Spirit Page 22

  “I must remind her,” she said in English.

  “What, Lucrezia? What? Remind who?”

  “I must remind her she is Sarah Midnight.”

  Conte Vendramin’s and Winter’s eyes locked. They had no idea what Lucrezia meant, but they both could sense a change in the atmosphere, a shift of fate. The day of reckoning was here. The destiny of the Secret Families was being played out in the Shadow World, and somehow, Sarah was the key.

  “Is Niall alive?” Winter murmured, but she knew Lucrezia would not answer. Her nonsensical whispering had resumed already.

  44

  Every End is a Beginning

  Every step I took had a reason

  Every decision I made had a pattern

  Every breath I took had the purpose

  To take me home to you

  The earth stopped shaking, and Sarah got back on her feet. She gazed at each of her friends, standing around her in the wind under the purple sky, and her heart bled as she realised with sudden intensity that not all of them – maybe none of them – would make it home.

  Elodie, with her obsidian eyes, the memory of Harry weighing on her shoulders and her soul poisoned by Nicholas’ blood. Niall, brave and cheerful and forever the optimist, Winter in his heart with every step he took. Alvise, with his lost powers and ailing sister, who had given them his loyalty without question, embracing the mission and its dangers. Micol, younger than Sarah was when it all started – alone in the world, just like she was. And Mike, gone but with them always.

  And then her thoughts went to the people back home: Aunt Juliet, who would wait for her for a long time, until finally she’d accept that Sarah was never coming back. Bryony, who would grow up and get married and live the life Sarah would never have. Or if the Time of Demons happened again, what would happen to them? She’d never know.

  And above all this, above the people in her company and the memories of home, was Sean. Memories of their time together – of those stolen moments when they were in each other’s arms – flowed in her mind like a cool, fresh stream . . . something pure and beautiful among all that death, all that strife.

  Sarah smelled them before she could see them, a foul stench of wet beast and rot, and then high-pitched screeches, somewhere between the calls of monkeys and the screams of birds.

  The first wave of evil, thought Nicholas. The Guardians. “Demon-apes. Be ready,” he commanded.

  And then, the voice in his head: Protect her. I need her.

  Yes, Father, he replied at once. Elodie looked at him. She’d heard the voice too and she knew what she would do when the time came.

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed and shone deadly green, her hands smouldering with the Blackwater. Sean had his sgian-dubh in his hand, and was already whispering his deadly runes. Niall started humming softly, eyes semi-closed. Elodie’s lips were taking on a deadly shade of blue. Alvise’s bow and arrow were ready to shoot, though only four arrows remained in his quiver. Micol’s hands were shimmering and crackling with electrical charges. Only Nicholas was standing completely still. Deadly energy was building inside him, ready to burst.

  The night was still and dark and silent for a moment – and then it all happened. The foul smell intensified, and the trees at the edges of the clearing shattered in a shower of broken leaves and twigs. White, hairy limbs appeared, and monkey-like faces with enormous yellow teeth, mixed with branches and ferns, running in the grass, climbing over the boulders, banging their chests and baring their teeth. They were as big as humans, too many to be counted, long arms out to grab and teeth bared to devour. The creatures of nightmares, creatures that should have never seen the light, that should have never been born – creatures that, in the human world, nature had decided to obliterate.

  Screeching ape-like calls that chilled the blood, the Surari pounced on Sarah and her friends, clawing and biting and shrieking so loud it hurt their ears. Soon they realised that the demon-apes didn’t just want to bite; they wanted to eat. They threw their heads backwards and smelled the air, savouring the scent of human flesh, tasting it already.

