Riders

  “It’s okay.” I’m the one who did it. I’ll suffer the consequences.

  “So you left him,” she says, “and went to the Vatican. And then?”

  I look up. Seriously? Did she have to say it again?

  Cordero’s eyebrows climb like she doesn’t understand, but Texas and Beretta exchange a look.

  “Are you with NSA?” I ask. “CIA? I can’t figure it out.”

  She smiles. “Then maybe you should stop trying. I know you’re tired of this but we’re just about done, aren’t we?”

  I nod. After Italy we went to Norway. Where we stayed until we lost the key. Where I thought Daryn had stayed. I picture her face just now, out in the hallway.

  Why is she here?

  “Let’s move on,” Cordero says. “You’d left Sebastian behind and arrived at the Vatican. What happened next?”

  CHAPTER 38

  It was almost eleven when I started walking the arcade. My plan was simple. One, stay alive. Two, walk the premises until the cuff alerted me to Conquest’s presence. Three, get out of there. With Conquest, still alive.

  Part of me actually hoped the Kindred would show up. I was routinely getting my butt kicked by them and that had to stop. I wanted a chance to give a little payback—or a lot—but I had a sword and a fire horse, sometimes, and the ability to ramp up rage in people. My tools didn’t exactly make me feel outfitted for combat success.

  Even at such a late hour, tourists were strolling around and snapping pictures. I tried to blend in as I noted the position of the guards and familiarized myself with the basic layout of the Vatican. As always, my focus improved with fresh air and movement. A charred smell still clung to me and my eyes stung, but I’d put the incident at the airport behind me.

  I did a full lap around the piazza, orienting myself. On my second turn I spent a few minutes staring at the wing that housed the Vatican museums. Somewhere in there was the Sistine Chapel, which contained Michelangelo’s famous frescoes. I thought of my sister, who should’ve been the one standing there, appreciating all the culture and history. Then I thought of my mom, and glanced at a pay phone nearby, picturing myself making that call.

  Hey, Mom. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Been busy protecting a sacred key from some demons. No, that’s right. Demons. There’s this girl who’s running things. Daryn. I know, weird name but I like her. That’s right. Like her, like her. Is it mutual? No. Actually I think she hates me right now. Sorry to get your hopes up. Okay. Okay, Mom. I just said I would. Mom, could you stop? I’ve agreed like ten times already. I promise I’ll be nicer to her. Can we please talk about something else now?

  Probably not exactly how it would’ve gone but it made me smile to imagine it. I just hoped she was doing okay.

  After two hours of wandering, I still hadn’t sensed Conquest and I was starting to get antsy. It was close to one in the morning and the place had cleared out. The guards were starting to get suspicious of me. Something didn’t feel right. Daryn and I had found both Bastian and Marcus right away. This was taking much longer.

  I radioed Daryn and Marcus, checking in and telling them I’d head back to the Fiat in fifteen minutes. Then I took a dim path that led to a wrought-iron gate manned by a pair of guards. The Vatican Gardens.

  “Closed, huh?” I said, though I knew they wouldn’t answer me. On the other side of the gate I saw an expanse of unbroken darkness. I’d read about this place in the guide—ordered gardens in geometric patterns, every shrub trimmed down to a perfect sphere, no leaf out of place. My kind of gardens, in other words.

  As my eyes adjusted I could make out the rough shape of shrubs. A topiary hedge, then a path. My eyes drifted left, searching for symmetry, and I saw a blur of movement.

  I tensed and the shorter guard caught my eye.

  “Have a good night,” I said, and started walking.

  Casually, I reached back and made sure my knife was in the outer pocket of my pack. The path curved and grew darker as the wrought-iron gate became a high cement wall. I was alone now—not even any security guards in sight. My heart thudded in my chest. A light mist began to fall as I worked my way back to Via della Conciliazione. I needed to get back to Daryn and Marcus. I had a strong feeling the Kindred had tracked us again. We needed to leave. I couldn’t lose anyone else.

  The Fiat wasn’t where I’d left it. As soon as I saw that it was gone I changed courses, heading away from the Vatican.

