Conspiracy Boy (Angel Academy) (16 page)

I did. Every step we’d taken through the church. Every rung down the ladder to the catacombs that held the Great Books—it all burned in my memory. Those were the last precious minutes before I found out what I was. What I was supposed to become.

“You’d still love me?” I whispered, so softly I wasn’t sure he could hear. “You’ll still want me if I’m a soulless killer?”

Jack let out a quiet laugh. “You’ll never be soulless, Omelet. You’ve got soul coming out your ears. But yes, I will
always
love you. No matter what.”

I was vaguely aware of his shirt getting wetter but didn’t fully realize it was from my tears until he pulled me away.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said. “I would follow you to hell if you asked.”

For a moment, Dominic and Petra flashed through my head, in their weird little hell haven. It was reassuring to know he would follow me there, but I deeply hoped I would never have to ask.

“Let’s do this,” I said.

He paused for only a second before tightening his grip on my hand and leading me toward the church. The giant gray doors looked less imposing this time, the stained-glass windows less intimidating. I let my fingers run along the age-oiled wooden pews as we strode down the middle of the sanctuary.

In many ways, this was just another church—another place where people went to feel safe and issue their prayers and hopes for a better, more peaceable life. Humankind needed places like this. I firmly believe that if we truly understood and were forced to observe all the horrors of the world around us, we couldn’t exist inside it. We would self-destruct in our own disillusionment.

“Ami?”

I glanced up to see Jack kneeling at the side of the altar, linen cloth pulled back and spring-loaded door gaping at his feet. We had to go.

Wordless, I stepped into the abyss. It wasn’t as strange or awful this time—the descent into the caverns. And when the door swung shut above me, sinking me into complete darkness, and the distant smell of moss and sewer began to rise, it didn’t even faze me. This was our story. This was how the Guardians had begun.

Four holy books huddled somewhere beneath me—the Book of Life, the Book of Blood, the Book of Days, and the Book of Omens—four corners of the Guardian legacy. But those weren’t the books I had come to see.

The fifth book—the one no Guardian had been permitted to see or touch or read for a thousand years—
that
was the one I needed.

As our feet touched down and Jack fired up the lantern, I let my gaze run up the walls. Smooth gray stone extended as far as I could see, lending the entire place a dreamlike quality. In front of me, the four doors loomed, each with the symbol of the book that cavern contained—the shield, the chalice, the hourglass, and the rising sun.

I didn’t move as Jack started toward the door with the chalice, the one that contained the Book of Blood.

He glanced back at me. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you coming?”

I stayed put.

Luc hadn’t told him what we were doing here. Which meant he didn’t know what had to happen next. He didn’t know what we were looking for.

“Jack—” I began but never got to finish. I didn’t have to.

As soon as I spoke, the air charged with electricity. Soundless pulses bled out of the corners of the cavern, as if the walls themselves had come alive and now pulsated with life and energy. It terrified me.

Almost involuntarily, my sight settled on the stone carving of the fifth door. The snake coiled as tightly as I remembered it, his tail clenched tightly between his teeth, eyes dark and beaded, as if they could look through me. Without looking back, I walked to the door and knelt in front of it. It was smaller than the others, the wood darker and more splintered, yet still smooth to the touch. As soon as my fingers made contact, the pulsating stopped.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked, his voice edged with panic. “I thought we were after the name of the last Gabrielite.”

Slowly, I nodded.

“Okay, so if we’re looking for a Guardian, then why aren’t you—?” He didn’t have to go any further. As soon as the words started to form, I could see understanding crystallize inside him. “It’s not a Guardian.”

“Nope,” I whispered.

The next step didn’t happen right away. I watched as the information settled into him, transforming into meaning.

“Jack? Are you okay?”

After another few seconds, he spoke. “You’re saying the prophecy was about—”

“An Immortal,” I finished. “They’re angelblood. That’s what the Council of Elders hasn’t been telling us. I’m guessing one of many things the Council hasn’t told us.”

Jack didn’t reply for a long minute. Several long minutes, actually.

I had to wonder what was going through his head right now as he learned that all the preparation and sacrifice he’d made his entire life had been based on faulty information. It must have been like thinking you had an incurable disease then, the day before you were supposed to die, finding out you’d been healthy all along.

It changed everything, and not necessarily in a good way.

It didn’t surprise me at all when, after the silence became unbearable, he finally shifted his back against the stone wall and slid to the floor.

“The prophecy wasn’t about me,” he repeated softly. “I’m not the child of doom.”

The desolation in his voice almost made me smile. I mean, most people would be happy to discover they weren’t something called the
child of doom
. But Jack sounded suicidal.

“On the bright side,” I said, sinking to the ground next to him, “you can start saving up for a better car. And maybe you and I can take that vacation we’ve always talked about.”

