A/N: Hello dear Chapelites, I’ve agonized over this chapter and it’s now 3am and while I still don’t think it’s quite where I need it to be, I have to upload it before my fingers start bleeding and my eyes fall out. So please forgive me, I’ll come back and edit when I feel slightly more human.

Thanks,

Cinnamon xxx

*****

"I can't do it. I just can't."

Twice I had tried. Twice I had grasped Lucius' hands and dived into the black seas of Purgatory and twice I had failed to do anything but send the spirits into a frenzy and send myself flailing and scrabbling to escape their clutches.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Lucius, who was mirroring my position, I took a deep breath, counted to ten - which continued to twenty - and placed my hands into his open palms. Instantly his bright blue eyes disappeared and I found myself plunged into darkness, feeling the multitude of bodies moving around me. I steeled myself as I caught sight of the closest ones to me, wanting to cry out in fear at those who displayed the most horrific of wounds, at those with the swollen, bloated skin that looked ready to burst open, at those with the wide open maws, wailing and moaning. They shuffled and swayed together, with barely a gap between them, walking it seemed, with no purpose, but to keep moving. Just a never-ending ocean of the dead.

I had expected it to be just as awful as before, but this time something had changed. I could sense it. The air felt weighty and oppressive as if someone had curled a hand around my throat and was squeezing, slowly increasing the pressure with every breath I tried to take. I gasped and inhaled deeply, grimacing as the foul acrid taste of the air hit my tongue. Nausea swelled within me and I clutched at my stomach, bending double to ease the pain.

It was then, with my head down, that I noticed the glow that emanated from my skin. My hands emitted a soft light and I held them in front of my face, staring in awe and fear at the way the light seemed to leave a trail in the air when I slowly waggled my fingers. Lifting the hem of my t-shirt, exposing the skin of my stomach, the flesh there seemed to glimmer with a luminous sheen as did my forearms.

I was so busy examining myself, I didn't realise that I had caught the attention of another. 

Something brushed my neck, a whisper of a touch that made me flinch and I whirled round to find a man standing close by, too close, and he was studying his fingertips, rubbing his thumb over them as if he couldn't quite understand what he had just felt. When the realisation kicked in, his darkly-lined eyes widened and he emitted a yearning groan, reaching out again, this time, grabbing a handful of my hair. The terrifying croak of joy he gave was met by my wail of fear and I stumbled backwards, hitting those behind me and jostling the crowd. Undeterred, he staggered forward, his shuffling zombie gait forcing him closer and closer, his hands outstretched, grasping air desperately as he tried to reach me.

Soon, my frantic efforts to escape the man only succeeded in alerting those around me and when the dead eyes of the hoard fixed upon me, I saw in them the same I had seen in the man. First puzzlement, then that pinprick of understanding, then wonderment, quickly followed by hunger, a deep agonising hunger that racked their bodies.

The murmuring rose throughout those nearest to me and soon caught on, rippling through the tide of souls as they all turned in my direction and began to converge upon me, arms stretching out as they clamoured to get closer. I tried to back away, but was surrounded on all sides. Hands grabbed at my hair, my arms, my face. Pinching, grasping, and scratching, all desperate to seek out the source of the light. I shrieked as my head was yanked backwards and I lost my footing, stumbling to the ground amongst them and yet still they did not stop. Pale ravaged faces full of hunger and joy swam into my vision, like blurry streaks of grey smeared across the black landscape and they all wanted one thing and one thing only: me.

Wrenching my hands out of Lucius', I was immediately transported back into the room, back into the calm, steady stare of his blue eyes, back under the watchful gaze of Garrick and Harper who waited nearby. Garrick studied us with keen interest, hunkered down not far from where we sat. Harper, who clearly hated these little adventures of mine into the Underworld, stood leaning against one of Fenton's cars that had been moved into the garage, his knife held firmly in his grasp as he twirled it round and round, the tip scratching against the bonnet. His expression was wary, on guard, as if he half-expected me to return with the dead still hanging off my back and with the cold touch of them still imprinted on my skin, I wouldn't have been at all surprised if I had.

