Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One Read online

  “This occasion is bittersweet, for, just as we welcome so many new members today, we must say goodbye to someone. This is the natural cycle of our world. As new souls enter Metamorfosi, one must return to the inferno. The day you become one of us, each of you is tagged with a certain expectancy: an amount of time you have here before you’re officially turned over to the underworld. This is the exchange you have agreed to. Every deal has its specific terms. None of you knows the amount of time you have, only that it is finite.” She paused and looked down at her hands, as though studying them for some guidance on how to continue.

  Finally, in a soft voice, she said, “I would be remiss if I didn’t address the tragedy of our dear misguided Calliope.” I felt the whole room lean collectively toward her, anxious for whatever explanation she might give for exactly what had happened to that beautiful girl. “As you’re well aware, she served with great dedication and was one of the finest the Outfit has ever seen. Several of our core members were recruited by her, as a matter of fact.” I followed her gaze to Beckett. He hung his head. “Like all of you, Calliope understood what was expected of her and was familiar with the realities of her . . . situation. She gave her soul to us and in return we availed her of the opportunity to be a great artist, renowned and revered. But when her time here was complete, she failed to uphold her end of this commitment. That is to say, she did not go gently. She ran. She turned her back on her one responsibility and went back on her word. And in so doing, she created a situation that put all of us in great danger. Our darling Beckett”—she looked down at him now and he met her eyes—“helped seize her again, but her story ended in a most unfortunate and, regrettably, public manner.”

  She straightened her posture again, strengthening. “Obviously we cannot have that happening again.” Her voice took on a new, stinging quality. The letters of each word were laced with thorns when she said, “Forgive me now, inner circle—” She clasped her hands before her and closed her eyes and the original, most senior members of the Outfit began squirming and writhing. The girls grabbed at their necklaces as though they were being choked, the boys tugged at their wrist cuffs like they were being stabbed. The new inductees gasped as they watched. “Forgive me,” Aurelia continued. “But the honor system is suspended indefinitely. This all used to be so civilized, but now we need to ensure that none of you is able to do as Calliope did and run off. Inside this envelope”—she held aloft a creamy envelope, closed with a fat, waxy seal—“bears the name of the one of you who will be ending your tour of duty in Metamorfosi this evening.”

  She opened it and took a breath, which seemed less genuine regret and more a way to prolong the drama and the pain she was inflicting on her subjects. At last she read “Raphaella.” She waved her arm sharply and, at once, everyone stopped tugging on their necklaces and cuffs; everyone except for Raphaella. The gasps rang out as soon as the group could breathe again. Raphaella, her hands still grabbing at her necklace, rose up the spiral staircase, trying her best to choke back tears. But still, she stood tall. Aurelia stepped down from the pedestal to meet her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you for your fine service in the realm of the Metamorfosi. Onward to the great below for you.”

  Touching one hand to her misty eyes to dry her tears as the other hand still pulled at the necklace, Raphaella nodded, accepting her fate. Lucian appeared at her side and Aurelia stood behind her and took hold of that fused strip of silver on the girl’s necklace. Instantly, beneath her fiery fingers, steam rose and the silver melted, dripping into her hands and then, just as quickly, turning to dust, which Aurelia shook right off. She handed what was left of the necklace to Lucian, who guided Raphaella up the few steps of the pedestal. Together they stood there as it began to slowly descend, until they were entirely out of sight, swallowed up below. Where were they going? Could this really be a direct pathway to hell?

  Aurelia was speaking again and I forced myself to pay attention. “This concludes tonight’s ceremony. I urge you all to go convert any and all you can. With any hope, soon we will have these events weekly and preferably with twice as many new faces. Remember, the fastest way to advance in our organization is by recruiting. Go forth and conquer, my lambs.”

  She took her place atop the pedestal once more and then she too descended, leaving the group alone. When she was finally out of sight and the spotlight trained on her had snuffed out, the two circles of Outfit members unspooled into a silent single-file line marching out of the main door of the Vault.