  In a haze of fury and terror, Sarah heard Elodie calling, “Niryani!” and Niall’s song rising into the air, thick and powerful and singing of death. Sean’s mouth was moving incessantly, pronouncing Secret words she couldn’t hear, while his sgian-dubh traced deadly scarlet ribbons in the air, flying around like shards of glass, cutting and stabbing and lodging themselves inside the demon-apes’ foul white fur. And then her powers flew through her so intensely that they swept her away to a place where only the battle mattered. She focused on the beast closest to her and glared at it with bright-green eyes, the Midnight gaze cutting it between the eyes. The creature shuddered and shrieked and then it bent double, unable to move, trembling. Sarah was on it at once, sinking her hands into its fur and holding on to it with all her might, giving it no chance to recover enough to bite her. And then she was everywhere, stabbing and paralysing and dissolving the demon-apes with silent, deadly efficiency. One after the other the demon-apes began falling, cut and burnt and dissolved. Blackwater was soaking the ground and the stones and the grass, turning them black. The forest itself had turned on them; the whole place had become polluted, poisonous, a place where no human being was ever meant to set foot.

  Soon Niall’s song was at its peak, high-pitched, painful and deadly. Quickly, it began to affect them all, hurting their ears and their heads. Sean touched his ear and saw blood trickling from between his fingers. The only one who was unaffected by Niall’s deadly sound was Micol.

  Sarah surveyed the scene. Demon-apes’ corpses were all around, and only a few were still standing, shrieking in fury at their own demise. She allowed herself to breathe for a moment. She dared to hope that they’d overcome the demon-apes and were closer to the King of Shadows . . . And then she heard a strange sound coming from the trees that crowned the clearing, somewhere between crickets and scurrying rats. In horror, Sarah realised it was the sound of rattling teeth.

  They crawled down from the trees, falling like deadly rain, scurrying through the long grass. They were black, thick-skinned, furry and fat like rats, but their faces and tails were reptile-like, and had a fan of leathery skin around their heads that reminded Sarah of a small dinosaur. Another abomination, another creature that evolution had concocted to be as deadly as it could be. Micol shivered, reminded of the fat black rats swimming in the canals in Venice.

  The second wave, Nicholas thought. “Demon-lizards!” he shouted. “Don’t let them bite you. They are poisonous!”

  “Too late for me,” said a voice, strangely cheerful, as if beyond despair.

  They all turned around to see Niall clutching his chest, his clothes so ripped and slayed that his skin was bare to see; right in the middle of his breastbone was the imprint of two sharp animal teeth.

  45

  Sacrifice

  I always knew it would be you

  I would call on my deathbed

  An abominable stream of demon-lizards was on them, but Alvise stepped backwards, his pugnale in front of him. He had to try to help Niall.

  “Micol! Cover me!” he called, and Micol stood in front of him, a deadly shield of light around her body. A demon-ape crouched in front of her, growling and gnashing its teeth together. Suddenly it pounced, and Micol exploded in a storm of multi-coloured lightning. The trees around them were illuminated red, green, yellow, blue, as she hit the Surari over and over again with her deadly charges. Sean gaped as he saw the outline of her skull through her skin, her bones through her arms, as her hair stood on end and her eyes sparked and glimmered.

  The demon-apes kept trying to get close to her, but time and time again they were hit with her electrical current and thrown back, their fur smoking. Soon they didn’t try any more, and Micol began looking for them, sending sparks to ignite and singe.

  “Niall!” Alvise shouted above the demon-apes’ shrieks and the demon-lizards’ scurrying towards him. Niall was still standing, trying to
get the song going again. But no sound could come out of his mouth any more – the poison was spreading through his body.

  “Alvise . . .” Niall had time to say before his legs gave way and he fell to the grass. Alvise saw a demon-ape rising as if from nowhere and lolling in front of the Irishman, as if it were enjoying the spectacle. It pounced on Niall, ready to bite into his flesh – but Alvise threw himself onto the Surari and stabbed it over and over again with his pugnale. The beast shrieked and released Niall, turning around with its arms open, ready to tear off Alvise’s head.

  Alvise was faster. He sank his pugnale just between the demon-ape’s eyes, and the Surari started screaming and pawing at the blade, trying to dislodge it. But it had sunk too deep, and the beast fell backwards and didn’t move again.

  “Alvise! Watch out!” It was Micol. Alvise didn’t manage to turn around fast enough when two demon-apes leapt on him from behind. One sank its teeth into Alvise’s back and took a bite of his flesh, while another grabbed his legs and threw him onto the grass. Micol was on them at once, one hand on each beast, frying them with bright-red charges. Smoke was coming out of their ears and nostrils, and they were juddering and trembling as the fire consumed them from the inside.

