Everlost (The Night Watchmen Series Book 3) (37 page)

WELDON DROPS ME ON THE ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Welcome to the beginning of the end, Everlasting,” Bael says with his arms spread out with hospitality.

I lift my head off the ground and wiggle myself up into a sitting position. The moment I do, I regret it, because my nose is assaulted by the scent of rotten eggs. Sulfur. We’re surrounded by it… doused in it… and it can only mean one thing.

We’re close to the Underground.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Everything is so dark. So grim. I hear footsteps moving all around me. Faint screams somewhere far away from me.

“Put her on her feet,” Bael says to who I assume is Weldon. He grabs me up and slams me down on my feet, keeping one hand firmly gripped around my arm. “This way.”

Following Bael into the unknown is the last thing I want to do, but at this moment, I have no other choice unless I want to be dragged or carried by Weldon again, and I’d rather die than let that happen. So I put one foot in front of the other as we move forward. I’m blinking rapidly, wishing I could rub my eyes. Wishing for a million things that won’t come true. Not down here, when we’re so close to hell.

“Weldon,” I say on a harsh whisper, “this isn’t you. You’re my partner! Snap out of it!”

I wait, imagining the many different responses he’d normally have. Wishing he’d say something, anything, even one of his smart-ass remarks. Something to tell me that he’s still in there. But his lips never move. His face never turns to mine.

I fight the scream that’s clawing its way up my throat. Banging through my chest. Searing against my tongue, filling every inch of my soul, and wish for once that I had just listened. Just taken in Jaxen’s words before brushing them away so quickly.

But then I wouldn’t have seen my parents. I wouldn’t know that even though they’re living in hell, they’re still alive. Alive enough for me to try to do something for them.

A door opens in front of us, and light floods out, splashing against the ground. My head jerks from side to side as I quickly take in my surroundings. We’re in some underground tunnel enclosed in sheets of metal. A large, metal door opens up to some kind of militant bunker, with rows of bright lights lining the walls. It’s surprisingly clean inside. White. Pristine, just like its owner.

Bael walks by us and stops in front of another door on the opposite end of the bunker. He presses his hands together in front of him, almost as if he’s praying, and then touches the tips of his joined fingers to the underside of his chin. He inhales sharply, pausing, seeming like he’s searching for the perfect words.

“I have a welcoming gift for you,” he muses, looking directly at me. “A gift I’m sure you’ll be over the moon about.”

I don’t let a single emotion slip as I stare him down.

He drops his hands, grabs the door handle, and says, “Now, you don’t have to thank me right away. You can let the beauty of this moment soak in first.” He stops. Looks between Weldon and me for a moment, and then adds, “Actually, no… never mind… let’s just get on with it.”

He turns the handle and pushes the door open, looking back over his shoulder at me the entire time. He’s waiting for my reaction. Dying for it. And I have to use every ounce of strength in me to keep my face a blank canvas. To keep my mouth from dropping open as his ‘gift’ stands up from behind a small, wooden desk centered in the room.

On the outside, I’m a barren desert. No details. No greenery. Nothing to see. But on the inside…on the inside, guilt, anger, and grief plunge through me like sandstorms, each battling to overshadow the next.

“I told you we’d meet again, Middleton,” Clara says as she strides toward me in a white suit with a blood-red blouse underneath. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in large curls. Her steps take on a leisurely quality, enjoying every moment handed to her.

Resistance wakes within me, stretching its conditioned paws.

A thousand different words trail through my brain, but all that comes out is, “Clara.” I keep my gaze pinned on her lavender eyes filled with hate. Keep my lips pressed into a thin line. Keep my hands in balled-up fists at my sides. But never do I give away the screams of rage ripping through me like a tornado on the inside.

Bael slaps at his thighs. “Really?” he demands, sounding like a child who just dropped their ice cream cone. “Nothing? Not a single reaction?’ He inhales deeply and continues, “And here I go out of my way to give you a gift, and I get nothing from you in return? Not a single peep.”

Clara stops next to Bael, dragging her hand across his chest. She lets go of my gaze and looks up at him with a loving smirk. “Don’t be fooled by the exterior, love. I can smell her fear like cheap cologne on a whore.”

