Vendetta Page 14

  Images flit through my mind like some out of control film flapping on its reel to the very end. The battle to end all battles taking place in my nightmares. Murders. Accidents. Viola will punish everyone I've ever helped.

  And then she will come for me.

  I step out of the tub, dry off, and then dress, slipping an old tank top over my head. My wet hair drips to the floor, collecting in puddles at my feet. The hollow ache in my gut persists. It's consuming, filling me, but leaving me empty at the same time. What you can't feel shouldn't hurt. But it does. All of it.

  My throat stings as I swallow the lump jammed in the back. I just want to feel. I want to feel . . . something. Anything.

  A razor glints in the vanity lights, shining, luring me toward it.

  It can help you. It can help you feel again.

  I study it, watching.

  It's not permanent.

  It's not permanent. I just need to know that I'm alive and that this isn't some horrifying, never-ending nightmare I can never wake from. I reach for it, fingers tingling. And it's almost like someone else moving for me.

  My head goes light as I drag the blade across my wrist, cutting diagonally into the skin. I press deeper, and at first there's nothing. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid I've failed again. But then . . . the sting of pain. Teardrops of blood trickling down my hand, past my fingertips. And it's like a release. The torture trapped inside freed from my body. I turn my hand over and cup my palm, collecting it, then spread my fingers, letting it drip into the basin. Splattering against the snow-white porcelain.

  My eyes drift closed and I'm lost in another world. Another lifetime. And I'm lying in a field of crocuses, the lilac petals fanning into a deep, righteous purple. The sky a clear blue and rays of sunlight caressing my face, warming my skin. A blanket of cool grass beneath my body.

  I am at peace. Calm.

  And there's Seth, lying beside me, gentle eyes alight with curiosity. He brushes a hand across my pale forehead, sweeping the summer-kissed hair off my face. My name whispered on his lips.

  It's Heaven. A heaven I desperately want.

  My head swirls and I'm falling, becoming that girl in my dreams.

  Because her world—everything in it—it's perfect. She's perfect. And there is nothing left for me anywhere but here.

  My head throbs, the raw pain stretching through my body. I hear my name, someone calling me. Seth's eyes are sober now as he shakes me, desperate to wake me. My eyelids flutter, and I try to tell him to stop. To let me sleep.

  Anguish registers in each of his features. The furrowed brows, knitted in concern. Tightened lips.

  "Genesis!"

  A tear slips from her eyes, running down her face. My face. Because our heaven is disappearing, fading, shimmering to nothing.

  He pulls me into his lap.

  "Genesis, please," he begs. His voice is rough with tears and I feel again. I feel miserable for making an angel cry.

  I wasn't . . . I wasn't trying to. . . .

  "Why would you . . . ? How could you do this to me?" His voice rises with every aching word. The suffering draws me back to him, and I'm lying on the bathroom floor. There are no flowers, and my head aches just behind my ear. I brush my fingers over the tenderness, already swelling. And in the hollow a dull grief pervades, this blinding sorrow for everything I've lost.

  "I can't," I whisper.

  Seth is moving, rustling. Water gushes from the faucet, splashing into the basin. The sound reverberates, echoing off the walls. And a cool, wet rag is placed around my wrist. It pricks my skin, like hundreds of tiny needles, and Seth binds it with his fingers, pressing tightly. He lifts my wrist high above my head and holds it there, suspended between us.

  "I feel so . . . empty."

  He draws me into him, gently kissing my temple. My eyes. My tears. Until his warm lips are wet with them, and I don't know if they're his or mine anymore.

  "It's Viola," he says, words breaking in his throat. "She's screwing with your head."

  "I can't do this anymore."

  "You're stronger than she is, Genesis. Don't let her do this to you!"

  I don't believe him. I'm not stronger than her. I am mesmerized by her. Her power. Her cunning execution of these events, knowing it would bring me to this one, harrowing moment. On my knees. Begging to die. It's over. She wins.

  "I'm all alone."