The second time wasn't any more successful than the first. In fact, if anything, it was worse because my first appearance had created such a stir, that when I returned, the spirits were already in a frenzy, searching for that light that they hungered for so much. Great cries and moans resonated through the air, wails of such torment that I clapped my hands over my ears to hear it as soon as Lucius' blue eyes faded into nothingness again and I was thrown right back into the thick of it.

They were waiting. Expectant. So full of tortured yearning for release that my previous brief visit to their prison had infuriated them and any joy I had witnessed on my first trip had been replaced with a desperate, needy rage. Their faces twisted with anger and impatience and I could feel the cold fire radiating from them in great violent waves.

And there I was, in the middle of them all, nothing but this teasing, tormenting light that could do nothing but deny them over and over again. And so once more, they swarmed towards me, pleading, begging, tearing me apart with their misery and once more I was overwhelmed by the force of the tide.

Wait, I cried out, trying to placate them, please, wait.

Help us, they replied angrily, you will help us.

This wasn't how it was meant to be. This wasn't how it was meant to happen. I was supposed to be helping them, I should have been comforting them like I had before but every one of my pleas fell on deaf ears. Every one of my efforts to calm them failed and only seemed to ignite the crowd even further.

Stop, I pleaded, stop. I will help you, I will find a way.

The way, the way, the way, they repeated but they didn't stop. I couldn't breathe. Bodies pushed against me, hands pulled at my arms, tugging, threatening to rip me apart and all the while, I was aware of them, the dark ones, their distorted, melted faces leering at me through the chaos. They embraced those souls closest to them, digging their yellowed talons into their shoulders as they whispered their lies and hatred into their ears, grinning with glee as they watched me flailing and panicking amongst the hoard.

The hands grabbed at me again, this time, some digging their nails into my flesh cruelly and I struggled to free myself from their brutal grip, frightened by how enraged they were.

I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

Eventually, dismayed at my own dismal failure, I deserted them yet again, pulling away from Lucius and scrambling across the oil-stained floor until my back hit the wall, where I sat with my head in my hands, feeling the slick sweat on my palms.

Nobody said a word.

When two tiny brightly-coloured trainers appeared in front of me, laces knotted in a double bow and the tongue poking out over the bottom of his jeans, I glanced up to see Lucius standing there, his face blank as he looked down at me.

I groaned. "Please Lucius, no more. I can't do it."

Without replying, he sat down directly in front of me, with his feet just touching mine.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" I stared at him. "I'm not doing it again."

Lucius shrugged and picked at some dirt on his trainer, diligently scraping it with his fingernail and furrowing his brow in concentration.

Behind him, Harper had climbed up onto the bonnet, leaning against the windscreen and set to work scratching a word or pattern into the paintwork of Fenton's car. He seemed engrossed in his handiwork but every now and then he shot us a worried glance. Garrick had moved over to a torn and dirty orange sofa that stood in the corner and he slumped back onto it, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back, smoothing his hands over his long Mohawk.

I couldn't look at them any longer and thrusting my hands back into my hair, I stared down at the floor between my thighs.

Lucius continued to pick at his shoe, running his nail along the grooves in the sole and humming as he worked. Soon there was a small pile of dirt by his feet and once he was satisfied, he started on the other one, his humming breaking into words which he sung softly to himself.

"Lucius, you really shouldn't be doing that. Can you imagine the germs that live on the bottom of your shoe?"

He stopped abruptly and fixed me with that deep endless stare of his that still had a habit of unnerving me and raising goose bumps on my skin. "You're a vampire. You drink the blood of strangers and you're telling me to be careful of germs?"

Harper's snicker carried across the garage and I shot him a look, wrinkling my brow in irritation.

"Well, just remember to wash your hands afterwards, okay?" I lowered my voice but Lucius ignored me and returned to his task, song and all.

"What are you singing?" I asked after a while, realising that he wasn't going to go away. "Is that Jungle Book?”

“Duh.” He rolled his eyes. “Hakuna Matata.” When I shrugged, he sighed exasperatedly. “The Lion King.”

“Oh,” I replied with a half smile. “Where did you get to watch that?”

“Mary let me watch it.”

Mary from St Catherine’s. The children’s home.

“She was nice to you. Mary, I mean.”

His face tightened. “I guess,” he mumbled. “But she didn’t stay long.”

“She got a job somewhere else?”

“No silly, she went to stay with a family.” That little pile of dirt continued to grow as he picked and scraped at his shoes.

“Mary was another child?” When he had spoken of Mary before, I had just assumed that she was one of the home’s care workers. I’d never once imagined she was a child too. “Sorry, Lucius, I thought she worked at St Catherine’s. I thought she was one of the ones who looked after you.”

He shook his head and pursed his lips. “No,” he said sullenly. “She was just a kid like me. But older, like twelve, I think. I didn’t want her to leave but she did and then I was on my own again.” He kicked at the dirt, sending it scattering across the floor and just sat there with his hands in his lap, staring at the mess.

“But there must have been other children for you to play with?” I said gently, touching a hand to his jacket and brushing away a stray white-blonde hair that had fallen onto his shoulder.

“The other children didn’t want to play with me. I scared them. They used to pick on me and then one day I showed them what I could do and after that, none of them came near me. Even the staff used to steer clear.”

I thought back to when I first met Lucius in his little room in the asylum and of how terrified I had been of the strange little boy who could bring the most horrific nightmares crashing into your skull. I thought of how I had shunned him, of how I had tried to avoid him, of how I had told him to leave me alone again and again and of how he had just taken it all, never reacting to my fear or my revulsion of him. Of course he hadn’t. Lucius had been dealing with rejection his whole life and I had just been one in a long line of people to reject him. I couldn’t help but hate myself a little then. I had been a care-home kid. I knew the system. It was lonely at the best of times, but I couldn’t fathom for one second how it must have been for Lucius, having little or no contact with anyone during his time at St Catherine’s. My heart lay heavy in my chest and my throat constricted painfully to think about it.

I smiled, not wanting him to detect the sorrow that twisted within. “You know, I used to live in care homes too.”

“I know.”

My eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“Dunno,” he muttered. “I just do. You lived in one when you were very young and then you left, but you came back when you were older. Older than Mary was. You were scared of the man with the yellow teeth who smelt of cigarettes and you used to hide from him when he came looking for you at night.”

I gasped, feeling the jolt shoot through me like an electric shock. Kevin Arkwright. That was a name I hadn’t thought about in years. I’d buried it, hiding it far out of reach together with a lot of other stuff that used to go on in Chesterton House back when I stayed there after my dad passed away. Kevin Arkwright, with his plaque-covered teeth and penchant for wandering the halls at night, looking for someone to lay his nicotine-stained fingers upon was a memory I had thought dead, only for him to rise now like some ghoul from the grave. He targeted kids. Girl, boy, he wasn’t fussed but he’d choose one and focus all his efforts on them until he got bored and moved onto the next. When I arrived at the home, traumatised and alone, Kevin Arkwright decided straight away that I was next on his list and I spent my time there dodging his advances and hiding from him at night, listening to his footsteps pacing the halls as he searched for me, wishing I could silence my heartbeat in fear he would follow the frenzied drumbeat right to where I lay concealed.

 “He never found you.”

“No,” I whispered hoarsely. “Never. Lucius, how do you know all this?”

“I don’t know. I just do. I’ve always known. That’s just the way it is.”

“Some things just are, right?”

He gave a shy smile. “Sure.”

“You know, sometimes I think you just say that because you don’t really know the answer.”

“What do you expect? I’m only eight.”

I laughed then, leaning forward to ruffle his hair and feeling that nagging tug inside that told me this was dangerous. What I felt for the little boy was dangerous and scary and maybe more risky than throwing myself headlong into the sea of souls that surged uncontrollably beyond the Gates. But I knew it was too late to stop it now. And I knew then that I had no choice. I had to go back. I had to do this for him.

“Lucius, why can’t I help them? Why are they so angry?”

He shuffled closer until his knees were touching mine, his voice almost a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re not angry. They’re afraid.”

“Why? I sensed a change there, something in the air, something …I don’t know, oppressive maybe. Is it Him, Lucius? The Smiling Man?”

“No, Megan. It is you. You’re the one making them afraid.”

“What? Why? What did I do? I wanted to help them, I really did, but I didn’t know how.” I massaged my temples, feeling small spots of pain radiating heat across my forehead.

