Devoid of al hope.
Surrounded by silence, an infinite darkness, forced to relive their very worst choices, their most tragic mistakes and wrong turns, the bad decisions and selfish acts that caused others pain—forced to relive their own personal hel over and over again. Experiencing the pain they’ve caused others as though it’s their own—just like I did when it was me in their place. Having no way of knowing that there are others just like them—that while they may feel alone, the irony is they’re actual y trapped among their own kind. Al of them ruled by an assault of images, age-old regrets, with no way to turn off the pictures, no way to silence their heads.
And just as I wonder what I’m expected to do from here, the memory of Lotus’s voice plays in my ear.
There are many who await you. Await you to release them, to release me.
And I know this is what she meant. I have to start here.
I approach the first block, observing a frenzy of energy that belongs to a tormented, agonized soul I don’t recognize. Though there’s no doubt it’s one of Roman’s, since other than me, the only ones Damen turned were the orphans. And I can’t help but wonder just how many immortals Roman might’ve made, remembering how he once answered Haven when she posed the question: That’s for me to know, and the rest of the world to find out. Not to mention how many might’ve inadvertently, accidently, ended up here.
I close my eyes, press my palms to the glass, and wait for some kind of sign, further instructions, an order that wil soon be revealed, only to be met by a blast of despair so dark, a torment so bleak, I can barely contain it. Soon fol owed by a surge of bitter cold so intense I can’t help but jerk back. Gaping at my freezing, frostbitten palms, knowing that as long as I’m here, there’s no chance they’l heal.
Desperate to end it, for myself as wel as them, I kick at the glass, kick as hard as I can, and when that doesn’t work, I pound with both hands. And after hurling my body against it to no avail whatsoever, I dig deep into my pocket, locate the bit of crystal Ava gave me, the smal piece of cavansite that enhances intuition and psychic healing, prompts deep reflection, inspires new ideas, helps rid oneself of faulty beliefs, and aids in inducing the memories of one’s prior lives, hoping it can help me here as wel . And when my hand lights up, when my palm heals, when my skin emits that bril iant golden-flecked purple hue I glimpsed earlier, I know exactly what to do.
I take the sharp edge, the jagged tip that narrows to a point, and drag it vertical y down one side of the glass, then horizontal y across the top, and then vertical y down the other, cringing at the high-pitched, squeaky, nails-on-a-chalkboard, wince-inducing kind of sound that results, but knowing I’ve succeeded when the prison col apses, shatters onto itself, and a cool blast of air whizzes by as the trapped soul rushes out.
My heart hammers hard in my chest as the entity hovers before me, growing, stretching into a varying col ection of personas—a ful array of prior-life guises, none of which I recognize. Emitting a bright flash of color as it shrinks down into itself once again and takes flight, soaring high into the sky, quickly disappearing from sight.
I pause to catch my breath, amazed by what I just witnessed, what I’ve just succeeded in doing, then I head to the next cube and repeat the sequence again, and then again. Releasing one trapped soul after another, having no idea where they go, but figuring anywhere’s got to be better than here.
And then, just as I move for the next, I find him.
Damen.
Though it’s not at al like I thought, not at al like I expected.
Rather than being trapped like I feared, he also wanders from block to block.
His hair wildly mussed, his eyes haunted and red-rimmed, his voice thick with remorse as he begs forgiveness for al that he’s done.
Begs forgiveness for their being here.
“This isn’t your fault,” I say, quietly approaching him. “You had nothing to do with this, Roman’s the one who turned them. You know how proud he was of his elixir, how he liked to share it freely, or at least with whomever he deemed worthy, whereas you only gave it to the orphans and me. Unless…” I swal ow hard, look at him, a whole new thought occurring to me, one I pray is just pure paranoia and not at al true. “Unless there were others you haven’t told me about?” I suck in my breath.
Relaxing only when his bereft gaze meets mine and he says, “Six orphans. Plus you. That’s the grand total of my personal legacy.” He lifts his shoulders, breathes deeply, looks al around, before returning to me. “Stil , in the end, it doesn’t real y matter who fed them the elixir, doesn’t matter who decided to turn them, because al of this—” he sweeps his arm wide, hand arcing before him, al around him,
“everything you see here—it al stems from me. I was the first. I planted the seed. Roman never would’ve gotten there if it hadn’t been for me. So, you see, Ever, this is my fault. It’s like Lotus said, I’m the cause and our love is the symptom. I couldn’t let you go. Couldn’t handle the pain of a life lived without you. And while you, my sweet Ever, my dearest Adelina, may very wel be the cure, I have to do al that I can to correct my karma, to right al my wrongs. And what better place to start than right here?”
I pause, taking a few moments to consider his words, while careful y sifting through a few of my own. “Wel ,” I say, my voice low, quiet, my eyes never once straying far from the elegant planes of his face. “From what I’ve experienced so far, the best way to make up for al that is to release them. That’s pretty much al we can do at this point.”
I show him the crystal, show him how I’ve been using it to break through the glass and set the souls free. Motioning for him to join me, and watching as he places his palms to the surface and sends a silent plea for fo
rgiveness. His flesh throbbing, blistering, blackening, before becoming almost mummified looking—refusing my offer of the crystal that wil al ow him to heal, he prefers to suffer, convinced he deserves it, as he fol ows me from one to the next. The two of us repeating the sequence—Damen expressing his regrets as I send the glass shattering so another soul can rush out.
When we get to the next one, we halt—immediately sensing something different. Instantly alerted to something unusual that sets it apart from those that came before. And even though the energy within is just as frantic as al the others, thrashing furiously, crashing from top to bottom and side to side, moving so fast it’s hard to get a handle on, to see it for anything more than a confusing blur—it’s stil an energy we both recognize.
So I bow out. Step to the side.
This particular soul is Damen’s to release, not mine.
While we al share a past, a long and convoluted history of jealousy that always ends in murder, my murder, the two of them have memories that don’t involve me, have nothing to do with me—and not al of them bad.
I hand him the crystal, listening as he cal s to her silently, telepathical y, but stil I can hear. And when he places his hands on either side of her cube, everything stil s.
Damen? she cal s, sensing his presence, his energy, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe she’s been cal ing for him since the day I kil ed her and sent her soul here.
I am here. He closes his eyes, presses his forehead to the glass, holding on to the sides with each hand. I have failed you. Failed you in so many ways. Failed to love you in the way that you wanted, in the way that you needed. And though I may have saved your life, may have spared you from the black plague, I’m afraid that in the end, I stepped in where I didn’t belong, and, because of it, I’ve reduced you to this.