He frowned, and I noticed his eyes had begun to tear. “Stop it, Amelie. This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” I said. “Look, I know you thrive on suffering and martyrdom, but there
are
silver linings here.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” I said, “haven’t you ever wanted to do something completely wasteful and pointless?”

He thought about it for a second. “No, not really.”

“Exactly. You haven’t, because you were never a normal, idiotic teenager. But see,
now
you’re allowed to want that,” I pointed out. “If your whole life isn’t based around you eventually making the ultimate sacrifice for humanity, then you have the space to want stupid stuff. You can be selfish. You can go skydiving.”

“We could have children,” he said.

My stomach tightened, and my heart lurched at the thought of doing that with him. Being a family. “I’m not certain that logs in the category of wasteful and pointless, but sure. Later. Much later, like when I’m fifty. Fifty is the new thirty, you know.”

“We could get old together,” he said. “We could sit on our porch and watch our grandkids chase chickens around the farm.”

I stared at him.
Chickens and grandkids?
This
was where his fantasy mind went?

“We’ll need to discuss the chickens,” I noted. “And can we maybe go to Paris first?”

His head flopped back against the stone wall. “I’m not letting myself get too attached to this yet. Just in case we go in there and it turns out to not be true.”

“Probably wise,” I said. “Also, can we have a goat? I’ve always wanted a goat.”

Jack laughed and swiped a fist at his tearstained cheek. “Shut up. Seriously. I feel like an asshole for being happy about this. You realize, even if it isn’t me, someone still has to die. And you still have to kill them.”

“But I don’t have to kill
you
,” I singsonged, poking him in the chest. “That’s way better, right?”

He lowered his forehead to his palms. “I’m a horrible person.”

“A horrible person with a
future
.” I planted a kiss on his earlobe. “And with chickens. Probably. I mean, I
could
still screw this up and the cracks could open and the earth could still become a hellish, demon-infested nightmare, right?”

“We can only hope.” He sighed. “Come on.”

Chapter Fifteen:

Vision Revision

If there’s one thing I can say about dealing with Lucifer, it’s that you rarely get what you expect. For example, if you’ve just trekked through a tunnel into a sewer and stroked an ancient opening glyph onto the butt of a satanic serpent in order to gain entry to a secret, evil cavern containing something called the Book of Lies, you’d probably expect there to be, you know…a
book.
With, like,
lies
in it. Or even a book with
answers
—I would have taken that, too.

What I did
not
expect was a tiny, almost-empty antechamber with a ratty red couch and a coffee table. Frankly, it looked more like the waiting room at a mob boss’s office than anything helpful or holy.

“Be careful.” Jack stopped me before I could take a step into the room. His eyes were transfixed on the far wall, flitting around the space like he was tracking movement. “Just out of curiosity, what are you seeing?”

I glanced into the empty room. “Not a ton. Couch. Table. A significant need for those Swiffer dusting cloths. Why?”

“I’m seeing the kitchen of my parents’ house before they were killed. That’s the breakfast table I used to eat at every morning.” He pointed at an empty space. “And that’s my backyard out there with Dookie playing on the patio.”

“Dookie?”

“Dachshund,” he explained. “He got eaten by a demon the year before my parents died.”

Huh.
Not the usual thing a kid has to put up with, but probably not the worst, either. “If we get out of this, I’m buying you a new dog. He can help with the chickens. And the goat.”

“Let’s just focus on the getting-out-of-this part,” he said. “I’m wondering if it’s safe for us to go in there.”

I stared at the empty room. The last few times I’d had contact with Lucifer, it had been in dreams, and yeah, it had felt incredibly unsafe. This place just felt like a place. No magic. No charms. No tricks.

“I think it’s safe for me,” I said. “But probably not for you.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you—”

“—go in there alone,” I finished for him. “You’re really cute when you’re predictable, you know that?”

He glared at me. “It’s just an empty room?”

“Couch and a table,” I reminded him. “Stone walls. Dirty floor. I really think I’m seeing what’s actually there.”

He thought about it for a second then shook his head. “I don’t like it. I’m coming with you.”

I’m not entirely sure why I knew that was a hugely bad idea, but something deep inside me started flapping its hands and shrieking danger messages at the thought of Jack setting even one foot in the room. Really, that’s the only explanation I have for what I did next.

“
Desisté,
” I said, and Jack’s body froze.

He could see and hear me—I knew that much. And judging from the annoyance in his eyes, I figured he probably had a solid sense of what had just happened.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know this sucks, but I need you to trust me. Just stay here, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Not like he could respond. I was about to head into the chamber to face my evil destiny when something else occurred to me.

