by Amy Sumida
“You don't have to take the angel courses,” Luke said. “Take something that interests you. Why shouldn't you have access to that information? I built the darn school.”
“You built it, and they wouldn't let your son attend?” I asked; my anger turning to fury.
“Dad lost a lot when he surrendered the war,” Az said gently, “Zebul and the University included.”
“But I got back at them with this.” Luke waved us to a crevice in the rock face.
As we watched, the crevice expanded to reveal a glittering path through the mountain; lined with stones that matched Lucifer's eyes.
“It's become the ultimate challenge for the students,” Azrael explained. “Finding Satan's Gate within Zebul.”
“Satan's Gate?” I whispered as I strode forward. “Those look like diamonds.”
“They are. I wanted it to shout; Morningstar!” Luke said as he waved his hands in a manner denoting a banner above his head.
I admired the massive, circular diamonds—each over a foot in diameter—set into stone prongs so that light could reach their faceted bottoms. Their polished tops were only faceted along the edges; pulling even more light into their sparkling depths. It was as if giant engagement rings had been pushed into the earth side-by-side.
“I always thought the path to Hell should be lined with dead puppies,” I whispered.
“What?” Satan asked in shock.
“Well, you know that saying about the path to Hell being lined with good intentions?” I asked him and then went on without waiting for an answer, “I get it, but whenever I hear the line, I think to myself that surely, dead puppies would be more appropriate.”
“I would never!” The Devil clasped a hand to his chest in horror.
“She knows, Dad,” Azrael said with a little chuckle. “It's Vervain, which means it's a joke.”
“Oh,” Luke murmured. “Of course. Sorry, Vervain, I haven't been thinking straight.”
“It's okay.” I gave Luke's shoulder a pat. “So, the school kids have been trying to find your diamond trove?”
“Ever since I hid it from them,” Luke affirmed as he stepped across the diamonds.
“It's become a badge of honor to be able to say that you've walked the Diamond Path,” Azrael said as he extended his arm to me. “It means that you're favored by Lucifer Morningstar.”
“Then, I'm truly touched,” I said as I took Azrael's arm. “Thank you, Luke.”
“When are you going to start calling me 'Dad,' Vervain?” Luke shot over his shoulder. “I know that's what you call Fenrir.”
“Oh.” I blinked in surprise as Az led me over the diamonds. “Haven't I?”
“Once or twice,” Luke said. “But not consistently. I'd like it if you did.”
I made my I'm-so-touched-that-I-want-to-cry-but-I-won't face at Luke's back and swallowed the tightness in my throat before I replied.
“Then I will,” I said, “Dad.”
The Devil shot a smile back at me so brilliant that it rivaled his path.
The Diamond Path wound through the mountain in a polished tunnel, and the further we went, the cooler it got. The glittering gems had to compete with the sparkle of ice crystals by the time we reached the other side of the passage. Then we stepped out into a Winter Wonderland. I turned up my internal heat—thanks, again, to my dragon—and Azrael edged closer. Even Lucifer dropped back to walk beside us and enjoy the warmth I radiated.
“This is amazing,” I said to Luke. “I knew that it was cold in Hell, but I didn't realize there was an area like this.”
The diamonds had ended at the edge of the mountain. I glanced back and saw the rock face surging upward into the cloudless, burnt sky of Hell; the grayish-blue stone turning green in the red light. It was the only green in sight. Here, in this valley, Hell was covered in snow. And that was a blessing.
Hell's landscape was composed of human bones, sinews, and blood. The sandy earth was soaked with blood; which I'd only recently discovered was from a constantly erupting blood volcano. The trees, hills, rocks, and other geographical formations were complicated arrangements of bones, and the paths through Hell were paved with crushed bone—to protect your shoes from getting bloodstained.
Above us, the sky was its usual color; a dried-blood red. Not only did this tint the mountainside, but it also washed the pure snow with blushing color. Normally, I'd find that creepy, but with all the other stuff covered up, the tone seemed more pastel than bloody, and the brightness of the snow made up for the dim sunlight of Hell. It felt more fantastical than frightening.
“Yes; I prefer to come in this way,” Luke said. “It brings me peace, and I needed some of that today.”
“The house is just over the rise.” Azrael pointed ahead; where the path rose up a hill.
I looked up and noticed the bats. Flock of bats? Herd of bats? What do you call a whole lot of bats? Disturbing?
Satan's mansion had a dramatic Gothic look that wouldn't have been complete without bats hanging from the eaves. Tonight, however, the bats were restless and were flying above the heads of the gargoyles on roof duty. As we crested the rise and the winter landscape melted into the normal sands of Hell, I got a good view of the stony demons glowering at the circling bats. It seemed as if everyone was feeling Luke's anxiety.
Especially his wife.
Every light in Casa de Diablo was on; shining through the mullioned windows and the intricate panels of stained glass (biblical scenes) to cast colored swaths over the ground. The religious art didn't lessen the terrifying feel of the place. In fact, it amped it up. The stained glass depicted violent tableaus of demons attacking angels and humans.
