“Uriel. You must’ve known her before.” I nodded toward Bone. “In Elysium.”
His powerful gaze swiveled slowly to me. “I did. Everyone knows the most powerful seraphs. Especially the rare ones who dedicated themselves to humans.” His attention shifted back to her. “She was a rare one indeed.”
“She worked with humans. Like a guardian?”
“Seraphs aren’t like guardians. Not exactly. Seraphs use their song to inspire, to uplift the downtrodden, and yes, sometimes to persuade humans in despair.”
I stared at the fierce woman approaching, trying to imagine her in this role. It seemed impossible. But then, I remembered her with Maddie, the way she’d gentled her voice and spoke in kind whispers to the little girl I loved. Yes, I suppose I could see her as she was before.
“What happened? Why did she fall from Elysium?”
“That’s her story to tell.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
Shrugging, I said, “Worth a try. I sure as hell can’t imagine her ever telling me.”
He tensed. “Alexander.” My full name. Not a good sign. “Do not put your trust in her. She is not one of us.”
“I never said I was.”
“You don’t have to. I can feel your yearning for her.”
I scowled and mentally put a wall between my heart and the outside world—a vain attempt to mask my feelings from Uriel. But I couldn’t lie to him. So I switched subjects.
“What was her name before?”
“Alexander.” He drew my focus away from my siren, who was almost upon us.
“What?”
“Don’t pin your hopes on someone becoming something they can’t.”
Realizing I still gripped both my weapons fiercely at my sides, I holstered them. “It’s not that she can’t, Uriel. It’s that she won’t…not yet.”
“And you think you can change her.” Bitterness laced every word.
“No one can change another person,” I admitted. “But they can always show them another path.” I looked over at him. “Just as you and George did for me.”
He held me in his gaze, unblinking, hard mask still set in place. When they were nearly upon us, he leaned toward me and whispered, “Carowyn.”
Her name. He’d given me her angel name. A thrill of triumph pumped through me. I wanted to say it, whisper it to her, taste each lovely syllable on my lips, but not yet. Not in mixed company. Not until I had her alone. Still, I couldn’t keep the cat-caught-the-canary grin from splitting my face when the group finally made it to us.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked, frowning.
Crossing my arms, I nodded at the bazooka she held in both arms. “Holding out on us, I see.”
“Not holding out. Just saving for a special occasion.”
Maximus turned his head to the north. “Too bad she got away.”
“I’ve never shot it before.” She glanced at the sky. “I won’t miss next time.”
Concern about what could happen because she missed had me opening my mouth before I could hold back the question for later. “Did she see you? If Circe saw you—”
She answered in a quiet but steady voice. “She didn’t see me.”
If she had, her link to Rook could warn him that Bone was helping Maximus or the Twelvers, and then she’d be in serious danger.
“You should’ve just waited like I told you,” I grumbled.
She arched a perfect brow. “Looks like you needed the help.”
I couldn’t argue with that. It wasn’t that I didn’t think her capable of aiding us in combat. It was that her alliance with us could endanger her more.
Cooper cleared his throat. “How many of those do you have?”
“Just the one, I’m afraid.”
“How much would you charge—”
She considered a minute, handed it over to Cooper, then pulled a pack off her shoulder and handed it to Hannah. “There’s two more rounds in there. Haven’t had time to make more.”
Hannah and Deacon, and the small group of Twelvers with them, remained grim and watchful of the surroundings.
“How much—?” asked Cooper.
“Let’s consider it a loan for now.”
Uriel was facing Maximus, the two so different in appearance. Whereas Uriel had white, gold-tipped wings and a face of perfect proportions swathed in a serene—albeit cold—mask, Maximus wore a constant scowl, his black hair blowing wildly in the wind, every muscle taut and ready for another fight.
“So, what are you doing here with this mini-force of yours?”
Maximus scanned the area as he spoke. “One of our sources said Rook and Simian were planning some big operation, but he didn’t know what. Only an elite group of high demons seemed to know.” He nodded back to the stalwart and stony-eyed warriors at his back. “Thought we’d see if we could capture one of their red priests and get the information from them.”
Uriel laughed, the sound rough and unsettling. “You’d have better luck getting that brick wall to talk.”
Maximus grinned, looking more demon than angel. “We have ways.”
“But you’ll never capture one alive,” I added. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”
The archangel general heaved out a heavy sigh, one hand on his sword hilt. “That’s disheartening. Seems we need someone on the inside to get more information, then.” His gaze slid to Bone. No, to Carowyn.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t look at me. I’m only helping Xander and his crew here till I find out why Rook wants me to make a particular weapon.”
“What weapon?” asked Maximus.
We relayed to him what Rook had requested.
Maximus scratched his chin, a gesture that made him seem uncharacteristically human. He was definitely nowhere near human.
“What kind of operation did your source say he was planning?” asked Uriel, also in deep contemplation.
“He didn’t. Only that his high demon had received an invitation of some kind.”
“Wait,” I interjected. “Your source is a servant to a high demon? Since when do you play dirty and acquire snitches on the dark side?”
