Revenant (12 page)

Like this irritating stake wound,
Mephistopheles said in my head. An echo of Jason’s voice.
The Archer’s aim was accurate, and it might have killed a much younger host. But Jason has reached his century mark, and so I am able to control a bit of his physical health. My being has changed his blood, and is healing the wound. It’s not instantaneous yet—but given time, it will be.

I understood that. Or I’d read enough vampire or fantasy books to get it. “So—you can withstand a fire?”

Jason shook his head. “Probably not. If my body becomes too badly injured for Mephistopheles to heal, then I will die.”

“And what happens to him?”

“He finds a new body.”

I had to ask. “What if he can’t find one?”

There was a slight laugh in my mind.
I always find a body. But I do not take it. My hosts give me life voluntarily.

“He finds us at our weakest,” Jason said. “But not in a bad way. I wasn’t the healthiest candidate. But his former host had been stabbed repeatedly on the docks in Manhattan. I was there . . . homeless. A vagrant. And I was dying and didn’t realize it. He offered me a future when I didn’t have one.” He looked down. “I couldn’t see one.”

I had this feeling there was more to Jason’s story than he was giving me. But I didn’t want to pry. “Why do you drink blood? I have the reason that TC told me. But you tell me. Is it really to maintain humanity?”

He looked at me. “Yes.”

“When I said that age is a plus, I also mean it’s a detriment. As our bodies change, we grow less human. The Revenants discovered a long time ago that by drinking human blood, they could maintain the status quo, so to speak. If we don’t drink blood, then our bodies will undergo a dramatic change.”

“You mean a physical change?”

He nodded. “Yes. Not so different than your own change now, as a corporeal Wraith. But not something we can hide as you do. So we drink it to maintain the balance. Like the other night—when your mother offered me blood—she knew that if I didn’t get it, Mephistopheles’ blood would start to change me physically because it’s a fight of the fittest. Whose blood is stronger. So she gave me hers willingly, and I was able to stay human.”

Well, there was my in . . . but my curiosity level of what he was talking about overpowered my when-did-you-boink-my-mom level. “If you’d have changed into this other . . . this thing like me . . . would you not change back? I mean, I can change back. Pretty easy.”

Jason looked more serious than I’d ever seen him. It looked interesting on him. “Not easily. Mephistopheles is strong, and he’s never tried to override
me
”—he put his hand to his chest—“Jason Lawrence. If I were to lose that much control, survival would kick in. It’s a natural response. I could eventually change back, reverse the body shifts. But as I am—unlike you—I am more human than Abysmal creature.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. Geez, I was tired. And I was pretty happy Jason was okay.

“There’s one other thing, Zoë.”

Uh-oh. I looked at him. “Is it about my mom? This whole dating-her thing?”

“No—but that is something she and I need to talk to you about. My concern is what’s happening to you on the Wraith side. The physical transformation rather than the astral one.” He cleared his throat. “Your relationship with the Archer, to be exact.”

I thought about TC. About his seemingly uncontrollable dislike for Jason. For all Revenants. His attack. And then how he—

“Jason—TC was the one that helped me. After I released Mialani.”

“Yes.”

“He’s never done that before.”

“No.”

“But you seemed to know he could.” I pushed myself up on my elbows and narrowed my eyes at him. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

He took in a deep breath and clasped his hands together in front of me. “I’m not sure how to tell you this—but as a preface: did you ever wonder how it was that he could do what he did with you? That of all the Symbionts out there—you had a run-in with one that, when he touched you, you changed?”

Honestly—that thought had never crossed my mind. I shook my head. “I didn’t know that no other Symbiont could have done what he did.” I leaned back, held out my left arm, and looked at the handprint there. It was faint now, and looked almost gold. “I was out of body, and he tried to take my soul. But when he touched my astral body—”

“The shock from touching the living plane changed both of you.” Jason nodded. “The Archer is a liar above all things, Zoë. Dedicated to self-preservation. He is also one of us.” He lifted his shoulders and stared directly at me. “He is the
Last
First Born.”

