Zealot (Hidden: Soulhunter Book 3) Read online

  She paused, letting that statement sink in. “You once referred to me as ‘the angel.’ Some of you, those who know who I truly am, still call me that. I have made a life of saving you, of saving and protecting those that everyone else seems to have forgotten. There are lists out there on the internet. Actual lists of the names of people I’ve saved, put together by those who claim to worship me. I’m not asking you to go so far as worshiping me. That’s just weird,” she said, and the room erupted into a mix of laughs and irritated muttering. “What I’m asking is that you have a little damn faith. I’ve been here saving your asses when nobody else would. I can’t save you this time, but my friends can. Do not piss me off again, or I may just decide that you aren’t worth their time. Have a nice day,” she finished, and then she and the demon walked away from the podium, followed by the other demon guards.

  “She gets right to the point, doesn’t she?” Hephaestus asked with a grin as he turned off the television set. The news anchors would, of course, be talking about Mollis’s speech for the next few days. I only hoped the human governments did the sane thing and heeded her warnings. Otherwise, there would be bloodshed, and it would not be the immortals bleeding. Mollis’s patience only ran so deep, and when her loved ones were endangered, it was almost nonexistent. I hoped the humans knew how lucky they were.

  Of course, they were all doomed anyway, if I did not find a way to fix this. I realized in that instant that Mollis would know everything the moment she looked at me and bolted up out of my seat.

  “I need to leave. Give Mollis my regards,” I said.

  Brennan stood up beside me. “Wait! Don’t you want to see her?”

  “I need to get back to work. Love you,” I said quickly, and then I found Quinn across the room, and he nodded, gathering the other Guardians to leave. Before anyone could say anything else, I focused, rematerializing to New York, which was where we had decided to hunt next.

  As we hunted, as I let myself slip into familiar actions, I thought.

  In my heart, I feared we would not win this. No matter how much I tried to cheer my Guardians on, the fact was that Brennan had been right. There were thirteen of us against tens of thousands of them, and they were creating more every single moment they spent roaming the Earth. We were not enough, and yet, we were all they had.

  It made me angry. Blindingly, heart-rending, desperately angry. The more I thought about it, the more I simply wanted answers. If I could not save this world, I would at least know how and why it was that we had fallen before my time came.

  We were hunting through one of the many, many skyscraper-lined streets of Manhattan, and I stopped. Quinn turned to look at me.

  “I need to find the Oneiri. I need to know why,” I said. I watched his expression as understanding dawned on him, and he nodded.

  “Go do what you need to do, boss. I’m taking as many of the fuckers as I can down before I go, though.”

  I forced a smile. “I would expect nothing less. Hunt well.”

  He nodded, gave me a small bow, and then turned and stabbed an undead through the throat with his Netherblade.

  I would hunt as well, but this time, my blades would not be the ones doing the talking.

  Unless the Oneiri proved to be a problem, of course.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the end, it was not me who found Morpheus, but Morpheus who found me. I had barely been hunting for an hour when the God of Dreams appeared before me. I stopped still, startled but trying not to show it. Morpheus’s appearance was perfect for what he was. He was both of the human world and yet very clearly not. His dark skin and even darker eyes seemed to see all. He made me think of the onyx statues I had seen in museums, just as stately and finely-wrought. His tall, thin body loomed over me, and his clothing was so dark that it seemed to absorb all of the light around it.

  “Word is there is a Guardian searching for me,” he said. His voice was deep, soothing, almost mesmerizing. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I was not sure I would actually find you,” I said.

  “Well, you didn’t,” he said, flashing a grin. “Which one are you again?”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he have any idea what was even happening in the world? Were the gods of dreams so enamored with the fantasies they wove that they ignored reality?

  “Eunomia,” I answered, not knowing what else to say.

  He nodded as if this answered a multitude of questions.

  “You were not at the meeting today in the Netherwoods,” I said, realizing I had seen none of the dream gods there.

  “I am not one for meetings,” he said with a shrug. “Now. What did you need, Guardian? I have work to attend to.”

  “The world is ending,” I said quietly.

  “It always is.”

  I suppressed a sigh. I was really not in the mood for philosophical deities at the moment. “No. I mean, the world is quite literally coming to an end. Nyx has decided to scrap the whole thing and start over. That includes me, and you, and every single dreamer in your domain.” Which was nearly all of humanity, of course.

  “The undead,” he said. “They tipped the balance.”

  I looked at him in surprise, and he flashed another small grin. “They fill nightmares. They are rather hard to miss, even for us.”

  I nodded. “Nyx wanted to end it all days ago, but I convinced her to let me hunt until the full moon, and attempt to destroy them all. If I were to manage, she would spare this realm.”

  “And you are finding that the task is too much.”

  I nodded miserably.

  “So, little Guardian, how can I be of service?”

  “The undead were created by one of us. We have not yet determined who that is, but I want to know before my end. I have never longed for revenge as I do now,” I confessed, and he merely nodded. “The only thing we know is that whoever it is was working with an immortal who can steal and obscure memories. That would be the Furies, or the Oneiri.”

