by Cate Corvin
It was the same feeling I’d gotten when the assassin had been eyeing me in Dis, a distinct sense of malicious intent. But everything around us was barren rocks and bluffs, with no sign of life besides ourselves.
“I feel like we’re not alone,” I said, dropping my voice so only they could hear me. If someone had followed us, I’d rather they not know they’d been caught sneaking up behind us.
Azazel frowned and looked out at the stony expanse, his eyes narrowed, but he finally shook his head. “I don’t feel anything. That doesn’t mean much; I’m expending as little energy as possible, and I don’t feel it’s worth looking harder. All of it will be necessary to open the doors, but we can take on anyone who follows.”
I glanced back out. Nobody would be stupid enough to go in the Between just to kill one of us.
Maybe they’d get lost and die in there. The thought cheered me a little.
“I’VE GOT YOU, ANGEL.” Belial strode past Azazel, walking up a dry creek bed. I felt bad for riding on him for so long. He could reassure me I was the weight of a flea all he liked, but I was covered in weapons from head to toe, and that couldn’t be comfortable pressed against his shoulders.
Tascius strode ahead on Azazel’s orders, lighting the way, while Michael brought up the rear with Haru.
Azazel walked at Belial’s side, close enough to touch me.
“I didn’t think to ask the why of this place, but why would someone create the Between?” I asked him. “What’s the point of keeping the memories of the gods in some nightmare dimension?”
He glanced up at me, his violet eyes shining with the lightning-like light inside him. “Although it’s possible to use it as a path, that was never the intention behind it. It’s a reliquary of sorts, a little like the memory-rift in the Fields of Asphodel, only infinitely more powerful and dangerous.”
I shivered at the thought of the memory-rift and what it had shown me. And that had only been a small taste of what the End Days had been like. “Who created it, though?”
Azazel shrugged one shoulder, reaching up to touch the feather under the silver skull pin. “Nobody knows. I’m not entirely sure it was created by someone, rather than that it just is. But this place is… it is endless.” His eyes were shadowed as he looked up the mountainous ridge we climbed. “And it preferred to gather strong emotions or places of worship. What you’ll see in there are memories of the old times. Times from before humanity wrote their first accounts of the gods. Times of chaos and insanity, when they walked the earth openly in all their power.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. My human brain had barely been able to comprehend the existence of the Horsemen, or Wormwood, or the plagues. Death and rising again had opened my mind quite a bit, but if Azazel thought these gods of the old times were terrible… well, I still had a lot of mind-opening to do.
Fear trickled down my spine, but I pushed it away. I wasn’t going to let empty memories drive me away from this path. “How will it know we want to go to Irkalla?”
“Intention.” Azazel’s shadows touched my leg as he walked alongside us. “It might not have been made for it, but it’s still a side effect of the magic there. If you keep one place in mind while traversing it, the Between will begin to pull on that intent, bringing up memories as well as bringing you closer to the place it’s revealing.”
“And that means we’ll see memories of Irkalla the further we go into it.” How horrible would those memories be?
“They can’t hurt you,” Azazel reminded me gently. “As long as you don’t get caught up in them. If you see anything, close your eyes and look away. It’ll vanish soon enough.”
“How bad could it be?” I asked with false bravado, but Azazel didn’t answer.
Not a good sign.
Eventually the ridge opened on the base of a steep ravine, high in the mountains. I slid off Belial’s shoulders; it was full of mist, the path barely visible, but even I could see a lion of his size wouldn’t make it through.
He became a human again and we gathered in front of the mist. It reached out and brushed outwards, almost like fingers trying to touch us.
“Pluto’s Gate is through here.” Azazel’s eyes were veiled. “Stay to the path, Michael first.”
Michael stepped in without a backward glance, his sunlight dampened by the mist, but he was clear enough to follow.
I did glance back. The sensation of malice was faint, but perhaps I’d been imagining things. After all, I was about to walk into a place even Azazel didn’t want to go. Anyone would be subconsciously stressed out by the implications of that.
There was nothing there, of course, but I couldn’t shake my misgivings.
I ended up behind Azazel and in front of Belial, the pair of them keeping me on the path. On occasion I ducked under a rock outcropping or tripped on slick stones and moss underfoot, but the walls were so narrow it was easy to catch my fall.
After the dryness of the desert, the mist and moss were a strange sight. I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of actual green growing things, but there was another strange smell on the wind, something almost spicy.
Azazel turned in time to catch me rubbing my nose. “You smell the residual magic. We’re close.”
“It was shockingly easy to find,” I muttered, stepping over a large slippery stone.
With his face in profile, I caught his tight smile. “Because it doesn’t need to hide. No one with sense comes here.”
The sky ahead was dark, like a storm was rolling in. I squinted, but it was impossible to make out the storm clouds through the mist overhead.
Moss began to grow denser, dripping off stones, trailing through our hair. Beads of moisture had settled in Azazel’s dark curls, and I found myself wiping my palms on my pants every time I touched a stone. Eventually it didn’t matter; my pants were slick too, and the beads on my forehead were mist, not sweat.