“One more thing.” I turned back to him. “I hesitate to mention this because it was pretty insignificant and only messed with me a little, but I guess you should know. Luc kissed me. On the lips. And there’s a decent chance we’re sort of quasi bonded. I think that’s why we can jump portals together so well—because he’s part angelblood.”

Jack’s eyes slowly flooded with rage and disbelief. If I hadn’t tugged a little more power into the freezing charm, I’m pretty sure he would have broken out of it.

“Don’t overreact,” I said, “and quit mentally yelling at me. There’s nothing shady going on. I’m not marrying him. I’m not in love with him. In fact, I’m pretty sure he kissed me more out of trauma than actual feelings, especially since he was sort of dead and completely mental when it happened, so don’t kill him or anything. Anyway, I thought you should know. And since you’re going to have a few quiet minutes right now, it seemed like a great time to let you process it and start thinking up ways to forgive me.”

I tiptoed up to his cheek and gave him a kiss.

“I love you,” I said. “More than oxygen and coffee and chocolate, and even more than my favorite glyph-engraved throwing knives. Don’t forget that. Okay?”

For the record, I’m aware this was the most cowardly confession in the world. Possibly the whole universe. But it had to be done. And this way, if I died in the next few minutes, I could perish with one fewer sin on my rather considerable rap sheet.

I gave his hand one last squeeze and then gently shut the door in his face. It’d probably take him a while to forgive me. Not like I could do anything about that now.

Ahead of me, the empty cavern stretched out in front of me in endless gray ambiguity. Okay, not entirely empty. In the middle of the room where the couch used to be now stood a kitchen stool. And on that chair sat Brutus, Lisa’s cat.

“I know you’re not really a cat,” I told Brutus, “but I appreciate the effort.”

I swear he cracked a smile before he jumped off the stool and waddled to a red wood-paneled door with a cat entry, situated in the side of the wall—a door that, prior to a few seconds ago, hadn’t existed.

“I’m supposed to go through it, huh?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. Which was good, because I didn’t get one.

The edges of the room had gotten fuzzy with that soft, dreamlike quality, and the dirt on the floor wasn’t visible anymore. Neither was the stone. Along the side walls, dull orange paint peeled off in uneven sheets, and huge cracks ran up the stucco walls like hollow bolts of lightning. The weird thing was that I could still tell I was in the cavern, because my allergies swirled and bucked behind my nose. And I could still feel the Jack bond pulsing warmth behind me, so I knew everything was at least mostly okay.

Ahead, warm light spilled out of the cat door, begging me to go through.

“The book’s in there, isn’t it?” I asked again, except this time I knew the answer. I’m not sure how, but I could almost hear it whispering. It needed to talk to me.

Out of instinct, my hand reached for the doorknob. Before I could touch it, Brutus swiped at my ankle with a paw. No claws, but I could definitely tell he meant business.
Not the big door.

As I looked closer, I could see he was right. The lighted glow pulsed through the cat entry, but the space around the big paneled door stayed ominously dark. Vaguely annoyed, I sank to my knees and followed Brutus through the narrow opening.

I have clear memories of last fall, traipsing through the cavern to get to the Book of Omens with Jack. And although every piece of that experience was odd, at no point did I feel like I’d left reality. My feet were always attached to the ground, my hair was still connected to my head, and I always knew who I was. Today, not so much.

As soon as I passed through the opening, my body ceased to exist. Not only was my hair not attached to me, I’m pretty sure there
was
no me. It’s like I became part of the light.

“Stay,” Mom’s voice said from somewhere inside me—the light me, not the real me. Even though I couldn’t feel it, I had to believe that version of me still existed somewhere. That I had something to go back to.

“I’m only here to ask a question,” I called out. “You said if I needed you, I could come. Well, I need you.”

“Then ask,” the light mom said. “But before you do—are you sure you want the answer?”

I started to say yes, then hesitated. That was the exact same question she had asked when I told her years ago I wanted the truth about Santa Claus. She said sometimes we ask questions we don’t really want answers to, and then we spend the rest of our lives trying to forget.

It had seemed a bit hyperbolic to a kid trying to figure out where her Christmas gifts came from, but the point was well taken.

In this case, whatever the answer was, it meant I would have to become a killer—a monster like Lisa, chased and hunted through life. I would never be safe. I would never have a normal life. Yes, the prophecy would be fulfilled and the Guardians’ burden would be lifted, but only because I would have to carry it for them.

Did I really want to know the answer? No, I didn’t.

But I needed it.

Before I could give an affirmative response, the air started twisting and writhing, as if the light itself had taken on form and substance and was shaping itself into something meaningful. It took me a second to realize that the something was me.

Another breath, and the world congealed into a nighttime sky, the floor below firming into a concrete window ledge. Behind me, a sheer drop fell off a couple dozen feet, and on the ledge in front, Brutus perched, looking snooty and catlike.

