Chapter Four
A fortress.
It wasn't a castle or a mansion or the Holiday Inn.
It was hella cool on the inside, modern kicks and digs that you'd only find in a billionaire's house, or maybe a queen's. But in actuality, the damn place was a fortress. None of the doors that led outside the castle opened, unless Viviana willed them to, except for doors that led out into the courtyards, which somehow didn't seem to get hit by the snowstorm that went on outside the place. Just a couple flurries here and there.
And of course, the courtyards were all full of marble black statuary. Statues bent and twisted in various positions of woe and agony. Inside, I felt the power of souls flickering on and off, screaming out to me to take them home. It was eerie. I felt the magnetic pull to go toward them, to take them to where they belonged, but I couldn't get through the damned stone. It was reinforced with magic. Trapping the souls inside, and keeping me out.
Adding to the creep factor of this 21st century Dracula freak show was the rows and rows of stained glass windows. They encircled the courtyards one after another. They were done beautifully, piece by delicate piece, an array of colors from gold to brilliant red and soft blues. They were huge too, from ceiling to floor. Each one depicted some kind of torture or brutality. Vicious murders, rapes, self-harm. It was a trigger fest of the most horrible things I'd ever seen. Literally, like someone had plucked the images out of my head and plastered them on stained glass.
I wasn't sure how I recognized some of the images. One of a little boy curled up with a razor to his wrist. I could think of hundreds of people I knew who'd experienced that same thing. From Theo to Menoetius. Another image of a male clutching a dead infant while another male stood nearby with a knife. I immediately thought of Blaine, Ambrosius's fae father. Blaine's first born son had been brutally ripped from his body and killed by its own father, in front of Blaine. Another image of a male on his knees, screaming in pain as another male held a heart in his fist. Now that could be any number of people.
So like I said. I'd seen things like this before. I knew hundreds of people who'd suffered in the ways that were depicted in the stained glass.
It was... eerie. Seeing it like that made it seem so much more real. I mean, I knew this shit happened. I had to. I was Death. I hovered over people, watching them end their own lives, watching them end the lives of their tormentors, watched people be slowly killed and weep in fear, in agony. I could do nothing. I was forced to watch and wait as they drew their last breathes, as their body shut down bit by bit until their souls brightened and called out to me.
And I pushed that shit to the back of my mind. Because I couldn't do anything. The Source was a constant breath on the back of my neck. Don't do it. Don't intervene. It is not your place. So I buried it. I didn't bat a lash when I came upon the body of a child laying in ruins. I didn't flinch away from the mother bleeding out at the hands of her husband. I didn't weep over the body of the young girl who lay in a bathroom with her wrists open.
I didn't get that privilege. I didn't get to cry and break down.
I had to wait. I had to take the soul and move onto the next one.
And granted, not all of them were that brutal. Sometimes I came upon an old man laying in his bed, surrounded by his family. Sometimes I came to an elder female, clothed in gold and gems, her head bowed as she drew her last breathes before her next generations. Sometimes, if I was really lucky, I'd come upon an old couple, holding hands, smiling at each other as they drew their last breathes, confident that the afterlife could take them together for eternity.
But death was death.
And I could do nothing, but watch.
And seeing the images of all the worst ways to go was like a wake up call I really didn't want.
It'd been hours since Rowan and Tatiana left me to go to one of their secretive little meetings. I tried to follow, but sure enough, I ended up hitting a barrier and conked my head on it. I gave up and somehow found myself back in front of the stained glass windows, staring at them and trying to figure out who I saw.
In the ones of self-harm, I saw Theo first. I knew Theo's story well. I'd actually showed up quite a few times during his childhood, cloaked so he wouldn't detect me, and so Thanatos wouldn't have a hissy fit that I was invading his territory. Theo had almost died so many times, I nearly lost count. He'd cut the wrong way, he'd cut too deep, he'd gone too far with his addiction to pain. Or sometimes his mother hit him too hard, sometimes she went too far. He'd always end up on the floor in the middle of his room, sprawled out like Prometheus waiting for vultures to peck out his insides.
But instead of laying there in tears, Theo would always be smiling, his eyes closed. He looked completely at peace with all of the pain, especially when it went too far. He needed the pain, or so he thought. He needed to know he was still alive, to know that he could still feel.
Who else did I see... Menoetius.
Menoetius was Hannibal's half-brother. Born to Iapetus and Clymene with four other brothers, Menoetius was always an odd one. Since the beginning, he wasn't a big fan of crowds, of other people in general. He liked his privacy. He liked curling up with his books, in the safety of his room. But that didn't last long. Once his family had discovered his infatuation with Hannibal, they'd ostracized him as badly as they had Hannibal. He was ruthlessly mocked, abused, to the point where he needed the pain to cope with what was happening.
