Darkening Chaos: Book Three of The Destroyer Trilogy (50 page)

I
never have liked my birthday much. Only three weeks away, I am not looking
forward to the day. Before, it was always a countdown to my death, now it is
something else, something confusing. For most of the world, my birthday is a
world holiday. It’s the day I defeated the Guardians. I celebrate with the
world, now, but never with my whole heart. I cannot make it through that day
without memories of Milo sacrificing himself to save Braden’s life replaying in
my mind. He caused so much pain, for me and everyone else, but I felt the
purity of his repentance in that moment. I don’t know that it will ever be
enough to erase what he did, but it makes me sad to know he is gone. Silently,
I thank Hope and Lance for their choice in dates.

“Lance’s
dad will even be able to come,” Hope says, interrupting my thoughts.

And
there’s the real reason she and Lance haven’t gotten married yet. As one of the
Guardians who opposed me, I was forced to make the same demand of Lance’s father
that I did every other Guardian. He was always a stern man, but not a prideful
one. He admitted his mistake and let me steal and return his talents, anointing
him as one of my own instead of an enemy. It was odd, though, that he could
admit being wrong about me and give me his Oath, but he couldn’t as easily
forgive his son for turning against him. Lance joined me, because, in the end,
he knew what I was doing was right. His father eventually made the same choice,
but the hurt of a child turning his back on what you had raised him to believe
was a hard thing to recover from. It’s taken him two years to do it.

“There
were times Lance didn’t want to wait,” Hope says, “but I knew he’d regret it,
so I kept putting off choosing a date. I think he thought I was hesitating
because I wasn’t sure. That wasn’t even close. I just wanted him to have his
family there. It still hurts that my grandpa won’t be there, but I didn’t have
a choice about that. Lance did.”

“I’m
sorry you had to wait, Hope, but at least you had reason to,” I say.

Sure,
part of mine and Braden’s reasoning for skipping out on the frills and fluff of
a big wedding were due to the fact that we had spent the previous eight months
away from each other and had every intention of following up our “I do’s”
making up for lost time—not to mention we were also in the middle of a hostile
takeover—but another reason we both understood was that everyone we cared about
having with us at our wedding was already there. Neither of us has any family
left outside our friends. Just each other, and now, our soon-to-be new
addition.

Following
my line of thought, and disagreeing, Hope says, “You still have family, Libby.”

“Not
family I want.”

“She’s
your mom,” Hope argues.

“Sure,
now she wants to be my mom. Now that I rule the entire freaking world, but not
when I was hated and alone. She wasn’t there when I really needed her,” I say.

Hope’s
hand squeezes mine gently. She isn’t the only one who thinks I should give my
mom a second chance. My dad has begged me to reconnect. Braden, who knows more
than anyone how much losing family can stifle a person, has asked me to at
least think about it. To be honest, though, none of their arguments budge me as
much as the one coming from someone who isn’t even born yet. My Naturalism told
me the baby I’m carrying is a girl as soon as it was possible to tell. It is an
amazing experience to be so connected to my daughter as she grows in side of
me.

Even
more incredible has been her own talents. It scares me a little to know that
even now she can use them. I can’t yet tell how many she has exactly, but I
know with surety that Perception will be among her gifts. Every time my
emotions start to boil over or pull me down, I can feel her gentle touch on my
heart and mind. When I am angry, she soothes me. When I start to think of all
the pain I have had to endure, she lifts my heart to happier thoughts. And when
I think about my mom and the heartache she has caused me, her power wraps
around me like a gentle hug as she comforts my soul. I feel her now. She
doesn’t want me to be sad. That simple, selfless desire does more to convince
me I need to reconcile with my mother than anything else in this world. For
her, I will try. It may take me longer than it took Lance’s dad, but I will
try.

For
a while, Hope and I simply sit together in the warm sun and watch our men try
to build a fence. Their antics do a lot to lift both of our spirits with their
self-inflicted injuries, lopsided panels, and friendly banter. I soak in the
rays and the joy of being with my friends. Eventually, the guys give up on
their effort. They make plans to tackle the project again the next day. Hope
and I share a glance that promises one of us will eventually just call a
professional, but I know we won’t really. Even if the fence never hangs quite
right, this home is my dream. Imperfect, rebuilt after neglect, and filled with
love. This is what I was fighting for, what I’m still fighting for.

I
get locked up in Washington often enough with crystal chandeliers, expensive clothes,
visiting dignitaries, grand buildings, and the like. It’s a necessity I have to
trudge through. The world may not understand why I choose to spend my downtime
in a modest sized home in a safe neighborhood in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but
as we crowd around our kitchen table with burgers and watermelon and baked
beans, I don’t care if anyone else understands. Everybody has a different
dream, and this is mine.

I
feel genuinely happy as I get up and walk our friends to the door after dinner.
The promise of Lance’s and Hope’s wedding bringing the rest of our friends
together makes me smile even wider. Hope reaches over my belly for a hug as
Braden and Lance exchange ideas about fixing the fence. I smile at her and say,
“Thanks for coming over, and let me know if you need any help with the wedding
plans.”

“My
mom’s so excited we finally set a date, she’s already got most of it planned.”
Hope laughs and rolls her eyes. “I’ll be lucky if I get to pick out my own
dress at this point.”

“Well,
let me know if you need a break from the wedding planning then. We can go to
lunch,” I offer.

“Thanks.
I’ll probably need it.”

She
looks like she’s about to say something else when Lance swoops in and wraps her
up in his arms, kissing her cheek and holding her. “Ready?” he asks her.

