted the humans. Twelve of them. Out of more than two hundred worshippers, twelve were genuinely kind enough for Lynette to make note of them. The Goddess wasn’t upset by that low number, she simply had to be sure her math was accurate and that there were enough of them. “Yes,” she spoke aloud as she ran the numbers in her head. “One every five minutes should suffice. It’s a short distance from here to the House of Night. That will give him plenty of time and incentive.”

“Goddess? Is there something you’d like us to do? A dance you’d like us to learn?” an attractive young woman asked, curtsying gracefully.

“You were one of the waltzers, were you not?” Neferet said.

“Yes, Goddess. My name is Taylor.”

Neferet sighed in disgust. “Oh, no matter. I’ll let you keep that name.”

“Th-thank you, Goddess,” Taylor said hesitantly.

“And yes, Taylor, there is something monumental I want the twelve of you to do before sunrise, which is only a little more than an hour away. In celebration of such an extraordinary event, I shall break my own decree and speak her name. Lynette”—Neferet spoke the name carefully; to her it tasted of betrayal—“noted that each of you is especially kind.”

Taylor’s smile was hesitant but genuine. “That was nice of her.” The woman glanced around the penthouse. “Where is Lynette?”

Reminding herself that she might need all twelve of them, Neferet did not strike Taylor down. Instead, with enormous patience she said, “Taylor, I said that I shall break my decree and speak her name. I did not say anyone else could.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Goddess,” Taylor said quickly, bobbing another curtsy.

“That is quite all right, and quite understandable. I should have made myself clearer. Think nothing of it, Taylor. So, as I was saying, Lynette made note of each of you. I wanted to be sure you understood that you are here because of her.” A shiver of fear began to move through the group. Neferet felt it with them and smiled. “Why don’t you sit in the living room? I prefer you to be comfortable. Kylee, would you pour champagne for my supplicants, please. Judson, go to that clever little writing desk that is in my bedchamber and bring me one of those lovely Tulsa postcards and a pen.”

While her servants did her bidding, Neferet opened the glass door that led to the balcony. Wind whipped inside, carrying the scent of rain with it. Neferet opened her arms, reveling in the power in the atmosphere that foretold a storm. As if she’d drawn it through her desire, thunder rolled in the distance and lightning followed it, gleeful and bright, across the sky. “This is a truly magnificent night! A predawn storm is my absolute favorite. I do adore Oklahoma in the springtime.”

“Goddess, your postcard and pen.”

“Thank you, Judson.” Neferet took the card, and in her flowing script she wrote four words on it. When she was finished, she looked up, smiling at the frightened group. “Now, who shall be first?” Neferet tapped her chin, as if considering. “Taylor! It will be you!”

“What can I do for you, Goddess?” Taylor asked nervously, though she added her honest, kindhearted smile to the question.

“Come here, my dear. First I want to give you this.”

Taylor trembled as she approached Neferet. “Let’s see, yes, I think the front pocket of those slacks will do. They are made of such a fine-quality material with nice deep pockets. Lynette was right, I am going to ban the wearing of jeans. Let us hope she was just as right about this little group.” She smiled at Taylor and handed her the postcard. “Put this in your pocket, please.”

Taylor glanced at the card, put it in her pocket, and asked, “What does ‘one every five minutes’ mean?”

“Well, Taylor, if my calculations are correct, it means one of you is going to die every five minutes. Judson and Tony, bring Taylor along.”

Neferet strode onto the balcony, glad the wind carried away Taylor’s pathetic screams. “There”—she pointed to the front of the balcony—“throw her from there. Swing her several times so that you give her a good toss. If I understand the intent behind the wretched spell that binds me here, kindhearted Taylor should pass through the barrier untouched so that she can fall, shrieking, to the pavement below.”

With no emotion, the two men swung the hysterical girl once, twice, thrice, and then heaved her up and over the balcony. Curious, Neferet watched her windmill her arms and legs until she landed almost exactly where Neferet had imagined.

“Next time aim a little more to the right,” she commanded the men. Then she returned to the penthouse door and the screaming, panicked people within. “The loudest of you will go next!” Like snuffing a candle, they muffled their own screams. “Kylee, set the kitchen timer for five minutes,” she said, then she shut the door to the penthouse, took the Glock that Judson had found in pharmaceutical representative’s room, and sat at the wrought-iron bistro table she’d chosen earlier for its height and stability.

“Come to me, children,” Neferet commanded.

The tendrils obeyed her immediately, swarming to her and circling around her bare feet. She studied them carefully, finally bending to pick up an especially fat one. Neferet placed it on the top of the little table before her.

“This will be over swiftly,” she told the waiting tendril. “I will honor your sacrifice with my own blood.” Though it trembled, the creature did not struggle or try to escape. Neferet smiled. “You are brave and strong—exactly what my spell needs. And so it begins!” She pierced the black, rubbery flesh near the tendril’s open mouth, and then, in one swift motion, Neferet ripped a thin thread of skin from her child.