I hate how she always so easily squashes my bravery that I work so hard to wear.

Bael smiles down at her, and then grabs a hold of her waist, pressing her against him. “Mmm,” he growls against her lips. “I do love it when you talk dirty.”

I look away, tucking my face against Weldon’s solid arm as bile climbs its way up my throat. Weldon continues to stare ahead, staring at something I can’t see.
Think,
I tell myself, wishing I knew how I could get through to him. How I could wake him from his incessant torture. But footsteps sound behind me and I know we’re about to move again. I have to focus on paying attention to my surroundings so I can hopefully find my way back out.

“You’ve been working with him this whole time?”

She smiles as her answer.

“Then what did you need me for? You have access to the Exanimator through Bael.”

“But I can’t do what I want with it without you, which, I’m glad you decided to play ball,” Clara says as she stops in front of me. “Had you done so in the beginning, then all of this wasted bloodshed could have been bypassed. But then again, I suppose it remains true to your character to make things as difficult as possible. To be ignorantly defiant. To be naively diligent, just like your poor parents.”

Her last words scrape across my mind like barbed wire, ripping open a fresh wound of feelings I’d rather not feel right now. Not in front of her.

“Don’t ever mention my parents,” I breathe out on a heat wave of hate.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares. Stares with this small, almost unperceivable smirk dressing her thin lips.

Seconds are like land mines between us, waiting for either of our words to stumble on first.

I don’t want to be the first to speak because that’s almost as bad as giving up, but I need to know about my parents. Need to know if they’re nearby. If the deal can still be made.

I open my mouth, ready to give in, when the door behind her, leading to God knows where, opens, and Edgar, the Priest who attached himself to Clara like a Remora to a shark, pokes his head in. “Her holding cell is ready, and the boys are getting a little antsy. Thought you should know.”

Bael’s head whips around in Edgar’s direction. Shadows of his demon side form around him as he shouts, “Tell the boys that we will begin when I say it’s time.”

Edgar disappears on a fast apology.

“Did you have to yell at him, love?” Clara asks, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side.

My mind still can’t fully grasp how she’s addressing him. Looking at him. Touching him.

Him.

A demon… and so not Mack.

Bael smoothes a hand through his hair and turns back around to her, plastering an empty smile on his face. Patience is thin in his smile. His barely repressed temper is beating against his gaze. “I don’t understand why you felt the need to bring him along.”

“It’s simple,” Clara says. “We need all the reinforcements we can get and, during a time such as this, I trust him.”

“He’s just so…”

“I know,” she says, finishing his thought for him. “But with the Watchmen in a disarray from Maddock’s accusations against me—”

“You mean his proof,” I correct, gloating in this small satisfaction.

Mack pulled through. The Watchmen world is now aware of Clara. That means the Rebellion will be taking action against the Darkyns Bael sent out. There’s still hope for us. I look up. Thank the God and Goddess for this one small reprieve.

“Regardless of what it was,” Clara says, pulling for my attention. Her hateful gaze tries to lance through me, but I’m wearing this win like armor. “We need every advantage we can get,” she says, looking back to Bael. “Edgar is a Priest. He knows his way around things. Now,” she says, turning back to me, “let’s get rid of those pesky weapons you’re carrying and get you settled in before the big show.”

She says this as if I’m about to be escorted to a room in a five-star hotel.

I glance back at the door, etching the layout, the smells, and the sounds in my head for later, when Clara steps into my line of vision.

“I don’t know why you’re looking over your shoulder. No one’s coming for you. None of them, not even the arrogant Gramm brothers, could find this place,” she says smugly. “And even if they could, they wouldn’t make it past the brigade we’ve placed up top.”

“What? Your pathetic Darkyns?”

I realize I have to keep her talking. Have to keep her dishing out information that could help Jaxen because, despite what she may think or say, he is coming. Whether I want him to or not. And if he does, I have to be ready.

Her chin lifts. She turns. Walks toward the desk with catlike precision, and then takes her time leaning her palms against it behind her. Her posture is perfect and confident, defiant almost. With an extended palm, she wills the metal in my pockets to come forth. One by one, I feel my lifelines shifting in my pockets. Lifting into the air. Moving away from me.