Hope
nods and Lance lets go of her briefly to give me a hug goodbye before tucking
her back under his arm and moving toward the door. Hope slips out of his grip
just before he pulls her away, her hand sliding into the back pocket of her
jeans and coming back out with a battered looking piece of paper. When she
offers it to me I’m slow to take it.

“I
almost forgot,” she says, holding the paper out. “I found this in some of my
grandpa’s old stuff when I was going through the attic the other day. I thought
you might want to have it.”

“What
is it?” I ask as I take it from her.

She
shrugs. “Just a poem.” She keeps her tone casual, but I can hear something
behind her words, and sense the tremor of unease in her spirit. Before I can
ask her any more, she and Lance are out the door and on their way to their car.

Braden
pulls me away from the door and leads me over to the couch. I curl up next to
him and let him evaporate every thought in my mind as his hands stroke my skin
and his lips meet mine. Slowly, his fingertips leave my arms and rest lovingly
on my belly. “Have you thought anymore about names?” he asks.

We
have been batting around half a dozen different choices we both like, but
sitting out under the sun today with Hope as we talked about tearing down and
starting anew helped me make a decision. “I think we should go with Eva.”

“What
did Eva mean again?” Braden asks.

“Life.”

Braden’s
arms fold around me more tightly. “I think that will be perfect.”

I
was named after a Roman goddess of death, and I grew up thinking pain and
unhappiness was my fate. I want better for our daughter. She will grow up
knowing the happiness and joy of life, and the power it holds.

“What
did Hope give you?” Braden asks.

Lifting
the forgotten paper from where it had fallen on the couch. I sit up and hold it
out to him. “She said it was a poem she found in Mr. Walters’s stuff. She
handed it over like it was nothing, but I could feel how nervous it made her.”

“Huh,
well let’s see what it says.” Braden unfolds the paper and begins to read.

When
evil has been broken

And
harmony restored

The
world will know balance again.

By
the Destroyer’s hand,

With
her Socius’s aid,

The
world will find peace.

More
important, though

Will
be their final task,

For
peace and balance will not last.

Destroyer
and Socius will join,

And
from their union, a new class will arise.

Life

For
the longest time, neither of us speaks. We just stare at the mangled paper in
disbelief. Braden finds his voice first and asks, “Uh, what did you say Eva
meant again?”

The End

Keep reading for a
sneak peek of DelSheree Gladden’s new series SomeOne Wicked This Way Comes

Wicked Hunger

Chapter 1

Stories

Having
my back turned toward the empty parking lot as I lock up the dance studio is
slightly unnerving. In the back of my mind, I know there’s nothing to fear, but
I still turn the key quickly and spin around to face the approaching darkness.

I
hold myself close to the door, waiting for the feeling to leave me. Several
minutes pass before I realize it isn’t going away. I can either stand here all
night, or start walking. It’s with a show of false bravery that I take a step
forward. As I walk away from the dance studio, I know I’m being silly. My
brother, Zander, is constantly telling me that fear is a weakness. I know how
to defend myself.

Defending
myself isn’t the problem. Controlling myself is.

The
walk to my grandma’s house where Zander and I have been living for the past
several years is a good five miles away. I was supposed to ask Grandma to pick
me up when Zander said he couldn’t, but I thought some time alone sounded
better. At least, at the time it sounded like a good idea. Now, I’m not so sure
that a fifteen-year-old girl walking home alone at night is smart at all. The
fading sun seems to retreat faster than normal. Within ten minutes, I am left
skulking along the streets of Albuquerque in full night. My pace quickens.

I
know the way home, but in the darkness I feel my courage fizzle. I am
practically running past shops with my feet set in the direction of the
relative safety of my neighborhood, taking any shortcut available to get me
home faster. I’m not the only one out on the streets. Average looking people
mill about on the sidewalks, but I keep my distance.

Eyes
down, I run. I’m only two blocks away from the cramped little neighborhood
where Grandma has lived for twenty years. I am almost there when I lurch to a
stop in front of a dank alley filled with scuffling noises and pain.

An
unsettled feeling rises in the center of my body. I try to take another step,
get away, but I can’t. A muffled scream sends another shot of wretched pain
shooting through the air. It’s too much to resist.

Dance
bag abandoned, tennis shoes slapping against asphalt, my body powers down the
alley independent of rational thought. Fragile bones snap and howls of pain
erupt. Delicious satisfaction rushes in as agony fills the damp alley.
Everything else is forgotten. 

The
sting of a knife pierces my thigh, the burst of pain only continuing the
frenzy. Blood splatters, knuckles crack, flesh breaks. Nothing else exists in
that moment.

“Hey!”
someone yells out.

Suddenly,
without warning, the space around me is empty. I stumble up to my feet in
search of the three chollo gangsters who were just on top of me. All three are
racing out of the alley, with only one looking back with a terrified expression
before darting around the corner.

Stunned,
confused, I stand up covered in blood and bruises. My eyes flit around for an
explanation, landing on a caramel-haired teen with a cell phone in his hand. I
think he tries to say something to me. I watch his lips move without
comprehending. The only rational thought I have is that he’s holding my ballet
bag. Then, I hear the word police slip past his lips. In a panic, I snatch my
bag out of his hand and run.

***

Laney’s
elbow knocks into my head as she tries to slide into the seat next to me. The
contact sends my hair into my face, and applesauce sloshing off her tray to
land in a cold splat on my bare thigh. I jump in surprise.