Ikelos (The Ephemeral: Book 2)

Chapter 57

I woke up in the middle of the night to some moron shaking me awake.

"No," I grumbled without even opening my eyes.

Rover sighed, the glow of his lantern turning my eyelids a rusty auburn. "Get up. There's something you need to see."

"I don't need to see anything for five more hours."

"It's going to help us win your case."

I groaned and rolled off the mattress, sticking my old boots on over the green, child-sized pajama bottoms the shelter had provided. Richard was still asleep, hogging—and drooling over—most of my pillow.

Some guard dog.

Snatching my cloak off the back of a chair, I followed my superior out of the room, scowling at the scraggly blond hair tickling his nape. He'd healed up enough to go without crutches, which meant I could finally push him down the stairs if this turned out to be a prank or a pointless escapade.

Tom wouldn't blame me if he ever found out.

I frowned, the thought of my brother dulling the blade of irritation. He was probably somewhere in Rhea right now, seething over his captured comrades, watching Regulas self-destruct.  If we hadn't destroyed the two main pathways across the Gorge, he might have stormed the capital himself.  He might have been down here in this dungeon tonight, cursing my name.

But he wasn't.

And I couldn't help but feel relieved.  I had a terrible feeling that our next reunion would end in bloodshed.

Exiting the orphanage, the two of us crept through a city of ice and shadow. It was cold out tonight—as dark and frigid as the neighboring lake—and, save for Rover's lantern, our only light source came from the dam-powered streetlamps lining the walkway, like a necklace of glowing pearls.

No one else was awake; the streets lay empty.

I stuck my hands in my pockets to warm my exposed fingertips.  My new leather gloves—a generous gift from Rover—were now the third pair I'd inherited in the last three months. And they were, without a doubt, the nicest accessories I'd ever owned. Slim and fit around my knuckles, thin enough to slide beneath a bracer but thick enough to keep the cold out. They even had a custom zipper sewn across the tendon of my index finger, which would allow me to expose my palms without removing my gloves and armor first. 

Garments fit for paranormal warfare—and ideal for a rash madcap like me.

Rover had justified his purchase by telling me I was technically employed by the military, and if it weren't for the compounding chaos this winter, I would have received my base pay by now. But I knew he just wanted to see my face light up, and the moment I'd pulled the gloves out of the box, it had.

When we made to the solid pine doors of the city courthouse, I shot the captain a wary look.

Here?

Why in the world had he brought me to the palace of migraines?

The lantern painted his features a warm yellow, his eyes an amphibious chartreuse, and he yanked my hood down over my head to hide the conspicuous white tangles. "Trust me, Fuse."

I did trust him. I'd known I could trust him from the very first moment we'd met.  But that didn't make this secretive outing any less bewildering.

He unlocked the doors with a key I was fairly certain had not been entrusted to him, and with a nervous sigh, I shuffled after him into the dark hallways of the federal building. We strode past portraits of deceased justices and landscape paintings, circumvented the courtroom, and cut left toward an uninviting metal door.  It was the same threshold I'd crossed last week, only this time, a friend guarded the entrance.

Grismond acknowledged Rover with a deferential nod—a stark contrast to the sergeant who'd nearly punched his teeth out a few months ago.  I remembered what he'd said that day at the pub: that he didn't feel like Tom had earned his respect, and he wouldn't blindly follow the commands of a man he didn't hold in high esteem. And I could understand his resentment. No 30-something soldier enjoyed being ordered around by their junior, and certainly not one as reckless and enigmatic as Tom.

However, I suspected Rover's leadership and repeated triumphs had won Grismond over at long last...and having a co-leader as impressive as Siren didn't hurt.

The Bear smirked at me, stepping aside to let us pass.

A you-were-never-here smirk.

As we descended into the Ground, I grew more and more fascinated by Rover's scheme.  Did he want me to scan a demon's memory for evidence?  Had he made a discovery about the portal that necessitated my survival?  What had he found down here that could possibly help us with the trial?   

Soldiers from Tom's company were on guard tonight.  They silently greeted me as I passed—salutes and head-nods and raised drinks—and I knew they'd been expecting me.  My visit had been carefully orchestrated tonight. Carefully concealed.

The Pans, however, were much less welcoming.  They squinted at us, disturbed by the lantern's brightness. Their grotesque, rotting faces flickered orange in the prison light, and I wasn't a fan of the haunted look in their pale, spectral eyes. 

We'd managed to fit about ten soldiers per cell, and they looked none too happy about that fact.  Like feral mice in cages, I had a feeling they'd start ripping each other to shreds if they grew bored enough. Empty scabbards wouldn't stop them.

They sniffed the air as I walked by, and I knew they recognized my scent as that of Ikelos.

Ikelos, the girl who'd put them here.

Some Pans appeared troubled by my presence, disturbed by my abilities. Others seemed amused, as if they knew something I didn't and couldn't wait for humanity's downfall.  They murmured to themselves.  Stirring, shifting, calculating.

Then Rover paused at the end of the corridor, and I slowed to stand beside him.  His jaw flexed with tension, and there was a look in his eyes I couldn't quite read.

"You're back," came a disembodied voice from the cell before us. "And you've brought company."

Confused, I turned to watch a tall, slim figure weave around his comrades as he approached the cell door. Hands in his pockets.  Head cocked to the side.

As soon as stepped into lantern light, my breath abandoned me.

Brown irises had drained to eggshell white, and his skin had grown flaky and vein-ridden.  A wing tattoo hugged the side of his scalp, and a cross necklace still dangled over his collarbone.

Memories flashed behind my eyelids: a gruesome battle, a muddy hill, a wave of Pots descending upon a helpless soldier.

"Sol?" I gasped, barely a whisper.

He slotted his fingers through the steel grating, and a warped, bone-chilling smile tore through his cheeks.

"Hello, old friend."

End of Book 2