Maximus seemed unruffled, shrugging a shoulder, his wing widening. “Since it became apparent that brute force wasn’t enough to win the day.”
“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” said Uriel.
Maximus gave an unaffected grunt.
“What do you know of the invitation?” asked Carowyn. I could no longer think of her as Bone.
“Nothing. Only that it was delivered by a red priest and bore a symbol on the front. A grinning death’s head within a wreath of flame, a crown on its head.”
Carowyn flinched. No one seemed to notice but me, but her lips pressed in a tight line.
“If we find anything on our end,” said Uriel, glancing at me, “we’ll let you know.”
Maximus gave a tight nod, stretching out his black wings. His soldiers did the same, readying for flight.
“Sounds good enough. We’ll do the same.”
In a rush of wind, they launched into the night, melding with the darkness.
Uriel turned to Cooper. “The priests are getting too close to your headquarters. They’re picking off your scouts, one by one.”
“I know.” Cooper grimaced, gazing down the street toward where his people were sheltered and safe. But not for long.
“Start packing,” said Uriel. “I’m going to find a better location for all of you.”
No one commented on the fact that they’d lost another handful of warriors. Not just warriors, but friends. Family. This had become a weekly occurrence since Simian and Rook had ousted King Henry, the last high demon of London, and taken over the city.
Cooper didn’t argue. And I didn’t ask what Uriel planned to do. He would let me in on the situation when he was ready. I’d been the one helping the Twelvers in London since heaven and hell had dumped mayhem and monsters on
to earth and torn open their world. George had always been at my side, but Uriel had more than one city of humans to worry about. His hunters were spread all over the globe, so he rotated between, organizing and assisting as he could. Then one day he’d disappeared. We’d thought him lost, but Anya and Dommiel had found him and brought him back to us. Since then, his intervention had changed. Where once he’d simply organized for men at arms and extra hands to fight the demons, now he dove in, wanting to get good and bloody himself.
He didn’t have to tell me why. I understood. For the same reason I enjoyed the violent rush of combat, the slaying of the creatures of the underworld, the visceral feel of ripping an evil soul from this realm and expelling it back to hell. Uriel was finding his own way to expel the dark ghosts dwelling inside of him. And I understood that as well as any other being, even though I also knew that it would never be enough. There weren’t enough wrongs to right that could make the darkness completely go away. But it was worth trying.
“We’d best be going,” said Carowyn.
“Indeed.” I stepped to her side and gave Cooper then Uriel a swift nod.
“Alexander.” He fixed me with a hard look, but his voice held the warning of a concerned father. “Take care of the Black.”
I nodded, then he lifted off with a great beat of his white wings, vanishing into nothing as he sifted away.
“The Black?” Carowyn frowned up at me.
I gave her a reassuring smile, though it only made her frown deeper when I took her hand and said, “We’ve got to make one quick pit stop before we go to see Axel.”
“A pit stop where?”
“Oh. I just need to summon a Soul Collector.”
“What!” she practically shrieked. “Why?”
Primal fear shivered in her quaking voice. And why wouldn’t it? A Soul Collector’s favorite food was the souls of very foul demons. But she wasn’t as foul as she thought she was. I knew because I’d spent a few centuries among the most putrid souls of the damned. And I had food this Soul Collector loved best.
I took her hand and tugged her against me, wrapping my other arm around her waist. “Don’t worry, darling. This Collector will want what I can give her. Not you.”
“Wha—”
Before she could twist her way out of my arms, I squeezed her close and slipped into the Void to meet with a creature even demons were afraid of.
Chapter Nine
Bone
We snapped out onto a snow-dusted moor near some standing stones that looked like silent guardians in this lonely place.
“Where are we?”
“Dartmoor,” he answered, moving away from me toward the tallest of the monoliths. “You know that skull and crown symbol that Maximus spoke of.”
He said it as a statement, not a question. Intuitive, this hunter. “Yes.”
“Care to tell me how you know it?” His voice had dropped low and soft, like the rumble of distant thunder.
“Rook has a tattoo of it…on his shoulder.” He didn’t look at me, his attention on the sky. But I saw the hardness there, anyway, and wished there was no reason for me to know about that tattoo. “He told me it represented his royal right to rule the world.”
“And this impressed you?”
My heart faltered. He knew I’d been with Rook.
“It disgusted me.” I quickly switched subjects. “What is the Black?” I was pretty sure I could guess, but I wanted him to tell me. I wrapped my arms around myself, breath coming out in white puffs.
He stopped and looked my way, arms at his sides, shoulders stiff. His eyes swirled with the darkness I’d seen building there. It seemed to stretch around him, the blackness swelling into a halo around his body, swallowing him in shadow.
“The Black is what we call what’s left behind when we expel a demon.”
“Left behind?”
He looked up toward the smudge of the moon behind billowy clouds. “Each soul we expel leaves a stain of what they were—greedy, lustful, violent, vain, evil. A taste is left to linger.”
I couldn’t imagine. All the demonic fiends they cast out left a foul impression behind? How horrific. That was worse than simply living your life outside the Light as a fallen angel, as I was. At least I only had to cope with my own sins, not the guilt and foulness of others’ wickedness.
