Dark Flame (Immortals 4)

I’m in!

I’m back.

Making my way across the shiny marble floors, past the long line of tables and benches that house row after row of spiritual seekers. Each of them hovering over their square crystal tablets, each of them searching for answers. And suddenly, I realize I’m not so different from them, we’re all here for the same reason—we’re all on some kind of quest.

So I close my eyes and think:

First of all, thank you for giving me a second chance and allowing me back. I know I messed up for a while there and got a bit off track, but now that I’ve learned a few things, I promise I won’t mess up again—or at least not like that. But still, the truth is, my quest hasn’t changed. I still need to get that antidote from Roman so that Damen and I can?

?well—be together. And since Roman is the key—the only one who has access to it, I need to know how to handle him, how to approach him in a way that’ll get me what I need but without—well, without manipulating him or—or casting spells—or getting caught up like that again. So, um, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I need to know how to approach him. I don’t really know where to go from here, and, well, if you could help me with this, provide some kind of clue, show me whatever it is you think I need to know in order to deal with him in just the right way—well, I’d really appreciate it.

I hold my breath, hold perfectly still, aware of a distant whir, a soft, swirly sound whooshing around me, and when I open my eyes, I find myself in a hall. Not the same hall as before with the infinite runner and the hieroglyphic Braille on the wall, this hall is wider, shorter, more like a walkway that takes you to your row of seats in an indoor stadium or concert hall. And when I get there, when I reach the end, I see that I am in a stadium, a sort of indoor coliseum, only in this particular one, there’s only one seat, and as it just so happens, it’s reserved just for me.

I settle in, unfolding the blanket beside me, and placing it onto my lap. Gazing around at the walls, the columns, all of it appearing old, crumbly, as though it was built long ago, back in ancient times, and wondering if I’m expected to do something, make the first move, when a colorful, shimmering hologram appears right before me.

I lean toward it, squinting at an almost hallucinatory image of a family—the mother pale, feverish, flat on her back and wracked with great pain, screaming in agony, begging for God to just take her, not even getting a chance to hold the son she’s just birthed before her wish is granted, she heaves her last breath, and moves on. Her soul traveling upward, onward, as her baby, the tiny, kicking, newly born baby is cleaned and swathed and handed to a father who’s too busy grieving for his dead wife to pay him any notice.

A father who never stops grieving for his wife—and who blames his son for her loss.

A father who turns to drink to numb the pain—and then to violence when that fails to work.

A father who beats his poor young son from the time he’s old enough to crawl, until the day when, in a drunken stupor, he starts a fight with someone much bigger and stronger, a fight he cannot win. His battered, bloodied body, left in an alleyway, beaten beyond repair, but still smiling his last breath, when the sweet release he’s sought all along finally arrives. Leaving behind a hungry, abandoned child that soon becomes a ward of the Church.

A child with smooth olive skin, large blue eyes, and a golden crop of curls that could only belong to Roman.

Could only belong to my nemesis, my enemy, my eternal antagonist whom I can no longer hate. Whom I only feel pity for after watching how, younger than the others and small for his age, he struggles to fit in, to please, to be noticed and loved, only to go from being an overlooked, ignored, and abused son, to everyone’s servant, everyone’s favorite whipping boy.

Even when Damen makes the elixir and urges them all to drink to spare them from the ravages of the Black Plague, Roman is the last to be served. Having completely overlooked him until Drina brought him forward, insisting the last drops be saved for him.

And even though I make myself stay until the end, watching hundreds of years of his growing resentment toward Damen, hundreds of years of his love for Drina being denied again and again, hundreds of years of him becoming so strong, and so accomplished, he can get anything or anyone he wants except the one thing he wants the most—the one thing I robbed him of forever—even though I watch all of that—I didn’t need to.

The beast was born six hundred years ago, when his father beat him, when Damen overlooked him, when Drina was kind to him. Sure he could’ve lived differently, made better choices, if only someone would’ve shown him the way. But you can’t give away what you don’t have.

And when the hologram ends, when the images disappear, and the lights go dim, I know what to do.

Without being told, I know exactly how to proceed.

So I rise from my seat, give a silent nod of thanks, and make my way back to the earth plane.

thirty-one

When I pull into the drive and park, I’ll admit to a fleeting but still major feeling of trepidation. My mind spinning with questions like: Should I really be doing this? Will I even get a chance to do this? Or will she toss me right out like last year’s Emo look?

Realizing I won’t know until I try, I take a moment to calm myself, to get centered, to summon my strength from within, and fill myself with that bright, radiant, healing light just like Ava taught me to do. Tapping my amulet just under my dress once for good measure, I hop out of the car and head for the door. Having no idea if she even still lives here now that she’s super-charged, infinite, with the whole world at her feet, but figuring it’s the best place to start.

“Hi.” I smile, peering over the housekeeper’s shoulder, relieved to see that from here anyway, everything seems to look pretty much the same, which means it’s in its usual state of chaos and disorder. “Is Haven here?” I add, my voice hopeful, as though willing her to say yes.

She nods, opening the door even wider and motioning up toward Haven’s room as I bolt up the stairs, following the wave of her fingers and allowing no time for turning back or second-guessing as I stand just outside the door and knock twice.

“Who is it?” she calls, clearly annoyed, as though the last thing she wants is a visitor. And when I tell her it’s me, well, I can only imagine how that goes over.

“Well, well,” she purrs, cracking the door just enough to confirm it, her eyes really raking me over without letting me in. “The last time I saw you—you were trying to—”

“Attack you.” I nod, figuring I’d surprise her by admitting it, openly, freely, with no holding back. “About that—” I start, but she’s not about to let me finish.

“Well, actually, I was going to say, seduce my boyfriend. But yeah, come to think of it, the only one you got physical with was me.” She smiles, but it’s not the nice, happy kind, nope, far from it. “So tell me, Ever, what brings you here? Eager to finish the job?”

I look at her, keeping my gaze as open and honest and direct as I can when I say, “No, not at all. I actually came here hoping to put an end to all this—to explain and call a truce.” Wincing at my use of the word, remembering the last time I used it with Roman and how it didn’t go over so well.