Torn (Demon Kissed #3) (5 page)

He snapped his fingers to get my attention, which infuriated me. I wasn’t a dog. “Pay attention,” Lorren snapped. “That isn’t the only part of the prophecy that matters. The Martis guarded that old thing for years, but it’s only part of what happens. The rest of these tell the story as well. No doubt you didn’t realize there was more to this, right?”

I shrugged. “I knew there were more.” Collin had mentioned other prophecy paintings. There had been thirteen in all, but I’d only seen the one. Lorren gestured for me to come over and look at the canvases. Dread crawled out of the pit of my stomach and climbed up my throat, as I walked closer to examine them. These held details that I didn’t know about, details that I was fairly certain I didn’t want to know. These were worse than my visions. I couldn’t tell what my visions were doing or if they were real or not. But these paintings—the prophecies—they were iron clad. Whatever they said would happen, would happen.

I swallowed hard, stopping next to Lorren. He looked down at me. I gazed straight at the horror encased in paint in front of me. Golden eyes were the only trace of the boy I knew. The rest of his features were contorted with hatred. “Eric.” My hand reached out to touch the ancient paint. Lorren watched me, but said nothing. The painting depicted Eric confronting me after he turned Valefar. It showed him pressing me against the massive stone with hatred. I was depicted meekly shying away from him with a sorrowful look on my face. There was no fear in my eyes. My stomach twisted as I looked at it. That painting had already happened. Eric was irate when he found me. He blamed me for his death. He was no longer the kind, caring boy I knew. He was a deranged Valefar intent on making me suffer a horrible death. That confrontation scared me so deeply that I still trembled remembering it. I quickly shoved my hands in my pockets so Lorren wouldn’t see. The only reason Eric left me alone was because he wanted to kill Shannon first. She was the one who doused him with Brimstone. I was sure of it. And so was he.

Lorren watched me carefully. His arms folded as he touched his face, asking, “This already happened? Didn’t it?” I nodded. Turning Eric into a Valefar was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I closed my eyes and looked away from the canvas, and away from Lorren. A hand gently touched my shoulder, and I looked up at him. His green eyes looked down on me softly, “You did it, didn’t you? You turned him Valefar.”

Again, I nodded, too ashamed to speak at first. “I found him dying inside here, towards the end of the maze. I thought he wanted to tell me something, but he couldn’t speak. His vocal cords were burned away by brimstone dust.” I spoke in a soft monotone, staring blanking at the painting. “I thought he wanted me to turn him Valefar—so he could tell me. But, I misunderstood…” my voice trailed off. I didn’t know what else to say. This was the first time I’d admitted my sin to anyone. I assumed he wouldn’t care. Most Valefar didn’t care about anything except
themselves
.

When I looked over at Lorren he had a stern look on his face. I thought he’d say something more about my demon kiss with Eric, but he didn’t. He stepped forward towards the next painting in the series, and asked, “What about the rest of these?”

My heart sank. I didn’t want to look at these. They showed a future that I was trapped in, but wanted no part of. Swallowing hard I stepped towards the next horror encased in paint. The first prophecy canvas I saw was happy compared to these. The rest of them looked like nightmares frozen in paint.

We moved back to a painting that we skipped. My hand floated up to my mouth, and I pressed my fingers to my lips as sorrow overwhelmed me. It was a painting of Eric covered in chains, sitting in a small chair—completely alone. Fierce loyalty burned in his defiant eyes as he refused to answer Julia’s questions. Pressing my eyes together, I shook my head sadly and looked away.
 

Lorren watched my reaction to it and then said, “This has happened already as well, right?” I nodded. “Tell me what happened here. This was before the Martis was turned Valefar.”

Nodding I said, “Yes, it was.” I told Lorren about Eric’s trial.

He looked at me in shock, “They condemned him to death?” His tone sounded incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe it. “But that’s not right.” When I looked over at him, he was shaking his head with his brows knitted together.

I laughed bitterly, “Since when do Martis do what’s right? Eric tried, and
look
where it got him. He was a dead man the moment he met me.” I stared at the painting for a few more minutes until I couldn’t look anymore. Remorse filled me. I wished he wasn’t the Seeker, and then maybe things wouldn’t have ended the way they did.

Lorren pulled me to the next painting, recapping what I told him. And we continued down the wall. He showed me the succession of prophecies and with every painting, the images got worse. Some of them depicted grotesque scenes—battles yet to happen. I was in every painting, prominent on every canvas. We stopped in front of a prophecy in the middle of the series, my breath caught in my throat. It depicted me in a flowing black ball gown with a jewel encrusted bodice. Corset strings laced it up tightly. I was in that room, the same room I saw myself in during a vision I had several months ago—a vision that ended with me realizing I was the demon queen. My eyes seemed different in the painting, vacant, hollow like I wasn’t me anymore.
 
These things would come to pass. The paintings didn’t lie, but I couldn’t see how they could possibly reveal the truth either.

I turned away, covering my mouth. “I can’t look at these anymore.” I felt bile rise up in my throat. What had I become? How did it happen? Some of these things had already come to pass. That’s what made it so horrifying. This was real. It was true. These things would happen.

Lorren shook his head and shoved me towards the next painting, “No,” he said fiercely, “You have to look. This is what happens.” His fingers wrapped around my wrist as he pulled me to the next painting, and then the next. “Do you see? Have you noticed the one unifying element that is in every single prophecy?” His eyes were cold.