  Turning into a narrow residential street, I pulled my radio out of my pocket, the soles of my shoes sliding on the slick cobblestones. “Daryn, where are you?”

  I noticed that my cuff was buzzing, but it wasn’t Bas or Marcus. The tone humming into my arm was new. Conquest. He was around here somewhere. My break was over; things were happening fast now.

  “What’s going on, Daryn? Talk to me,” I tried again.

  I didn’t see anyone else along the street but it was dim, illuminated by a few feeble streetlamps. To either side of me apartments rose six to eight stories high, their windows in darkness at this late hour. I saw several underground garages, shadowed entryways and small alleys. All offered great places for the Kindred to lie in wait. Thinking ambush, I stepped off the curb and walked down the middle of the street.

  The radio crackled to life. “Gideon—had to leave—we tried to—”

  I only heard snatches but there was no mistaking the fear in her voice. Adrenaline shot through me. I hit the talk button. “I didn’t get that, Daryn. Slow down. Tell me where you are.”

  “I’m sorry. I had to—”

  I stopped. Stared at the radio.

  Come on. Not again. Not her.

  Still no answer. I moved quickly through the radio’s screens to track her location using the GPS.

  The hair on my arms lifted as a shadow streaked over the wet cobblestones. I felt a rush of the night air sweep past me and looked up. I saw black wings beating above me for an instant. Then Alevar landed a few feet away, touching down on the street without making a sound.

  Fear shot through me. I grabbed for my knife—then froze when the radio crackled in my hand.

  Static. It was just static.

  Alevar crouched on all fours and folded his wings. He tilted his head to the sound, listening as he stared at me with his huge pleading eyes.

  My knife was still strapped to my pack. I needed it. But his body was bent like a frog’s, compact and ready to spring. He could be on me in one leap, I was positive. He could rip my throat open with his teeth before I ever reached my knife.

  “What do you want?”

  My voice was hoarse, my breathing too shallow.

  He crept toward me, still angling his head. Intricate markings went up along his forehead and scalp, glowing faintly like his eyes. Sound, I realized, looking at his large tipped ears. He was locating me by sound, responding to the radio’s soft static.

  He kept coming. Was almost on me.

  “Stop.”

  He flattened his ears and went low, hugging the street. Then he extended his bony arm and pointed at the radio.

  I lifted it. “This is what you want? No way.”

  He gestured again with more urgency. His curved talons were the color of raw steel.

  “Is it Daryn? What the hell are you trying to tell me? Whose side are you—”

  Daryn’s voice broke into the night, a strangled cry of pure pain. Not from the radio—from somewhere down the street.

  I took off running.

  Alevar sprang into the sky.

  Daryn had sounded close. I searched for her in the shadows along the street, my legs churning, my backpack drumming against my lower back. Where was she?

  I’d almost reached the corner when Samrael stepped from the darkness of a hidden alley, putting himself in my path.

  I didn’t slow down. I slammed into him, the collision like a shock wave through my body. We careened together, fighting to stay on our feet as we grappled. He was strong—I couldn’t get him locked up. He broke loose and pu
shed me away.

  “Where’s Daryn?” I yelled.

  As I looked into his eyes I remembered what I’d seen in them at Joy’s party. The torment and pain. The fear and anguish. It was all there behind that flat gaze. Dark potential living inside him.

  “Somewhere, Gideon.” He smiled, enjoying my panic. “She’s surely somewhere.”

  An invisible fist struck my forehead. I staggered back. It was him, but I couldn’t go there again. The rage inside me focused to a point, to a clear and singular intention—stop him.

  I knew I’d summoned my sword before I felt the grip in my hand.

  I threw the quickest blow I could, swinging upward. Samrael lurched back, but the tip of the blade slashed his jaw. A gash opened. Dark blood streamed out, running down his neck.

  “Where is she?” I demanded again.

  “You’re getting stronger, Gideon,” he said, his eyes flicking to the weapon in my hand. He touched his neck and looked at the blood on his fingers, anger flashing across his face. “Where is she, Alevar?” he said, looking past me. “You know, don’t you?”

  Alevar crouched a few feet behind me. He crawled over to Samrael and bowed his head in submission, his folded wings shining with mist.