  Alvise lay stunned for a moment, then crawled on his hands and knees towards Niall. The Irishman lay pale and lifeless, his throat and chest bloodied, strange purple bruises surfacing all over his skin. He was still breathing, but his heartbeat was as soft as a butterfly’s touch.

  Alvise sobbed, a sob full of all the sorrow of the world – and then his cry was interrupted by a swarm of demon-lizards that ran towards him, their bodies tight together like black molten rock, their pointed teeth making a rattling sound. For a moment, Alvise stared death in the face – and then he saw a shroud of blue flames envelop the whole horde of Surari, a terrible smell of singed fur and burning flesh hitting his nostrils and making him gag. The flames were so close they brought tears to his eyes; through his tears he saw Nicholas holding his head in his hands and crumpling on the grass, blue sparks still emanating from his fingers.

  Elodie watched in horror as Nicholas wailed. His father had struck him again.

  “No! Please, no!” he was pleading, his words confused and jumbled, as the pain was too strong for him to concentrate on making sense. Soon he could only scream.

  “Nicholas! Nicholas!” Elodie kept calling, as if her voice could somehow guide him back from the world of pain he was lost to. And then she started feeling it too.

  Acid began burning her from the inside, her brain, her forehead, her eyes, her ears, her neck. She screamed, and then curled into a ball, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Even in her agony, she felt around for Nicholas’ hand, and they held each other, their souls one in the searing pain.

  Sean heard Elodie screaming and called her name. While she was whimpering on the ground, another swarm of demon-lizards emerged from the trees and began their descent towards them. Sean’s runes exploded scarlet, like shards of glass, impaling the lizards against the trees before they could reach Elodie.

  “Elodie!” he called again, trying to reach her, but a demon-ape rose from the high grass and threw itself on him. Sean fell supine, the dead weight of the Surari falling on his chest and crushing his ribs, so heavy that he couldn’t breathe. Everything around him went black.

  Leave Elodie. Please leave her alone! Nicholas kept begging, but it was no use. Through the haze of his own agony, he listened to Elodie’s desperate screams until he couldn’t take it any more. Blue flames burst from his fingers once more. He could accept being tortured – in a way he deserved it, with all the horrible things he’d done – but not Elodie. He wouldn’t let his father hurt her.

  Soon the flames were everywhere, thick smoke blinding him, suffocating him. He couldn’t hear his father’s voice and he couldn’t hear Elodie any more. Everything was silent; everywhere he turned there was only smoke. He closed his eyes, tears of pain and despair flowing down his cheeks. He wished the flames would eat him, too, but the cold blue fire would never kill its creator.

  And then he realised that grey and blue and white were dancing in front of his eyes. The darkness was gone. He blinked and blinked. There was no more black. He walked on and he emerged from the flames. He saw the green of swaying grass and the black and silver of a starry sky.

  The screams had stopped. Elodie dragged herself to her feet, agonising pain still behind her eyes but slowly dulling. She took Nicholas’ face in her hands, sweeping the ash away. Nicholas looked back at her. He saw her face, her eyes black like his.

  He couldn’t rip his gaze away from her – the lips he’d kissed and the body he’d made his and the golden hair he’d sunk his fingers into – and a wave of sudden, absurd happiness swept through him. A blessed moment of pure joy in the middle of hell.

  “Elodie,” he whispered.

  “You can see me?”

  “Yes. I can see you. I can see again.”

  But the moment was short-lived. Something moved behind Elodie, something rising from the stones – a cloud, a shadow, a shapeless figure.

  The three waves of evil, and the third is coming, Nicholas thought, and he wished he still had no sight, as he saw the face of the third Guardian take shape in front of him, opening his mouth and letting its deadly fog hit them and swallow them all.