“How do you have magic?” I ask as a weight of disbelief presses on my chest.

Her face scrunches up like she doesn’t understand the question, but in her gaze it’s obvious that she’s toying with me.

“You didn’t have it earlier, when I invaded Ethryeal City right under your nose,” I say, my tone a little too uneven for my liking.
Keep her talking,
I tell myself. Anything to stall. To give the others time. To give myself time to come up with a plan better than what I have… which is nothing at all.

“It isn’t rocket science,” Clara says with a lowered brow. She sounds as if my ignorance has offended her.

“The Exanimator?” I ask with furrowed brows. “Who did you kill for those powers?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says with a superior smile.

My hands are shaking. My skin is ten degrees too hot. I could rip her hair out right now. Kill her even. But since I can’t, I choose to breathe in and out, trying to remain calm and collected. Trying to follow Sterling’s advice. I can make it through without my powers. I just have to be on my game.

“Shouldn’t you be handling the United Nations right about now?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on her. “They’re going to catch on once the Darkyns and Watchmen go head to head.”

Her smile falls flat. She turns to Bael. “I have her weapons. So long as that rope stays intact, then she’s as harmless as a fly.”

“Does that mean you’re done playing with our little mouse then, love?” he asks, smirking at her.

“I was done ages ago.”

And with that, she opens the door and heads down the hall to wherever Edgar disappeared off to, leaving just Weldon, Bael, and me.

I WROTE A PAPER MY SENIOR year about human habits and why people are resistant to change.

Safety.

The unknown terrifies most humans, and not just the unknown, but also the difference in surroundings. It’s anything out of the norm that terrifies us, because we’re creatures built on our daily habits that comfort us. We know inside those habits who we are, without question. And even though I wrote and aced that assignment, I never fully understood it, because change never really bothered me before. I didn’t understand how someone could be scared to make up their mind about something and stick to it. How venturing into the unknown could be so scary.

I never understood until now.

Not until I’ve realized just how little of a grip I have on this colossal change of pace.

Bael tinkers with a small intercom on the desk in the center of the room after Clara leaves, wearing a fashionable grin that sets my skin on edge. He presses the small, red button, calling to someone named Julius.

“Sir?” the other man’s voice says through the tiny box.

“I’d like an update on the Unholy Seal, Julius,” Bael says with more cheer than I can stomach. “We have company tonight, and I’d hate to be a bad host by having our festivities delayed. Good news would be appreciated.”

My ears feel like they want to detach from my body, just so they can be sure they hear every detail.

There’s a shuffling noise coming from inside the tiny box, and then some muttering.

“Do speak up, Julius,” Bael says, picking at his nails. “He’s always stumbling over his words,” he says over his shoulder to me.

As if I care. As if I’m a part of this moment and not shoved into it.

“Well, sir, the Darkyn Leaders… they’re umm… well, they aren’t satisfied.” I can almost picture the man, or whatever he is, on the other side, shaking in fear.

Bael stops picking at his fingers. Drops his hands on the table, exhaling loudly like a small, whiny child. “I don’t care about the Darkyn Leaders,” he says shortly. “They can take up their issues with Clara. She’s the one who roped them into agreeing to this anyhow.”

Thomas’ scarred face crosses my mind.

“They want a break. They say they’ve been digging for two days straight and still haven’t found it.”

Bael tosses an impatient smile over his shoulder at me, and then turns back to the speaker. “If they stop digging, they die. Simple enough, right?”

He pushes the end button.

“You sure know how to get under Clara’s skin,” Bael says as he snaps his fingers at Weldon. He doesn’t even have to use words to bend Weldon to his will, and it makes me want to hurl. Scream. Cry.

But I just swallow it down. “I could say the same about her,” I say as Weldon nearly drags me forward, through the opened door. Another long, narrow, metal tunnel that opens up to other tunnels, like a nest for ants. “Having issues with the seal?”

“Nothing that can’t be handled,” he says, straightening out his suit. He looks over at me so quickly, with such renewed energy, that it almost startles me. “You know, I find you highly interesting. You’re defiance, I mean,” he says as we make a left.