He'd taken to hurting himself too. But his daily ritual as he called it was borderline OCD. He needed to have everything set up in the right way. He needed clean tools to work with, needed to have his quiet space, needed to be relaxed.
I could go on forever of all the people I'd known who'd done shit like that.
I'd never done it. I had never felt the need to. I was tired of being in pain. I was tired of wallowing in my own misery, tired of laying curled up at night, frozen in terror, crying until my throat was raw, until my eyes were puffy, until my face was a gross mess of snot and tears. I was tired of suffering.
So I told myself... fuck it. Fuck Xiphrus. Fuck the abandonment. Fuck the dying. Fuck it all. I was tired of giving a shit about people who didn't give a shit about me. I was tired of caring and getting nothing, but pain and woe in return. I was going to live for eternity and damned if I was going to live that eternity in agony.
But damn, these windows... nothing said look at it so aggressively like having stained glass windows of everything you tried to bury your head in the sand about.
I grimaced. Michael had so eloquently used that same saying. Bury your head in the sand. Pretend everything is fine and dandy, while the world around you is burning up and you sit there, just smiling and drinking tea.
It was giving me a headache.
"Admiring my work?" I stiffened for a split second before turning around to see Viviana coming down the hallway toward me, walking like a runway model. One foot in front of the other, perfectly balanced, hips swaying provocatively. She was decked out in a snug black pencil skirt with a ruffled red blouse with long sleeves, her lips painted black today and her nails painted red. Her glorious head of jet black hair fell in fat curls around her shoulders, part of it pulled up with what looked like one of those bumpit things.
"You made these?" I asked. She nodded, coming over to stand beside me, looking up at the one I was staring at. Even though her eyes were basically just black pits in her head, they somehow managed to be incredibly expressive. They looked teary for a moment, then she blinked them back.
"There's so much suffering and pain in this world," she murmured. I frowned slowly.
"Figured that wouldn't bother you. Aren't you the bad guy in all this?" I asked. She looked at me.
"I'm not evil, Stanton."
"But you're darkness," I pointed out, and again she shook her head, making me frown further, "Then what are you?" She didn't answer. She just looked back at the stained glass. She reached up and laid her fingertips on the image of the little boy.
"I don't understand it. Perhaps I never will. This raw agony, this fear, this intense hatred."
"And why is that?"
"Because I was never treated that way," she said, letting her fingers slide off the image, her arm falling limply to her side, "I was loved unconditionally. Fully, wholly. I cannot comprehend this level of negativity. But I see it. I can hear it. I hear their cries in the middle of the night, the screams of night terrors. I've held them in my arms as they trembled and I could do absolutely nothing to ease them. I have listened and seen their tales of horror and depravity."
So she took in the tortured. She took in the people who'd suffered the way they were depicted in the glass. She was just a really hardcore Mother Theresa type. Or at least, that's what she was claiming. I called total bullshit, no matter what kind of honest expression she had on her face. There was more to this than her just opening her arms to the unfortunate.
"So what do you plan to do? Help them exact revenge? Destroy anyone who's hurt someone?" I asked. Viviana blinked, then looked at me, touching a hand to her chest.
"Of course not,"' she said, looking surprised by the accusation, "I could never hurt anyone. Revenge does nothing, but breed further hatred, further pain."
"Then what? You want to take over the world and make it a fluffy vacation for everyone?" Because if that was the case, she clearly missed the memo we stamped on Atlan's ass when Hannibal killed him. The universe was not meant to be perfect. Things happened so that we could learn from them, so that we could learn to have compassion. Compassion was born from brutality. Compassion was born from pain and suffering. Without it, compassion had no reason to exist. We just... were.
Or at least, that's what everyone was always preaching. I felt a little differently. I could live without pain and suffering. I'd seen enough. Gimme paradise.
"I know things cannot be perfect," Viviana responded, making me frown, "I recognize that imperfection is required for the universe to function properly. I'm no fool."
"So then what? What do you want?" I demanded. Viviana smiled, glancing at me out the corner of her eye coyly, like she was getting a kick out of teasing me like this.
"I want only to heal those who've been damaged by a cruel world," she answered. I snorted. I couldn't help it. That clearly I know something you don't know look combined with her saintly words was a complete contradiction.
"Yeah. And I just want puppies and unicorns," I responded sarcastically. She chuckled, then turned to face me, and I turned to her, not trusting her for a second. She looked thoroughly amused. When she smiled like that, when she acted so casual, she seemed almost... likable.
