Three Days to Dead

Chapter 21

24:01

She ran around naked, so I had to laugh at the sprite’s definition of clothing. The dress I found draped on a hook was little more than two silver curtain sheers held together at the shoulders by jewel-encrusted brooches. It would have been more at home on a Greek goddess. It looked downright silly on me and did nothing to protect my modesty. Maybe the Fair Ones—seeing how they didn’t possess genitalia of any sort—didn’t care if they ran around in the buff, but I sure as hell did.

I washed out my panties and wrung them as dry as possible. I’d rather run around in damp underwear than do without. It helped, but the gown still billowed all over the place. I located a small vanity next to the bed, and when I rummaged through the drawers, I found dozens more bottles of scented oils and perfumes, and then a handful of colorful ribbons, probably meant for my hair, in all lengths and widths.

A thick, purple velvet sash became my belt, tied tight around my hips. After a little trial and error, a second, thinner purple ribbon crisscrossed my chest and back. It created some support for my breasts, even though the fabric of the dress was still uncomfortably sheer. I briefly considered stuffing some ribbons down the front, but as long as I didn’t get chilly, my nipples wouldn’t be saluting anyone.

I stared at myself in the polished wall, surprised at the vision reflected back at me. The woman in the mirror was no longer a stranger. We smiled at each other, and she wasn’t Chalice anymore. We were Evangeline, and we looked fabulous in our Grecian dress. My hair was drying on its own, creating thick brown waves that framed my face and shoulders. Even without makeup, my cheeks blazed with color. My eyes were bright. A trick of the environment, no doubt, but still mesmerizing.

For the first time in two days, I truly felt alive. And hopeful.

A bell chimed, the tiniest tinkle. “Evangeline?” I turned toward the door and the familiar voice. My orange sprite stood in the doorway. “Amalie requests your company.”

Finally, some answers. The sprite stepped aside and led the way. The stone pathways were smooth beneath my bare feet as we ascended another flight of carved steps to the third level, then up to the fourth. Fair Ones of all species buzzed and flew and scampered. Many just watched. I felt scrutinized, but not unwelcome.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jaron,” the sprite said.

I blinked. This was Amalie’s bodyguard? The sprite that Wyatt had once described as a man big enough to intimidate a professional wrestler? Avatar ability or not, it was a disparity I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around.

Jaron led us all the way to the top level of the complex. I paused and looked down at the circular pathways below. Activity surrounded me. We were closer to the source of the waterfall, and the pool seemed so tiny, like an onyx eye peeking up from a distance.

“It’s the Anjean River,” Jaron said. “It flows above us.”

“Cool.”

She stopped in front of a circular doorway, its border decorated with an intricate pattern. It could have been a language, but I definitely couldn’t read it. Jaron pulled back the curtain.

I ducked to step through and felt the same encompassing buzz of magic inside. The room’s physical simplicity surprised me. The main piece of furniture on the smooth, tan floor was a long, polished stone table, covered with platters of fruit and vegetables and nuts and grains. Pitchers of liquid stood amongst the feast. Another sphere hung from the ceiling, casting the perfect amount of light.

Amalie lounged in a stone chair decorated with living flowers and vines, placed at the head of the table. Her bright smile made me giddy. She waved me forward.

“Please, help yourself,” she said.

I gaped at the table’s bounty, too timid to touch anything. But the smells were tantalizing, and my stomach grumbled. I inhaled deeply, identifying the heady, sweet scent of wine from one of the pitchers. The bottle of tepid water seemed so long ago.

A throat cleared. I pivoted, hair swirling in a loose flurry. Wyatt stood just inside of the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. My heart sped up at the sight. His keepers had cobbled together slacks in much the same manner as my dress. The thin, bronze fabric was belted at his waist, cut and tucked to create a makeshift crotch, and cinched with velvet ribbon at both ankles. The sides of the legs were completely open, flashing toned muscles and tanned skin.

His hair was tousled, finger-combed, and allowed to dry, and his face was freshly shaved. His bare chest glistened, showing off a roped torso and tight abs. The new scent of fruit—apples, maybe—hinted that he’d used the oils provided. More than his physical attractiveness, though, I stared at his flawless skin—stared until I realized what bothered me.

The array of parallel bruises I’d seen two days ago were gone. The knife wound from our previous fight with the goblin scouts was likewise gone. Not healed—there would have been some faint residual marks. They were just gone, as though they’d never existed.

“Evy,” he said. I looked up, met his smiling eyes. “You look like a goddess.”

My cheeks heated. “You, too,” was all I managed.

“Do I? Should I be in that dress?”

