THIRTY-SIX
HENRY DROVE US STRAIGHT to the Guard house. It had taken all of my rapidly fading strength to hold Tegan down on the way. She was completely hysterical, screaming for Jim, and the sounds that ripped from her throat harmonized perfectly with the shrieks for Malachi in my own head.
We pulled into the driveway of the Guard house just after three in the morning. Raphael was waiting on the steps, grim-faced. Henry got out of the car as I struggled with Tegan.
Raphael walked slowly down the steps, his eyes resting on Tegan, who was alternating between hitting me and hugging me. Deep, wrenching sobs rolled from her tiny frame. He opened the passenger door, focused entirely on her.
“Look at me, Tegan,” he said. His voice flowed over me, golden and warm.
Tegan stopped struggling and obeyed him.
He squatted in front of her and looked into her eyes. His expression was so compassionate, so intimate. I scrambled out of the car to get away from it.
“Do you want me to make you forget him?” he asked. “You’ll feel better.”
She blinked at him. “You can do that?” she whispered.
“I can. You won’t remember watching him die.”
“Will I remember … anything?”
Raphael frowned. “What do you want to remember?”
“He said he loved me.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Tonight. He told me he loved me.”
I closed my eyes.
“If you like,” said Raphael, “I can make you think he’s left here, that he’s merely moved away. Would that be better?”
“Anything would be better than seeing him die over and over again. Anything would be better than that.”
I stepped back into the yard, my neck throbbing and aching, the numbness buzzing down my arm and up the side of my face, anger throbbing in my heart. Raphael wasn’t doing this for Tegan. He’d refused to take away my hurt, my heartbreak. And he’d never healed a human, never stepped in to save an innocent. He’d always let things run their course—unless they interfered with our ability to complete our mission. So now he was pretending to be compassionate, but only because Tegan could tell people about Juri, about Jim’s murder, about our involvement in all of it. Raphael was doing his job—covering for the Guard so that we could get on with business, just like always.
Tegan nodded, blindly accepting this offer of forgetting because she was too destroyed by grief and terror to question it. Her new reality would be that Jim took off without saying good-bye. Instead of sorrow, she’d have outrage. Instead of terror, she’d have bitterness. And I had to wonder—if I had the choice, would I want to believe Malachi had chosen to leave? Or would I want to know what had actually happened to him?
The noise inside my brain was endless and overpowering as I remembered him in his final moments, head thrown back, fighting a frenzied losing battle. It sent me to my knees, doubled over and nerveless. From my toes to my legs to my gut to my chest to my head, there was nothing but a rupturing wail, nothing but the pain of what I’d lost, and how thoroughly I’d lost it. I would never recover from this, even if I did live through it. Which I didn’t want. Not at all. I didn’t want to live through it.
I rose to my feet. I shouldered my way past Raphael as he carried Tegan to the Guard house. I trudged up to Henry, knowing I was about to fail him completely. But when Henry’s dust-colored eyes met mine, all I saw was understanding.
“I got to know Malachi pretty well,” he said. “He never told me in so many words, but I could tell how he felt about you.”
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t push the words out. I love him. And I can’t stay here when he’s not.
He saw the look on my face and nodded. “I know what it’s like to be torn away from someone you love,” he said. “Do what you have to do.”
“Juri knows all about us, Henry. He could show up at any second.”
“But he won’t find me. I need to lie low, anyway, being a fugitive from justice and all that.” He looked over his shoulder at Raphael, and then back at me. “Go, Lela. I’ll hold down the fort and protect your friends until you come back.”
I stared into the haunted depths of his eyes. None of my well-meaning lies or promises made it past the shriek caught in my throat, so I walked away from him and got into my car. I twisted my key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway.
By the time I got onto the highway, the wailing in my mind had declared its rhythm and settled in to stay like an old friend, one who wanted to torture me before he killed me. I didn’t need another friend like that. But there was no shaking this agony planting itself on the inside of my skull, portraying images of Malachi’s stern, gorgeous face, replaying moments, like the one in which he’d told me that being with me when I was hurting was much less painful than being away from me and knowing he couldn’t help.
“I feel the same way,” I whispered to myself as I drove over the bridges to Newport.
I motored all the way to the start of the Cliff Walk, and then headed out on foot, in the dark. I closed my eyes and let the vision plow its way to the front of my brain, just like I knew it would, just like it had with Nadia. But this time the vision—the bait—was Malachi, ripped free of his body, hurtling down a deep black hole.
And when he opened his eyes, they were waiting for him. The monsters were more than happy to welcome him. They would keep him in their realm, torturing him for all the things he’d done to them, for eternity.
I reeled a little as the sea breeze swirled around me.
“I’m surprised you can still walk,” said Raphael, appearing at my side. “You’re going to collapse soon, though. Would you like to come back to the car and let me drive you back to the house?”
I gave him the finger. “Don’t pretend to be worried about me. You want to patch me up and send me back into the fight.”
“I’m not sure what I said to make you think I’m worried about you. I do my duty, and so should you.”
I turned to him, my rage pulsing red with every beat of my heart. “Yeah? Is that what I need, Raphael? Was that what Jim needed? He needed to die on his knees, knowing he’d failed?” I shouted.
“Jim didn’t fail, Lela,” he said gently, not fazed at all. “Quite the opposite. He gave his life for his comrades. It was the first utterly selfless thing he’s ever done.”
I clenched my fists. Whether he was right or not, I couldn’t get past the desperate yearning in Jim’s eyes as he looked at Tegan for the last time, knowing he was about to lose her, about to lose the life he wanted, the real things he’d finally found.
Raphael tilted his head. “What do you think you need, Lela?”