But I wasn't stupid. I wasn't Xiphrus. I didn't fall for pretty words and flirtatious banter. She could claim she wasn't evil, she could sing goddamn Mary Poppins and dance with orphans and I would still tag her with the devil's sticker.
"Our world needs to change," she said, making me raise an eyebrow, "You know that as well as I do. But the change it needs is a change we cannot begin to comprehend."
"I don't understand."
"Exactly. But like I told your father, there's no need for you to worry. Things will go in the path that they are meant to go in. I am not here to hurt anyone. I am not here to disrupt the lives of others unnecessarily."
"Then let me go back home," I said immediately, making Viviana's smile slip into one that was a little more along the lines of evil than friendly mama, "I have a husband. I have a life. I don't want to get involved with you and whatever tit you have with Xiphrus."
"Your father made a deal with me," she said, making me frown, annoyed as hell that she kept calling Xiphrus my father, "I gave him the location of his lover so he could rescue him, on the condition that he not kill my child in the process. He did not adhere to the deal. He killed my son. Two of them, in fact. I let him off with a warning the first time. The second time, he broke our deal. I told him I would kill his son for killing one of mine."
"So you're just hanging onto me," I filled in flatly, "Waiting for him to show up so you can slit my throat in front of him." Her smile became sad. She pursed her lips, her eyes searching my face, her head tilting just a bit.
"My plan was to murder you in your sleep. In your home. To show Xiphrus I could be anywhere at anytime, and do as I wish, just as he has done. To show him that I do not mess around when it comes to my children," her voice trailed for a moment, and her expression was a combination of sorrow and pain, "But I couldn't do it. I stood there for hours, watching you sleep with your lover. Your soulmate. The way you lay together, the way you wrapped your arms around him as if to protect him, even whilst you slept... and I watched all that pain that you bottled up, all that fear, all that sorrow, attack you in your sleep. You have nightmares all night. You curled up around your love, like you were desperate for him to help you, at the same time, you were too scared of something happening to him. You'd let yourself be killed if it meant saving him. You'd torture yourself in the night, so he doesn't have to deal with it during the day."
I said nothing to that. I didn't want to.
What happened in my head stayed in my head and it disturbed the fuck out of me that she knew what was going on in my nightmares. I never remembered the details, but I knew the gist of it. I knew it was more like memories, as opposed to something my brain conjured up based on bad experiences.
It was standing in my small home back in the Paradise realm, Xiphrus darkening my doorway like some Michael Myers shit, threatening me. It was standing over Starkin's body as he lay unmoving, bleeding out on the floor. It was being surrounded by the corpses of my siblings, dismembered, torn beyond recognition. I couldn't tell who was who. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye or anything. Our final conversations were all military based. All strategy and rehearsed lines. It was standing in front of Joxeia, who sat curled up in the dark all alone, his mind somewhere else, even as I asked him what to do next. It was staring up at the night sky, asking Geara why she left. It was me going to Satanika to ask her to stay with me, only for her to pack up her things and leave with Uranus and Alexion, both of whom just looked at me like oh poor little boy all alone too bad so sad.
And it all boiled down to that last night that I spent there, surrounded by a cloak I should've thrown away, I tried to burn, but couldn't stand the thought of it in those flames. Some stupid little hope still lingered, making me grab that cloak and haul it around me. Watching the owl catch its prey and devour it right over my head, spilling blood on my face.
"Stanton?"
"If you don't do this for me, what kind of son are you to me? I have done everything for you. I have given you life. I have given you purpose. I have given you love. I have given you a home. And I ask for nothing in return, but for you to love me as well. And in doing so, you will do this for me, Death."
"Stanton."
"I don't... I don't want to. Something about this feels wrong. I'm afraid."
"You are not a coward, Death. Simply do as I ask. There is no reason to think about it. Love requires no thought."
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
"Nor do I. So come with me. Do as I ask."
"He wants to hurt the others. He wants to hurt Joxeia and Geara and--"
"I did not ask for you to think. I did not even ask for you to speak. Shut up. Do as I ask, Death. Unless you do not truly love me. Unless you look forward to becoming a corpse at his feet. Do as I ask, Death. Be my son. Be good."
"Stanton."
I blinked rapidly, suddenly going from nightmare to reality without even realizing I'd gone anywhere mentally. I found myself staring at Viviana, who stared back at me, concern in her deep black eyes, her fingers touching my cheek. My chest was tight, like an intense pressure was building up inside, my ears ringing like someone had just blasted a bullhorn right behind me, my mouth as dry as cotton, muscles locked up so tight it actually hurt.