Vertigo washed over me as I grabbed at the stone. “Could you give a girl some warning next time?”

Brutus’s nose twitched, which is about as close to compassion as you get with a cat.

Through the glass windowpane, I saw myself sitting cross-legged on Luc’s bed, my shoes discarded on the floor, my coat draped carelessly over the desk chair. Casual and familiar. Nothing unusual.

The unusual part was that Luc sat across from me, his knees lightly touching mine, hands dangling close to mine. And wound around our fingers was a cluster of pearly bond threads.

Linking us.

Connecting us.

I kept waiting for it to resolve, like maybe my eyes just needed to focus and it would go away. But it didn’t. It stayed there. Not one thread, like what had sprung up between us during the dinner attack. This was far, far worse. Dozens of them, all squirming and alive, like a nest of baby Thracta demons. It was a train wreck. It was a nightmare.

The strange thing about it was how possible it seemed. Like this
could
exist if I let it. Dad always said reality is what you make it. Your choices define you. It felt like Brutus was telling me that
this
was one of my choices.

I glared at the cat. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. I came here to find out who the last Gabrielite is so I can finish the prophecy. Not to be assaulted with stupid lies about my future love life.”

The cat seemed to shrug, like,
Hey, this is the Book of Lies
, duh.

Yet another reason why you should never trust a cat.

Fully annoyed, I glanced back through the window. Luc had his hand on my cheek and had leaned in to kiss me. Only this time I didn’t fight him. I was actually smiling, and so was he. We looked so content. So at peace. Was that even possible, that I could be happy with Luc?

No.
I shut my eyes tight, trying to force the image away.

“Stop it,” I said through gritted teeth. “I asked a question, and you said you would answer it. Now quit screwing around and do what you promised.”

Inside my head, something clicked. When my eyes opened, the scene had shifted in two significant ways. First, Luc and I still sat together, but instead of me looking
into
his bedroom, now I was looking
out
the window to where we knelt in a field of ash. Or possibly a Nether cul-de-sac of ash, since burned-out houses lined the suburban wasteland and demon hordes swarmed the air above.

Second, instead of pearly bond threads, this time my hands encircled a flat dagger. Not like the hooked one Jack always carried, but smaller and less lethal-looking. I held it in my lap, absently running my fingers over the blade—top then bottom, as if my fingertips could polish it to a shine. As my hand flipped to swipe the underside, I caught sight of the glyph I’d seen in my vision at Bertle’s house, the same glyph Petra had on her wrist. Two circles, lightning bolt slash, loopy vines twined around the perimeter—the mark of the Guardian Elders.

The demons above us tightened their flight loops, coming closer and closer to where we sat, but neither of us moved. After a few seconds, I watched myself lean forward and kiss Luc on the cheek. He looked at peace. Not the same sort of contentment as the earlier vision, but calm, nonetheless. I drew a deep breath, and then I drew the knife back and stabbed it into his heart.

“No!”

My fists reached up to bang on the glass, like maybe I could break through and stop myself from doing it. But it was too late.

The scene had already vanished into a shatter pattern of tempered glass shards that skittered across the cavern floor. In front of me, the ash field had been replaced with the same ratty red velour couch and time-scarred coffee table I’d seen before. Brutus sat on the couch, staring at me with slitted eyes. It took me a second to process the shift, then another to make sure my body had solid shape.

“What,” I said, “was that?”

Brutus started licking his paw but didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. This was a tragedy of the most epic order, magnetic and horrifying.

And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my imagination.

I’ve recently come to the conclusion that true disaster doesn’t happen all at once, like an earthquake. Sometimes the worst atrocities are in the tiny things. Things you don’t notice. This disaster, for example, had been building for months, and I hadn’t seen it at all. Even now, after it had played out for me in raw Technicolor, I
still
didn’t want to see it.

“Fine,” I said, mostly to myself. “I’ll just kill him and bring him back. It worked with Jack and it worked with Lyle. Why should Luc be any different?”

As I spoke, Brutus lifted his head from the paw-licking-fest and rolled it over to rest on top of a dog-eared paperback romance novel, which also hadn’t been there five seconds ago. I glared at the swirly title font and windblown cover models that graced the front of the paperback novel.
The Book of Lies.

“Seriously?” I asked Brutus. “Could we not do this with a bit more elegance?”

The cat watched as I picked up the book and read. Last time I’d seen a Great Book—the only time I’d seen one—it had been very serious and emotional. Even touching the thing made me feel like my life held more meaning. This was the complete opposite. It felt flimsy in my hand, like the pages had been printed on old newspaper and sat in a basket next to a toilet for a decade. And every page said exactly the same thing: