Page 12 of Angel Lost (Fates Academy #3)

Chapter Twelve: Lorelei

Part three of three

Protect

I squint at the screen then glance up at the giant timer bobbing above my head.

The air ripples between me and the priests and an archway appears. Because of course it does. Cautiously, I move toward it. Reaching out, I graze my fingers across the surface. Tingling runs down my shoulders, my arms, and tiny sparks fly from my fingers into the arch. The air shimmers like an oil slick. A portal. Great.

I heave a breath, and step into the unknown. My feet hit dirt in the space beyond the portal and I push my nausea down. In the dusk, a dirt track leads away, past a well in one direction and toward a cluster of ramshackle buildings in the other. Somewhere poor then. This isn’t exactly the epicenter of Elystria. The stone wall of the building closest to me shimmers, just for a second—like heat haze or a trick of the light—before solidifying again. Simulation . My pulse slows.

Glowing wisps of light float from the cover of a nearby forest, hazily beautiful. Soft pulses of crimson and gold, like fireflies caught in slow motion, they float toward the village. A man in worn clothing rushes to the well, a ragged boy on his heels. With quick, jerky turns of the crank he draws up water, glancing frequently toward the forest, toward the lights. I pause, watching them. Is it them I’m meant to protect? The kid hops from foot to foot, flapping his hands in agitation .

The bucket full, they carry it back between them. Water sloshes on the ground as they rush. I step out of the shadows, and the man blanches. “Get inside before dark, aether,” he mutters.

How does he know I’m aether?

The kid tugs his sleeve, glaring at me. “Why warn her? Aethers are the reason wisps are sent here.”

The man grunts and starts walking again.

“Wait.” I reach out, catching his arm. “What do you mean? Why?”

He peers at my hand on his arm. “Wisps are hunters. They lurk in the forest until dusk, waiting.” He talks in a clipped monotone. “If one touches you, it burrows into your nervous system like a parasite. They feed on your rage, your fear. They make you want to hurt. And by the time you realize it—” He glances at the child, not finishing the sentence.

“Maybe I can help…” It might be a simulation, but something about the sorrow in his eyes makes me want to offer him reassurance.

The man snorts. “Only way to stop a wisp is before it settles in. If you’re strong enough, aether, you might—” He hesitates, gaze flicking toward the lights. “—might be able to blast them out with an aether pulse. But most aren’t.”

“Dad.” The boy tugs frantically. “Dad, they’re too close.”

The sky has darkened quickly, helped by a giant storm cloud, and the wisps, whatever they are, are suddenly only meters away.

The man drops the bucket, water draining rapidly into the parched earth, scoops the child up, and bolts toward the nearest house. A red glow appears around the side of the building right beside them. The man turns, shielding the child in his arms, and the wisp lands on his neck. A flicker of red sinks into his skin.

He shudders, his breath hitching, and drops the boy. The kid spills onto the dirt, staring wide-eyed up at his father.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then, a shudder runs through the man, sharp, violent. His breath rattles, his fingers twitch. He lifts his hands, first toward his own face, as if confused, then down, down toward the child.

Protect . This is it. This is what I’m meant to defend them against. I glance at the dark bands on my wrists and tug my aether forward. It whooshes into my palms, eager. Too much. I yank hard on the bond, demanding the boys take more. The center of my chest aches as it drains away. Quickly, I grab for the man, pulsing a sharp blast of aether into him. He staggers, then rights himself. My breath catches. It should have worked. But I didn’t hit him with all of it. I held back.

Shuddering, he reaches for the kid again, grasping his own son by the throat. Shit, shit, shit. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

The boy screams, thrashing as his father’s grip tightens. With a jerky motion, the man throws the kid, hard, against the wall. The sickening crack lodges in my brain. The world narrows. My breath won’t come. The boy crumples like a marionette with its strings cut, his neck at an unnatural angle. Raising my hands, I blast again, harder this time. Something sizzles, a plume of smoke rising from the man’s body up into the night sky.

He collapses, trembling, and covers his face with his hands.

My feet heavy, I move toward the kid, fingers outstretching, checking…even though I know deep down. No pulse. Nothing. I shake my head once.

A scream of anguish tears the night sky.

“You could have stopped it. You didn’t use all your power. Not the first time.” He scrambles past me, scooping the limp body into his lap. “I hope all aethers die.”

I screw my eyes shut, blocking out his accusatory look. At least I kept my aether under wraps. I might have failed the simulation, but I kept my aether hidden. I succeeded.

I whisper the standard command: “End simulation.”

Nothing happens. No flickering walls. No reset. No break in reality. Just the quiet, rasping breath of the man hunched over his son’s body. The ragged, hiccuping sobs of a grief too vast to contain.

“End simulation,” I try again. Louder. Desperate.

Still nothing.

My breath catches in my throat, a cold, creeping pressure settling over my chest. This isn’t how simulations work. They have fail-safes. They have limits.

The man lifts his head. His eyes are hollowed-out shadows, his face twisted with something deeper than rage, something beyond it. He watches me, watches my trembling hands, my wide, uncomprehending stare.