  "You're not alone," he whispers, speaking quickly. "I'm here. I'm not going to leave you."

  But I don't believe him.

  * * *

  When the bleeding stops, Seth wraps my wrist in a tight bandage. He carries me to the bedroom, holding me close, and I let him because I haven't the strength to refuse. My head falls against the pillow, hair still damp. He tucks the comforter around me and lies down, wrapping my fingers in his. And we are still, my eyes heavy, breaths light and rhythmic. But sleep refuses to come. And so I picture that field and its wildflowers. The butterflies skittering from crocus to crocus, sunlight dancing on the tips of their wings.

  The bed rustles, and Seth's fingers separate from mine. But instead of pulling him back to me, clinging to him, I let go. His footsteps pad lightly across the carpet, clothes whispering as he sinks to the floor, unable to help, unwilling to leave.

  I'm safely hidden, veiled by tall blades of grass, when I hear voices.

  "Is she okay?" Carter asks, speaking low, trying not to wake me.

  "I don't know. I can't tell anymore." Seth's words are anxious. Sick with fear and worry, and my heart hurts listening to him, because I know it's because of me. This is my fault. I've made him feel this way.

  Carter moves into the room. I hear him settle onto the carpet, leaning against the wall, sitting beside Seth. And the two of them are together. Connected. Here because of me. Watching as I pretend to sleep.

  "What's going to happen?" he finally asks.

  "I don't know," Seth replies. "But she can't stay here."

  "What does that mean?"

  "She's getting worse. And I don't know what to do." His voice is strained, cracking beneath the weight of the words.

  "You really love her," Carter says after a few, quiet moments.

  "She's everything to me. And you have no idea what it feels like to know I've failed her in the most unbelievable way imaginable—in every way imaginable."

  "She doesn't blame you," Carter assures him. "She would never blame you for any of this."

  "She should blame me."

  "But she doesn't. I've seen the way she looks at you." A terse laugh. "Jesus. I'd kill to have her look at me that way."

  I smile at this on the inside, because it's all so darkly amusing. Carter would kill because he loves me, Seth killed because he loves me.

  How can anyone possibly think I'm worth this? Any of this. Because I'm not. It's not.

  A heavy silence settles between them. When he speaks again, Carter's voice is quieter, barely a whisper. "I'm sorry," he says. "For hitting you, I mean. That was probably uncalled for."

  "I would've done the same thing were the roles reversed. And not that it didn't hurt, but it couldn't possibly make me feel any worse than I already did—than I already do," he corrects.

  More silence.

  "I need to know if I can trust you with something, Carter. It has little to do with me. Except my peace of mind, maybe."

  "What is it?"

  "It's about her."

  Me.

  "Okay."

  "I'm the first to admit I was never really a fan of yours. And I know you don't like me very much, either."

  Carter laughs weakly.

  "But it's obvious you care about her." Seth exhales loudly. "The thing is . . . there may come a time when I might not be here for her. And you have . . . no idea how much that's going to kill me. If that happens, she'll still be guarded, but I want you to step in for me. I want you to watch over her. Take care of her. If, for some reason, I'm gone—no matter what happens—I need to know you'll do everything you can to help
her."

  "What's happening?" Carter asks, voice low, full of unease.

  "I don't know," Seth replies. "The rules don't apply anymore, not to this. But I need to know that I can depend on you."

  The silence lengthens between them, and I feel myself drifting until Carter speaks again. "You know, I would've done it whether you wanted me to or not."

  "I know." There's a tiny smile hidden in Seth's voice, for this boy who loves me almost as much as he does. For what it means that if there were ever to come a someday, someone else would have to step in and take his place. That this boy, who has never been good enough for me, might one day be all I have left.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I twist open the blinds and the midday sun spills into the room. Beyond the trees and shrubs and vibrant bursts of flowers, Carter's pool shimmers, cool and inviting. A swim might not be so bad.

  It will take my mind off . . . everything.