  I waited until the very last one left and then I waited some more, worried that at any moment someone might return to dismantle that pedestal and extinguish the ring of fire. My watch read just after five. It seemed like the entire world had changed since I’d climbed up there.

  As I navigated down the metal bars into the darkness below, I had the sense I was entering some new horror show. I didn’t know how I was supposed to stay here after witnessing these rituals. I needed to get back to my room, back to that book. It needed to tell me something, anything, give me a good reason why I couldn’t just run outside right now and take a cab home and forget all about this. Or call the cops—although that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? Who would believe me? What would I say? I’ve seen the devil and his followers and they’re trying to recruit people and they’re buying souls? I would likely end up being locked away in some kind of institution if I tried explaining that, wouldn’t I?

  My foot searched for another rung and found the floor instead. I slithered, body against the wall, making my way through the soupy darkness with an outstretched hand until I found the door out into the dim light of the underground maze. I kept a brisk pace until I heard it: the faintest click and rattle of metal on metal and the sound of a door swinging open. It came from the direction of that room where the gruesome photos were kept. I spun around, searching for any hiding spot. I tried two doorknobs—locked and locked—and then settled for a doorway with no door whatsoever, but in such shadows that would have to do. It was a nook the size of a closet, with nothing but an empty wooden shelving unit, riddled with what appeared to be bullet holes inside and a single neatly empty bottle of some sort of liquor. I heard that voice and flattened myself against the wall.

  “You startled me,” Lucian said calmly.

  “Funny, I didn’t think anything was capable of startling you,” Aurelia cooed back.

  “Can I help you, Aurelia?” His tone became impatient and the metal rattled again.

  She didn’t answer him; she just started talking. “How did that go? Did she go willingly?”

  “She did.”

  “Always a class act, that Raphaella.”

  I heard the rattling again and the swinging of a door hinge—it had to be that door I’d seen Beckett open up, the one that was so searing hot to the touch, with that pentagram-shaped key. Was this the path down to the underworld? Was that possible?

  I shivered and folded my arms to keep from shaking. Lucian had delivered Raphaella below. This was what he did for a living. He had probably done this countless times before. When he bought souls he did it knowing that one day he would personally have to walk that person down to their ultimate nightmare, to something worse than death, down to this underworld for an eternity filled with torture and who knew what else. How could any part of me ever have longed for him? He was nothing like me. How could my heart have betrayed me like this? Why had I not paid attention when my scars flared up when he was near me? But I knew why—because I didn’t want to. I didn’t care how wrong he was for me or how unworthy of my blind adoration, I just wanted Lucian in a way I had never wanted anyone else, certainly not any of my crushes at school, which seemed so foolish and laughingly innocent now. I had fallen for this monster. It sounded like he swung closed that final gate, crashing it against its frame.

  “Not so fast, darling,” Aurelia snapped. “Can you just run this down to our beloved Prince?” I heard the crinkling of paper. And a very long pause. “I believe the answer
is yes,” she prompted him.

  “Yes, certainly,” he said, just shy of sarcastic.

  “Thank you, my lamb. He needs it now, forgive me.” She didn’t sound the least bit remorseful.

  “Will that be all?”

  “Yes.” I heard the soft smack of a kiss, and inadvertantly lunged forward, my head peeking out just enough so I could see a sliver of them. Enough to see she kissed him on the lips but he didn’t kiss back. He just stood there, perfectly still, uninter- ested. “Goodbye,” she said lingering there, her lips as close as they could be to his without actually touching. She took a step away from him and I lurched back into my hiding place. The footsteps grew closer, that soft click of her knife-like heels against the concrete. I flattened my back against the wall of this nook, hoping the shadows would disguise me enough. She sliced past in sharp strides and then, from the sound of it, seemed to duck back into that hallway to the Vault. When I hadn’t heard her footsteps for several long seconds, I crept back out.

