The Triad of Finity (23 page)

Breath.
I’m breathing?
He thought. His brain was spinning.
How?

And it spun further when the figure limping along behind Emalie spoke. He was hidden in an oversized sweatshirt, the hood up. “Dude, you look terrible.”

Dean. Oliver’s eyes lit up. “What happened?” he whispered.

“We have
everything
to tell you!” Emalie rushed toward him, throwing herself into a chair beside the bed and grabbing his hand. Hers felt cold. But that was strange; they’d never felt cold. Emalie’s hands were always warm to near-hot, because
his
were cold. …

Blood makes warmth
. That beating sound he kept hearing. The rhythm and the aching. Inside him …

“I was dead,” said Emalie, her face getting red and puffy, tears falling. “But Mom and Selene went off after my soul. They caught it before it could escape.”

Oliver remembered a glimpse of Margaret holding a large jar, something silver inside.

“And there’s a time limit with that kind of thing,” Emalie continued, “but they made it, and revived me and … I lived.” She tapped near her sternum. “There are still bandages, and I’m sore doing pretty much anything, but Aunt Kathleen’s enchantments are healing the wounds.”

“Right, wounds …” Oliver looked to Dean.

“Relax, man, I’m a zombie,” said Dean. “It’s not like you chopped off my head. Though, you really got me good.” He rubbed at his chest. “Tore me up pretty bad, and those wounds could have eventually done me in, but Phlox patched me up. And, I’m glad you did what you did.”

Oliver could see Dean’s smile beneath the hood. He could also see a black gash on his chin, a red sore by his cheek, all his troubles slowly worsening, but it didn’t matter. It was amazing to see him. That was all that mattered.

It’s all thanks to you
, Emalie thought in his head. Then she added aloud: “You did it.”

Oliver nodded. He really had: formed the Triad, saved everyone. But he’d done something more than that. Something to himself. Bound a soul and demon to him. … He remembered back to Nexia. He’d been hurting. He’d fallen, blacked out. And now he was in a hospital, and there were all these sounds, of air, rhythm, and that warmth, like he was on fire inside, and that movement of air, like the world was moving through him. It had been one thing to sense the forces of the universe rushing by, but this was right there inside him, real and solid and hurting his body. Air … blood … He put a hand on his chest, felt it rising and falling. Lungs. And that rhythmic beating. Through his hand. In his ears. His neck. Pulsing as far as his toes. He … Could he possibly be? Oliver didn’t even want to ask it, but he had to:

“Am I …” he croaked. “Alive?”

Emalie’s tears made little rivers. She nodded enthusiastically, rubbing his arm hard, leaving momentary white streaks in the pink, pink from blood moving beneath skin. … “Yeah. You—you’re alive, Oliver.”

“It’s crazy, dude,” Dean added.

“I—” but Oliver couldn’t finish. The words melted through him.
I’m alive
. He felt his heart, the burning sun inside him, speed up at the thought. He sucked in a breath faster. Felt this weird surge of oxygen mixing in blood and tingling cells, millions of cells, tiny factories, all this movement, this burning … Life. It was a busy noisy thing like nothing he had ever imagined.

“Alive,” he whispered to himself, because he was still trying to make sense of it. He’d formed the Triad. Light, dark, choice. The Triad of Finity was
life
. By binding Illisius and Nathan to himself, he had made them part of him. Demon and soul. Now he was the Triad, the pinnacle of the Architect’s work.

“So, I’m like … human?”

Emalie laughed between her sobs. “Not exactly. Aunt Kathleen says you’re actually something more like us, the Orani, or maybe closer to a warlock by definition.”

“So you’re still a freak,” said Dean with a grin.

“Great,” said Oliver.

Emalie continued: “Humans may have some demon fragment inside them, but not an Illisius-sized demon.”

“And a soul that lived on its own for half a century,” said Dean, “and a wraith’s grief.”

“Yeah,” said Emalie, “I think it’s safe to say that you’re going to be a little more
supernatural
than the rest of our human high school classmates.” She smiled. “Which means I
might
still let you hang out with me.”

“High school?” said Oliver. “We—”

“They want to put you in a transitional home,” said Emalie, “the state I mean, until they find your parents, but don’t worry. We Orani can be very persuasive. Once we get you out of here, you can stay with us, at least for a while—”

“And at my place,” said Dean, “Anytime.”

