44. Lydia

44

Lydia

C entral Park was an organized chaos of different emergency services, tents sprung up like a small city where triage took place, some life-stabilizing measures having to be taken within. Lydia stopped counting after she saw the fifth severed limb, a seemingly favorite past time of the Nyx horde that had slipped through.

Thankfully, from all accounts the creatures disappeared into dust and ash as soon as the light of the sun hit them. Her mother and father walked beside her, expressions grim as they beheld the destruction. They had come back with Elias, Titania, and Troy not long before. The Nyx were extinguished. The remnants would soon be no more.

Despite this, with each step, Lydia sensed a sort of foreboding worse than anything she had until now. Ninack's fortress was gone, the park scarred with damage, and an enormous sinkhole where the mountain had sat. In fact, as she glanced around, she had to admit it was permanently altered. She did not know how the city would fix all this.

And still, her feet brought her ever forward. Beyond the perimeter of medical attention, beyond the edge of the woods, and into it.

Here the light dimmed, and birdsong rose, at odds with the sights they had just passed.

Troy moved up beside her, their steps silent on the leaf-strewn ground. Speaking as they walked, they said softly, "What are you following, little woman?"

Jen squawked behind them. "Hey!"

They glanced over their shoulder, flashing a grin, "You're still mine, lover."

Despite the exchange, Lydia still felt as though she were in a daze. She kept walking, even when Troy touched her elbow to stop her. "Where are you going?" they asked her again.

"This isn't over," she said, not knowing exactly why.

Troy stopped her with a hand on the arm, just as the others of their group, minus Cedric—gone to parts unknown with the other gods—caught up to them. "Hey," they said, concern evident in every inch of their features. "Whatever you think is going on, let's talk it out."

Standing still was like being caught aflame, her entire being vibrating with the need to move. She shivered, looking to Jen and then her mother and father. She could not look at Ankou, not when his eyes seemed to be blazing, like neon only far more brilliant. "I have to keep moving."

"Why?" Maeve asked.

The words blurted from her without any thought. "Because we're not done. This isn't over."

Her father had a sword in his hand a breath later, eyes scanning the surrounding shaded path.

"Please," Lydia said. "I don't understand either, we just—I have to keep going."

When she pulled on her arm, Troy released her, and her steps quickened a little as she tore down the path, the rest of them on her heels.

This was a part of the park Lydia had never seen before, and she had walked these woods and these paths for what seemed like generations on end. There was some kind of magic at work here, she could tell that at least by the way she was pushed inexorably onward, and the looming presence of her grandfather and the others at her back.

She had never felt so frightened and yet so protected in one go. They would not let the man in the darkness get her, she knew that. For the first time in hundreds of lifetimes, Lydia felt confident that was not the way she was going to die.

No more struggle for breath, burning lungs, bursting eyes, and?—

She shut out the memories. The pain of a thousand deaths lingered in her mind long after sweet recollections had blown away like dust.

It was not fair.

The rocky outcropping was another feature she had never recalled seeing in Central Park before. The path sloped down into a slight ravine, where a craggy series of boulders and rocks formed an entrance three people wide and taller than Ankou was, and he towered at close to seven feet, at least.

Lydia's footfalls ceased the moment she saw the entrance to the cave, and felt the deep thrum of magic radiating from within it.

She had never been able to properly sense magic, not with any consistency. A flicker, here and there, but?—

A strong hand descended upon her shoulder, and she jumped, looking up. "Are you sure?" her grandfather asked.

She stared at him. "You'll take me either way?"

His face was a mask of warring emotions. "If I could, I would let you stay and live your life, but I cannot. You know this. You saw the consequences. And here, I may not be able to interfere, you understand? My direct action has enormous impact, so whatever is beyond must be something I observe only."

She had seen the consequences he was talking about, with Ninack being so thoroughly erased and then remade. Swallowing, Lydia moved out from under his grip. "I need to do this, then. One way or the other, I need to be here."

Gladys said, "This is exactly the feeling I've had all these weeks, but worse. It feels like I'm going to throw up, or like the world is about to turn upside-down."

Maeve said gently, "We could take you home, if you want."

"No," she said without even glancing at Lydia's mother. "I want to see this through and then? I want to go to the Realms. Even if just for a while. I've told my friends I'm going out of town."

