Part 12 (1/2)

”The new pack. What's it like for you?”

When he didn't respond at all, Summer seemed to understand. She always f.u.c.king understood.

She moved toward him, keeping her distance from the bed. Her eyes were puffy and red. Her cheeks were wet. She was still crying, even now.

”We have to go,” she said. ”We'll be running behind everyone else as it is.”

Abel braced his hands against the window and stared out at the garden. The whole d.a.m.n world was so much darker now without Rylie in it. Had nothing to do with the smoke and the fires and the endless night that had fallen. All of that would have been fine, if she'd just been there.

”f.u.c.k off,” Abel said. ”I'm not on anybody's G.o.dd.a.m.n timetable. Just f.u.c.k right off.”

Summer's arms wrapped around his chest from behind. ”It's okay to be angry.”

Anger wasn't a problem. Abel had no problems accepting the anger, and he would have been happy to let it fill his blood if it would have just turned off everything else he was feeling.

It was the part of him that wanted to turn around and hug Summer back that he didn't like. The part that made him so furious when he realized Abram was in danger, and then feel vulnerable and p.r.i.c.kly and scared once the adrenaline wore off.

He felt like he was going to lose his kids every time he turned his back and that was a whole new kind of painful that he hadn't faced before. Almost as bad as the pain of losing Rylie all over again.

Abel shoved Summer's arms off of him to try to make those soft, scared feelings go away. ”Don't touch me.”

”Take all the time you need,” she said softly, ”but don't lose sight of what you haven't lost. I'm going to take her to the pickup.”

Summer bundled Rylie's body into her arms and slipped away.

Abel had been p.i.s.sed to see Summer, but her retreating scent just made him even more p.i.s.sed.

His daughter had walked away from him. He didn't want her to walk away. He wanted to keep her with him, stick her in a little box where she'd be safe, where he couldn't lose one more thing.

How did Summer know? How did she always know?

He was about to chase after her when he smelled brimstone.

Elise had returned.

He was ready to rage at her, angry that she had invaded his room, the private place where he'd spent hours trying to sort through all those ugly emotions-but then he turned, and saw that she felt just like he did.

Elise's rage was painted in every line of her face and body. She filled the corner of the hotel room with absolute darkness. What little bare skin that she had made corporeal again was painted with blood. ”I need you to help me kill someone, Abel,” Elise said, voice echoing off the walls. ”And we have to go now.”

Killing someone-Abel could handle that. That was simple. That was easy.

So he said, ”Okay.”

Eight.

The tower s.h.i.+vered above James, urging him to search faster. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled another book off the shelf.

None of the books he found in the secret stacks of the Library of Dis were labeled. Unlike the books he'd read above, they had no t.i.tles or authors. Yet, also unlike the books in the rest of the library, every single one he pulled off the shelf seemed to be about G.o.ds and geneses.

At least, the ones that he could read were about geneses. Many were in languages he didn't understand, and many more in languages he didn't even recognize.

Books that had survived the last genesis. The world before Adam, Eve, and Lilith.

The collection was beyond priceless, and judging by how hard the tower was shaking, he was running out of time to explore it.

Ace's chain rattled when James returned to the table he was using as home base. The dog was straining to reach him again, straining against the end of his tether. Fortunately, the leg of the table was obsidian, like many other things in h.e.l.l; it withstood the dog's efforts at escape, and all James needed to do was take a seat outside of Ace's bite reach.

”Genesis, genesis...” James muttered to himself as he opened another book, tugging on the collar of his s.h.i.+rt. The heat from the fires below was funneled directly toward him like the constant exhalation of a ma.s.sive beast.

This book was a lengthy list, like an annotated book of laws. It was written in the ancient ethereal language. The first item on the list said, ”Once begun, the genesis must be completed.”

”Shocking,” James remarked.

The tower groaned overhead. James looked up to see the crystal floor-a roof to him-s.h.i.+vering as though it were going to break.

He held his breath. The floor didn't shatter.

After an agonizing pause, James bookmarked the list of laws, then set it on the stack he wanted to keep for later examination.

James unfurled another scroll. He couldn't read it. He started to set it aside.

”It's about avatars,” said a boy. ”I can read it.”

A chair across the table was suddenly occupied. Benjamin Flynn was dusty with ash. Exhaustion rimmed his eyes. The dog was going wild, snapping and snarling, but Benjamin had cleverly chosen one of the only other seats beyond Ace's reach.

”How in the world did you get in here?” James asked, hands tensing on the scroll.

Benjamin jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ”Sinkhole. I can see the fraying cables between all the universes, and I've been exploring them for a while, so I've gotten pretty good at finding my way around. Better than I used to be. It's easier to actually go places instead of just seeing them in my mind.”

”Those sinkholes have only been forming for a couple of days.”

”Really? It feels like it's been...” His eyes were chilling as he lost himself in distant thought. ”Forever.”

Maybe for Benjamin, it had been.

James looked down at the scroll again. He still couldn't read it. ”Avatars?”

”Right now, with Eden cracked open, the triad of G.o.ds can go wherever they want. But they usually need avatars. They're not supposed to interfere directly with Heaven, h.e.l.l, and Earth.”

”Avatars are, what, representatives?”

Benjamin glanced at Ace. The dog stopped barking. ”Incarnations.”

”The G.o.ds can give themselves rebirths on Earth when they want to get involved, is what you're saying.”

”Yeah,” Benjamin said. ”Kind of. It's complicated. There's a cost.”