“And yeah,” Emalie continued, “You’re going to be joining the ninth grade, with me. Aunt Kathleen has friends in the enrollment office. How does that sound?”

Oliver didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to.

“Oliver?”

He wanted to say that it sounded amazing, that it was blowing his mind, that it was beyond anything he could ever have imagined, never mind last night when he was facing the end of the world, but even just lying in his coffin, day after day, knowing something was wrong with him, knowing he was hollow somehow, unfinished.

He’d been alive once. Now, he was alive again. Complete. He wanted to say how amazing that felt, how it almost felt like a
relief
, like his life was finally about to begin—which was technically true, or at least, it was about to restart after a brief sixty-six–year hiatus—but …

He just suddenly found that he couldn’t. Not that he couldn’t find the words, but that he literally couldn’t speak. His throat felt as if a ball was stuck in it, just above his windpipe. The strange, steady rhythm of air in and out was starting to hitch and halt, his eyes wincing up and all his senses seeming to cut out—

And then he felt a stinging sensation in his eyes. He coughed, choking on the ball, and suddenly, warm drops were slipping down his cheeks. His heartbeat, that loud, thumping presence in his body, so new and yet so obvious, so important, began to pick up speed. Oliver could barely comprehend what was happening. He was too overwhelmed; the feeling was more terrifying, more desperate, and yet more exhilarating than anything he had ever known. …

Oliver felt Emalie watching him. He looked up, and through his blurry eyes, saw her gazing back at him, eyes watering, lip quivering. It was as if she was a mirror, or something more—
see
me clearly. … She was my gate
, he thought,
the thing that kept me on track
—and he understood now what was happening to him. It was like that night
on the bluff, multiplied by a hundred. He choked up, and a small cry escaped his mouth as more tears started to fall.

Never had he imagined such a feeling.

More minutes went by, and Oliver still didn’t speak, lost in the desperate, crushing feeling of crying, and this terrible-yet-wonderful synergy of being something living, a creation of light and darkness that could truly feel. His heart galloped, and he felt it slamming out against his chest, threatening to tear those long dormant muscles apart.

Oliver thought then that if he could’ve formed the words, he would have said that the greatest thing in the world was simply being alive.

Epilogue

There were many nights, as there had once been many days, when Nathan Bailey had trouble falling asleep. On some of these nights, he would sneak out alone and wander the streets. It was different, now. Though he vaguely remembered the routes he used to take, the sewers and rooftops, he knew those weren’t for him anymore. When he was out, Nathan would see shadows here and there, or hear the rustle of crows’ wings, the low chuckle from beneath a bridge, or the flicker of candlelight in a dark school window, and hurry along with a shiver. There were dangers in the night, things to be feared.

The night of December 28
^th
, Nathan’s fifteenth birthday, was raw and wet. They celebrated at Emalie’s house, which was starting to look homey again after its long empty period. Nathan was sleeping in the basement, on a cot in the former darkroom space. It was a little bit damp and chilly, but even though Nathan now curled up in an old down comforter rather than soil, he found that he didn’t mind the cobwebs, or the nocturnal scurrying of the mice and rats.

After cake, Nathan, Emalie and Dean headed out into the dark to celebrate on their own. They rode the bus roof in silence. It was Nathan who now needed his friends to help him make the leap onto the roof, though he wasn’t entirely helpless when it came to climbing around. He still had a vague sense of the forces.

What’s up?
Emalie asked him as they rode.

Nothing
, said Nathan, but it wasn’t true.

Did you like the party?
She asked.

Yeah.

Did you like my present?

Nathan glanced at her and smiled. Their hands were clasped and tucked tight between their hips for warmth.
It rocks.
Emalie had gotten him a little iPod and filled it with a playlist that she’d called “Humanization.” She’d also gotten him a feline’s eye opal, which was used for seeing in the dark. Nathan’s human eyes were pathetic at night compared to what they’d once been, though they were still superior to an average human’s.

“No more listening to month-long classical music,” Emalie said of the mix. “Knowing the cool bands will help you talk to the other kids.”