Precious flesh filled with magick power

Obey my command; fulfill my will

Kalona’s end I prophesy within this hour

The masquerading immortal I shall kill!

Neferet lifted the Glock and wrapped the bloody thread of skin around its muzzle, covering the weapon in Darkness. Then she pursed her full lips and blew on it. As her breath touched the tendril, it rippled and then disappeared, having been fully absorbed.

“If I am right, and I am rarely wrong, that should do very, very well.” Absently, Neferet slit the inside of her forearm and offered the scarlet slash to the wounded tendril, who eagerly began to feed and heal itself.

Then Neferet sipped her wine and waited.

Kalona

“Do her eyes always bleed like that when she has a vision?” Marx asked him.

Before he could respond, his son answered for him. “Yes. The visions cause her a lot of pain. Stevie Rae and Zoey worry about her, especially because the intensity of them seems to be getting worse.”

Kalona and Marx hadn’t left Nyx’s Temple, but they had moved to one of the candlelit meditation alcoves, along with Rephaim, making way for Stevie Rae and Damien, whom Zoey had called to bring wet washcloths, fresh clothing and, after much discussion, a bottle of red wine. Aphrodite had gotten sick when Darius had tried to move her, so Darius had announced it was in the Goddess’s Temple his Priestess would remain until she was recovered.

Truth be told, Kalona had been glad for the excuse to stay within Nyx’s Temple. After so long being absent, he couldn’t seem to get enough of the Goddess’s presence, even if it was only through the blessed energy that, as surely as vanilla and lavender, permeated the air.

“Father, the vision troubles me.” The worry in Rephaim’s voice brought Kalona’s attention from the ethereal to the tangible.

He smiled at his son, enjoying the warm feeling it gave him to accept the boy’s affection. “It is no more than symbolism. You know how much Aphrodite dislikes symbolism. That is why she prefers a literal interpretation.”

“But she saw you fall and die.”

“And she said it was a real death, not a symbol,” Marx added.

Kalona shrugged. “Yet here I am, two feet solidly on the ground, very much alive.”

“But not completely immortal.” Rephaim spoke the words so softly that Marx said, “What was that, Rephaim? Your father isn’t what?”

“My son worries too much.” Kalona cut Rephaim off, giving him a look that stopped whatever else he might have said. “The truth is, Aphrodite has seen Zoey’s death twice, as well as her grandmother’s death. There stands Zoey. And you know Sylvia Redbird is alive and well.” Kalona put his hand on his son’s shoulder, pleased by his concern but also wanting to alleviate it. “It is less than an hour until dawn. Should you not be—”

The detective’s phone rang. Marx glanced at it and excused himself to take the call.

“I won’t be silenced about this, Father,” Rephaim said.

“About what?” he prevaricated.

Rephaim frowned at him. “Your impending death.”

Kalona chuckled. “Immortals do not die. Or did you forget why Neferet is causing us such problems? Were it otherwise, Stark could simply direct an arrow to kill her and we would be done with it.”

“You changed in the Otherworld, enough that an oath you swore on your immortality was no longer binding.”

“Son, I have battled Darkness since then and survived what would surely kill any mortal. I appreciate your concern, but your worry is needless.”

Marx rushed into the Temple. “Neferet is throwing live hostages from the balcony of the Mayo—one every five minutes. Two are already dead. We have four minutes until a third is added to that number.”

A sense of calm came over Kalona. “She must be trying to break the protective spell.” He turned to Zoey. “Get your circle to the Council Oak Tree. Strengthen Thanatos and the protective spell. No matter what happens, do not let that spell fail.”

“I’ll drive,” Stark said. Already they were all running for the door.

“Go with them!” Aphrodite said, pushing Darius away from her. “If Neferet gets out, we’re all dead.”

“Rephaim, go with Stevie Rae. Be sure your Priestess is safe,” Kalona told his son.

“You riding with me?” Marx asked him as they jogged toward the parking lot.

“No,” Kalona said. “I’m flying. It’s faster. I’ll meet you there.”

“Be careful up there,” Marx said, offering his hand.

Kalona grasped it. “You stay safe as well, my friend.”

Then he turned to Rephaim and pulled his son roughly into an embrace. “You are the part of my life of which I am most proud.” He released Rephaim, but before he could launch himself skyborne, Kalona felt a soft hand touch his arm. He looked down to see Zoey Redbird watching him with wide, knowing eyes.

“I’m glad you got your second chance with us,” she said. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

He smiled at her, surprised by how much her words meant to him. He touched her cheek. “As am I.” Then he took to the sky, beating the air powerfully with sweeps of his mighty wings.

Kalona streaked across the billowing thunderclouds almost in time with the lightning. The storm’s winds buffeted him, but Kalona took no heed of it. He had one duty, one responsibility, one edict from his Goddess. He would protect the people in need. No matter the cost, he chose to stand between Neferet and those he had come to value, even to love.