The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(45)

He kept his eyes trained on the travelers scurrying past the waiting area. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Please. Can’t we get past that?”

He shifted. Bloody uncomfortable chairs in this station. Knowing Cybele would needle and prod until she got at least some satisfaction, he conceded defeat. “All right. I’ll tell you this much. The Ordeal defies description.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not helpful, Arthur.”

He shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got.”

She tipped her head back, as if patience lurked on the station ceiling. “Were you afraid?”

A sparrow flitted across the floor, pecking at crumbs. It must’ve flown in an open door. He hoped it managed to get out again. “I was scared shitless,” he said. “A thousand times over. Only an idiot would be anything less.”

“Oh.” She looked at him, and then down into her lap.

He followed her gaze. She was twisting her fingers together so violently, he almost winced. He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Stop that.”

Her next words came so softly, he had to duck his head to hear them. “I might not survive my Ordeal,” she said. “Not all dormants do. Remember Colby?”

He remembered what the poor bastard’s body had looked like when Mab had brought it out of the cellar and dumped it in the swamp. Arthur had been fifteen, Cybele sixteen. They’d both had nightmares for weeks.

His fingers tightened on hers. “You’ll survive. I’ll be there, guiding you. Every moment, until it’s done.”

“How did you endure it on your own?”

His mind shied away from the memory. “I’m not sure.”

“Maybe...” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should just do it now. Before Mab catches up with us. Then we could fight her together.”

He stared at her. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Even Mab can’t stop an Ordeal. It would buy us time.” She nudged her backpack with her toe. “I brought a couple eightballs with me.”

“You have cocaine?” Her audacity astounded him. Though why it should, he didn’t know. It was just the kind of thing she’d do.

“Yeah. I thought it would be good to have, just in case. What do you think?”

“Cybele.” He struggled to find his patience. “Have you not been paying attention? My magic is so unpredictable, I can’t even trust myself to pick you up and fly a hundred miles. I couldn’t possibly guide you through your Ordeal. Not until I have more control.”

She touched his arm. “Maybe guiding me would help. It might improve your focus.”

“That,” he said flatly, “is the single stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.”

“No, it’s not. It’s—”

He stood abruptly, throwing off her hand. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I won’t discuss it. Not now, not later. Drop it.”

“But—”

He spun on her. “The Ordeal doesn’t improve focus. It destroys it. Obliterates it. It shreds every iota of control you ever had over your body and mind. It turns your brain inside out, stretches your bones until you think you’ll snap apart. It’s a howling maelstrom of violation, humiliation, and agony. You’ll want to die. Every moment you continue living, you’ll long for death that much more. You’ll try to kill yourself. The Ordeal won’t let you. And after you fail? That’s when the torment gets worse.”

He paused, chest heaving, sick dread spreading through him. “The way I am now, I couldn’t guide you through a tenth of what you’d have to endure. And Cybele, if you died, if your brain fried, all because I’m a worthless shit who can’t control the most basic magic...”

He was aware, through the haze of his agitation, of Cybele staring up at him, stricken. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Good. Now don’t fucking ask me about it again.”

She recoiled as if struck.

Shame flooded him. He was aware of several people nearby, watching their altercation with wary eyes. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in her lap. “Damn it, Cybele, I’m sorry. So sorry. Just—please. I can’t...I can’t talk about it. Please don’t ask me to.”

He felt her fingers comb through his hair. “Okay.” The single word trembled.

He lifted his head. “No, it’s not okay. I—”

A screech of pneumatic breaks sounded on the tracks. “Come on,” she said. “Get up. Our train’s finally here. And after all this drama—” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I refuse to miss it.”

***

“For the love of Heaven, Raphael. Make up your blessed mind.” Michael was none too pleased. The last place he wanted was to be called back to the clouds. Not when things were so much more interesting on Earth. “I thought you needed someone to watch Arthur.”

Raphael waved a hand. “Gabriel will do it.”

Gabriel? Michael clamped down on an unholy spurt of annoyance. “Why the sudden change in plans?”

“I need you elsewhere. There’s a...situation.”

“What is it?”

“Remember the missing cherub? Fortunato?”