“You know what I mean, jackass. What happened?” I pointed at his chest.

“I’m not sure. One of the gnomes put something in my bathwater that smelled like peppermint. When I got out, they were gone.”

Note to self: gnomes have big heads and small bodies.

“They possess great knowledge of healing,” Amalie said. “Consider it a gift.”

“I feel like I owe you so much already,” I said.

She shook her head side to side, as elegant as it was forceful. “You have done much for us without knowing. I feel I cannot offer you enough recompense.”

Not particularly inspiring. Wyatt joined me at the table and eyed the goodies spread out in front of us. I picked up one of the largest strawberries I’d ever seen and inhaled its tantalizing aroma. Perfection in a piece of fruit.

“Why did you rescue us?” Wyatt asked.

“As I said, Wyatt Truman, you have been a service to us without your knowledge. I could not see allowing you to wither in those cells, apart from each other, until her time is up.”

“You brought me here to die?” I asked, the strawberry halfway to my lips. A small flare of fury lit deep in my belly.

“I cannot change what has been put into motion, Evangeline. I do not possess that sort of power.”

“So that’s it? Your compensation for a job well done—so well done I didn’t even know I was doing it—is to die down here with the faeries? To sit on my ass, drink wine, and let Tovin win?”

Amalie bristled when I said his name. Her skin darkened to the color of her eyes. Every crystal glittered and winked. “You proved Tovin a traitor. He sees nothing, except potential gain for himself. There will be no peace for the Fair Ones, or anyone else, should the goblins come into power. Even the vampires know the potential cost of this fight.”

“Isleen,” I said, thinking of her for the first time in hours. “Do you know what happened to her? She was captured along with me.”

“Then she is likely dead. Vampires do not suffer threats, nor do they bargain for their people. She will have no value to the half-Bloods who captured you.”

My shoulders sagged. I dropped the uneaten strawberry onto the delicate silver platter from which it came. Wyatt slipped his arm around my waist. I melted into the warmth of him and the apple-sweet scent of his body.

“This whole time,” I said, “I thought the Bloods didn’t give a damn, that they were our enemies, but they were trying to help. Isleen wanted to help, just like her sister, and now they’re both dead.”

“She did her part,” Amalie said. “As we all do ours. Each has a role to play in coming events—some more than others.”

“Then what makes you so sure my part is over? I’m not done fighting, dammit. I will not give up and just let Tovin take Wyatt’s free will for whatever godforsaken purpose he has in mind.”

“You cannot undo the bargain they have created, Evangeline. A freewill pact, signed in blood, can only be voided by the spilling of more blood.”

“What the hell does that mean? Do I have to sacrifice a goat?”

Her color tone lightened. “That is not what I meant. This is not within the scope of my powers, but I am told that there are three ways in which this pact can be voided in blood.”

My stomach quivered. Wyatt’s other arm came around my waist, and I clasped my hands over his. I needed to hear this, but was terrified to know.

“If Evangeline dies before the end of the seventy-two hours, it is voided,” Amalie said.

“We came up with that one on our own,” I said. “But the fact that I’ve healed after every little scratch and bruise means that Tovin put some extra effort into making sure that didn’t happen. If the hound attack didn’t kill me, few things weaker than a beheading likely will.”

“And not an option,” Wyatt said.

Yet.

“If Tovin dies before the contract expires, Wyatt is free of his obligations,” Amalie continued.

“Makes sense,” I said. “And definitely a more plausible scenario, since he’s proving to be a number one asshole anyway.”

“Tovin’s well protected,” Wyatt said. “Few ever know where to find him, and he conjures. He could make you see things you can’t even imagine.”

I patted his hand. “And you can only summon the power of the sun. Weakling.”

“Very funny.”

“The caveat to killing Tovin,” Amalie said, “is that at the moment of his death, Evangeline’s time is also up.”

“If he dies, I die?”

“Yes.”

Terrific.

“What’s the third option?” Wyatt asked.

Amalie’s cobalt eyes burned. “If Wyatt dies before the end of the time frame, then Evangeline is freed of her constraints and may continue to inhabit her new body.”

A tremor ran up my spine. I’m sure my mouth was hanging open. In two days, no one had ever presented me with an option that included me living past the seventy-two hours. Three days was it, so no use in making plans. Knowing the option existed exhilarated me, even though the price was impossible to pay.

“Evy could live,” Wyatt said. His soft, contemplative tone alarmed me.

“Fuck you, Truman,” I snarled, disentangling myself from his arms. “There is no way that’s happening.”

