He snorts but doesn’t say anything else, and Echo points down. “You’re on it,” he tells me, and my eyes move to the floor.
Squinting, I can see symbols carved into the gray stone, but I can’t see well enough in this lighting to tell what they are.
Iceman lifts his left hand palm-up, and then an icy white fog appears there. It goes from wispy to solid in a blink, and then I’m staring at a dagger made of pure white-blue ice.
“With this ritual, you’ll be bound to protect this portal for the rest of your life. Once it’s complete, the Hellgate will recognize you, allowing you to pass through as a Guardian without issue. The Gate will tap into your essence as a demon and pull from it to fortify itself. That can feel a little weird, but the draw on your power will even out, and you’ll barely notice the leeching unless the Gate is under attack or being breached by unauthorized beings,” he explains.
I nod, somewhat numbly, as the gravity of this hits me.
His blue eyes stay steady on my face. “Are you ready, Maverick?” he asks, probably using my nickname to help me feel lighter in dealing with the heavy weight of responsibility now settling on my shoulders.
My heart races like it wants me to choose flight instead of fight in this situation. But I’m not going to run or deny or ignore anymore. I’m done with all of that. I’m scared, but I’m ready. I won’t let my fellow Guardians down, but more importantly, I’ll never letmyselfdown again by trying to hide from who I know I can be, regardless of how intimidating that is.
“I’m ready,” I say. There’s no turning back now. “I want to help. I want to do this,” I add, feeling the conviction and excitement that’s starting to overpower any nervousness for my newfound purpose.
Iceman blinks, and I see his eyes fill with things I haven’t seen in someone’s gaze since my parents died.
Respect.
He stares at me with proud respect flowing out of his beautiful blue eyes, and my throat gets tight. I nod at him, silently affirming that I want this. I want this life. I want everything that comes with it. I want him, and I want the others too. I may have accidentally claimed them at the dinner party, but I meant it.
With a warm smile and an answering nod, Iceman slices the ice dagger down his own palm and then holds his hand out, palm-down, letting blood droplets fall onto the floor. I watch it, mesmerized.
His essence drips to the ground, where he and his ancestors have given everything to protect it. The dagger gets passed around from him to Echo, Jerif, and Crux, until all four of them have sliced their palms. Their outstretched arms are all pointing in the center toward my body, and their blood steadily hits the floor, each drip punctuated with an unnatural hiss and a sense of honor.
By the time it’s my turn and Crux hands me the blade, my heart is pounding. I take the frozen hilt in my right hand and then hold my left palm up. I hesitate for just a second and then press the sharp tip into my skin with a wince. I drag it quickly across my palm, not letting myself think about it too much. I stare at the line of red as blood beads to the surface and starts to spill over the side of my palm. I follow the silent cue of the others, raise my arm, and tip my hand palm-down.
We all watch breathlessly, tracking as the very first drop of my blood falls.
It hits the stone, and I swear, I can hear it like a slap against skin, and every drop of blood that lands onto the carved floor of the Hell Portal begins to steam.
The guys start murmuring a few words over and over in a chant, and my mouth starts mimicking them without me even having to think about it.
“By blood, soul, and origin, I tie my essence to this Gate. Never to be broken, by word or marrow. I claim this Rite and bind this access to the threads of who I am. So it is spoken, so it is done.”
Our voices build like a crescendo. Simple words spoken from devoted lips, over and over again, and I’m surprised by the power that swirls robustly around us as we drop our blood and promises onto the ancient ground and warm air. It feels like a breeze picks up our repeated vow and expertly wraps all of us in it, connecting and twining one life to the other in a Celtic knot that cannot be broken or undone from here until forever.
The floor begins to tremble, but I stay frozen on the spot, not daring to move or mess anything up. Our collective voices get even louder as steam rises and grows thicker around us, dancing with the breeze and fortifying the connections I can feel being forged.
My ears start ringing, and my palm aches, and something hooks in the pit of my stomach, like a fish latching onto bait. It’s startling and invigorating, and this must be what Iceman was talking about when he said I’d feel the Gate’s pull.
The guys’ voices start to sound hoarse as though we’ve been talking for days. Then again, I realize that I have no sense of time. It feels like only minutes have passed, but maybe I’m wrong. My own throat suddenly feels raspy, and Hell portal steam is clogging my ears, my nose, my mouth, feeling as heavy and oppressive as the responsibility I can feel weaving through everything that I am. The ground quakes even more threateningly, causing some of the stone ceiling to rain down dusty rocks above us, and just when I think the whole thing is going to crack and cave in, everything stops.
The steam dissipates. Our voices stop. The floor becomes steady and solid beneath our feet once again. With wide gray eyes, I stare down at the symbols etched into the floor, noting that every drop of blood is gone.
I try to take stock of myself, seeing if I can decipher any physical changes or strange feelings. That hooked and knotted sensation has completely dissipated, and I just feel like me again.
I swallow thickly, my eyes dragging up. “Was that it? Did it work?” I ask breathlessly.
Iceman nods, and then his full lips spread into a breathtaking smile. “It’s done. You’re now a Hellgate Guardian.”
15
Tears spill from my eyes, and I grab my side, trying and failing to calm the ache in it. My cheeks hurt from laughing so hard and for so long, but I can’t help it. I can’t even stop laughing long enough to eat the amazing Chinese chicken salad sitting in front of me. I took one bite and decided I wanted to crawl into the dish and live there always, but then Iceman started talking about the first Beltane he went to at Jerif’s parents’ house, and I haven’t been able to stop giggling long enough to eat another bite.
“He just stood there with the flat iron to his short and curlies, pissed that he had burnt himself because his mom never knocks. ‘MA! I’m in here!’” Iceman yells in the most hilarious impression of what Jerif sounded like when he apparently shouted at his mother.
It’s killing me. Every time he yellsMaaa!I just hear it in this South Boston accent, and the next thing I know, I’m on the verge of pissing myself laughing.