“That’s why they’re afraid. They fear because you fear. You are connected. They are lost and alone and the only thing they seek is the light, the only thing they want is you. And you are so afraid and they feel it. The way is closed to them and they are terrified they will be lost in the dark for eternity.”

“But I don’t know how to do this, Lucius.”

“You do,” the little boy insisted, his face solemn. “You just refuse to believe that you do. It’s easy-peasy.”

I took a deep breath, raising an eyebrow as he slid his open palms onto my lap. “Easy-peasy, huh?”

“Hakuna matata,” he grinned.

I gripped his hands and let the world disappear once more.

******

The screams ripped through the darkness. Their fear writhed like some great insectile beast dragging its huge pulsating body through the unrelenting black pit of Purgatory and I felt it and recognised it immediately as the same fear that writhed within me. I’d lived with fear in my life for so long that I hadn’t realised how natural it felt, how normal it had become and I’d just accepted it. I’d accepted it all and ultimately it had been my undoing.

My time here was limited, maybe even more so than my previous visits and understanding what my fear had done to me wasn’t going to be enough to quell the tide that turned in my direction as soon I set foot in the Underworld.

I watched, rooted to the spot as they shambled towards me, arms outstretched, desperately trying to push past each other to get to me. I blanched at the sight of them, like some vast army stretching out across the endless sea and instantly I knew just why Lucius had become such a valuable commodity, to be bought and sold, to be drained and wrung dry of every last drop. Whoever controlled Lucius’ fate, controlled these lost souls and if Drachmann succeeded and freed his Master, then the dead would be twisted for some perverse, evil purpose, used to conquer Earth and batten down the doors of the Heavens. And what an army it would be. Unstoppable. Unbeatable.

 For ever and ever. Amen.

Onward they marched, shuffling, staggering, but always moving forward and stepping over any whom became overwhelmed by the crowd. Faces disappeared out of sight, sinking in between bodies that pushed against each other. Grabbing, grasping hands reached for air and were gone quickly, engulfed by the hoard.

How I wanted to run away! The sight of them, the smell of them, the taste that our combined fear left on my tongue, like a thick covering of mould was spreading over the inside of my mouth and I was choking, choking on the spores and unable to stop myself from breathing it in. The pressure around my throat increased and I grasped at my neck as if some invisible hand were there squeezing my windpipe tighter and tighter.

When the first hand did grab at me, I gasped, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball or hit out, both options seemed very tempting. But soon they were upon me, surrounding me, pushing in closer and closer and I couldn’t have moved no matter how much I wanted to. The panic swelled inside me, surging through bones and sinew and causing my body tense to the point of icy pain. Screams echoed through my skull, wide open mouths so close to my ears that I was sure my ear drums would burst from the piercing noise that stabbed at me from all sides. They raged all around me and for a split second I thought it was too late, that third time lucky was nothing but a glimmer of false hope for fools to cling onto.

Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and saw Lucius, his white blonde hair falling across his forehead and that shy toothy grin that made you believe he was just a child and yet always too aware that he was anything but.

Sucking in much needed air, I forced my body to relax, feeling the resistance of every muscle and stretched out my arms, blindly seeking to touch those closest to me. Fingers entwined with my own but I did not flinch. Hands sought out my skin, clasping my arms, my shoulders, my waist and they tugged me further into the crowd but I did not fight. Instead I let them carry me forward until I felt my feet lift off the ground and I was moving with them, feeling their fear abate as mine did.

When I heard the low thrum of voices start to resound, I opened my eyes and gasped at the sight of them all, their arms reaching into the air, mouths open wide, yet this time, not in agony but in song. The tune was deep and rich, carried through the air by thousands upon thousands of voices, making my skin tingle at the sheer beauty of it; beauty that I never thought possible in a world as desperate and as terrifying as this one. As the volume increased, harmonies blending in unison, the tears slipped down my cheeks, spilling onto my lips and I laughed, licking away the tears. On and on we went, how far we travelled I had no idea. All I knew was that I didn’t want it to end. The chorus of the dead was truly the most sublime thing I had ever heard.

