Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,82
glowing blue. “Because I think it’s an incredibly reckless thing bringing a soul back from hell, and, frankly, I don’t think you’re ready for it.”
“Ready for it?” Rose bristled. “I’m sorry, is there a training course I missed?”
“There’s a number of ways to bring a soul back from hell, each riskier and uglier than the last. Derfel can fetch your Arthur, yes, but will his soul come with a body? Or will the soul already be corrupted? Will he even resemble the man you lost five years ago?”
“He will.” Rose stood, and paced away from the table where they’d been sitting with the files between them. She straightened her fingers to keep from balling her hands into fists; fought not to grind her teeth. “He’ll be the same. Beck’s strong.”
“There’s human strong, and then there’s hell strong.”
Rose whirled to face the conduit again, brought up momentarily by the innocent picture she made, in her soft white scrubs, with her white-blond hair – and by the contrast of the ancient gaze staring out of her baby face.
“He’ll be different,” she said, quiet, sure – certain. Not a human’s certainty, but the combined, first-hand knowledge of the ages. “I believe you’re strong enough to bring him back. But you should prepare yourself: he won’t be the Beck you knew before. No one could be, not after that.”
Rose didn’t nod, didn’t agree with her in any way, but disquiet shifted through her, because of course the conduit was right. No living creature could spend that long in hell without being deeply affected by it – not even Beck, in whom her faith was unshakeable.
She managed to excuse herself politely, left the cell…and then, with a sinking feeling in her gut, went to find Lance.
He didn’t have an office, because the base couldn’t accommodate one and provide private sleeping quarters for the Knights, too, but he kept his room door open in the evenings as a sign that he was willing to meet with whomever wished to speak with him. It was open tonight, but his manner was decidedly unwelcoming. He sat with his elbows braced on his small desk, a scowl marring his forehead, signing reports with so much force she thought the pen might go through the paper.
She knocked on the doorjamb, and waited for him to lift his head; when he did, the scowl deepened.
“What?”
She offered her empty palms in a show of peace. “I just wanted to talk.”
“Talk? Or refuse to listen to reason?”
Earlier, she would have snapped back at that, but she knew he wasn’t speaking from a practical place right now. Captain Bedlam had questioned her theory, but given in because her back was against a wall, and if one dumb Knight wanted to get herself killed attempting to raise a secret weapon, it was worth the risk.
But for Lance this was personal. This was her bringing Beck back, when he’d been the one warming her bed.
More than that, if she was honest, which she thought she had to be, now. “I’ll listen,” she said, keeping her voice calm – soft, even. “You aren’t going to dissuade me, but I will listen.”
He sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes, sighing deeply. “Of course I won’t. Who could ever?” He waved, still rubbing his eyes. “Come in. Close the door.”
She did, and sat on the edge of his bunk. After a moment, the line of his shoulders tense, bunching the back of his t-shirt, he spun the chair slowly around and faced her. He looked exhausted; apprehensive; defeated.
“You went to see Morgan?” he guessed.
“I did. She says it’s possible – that it will work. Derfel isn’t just a statue in Wales. He really can fetch souls out of hell.”
He studied her a moment, lips pressed thin. “What else did she tell you?”
She’d never given him credit for being brilliant, not like she had Beck, but he wasn’t an idiot. But she couldn’t tell him everything – not about Beck possibly coming back…changed.
She said, “It takes a generous offering, and a very strong will. The person who makes the request has to want the soul back very badly.”
The corners of his mouth twitched in an attempted smile. “Well, you won’t have any trouble with that.”
“Lance. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt.” He was a terrible liar.
“Still. I’m not trying to. Our backs are against the wall: you know that. Morgan will keep helping, but she has her limitations.”