Rodan smiled. "I was hoping you would join us."

Lydia felt a pang of jealousy she quickly set aside. She had learned long ago to observe her emotions rather than be overcome by them. It was still difficult in the throes of hormonal changes in her teens and early twenties, but otherwise she had a fairly good grasp on it. It was no fault of anyone here, that Lydia could not learn more of the home she had been born on. The Realms were a place she had no working memory of. Whatever had come before her first few cycles, it had been wiped from trauma alone.

Perhaps that would change soon. She did not know if she were to remain in the realm of the dead for an eternity, or if she would be allowed out just as Ankou walked Earth now.

"This is a bizarre place," Troy said from behind her. "It both feels of this world, and not."

"That's because it was brought here from another part of Earth," Ankou rumbled. "These caves should be in your central states, not here."

Lydia glanced around at the foliage and did note a lot of it was strange to her eyes. She had not noticed prior to this because of that thrumming sense of magic, but now her grandfather mentioned it, she found blackberry brambles and poison ivy, black hawthorn and sugar maple. She had spent time in those areas and knew the plants well enough for their common names. And the rock, too, was limestone. Different than the marble and granite that could be found locally.

"What's it doing here?" she asked.

Ankou put out his hand, palm out, and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Someone was attempting to tap into Ninack's work, his rifts." He lowered his hand. "There is something else here I do not understand."

That made Lydia's brows rise. "I thought you were pretty much omnipotent."

"Close," he said. "Not quite. So whatever is before us, it is likely either a very great power, or an old one. Older than us."

Lydia shivered. "Whatever's in there," she said softly. "It means to do harm."

Maeve came to her side, and their hands clasped, Lydia gaining some strength from the fierceness of her mother's grip. "Let Rodan and I take point."

"My Queen, no," Corra started.

Maeve raised her other hand, which flickered with blue fire. "I'll be fine, Corra. Watch over the High Priestess."

Lydia glanced at the woman and saw she was staring wide-eyed and, perhaps, unseeing upon the world. She stood utterly still.

Before they had left the mountain, Ninack had pulled Thea aside. She had been silent ever since, and seemed to be in shock.

Lydia faced forward, took a deep breath, and headed into the cave.

Magic became as thick as humidity in the air, and Lydia felt as though it had a hold on her, like a fish hook beneath the ribs.

The air smelled musty, damp, and there was a copper tang of blood she could near taste on the back of her tongue. Jen gagged behind her, and Troy made a distressed sound.

"Stop grousing, you two," Pike growled.

The cave system narrowed a little so they were walking two abreast, her mother and father in front. Rodan held a sword at mid guard position before him, and stepped just as silently as the elf behind her. Orbs of contained blue and orange flame hovered in front of them, helping illuminate several yards ahead.

So far, they had not run into anyone, and yet there was an increasing pressure, and a sense of being observed.

Anytime the path branched, Lydia would indicate the way to go, though she noticed her mother was instinctively stepping toward the way. "Do you feel it too?" she asked.

Maeve nodded. "I think so. It is quite uncomfortable."

Glancing at Ankou, the question in her eyes, she received a nod in response.

The path at last widened, and there was the flickering of a thousand, thousand candles from within. Candles all the same pillars of black, and stinking of blood.

Maeve had a long dagger and a hand of blue fire, while her father held sword and a fist of golden light. Seeing them like that, Lydia felt an immense swelling of pride. These were her parents, and the strength of them seemed to flow into her.

For a moment, a flicker, she could have sworn she saw the beginning of the tapestry. The weaving interplay of light and connectivity that Maeve had long described. But when she blinked, the image was gone, and no matter what she did in that short moment, she could not get it back.

Throat tight, heart hammering, Lydia said, "It has to be in there."

Her parents gave short nods, then moved forward as one. Lydia hesitated for a moment, and then stepped into that bubble of power.

Gaze tracking to the center of the room, Lydia saw a massive stone altar, carved of limestone, and atop it—a ring of black candles, in the center of which was a woman who looked about her present bodily age, mid-twenties. Long dark hair spread beneath her, and her hands were folded over her chest. She wore very little, and looked as though she had been in some kind of fight. There were bruises upon her face and arms, as well as to her ankles. With a start, Lydia realized the woman had been held restrained. Some of those were the marks of manacles.