IF
there was one thing I’d been expecting in terms of waiting for the other shoe to drop—that wasn’t it. In fact, that was nowhere near what I’d expected to hear from Jason. And I’m sure my face showed it as he moved in a little closer and reached out for my hand. Again, I was surprised at how warm it was and how pliable his skin was in comparison to Lex’s.

“Zoë, I know that probably sounds made up—”

“Uh . . . yeeee-ah,” I said. “You’re trying to tell me that TC—the freak that derailed my being some Irin or such—is actually one of you?”

I could hear Mephistopheles grumbling somewhere, under his breath. Something about asses and donkeys.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, and I kinda figured he and the Symbiont hijacker were in conversation, privately. I also figured that I could hear Mephistopheles only when
he
wanted me to. Finally, he gritted his teeth and looked at me. “Apparently Mephistopheles isn’t that fond of calling the Archer what he is.”

“Neither am I,” I said. “But this—How can he—But I didn’t—”

Och. This was getting me nowhere.

“Zoë.” Jason lowered his shoulders. “When the first Phantasm created them—the First Borns—he created a limited number, and even now that total is unknown. But Archer was created last before the original Phantasm was destroyed. He was never allowed to mature or grow up outside of the next Phantasm’s influence.”

“So that’s why he was doing the Phantasm’s work?”

“He was for so long controlled by the Phantasm—until he met you. And then everything changed.”

I heard Joe’s footsteps before he came in, a tall glass in his hands. He stopped in the doorway and grinned. His hair seemed droopier than usual, and I wondered if he’d run out of gel. He held up the glass as he stepped forward.
Jason said this will help you feel better.
And he handed it to me.

I took it. The glass was clouded with condensation, and I could see the cucumber floating inside with ice. “Cucumbers.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him just as his phone went off. He held up a hand and pulled it from his back pocket. Joe couldn’t talk on the phone—having no voice. So he and Mastiff used texting in order to communicate. I watched as he looked at the screen, then moved out of the room.

Jason gestured to the glass. “It’s really refreshing. Vitamins.”

I stared at it and, with a shrug, tasted it.

Smack, smack. Hrm . . . not so bad. Cucumber wasn’t a flavor I usually chose over strawberry or vanilla, but this would do. Abruptly, I was parched, and I drank the whole thing down before realizing I could get—

“Uh, Zoë, you might want to slow down before you get—”

Och. I winced and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose as an old familiar pain centered there.

Brain freeze.

Jason took the glass and waited patiently for me to refocus on him. “Be careful.”

“Just go on.”

“Those of us born before him were released as free spirits into the planes. Back then, there weren’t barriers, or Guardians, or any real rules regarding realms.”

I rubbed at my forehead.
Oh man
. . . What a headache I was getting.
Maybe I should check my sugar?
“In the good old days?”

“Maybe.” Jason shook his head. “My memories of those centuries aren’t as clear—too many years have passed from host to host. But there were no borders. And the Phantasm worked in tandem with the Seraphim.”

“The angels?”

The look he gave me was soooo condescending. Oh. I hate that look. It was bad enough when TC did it. It was just intolerable for someone with Jason’s face to do it. “No, and yes. Much about the Seraphim is a misconception. Misinterpreted. Creatures like the Seraphim aren’t a grouping of angels—as literature would have you believe—but the culmination of eternity wrapped up into a single entity. Many as one.”

What was that emoticon that meant complete incomprehension? Oh yeah.

O.o

’Cause that was the look I gave him.

And to his credit, he didn’t look impatient. He looked more determined. “Okay, take the Phantasm. The term itself has a plural connotation to it. Phantasms in lore have sometimes been labeled into a swarm or a group. Same as the Seraphim. But in truth, it’s really just a title.”

A title. “You mean like president or Speaker of the House. The position remains the same but different personalities inhabit it.”

He grinned. “Yes. There have only been to my knowledge—or to Mephistopheles’ memory—two Phantasms. The one that created the First Borns. A war happened—not unlike the most recent Bulwark—and the present Phantasm took control.”