  46

  Spirit

  Raise a mirror to my face and see

  What I really am and what I’m scared to be

  Alvise cradled Niall’s head in his lap. They’d moved him, as gently and urgently as they could, far from the fighting, at the edge of the clearing. Alvise remembered the last time he’d sat with a loved one dying in his arms, and how he couldn’t save her. A sob escaped his lips as a face he once knew and loved dearly took shape in his mind’s eye – his mother’s. She too, had lain with a flower of blood on her chest, breathing slowly, too slowly, her white-blonde hair sticky with blood and sweat, her hands clutching her heart as if to stop it from failing. He could have saved her. Why hadn’t he? Why had his powers stopped right at that moment, never to return?

  “Please, don’t die. Please,” Alvise kept murmuring now, and cursed himself once more. History repeating itself – and again, at the centre of all the failure and loss and pain was him, Alvise. What good was he to anyone? All the self-hatred he had felt through the years since he lost his powers overcame him. It would have been better if it were he lying there instead of Niall. Maybe it would have been better for everyone if he . . .

  He didn’t have time to finish that terrible thought. Through his tears, he saw something hovering over the carved stones – a sort of fog, or steam, like a low-lying cloud. Alvise blinked once, twice, as he realised that something was taking shape within the cloud – a face, its eyes closed, its mouth too big for the rest of its features, the furls of vapour fluid and dancing and ever-changing. Its mouth was a gaping hole full of darkness. His hands tightened around his bow, but he knew very well that there was no point in shooting – the thing had no body, nothing of substance to hit. As he watched it, the feeling of uselessness he’d felt as he watched Niall lying in pain crept deeper and deeper into his mind and soul. It was as if by gazing at that creature, he was gazing at the darkest part of him.

  The face opened its mouth further and further, like in a yawn, and a strange, unnatural smoke rose out of it, silent and creeping and spreading through the clearing too fast to be outrun, too insidious to be avoided. It filled the air and the sky and it sank into the ground.

  “Don’t breathe the smoke,” Alvise told Micol, who’d remained close to him all along, and the Italian girl crouched, covering her head with her arms. Alvise curled tightly around Niall, trying to shelter him. He tried holding his breath, but there was no point. The fog swallowed them, and soon Alvise’s lungs hurt so much, he had to open his mouth.

  It tasted of nothing, smelled of nothing, like anaesthetic, but something was happening. Alvise prepared himself for what he hoped wou
ld be a quick death and feared would be a slow, painful poisoning. He threw a glance at Micol and saw that she was lying on the ground, unconscious. He tried to call her name, but all of a sudden, like a switch going, everything went black.

  A moment later, Alvise opened his eyes and looked around him. He saw golden ceilings and mosaic floors, and from the window, the water of the Grand Canal shimmering in the sunshine. Palazzo Vendramin. He was home. How had that happened, he thought, confused. They were all trapped in the Shadow World. How had he made it back to Venice? Had he stepped into the iris without knowing? Or maybe he was dead. Maybe this was the chance of a final goodbye.

  “Alvise,” said a voice, a voice he knew well.

  Lucrezia. She hadn’t said a conscious word in years, nothing that wasn’t the oracle-like talk she did while in her coma . . . For a moment, the sense of despair that possessed him shifted to a ray of hope.

  Lucrezia was on her bed, her eyes closed, her body still and floppy, her hands dangling from her sides instead of being in her lap, or beside her body, like he and Cosima always made sure they were. And then she opened her eyes, and before Alvise’s incredulous gaze, she lifted her head. Lucrezia was awake.

  All breath left him. “Lucrezia,” Alvise managed, and went to kneel beside her. He lifted her hands and laid them gently on her chest, lacing her fingers together in a gesture of forgiveness. He then gave her hands a squeeze, and stroked her white face. “You’re awake.”

  “If you hadn’t lost your powers, I wouldn’t be like this now,” the blonde girl said, her eyes watching but her body immobile. A talking doll, spewing hatred instead of the love he was expecting. Her words were like blades in Alvise’s heart. It was true, then. The terrible dread that had tormented him since Lucrezia had fallen into her coma – the thought he had never spoken aloud to anyone but Micol – that it was all his fault, that if he’d saved his mother, if he’d still had his powers, Lucrezia wouldn’t have felt forced to undertake the ceremony. It was true.