  The bandage wrapped around my wrist is rust-stained and stiff. I cautiously unwind it, revealing the crisscrossed stripes of crimson. The cuts aren't deep, but dangerously close to something more permanent. Both the disappointment and the relief at this battle one another, until a knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and relief prevails.

  "It's open." I crumple the bandage and tuck my hand behind my back, hiding it from view—hiding them—these careless divides that will scar my arm forever.

  Seth steps into the room, guarded, and I feel his probing gaze assessing everything that is me. Silence hovers, lingering as I work to collect the erratic words racing through my mind, a thousand different ways to say I'm sorry.

  "Are you hungry? I can fix you something," he finally says.

  I glance over at him and his eyes catch mine. They're striking, both empty and terribly moving at the same time, sad, even as he works to keep his expression composed. Level. They're not my angel's eyes.

  "Cereal's fine." My voice barely makes it past my lips, throat rough with past tears, still dry and full of sleep.

  "You do know it's after lunch."

  I nod.

  He hovers in the doorway, and watching him I'm able to isolate that heartrending air about him. It screams disappointment. In me. In what I've done. My heartbeat quickens as he turns to leave. I follow him, moving swiftly as he heads toward the kitchen, a million reasons why I shouldn't have suspended between us, only one that really matters.

  "Look," I begin, as he rifles through the cabinet, shifting and rearranging half-empty boxes. "About last night. I didn't mean . . ."

  But he doesn't let me finish. In a few, quick strides he's practically standing on top of me, voice low, but distinct: "Don't ever do that to me again." I recoil, surprised, the faintest shiver reacting to his dark tone, the icy words as they creep across my skin. "Do you have any idea . . . ?" Anger lengthens every word. "Do you know what it was like to find you like that? To see you like that?"

  "I—I'm sorry," I manage. But the words fall flat between us. Disingenuous. Worthless.

  Seth gives a short, hard laugh. "You think sorry is enough?" He rakes his fingers through his hair, the edge in his eyes cutting straight through me. "It's like . . . torture, trying to watch over you. To protect you. And now I can't even keep you safe from yourself?"

  "I wasn't trying . . ."

  "She'll do whatever she can, Genesis," he says, and I know he means Viola. "Whatever it takes. She will find your weakness. She will root there and she will seep into every fiber of your being."

  I open my mouth to speak, to promise I will never let that happen. To swear she will never have that kind of control over me. That I can be stronger. That I will be stronger.

  "I'm losing," he whispers, expression softening. "And the only thing I've ever wanted . . ."

  His eyes break, drifting from mine, and I turn slowly, following his gaze. Mara is there, standing behind us. Still. Silent. The hair too short for her braid falls in wisps around her face, dark eyes like stone, the weight of her stare burning into us.

  Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

  A tremor slides along my spine.

  Seth feels it, too. "What is it?" he asks.

  She studies us for a moment, gaze lingering on Seth. And then me. She opens her mouth to speak, but can't seem to find the words. Her eyes squeeze shut. I've never seen Mara this level of speechless before. It frightens me.

  "Please, Mara. You can tell us," I say.

  Her eyes open, fixing on mine, steady. A deep inhale, and then: "The Guardians are withdrawing their protection."

  A dark chill ripples across my skin, and my pulse stutters.

  Seth moves away from me. "What? Why?" he demands to know.

  "She knows too much. She's a liability."

  "But you said. . . ."

  And I remember their conversation about the Council. How they would never let me go, not as long as I could be used.

  I'm not needed anymore. I'm not wanted. Unnecessary.

  His face pales, shock etching into each of his features. "They can't do that," he says. "They can't withdraw their protection. That leaves her vulnerable!"

  I force back the swell knotting my throat. My breaths run short and shallow, lungs refusing to fill. If the Guardians abandon me, I'm fair game. Five minutes alone with Viola, or any Diabol for that matter, and I'm finished. "What can I do?" I ask, wrestling with the words.

  "Nothing. It's already decided."

  "There has to be something we can do, Mara. Something we can say." Seth's voice rises with every word.

