Chapter Twenty-Four
“You promised me Amos would be safe,” Josie whispered around the claw squeezing her lungs. “You said nothing would happen to him.”
A low throb rippled along the walls of Number Five, and Josie fought the urge to vomit.
The front door to the apartment was wide open. Outside in the corridor, dozens of wrought iron birds flew in intricate loops and circles.
“Amos?” Pax called, his skin a sickly gray color beneath the flickering lights. He stepped out into the corridor and the birds scattered.
“Amos!” His voice shook the walls and set the glass teardrop crystals in the overhead light to shaking so hard that two or three of them fell to the floor.
She followed him out of the apartment and looked both ways down the hallway, but Amos wasn’t in sight. He wasn’t gone completely but Josie knew he wasn’t on this floor.
She should be crying or screaming. She should be running up and down the corridors and calling her boy’s name, but Josie was too numb to move. Pax turned and set a hand on her shoulder but remained silent, shaking his head with an aura of helplessness that scared her even more.
An iron bird swooped close enough for its wing to brush the top of Pax’s head.
“Those birds,” Josie said, “They must be what drew Amos out of the apartment. But why?” She enunciated her words carefully in case the numbness that froze her legs reached her lips and soon she would be unable to speak. “Why would Number Five let him leave?”
“Pax.” Josie put her hand to her throat, fighting the invisible ligature threatening to send her to the floor. “Tell me now. Why do you look scared? What the hell is happening here?”
He squeezed her shoulder lightly, then let his hand drop to his side.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
· · ·
Pax had fought battles that went on for days. Hour after hour beneath a dying sun, he’d stood knee-deep in mud and shit, swinging his sword until he was so exhausted he would swear he’d fallen asleep while hacking.
He would one hundred times rather be back on those killing fields than tell Josie the truth right now.
He was a coward.
He deserved her hatred. Because she would. Hate him.
“Number Five would never hurt Amos,” he said. “But there are some guests who disagreed with the plan to invite humans into the building as tenants.”
He paused to gather courage, wanting more than anything to look away from Josie’s terrified gaze, remaining where he was because he owed this courageous woman his complete attention.
“And?” Josie prompted, looking up at him expectantly. “What does this have to do with Amos?”
Every so often the Light makes you choose. Those choices can cut you off at the knees faster and far more painfully than the stroke of a sword.
Pax could tell Josie everything he’d been keeping back from her. The consequence of course was she’d never trust him again. She’d take Amos and leave, and he’d never see them again.
Or he could lie.
Make up another story.
Pretend her terror was unreasonable. Speak to her as though she were a child and cut down her growing self-confidence with a blade made of shame or distaste.
“Denis, Raphe, and a few others believed the key to saving Number Five was not to embrace new life within its walls. They suggested instead we sacrifice the new life. Sacrifice you.” His mouth dried and he had to force himself to tell the entire truth. “Sacrifice Amos.”
Josie crumpled like a scrap of paper beneath a fist but Pax caught her before she could hit the floor. He wanted nothing more than to cradle her, meld his body to hers, stay in a cocoon for as long as they could. Her low moan of horror nearly drowned his words, but Pax knew she heard him.
“No,” she whispered.
“No,” he echoed.
No. No, no, no.
A lifetime lived in service of others. A lifetime of duty he’d never asked for. A lifetime without a single word of thanks, without a single night of comfort, without a single legacy other than a reputation for bloodshed.
“No,” he said again, pulling Josie up and pulling her along with him toward the stairs only to find a wall where they once stood.
No.
“They won’t touch him,” Pax said. “I swore to you I would keep him safe. I swore on my life, and I will die before anyone touches a hair on his head.”
“Where could he be?” she asked.
The sacrificial altar.
Raphe’s lair. The incinerator.
Nightmares.
He turned and raced for the elevator, but when the doors opened, the only button on the panel was for the first floor.
Josie hesitated outside the elevator, but Pax slammed the panel with his fist, something in the back of his brain telling him this was the wrong thing to do, but a buzzing noise made of pain and rage deafened him to his conscience.
“Where is he?” Pax yelled.
Number Five remained silent. No guests popped their heads to investigate the noise, not a single sound could be heard over the rasp of his and Josie’s ragged breaths.
“Send him out to me right now,” he commanded, staring down as if he could see to the basement. “Give him back or I will slit your throats and burn your corpses to ash.”
Josie gasped but Pax’s fear had taken hold of his tongue at the thought of Amos in danger. An innocent. The purest thing he’d encountered in a long—perhaps too long—lifetime.
“I need my sword,” he told Josie. “I will slay them where they stand and burn the whole world down.” Rage and terror and the empty sensation of loss writhed beneath his skin.
Josie said nothing but she came to stand next to him into the elevator car.
When the elevator didn’t move, red stars burst before Pax’s eyes.
“I will—”
“Stop,” Josie whispered. “You’re scaring her.”
Pax’s hands fisted and opened as he tried to catch his breath. He hoped he was scaring Number Five. He wanted to scare her, to show his strength, to be a hero.
“You’re scaring me, too,” she said softly. Although she turned her head toward him slightly, Josie’s eyes remained fastened on the place where he’d slammed the button.
The words were spoken so quietly he almost didn’t hear them.
Why wasn’t Josie screaming? Where was her anger?
The life of a child hung in the balance.
Josie’s child.
Amos.
The delicate little being who was terrible at jokes with a voice that sounded like bells.
Of its own accord, Pax’s rage abated when he thought about the tone of Amos’s laughter. Like silver. Something rare.
His pounding heart eased.
The most powerful faiths on all the worlds Pax had encountered venerated the attributes that came easiest to children.
Forgiveness.
Love that was unconditional even if undeserved.
Awe for the everyday. Appreciation of stories.
Applause for the mundane.
Acceptance of flaws.
The more Pax listed the qualities that make children special, the more he recognized how many of those qualities he did not himself possess and it humbled him. His breathing slowed, his fist unclenched, and the dignified, intractable hope that kept Josie standing filtered into him.
On those worlds where divinities used brute strength to ensure loyalty, violence to convert their followers, or venerated war and rage, Pax had encountered hellscapes. Fear could twist even the most noble aspirations into something dangerous and shameful.
Those worlds best described as paradise, the worlds with the happiest residents, the most beautiful vistas, the least conflict—those worlds were ones where children were cared for, where curiosity was praised, and kindness valued more than anything else.
Reason returned to him along with breath.
Being a hero had nothing to do with the promise of strength.
Cutting down the enemy in front of him wasn’t going to protect Amos and Josie forever.
Being a hero meant finding the fortitude to give the LaChiusa family a place to live—to thrive—surrounded by tolerance, kindness, and community.
A formidable challenge compared to what he’d faced as a soldier. Formidable, but not impossible.
“I am sorry I frightened you,” Pax said to Number Five.
He turned to face Josie and waited until she looked at him.
“I am sorry I frightened you as well,” he told Josie. “I let my fear overwhelm my better self. I lost control and I never want to do that again.”
Terror had bleached her skin a terrible shade of gray, but when she took hold of his hands, her grip was warm and steady.
“I forgive you,” she said softly. “When a child you love is in danger, we often mistake the fear for anger.”
Pax bowed his head in relief that Josie had forgiven him. When a low chime vibrated up from the floor and the elevator doors closed, he knew he’d been forgiven by Number Five as well.