  Halfway down the corridor toward that room, I got to the point where I could see over the rubble of the waist-high partially busted-through wall clear to the ground.

  Lucian was still in there. I froze.

  He had his back to me and was crouched near those photos. My reflexes kicked in, and before I could think, my body sent me back to the same spot where I had been able to watch Beckett. I scurried as softly as possible, holding my breath the whole distance. Huddled there, I peeked through between the exposed wooden beams and watched Lucian. He had inched the velvet covering up and kneeled before his own photo. He held a hand out to touch its surface, then recoiled and exhaled deeply and pityingly. With a shake of his head, he stood back up, covered the photos again, and unlocked that grand door.

  As soon as he let it swing shut behind him, I took off running. I didn’t care who heard me anymore, I just needed to get out of there.

  Back upstairs, I found myself pounding on Dante and Lance’s door, heedless of the time. The door opened, a frantic Lance behind it, fumbling to get his glasses.

  “Am I late? Is it tomorrow? Did I sleep through the whole day? What time is it?”

  I could have thrown my arms around him right then—not something I would really do, but I could have—that’s how much I appreciated seeing him.

  “No, Lance, sorry. It’s morning, but really early. You should go back to sleep.”

  He looked confused. I couldn’t blame him. “Then . . . why did you wake me?”

  “I know, sorry about that, I—”

  “Oh!” He was sleepy but sounded like something just occurred to him. He spoke in a weary near whisper, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re nice, but I’m feeling better now. Guess I just needed to sleep it off or something.” His eyes were barely open behind those heavy frames, but he kept talking. “Maybe it was one of those twenty-four-hour flus people talk about. Scientifically speaking, I always thought those were something of a myth. You know, I just figured those people actually had food poisoning and didn’t realize it, but now I get it. It happens. This was like twenty-four-hour mono. But I’m okay.”

  “I don’t know, I don’t think it was,” I said. He seemed surprised I would challenge his theory. “Never mind, we’ll talk later.” I looked over his shoulder and saw that Dante’s bunk was still pristinely made: no one had slept there tonight.Lance noticed me looking.

  “Haven’t seen him. Out all night again.” He shrugged.

  My heart sunk a bit. I thought of Etan standing by Lucian’s side tonight and I wondered and worried what that meant for Dante.

  “Thanks,” I finally said. I decided that, no, I couldn’t tell Lance everything right now. He was still half-asleep, and he would think I was crazy. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Sorry I woke you.”

  “Thanks for checking on me.” He yawned and waved. I was touched that he thought I was that selfless; glad that he could go back to bed not knowing that I had pounded at the door purely out of fear and the selfish need to be comforted by someone. I had completely forgotten that he had been so sick earlier. I couldn’t remember anything that had happened before that induction. It all spun and swirled around my head. Why was I here? I didn’t belong here. But this wasn’t the time to be asking Lance any of this. I looked into his sleepy eyes.

  “Sure,” I said. “See ya in the morning.”

  “See ya.” Yawning again, he closed the door gently. I stood in that hallway longer than I meant to and then at last went back to my room. I sat on my bed and pulled out that book. I paged through from the beginning, skimming for anything to give me extra strength. But when I got to the most recent entry and turned the page, there was something new there.

  Marked with today’s date, it read:

  What you have heard of Metamorfosi and what you have witnessed is only part of the story. There is much more. What you can count as fact: the realm of the Metamorfosi is where apprentice devils learn their trade, dabbling in death and destruction under the watchful eyes of their Masters. For you though, it is a training ground of a different sort. You can‘t expect to find all the answers written out for you. But you have been given enough tools to know how to discover things on your own. Continue your search for understanding; continue your physical trials. Be confident in your powers of deduction.

  And a final warning: be careful whom you trust.

  Be strong. Now more than ever.