  “He likes you, Gideon,” Samrael said. “I sent him for the key and you’ve distracted him.” Samrael laid his hand on Alevar, stroking the demon’s smooth head. Alevar shuddered and bent lower. “Perhaps I expect too much from him. Such a crude little beast. No real thoughts inside his mind. Like. Dislike. Hate. Kill. It’s about all he’s capable of.”

  Alevar peered at me with his blind eyes. I didn’t feel evil from him. Not like Samrael.

  “Go on now,” Samrael said, coaxing him. “I can hardly deny you the opportunity to show off for your new friend. Show Gideon your gift.” Alevar didn’t move. Samrael removed his hand from the winged demon’s head. “I don’t know why you bother to refuse me.”

  Alevar let out a sharp squeal, reacting to pain I knew well. He scurried back, putting himself a few feet from Samrael, then came upright and extended his wings.

  They were fantastic. Enormous. Then I saw darkness leaking from the feathers. Darkness like an inky liquid that pooled at his feet. He fanned his wings, and the darkness spread, tumbling across the street in waves.

  I’d seen this kind of darkness before. Outside my sister’s apartment, the night I’d chased Samrael down. In the desert, when Alevar had appeared right in front of me. This had to be how he’d been able to sneak up on me.

  I couldn’t see across the street anymore. The light from the lamps had gone dull and cold. Shadows merged together and deepened to black. Alevar was flooding the block with darkness.

  “That’s enough, Alevar.” Samrael smiled at me. “Not a horse made of fire but impressive nonetheless, don’t you think?”

  My attention pulled past him, down the street. Other Kindred were coming now, emerging from the darkness. Pyro and Malaphar walked together. Pyro’s stride was tight, skittish, and he had a crazed look in his eyes. By contrast, Malaphar lumbered awkwardly, shuffling up the street. They came toward us but two other demons—the females, Ronwae and the one with the muscular build and dreadlocks—took positions on either end of the street, standing guard.

  I remembered the Kindred were on the run, too. They were rebels.

  Six were here. Only one was missing.

  I saw no escape. They had me surrounded.

  Samrael wiped at the blood under his chin again. “You know she’s using you? Daryn? You’re a means to an end for her. I’ve seen into her mind.”

  “No. You can’t see into her mind or you wouldn’t be bothering with me. And you don’t have her, either. You wouldn’t be here if you did.”

  This was a trap—for me.

  Samrael stared at me. “Well reasoned,” he conceded. “I am envious of her skill. I can only see into minds, but her knowledge has no limitation. She can see backward and forward. It makes her very hard to catch.” He turned his palm up as he spoke. A shard of bone broke through his skin. It slid out, blade-shaped and the length of his arm. My stomach tightened up at the sight. “What must that be like for her? Has she seen your death, for example? Can you imagine that, rider? Your death? Pyro. Malaphar. Help him imagine it.”

  They came forward together, the skater and the homeless man. Harmless-looking, but not. Their stench hit me as they drew closer, the smell of rancid earth and death.

  Pyro held out his hand, creating a white flame in his palm. He brought it toward Malaphar’s face, illuminating the older man’s pocked skin and black eyes.

  Malaphar’s human face flickered out, then I saw a monstrous creature like Samrael, but deformed in different ways. He had melted features. Sagging skin. He was hideous. A wax figure left out in the hot sun. Then he blurred again and I was looking at Daryn.

  She smiled, but it wasn’t her smile. It was nothing like her smile.

  I was drawn to Daryn like I was drawn to the sea. But this girl only repulsed me.

  “You will die, Gideon. Very soon,” she said.

  Daryn’s voice. Her voice exactly, but the intonations were off.

  “I’ll be twisting the knife in your back when you least expect it.”

  I knew it wasn’t her but my body didn’t care. A sharp ache flared in the back of my throat.

  Malaphar was laughing as he shifted back to his human form. Back to the weasel with the stringy hair and cratered skin. He laughed in big, hacking cackles that made Alevar duck inside his wings.