“Does it affect you?”
With his focus still toward the night sky, he said quietly, “Yes.”
“But…how do you get rid of it?”
“Quiet, darling. You’ll see soon enough.”
He started to chant in the old language, barely discernible as he whispered it swiftly like one long word. The filmy clouds in the starless night sheered away from the moon. It shone down upon the standing stones as if Xander had summoned the beams. Apparently, he had. A singular ray brightened to a supernatural glow, curling mist sweeping out like the tentacles of an ancient leviathan.
That was when the nudge of violence and hatred stamped down within the circle like the foot of a great colossus. My breath faltered at the vacuum-like presence, sucking all power and sound toward the nether creature. It entered our space with the sibilant whispers of loathsome beings, as the Soul Collector materialized before Xander.
Transparent limbs and long, silky white hair solidified into Stygos, the river of hate. The Soul Collectors were also called the rivers of the underworld, conduits toward deep, foul, dark places. She floated in a white gown of gossamer, her pale skin illuminated as if she’d swallowed the moon itself, not liking any beauty to outshine her. For she was beautiful. Horrifically so—voluptuous body straining against her sheer gown, lithe legs dangling above the ground, never touching. Spidery-long fingers reached out toward Xander, her white-washed eyes glowing.
“Lady Styx.” He gave a small bow. And though he used his charming voice, it was obviously strained and throaty. His frame stiffened as she floated closer, billowy gown rippling, venomous voices hissing in the round.
“My pretty pet,” she said through her black lips, and my knees buckled, dropping me to the ground. It wasn’t the force of her voice but the malevolent ripple that pulsed into the air.
I wanted to scream for Xander to get away from her. She couldn’t be trusted. She was a foul, selfish creature who could easily suck his soul right out of his body and leave the empty shell on the snow-dusted ground.
He stepped closer and tilted his head higher, and I was certain I’d pass out from the malice slithering around us like an insatiable beast trying to devour everything in its path. She reached out those spidery fingers and grasped his face. Floating down, she kissed him with those black lips.
Xander didn’t move, kept as stonelike as the monoliths around us. Suddenly, Styx ripped her mouth away, still clutching his face, her head snapping back and mouth opening wide. The voices screamed out, images of blood and death and foul oblivion sweeping my mind in a maelstrom of hate. The netherworld creature sucked up the black aura around Xander, like smoke escaping through the crack in a window. The amorphous vapor shot like an arrow into her mouth.
With a resounding clap of thunder that exploded outward across the moor, she released Xander and vanished in a blinding flash of white light, leaving us in sudden darkness and blessed silence.
I realized I was panting and clutching my chest. I’d been around foul creatures before, but the Soul Collectors weren’t like the selfish, wicked demons who seemed to reason their way through their own lives of foul indulgence. The Collectors wanted only one thing—to feed. I trembled as I watched Xander inhale a deep breath of air and blow it back out in a curling white puff. Nothing supernatural about it—just his hot breath in the cold, night air.
He strode toward me, seeming as healthy and happy as ever. A jaunt in his step, a crooked smile on his beautiful face, and…his eyes. God, his eyes. They were clear and as aqua-blue as the Aegean Sea. If I’d thought him handsome before, with none of the Black clouding his gaze, he was utterly devastating. I couldn’t imagine the number
of hearts he’d broken just by giving a girl a lopsided smile and a flash of those stunning eyes. If he’d been a demon, he could’ve ruled the world with a regal face like that.
He bent down and lifted me by my shoulders. I hadn’t realized I was still on my knees.
“Are you all right?”
I snort-laughed. “Am I all right? You’re the one who just had the most terrifying monster I’ve ever seen give you a kiss and suck demons out of you.”
He laughed. Yes. He laughed at that. “There were no demons inside me. Just remnants.”
“That’s funny? And how could you allow her to get so close? What if she decided to take your soul instead?”
“She wouldn’t,” he replied matter-of-factly and far too confidently.
“How do you know?”
“Because my soul is too clean for her tastes.”
“She seemed to like the taste of you well enough.” I frowned at the hint of odd and erratic jealousy in my voice. I was not jealous of that disgusting hag. Not at all.
“Oh, well, now she might not want to eat my soul. But she does like my kiss, apparently.”
He grimaced, but it was gone as fast as I noticed the crinkle in his brow.
“And you like that?”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Bloody hell, no. It feels like having the mouth of a frigid witch on mine.” He slid his hands down along my arms then glided them around my waist, squeezing. “I’d much rather have your warm lips on mine,” he rumbled deep.
“Ha!” I went to pull away, but he held tighter.
“Time to sift, darling.” Then I was against his body and slipping through the Void.
I gripped his shoulders to hold on. No other reason, of course. He held me close. His smile widened, making my pulse quicken because, of course, the damn man knew exactly how hot he was. But I wasn’t just any other woman. I was Bone, demoness of London, best arms maker and blade forger on earth or in the underworld. Still, when he trailed his hand up and laced his fingers with mine, I did nothing at all to protest.
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