“What happened to the first Phantasm?” I was still waiting on the explanation of TC being a First Born, but I still wanted a bit more history. More than the Dioscuri notes could give me.

“That creature—” He hesitated, and his eyes took on that whole MEGO look. I knew it wasn’t because I was boring him but because he was obviously talking to Mephistopheles.
Wow
. . . I wondered what it was like to constantly have some sort of presence in one’s head. I didn’t wonder for long, as I was immediately reminded of my overshadowing people, with my voice in their heads. Ick. “That creature isn’t with us any longer.”

“The new Phantasm kill him?”

“No—” He shook his head and refocused on me. “I can’t really say. Even Mephistopheles isn’t sure what happened. They only knew the moment their creator was no longer in power, and they had become a hunted group.” He gave a short sigh. “But do you understand the concept of the Seraphim?”

“Yes,” I lied. I wanted to get on with the story.

“Sure. As I said—both planes worked together. Not always in harmony. The Phantasm created his first brood to go into the planes and experience life. Primarily physical existence.”

“Now,” I interrupted, “my understanding is that the Phantasm can’t actually touch or influence this plane.”

“Right.” Jason nodded. “Neither can the Seraphim. Their very being isn’t able to connect to this plane. If they ever tried—the worlds as we know them would cease. And so would they.”

“Wait.” I held up a hand. “Can we back up with the cease? You mean like—end. Poof?”

“Yes. Poof. Which is why they both made their soldiers, their scouts, extensions of themselves through which to experience things.”

“The Seraphim too? It makes Symbionts?”

Jason nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Jason checked his watch. A Rolex, I noticed. He patted my thigh. “I’ll be right back. Rhonda was making you a snack.” He stood and left the room.

I was feeling . . . punched in the stomach. My head was a jumble of things, from the scene in the morgue with Jason and Mialani and TC, the dream with Alice about Dags, and now trying to understand that somehow TC was a—First Born?

I heard the tray before Rhonda came into the room with Mom in tow. Rhonda wore a pinched expression, which only complemented her black tee shirt and cargo shorts. She wasn’t wearing her usual black lipstick or black nails, and her skin looked even paler than when she wore makeup on it.

Mom—well, Mom was Mom. She wore a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, though the shirt was pretty much stretched to its limit over her breasts. I watched her come in, then, “Hey—that’s my tee shirt!”

She only waved at me as she came around the right side of the bed, a thermometer in her hand. I pointed at it. “I don’t need that.”

“Yes, you do.” She pressed the button and heard the beep. She leaned over me. “You can open wide, or I can use this one the way I did when you were a baby.”

Oh, I opened wide. And while I lay there with a stick under my tongue, Rhonda set a tray of Mom’s goodies at the foot of the bed. I recognized her lemon cake, salmon and salad, soft yeast rolls, a fruit salad of strawberries, pineapple, and blueberries, and a carafe of what I figured was tea.

I was wondering who the feast was for until my stomach betrayed me with a vengeance. Rhonda grinned at me. “I see your stomach is better.”

Nodding, I sat up. The room didn’t tilt on me the way it had, and the stick beeped. Mom pulled it out in time for me to grab up the roll and bite into it.

“You’re still at a hundred,” she said.

I pointed to the carafe and looked at Rhonda, the question in my eyes, did my mom make that?

’Cause she was notorious for her really nasty tea concoctions. Rhonda glanced over at Nona, who was pressing buttons on the thermometer, and gave me the head shake. No, Mom didn’t make the tea.
Yay!
So I poured myself a small mugful and sprinkled in some Stevia.

Jason came back in, a mug in his hand. I frowned. Revenants eat?

Ah, no, we do not eat,
came Mephistopheles’ voice in my head.
But our hosts must for at least the first two centuries. Jason is still young and has an enjoyment with beef.
There was a pause and a chuckle.
As do I.

Somehow that was just wrong. But I wasn’t going to figure it out just yet.

He looked at Nona. “Good?”