“Evy—”

“No!” I stalked to the other side of the room, hit the wall, and rounded to the opposite side of the buffet table. I glared at him over the display of uneaten food and drink. “Absolutely not, so fucking forget about it. If you even think it, I’ll have someone bring you back just so I can kill your ass myself.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not funny.”

“No, it isn’t, and I’m dead serious.”

“You could keep on living, Evy.”

“I died, Wyatt.” My voice rose to just below screaming, but I didn’t care. “I’m supposed to be dead right now, so who cares if I’m dead again in a day? I don’t want it, but that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I will not spend the rest of my afterlife worrying if you’re going to try and commit some sort of noble suicide. I’d rather take a flying leap off this walkway and land on my head.”

“Please,” Amalie said. “Now is not the time for such arguments. Now is the time for eating and resting. You need your strength if you are both to find a solution to the puzzle facing you.”

Wyatt and I glared at each other for seconds that stretched into minutes. Neither of us wanted to back down. Wyatt wanted me to live. But as much as I wanted it, too, I couldn’t knowing everything he’d given up for me. I’d lost Jesse and Ash. I’d lost Max and Danika. I’d lost Alex. I had nothing without Wyatt. Even the gift of life wasn’t enough.

He blinked and looked away. My anger deflated. We silently filled silver plates with food and crystal goblets with wine. I stayed on my side of the table and sat down on a long, granite bench. Wyatt sat on his side, still opposite me. He began slicing a pear into halves, then quarters.

I bit into the strawberry first. Its sweet juice splashed over my tongue, the most exquisite thing I’d tasted in days. I ate it in slow bites, savoring the flavor and texture.

“Why is this place called First Break?” Wyatt asked.

“The waterfall outside is not for show,” Amalie said. “Its waters mask a gateway, much stronger than the Sanctuaries guarded above, and it is why we settled here belowground. It is the main source of power for the Fair Ones. It is what allows the Gifted, such as yourself, their unique talents.”

“Do all Dre—do all nonhumans know it’s here?”

“Most can sense it, yes; however, only a select few outside of the Fey know of its precise location in the forest.”

“Is that why all the nonhumans move to this city? The power source?”

Amalie shook her head, a patient teacher. “First Break existed here centuries before a city was built in the valley; the gateway since before my peoples’ memory begins. Many travel, but they always return, as we have always been here.”

“They just haven’t been so obvious about it as in recent years.”

“Precisely.”

“Where does the gateway go?”

“Are you familiar with the writings of John Milton?”

“Mysteries?” I asked.

Wyatt snorted; I glared.

“No,” she said. “He wrote of the fall of man and the journey through Hell. Milton disguised his work as fiction, but he was not just a man. He was companion to a gnome prince who lived through that journey and thought to tell others about it. We considered masking the work, but there is no better place to hide than in plain sight.”

“So that pool is what?” Wyatt asked. “A gateway to Hell?”

“Precisely.”

I stopped chewing a mouthful of almonds and stared. Cold dread trickled through my body. Wyatt puckered his lips and scrunched his eyebrows. Amalie seemed unaffected. She sipped a goblet of wine like she’d rehearsed this conversation a hundred times and found it dull.

“What’s on the other side?” Wyatt asked.

“Creatures long ago banished from walking the Earth. The Greeks called them Titans. The Christians call them demons. We call them the Tainted. They are driven only by instinct and pure emotion—desire and rage, lust and need.”

“And you keep them from crossing over?”

“The Tainted cannot cross the Break on their own. They have no free will, you see, only instinct.”

I was definitely starting to see. I swallowed the almonds and chased them down with a gulp of wine—sweet and pungent—as Amalie continued.

“Someone with knowledge of First Break and its powers can summon the Tainted across it. Our duty here is to protect it from those who would try. Summoning even one across the Break could be devastating to this world.”

“These Tainted,” Wyatt said. “Can they be controlled by the summoner?”

“They are uncontrollable—pure beings of consumption and need. Once the Tainted enters its host’s body, it is unleashed and the host is no more.”

“Host?”

“They possess no physical form on the other side. They are energy and emotion. Part of the summoning is the presentation of a host.”

I dropped my goblet. It clattered to the table, splashing maroon liquid on the front of my dress, but I didn’t care. “That’s it,” I said.

“What’s it, Evy?” Wyatt asked, standing up. Alarmed.

“All of this, Wyatt. Tovin and the Bloods and me dying and you giving up your free will for it and them holding us prisoner. It all makes perfect sense now.”

Wyatt frowned, not understanding. I sought help from Amalie, and she nodded sagely. She’d known it all along; she was only waiting for us to figure it out. Damn her and bless her both.

