Page 18 of Fallen Star
He raises an eyebrow. "How do you propose I do that?" he asks.
"I—" my voice stalls as I realize I honestly have no clue. "The fires of Mordor?" The joke slips from my mouth before I can hold it in, and his eyes sparkle in amusement as he chuckles. I can't help but laugh too, whether at my joke or the absurdity of it all I don't rightly know.
I'm not usually so angry and mistrusting, though given recent events maybe I should be a tad more cautious about the men in my life. I know, understatement of the year, right?
"I don't know how to destroy the artifact," I admit. "That's not a secret it's anxious to give up to me."
Dean leans back, thinking. "I've tried to destroy it," he says, surprising me.
"Why?" For a man who collects precious things, that would be the ultimate sacrilege. Even for me, knowing what I know, it's hard to fathom destroying something with so much history.
"From the things I've learned about the Stars of Nirandel, it seemed the safest course. Their powers become corrupted on other worlds, particularly on earth. Even on their world, the stars are misused, despite how religiously they are guarded. It has caused abnormalities in their powers, deviations in their genetics, and war amongst their people. And this is a power inherent to their world. I assumed that on earth, the power would be even more damaging, and I've seen what unbridled power can do. I don't know all the secrets of this artifact, but I know enough to make me very cautious."
"What have you tried?" I ask, tucking all this information away in my mind.
"The usual," he says. "Fire, magic, spells. Nothing worked. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger, absorbing the power."
"Interesting," I say, considering what that could mean. "Is it possible that it can't be destroyed at all?"
He shrugs. "Everything can be destroyed. You just need to find its weakness."
A scream interrupts our conversation as a guard explodes into the dining room. "Prince Dean, the artifact room has been breached."
We both stand at the same time, likely with the same thought. "The star fragment," I say under my breath.
"Wait here," he commands, running out of the room with his guard.
"Yeah, I'm not a 'wait here' kind of woman," I say, looking for anything that can be used as a weapon and choosing a steak knife from the table before retracing my steps towards the secret room.
My mind spins with the possibilities as I approach. Did Global Tech track us down? How did they get to another world, though? There are too many unanswered questions as I move to catch up to Dean and his guards.
I hear shouting, then the sound of a body hitting the wall with a wet thud. I run faster, my knife at the ready. I'm no warrior, but I've been in a fair amount of scuffles with supernatural horrors. I can hold my own, though I usually prefer my ice axe to a dinner knife. It's more effective in cleaving monster skulls.
The lights are out in the halls, and I'm forced to navigate in near pitch darkness. My night vision hasn't kicked in when I stumble over a body and nearly impale myself on my own weapon. That would have been a way to go. Nice job, Alex. Scrambling up, my head still a bit wobbly from the blood loss and adrenaline rush, I'm not at my best.
Still, nothing could have prepared me for what I see when I pull back the tapestry and enter the room.
Bodies litter the floor.
Dean is leaning against a wall holding his gut as blood pours over his hands. His face is more ghastly pale than ever, his eyes pained and shocked in equal measure.
In the center of the bodies stands a woman holding Dean's piece of the Star. At her hip is a belt with the other piece dangling from it. The piece I excavated in Israel.
She's got long brown hair the color of chestnuts, soft hazel eyes, and hasn't aged a day in fifteen years.
My knife falls to the ground, my jaw slack, my mind not believing what I'm seeing.
The blood splattered creature stealing from us is…
My mother.
I step forward, dumbstruck, unsure of what to say or do. Nothing makes sense. Nothing.
"You died," I say, my eyes filling with tears.
Her attention flicks to me, and as the bloodlust in her wanes, I see a glimpse of the woman she used to be. The woman who raised me, who read me stories and gave me baths and always made time to have tea with me and my stuffed animals.
I don't know how to reconcile what I'm seeing with my memories, and so I stand, stunned, unable to move.