I try not to gag. “I’m glad I interest you.”

I’m counting steps. Burning turns in my brain. Praying that I won’t forget when the time comes.

“You know, if it weren’t for the need to awaken Mourdyn, I think I’d let you go, just because of your spirit.”

“How comforting,” I retort. “And why do you want to awaken him? Just so you can answer to another?”

He purses his lips in thought. Looks to the ceiling for a short moment. “Have you ever been in timeout? Kept in one area for a long period of time, feeling like if someone would give you a hammer, then you would gladly bash your own brains out from boredom?”

“Can’t say that I have,” I lie, wishing he’d get to the point and not draw out my focus. We make a right, walk for fifteen steps, and then make another left. My numbers are beginning to dance in my brain, mixing together in a mosh pit I’m not sure I can handle.

“Shame. It’s a great way to get to know yourself. But anyway, my point is, that’s what being the king of hell is like.” He pauses. Looks left, then right, like he can’t remember which way we’re supposed to go, and then turns left. “Not all the time,” he rushes to add. “Just most of it.”

Bitterness floods my tongue. “So what? You’re saying waking up the one person who nearly ended the world as we know it is merely entertainment for you?” I can barely get the words out. My skin feels like it’s one size too small. “That’s possibly the most twisted thing I think I’ve heard to date.”

“Really?” he asks, wearing a grin that suggests I just complimented him.

I don’t reply.

He stops in front of a metal door that looks just like all the others. There’s nothing on it, no number or name to signify it from the rest, and my heart plunges through the floor. “This is it,” he says, reaching for the handle.

He pushes the door open to a small room with metal walls that looks exactly like the room Clara kept me in for my so called ‘training.’ On the mat is a wooden chair sitting dead center.

“Sit,” he orders.

Every muscle in my body tightens, resisting his order, but somehow, I manage to walk forward. Force my legs to bend despite their growing need to turn and run.

“Remember, if you try any funny business, your parents…” He drags his thumb across his throat, and I almost wish I had the power to wish it true. “Weldon will stand guard,” he continues, “and when it’s time for you to break the seal, I’ll summon him. There’s beauty, I think, in using him as your watchdog, don’t you think? A subtle hint at just what the affinity partnership really is. Slavery. One person bending to another.”

I just stare at him, at a loss for words.

“No? Oh well.” He pauses midway through the doorway and says, “Oh, and PS, I do hope you enjoy the layout. I went above and beyond to ensure that it matched your cell back in Ethryeal City. I thought it’d help stir up some of those stubborn emotions in you.”

Echoes of his torturous, high-pitched laughter surround me as the door shuts behind him.

The moment it does, my eyes poke at Weldon. “I know you’re in there,” I say, studying him for any sign of my friend.

He stares distantly at me.

“Weldon, you have to snap out of this. We have to get out of here, and I can’t very well do that when you’re off playing the wounded bird.”

Still nothing.

“Weldon, damn it, I swear I’m going to kick your ass. Wake up!”

My chest is rising and falling as I hang on the seconds between us, praying for some small, impossible miracle that doesn’t come.

“You can’t let him win.” My voice cracks on the last word and my head hangs a little as the thoughts I’ve tried so hard to dodge suddenly grab me by the throat and pin me down.

What did I get us into? Really? I have no idea where we are. No way to really help Jaxen should he show up. I want to curl up into a ball, but I can’t move with the ropes holding me in place.

“Weldon, please. I… I need you right now,” I say through tearstained words. I look up at him as anger courses through my veins. “This isn’t you, Weldon!” I yell at him, struggling against the ropes. If I could just get up… just get close enough to him.

He stands with his arms crossed, still staring in the distance, and it’s then that I notice the small, blinking light in the corner. The camera centered on me, most likely with Clara standing on the other side… watching me… just like before.

I struggle harder, screaming out against the magic searing through my jacket. “Weldon!” I yell at him again and again and again until I realize… it’s no use.

We’re stuck.

Lost.

Hopeless.

And I signed us up for this the moment I chased after a small, black cat.