"Look at me," Viviana murmured softly, and somehow, her touch wasn't frigid anymore, it was... warm, gentle, "Listen to the words I am saying. If you hear me, blink once." I did. I couldn't speak. It felt like my throat had constricted tight. Everything inside me was coiled up, like a rope about to snap under pressure.
"Good," Viviana continued in that soft gentle voice, nothing like seduction, but rather the careful tone of a worried mother, "We are standing in my hallway in the Prince wing. You were admiring my windows. They can be very scary, I know that. It is their intention to trigger you. To remind you of what exists in this world. I can see it has affected you and I apologize for the pain and fear that you are in right now. But, Stanton, you're going to break if you don't take a deep breath. Watch me now." She took a deep breath. My chest tightened up more for a second, and I thought I was going to explode, until I felt the exhale. It came in a sharp quick gasp.
"Slower," she commanded, then touched her own chest and took a deep breath through her nose, filling her lungs, then slowly exhaled through her puckered lips. My body struggled to follow that command. I didn't like being told what to do, but holy shit, I felt like I was going to implode. I didn't want to feel like this. I didn't like feeling like this. I hadn't felt this way in centuries, because I'd blocked it out. I didn't want this weakness. I didn't want to be that sniveling little weakling Xiphrus had left behind in the Paradise realm. I couldn't be Death if I was weak.
Death was my job.
My job.
My purpose.
I was Death. Without me, souls would never find their eternal resting place. They would forever be trapped on their plane of existence. Ghosts wandering hopelessly among the living, unable to touch, unable to feel, unable to eat or drink, unable to seek peace. And their deaths would be scary. A scary closure around them, a dark space suffocating them, the last thing they would see would be their death. Traumatizing.
They needed me. They needed me and my reapers to be there for them. We were the strength they needed to accept their passing into the next world. We were the last thing they saw before they died. We held their hands and touched their faces, cradled their souls, protected them inside ourselves, and took them to their own paradise.
We were more than just Death. We were their protectors. We were their guardians.
"Oh crap!" Viviana's voice barely registered. It took me a full minute to realize I was hyperventilating and had collapsed. Viviana had caught me under the arms and carefully lowered me to the floor, making sure I didn't kiss the marble floor with my face. She managed to settle me so my head was in her lap as she sat on her knees, her face looking down at me as she touched either side of my face.
"Stanton, you need to take deep breathes with me. Stop thinking for a moment, okay? Just listen."
That was easier said than done.
I struggled to focus on her lips, her lungs, as she took a deep breath through her nose, then blew it out gently. It hit my face. Her breath smelled like chocolate mint. Cool and sweet. I finally managed to gather some air in my lungs, and I blew it out at the same time she did. She didn't wrinkled her nose, so I guess my breath didn't stink to high heaven, which was somehow a good thing.
"Deep breath, no thinking," Viviana reminded me, then took another breath. I copied her, focusing on her black eyes, on her black lips as they came together, her nostrils flaring to take a deep inhale. Her lips puckered as she blew the breath out, slow and steady and controlled. I did the same, and slowly my muscles started to relax. My vision cleared up a little. I went from feeling stiff as a board to light as a feather as I mimicked her breathing techniques.
As I came around to calm, I felt fucking retarded.
I didn't do breathing techniques. Panic attacks were a thing of the past. The whole boo hoo my life sucked didn't happen anymore. It didn't need to. Alaric was there for me. I had Alaric. He was my everything. He was my husband, my best friend, my soulmate. He was my rival, he was my inspiration, he was the reason I kept going. He was the best part of my life.
He was the softness I needed when I came home from work. He was the laughter when we made jokes and watched TV together. He was the beauty and the sexuality and the burning desire, the greatest part of me. Yeah, we argued, and frankly, I even loved the times we argued. I loved the fire inside him that never died, even after he'd lost his memories. The only thing that had changed since then was his honesty because now he told me when he wanted me, he told me when he was afraid, when he was frustrated, when he was scared, and he told me when he loved me.
And when he told me that he loved me, everything seemed okay with the world.
But the world was falling apart again. He wasn't here to remind me that things were okay.
And shit, fuck, he was probably out there wondering what was going on. He wanted to find me. He needed to find me. He had the same desperate drive to have me there as I did for him. We needed each other. We kept each other sane. We kept each other safe.
"I want to go home," I managed, my voice hoarse. Viviana smiled sadly, stroking the hair back from my face.
"I'm sorry."
I closed my eyes.
Damn it.