David realized the tower had disappeared behind him, leaving them alone on the island. “I would love nothing more than to stay here with you, but I cannot leave everyone else behind.”
“Why do you always have to play the hero?” She dropped his hands to put hers on her hips. “I know you better than to think it’s pride. Is it because of your guilt?”
David frowned. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, trying to turn away.
“That is why,” she realized. “You regret falling in love with her—it is why you feel you must constantly repent. You blame yourself for creating Lucius. Had it not been for you, Set would have never spiraled downward—he would have never killed you, taking us all down with him. He would have never become a blood drinker.”
Her words hit him so hard, he fell to his knees, his old familiar misery beginning to press on his chest.
She sank down to join him in the sand. He could see the sunset in her eyes. “You blame yourself for all of it,” she continued, “which is why you feel you must constantly keep Lucius in line, protecting humanity from him and whatever else may befall it.” She abruptly grew quiet. “Do you blame yourself for my death?” she whispered.
“Of course I do.”
“Oh, Davius.” She lifted his face, cupping it with her hands. “You cannot live the rest of your existence in martyrdom. Lucius and Morrigan certainly don’t.”
“Yes, they seem to constantly rise above things, don’t they?” He sighed. “Somehow I’ve become very lost.”
Gaia stood, brushing off her skirts. She stuck out her hand. “Then allow me to find you.”
He looked up to see tears had gathered in her eyes, and was struck by how beautiful human tears could be, glistening water instead of the inky black that poured from the eyes of vampyres. Maybe it was time to rest, to give up the useless fight against his own misery. Maybe it was time to cease being a creature of night.
“Can you stay one night with us before you go back?” A child’s voice came from behind them. David turned to see Aengus had shifted back into the form he was in when David first arrived, looking up at him with innocent eyes.
“Time stops while you are in the heavenly realms,” Gaia assured him. “I know that even though what I say is true, you will not give up your guilt so easily. You can rest assured, however, that those you left behind will not even realize you are gone. You can go back to the shattered glass.”
David frowned as he saw Morrigan and himself in his foyer, the stained glass above erupting with his anger. His pain. He looked back at Gaia, admiring the way the light shimmered in her hair. “I can stay one night.”
CHAPTER 3
THE FRACTURED SHE THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, 1857
cahira
Cahira stood at the helm of the ship, finally able to bear her anger quietly and focus on the task at hand. She watched pinpricks of light flicker in the distance, the French port growing closer as each moment ticked by. The wind had picked up enough that David no longer had to funnel it beneath the sails, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to return below deck. Instead, he leaned against the stern as if searching for the indiscernible line that marked black sky from black ocean, plumes from his cigarette drifting into the air.
She kept her distance, empathetic to his situation. Lost love was something she now could understand, and she struggled not to imagine Dan in the painful grips of an infernal realm. She concentrated instead on her plan, knowing that with her power combined with Lucius and Anubis, former guardians of the Underworld, they would be able to set him free. She just had to stay patient and get them safely to Africa.
“How are you, little witch?” Sandrine surfaced from the shadows, sliding up beside her.
Cahira winced. She still hated the nickname, though today, she welcomed the nudge from their past. “Numb,” she replied honestly.
Sandrine looked reflective in the scant moonlight that revealed her smooth, unaged face. It seemed locked in perfection compared to Cahira’s, which had gradually lined, gray hairs snaking through her brunette waves. She squeezed her eyes shut against a wave of pain, remembering her conversations with Dan of immortality. She never expected he would be the first to go.
A cold hand on her shoulder pulled her free.
“I wish I had words for you, Cahira,” Sandrine said softly. “I know too well the path of the warrior is not easy.”
Touched by the brief display of vulnerability, Cahira softened, resting her hand on Sandrine’s for only a moment before they both stabilized, invoking their shared resilience. They stood for a moment in silence, listening to the lapping waves.
Though their bond seemed instant, it had grown stronger over the years. The past decades were marked by a whirlwind of adventure as the duo wiped out scores of demons while artfully dodging Angelique’s own hunt for their souls. Some days, Cahira wondered where she ended and where Sandrine began, the synergy between them mirroring that of twins more than different souls from different eras. But they never questioned it, just as they never questioned when it was time for silence or when it was time to speak.
“Morning approaches. Shouldn’t you be retiring?” Cahira asked.
Sandrine pointed up at the swirling plumes of charcoal that finally managed to obscure the moon. “Morrigan ensured cloudy skies for our arrival. You should get some sleep.”
Cahira snorted. “I am not sharing a room with that woman right now.”
“As upset with her as you are, she is the woman who raised you,” Sandrine reminded her.
A tremor of rage threatened Cahira’s resolve. “I’m not in a forgiving place yet.”
“I think he shares a similar temperament,” Sandrine remarked, nodding towards David, who had yet to abandon his post at the ship’s edge.
Cahira followed her eyes. “That is no concern of mine.”
Sandrine slid her a look. “You have searched your entire life for him, and now you cannot be bothered to make pleasantries? You both lost someone dear to you. That is how civilized beings cope, is it not? By communicating with one another?”
Cahira scowled. “There are days I cherish your friendship and there are other times when it drives me mad.”
Sandrine smiled. “Besides, we’re nearly at port. He should warn the others.” She gently took the wheel.
Cahira sighed and relented. She headed towards David, making sure her footsteps were loud enough for him to hear her approach. He didn’t turn, his gaze fixed on the rolling waves as they sputtered out from behind the moving ship.
“We should be there within the hour,” she said in greeting.
“Thank you.” He broke his gaze to give her a small smile, the wind tossing auburn curls around his forehead. “I was thinking about Dan.”