I pulled out of his grip, and turned to him. “I see. I see myself in every single one. I see that I look haunted and hurt.” I pointed to one that showed me in battle, with the tips of my hair glowing like violet flames. “In that one I look fierce and certain. But in none of these is there a damn thing that says I wanted all of this to happen. Yeah, maybe I play a part, but so does Eric, Collin, Shannon, Al and every other person in any of these! It’s not just me! The whole world doesn’t go to Hell because of one shitty decision that I made!” I was yelling, and didn’t realize it. “I’m sorry, but it’s not a destiny that I wanted.” I hung my head, as Lorren walked away from me.

He pointed to a painting, asking me more questions and folding his arms. He walked back to the painting of Eric’s trial. “This part mattered, greatly. And the thing that acted as the catalyst wasn’t only you. There are several factors at play…” he glanced over at me. “How did he escape punishment? I assume that he wasn’t turned into a Valefar in front of the Martis army.”

“He wasn’t,” I answered, “I saved him.”

Lorren looked surprised. “You saved him?” I explained what happened and how the Martis condemned Eric for helping me. “We’d saved each other several times over the past few months.
And down here.
It’s just, that last time I tried to save him, well…I screwed up. He was dying and I couldn’t understand him. I thought he wanted to live and that was the only way I knew…” my voice hung in the air and I’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.

“But…” he prompted.

But, I liked it, I thought. But, I enjoyed tasting his soul. The thoughts brushed the back of mind and were too horrifying to acknowledge. I shut my eyes and shook my head.
“But nothing.
It’s my fault he’s a Valefar.” Looking at the rest of the paintings it was clear. I set this in motion. My decisions were causing a cascade of effects that I didn’t anticipate. There was no way I could have possibly known. I swallowed hard. “So this is it. This is what causes the Apocalypse. Me.”

He nodded.
“You and some other factors, but mostly you.
But it seems to be an accident, which is shocking. A girl ends the world by mistake.”

Normally, I would have sneered at him. But he was right. I shrugged, “I thought I could change it. I thought the prophecy could bend and become what I made it.”

“It doesn’t work like that. The prophecy is set in stone. This stuff happens,” he gestured towards the paintings. “And you’re the key. Do you see anything in these? Does anything jump out at you?”

I was about to say no, but something did seem odd. I knew all the people in the paintings. In every painting Collin’s face was obscured, but I knew it was him. One painting depicted Shannon swinging her silver sword like a warrior. That was the night we closed the portal on Long Island. I walked down the line looking at the paintings again, and instead of seeing my demise, I saw… something.
Something with Collin and Eric.
But what?
I couldn’t wrap my brain around it.
Collin and Eric.
I stared at the paintings and realized it seemed like a piece of the puzzle was missing. I counted and there were only twelve paintings. After a moment I paused and looked back at Lorren. “There’s one missing.”

He nodded. “There is. It’s the last one in the series. We were missing the first until recently. It was tossed in here a few months ago. But it’s that last painting that says what happens—who wins. If you win, you defeated Kreturus and take his power. That makes you Demon Queen. If he wins, if he steals your power when you die, then…God help us.”

I looked up at him. “You don’t think that I’ll turn evil by the time I kill Kreturus, if that is what happens? How could you think that?”

He looked at the painting and back at me.
“Because.
It’s all over your face. You don’t want to be this girl, and yet you are. She is you and you are her; and yet, you aren’t the same—yet. ”

I laughed, but it was completely hollow. What were the odds that I would find the only Valefar who knew where these paintings were located? Valefar knew a lot and the ones I’d met were older for the most part. And everybody seemed to know more than I did, but no one knew where the other paintings were. I was lucky I’d seen the one. And as far as the Martis were concerned, the other twelve paintings didn’t exist any longer. I wondered why they thought that. While I was thinking about the odds of me stumbling on the one guy who knew where all but one of the prophecy paintings was, I decided it was luck. But, I was a little too lucky. I mean, what were the odds of that? And for that matter, what were the odds that he’d know how to heal me, too?

I turned to him and shook my head. I couldn’t ask him directly why he knew all this stuff. That usually didn’t go over well. So I asked the next best thing, “So tell me, because I can’t figure it out. Why are you showing me this instead of sucking out my soul?”

Lorren laughed. He laughed out loud like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Suck out your soul. Why would I do that?” A huge smile spread across his lips as he wrapped his arms tightly around his middle and tried to contain his laughter. “You really think I’m a Valefar!”

My words sounded like I was offended, and I was. Lorren thought I was an idiot.
A bumbling prophecy girl.
I snapped at him, “Of course that’s what I think! You’re in Hell, you look like a human, and you’re slightly insane. You might as well have Valefar stamped on your head!” He was still laughing softly and shaking his head.

I cocked my head and considered him for a moment. He didn’t show any signs of being a Valefar. It was just a weird place for anyone but a Valefar to hang out.
“Fine.
But, then what are you?” Lorren folded his arms and looked down at me. His green eyes sparkled as the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. His smiles seemed condescending at first, but I couldn’t really tell anymore. I wanted to kick him; he was irritating me so much. Instead I said, “You smile an awful lot for someone living in Hell.”

He laughed again and replied, “I can’t see the harm in telling you, although I don’t think I’ve said this to too many people over my lifetime.” I had no idea what he was about to say, but since it wasn’t public information I was a little more eager to hear it. The expression on his face shifted. The smile smoothed out and his eyes were locked with mine. “Ivy, I’m an angel.”