The Wicked Awakening of Anne Merchant (26 page)

“I think you’re in shock or something.”

I don’t want to move. I don’t want to take a step because that means it’s all real, everything. And I don’t want to move until I understand what Dia meant.

“Who does he think I am?” I utter.

Molly looks relieved to hear me speak. “If you don’t know, why would he think you do?”

“The drawing. He asked why I gave him the picture. But he took it.”

“What was it?”

“A sketch I did. Months ago. He took it from me.”

“A drawing of him?”

“The girl I saw in the mirror. I drew her. He said she was an underworld goddess.”

“I don’t understand. What girl?”

“She had…a tail. And she was
me
. I was her. Harper saw. She screamed.”

“Were you tripping on acid by chance?”

“Mol.”

Our eyes meet.

In a moment of clarity I realize that she is watching me with thinly veiled judgment—and why should I expect anything else? It was only because I was afraid of this moment, of this look in her eyes, that I kept my secret from her, waiting night after night until she was asleep before I’d even close my eyes.

Now I’ve lost Ben. And maybe even Molly. Never has a life fallen apart so swiftly. Even Faust had twenty-four years before his life came crashing down. And he had the pleasure of a life-altering exchange to indulge in before things fell apart. I’ve had nothing; I’ve had three months with a guy I love, two months with a forgiving friend, and as good as those things have been, I hardly feel like I’ve had enough to make losing it all worth it.

“I need to be alone,” I choke.

She doesn’t stop me when I turn to the iron gates of Cania Christy and stand before them. She is gone when I look back. Instead
of heading to the road, I retreat and veer toward the south end of campus, toward the woods that lead down to the old Zin mansion, taking the path I used to take to Gigi’s every day. Frosted leaves are frozen into the hardened mud at my feet as I step into the forest, feel the darkness cloak me, and stop. I inhale deeply through my nose, and exhale through my mouth. And close my eyes.

Wormwood Island has never been this silent. Not a drumbeat, not a drill, not a demon to be heard. The stillness is heavy and light at once. The calm is unmovable.

And there, in the perfect silence, I yell. I scream. I roar as loud and as hard as I can. I roar to shatter windows and make birds drop from the sky. I roar to chase Ben away and bring him back to me. I roar to fight who I am, whatever that may be, and invite it in. I roar in one long, clear, uninterrupted streak, with my eyes squeezed tight and my body arched, forcing all my air and sound and hate and love up and out.

My roar wanes into a holler, and my holler into a groan, and my groan into a whimper.

But there is so much more where it came from. It will never be done; it’s just muted. It’s always happening. It will never stop.

When I open my eyes, Teddy is standing not ten feet away.

“You decided to stay,” he says to me. Calmly. As if he hasn’t just witnessed the manic cry of a girl on the edge.

“
You
.”

Shaking with rage, I storm at the asshole who brought me back here. I crush my forearm into his throat. I push him hard, with a crunching thud, against a tree. Even as he tries to form words, I grab a branch. Back a step away. And, with all my strength, bring the cold, jagged hunk of wood down on his shoulder. As hard as I can. He doubles over. I bring it down on his other side and catch him just across the face.

“What don’t I know?” I scream as I hit him, feeling Ira herself awakening inside of me. “Who am I?”

I smash it on top of his head, bringing him to his knees. I could kill him; it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before—the desire to destroy and the wild itch in my arms to feel his body collapse and stop moving, surrounded by all the fluids a mortician would drain away. That he can’t be killed by blunt force means nothing to me. His immortality is a subject for a logical person, and that’s not me right now.

Why can’t I be with Ben?

Why am I here?

Why does he want me to play this horrible game, a game with no prize but the possibility of one day waking only to find that everyone I love is gone?

“Why did you choose me?” I throw the branch down. “Why?” I repeat, spent and weakened. In a final whimper, “
Mom
.” As if she can hear me.

