Page 100 of Grave Revelations (Prophecies of Angels and Demons #3)

Chapter 99

Simon

Simon crested the peak of the tallest hill in Sheol and released Rebecca’s hand.

She stretched hers toward the ground, forming a chair of roots and vines. Along the arms, small blue buds formed and bloomed. When the throne was complete, a dark vine formed a triangle across the back, and a thin vine bisected it.

The symbol for earth magic.

Rebecca sat, following Asher’s instructions as the chair hummed, a soft pink haze settling along its edges. She opened her eyes, and for a moment, they glowed, tinged that same shade of pink. She held out a hand, beckoning Simon forward.

He clasped her hand, and energy zinged through him, setting the hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end. Goosebumps ran down his arms, and his fingers twitched with new power. He felt it, his healing gift. It was there. Dormant for so long after he’d spent all of it trying to keep her alive, now reawoken.

Rebecca stood, releasing his hand. “Sit.”

Simon took her place, setting a hand on either armrest. As he did, a current of electricity shot through him. It fed his very soul, and the universe came into perfect clarity as he drank in its energy. The balance of all things. He fed this land, and this land fed him. It was a perfect circuit .

The souls meant to pass through also left something behind—a piece of themselves, a minuscule bit of their essence. The land took what they gave and funneled it through its ruler. That ruler gave back.

Some souls needed healing, but not all wounds were physical. Here, his gift would heal the scars that couldn’t be seen. Scars he knew too well, and as this realm weighed him, measured him, and found him worthy, some of his soul was restored.

Asher stepped forward, bowing low.

“Stop!” a voice cried, and they all turned to see the dim outline of Zophiel.

“Joph?” Rebecca asked as Asher dropped his head to the ground.

Simon remained seated, still buzzing from the intoxicating energy running through him.

Zophiel’s incorporeal form landed in front of Rebecca, and she rushed forward, grabbing her hands.

“You cannot do this.”

Rebecca shook her hands from the insubstantial outline.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “How are you here?”

“I don’t have time,” Zophiel protested.. “I’m an echo, a final moment. Here to warn you not to do this.”

Rebecca glanced back at Simon and crossed her arms. “Samael is beaten; my mate ended him, and soon he’ll take care of the others. I’m going to Alaxia to be with him. There’s no more danger.”

Zophiel’s white, wispy brows dipped low. “You don’t understand. My child, Lilith, was this realm’s creator. She made this realm for lost souls, but she was cast down to Earth when Sanura transformed her into the Leviathan.

“If Behemoth had not shared his soul with her, she would have been lost forever, and this realm would have crumbled. Only through his love was she made whole. But this place cannot exist without a Naphil as its ruler. You, Rebecca. It must be you.”

Rebecca’s gaze fell on the sphinx, still bowing low at Simon’s feet. “Asher told me of their legend. Their prophecy. Because I’m the last Naphil, I must be the one to free the lost souls here. ”

Zophiel nodded, looking hopeful. “You complete the circle. With my first, it began, and with my last, it will end. Don’t you see, Rebecca? If you leave, these souls will be lost forever, unable to find their way.”

Rebecca scoffed. “I’ve been told I’m the key to one prophecy or another for as long as I can remember. I’m the chosen one, the gifted one, the last one. Yet nothing I’ve done has made any difference. I’m done listening to you, Jophiel.”

Her words held a bit of an accent Simon was sure Rebecca had never possessed.

“If your dying breath was spent begging me to be a pawn in another of your games, I’m afraid it was wasted.”

“He killed Claire.”

Rebecca froze, and ice ran down Simon’s spine as she turned glacially slow to face him. She searched his expression, seeking the truth in Zophiel’s words.

He was petrified in place. It was his greatest secret. He’d known the angels saw his thoughts when he was made a reash. But Zophiel had told him it was his secret to share.

Angels could never be trusted.

“Why?” Rebecca breathed.

Simon’s gaze darted to the fading edges of Zophiel’s form as her lips lifted in a sad smile.

He jumped to his feet, reaching for Rebecca, but she backed up.

“It was the only life from which I never recovered my memories,” Rebecca continued. “I died before I could. How could you do it?”

A cold sweat broke out along Simon’s back. “She was lying. I couldn’t have. She spelled me to keep you safe.”

Rebecca’s brows dipped, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I know when someone’s lying to me, Simon.”

His fingers drummed a nervous beat against his leg. “I—”

“I’m leaving, and I may never see you again. Please. You owe me the truth.” She stared into his eyes, pleading.

He held his breath, mind racing through all the possible answers he could give her for killing a version of herself. He glanced at the sphinx, who was inching away as if he were afraid of what Rebecca might do .

Would she do something?

When the silence had stretched far too long, she wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded. “Keep your secrets. I hope they’re better company than I was.”

Without a backward glance, Rebecca left them all behind, marching toward the river and stepping in. She met the boat as it approached and climbed aboard, disappearing into the distance.

When she’d gone, Asher reappeared beside him. “Um, sir. King. What should I call you?”

She’d torn his heart out too many times to count, and this time was no different, but it seemed Claire’s secret would go with him, even beyond the grave.

Simon cleared his throat, looking down at the little sphinx. He knew the creature referred to his title but needed more than that. He needed a fresh start.

“Call me… Peter.”

Peter stood beside Asher, gazing out over his new realm. It was alive, vibrant and bursting with energy, but it was missing something. He stretched his fingers wide, pulling lavender from the soil. Its scent drifted on the breeze, and he inhaled deeply.

Now it was perfect. It was home.

He stuck his hand in his pocket, fishing out a small golden chain, holding it up. At the end, a locket dangled, spinning in a slow circle. On one side, it held a star; on the other, a crescent moon.