The sky grew darker and darker. “Is it night already?” I whispered to Azazel. For some reason, it felt wrong to speak aloud here. Goosebumps had risen on my arms.
“No.”
The pebbles underfoot suddenly gave way to smooth, paved stone. We all gathered close together, but I stayed in the back between Tascius and Azazel, not wanting to risk the Spear touching someone.
Wind touched my cheeks. I raised my face, expecting the soft patter of rain, but instead the breeze just tore apart the mist as we walked over the stones.
My heart skipped a beat as the mist fell behind us, unable to withstand the wind, and revealed where the ravine ended.
The sky wasn’t dark from storms or nightfall.
There was a stone arch before us, extending into the sky, so enormous it blocked out the sun. Only faint slivers of sky were visible on either side of it, and a pair of ebony doors were set within its confines.
“Pluto’s Gate,” Azazel said reverently. “The door to the Between.”
24
Melisande
The doors towered over the mountains around us, doors meant for giants instead of demons. Deep runes were inscribed in the ebony, glinting with tiny flashes of color.
“These are the gates for the gods,” I whispered, craning my head back to look up. They seemed to go on forever. “How will we open them?”
Azazel just glared grimly at the doors. “With magic.” He strode forward, almost close enough to touch the carved ebony, and turned around to look at all of us. “It’s not too late to turn back. This is your last chance to turn around and do this the wise way.”
The amulet he’d made burned against my chest, warming the skin beneath it as he looked over us all. His eyes finally landed on me, and I read the emotions there.
He knew perfectly well I wasn’t going to turn back. Not when we’d come so far, and not when we were so close to being with Lucifer and Vyra again.
Tascius and Belial stood fast with me. Azazel’s gaze shifted to Michael and Haru. “Neither of you need to do this.”
Michael gave him a crooked gri
n. “I’m already here.”
“I’m not turning back.” Haru’s words were quiet, but steel determination underlaid them. “Open the door.”
A muscle flexed in Azazel’s jaw, but he didn’t ask again. We were all ready for this.
The shadows around him thickened as he turned, stepping up to the doors. He placed both of his hands flat on them, his fingers spread wide, and I felt a sudden tug through our bond: pain speared through him, a phantom echo of it lancing through my arms and chest.
I gasped, and Belial immediately touched me, concern on his face. I just shook my head, straightening up. “It hurts him,” I said, dropping my voice for his ears only.
The pain was intense for Azazel, but the mate bond blocked most of it for me.
He pushed against the doors, his arms shaking as dark magic poured out of his fingertips. The air pressure around us seemed to drop, my ears popped a little, and a prickling sensation ran over me.
With a sound so low I couldn’t hear it, but felt it in the air and the ground beneath my feet, the doors to the Between began to crack open.
The earth vibrated. Azazel took a step forward, pushing with all his might, and they moved another inch.
I couldn’t fathom the amount of magic he was pouring into them. His perfect, pale features had vanished, replaced with the crackle of lightning in his eyes, his face morphing into the smoky form he took when he was at his most dangerous.
Michael straightened up at the end of the line, his eyes narrowed as Azazel grew in height until he towered over all of us. “What the almighty fuck is he?”
Tascius glanced at him before returning his attention to the doors. “A death god. That’s why he’s the only one who can open the doors.”
“Good times,” Michael muttered. I held back a smile. It was nice to see him disconcerted for once.
The being pushing open the doors no longer looked like the Azazel I was used to, but I couldn’t feel afraid when looking at him, either.
They moved another inch, and then another. He kept pushing, putting everything he was into opening this place.
The spot right between my shoulder blades itched like someone was watching me. I glanced over my shoulder, but the barren, rocky landscape was empty.
And no one else saw anything. Maybe I was losing my mind, but the sooner we were in the Between, the better.
Azazel released the doors with a groan. They stayed open, seeming stuck in place despite how hard they had been to open. “Go,” he said, his voice crackling. “Get inside, stay together, and keep Irkalla in mind every second that you’re in there. The Between will know where to take us.”
Without waiting for the rest of us, Haru plunged forward into the darkness. Michael stepped forward after him, going through as soon as the rust-red tips of Haru’s tails had vanished.
“Let’s go together,” Belial said, lacing his fingers through mine.
I reached back for Tascius, and we approached the doors. Wind gusted outwards like the Between was letting out a sigh of relief, blowing my hair back from my face.
I instinctively held my breath, but I’d have to breathe in there eventually. I inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of a place that hadn’t been opened in millennia.
It smelled ancient; the smell of old stones and magic, the incense of gods, the coppery tinge of something monstrous that had passed this way long before.
For the first time, genuine fear pricked at me, but it was far too late to turn back. All we had to do was make it through. We had the amulets and the willpower to travel this way.
Belial squeezed through the crack in the door, and the darkness swallowed him whole. It looked like his hand was sticking out of solid blackness.
“Come on, Azazel,” I said.
The Watcher had lessened in height by a foot, but he was still terrifying to look at. He straightened himself, and when I was sure he was coming, I stepped through.
It felt like walking through liquid. The air grew thicker for a brief moment, and then I was in open air again.
