Evenstar by Darcy Town

Author:Darcy Town [Town, Darcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-12-14T00:00:00+00:00

Gaea shook her head. “You will not destroy yourself with it.” She smiled, pained. “You have her to care for now.”

He reached out and took the violin that she offered him. He remembered the Song as he touched it. The notes swam through his memory and filled up his being. He swayed. “You trust me too much.”

Gaea waved her father away. “Go, play for her a dirge worthy of a dying star. I will be waiting, ready to collect their light.”

He stared at Dahlia. “How will I know when you have collected enough?”

Gaea gestured to Furcas. “He will heal as she does. They are linked now.” She pointed to the halved seedpod that Lucifer carried. “Give that to Paimon. He will know when his love is healed and through him, you will also know when you have reaped enough.”

Lucifer kissed his daughter’s forehead. “This will hurt you.”

Gaea shook her head. “I already ache from the poison on the planet, the acid in my blood and scars on my skin. The cancer should be burnt out.” She swayed under the stress of being awake, her energy not what it once was. On the surface, plants and animals faltered, weakened, aged. She regained herself and the balance above was restored.

Lucifer hugged her. He looked at Dahlia stuck in the stasis of death and nodded. “For her.”

***

Paimon and Helion led Dahlia’s friends away from the Sanctuary. Belial came with them willingly, silent and morose. She had no desire to stay back in the palace with Andy, and Helion would not let her out of his sight.

Nodin and Tokala followed the quiet party. Nodin slipped his arm around Tracy and pulled her away from the others. They slipped off. Tokala stayed near Celeste’s side. He made no move to take her away.

Paimon kept his gaze ahead of him, unable to speak. He did not care whether the others followed behind or not. He thought of Furcas, only Furcas. The pain he was in and how he, for all his knowledge, could do nothing…again. He’d failed.

Paimon walked and the streets grew wider, the houses less packed together. He took them to the home Furcas had made his own for centuries, a tower surrounded by a small garden. Round windows spiraled up the outside. Faint colored lights glowed from behind the glass. Paimon ignored his garden and walked up the steps to the only house that he ever really considered his home. He pressed his palm to the sealed front door and it opened for him.

The house was immaculate and warm. Furcas had decorated the walls with paintings, photos of Dahlia, and photos of Paimon and himself around the world. The furniture was well worn from centuries of use. Model cars sat atop the long dining room table. Charcoal drawings had been left half-finished. The place was quiet, the air scented with the faint smell of Furcas’ cologne. Paimon bit his cheek to keep from crying.

The house rose upwards with one suite per floor. The master bedroom shared space on the first floor with the kitchen and living room.

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