  “And it is not the Furies,” he said, and I nodded. “It is not me.”

  “I believe you. But there are two more dream gods, and I have had no luck at all finding them. Even if I could, they would not speak to me without your express permission. I do not know much about the world of dreams, but I know that much.”

  “You are correct. They would not speak to you.”

  I nodded. “Please. I need answers, and you are the only one with the power to help me. Surely you want to know who it is that will cost you everything, who is destroying the dreamers who give you their power.”

  He rubbed his chin, staring off into the distance as if he was thinking. “I do,” he finally said. “I do not involve myself in the affairs of the worldly realm.”

  “I understand. This is different. One of yours is quite possibly responsible at least in part for this.”

  “That cannot stand,” he said.

  “It cannot,” I agreed, praying that he would stop talking and actually do something.

  “I will help. I need something from you first.”

  “Of course you do.”

  He grinned again. “You deal with immortals too often. All I was going to ask was that you please stop clutching those blades as if you were planning to use them on me.”

  I glanced down at my hands. In each one, I held a Netherblade, my hand tight around the handle, my knuckles white from how tightly I gripped them.

  I blew out a breath and sheathed both blades. “Of course. I apologize. I am under a bit of stress.”

  “You, my dear little Guardian, are a master of understatement,” he said. He started walking. “As you say, there are two more Oneiri. One, I have not seen in weeks. The other has remained, ever helpful, at my side.”

  “And is that a typical pattern, or is there something odd about one being gone?”

  He shook his head. “The god of nightmares has ever been a loner. One must be, to contemplate so many horrors to visit upon the mortals.”

  I no
dded. “And the other Oneiri? I am sorry. I know so little of you and your ways,” I said.

  “That is as we wanted it. Most of our power lies in mystery.” He walked on, shortening his steps to accommodate my shorter legs. “I am in charge, of course. My domain is the world of dreams.”

  “Is this a place you actually go?” I interrupted.

  “Yes,” he answered. “We focus, and we can go there, and that is where I choose to be. The world of reality is harsh and dead at the same time. It feels strange. They all care so much about what happens here, yet their deepest fears and desires live in my realm.”

  “What lives in your realm, though, are simply symbolic manifestations of the things they fear and desire, though,” I pointed out.

  He gave me a look. “And when one is dreaming, one rarely can tell the difference. So which one is actually real?”

  “Have you ever met Lethe?”

  “Once or twice. She is a strange being.”

  “Strange, but very attuned, somehow, to both your realm and this one.”

  He nodded.

  “She wanted to tell me something, but could not remember what it was. She risked injury to come to me. And with Lethe, I cannot tell if she was tampered with or if it is just her usual flightiness.”

  “It would be hard to tell,” he agreed as we kept walking. “If you’d like, I can visit her dreams. Sometimes, things are revealed in dreams that are difficult to decipher in reality.”

  I glanced at him. Could I even trust this notoriously secretive and reclusive immortal?

  “You can trust me,” he said, as if he’d seen into my very soul. “I am as angry as you are. My world is apparently being taken from me, and it is likely that one of my own is partially to blame. You want vengeance? You may have it. My own punishments will begin when the guilty party sleeps, and those will be, of course, in addition to any your Queen provides,” he said, and his voice was ice. He glanced toward me and nodded again. “You asked about my Oneiri and their habits. The god of nightmares does his own thing. The other, the god of dream messages, also handles his business in his own way, but checks in with me almost religiously. I cannot imagine either of them aiding those who have brought this vile reality upon us, but if it is not the Furies, it is one of mine.” He paused. “I would not ordinarily write the Furies off, but I know you are close to them and your Queen. Your Queen, from all I have seen both waking and in dreams, is an honorable and dangerous woman. I will put my faith in you, and in her. If that faith has been misspent, I will be displeased.”

  “Well. If that happens, please feel free to get in line behind all of the others I have disappointed,” I said, forcing something that probably looked halfway between a smile and a grimace onto my face.

  His gaze rested on me once again, and I felt the need to cover up. It was not unlike when Mollis looks at me. I know she sees far too much, and I find myself, now more often than ever, avoiding her gaze. For once in my life, there are things I want only for me. I do not know how to handle that. It is a foreign notion, and the discomfort that comes with being seen, truly seen, is just as foreign to me.

  “I find it hard to believe that there are many you have disappointed, Eunomia,” he said.

  “Oh. You just don’t know me all that well yet,” I said, and then I started walking in the direction we had been traveling.

  “So are you telling me that the stories I have heard about you are wrong? That you are loyal, tireless, fearless? They call you the Zealot. It is both an insult and praise.”

  “I am not fearless.”

  “Then I have even more respect for you. Only fools are fearless.”

  “Well, then I must be the wisest immortal in existence, because I am terrified.”

  Morpheus laughed. It was the kind of haunting, echoing laugh one hears in dreams, and it sent a shiver up my back. It was not unpleasant, exactly. I realized, as his laugh trailed off into a chuckle, that it was a lonely sound. I glanced at the god of dreams out of the corner of my eye as we walked. We had left him to himself. I wondered if he ever wished for the large feasts most of the immortals had attended, back in our glory days. He was much like Hades, keeping to his own domain and seeing little use in mingling with beings who did not understand him.

