Preacher picked Mariela up and turned her face away. “You know I didn’t kill Julia.”
Julia. Where was Julia? Pain fogged her memory. She reached out again. The hand in front of her looked… odd. The cuticles were black, the rest of the hand shriveled and gray. She stared at it, trying to understand whom that hand belonged to. Her? That was her hand? The drive to keep moving forward burned in her brain.
The skin burst into flame. A second later the pain exploded through her body. She tried to get to her feet, but her nerves were a melted mess of stinging nettles. “Mariela,” she whispered as her throat filled with smoke and her vision went dim.
Then an incredible lightness filled her. And she turned to ash.
Chapter Forty-nine
Son of a priest.” Mal shuddered at what he’d just seen. He was a few yards from the front door and the church’s proximity caused his body to ache more than the silver bullet Lola had put through his leg. He couldn’t imagine the pain of dying the way she just had. One of the fringe guards retched and the rest stood staring, their job of guarding him and Jerem forgotten. He pushed to his feet and not a single one of them did a thing.
Chrysabelle looked up from the ashes that marked where the mayor had been incinerated, tears streaking her cheeks. She swallowed, her body racked as a sob overtook her. Then her eyes met his. She skirted the mayor’s remains as she walked stiffly into Mal’s arms.
He held her while she wept soundlessly, held her until the last sobs left her. Finally she lifted her head. “How could she…”
“Greed. A false sense of reality. Who knows?”
“She said she did it all for Mariela—that’s Lilith’s real name—but I don’t know if I believe her. She seemed as power-driven as Tatiana at times. That poor little girl. At least she won’t be used as a pawn anymore.”
“Mariela’s safe now.” Mal wiped a tear off her cheek. “How’s Preacher?”
“Human. The apple worked.” Chrysabelle swallowed and smiled weakly. “How are you? She shot you?”
“It hurts like hell, but it went straight through. I’ll have a scar, because the bullet was silver, but I’m already healing.”
“Good.” She turned a little and looked back at the church. “Preacher will have to move. He can’t raise a child in an abandoned building.”
Mal nodded. “The mayor never mentioned any other family, so I’m pretty sure Mariela is her only heir. With the inheritance due her, Preacher will have everything he needs to take care of her just fine.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” She took a deep breath and raised her face to his. “We should go home. We have guests coming.”
He smiled. “I’m not sure I like this plan to domesticate me.”
She planted her hands on her hips, pulling her sweater tight across her expanding belly. “Too bad, because as you may have noticed, there’s no turning back.”
He grabbed her hand and turned toward Jerem and the car. “Home. Before she starts making up a chore list.” He helped her into the car.
“Hey,” she said. “That’s actually not a bad idea…”
Tatiana lost track of how many times she’d walked the perimeter of the Garden. In fact, she wasn’t sure she had walked the whole thing. The landscape seemed almost to change before her eyes, blooms appearing where there’d been none before, plants increasing in size, streams narrowing or widening. The place was maddening in its beauty. Frustratingly dense and colorful. For someone who’d lived so many of her years in the subtle gray world of night, this unnatural brilliance without the benefit of sunlight wrought havoc in her brain.
And the idea that there was no way out? Impossible.
Her building frustration needed venting. She tipped her head back and screamed for Samael, even knowing while she did that there was no way he could come to her. Not here. Not to the place of the original sin. He was banned from this place, just as she was chained to it.
She grabbed a tree branch and ripped it free, tossing it as far as her rage could manage. Instantly, another grew in its spot. “I hate this place!” She shook her fists to the sky.
An eternity here would drive her insane. She fell to her knees. Hot, angry tears seared her skin. An eternity here would drive her to her death.
Maybe that was the point. Maybe this was how she would die. Killed by the inescapable splendor of the most beautiful place on earth.
A hawk sailed overhead. If only she was that free. Her tears stopped. She pushed to her feet and got her bearings. The gates were behind her. She ran to the right as fast as she could, finally encountering the wall of trees she sought.
Here, at the edge of the Garden, multiple rows of trunks merged into what seemed to be one giant hedge. She found a low branch and pulled herself up, picking her way through the dense lattice of branches. Higher and higher she climbed, squeezing through narrow slivers of space until she felt satisfied she’d gone high enough. She inched forward on one thick branch. So far, so good. A tiny spring of hope welled up. Could she escape this way?
Her hand coasted along the branch as she got ready to move farther along, when something sharp and searing bit into her fingers. She yanked her hand back. The ends of her fingers were gone, tiny bits of ash stuck to her skin.
A new wave of pain struck as the flesh began to grow back. She crumpled against the branches, hugging her hand to her body as a pit of desperation opened in her chest.