P.C. Cast - Awakened

“I … I am not human, Father. Their weaknesses are difficult for me to understand.”

“Of course … of course, just find and observe the Red One. I will consider what to do with her from there,” Kalona said dismissively. “And while I await Neferet’s next command ”—he spoke the word as a sneer, like the very voicing of it was distasteful—“I will search the realm of dreams and give Zoey—as well as Neferet—a lesson in hide-and-seek.”

“Yes, Father,” Rephaim said.

Kalona watched him open the double doors and step out onto the stone roof. Rephaim strode across the balcony to the balustrade-like wall that ringed the edge, leaped up on its flat ledge, and then opened his huge ebony wings and dropped silently, gracefully, into the night, gliding black and almost invisible against the Tulsa skyline.

Kalona envied Rephaim for a moment, wishing he, too, could leap from the rooftop of the majestic building called Mayo and glide the black, predator’s sky, hunting, searching, finding.

But no. This night there was another hunting job he would complete. It would not take him to the sky, but it would also, in its own way, be satisfying.

Terror could be satisfying.

For an instant he remembered the last time he’d seen Zoey. It was the same moment his spirit had been torn from the Otherworld and returned to his body. The terror then had been his, caused by his failure to keep Zoey’s soul in the Otherworld, thereby killing her. Darkness, under the direction of Neferet’s oath, sealed by her blood and his acceptance, had been able to control him—to seize his soul.

Kalona shuddered. He’d long trafficked with Darkness, but he had never given it dominion over his immortal soul.

The experience had not been pleasant. It hadn’t been the pain that had been so unbearable, though it had, indeed, been great. It hadn’t been the helplessness he’d known as the tendrils of the Beast had encased him. His terror had been caused by Nyx’s rejection.

“Will you ever forgive me?” he’d asked her.

The Goddess’s response had cut him more deeply than had Stark’s Guardian claymore: “If you are ever worthy of forgiving you may ask it of me. Not until then.” But the most terrible blow had been delivered with her next words. “You will pay my daughter the debt you owe her, and then you will return to the world and the consequences awaiting you there, knowing this, my fallen Warrior, your spirit, as well as your body, is forbidden entrance to my realm.”

Then she had abandoned him to the clutches of Darkness, banishing him again without a second glance. It was worse than the first time. When he’d fallen it had been his choice, and Nyx had not been cold and uncaring. It had been different the second time. The terror the finality of that banishment caused would haunt him for an eternity, just as would that last, bittersweet glimpse he’d had of his Goddess.

“No. I will not think of it. This has long been my path. Nyx has not been my Goddess for centuries, nor would I want to return to my life as her Warrior, forever second to Erebus in her eyes.” Kalona spoke to the night sky, staring after his son, and then he closed the door on the cold January night and with it, once again, closed his heart to Nyx.

With renewed purpose the immortal strode through the penthouse, past the stained glass windows, gleaming wood bar, the dangling light fixtures, and the velvet furnishings, and into the lush bedchamber. He glanced at the closed double doors to the bathing room, through which he could hear water running, filling the huge tub in which Neferet so loved to luxuriate. He could smell the scent she always added to the steaming water, oil that was a mixture of night-blooming jasmine and clove made especially for her at the Paris House of Night. The scent seemed to slither under the door and fill the air around him like a smothering blanket.

Disgusted, Kalona turned and retraced his steps through the penthouse. With no hesitation he went to the closest set of glass doors that led to the rooftop, opened them, and gulped in the clean, cold night air.

She would have to come to him, seek him out, find him here, under the open sky, when she deigned to stoop so low as to actually look for him. She would punish him for not being in her bed, awaiting her pleasure as if he were her whore.

Kalona growled.

It was not so long ago that, drawn by his power, she had been enthralled with him.

He wondered briefly if he would decide to enslave her to him when he broke her hold over his soul.

The thought gave him some pleasure. Later. He would consider it later. Now time was short and he had much to accomplish before he had to, once again, placate Neferet.

Kalona walked to the thick stone railing that was ornate as well as strong. He spread his huge, dark wings, but instead of leaping from the rooftop and tasting the night air, the immortal lay on the stone floor, closing his wings over him, cocoon-like.

He ignored the coldness of the stone beneath him and felt only the strength of the limitless sky above and the ancient magicks that floated free and alluring within the night.

Kalona closed his eyes and slowly … slowly … breathed in and then out. As the breath left him Kalona also released all thoughts of Neferet. When he drew in his next breath he pulled, within his lungs his body and his spirit, the invisible power that filled the night over which his immortal blood gave him authority. And then he drew to him thoughts of Zoey.

Her eyes—the color of onyx.

Her lush mouth.

The strong stamp of her Cherokee foremothers that informed her features and so reminded him of that other maiden whose soul she shared and whose body had once captured and comforted him.

“Find Zoey Redbird.” The fact that Kalona pitched his voice low made it no less commanding as he conjured from his blood and the night a power so ancient it made the world seem young. “Take my spirit to her. Follow our connection. If she is in the Realm of Dreams, she cannot hide from me. Our spirits know each other too well. Now go!”

This leave-taking of his spirit was nothing like what had befallen him when Darkness, bidden by Neferet, had stolen his soul. This was a gentle lifting—a pleasurable sensation of flight that was familiar and enjoyable. It wasn’t sticky tentacles of Darkness he followed, but instead the swirling energy that hid in the folds between the currents of the sky.

Kalona’s released spirit moved swiftly and with purpose to the east at a speed not comprehensible by the mortal mind.

He hesitated briefly when he reached the Isle of Skye, surprised that the protective spell Sgiach had laid on the island so long ago could give even him pause. She was, indeed, a powerful vampyre. He thought what a pity it was that she had not answered his call instead of Neferet.

Then he wasted no more time on idle thoughts and his spirit swatted away Sgiach’s barrier and let himself float down, slowly but resolutely, toward the vampyre queen’s castle.

His spirit was given pause once more as it passed the grove that grew lush and deep and close to the castle of the Great Taker of Heads and her Guardians.

The Goddess’s fingerprint was all over it. It made his soul quiver with a pain that transcended the physical realm. The grove didn’t stop him. It didn’t forbid him from passing. It simply caused him an agonizing moment of remembrance.

So like Nyx’s grove that I will never again see …

Kalona turned from the verdant proof of Nyx’s blessing on someone else and allowed his spirit to be drawn to Sgiach’s castle. He would find Zoey there. If she was sleeping, he would follow their connection and enter the mystical Realm of Dreams.