  "It wouldn't help."

  He speaks quickly, insistent. "I don't understand. If Genesis really did foreshadow an uprising, then we need her now more than ever!"

  "I don't know, Seth! It doesn't make any sense!" Her voice is shrill, unhinged, and I stand frozen for a moment watching her, this new Mara. The Guardian-Warrior, master of her emotions, has vanished, leaving behind a reflection of someone else entirely. Someone bewildered, agitated, overwhelmed. Someone like me.

  I swallow back the slow wave of nausea rolling in, desperate to crawl out of this nightmare.

  They're going to leave me unprotected, at Viola's mercy. They're going to take Seth away from me.

  "Let me go to them. I can talk to them," I tell her.

  "You've no idea the kind of power the Council has," Mara says. "If they're withdrawing protection, they're leaving you to die. Go to them, and they’ll finish the job themselves. This isn't only dangerous for you. It's dangerous for Seth, too. Joshua. All of us."

  "I should be allowed to defend myself!"

  "That's not how the Council works!"

  My skin prickles with hopelessness, and I fight to control myself, to keep my voice steady. "What kind of council is this?" I ask. "You guys are Guardians. You're angels. Heavenly doers of good. And now you're telling me this angel council would rather kill me themselves than let me walk away?"

  "They've done worse," Mara says.

  Disbelief and uncertainty cloud my vision, blurring the in-between. "It's not supposed to be this way! You're the good guys!"

  "Maybe there are no good guys, Genesis," she replies.

  "Then what the hell is the point? Why did I go through all of this? They asked me to help them! They can't turn their backs on me!"

  She exhales a long, defeated sigh. "They already have. They're demanding we leave." This she says directly to Seth.

  "No. I'm not leaving her. They'll have to drag me away." The words are spoken through clenched teeth. Spiteful and provoking.

  "They will."

  "They'll lose," he assures her.

  "They won't," she whispers.

  Seth spins back to me. "I'll take you away from here," he says, eyes piercing mine. "We'll go somewhere else. We can hide until this dies down."

  "Seth, it's impossible to hide from the Council. You know that," Mara says.

  "And you're not going rogue," I add. "I won't let you damn your soul because of me."

  Separating from the Guardians co
ndemns Seth to a lifetime of suffering. I can't live out my last days knowing I'm the reason he was cast into Hell for an eternity.

  "It doesn't matter. Don't you get it? If the Guardians are withdrawing their protection, I'm not bound to this town. We can leave."

  "You're still bound to the Guardians," I remind him. "We can't risk it. I'm not going to."

  "It's not a terrible idea, Genesis," Mara says. "You could go somewhere. Maybe . . . if we can create a distraction, we can get you out without anyone knowing. It would buy us time, at any rate, until we can uncover their motives."

  "We?" Seth asks, raising an eyebrow.

  "I'm loyal to the Council, but I will not sacrifice my better judgment until I have more information. Something is wrong."

  "But I thought no one questions the Council," Seth says, matter of fact.

  She studies both of us, eyes darting back and forth. "Maybe it's time we start."

  "It's not up to us. We're Guardians. We have no choice."

  "We do, Seth," she confesses. "We have more choices than you think."

  His eyes soften. "It's a death sentence, Mara."

  "She's already been sentenced," she replies, referring to me.

  "She's my responsibility. We'll leave. You don't need to get involved. Whatever my sins, I'll answer for them, and I'll die protecting her, but I'm not going to involve you. Or Joshua. Or any of the others."

  "I've already decided. And it has nothing to do with you. Or her. Seth, we've been listening to the Council for a long time," she says, voice low, as if even now she's afraid they'll hear, rise up against her. "Thousands of years. And no one questions anything they do. Their decisions. Even when we know better."

  They exchange a look between them. Seth seems to consider her words.

  "So, what now?" I ask after a few, quiet beats.

  Mara turns to me. "You're not safe here. You're not safe anywhere, actually, but least of all here. You must get out."

  "I can't risk Seth . . ."