Page 118 of Endless Terrors
“A human named Anne Rice.”
“You’ve read Anne Rice?”
Heilel pulled his head back. Feeling his eyes on me, I opened mine and met his gaze. “I’ve read everything from your world I could get my hands on,” he said.
I started to respond, but the words stopped in my throat. I couldn’t talk about books, or Anne Rice, or anything other than the world I needed to get back to. The people who needed to know that I hadn’t abandoned them or forgotten them. I was still drawing on the power of the Shadow Court, and somewhere along the way, I’d stopped thinking about the consequences or effects this could be having on them. One person I loved may have already paid the ultimate price for my selfishness.
A soundless scream filled my head, and I pursed my lips to contain it. My hands were still on Heilel’s chest, but I looked toward the horizon again. He watched the play of emotions across my face and I did nothing to hide them.
When he broke the silence again, there was something in the devil’s voice I’d never heard before. “Come with me. I want to show you something,” he said.
I shook my head. “I’m not in the mood for one of your field trips, Heilel.”
“Not even to see what’s behind the locked door?”
I went still. Heilel had gotten my attention, and he knew it. But now that he was finally willing to show me his big secret, I was wary. I didn’t rush to agree as he’d probably expected. I remembered what he’d said the first time I’d asked about the door. There’s still fear in your eyes when you look at me, Lady Sworn. When that’s changed, you’ll be ready.
“Why tonight?” I asked.
Heilel stepped back and let his hands fall, leaving the choice to me. I could follow, or not. As he walked away he said over his shoulder, “Because it’s time.”
Why? I wanted to ask again. It was convenient that he wanted to open up exactly when I needed to leave. I stayed where I was and glanced up at the gargoyles, wishing they could offer advice or warn me what to expect. None of them bothered to pretend they hadn’t been eavesdropping. But Heilel was disappearing down the stairs, and it felt like his offer had an expiration date on it. Like it was now or never. And if I didn’t find out what was behind that door, the mystery of it might drive me insane.
Swearing under my breath, I hurried after him. I caught up with Heilel just as he reached the bottom of the steps. We got onto the elevator and rode it in silence. We stayed silent, even as the doors opened and we moved down the walkway. Heilel’s posture was relaxed, his pace unhurried. When we arrived at the locked door and faced each other, his beautiful face was still calm.
“This is why I searched for you, Fortuna Sworn. This is why I fought so hard to bring you here.”
With those ominous words, Heilel finally opened the door. He stepped back to let me pass. I stepped over the threshold, peering into the dimness eagerly.
The room was long and narrow, but it only took a second to find what Heilel had brought me here for. There was barely anything else in here, save for the fireplace, the old-looking settee covered in red velvet, and a plush, patterned rug on the floor. The object that held my attention was above the fireplace.
“What is this?” Feeling dazed, I walked toward it slowly, willing myself to wake up. Because this had to be another dream, another one of those relentless, endless terrors. But it didn’t shimmer like a mirage or change into something else, no matter how close I got. My voice dropped to a whisper. “That isn’t possible.”
His voice floated through the still room. “It was foreseen. We were foreseen.”
It was us. Me and Heilel.
The likeness was incredible. The artist had gotten every detail right, right down to the small birthmark beneath my eye. They’d gotten the subtle gleam of wickedness in Heilel’s gaze. The hint of arrogance.
In the painting, Heilel and I were on the rooftop. The devil wore his wings, and they were spread wide. He carried me in his arms. Both of our faces were turned, as if there really had been someone else standing there, painting our portrait or taking a picture. In the background, tucked in the shadows, gargoyles peered out.
As I stared at their gray faces, I remembered a comment Roger had made recently. It was during one of our many walks to and from the elevator, after we’d passed a gargoyle bold enough to land on the railing. They don’t usually perch in the city. Something is drawing them there, Roger had said.
Even Heilel had mentioned something, once. They like you, he’d remarked when I’d first arrived in Hell. At the time, I’d thought he was joking. There had been something strange in his voice. I hadn’t known him well enough then, so I’d dismissed it as teasing. Now, as I reviewed my memories, I knew I’d been wrong.
Heilel had been looking at this painting for decades. He must’ve known the gargoyles would be a symbol, a confirmation that he had truly found the one he’d spent eternity searching for. But now I could feel his eyes on me, staring at my face instead of the canvas. I hadn’t even heard his footsteps.
“Did you paint this?” I asked finally.
I still hadn’t looked away from it, so I couldn’t see Heilel’s expression as he answered. “No. Goody Baldwin did.”
I stopped breathing.
“Her vision was so powerful that she had a seizure.” Heilel followed my gaze, and the faintest tinge of sadness entered his voice. “When she awoke, she started painting. She wouldn’t stop, not even for rest or food. She painted until the final brush stroke, four days later, and then fell down dead.”
“Charming story,” I managed, my voice hoarse.
No wonder Goody had never written another entry.