Once I’m unarmed, Teddy bolts at me. Hard. Just as I did to him, he does to me: his elbow nearly breaks my windpipe as he sends me stumbling like a rag doll onto the forest floor and then drags me up, propping me against a wet, mossy tree.

I don’t care. Hurt me. Kill me, if you can.

His arm is hard under my chin, pressing harder at his wrist, hard enough to snap my neck, when he sneers into my face, his eyes glowing in the dark of the woods, and his gray skin broken and bleeding.

“Just because I’m playing for the good side,” he snaps, bits of his smoky spittle flying onto my face, “doesn’t mean violence is off-limits, kid!”

“Tell me the truth,” I choke, though I’m barely able to force a sound out of my throat. “Why do you believe I’m the one to help you? Why me?”

“I was waiting to tell you this.” He knows better than to loosen his hold, even as I’m gasping for air. “I couldn’t say it until I knew you were committed. And now that you’ve saved Ben instead of going home—”

“I haven’t saved Ben.” I couldn’t save him. I could only push him away. Maybe they’re one and the same when it comes to me.

“—I can tell you more. A dark secret, Miss Merchant. But if you think your heart hurts now, prepare yourself.”

“Tell me, Teddy.”

My chest is heaving, and I might pass out any second. It’s only adrenaline and his arm that keep me upright. He relaxes his hold on me just enough that I can speak without choking.

“How old was your mom when she had you?” he asks.

“Get to the point.”

“How old?”

“Forty-something. Forty-four. What does that matter?”

“How many miscarriages had they had?”

It’s something my parents rarely talked about and something I’ve always tried not to think about. My mom used to blame the funeral home for her losing so many pregnancies—said a person can’t profit from death and hope to bring life into the world. And then she would smile at me, mess my hair more than it already was, and say I was her perfect exception.

“Lots.”

“They even tried in vitro, but your mom couldn’t carry babies naturally, Anne. She worked in a library, right?”

“She was smart. Even when she got sick,” I cough, “she was smart.”

“Ben gave you a copy of Faust, but you didn’t have to read it to know it. So tell me, why did you know the story of Mephistopheles and Faust?”

“She told it to me. It was one of her favorites.”

“Your mother knew it well. She knew Mephisto was someone you could go to in your most desperate hour, and he would come through for you. For a price.”

My jaw tightens.

“Your mother did what no sane person has done before.”

“Teddy, don’t you dare say something that’s not true.”

“This is no lie. She crossed a line to get you.”

No
. I can’t stop shaking my head.
No
.

“Anne, your mother asked Mephisto for a baby.”

sixteen

IN THE SHADOWS OF ANGELS

I’M NOT HERE. I’M NOT IN THE WOODS WITH A GRAY-FACED
demon telling me things no one should ever hear. I’m back home, back in California, and I’m six years old, and my mom is braiding my hair as she tells me she’d give up everything she has and then some for me. I’m four years old with my parents in a small LA playhouse, watching a performance of
The Black Rider
, listening to my mom whisper an explanation of what I’m seeing: the hunter traded his soul to the devil for bullets that couldn’t miss. I’m eleven years old, a year before my mom was diagnosed bipolar, and sitting in the car with her outside a church, watching her wring her hands, and then I’m biting my tongue as the rear wheels skid on the gravel and we speed away. I’m twelve, and she is at the kitchen table, her face wet with tears; she smiles at me through them, and she says,
No matter what, it was worth it
.

I’m there.

I’m not here.

“But,” Teddy continues, bringing me back to these cold, damp woods, “you and I both know that demons can’t create humans.”

I look into his eyes, which are swirling with a mix of dark and light emotions, sorrow shining through the strongest. He’s just told me Mephisto helped make me. But maybe it’s not true?

“So it didn’t work?” I ask, clinging desperately to this shred of hope. But it’s slippery. It’s a cliff I’ve slipped off; it’s a branch I’ve
caught just in time, but I can’t hold on much longer. I know, without Teddy saying it, that this story doesn’t end well.

“It worked,” he says.