“Tovin wants power, which means ensuring his dominance,” I said. “What better way to do that than by summoning a demon to possess a man whose free will he already controls? He’ll have a lethal weapon that can’t disobey.”

I’d heard the expression “all the blood drained from his face,” but had never actually seen it in person. The color bled out of Wyatt’s face, leaving him deathly pale. His black eyes shimmered, a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. Even his lips turned white as he pressed them together. Nostrils flaring, he clenched his jaw so hard I thought his teeth might snap.

“We believe that is his plan,” Amalie said.

Her words seemed lost on Wyatt. He stared at the table, hands in his lap, his entire body rigid. I was on my feet and by his side before I registered moving. He vibrated with tension, maybe even fear. The demon would have his powers, as well as his body.

I touched his shoulder. He jerked as though stung. I turned his face toward me. He avoided eye contact, looking everywhere but forward.

“Wyatt,” I said. “Look at me, damn you.”

He did. Some of the tension fled, but he remained pale and trembling. His eyes were obsidian pools, never-ending and full of uncertainty. I had never seen him so vulnerable, not even when I died the first time.

My heart pounded. Because sitting next to him, at the turning point of this entire freaking mystery, I finally remembered my death.

Nothing as dramatic as I’d hoped for—no remembrance of important words or necessary information. Just flinching away from the light, as I’d always done when the closet door opened. Numb, unable to move, and without the energy to do so. I’d hoped to bleed to death before anyone found me like that, broken and ruined.

I remembered Wyatt kneeling over me, releasing my hands from the cuffs that bound them. Unable to feel my arms or legs. Looking into his heartbreaking eyes, seeing the measure of his devastation. Hating myself for causing him so much pain. My tongue had been thick, my mouth dry. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t say I was sorry or that I loved him. I only managed a high-pitched keening sound. I had gazed at him until his face went dark and the agony was finally over.

He had looked much the same as he looked in Amalie’s home—ravaged, betrayed, alone. I wondered if my own expression was that much different.

“I didn’t say anything,” I said. “When I died, all I saw was you, and I never said a word. You couldn’t have known what I did or didn’t learn, could you?”

His head turned slowly left, right, back to center. A simple shake. An even simpler affirmation that left me cold. We had both been betrayed and manipulated by people we trusted. I had been rustled out of my afterlife and fed lies disguised as good intentions. He had been fooled into a fate worse than death, tricked into playing a pawn in Hell’s chess game.

But we weren’t done playing, and Knights knew how to sweep in sideways. “This is not your future,” I said. “If Tovin ever said one truthful thing to you, Wyatt Truman, it’s that we belong together. Whether it’s in life or in death, we’ll prove that one thing right. You hear me?”

He blinked. Some amount of recognition sparked. Bright circles of color flared in his cheeks. The lines in his face smoothed out, and determination replaced terror. “I hear you.” His voice was thick, not as convincing as his expression. “I feel like such a fool.”

“Tovin played on your emotions and manipulated you from the start. It wasn’t your fault.”

His left eye twitched. “Don’t patronize me, Evy.”

“Then quit feeling sorry for yourself and help me figure out how to fucking do something about it, okay?”

He pushed my hand away and faced the table.

Okay, fine. To Amalie, I asked, “Once this thing possesses a host, can it be expelled?”

“The death of the host body ejects the Tainted, yes,” Amalie said. “It will be momentarily weakened, rendering it vulnerable to expulsion beyond the Break. However, sending something back across, as bringing it forward, requires great knowledge of the inner workings of our oldest magic.”

“Can you do it?”

She shook her head, light sparkling off her jewels. “Few possess the knowledge, and I am acquainted with none of them, save Tovin.”

“What about the other elves?”

“At this late hour, attempting contact will take too much time, and there is no guarantee they will share their knowledge.”

I blew hard between clenched teeth. “Okay, so what about capture? Let’s say it infects someone and the host dies. Can we catch the Tainted before it finds another host? Like in a crystal or something?”

“I know of no such method of capture, but that does not mean none exist.”

Wyatt snorted. I glared, but he didn’t acknowledge me.

“Can you find out?” I asked the sprite leader.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Only, Wyatt didn’t seem willing to acknowledge the hopeful information. I gave up. He could wallow for a while, but I didn’t want to see it. I put some food on a plate and poured another goblet of wine.

“Amalie, my apologies,” I said. “May I finish my meal in my room?”

The sprite nodded, her demeanor cool and calm, as if our argument had never happened. We’d figured it out. We knew who our enemies were. We just needed time to plan a counterattack and beat Tovin at his own twisted game.

At the door, I spared a look back at Wyatt. He didn’t turn around. I sighed and left.