The First Male (33 page)

Focus
.

His body twitched, suddenly, when he felt a sharp pain puncture the base of his skull, as if it had been pricked by a thick needle that was pushed deep into his head. The taste of salt and blood and bile filled his mouth and he thought he would retch, but he swallowed hard. He felt her power in his body, in his bloodstream, connecting with him, but it wasn't a smooth union; it was tantamount to mixing oil and water.

The air in the room became thin, making Simon and Franklin feel lightheaded. The lights flickered on and off as her connection to Simon's powers tightened. Simon could feel her in his head, in his blood, on his skin—he felt as if she were becoming a part of him.

Focus
.

She kept telling him to focus, but he wasn't sure what he was focusing on: the fire in his belly or the taste of vomit in his mouth or the tightening of his lungs? Or, the fact that he felt like he was being choked by a giant boa constrictor? There were so many things happening at once that he couldn't focus on any one thing.

Then, he physically felt her tap into a place in his soul that he wished would vanish; the dark in him. It was housed in a physical place in his body, although he couldn't identify exactly where. It felt distant, yet so close that he could smell it, touch it. When he
felt her probing that area, the pain in his head amplified. He thought he was going to pass out and hit the floor with a thud. The room spun swiftly around his head, or so he thought. Quickly, he realized the room wasn't spinning, but items in the room floated around the perimeter in a circular motion. The lamp, the remote control to the television, a few magazines, an empty cup, a few pillows from the bed and some miscellaneous papers spiraled around the room even though there was no discernible wind. He didn't even have to turn his head—he actually couldn't—to know that Franklin had taken cover in a corner, squatting and covering his head like a child.

As Simon was becoming used to the sensation of being violated at his core, he realized that he was not breathing—at all. He tried to force himself to inhale, but nothing happened. Given the circumstances, he felt fine, but the knowledge that he wasn't breathing, or didn't require air at this moment, disturbed him more than the actual lack of oxygen itself. He looked down at his chest, hoping to see the faint rising and falling of his breastbone, but when he didn't, his eyes returned to Addie's in a panic.

What disturbed him more than the fact that he wasn't breathing was the subtle hissing he now heard in the room. He diverted his eyes again—momentarily—from her solid gaze and saw the shadows in the corner of the room begin to coalesce, slowly.

Do not lose focus
, she cautioned.
Do not lose focus
.

“But—” he said out loud.

Fear not. Only focus
. The sound of her voice released Simon from the throes of panic. Her laconic words were soothing, peaceful. Simon had no doubt that she heard the hissing, too, but if she wasn't worried he decided he wouldn't worry, either. Instead, he took her advice, and with all the strength he could muster, he focused on freeing her.

Then, something extraordinary began to happen; the connection he felt to her faded and the floating objects in the room hit the floor. The lamp shattered and pieces of glass sprayed across the hard floor. Right before his eyes, he witnessed years fade from her face. Her prune-like skin tightened and smoothed out, leaving her cheeks full and unblemished. Her thin, graying hair thickened, its black color deepening. The age spots on her olive-colored skin vanished and flesh seemed to wrap itself around her brittle bones, filling out her sagging skin. In a few minutes the decrepit old woman was replaced with a much younger, fresher-looking woman. The woman who sat in the chair now looked to be in her early forties.

Simon watched her stretch her body deeply, and he listened to the cracking of her bones when she rolled her neck. She suddenly looked lively—alive! Even the haze that glossed over her eyes was gone, leaving shimmering cerulean pools. Now, he could see himself in the richness of her face. She was indeed his blood.

With great effort, she extended her legs and let her feet hit the floor with a plop. They sounded heavy, like stone. He watched her struggle to stand, using her arms to push herself out of the chair. Her arms, weak from atrophy, could barely sustain her weight, in spite of their strong appearance; but, she managed to stand and take a few steps. Her movements were reminiscent of a newly born fawn; shaky, unsteady, but determined.

“Do you need some help?” Simon asked, finally.

She offered a tiny smile. “We must leave. They are coming.” Simon had stopped paying attention to the hissing sound, but when he listened closely, it was still there, albeit subtly.

“Who's coming?” Franklin asked, looking around the room nervously.

“Come,” she said to Simon, who moved quickly over to her. She
threw her arm around his shoulder. “You come, too,” she said to Franklin. He stood in place for a few seconds and only moved when he noticed the irritated expression on Simon's face. Then, he rushed over and supported her from the other side. They struggled to take a few steps.

“Wait,” Franklin said. “Where we goin'?”

“I don't know. Out of here,” Simon shot back.

“What we supposed to tell the nurses outside? How we gon' explain draggin' her out of this room?”

“We must go,” Addie urged.

“I don't know. I'll think of something. Let's go,” Simon said. They took a few more steps before the hissing sound filled the room. Instinctively, they all froze. The hissing sound seemed to come at them from everywhere in the room simultaneously.

“What the fuck is that?” Franklin asked as the shadows pulled themselves up from the floor in front of the door, slowly taking the shape of a man.

“Simon,” the shadow hissed in a voice that sounded so much like Simon's own voice that it unnerved him.

“Simon, do something!” Franklin urged.

“I can't—I don't know how.”

“Make some fire, or blow some shit up. Don't just stand there!” Suddenly, Addie removed her arms from their shoulders and slapped the palms of her hands on each of their chests. A blinding bright light filled the room, almost as if the sun itself had fallen into the room. Using their life force to magnify her power, they all vanished in an instant.