And it was no longer dark.
Haru and Michael waited for us, their hands on their weapons. Belial already had a sword out.
We were in an antechamber of stone. The ceilings were so high overhead they were impossible to make out. Alcoves lined the walls, with ancient candles still upright in them, surrounded by tarnished coins and flowers that had long since turned to dust.
“Altars to the gods,” Belial said. His voice echoed down the long corridor ahead of us. “They made sacrifices here.”
I still smelled incense in the air, like someone had been here only minutes before us. There were stains on the floor that looked too fresh, somehow. “Are we sure no one’s been here recently?”
Azazel spilled into the antechamber, taking the form of a narrow whirlwind of smoke. He was taller again despite how much magic he’d put into opening the doors. Clawed hands reached out of the shadows and vanished again just as quickly.
“No one has been here in a very long time.” His voice buzzed and crackled, all trace of his genteel exterior lost. “Stay together. Remember my warnings. It will all look real, but it’s only the past.”
I nodded, still gripping Belial’s hand so tightly it felt like all the blood had left my fist. Azazel exhaled, breathing out a cloud of tiny stars and mist. “Follow them.”
He moved down the hall, moving with predatory grace, his stars following him in a little trail.
My feet didn’t want to move. Now that we were inside, it was as plain as day: we didn’t belong in this place. It wasn’t made for demons and angels. It looked almost normal, but there was a creeping sensation down my spine, a feeling that we’d walked into a place where we were distinctly unwelcome.
I looked back at the door we’d entered, but it was gone. Only a blank wall sat behind me.
Somewhere behind that wall, a pair of doors were lying open in wait. I hoped they closed before some poor demon wandered in and found themselves stuck here.
Haru and Michael followed Azazel first, and the rest of us took the rear. My Spear was reassuring against my back as we passed an alcove with an ancient, crumbling skeleton draped over the altar within.
Azazel’s stars provided an easy path, but once we moved through the hall, it became obvious that the Between was not, in fact, as benign as it had looked at first.
The hall ended in a large, empty room. Azazel waited for us to catch up, and when we turned around, the hall was gone. In its place was a simple plank door.
“What the fuck?” someone whispered.
Azazel turned his shadowy head. It was impossible to make out his expression, but I imagined he’d be giving his most dry smile now. “What did you think this place was? This is the mildest thing you will see in here.”
He pushed the plank door open.
There was a new hall in front of us. We stepped in, staying so close together I felt multiple arms brushing against me.
The door closed at my back, and I peered around Tascius’s wings.
There was a young woman kneeling in the middle of the new hallway of marble columns. She wore plain white robes that puddled around her knees as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the ground, genuflecting before something we couldn’t see.
“Who is she?” I asked, brushing against Azazel’s shadows.
“Who knows?” he said, raising one shoulder in a shrug. “She’s long forgotten now.”
The woman sat up suddenly, crying out in a language I didn’t recognize. She held up a dagger and drew it across her own throat before anyone could react.
Blood spilled out in a torrent, then she vanished, blood and all.
A dark stain remained on the white floor, but it looked centuries old.
“Keep moving,” Azazel said, sounding amused. He walked right through the ancient bloodstain.
Nobody strayed behind, and the self-sacrificing woman was far from the last apparition we saw.
At one point we turned a corner
and almost walked right into a seraph. Six wings spread wide, each one covered with blinking eyes of fire. The faceless metal helmet turned towards us, and the seraph struck out with a sword before crumpling into dust and vanishing entirely.
My stomach flipped at the sight of it, remembering my own reflection in the orb in Azazel’s library.
The hallways twisted and turned. Some of them doubled back into places that hadn’t been there before, and on occasion we took side halls I hadn’t noticed until Azazel pointed them out. Once, we walked up a wall to a door set in the ceiling overhead, and as we stepped through, the world shifted and righted itself again.
We walked between two oddly twisted columns into a room that looked like it’d once been part of an ancient temple.
A chorus of voices called out from above us. I looked up and saw several hundred people crawling on the ceiling of yet another antechamber, prostrating themselves before an upside-down god.
My breath caught in my throat. The god was nearly thirty feet tall, goat-headed, his horns brushing the ground behind us. They were the twisted columns we’d walked through.
He lifted one of his worshippers to his mouth and ate him alive.
At that point, my courage failed me for a moment. I tore ahead and almost ran full tilt into Azazel’s shadowy tornado.
“It’s only the past,” he said gently, several clawed hands reaching out to hold me. “The old times. They’re not real anymore, Melisande. Most of them are asleep or dead.”
“It looks real right now,” I whispered, my mouth dry. Only asleep? I’d rather have heard that all of them were dead.
If this goat-headed thing that’d eaten humans alive was sleeping, it’d better hope for its own sake that it never woke up.
“Just memories,” Azazel breathed. “Remember that.” He swept me along, keeping me within his shadows.
We turned a corner, mercifully leaving the ancient eater behind, and stepped into white sand dunes.
I blinked. There was darkness overhead, but there were stars, as well, and the air smelled of dry desert plants and dust. We were inside and outside at the same time.