“Impossible.”

“Mephisto cannot
create
humans. What does he need in order to vivify kids here?”

I try to swallow. “Their DNA.”

“Your mom had a fertilized egg from in vitro.”

I’ve stopped breathing.

“All Mephistopheles needed was a soul,” he says. “Where do you think he got that soul?”

“I—I don’t know.”

But I do know.

The underworld is filled with souls. Dark, damaged, writhing souls. The souls of the Seven Sinning Sisters and the demons, punks, dark witches, succubae, and incubi under them and alongside them.

Releasing me, Teddy watches my reaction as he backs away.

I’ve fallen into my own grave. Anne Merchant has been shoved into a six-foot hole, and every new realization is a shovelful of earth that’s been thrust onto me, burying me alive. The unearthly woman I saw in the mirror and sketched; Dia said she was an underworld goddess. Invidia touching my hair, and the sense of power that filled me. Mephisto’s tolerance for me in spite of the trouble I’ve brought on him. Even the reason Mephisto wants me here at all. To say nothing of how easily today’s challenge came to me, as if the seven deadly sins are second nature for me.

“Am I possessed?” I stammer.

“You are a soul reincarnated.”

It takes me a while to actually utter these words: “Not just any soul?”

“Not just any soul.”

My voice is tiny. “Is it very bad, my soul’s history? The person I am?”

“Not in my books. I proudly served you.”

“You what?”

“Don’t you remember anything?” He sighs. “You took me under your wing when I was first cast into the underworld. You trained me, you coached me, and when it came time for you to trade your many
legions for this opportunity, you freed me. I was able to retire my powers so I might never be made to do wrong again.”

“Hold on,” I say, holding my hand up and trying to keep it together.

But he charges on. This is a secret he’s been keeping since the day Villicus introduced me to him, back when I thought he was just my apprentice Guardian. He’s known who I am all along. Unfortunately for me, every word he says tears me further from the person I thought I was, from Anne Merchant, daughter of Nicolette and Stanley Merchant, high school sweethearts. Every word he says condemns me to Hell.

“I served a powerful goddess named Miss Saligia,” he says. “
Your
name was Saligia. Miss Saligia, the goddess overseeing the Seven Sinning Sisters,” Teddy clarifies at last, draining the blood from my whole body as he does. “And you, my dear, were spectacular. A rare symbol of hope in a dark world. Where Mephistopheles and Dia Voletto built their legions with fear and intimidation, you compelled yours to love you, which is, to be sure, as rare and as powerful as…as eternal youth. Or perfect beauty. Your followers’ love for you would make Romeo jealous.”

“Love…”

“Do you understand, Miss Merchant?” He searches my face. “Miss Saligia was the soul put into the body of a girl born Anne Elizabeth Merchant. You were Miss Saligia.”

I know. I know. But I don’t want to know.

My heart thumps harder. I breathe through it, quieting it.

“Saligia started as a succubus. And she—you—worked your way up until your powers neared those of Mephisto himself. Under your leadership, the Seven Sinning Sisters came to conquer the human world and win countless souls for the underworld.”

“Not exactly news worth writing home about, Ted.”

“But think of what it means about who you are, about the power you had…and could have again.” I feel him watching me. “Miss Merchant, don’t be so hard on yourself. Each of us has Heaven and Hell in him. And as a wise man once said, ‘I like men who have a future and women who have a past.’ Be proud of your past. You were amazing as Gia.”

“Gia?”

Oh, shit. That’s Dia’s girlfriend’s name.

“
Gia
is short for
Saligia
?”

So this past I’m supposed to be proud of started with me as a mother-effing succubus and then landed me in the arms of Dia Voletto. No wonder Teddy once suggested I’d be successful in life by using sex to get ahead. Little wonder Pilot, after Lou told him about me, insisted I change my PT to match Harper’s. They both knew I started as a succubus. Hell, years ago a boy said he had a naughty dream about me. Even then. Even then I was part Saligia.