The Triad of Finity (22 page)

Emalie was gone.

How could he go on knowing that? Why would he want to?

“You don’t have to,” said Illisius, reading his thoughts. “Oliver, my boy, you can choose to be free of it. Free of this world, this vampire existence, of going through your days without them.” Illisius waved his free hand at Emalie and Dean. “You can be free of it. And you can free the universe of this kind of suffering forever. Not to mention freeing your own kind from prison. We can all be free of what you’re feeling right now, of Finity’s sickening disease. You, your parents, everyone.”

Not to feel this anymore … Illisius was right about that, too. It did feel like a sickness, something that would gnaw at his insides forever, this terrible despair. To be free of it, to just end it …

“It’s your choice.”

Oliver heard this, and suddenly he almost laughed.

Choice.

So this,
this
was what his prophecy meant. Emalie had been brought here, had been Anointed and tied to the prophecy. She was the power that no other vampire had, only her purpose was to be
killed
by Illisius. And killing her was supposed to give Oliver the power to open the Gate. To
choose
it. To choose freedom as a higher demon over this terrible suffering. As the prophecy had said,
to overcome the Architect’s most powerful forces
. What were those exactly?

Whatever, it didn’t matter anymore. None of it. Oliver felt a wave of exhaustion settle over him.
Emalie … Dean … I can’t go on
, he thought.

And Illisius was right: He didn’t have to. He could just open the Gate. Forget it. Emalie was gone. Anyone else he cared about would someday be gone too. But not his parents, his larger family, they’d exist forever with him in the new universe. That was, except for Bane.

But then was he slain for nothing?
It was Nathan, asking him.
Were all of them slain for nothing?

“That’s Finity talking,” said Illisius. “The idea that every life has to
mean
something. But how can they? They’re not eternal. They’re just a means to what’s next.”

Feelings
, said Nathan.

What?
Oliver looked over at him, his soul, the thing that made him feel good, alive, and yet … he almost didn’t even want to look at Nathan anymore. Because wasn’t he just another thing that Oliver could never have? Like a reminder of his emptiness? At least if he had a demon, he would have something inside. He would be complete, wouldn’t he?

The thing in the prophecy, about the most powerful forces of the Architects,
Nathan was saying,
I think they’re feelings. Like, emotions.

“Time to make a choice, Oliver.” Illisius extended his free hand. “Take my hand and we’ll begin the universe again, and end your pain forever.”

The Gate suddenly burst with light, momentarily blinding them all, almost as if it had heard Illisius’s request. Oliver blinked hard, and when the light cleared from his eyes, he noticed a change. Turning, he saw that the battle behind him had ended. The vampires, the Legion, Phlox and Sebastian, all were watching him. The Orani had stopped firing. Without really realizing it, Oliver had taken a step toward Illisius.

Or maybe he
had
realized it. And now everyone on the acropolis at Nexia knew that it was time for the end.

Oliver, see me clearly.

The voice of the Gate surprised him. It was loud, washing away other thoughts. Oliver shook his head, that voice was always so familiar, and always that same phrase, it had been saying that since that night in the school gym: What did it mean?

Stay out of this,
Illisius said in Oliver’s mind, as if replying to the Gate.

Oliver tried to look up at the Gate, but it was too blindingly bright. He turned away. …

And found himself gazing at Emalie again.
Oh, Emalie.
She had been so alive, she …
She would think this was awful.
The thought struck him. How many times had he had that very thought, when he was about to do something, only to have that idea give him pause, sometimes even change his mind? The idea that
she
would think it was wrong. That he cared what she thought, that it mattered to him even in times when she wouldn’t know … like now.

See me clearly
, the Gate repeated.

That’s enough!
Illisius shouted at it.

Lying there, face down, it was true: Emalie would never know if Oliver opened the Gate. But, if she could have known, she
would
think it was awful, him ending the world, destroying all of her loved ones, all the living beings.

But, who cares? She’s dead,
Oliver argued back at this thought.
It doesn’t matter what she thought!

Doesn’t it?
asked Nathan.
It does to you.