In seconds before their disappearing act, Simon got a good look at the shadow-thing that was forming in the room. Even though the flashing light was bright enough to blind, his eyes cut through the brilliance and landed squarely on a face that was
exactly like his. Was this some kind of dark trick, some attempt to play with his mind? In that flash of a second, he felt a connection that was so strong that he knew it would, one day, be almost unbreakable. He knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he had a brother. An identical twin brother. And a grandmother.

He was no longer alone in the world.

C
HAPTER
22

“N
oooooo!” Eli screamed when he saw Adelaide vanish in a flash with Simon. The agonizing sting of anger caused him to shake his head from side to side, trying to understand. If only he had arrived sooner, maybe he would have been able to stop her from absconding with his brother. He was still ailing from ingesting the poisoned magic through Clara's blood and wasn't exactly prepared for a battle with the old woman; but, he wasn't coming to fight. He was coming to simply talk to Addie. He hadn't known that she had been freed from her prison. Only Simon could have released her. Eli was confident that once he stood face-to-face with his twin brother that Simon would have come with him willingly; instead, he lost him. To Adelaide. That bitch. Another failure he'd have to explain to Rebecca and Eetwidomayloh.

As if the shadows needed anything else to worry about.

The Shadowland harbored deep concern—albeit secret concern—that Adelaide's binding spell would hold long after the Ascension and that Simon's powers would never fully develop, thus preventing the foretold reign of The One. She was the most powerful witch that had ever existed and this was uncharted territory; no one knew what was to come. No one
could
know what was to come. The prophecies were bogus and the future remained largely unwritten. But Eli was confident that once his brother learned of
his existence, that they'd write their own stories, together. There had to be a part of Simon that felt him all these years, even if only faintly. Eli had to believe that. Through the years, he had felt Simon, too, and there were times he was certain he could have located him, but he chose not to. He wasn't yet ready to give the shadows what they desired most, the other half of the whole. Nor was he was ready to see his mother smile after so many years of enduring her disappointing gazes. He wanted her to suffer and to worry just a bit more; he had never been much of a pleaser.

When he materialized from the shadows into Adelaide's room, he fought the wave of nausea that grew inside his stomach. Being sick and traveling on the wings of shadows wasn't a great combination. Immediately, he latched onto the wall for balance, only to be temporarily blinded by the flash of light that filled the room. In the fleeting seconds before they were gone, he
saw
Simon and was confident that Simon
saw
him, too. They connected, if only for a millisecond. This was the closest he had ever come to his brother and Simon's power was awesome—Eli felt its flare in that infinitesimal flicker of time before they vanished. Even now, traces of his strength lingered in the room. Eli smiled. With the traces of Simon's energy, he'd be able to find him again and when he did, together, they would be unstoppable.

Eli stumbled over to a chair and plopped down, hoping to catch his breath. He looked around the room, wanting to set fire to everything with his thoughts, but any manifestation of his power now was usually followed by a great sickness in his stomach. His strength waned and wavered as his body reacted to Clara's poisoned magic like it was fighting a deadly infection; that bitch Clara would suffer. If she thought what she was going through now was painful, she had no idea what was to come once he fully recovered.

What angered Eli even more than being sickened so close to the Ascension, was the sound of Rebecca's berating voice admonishing him for being brash and impulsive. Her
I-told-you-so
tone in warning him to be wary of Clara struck him at his core; he was tired of being treated like a petulant child, like someone who needed guardianship. He cringed when he thought of the grating sound of her voice chastising him, this time for letting Simon escape.

There was only so much shit he would take from her. By prophecy, everything belonged to him, it was his birthright. He was sovereign over everything and didn't need permission or approval to do anything. He was highborn, a prince—soon to be a king—but she made him feel like a servant. Once he ascended, his powers would multiply, as would Simon's, and they would rule without the nagging voice of his mother or the overbearing oversight of Eetwidomayloh. They were nothing without him and Simon.
Nothing
.

Shadow prophecies had long predicted how their reign was to unfold, with Eetwidomayloh positioned on their right and Rebecca on their left. Eetwidomayloh would be free to walk the earth, his chains loosened and she would be treated as royalty, praised in the streets as The Dark Mother.

Fuck the prophecies.

Eli had other plans; plans that didn't involve either of them.

He and Simon would rule, alone. Once they ascended and claimed what was promised to them, he would crucify her on a cross of bone on the highest hill. He would slit her from navel to nose and let the brave new world bear witness as her innards spilled from her body. Her demise would be epic, as would Eetwidomayloh's. Eli wasn't sure whether or not Eetwidomayloh, the source of all shadows, could actually be killed, but it didn't
matter too much to him. Eetwidomayloh's head would be separated from his body—along with his limbs—and cast into a bottomless, sunlit pit for all of eternity. If dismembering him didn't kill him, the blazing light would cut through his bones forever. He would pray for death.

I bet the authors of the prophecies never saw that coming
, he thought to himself.

But, in order to rule, he needed Simon. He needed Simon first to heal the sickness that grew in his body; only their combined power could thwart the poison that raced through his veins. That witch, Clara, wasn't simply some two-bit psychic—only a Thibodeaux witch's blood would have such an effect on him. If the infection wasn't eliminated soon, he knew he'd die.

He leaned over and spat a wad of blood onto the floor, violent coughing punching him in the chest. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and steeled his disposition. He wasn't going out like this. He was stronger than this sickness. He was stronger than any poisoned magic. He was The One—or at least half of
The One
.