And then, he laughs.

A short, sharp bark of laughter. Humorless. Broken.

“You thought this was fake, didn’t you?”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You thought none of this mattered. Every time. The villagers lose out every time one of you aethers appears through that goddess-forsaken portal. And you? You didn’t even think we were real…”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t need to answer. He already knows.

It takes an agonizing minute to decide. I can’t stay. My aether draws these things from the trees. I’ve done enough damage already. My steps are leaden as I turn toward the portal, fleeing.

From what I did. From what I didn’t.

“Tell me it wasn’t real,” I demand, my voice shaking.

The mage steps forward, hands held aloft, face grim. And I know, I just know. My gut churns. “The village and its inhabitants are real.” His expression softens. “I suspect you already worked that out. If it helps, you did better than most. Only one person died.”

My breathing catches. I killed him. Testing my aether killed that child.

“That’s monstrous.” My words come out loud, harsh. “It has to be all kinds of illegal.”

“It’s sanctioned by the royal house,” the tallest priest snaps. This guy must be the youngest of the three, but his face is the hardest. “However rude you are, you have proven powerful enough to grant you a short audience with His Majesty.”

I freeze.

“Don’t get too excited.” He scowls. “If you’re lucky, he may permit you to remain a member of the household.” He sneers, icy blue eyes taking me in, head to toe. “Although I doubt from our readings that you’re quite powerful enough. We’ll complete the analysis and forward it to the king.”

I’m shown to a small suite of rooms to get cleaned up. I whip out my phone, typing frantically.

Lorelei: What the hairy hags was that? Who fucked up? Now I have to meet the Angel King.

Farrell: Zephyr screwed up. Don’t ask. Didn’t you just see the King?

Chano: Are you okay?

Lorelei: I’m fine. I only met his goons, Farrell.

Farrell: What?

Lorelei: Priests. I mean his priests. But I was too strong. Now I have to meet HIM.

Chano: Shit. Okay, chica. We’ll pull harder. But it’s going to hurt.

Lorelei: I can take it. Do not mess this up.

Someone taps at the door, and I slip my phone away and smooth down my uniform.

Showtime.

The old mage leads me silently through the pristine corridors of the temple. The halls echo eerily with a cacophony of voices chanting prayers to the goddesses as I trot after his stooped figure.

I shiver. It’s the twenty-first century. Are robes and creepy chanting really necessary?

Finally, we stop in front of an ornate door. Dragon carvings swoop and soar across it, and in the corners, vampires lurk, fangs out, almost hidden in the surface of the wood. The thing is a masterpiece. Created for the old royals—Farrell’s line. My line. My fingers itch to trace the carvings. The mage pulls a key from a chain around his neck.

This is it.

I fixate on the key as he slots it in the door.

His back to me, he speaks quickly, quietly.

“Don’t try too hard, Lorelei Bal. Sometimes death is the better option. The more honorable one.” With that, he flings the door open.

Glancing from his impassive face to the room beyond, I can only manage a strangled squeak. Pressing on the small of my back, he propels me forward, then the door shuts firmly behind me.

The light in the chamber is so bright I have to shield my eyes. Slowly, my vision adjusts.

“Congratulations, young Lorelei.” The voice, neither regal nor loud, worms its way into my brain. I’m not sure if the words were spoken aloud or directly to me, directly inside my head. “You are a powerful aether, worthy of an audience with me. Whether you are quite powerful enough for more remains to be seen.”

The king.

I squint around, bobbing a stupid half curtsy into the brightness and tripping over my own feet.

“Your etiquette needs work, I see,” he says, wry amusement in his voice. “Before we meet in person you must complete the final trial. Be aware, things that happen here have lasting consequences. Should you be injured, you are injured. Should you die…well…it is an honor to do so in the name of the king.”

The voice reverberates around my head before sinking into silence. More death. My mind plays over the child. The angle of his neck. My failure. At least this sounds like the risks here are mine.

I chew on my lip, feeling cautiously for my magic. The boys are good to their word: In my gut is an aching emptiness. Hell, I’m going to need some magic to survive this. I give a sharp tug, nausea washing over me at the tearing sensation. A sliver of magic rushes down the slave bond. They’re paying attention.

Something’s wrong. I can’t name it, can’t pin it down, but the wrongness claws at me, sending goose bumps across my skin. The room is too bright—so bright I can’t even see where it ends. My pulse kicks up as I take a few cautious steps, casting around, searching.

Then I see it. Barely.

A thin wisp of smoke, nearly transparent, curling up from the ground. It snakes around my ankles, winding higher, coiling up my body. I swipe at it, stumbling back, only to find more tendrils slithering toward me, reaching, seeking.

They surge up—into my ears, my mouth, my nose. A sharp, sour tang coats my tongue. My stomach lurches.

Then—

Darkness.

My heart pounds. In the dark I pause, letting my pulse settle, centering myself. My gums prickle, fangs itching to drop. I’ve got this. I may only be half vamp, but my sight is still damn good in the dark, idiot king. Shadows shift ahead. Instead of waiting, I glide forward, silently, into the blackness.