“It’s time, Oliver!” Illisius called, his hand still extended, the clean white fingers beckoning.

Oliver tore his eyes away, back to Emalie—too horrible—to Dean.
What am I going to do without them?
he thought.
I can’t go on. …
His gaze landed on Nathan, the glowing light, the shape so similar to him.
I’m sorry,
said Oliver.
All of it … even you … It all hurts too much.
Back to Emalie.
I can’t …

Oliver, no!
Nathan called, extending his glowing hand toward Oliver.

Oliver turned to Illisius, the dark silhouette, also reaching toward him. This was his choice. Nathan, the light and the pain of Finity, or Illisius, the dark and the infinite …

Wait a minute.

“Light, dark, choice,” Oliver said to himself.

Illisius’s face darkened, as if he’d heard this thought. “Come to me, Oliver!” His voice was edged with anger.

But Oliver felt like he’d fallen backward into an ocean. He was swimming in his head, around the hulking form of something enormous. A thought … A truth …

“Earth, Eve, Dawn,” said Oliver. “Light, Dark, Choice.”
Could it be?
he thought.

Nathan suddenly glowed brightly.
Yes!

And finally, Oliver saw it.

It’s me,
he thought.
I am choice. I choose between the light and the dark.

“Oliver!” Illisius took another step toward him.

Oliver looked at his demon. Time had slowed in his mind.
Eve, Dawn, and then Earth. Earth is the physical. In both light and dark. Me.
He glanced from Nathan to Illisius again. But there was even more: What had Dexires said, about living beings, about how the human was the highest creation of the Architects because it felt the most? Because it
was
both … and like Nathan had said, because it was both, it could
feel
.

Demon and soul. Light and dark. And choice.
Me.

I know what the Triad of Finity is,
thought Oliver.

“Come to me, Oliver!” Illisius lunged toward him. Reaching. His hand inches away.

Nathan!

Nathan raced toward him too.

Oliver knew. He knew what the Triad was. He was looking at it. He was part of it. He …

I am the Triad of Finity.

Or at least, he would be.

And though he couldn’t change what had happened here tonight, what lay on the ground at his feet, he was going to save the world.
And that’s what she would have wanted. And Dean, and Bane, too.

The Light, the Dark and the Choice. All he needed was something to bring them together.

To bind them.

And he had that, too. For taking the grief of a wraith …

Thanks, Jenette,
Oliver thought.

He reached out just as Illisius arrived, grabbing the demon’s wrist first. Nathan grabbed Oliver’s other hand.

“Contenethh!”
Oliver shouted.

Light burst from him.

“You can’t—” Illisius began, his eyes igniting, as if he understood only now what was happening, and Oliver thought he saw fear, real fear in Illisius’s eyes.

“
NO!
” the demon shouted.

Yes
, said Nathan.

And in a blinding flash, Illisius and Nathan disappeared.

Oliver staggered. He felt an overwhelming surge inside him, spaces filling, flooding, pouring into every crack, warming, freezing, all at once. The light and the dark, demon and soul, both a part of him now …

And suddenly sound, and pain, movement inside him, like everything was heaving, thumping.

“Oliver! What happened?” Phlox and Sebastian were rushing to his side. Distantly, the vampire crowd was in an uproar.

Oliver tried to speak but he couldn’t. He—everything felt tight. Like he needed to—

He grabbed at his throat.
Help!
He tried to call. But nothing came out. He slapped at his mouth, at his chest, stumbling, falling backward.

Sebastian and Phlox caught him. “We have to get him out of here!” Phlox shouted.

“Over here!” It was Aunt Kathleen and the Orani.

Oliver’s vision began to prickle with tiny explosions of light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash and Margaret and Selene returning. Margaret was holding a large glass jar, something glistening and silver inside, rushing to Emalie. …

But Oliver lost control of his legs and arms. What was happening? He couldn’t, he—

“Hold on, son,” said Sebastian, catching him.

Oliver felt hands lifting him, but barely. Being carried through the crowd. It seemed to be happening to someone far away. Above, stars and worlds whirled, planets arcing, the universe intact. …

Fading out.