When the light emanating from my skin began to get brighter, peeling back the shadows and bathing those closest to me in a strong glow, I stared in amazement as it crept up my arms. It was pleasant and warm, enriching my flesh and as the light intensified, the singing grew louder. I wanted to sing with them, I wanted to join their chorus; their passion was infectious. I felt calm, so very calm and safe among them, like I was weightless, devoid of fear, devoid of pain, devoid of that gnawing emptiness that had nagged at me my whole life. And yet there was something strangely familiar about this, something that made me feel as if I had walked here many times before, heard the tune so often that hearing it was as natural as taking a breath.

I wasn’t ready for the pain when it tore through my back.

I wasn’t ready for the delicious warmth to start burning; searing into my skin as if someone was running red hot pokers through my flesh.

I wasn’t ready for it when my skin ripped apart, my back arching in agony and spraying blood in a wide arc.

The crowd dropped me to the floor, all backing away as I writhed and bucked in agony. But still the light burned brighter and they shielded their eyes from the hot white glare that erupted from my thrashing body.

I screamed like I had never screamed before, drowning out their song and reducing them to silence and it was a scream that echoed like a thousand voices were spewing from my mouth, a thousand torturous, gut wrenching cries of anguish spilling out and unable to be contained. My eyes widened when I felt something moving inside me, something that threatened to tear my spine in two, splintering bone as it pushed its way to the surface.

Was this it? Was this my fate? To feel my body torn apart by whatever demons must have resided within me?

I will find you.

The voice brought me to my senses momentarily, a brief respite from the pain and I blinked, trying to pull on the memory that seemed to elude me. Climbing to my knees, I held out my hands to those closest to me.

Help me, I begged, please help me.

They kept their distance, those that had, just moments before, fought to touch me and I cried out again, imploring them, urging them to do something, anything that would stop this unrelenting torture.

But it was too late. I felt it and whatever was happening to me was now inevitable.

When my demons broke through to the surface, I was thrown forwards onto my face, feeling as if my body was being pushed into the ground as they forced their way through the ragged tears in my shoulder blades. I could feel every inch of them as they burst from my flesh as I lay, prostrate, unable to breathe, while the agony flared, burning down my spine and enflaming my back in the fiercest of fires.

I don’t know how long I lay there. The pain seemed to last an eternity but somehow, at some point, it burned itself out, the flames no longer licking at my back. And yet, something was still there. Something remained pressing down upon me like some heavy weight. They hadn’t left me. Staggering to my feet, I flapped uselessly at my back, desperately trying to dislodge the demons that were clinging to me but to no avail. Whatever was there did not budge, even when I twisted and thrashed frantically, In fact, the extra weight just knocked my balance off kilter and I fell backwards, crashing to the ground and bruising my backside in the process.

Slightly dazed, I rubbed at my sore eyes and it was then that I saw her.

She stood apart from the crowd, looking just as she did when I last saw her. Her dyed-red hair was still caked in mud and blood, her stomach still bore the slash marks of the Varúlfur that had mercilessly cut her down. Large brown eyes stared at me in amazement through the gaps in her long straightened fringe.

Struggling to stand, I took a couple of stumbling steps towards her.

Gina? I whispered.

Gina, the vampire who Harper had tried to save, the vampire I had watched die in the asylum, the vampire whose hand I had held as she took her last breath, stood before me now, with tears streaming down her face and an awe-filled smile on her lips.

I told you I would look for you. I told you I would find you and I have. I have found you.

I shook my head; bewildered by her presence.

I don’t understand. I don’t understand what’s happened to me.

Gina just smiled and her eyes drifted over my shoulders.

As I craned my head to look behind me and I saw them, I wasn’t sure whether to cry out in fear or in blessed relief, for on my back was not a pair of demons after all.

From my back protruded a pair of wings.

I did cry out then and felt my knees almost give way when, without warning, the wings unfurled, spreading high and wide so that I could see them, covered all over in the silkiest of feathers that shone almost silver. They glistened and shimmered as if a soft breeze rippled over them, the light fracturing off the surface and sending sparkling shards around me in a myriad of colour.

I was right, Gina said with a deep, joyful sigh, pulling my attention back to her. They are beautiful. In fact, they are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

And with her words, the army of the dead began to sing again, their voices more exultant and powerful than ever before and the dazzling light that had emanated from my skin intensified, blazing brighter and brighter until it engulfed us all in its blinding glare.