Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(99)

“Wait a little longer,” Smith says. “Matilda, you only get one chance at this, and Bishop did knock her unconscious.”

Smith releases me. I can still smell her fingers.

Matilda glares at Bishop. “Thank you so much for that, lover.”

Lover? The old me and the old Bishop…lovers?

“You wanted her here,” he says. “And here she is.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard the huge old monster speak. The sound tears at my heart. It is his voice, the voice of the boy who kissed me at the waterfall, the voice of the boy who—when all was lost and I was sent off on my own to die—whispered to me that he would send help. It is his voice, matter-of-fact and to the point, but it is also not: it is breathier, shorter…it is tired.

Matilda huffs in disgust. “Maybe you did it on purpose. Maybe you tried to hurt her so I couldn’t transition!”

Bishop says nothing.



Matilda sighs. “Fine, we will wait.” The old creature looks down at me. The mask hides the fleshy folds that in turn hid her mouth, but I know she is smiling—I can tell by her one remaining, red eye.

“Soon, my pet. Soon we will be one.”





The nightmare gets worse. It envelops me, makes me want to give up, to shut down forever.

My Bishop lies in the coffin to my left, where O’Malley died.

In the coffin past him, my Gaston, and in the fourth and final one, my Borjigin.

Old Bishop, Coyotl, O’Malley and a few other Grownups I don’t know dragged them in, unconscious, locked them down. They are all awake now, the sides of their coffins lowered. Borjigin sobs, seems unable to accept that Coyotl is doing this to him. My Gaston cursed at everyone until Matilda went to work on him with the rod.

He’s not cursing anymore.

We are all about to be overwritten. We will be erased.

Spingate is here as well. She’s shackled to a heavy ring mounted in the wall. She’s crying. She knows she can’t do anything for anyone. None of us can. We are all helpless.

The new O’Malley struts around the room, laughing and joking. Same body, different soul—he is an abomination.



The hulking, ancient form of Old Bishop stands to my left, at the head of my Bishop’s coffin. Most of the other Grownups seem shriveled, all used up, but not Old Bishop—he has their gnarled skin, red eyes, mask and metallic life-support frame, but a thousand years of life haven’t made him any less lethal.

My Bishop stares up at him.

“I’m going to kill you,” he says to his progenitor.

Old Bishop nods. “I know you would try, but the restraints are far too strong. It is best if you make your peace with the gods.” The ancient monster reaches down, places a hand on my Bishop’s shoulder. “I am sorry it has to be this way.”

My Bishop sneers. “Maybe it’s better that I die now than live and become you. You are no warrior—you are a coward.”

Old Bishop stares for a moment, then hangs his masked head.

My Bishop senses his words have hit home. He tries to rise up, but of course, he can’t.

“At least let me fight for my life,” he says. “Don’t you want to know if you could beat me?”

Old Bishop’s red eyes swirl. He looks at my Bishop’s face, then above his head—I see a green jewel there, the same one Matilda pressed to release O’Malley.

The massive Grownup gently reaches for it. I hold my breath. His wrinkled, black finger rests lightly on the jewel.

“Don’t be stupid, lover,” Matilda calls out. She’s on the pedestal platform with Smith. “Do you really want to prove what a big man you are by damaging the body you’re about to inhabit? Leave him be—it’s your turn to transfer.”

Old Bishop’s hand drops to his side.

“I want to live,” he says to my Bishop. “I am sorry.” He lumbers to the black X. “Uriah, Kevin, prepare me.”

Coyotl scurries over, as does O’Malley. It is devastating to see their young faces so eager to help, so excited about killing off another of my friends.



My Bishop sniffles once. Then twice. No, not sniffling…he’s smelling the air. I don’t smell anything.

Old Bishop removes his bracelet weapon. He hands it to O’Malley, who slides it onto his own arm. Coyotl shackles one of Old Bishop’s wrists, O’Malley the other. They lock down his ankles.

Old Bishop looks at each restraint as he tests it, giving it a short pull. His head suddenly snaps up, eyes darting about the room.

“Release me,” he says.

O’Malley throws back his head and laughs. “No cold feet now, Ramses old chap. I know you’re afraid you’ll be stabbed in the heart—because you will be—but the you that does the stabbing will enjoy it, I promise.”

Old Bishop pulls hard on his shackles; the metal rattles so loud that O’Malley takes a surprised step back.

“Release me now, I smell something.”

And then I smell it, too—burned toast.

The Springers are here.

Coyotl’s nose wrinkles: his eyes widen.

“Oh, shit,” he says.

A flash and a deafening roar from somewhere past my head.

Coyotl spins in place, falls.