She made an involuntary noise and started to go to the altar when Ankou put a hand on her shoulder again. "Look, little one."

Lydia did, and saw— oh, gods, what have I led us into?

There was a half-circle, a crescent, of robed figures with too-pale skin and long, claw-like hands folded before them as though in prayer. From them was rising a low hum, a sort of melody or song that seemed older than ages.

Now she saw them, Lydia could also feel them. The sense of death, and days-old blood. The press of years. They were like her, only they had lived a single lifetime over centuries, instead of her method of repetition. And they smelled like the thing that had held her by the throat the other night.

Gladys spoke from behind, "I think that's Omar Cabello."

Lydia concurred, the features visible in the shadowed space of the hood close enough to the mogul that she could guess at what this was.

A conclave of vampires.

As one, the melody ceased and they raised their heads. She could see, yes, that one was Omar. And there were other notably famous or well-known figures among them. At least if you traveled the circles Lydia did. She had no idea some of them had been vampires. She had shaken hands with them, dined and laughed and fundraised with them.

Omar spoke. "You were warned to leave this planet, and now you attempt to interrupt our work?" He scoffed. "I had heard the Fae were a self-righteous lot. It seems I was well informed."

"What are you doing to her?" Lydia asked, motioning to the woman on the altar, who had not moved beyond the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the slow pulse point beating in her neck.

Omar's dark gaze flickered to the figure, then back to Lydia, and smiled beatifically. "Why, Miss LaBlanc. Are you truly enmeshed in this? Perhaps I should have killed you long ago."

Others at his back murmured in ascent.

Rodan growled, the ball of flame and tendrils of light flowing from his palm growing brighter in the flame of his anger. "You will keep a civil tongue in your head or I will rip it out," he vowed.

Lydia swallowed.

"We know you think you're doing the right thing, but that is not correct. You are interfering where you have no right." Omar brought a silvered dagger out from the inside of his robes. It was curved, and carved with an intricate design that caught and glinted off the firelight. "Leave now, and we will forgive this trespass. Stay, and it will be your doom."

He took a step toward the altar, and Lydia could see the intention in the move. "He's going to kill her," she gasped. "Stop!" Lydia did not know exactly what they were trying to do, but if it had to do with the cracks she was causing in the world, it was nothing good. "Please."

Omar did pause at her words, the dagger held across his chest, his gaze unwavering upon her. Then he said in a gentle voice, "This is necessary, young Lydia. Even you should understand what we're trying to do here. This world is cursed. It is dying. We need to cleanse it, and rebuild something better."

Chills raced down her spine.

Maeve asked, "How do you mean, cleanse?"

"We will cull the populace causing the greatest damage to the world," another hooded figure said, and Lydia could have sworn it was Veronica Newman, philanthropist and millionaire who was often elbow to shoulder with Lydia at certain functions. "A quarter of humanity will survive. That will be enough."

"Enough for what?" Maeve demanded.

"We still need to eat," another said, this time someone Lydia did not recognize. A soft chuckle, "And procreate. Humans are most excellent at both."

"You're talking about eradicating more than seventy percent of humanity," Maeve said, words choked. "How do you think the rest will feel about you when you're done?"

Omar moved forward again, angling his blade toward the sleeping woman. "That is why it won't be us doing the killing. We'll be there just in time to save, instead."

"They will love us for it," another said, and there were murmurs of affirmation. "They will welcome us as their leaders."

"Holy shit," Jen whispered.

Omar went to lift the dagger?—

And Rodan struck.

First with a blast of concussive energy tinged with glittering gold, slamming the vampires into the wall of the cavern. There was some general swearing, a howling battle cry, and then chaos erupted.

Lydia had learned enough about vampires to know they were incredibly fast, strong, and bloodthirsty. They seemed to have been honed for battle since the early days of man, howling and snarling, lips pulled back to reveal incisors too large for human mouths, their jaws descended to make room.

There were at least two dozen of the vampires, and ten of Lydia's party. Only nine when you considered Ankou would not enter this fray.

Lydia had a dagger at her belt, but forgot to pull it as the vampires surged forward.

The first two were blasted by her mother, falling to heaps of ash as the blue fire consumed them. Once the others knew to avoid that particular attack, they started to converge on Rodan.