  “That wasn’t what I was expecting, Malaphar,” Samrael said, his voice light, amused. “But perhaps it was better. Your face is a masterpiece, Gideon. I wish you could see it. I do enjoy my time with you.” He cast a glance toward the female demons, who’d started to prowl restlessly. “But we can’t delay any longer. Ra’om wishes to speak to you. It seems he’s lost his patience for your stubborn—”

  I went after him with everything I had, but Samrael was ready. He sidestepped, and swung at me with the long knife in his hand. Our blades clashed, then I dodged and swung again. I met him evenly for a few more strikes, but he was faster. Fluid. Versed in this form of warfare. I couldn’t match him. He backed me against the wall of an apartment with a lightning-fast move and pinned my sword arm.

  “Don’t fight it, Gideon.” He slipped the blade against my neck. Then that invisible pressure began over my eyes as he worked his way into my brain. “Stop struggling. Yes, good. I know it’s hard for you but the sooner this is over, the sooner we can find the key … and kill you.”

  The world narrowed and pulled away from me. The whirling tunnel of darkness had become a familiar torture. I sank into it.

  “You’ll see him soon,” Samrael said, as I sank deeper. Much deeper than I’d ever gone before. The darkness closed around me, swallowing light. Erasing everything until I couldn’t see the street or Samrael anymore.

  Until there was only all-encompassing darkness and I was lost in it.

  Adrift.

  Then I heard a low, reptilian growl and deep red eyes emerged from the dark.

  Ra’om.

  Demon number seven.

  Seven had to be bad.

  The red eyes floated nearer. I saw black pupils, sickle-shaped. Then the curve of a heavy brow covered in gray scales the color of wet stone. Each one was inches thick. The size of my hand.

  Hello, Gideon.

  His voice was a nightmare. Dark. Resonant. The sound of evil.

  Fear flowed through me like a current.

  Ra’om came closer and a huge snout appeared with long teeth, sharp as swords. His black tongue flicked against them, sizzling with saliva. He shifted, revealing more of himself. Giving me glimpses of his enormous body. Of his wings. Of the spiked ridge of his back.

  He didn’t deserve to be called a dragon. I had never seen a dragon as terrifying as this. The dark power I felt from him was hypnotic and hard to even comprehend.

  That is the idea, Gideon. And I’m happy to k
now you feel so. Samrael has told me you’re a tough one. Uncooperative and resistant. But I believe I can persuade you to bring us the key yet.

  Ra’om pulled back suddenly, withdrawing into the dark.

  Panic crashed through me. This was different than Samrael. I didn’t know what to expect. What was this?

  An image took shape before me, rising out of the darkness.

  My mother stood on a green hillside, her black dress flapping in a breeze. Tears ran down her face. I knew this image. This place. It was the cemetery in the Santa Cruz Mountains where we’d buried my dad.

  Mom looked down at his headstone, and the engraved inscription came into focus.

  GIDEON CHRISTOPHER BLAKE

  Except that was wrong. My dad was Christopher Gideon Blake. My parents had given me his name, only reversed.

  I was seeing my funeral. I was seeing my mother mourn me.

  Would that be enough to persuade you? Ra’om asked. Or would this?

  The image faded out, then another faded in.

  Anna. My sister was on the floor of an empty room, rocking in a ball on the grimy concrete. She cried and ripped out chunks of her dark hair. She tore at her own face with her nails and made herself bleed as she begged me to make it stop.

  Me. Like I was doing that to her.

  Yes. I’m getting to you, aren’t I? What about this, Gideon?

  The image changed again, and I was seeing a party, everything dark and blurred except the golden shine of Daryn’s hair. I moved toward her, fighting through the crowd. As I finally reached her, I saw that she wasn’t alone. She stood tucked beneath a guy’s arm, smiling up at him like they were together. Then he looked right at me, and I saw that it was Samrael. And, somehow, I knew that she was with him because I’d failed. Because I’d let her down.

  It was destroying me to see them together, but I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t even speak.

  All I could do was watch.

  Then it was me. I saw myself standing on the warped shingle roof of a yellow bungalow in Half Moon Bay. At my feet, my dad clung to the gutter, about to fall. He looked at me and asked for help. If I didn’t help, he was going to die.