“I need Malachi.” It came from me automatically.
“No, you want Malachi.”
The rage exploded, crimson and iron, burning all the way through me. I shoved Raphael with all my strength, and he stumbled back, but his mild expression didn’t change as he regained his footing on the rocks. It sent me straight over the edge. “Did Malachi need to have his soul torn from his body? Did he need to be tortured?” I screamed, hot tears streaming down my face. “Because that’s what’s happening! Right. Now. After seventy years in the service of the Judge, this is what he fucking needed?”
Raphael took my shoulders in his warm grasp, his face glowing with that otherworldly light, like it always did when he started to get pissed off. I tried to wrench myself away, but his grip was too strong. “The Mazikin are not under the authority of the Judge, Lela. Surely you don’t think—”
“Oh, I do,” I spat. “She’s thrilled, isn’t she? This is what she wanted all along. She wants him there. This whole thing was a setup, for him and for me. So let’s get this fucking show on the road. I need to see the Judge. Now.”
He smiled. “She hasn’t invited you to her chambers yet.”
“I’m inviting myself now. I have an offer for her. And she knows it. You guys think the strings are invisible, but I can see you pulling them.”
“How clever of you, little human.” His face had transformed from ordinary to blinding, but I didn’t look away. “You’ve got us all figured out.”
“Not all of it. Just what I’m going to do. And you’re going to help me.”
He let me go, chuckling. “Oh, really?”
“I think so.” I backtracked until my heels were right at the precipice of the rock and teetered on the edge, sticking my arms out for balance. “Tell me, Raphael, are you going to let me end up at the Suicide Gates? Is that what I need?”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t chuckling anymore, though.
“Are you going to stop me, archangel? Do I need to stay here and grieve while I wait patiently for my summons to the Sanctum? And in the meantime, do I need to have my throat cut by the psycho who stole the body of the best Guard you have? Tell me,” I shrieked. “What. Do. I. Need?”
I didn’t wait for him to reply. I didn’t care what his answer was. I was ready to take the biggest gamble I ever had, because I only cared about one thing. One thought. One person. Beyond reason, beyond duty.
Beyond my fear of dying again.
I took a quick backward step and threw myself off the cliff.
Tumbling, falling, I only had time to mark the glitter of moonlight on water, the soft lap of waves I could finally hear, because the wailing in my head had gone silent the moment I accepted what I had to do.
I was going to find my way to the Mazikin realm.
And I was going to get Malachi out.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SO MANY PEOPLE HAD a hand in making this book what it is: the Amazon Children’s Publishing team, especially Margery Cuyler, Tim Ditlow, Deborah Bass, Jenny Parnow, and, of course, Courtney Miller, my amazing editor, who has shepherded it through the process, advocating for it every step of the way. My developmental editor, Leslie Miller, whose positivity, patience, and understanding of the story and characters made the revision process a true pleasure. I would like to thank my copyeditors, Jennifer Williams and Carrie Wicks, and my proofreader, Ruth Strother, for seriously excellent nitpicking and detail work. Thank you to Tony Sahara, for designing a cover that perfectly captured the emotional intensity in the story.
I want to thank the team at New Leaf Literary—most notably Joanna Volpe, Danielle Barthel, Jaida Temperly, and Pouya Shahbazian—for supporting both this series and my career in general. Most importantly, I want to thank Kathleen Ortiz, my agent, for managing all details big and small, for understanding the intersection between intellect and emotion, for keeping things in perspective, and for talking me off the ledge whenever necessary.
My intrepid beta readers: Justine Dell, Jaime Lawrence, Leah Block, and Stina Lindenblatt, thank you a thousand times for both criticism and encouragement. My dear friends, Jennifer R., Lydia Kang, and Brigid Kemmerer, for listening—my day is made every time I see your names in my inbox. My patient and understanding boss, Paul Block, for making it possible to balance two worlds, and my incredible colleagues: Liz Cantor, Catherine Allen, Kim Bennett, Heather Drever, Anne-Marie Bora, Yerissa Mago, and the entire CCBS staff, for understanding the weirdness of my double life, for being excellent, and making my “day” job easy. And Petra (Safari Poet), for reaching out from across the ocean to support suicide prevention, a cause I hold dear.
Book bloggers, especially Alexa, Lili, Bethzaida, Maja, Heidi, Keertana, Rachel, Nicole, Christy, and Ali: your enthusiasm and insight made my introduction to the online world of readers and reviewers much more fun and rewarding. And to all my readers! I could never have anticipated how inspiring it would be to interact with you. It’s an honor, and I’m grateful. And if you ever crave more from the Guards of the Shadowlands world, look for Malachi’s journal entries at GuardsOfTheShadowlands.tumblr.com, which is also where you can ask questions and look for news about the series.
Finally and most fundamentally: my family. I sincerely hope you know what you mean to me, and that I could not do anything if not for you. My parents, Jerry and Julie Fine; my sisters, Cathryn and Robin; my husband, Joey; and my babies, Asher and Alma (okay, I know: you’re not babies; you’re BIG). Nothing else to say except you bring me joy.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo credit: Rebecca Skinner
SARAH FINE WAS BORN ON the West Coast, raised in the Midwest, and is now firmly entrenched on the East Coast, where she lives with her husband and two children. When she’s not writing, she’s working as a child psychologist. No, she is not psychoanalyzing you right now. Her first novel, Sanctum, was published by Skyscape in 2012. Find Sarah online at www.sarahfinebooks.com or on Twitter @FineSarah.
For more information about the Guards of the Shadowlands series, and to read excerpts from Malachi’s personal journals, visit GuardsOfTheShadowlands.tumblr.com.