Oliver’s eyelids fluttered closed.

To black.

Chapter 18

Patient J-22

No one who awoke at dawn on that November Wednesday knew that they’d nearly slept through the end of the world. Life proceeded in its normal way, oblivious to the larger workings of the universe. People dreamed their dreams of little things they hoped would happen, regretted things they’d done, drank lots of coffee to shrug off that winter urge to sleep all day, and generally got on with things.

The nurses who arrived at Ballard Swedish Hospital that morning were surprised to find a patient in one of their beds. No one could locate a record of when this patient had been admitted, or who did the admitting, which caused a good amount of grumbling around the microwave in the staff kitchen.

The patient also had no identification, and so, when affixing a wrist band, a nurse identified him as J-22. J for juvenile, and twenty-two for the date. The patient had no obvious wounds, but was unconscious. He was given fluids, and put on monitors, while a search was conducted to try to discover his identity. Because of his dark clothing and the bruises all over his body, the patient was fingerprinted, and the results run against the police juvenile database. When that turned up negative, a small swab of cells was taken from the inside of the patient’s cheek to run a DNA analysis.

Just after lunch, a match came in, but the hospital staff didn’t believe it. The DNA matched a sample from a cold case; some detective named Pedersen had recently run DNA on hairs taken from a baby’s blanket, connected to a missing child case from 1948. The hospital staff dismissed the findings. Faulty test. Because there was no way that this teen boy was Nathan Bailey, the abducted one-year-old from so long ago. …

And so patient J-22 lay still on the bed, all through the day, until late afternoon, when the visitors arrived.

Something was booming. In the distance. Like banging on the sewer door.

Oliver heard it and thought he should get up, get out of his coffin and get ready to hide, or run, or fight. It would be Half-Light. They would be after him, no doubt having found some loophole in the prophecy. Some way to open the Gate after all …

The booming continued.

There was light, too. It was bright. The Gate? Was he still in Nexia?

Oliver slowly opened his eyes. It took some effort. They were sore, dry-feeling. That strange thumping sound was joined by clicks and beeps, and some weird movement, a quiet rushing sound, also rhythmic. Everything was cluttered, busy, like he was inside some kind of machine. And he heard a voice in the distance.

“We know him. Can’t we just see him?”

Oliver’s surroundings came into focus: A room with white walls. He was lying half-reclined in a bed, machines around him.

A hospital.

The windows looked out on a cloudy afternoon. Daylight. Oliver looked down and saw that his bare arms were directly in the light. He felt a surge of panic and flinched, but then noticed that his pale white skin wasn’t smoking or singed. His arms looked fine. In fact, the skin wasn’t exactly white. …

And there was something in his arm. A tube. Sticking through the skin just above his wrist. A tube leading to a bag of some clear fluid. What was that? Some kind of force treatment?

“I’m sorry but you can’t,” said the husky female voice in the hall. “Only next of kin are allowed in.”

“But you can’t
find
any next of kin, can you?” Another voice, this one lower, almost growling. But that couldn’t be—

“Listen, we’re the ones who
know
him!” The first voice. So familiar especially when angry, but no, he must have been dreaming. This was all some kind of dream. Soon he’d wake up in his coffin, or in Dr. Vincent’s force resonance imager. …

“You have to let us in!”

“I’m sorry,” the older voice said, “we can’t allow access unless we—”

There was some kind of flash of light from the hallway, like from an enchantment.

“Thanks, I knew you’d see it our way.”

Footsteps.

Oliver struggled to sit up, pushing with his elbows, but there was pain, everywhere—the aching worst of all in his chest. And as he tried to move, a sucking sound, and aching pressure, like he was filling up, muscles and bones that hadn’t moved for decades now having to be flexible. But why?

And that thumping.

And—

“Oh my god.” Her voice was sucked up in a gasp as she entered and saw him. “Oliver!”

Oliver looked at her and felt the world momentarily wobble. Emalie.

“You—” Oliver croaked, “you’re—” he tried to talk but the words hurt, his chest hurt, he had to catch his …