  “We should have met before now,” he murmured, echoing my thoughts.

  “We should have,” I agreed. “But, I suppose the saying ‘better late than never’ exists for a reason, yes?”

  He smiled, nodded, and we continued walking. “We will seek out the god of nightmares first. I know the other will check in with me as he always does.”

  “Phobetor?” I asked, trying to remember the names of the Oneiri.

  Morpheus nodded. “Do not be put off by his attitude. He is not accustomed to visitors.”

  It did not take us long to reach Phobetor. As Morpheus had explained, he had a few little hideaways tucked away across the world. The first had been a secluded cabin that I am pretty sure was the inspiration for a horror movie I had once watched with Mollis. Another was a dusty, abandoned turret in an old, creaky stone house in Scotland. The luxurious houseboat had been a surprise, but Morpheus admitted with some embarrassment that even nightmare gods sometimes felt a need to impress the ladies. I was not entirely sure if he was joking or not, until I saw the collection of rather expensive and stylish suits in the bedroom closet.

  After the houseboat, we made our way to a tiny log cabin on an icy, isolated bluff in Denmark. “Ah. He is here,” Morpheus said quietly, and a moment later, I felt him as well. There is a dream every being has had at least once in their life, and sometimes more often. Even immortals have it; it is one of the few shared experiences we have with mortals. I have it often. It is the dream in which the dreamer is running away from someone or something, and they do not know exactly what they are running from, but they are running for their life nonetheless. And, the longer they run, it feels like the slower they run, until it is as if they are running through mud. The panic that accompanies that moment in the dream is absolute. That moment, that panic and fear and despair, is what Phobetor, god of nightmares, feels like.

  “And you say he has sex sometimes?” I whispered to Morpheus. I do not know why these things pop out of my mouth, but sometimes they do. Morpheus laughed and shook his head.

  “The mortals find it exciting.”

  I suppressed a shudder and followed Morpheus as he strolled toward the front door of the cabin. He walked up three sturdy wooden steps and rapped the door three times.

  “Go away, you daft ass,” a growled shout came from behind the door.

  “We need to speak, darling brother,” Morpheus said with a grin. “Besides, we both know you miss me.”

  Phobetor suggested Morpheus do something that is not physically possible, even for an immortal, and then the door was wrenched open. The being standing on the other side of the door was not at all what I had expected. Where Morpheus was handsome in a classic, poetic type of way, the god of nightmares had brown hair, blue eyes, and was built like one of the strongmen we once saw in circuses, all bulging muscle that tapered down to a lean waist. He was dressed in jeans and a black sweater.

  “If we didn’t have a guest, I would kick your ass back to your little fairy realm,” Phobetor said in greeting. Being near him set my teeth on edge. The panicky sensation his powers raised in me did not fit with his physical appearance, and the way he glared at Morpheus made me want to either apologize or run, and I do not ordinarily scare easily. Or at all, depending upon who you ask.

  “This is—” Morpheus began.

  “Eunomia. Guardian. The Queen of Death’s right hand. I know who you are,” Phobetor said to me, ignoring his brother. Then he smiled, and it did not reach his cold eyes. “You feature in the nightmares of many, Guardian.”

  “Well. Good to know. Thank you, Phobetor,” I said, bowing my head slightly. He gave me a short nod.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “We were coming here—”r />
  “I asked her, not you, oh ye of minuscule cockage,” Phobetor said, still looking at me.

  “It is not—”

  “Don’t you have anyone else to annoy?”

  “I need your help. Maybe. I do not know,” I said before either of the brothers could say another word.

  “You have it.”

  I studied him. “Why?”

  “Because I like goth girls,” he said.

  “She’s married,” Morpheus said. “To Artemis’s grandchild.”

  Phobetor smirked. “Shifter, eh? Goth girls are always a little freaky,” he said approvingly.

  “Oh for the love of Hades,” I muttered. Then I looked at Morpheus, who looked like he wanted to find a hole to climb into, if at all possible. “Morpheus?”

  Morpheus sighed. “You haven’t been erasing anyone’s memories, have you? And keep in mind that I’ll know if you lie, brother.”

  Phobetor looked taken aback. “Why the hell would anyone do that? I want them to remember every second of fear I gave them.”

  “Maybe if you were working with someone who asked you to do that?” I said. I really, really just wanted to be away from Phobetor.

  “You clearly don’t know me very well, Guardian. But we can change that if you want.”

  I suppressed a sigh and looked to Morpheus for some indication of what to do next.

  “He didn’t do it,” Morpheus said.

  “Are you positive?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I just know. We are all interconnected. I feel what he feels, emotionally. Not like the Furies, with that empath nonsense. I mean, his emotions are mine, and mine are his. The only way we manage not to go insane is by keeping some distance between us so we don’t feel it all. He dislikes my more peaceful ways.”

  “Pussy,” Phobetor muttered. “You can leave now. The Guardian can stay for as long as she wants,” he said. And then he had the nerve to wink at me.