Nathan smiled. “Right.” He’d already joined the orchestra at school, blowing the music teacher’s mind with his cello playing. And that had led to him making his first enemy at Roosevelt High: the principal cellist whom he’d replaced. Oh, there was a handful of lacrosse players who seemed to have it out for him, too, but that was just because he had pale skin and was the new kid and a bunch of other clichés, and likely mostly because they were bored. Emalie was already planning some special treatment for them after the holiday vacation.

But mention of the Melancholia brought Nathan back to the initial reason for his silence on the bus ride: The birthday party had been nice. Tammy, Margaret, Cole, Mitch, they did a fine job with the cake and treats and presents, only, for the past sixty-six years, Nathan had known different customs, different traditions and cake flavors. …

But those weren’t for the living.

He understood why they hadn’t come to the hospital. Hadn’t contacted him in the month since. He was alive now. A creature of the light, and, to most vampires, a lower being. And that was probably for the best; at least, that’s what Nathan tried to tell himself. He wondered if he missed them, but found that he didn’t know.

“Here we are,” said Emalie.

The trio exited the bus in Lower Queen Anne and entered Dick’s. Soon they had trays full of burgers, fries and shakes and were sitting in an orange plastic booth.

“No rats’ heads, I suppose,” Nathan joked to Dean.

“Gross,” said Emalie.

“Hrrnnn,” Dean grunted in reply. There was a jangling of chains, then a snarling sniff as Dean’s hooded head bent to smell the seven burgers on his plate.

“Here you go, Dean.” Emalie produced a jar of Tabasco sauce from her bag. Dean snatched it from her with a gloved hand.

Nathan and Emalie shared a look. Some nights were tough for Dean. It was normal now for him to refuse to go out in public without the hood and gloves. And he’d taken to wearing a sailor’s dry suit underneath his baggy sweatshirt and jeans. It wasn’t to keep water out, but to keep oozing flesh, and its odor, in.

The cravings for brains came and went, but on nights like tonight they rendered him almost mute. The chains were for everyone’s safety. At home, Dean had agreed to start sleeping in a titanium cage in the basement.

They were all in danger around him. Nathan knew it would end badly someday, and yet, he was still their Dean, and he still refused to indulge in human brains and succumb completely. And even when he was in his most zombie-like state, you could still see the real him in there, now and then. The real boy that he had once been …

Having a soul only made Nathan feel more guilty, more responsible for what Dean had become. So, he had made a pledge to himself, and a pact with Emalie: They would protect him, no matter what. They would search for some way to undo his zombie condition, or at least keep it at bay. And they would always bring him along for the things he liked to do, even when he couldn’t join in, at least not in a human way.

“I can’t believe that Mica broke up with Dexter,” Emalie said, sucking down her chocolate shake.

“Dexter’s bumming,” Nathan agreed.

“I tried to change her mind during Bio,” said Emalie.

“Emalie’s Dating Suggestion Service,” Nathan joked. He’d done the lab work for both of them—he loved bio lab, particularly today, when they’d been dissecting their fetal pig again, which he was exceptionally good at—while Emalie had done a leap into Mica’s head.

“But, she’s dead set on it,” Emalie continued. “And you know what? She hasn’t told anyone this yet, but she totally has a huge crush on Parker.”

Nathan smiled. “Crazy.”

“Oh, hey,” said Emalie, “how was gym class?”

They’d started a unit on rock climbing. The high school gym had a whole wall set up for it.

“I held back,” said Nathan, “even pretended to slip once.” Though he couldn’t do anything like scale sheer walls or crawl across ceilings anymore, he could make easy work of a rock-climbing wall. And he still had a shocking vertical leap. It was nice, especially when you were the scrawny, sun-starved new kid. “But even without trying,” he added, “I still kinda set the all-time record for climbing the Expert route.”

“Show-off,” Emalie said with a smile, but it faded as her eyes shifted to the door. “Hey look.”

Nathan turned, and when he saw them, his heart jumped to a faster beat. Vampires. And one of them was Lythia. They were two steps inside when she saw the trio. Nathan just stared at her. Lythia stared back.

“Come on, girlfriend,” Emalie muttered. “Just try it.”

Nathan put a hand on her arm. “Not here,” he said, even though he felt a surge of rage at seeing her, “unless she tries something.”