Who unleashed hell upon them.

The cavern rumbled, rock and dust falling from the ceiling as vampires were flung away, as they were burned, as they continued to attack despite the flames consuming of their limbs and bodies.

Omar, however, was still approaching the altar. Lydia noticed and tapped Troy who was firing arrows as fast as they could draw. "Cover me!" she shouted, then whirled and bolted for the altar.

She heard the elves colorful swearing behind her and her parents crying out for her to come back, but Lydia was beyond standing behind the others. Protected she might have felt, but she wanted to be useful, and this woman—this woman needed her help.

Omar drew a line up the woman's arm with the tip of the dagger, blood welling, and magic like a thunderclap hit the room. Everyone who was standing was felled to their knees or back, even Omar who was getting up with a groan of pain. But not Lydia.

Lydia reached the sacrifice before him, knocking a dozen candles to the side to roll across the floor, dribbling black wax.

Touching her skin was like touching a live wire. Power zipped up her arm, seemed to sense—something—and then turned from aggressive to friendly.

Lydia was small, and the woman on the altar was as tall as her mother, if not taller, but she still managed to drag her off, falling to the ground with the woman's body atop her.

Omar was screaming obscenities, and there was more happening all around her. Magic and steel whizzed by, something grazing her ankle and causing pain to shoot up it followed by the warm sensation of flowing blood.

Lydia cried out and pulled her legs up, trying to be as fast but as gentle as possible with the woman, who must have been marked for death from the way Omar had been treating her.

Getting out from under her, Lydia went to grasp the woman under the shoulders and haul her back to the line of her people when she realized Maeve and Rodan were much closer, the concussive force of their magics near-deafening. Arrows stuck like porcupine quills from the front and back of vampires, though they seemed to pay the still-bleeding wounds very little mind. Some were ripped out without ceremony, the vampires flinging arrows back at the line of those from the Realms.

Still dragging the woman back, Lydia gasped with relief when she hit the shins of Troy, who looked down briefly with a growl of, "Infuriating woman."

"They call me that too, should I be jealous?" Jen teased, coming to the other side of the sacrifice. "We need to get out of here."

Lydia agreed. There were at least ten dead vampires by now, heads detached from bodies. Some of them nothing but piles of ash. Those who remained had grouped on the other side of the altar, where Omar still clutched his dagger and screamed. Screamed and screamed at them to die, to stop, to go. "You've ruined everything!" he screeched.

But Lydia felt it. Something had released the moment that woman's blood touched the air. And even now, she could see a smear of it fresh and glistening across the limestone altar.

Omar seemed to realize it in the same moment as she, for he began to laugh. "There's still enough. Hurry!"

Vampires congregated, and blades flashed, spilling dark blood upon the altar. Soon it was awash in stains, and then—then the world began to tremble. Shook and shook and shook as though it were trying to dislodge a persistent fly. Lydia, already kneeling by the woman from the altar, covered her with her body, wondering if the ceiling would come crashing down.

It must have lasted only a minute, but it felt so much longer. Lydia was streaming tears by the end, clutching the strangers shoulders and praying to all the gods that the lot of them did not all get buried alive.

When it ended, the vampires were all on the floor. All but Omar Cabello, who stood braced against the altar. "You made it to where my friends had to sacrifice themselves for this," he growled, burn wounds covering a part of his face. "They had to give up everything in order to make sure our vision completed." His eyes were red-rimmed as though he had been crying. "I should gut you."

"You're welcome to try," Maeve said sweetly, though Lydia could see sweat in beads along her temple. "Though I may still kill you, regardless."

There was such cold calculation in that voice Lydia flinched. The woman beneath her hands stirred.

"You are marked, Maeve Almeida. You and yours. If you return, we will destroy you. Know this." His teeth bared. "You want to kill that one before it wakes," Omar said, pointing. Then he disappeared from the chamber entire, leaving the many bodies of his dead comrades behind.

Lydia let loose a breath, and looked up to see her mother and father both had their heads cocked, as though they were listening to something far away.

"What is it?" she breathed.

Rodan looked at her, and his expression looked so regretful she knew—this was the end. "I believe that Earth as you knew it is coming to an end."

Her mother was more blunt. "It's the apocalypse."