  22. An Unexpected Visit

  This time the thumping down the hall ricocheted from my eardrums through my head and all along my jittery spine. Loud, louder, deafening. And, again, I opened the door, hoping to make it stop. Calliope led them, the whole pack of them, every member of the Outfit and every freshly inducted recruit, marching toward my room, ready to take me. As they inched closer, they aged, getting older by the moment, and then decayed, their skin shriveling like paper charring and curling up in a flame. Their limbs fell to the ground like rotted tree branches, arms and legs scattering in the hallway and crawling toward me on their own, and then heads falling and rolling at me. But I didn’t close the door to my room; there was no door. There was just me, left there alone to ward off these advancing creatures. No weapons, no shields, wanting to scream but telling myself not to show them my fear even as my sweat drenched me and my racing nerves made my skin itch with terror . . .

  And then my eyes opened. My head flung toward the door—yes, it was there, closed, locked. But the steady drumbeat of that knocking still came at me. Thump, thump, thump . . . relentless. I shook myself awake, trying to snuff it out, but it kept at me, banging at my brain, begging me to face it. I ran my hands over my slick face and damp hair. I held my palms over my ears, but it wouldn’t stop.

  The door shook in its frame, barely containing the pounding. I took a breath, hand on the knob, and pulled, bracing myself.

  And I screamed. I couldn’t help it. He was standing right there.

  “Whoa, morning,” Lance said. He had on his uniform and looked wide awake and ready to start the day.

  “Sorry,” I panted.

  “I was knocking forever. Thought I’d missed you.” He looked at me like I was a crazy person. “Expecting someone else?”

  “Um, no, sorry. What time is it?”

  “It’s almost seven. I guess I’m kind of early but I’m feeling way better, and I’m ready to upload those photos anytime you are. I felt bad about leaving you hanging yesterday.”

  “Photos?” I couldn’t even begin to process, I was too wiped out and he was speaking too fast. I was still shocked to discover that I had somehow fallen asleep—it’s a testament to how incredibly exhausted I had been that I managed to close my eyes after what I’d seen last night. I shuddered, my whole body shimmied once, fast, as though I were being attacked by ants. It didn’t escape his notice.

  “Your photos from the Vault? You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll just get dressed.

  “Sure. Oh, and did you come by earlier or was that a weird dream I had? Not
that I have dreams about you, but I have crazy dreams here.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, his eyes darting all around.

  “Yeah, no, that was me. I was up late . . . reading, and just thought I’d check on you.”

  “Thanks, I’m good.”

  I wanted to say, I’m not, I’m a mess, I have to tell you what I saw last night, this place is freakish and frightening and I don’t know how we ended up here or how we can get out. But I thought of that book’s admonition and I just couldn’t decide if I could say something or not, so I didn’t.

  “That’s great,” I said instead, with no conviction whatsoever. “Twenty minutes?”

  He nodded, looking at me with curious eyes and then backing away to his room.

  I showered and got dressed in my uniform in a flash but apparently not fast enough for Lance. When I emerged from my room, I found him pacing outside my door like a guard dog—though not a very good one. He shook, clearly startled, when the door opened. I was just glad I wasn’t the only one who was unbelievably jumpy. He played it off though.

  “Ready?” He started off down the hall.

  “Someone’s in a hurry.”

  “I was cooped up in that room all yesterday. It’s just thrilling to be out among the living.”

  “Right.” I shuddered again.

  In our gallery office, he uploaded the photos I had selected and settled in to build his slide show: adjusting the order of them, and playing with the options so that certain ones zoomed in and others flickered quickly. When he had it all set, he saved it all and left to load it onto the flat screen at the front desk. I was never so glad to not have that job—a few of the new recruits were stationed there and their eyes somehow already looked more leaden than just last night. I had done a spot check zipping by before and found bits of each of their telltale tattoos peeking out from shirtsleeves. Lance had just left and I had begun searching for the day’s press clippings about the hotel—apparently the restaurant had gotten a good review and a trio of stars from something called the Michelin Guide, which seemed to be a big deal—when when I heard it. Without the least bit of warning, that rasp stung me: “Haven—”