The house itself was a rambling three stories with a turret at either end. It was done in shades of black and gray with iron accents, an oriel window, more cornices than any building had a right to, and steeple roofs; all of them with edges and points that seemed sharp enough to kill. In short, even Wednesday Adams would have given the house a wide berth.
But once you got past the hellish exterior, the Devil's home was warm and inviting. We strode into a bright interior that had been redecorated and rearranged more times than I could count. With territory magic, a god could change anything—even the layout of his home—in the blink of an eye, and Luke had literally wrote the book on territory magic. But every incarnation of his home had been stunning, welcoming, and comfortable. This latest one was no exception.
Satan loved to decorate for the seasons. So, currently, his living room was adorned with fall colors seen in throw pillows, drapes, and garlands of leaves strewn over the mantle. Among the leaves were miniature pumpkins and candles. The mirror over the mantle was gilded and hung with more autumn foliage and on the coffee table, there was a collection of ceramic pumpkins with words like “blessed” and “thankful” painted on them. No; the irony wasn't lost on me.
But I didn't have time to appreciate more than the décor in the living room because Holly—aka the Holy Spirit and Luke's wife—came rushing down the staircase before the grand entrance like Scarlett O'Hara fleeing the Yankees.
“Oh, Azrael!” Holly wailed as she launched herself into her son's arms. “Do you know what to do? I told your father that you would and that if you didn't, Vervain would.” She glanced over at me to say, “Thank you for coming, Vervain.”
“Of course,” I said as she transferred herself from Azrael to me. “We'll figure this out, Hol—” I saw Luke's wide-eyed look and amended it to, “Mom.”
“I'm so relieved to have you two here.” Holly sighed as she untangled herself from me.
It was hard to hug Holly; she looked fragile. It always felt as if I might break her. Her skin was so pale and translucent that I could see her veins through it in places; vampires had nothing on the Holy Spirit. Then there were her blue eyes that were so light they were practically colorless, and her platinum blonde hair that fell in a straight veil down her back. She looked as if one stiff breeze could knock her over.
Standing beside h
er husband, Holly looked even more delicate. Their eyes were close in color, although Luke's were more diamond than arctic and were trimmed in thick, black lashes. But the rest of Lucifer Morningstar was vivid. He was nearly identical to Azrael; with ebony hair that fell in loose curls to the nape of his neck and a face that should be carved on a statue if it wasn't already. But the Devil's feathered wings were the same sparkling diamond as his eyes while Azrael's matched his ebony hair. Normally, I'd say that Az had a more reserved presence; the weight of the world had once lain across his shoulders. But then Azrael had retired and most of that weight had flown away. It seemed to have found a perch on his father, and, for the moment, Lucifer looked to be the more melancholy of the two.
“They want to conduct an investigation before they speak to the God Squad,” Luke told Holly. “I'm going to take them down to the Repository.”
“Oh, be careful,” Holly said worriedly.
“It's just a room, Mom,” Azrael said before he kissed her cheek. “And we aren't demons.”
“Yes, of course.” Holly wrung her hands.
“Could you make us some tea, sweetheart?” Luke asked his wife gently.
“Tea?” Holly blinked. “Yes! I can do that. Tea needs hot water and tea leaves and sugar and cream and maybe lemons. Yes; lemons!”
Holly rushed off toward the kitchen; armed with a purpose.
“She's taking it even worse than I am,” Luke said unnecessarily.
Azrael and I only nodded as we followed Luke past the dining room and down a spiral staircase to the basement. We came to a door at the bottom with a hand-painted sign above it that read; The Repository. The Devil opened the heavy, iron-hinged door for us, and we went into a room that was reminiscent of an opium den.
Not that I've ever been in an opium den, and those I'd seen depicted on television were far more skanky and debauched than this one, but it still felt like the right word for it. An opium den in a Victorian home might look this way; with oak paneling on the walls and swaths of blue-toned fabric draped across the ceiling. Two rows of beds ran the length of the room; one to either side. They were twin beds but on the large side; just big enough for a demon to lay on. But that's all that was needed; it wasn't as if they'd be tossing and turning a lot. Still, each bed was made with fluffy pillows and down comforters. Satan wanted his demons to be comfortable.
After Luke told us which beds had been used by Mark and Alan, Azrael and I inspected every piece of furniture in the room—from beds to lamps—paying special attention to those used by the deceased demons. I searched with my dragon senses; sight and smell. There was nothing out of the ordinary; not that we'd been expecting anything. But we had to look.
“Where's the Possession Log?” Azrael asked his father.
“Right where it always is,” Lucifer said with a wave of his hand toward a little alcove next to the doorway.
A pedestal stood within the niche and on it was a massive, leather-bound book. The book was shut; showing off the fancy silver lettering embossed on its cover. “The Book of Possession” stood out brightly against the black leather binding. Azrael went to the ancient-looking ledger and flipped it open. The thing had to be over two feet thick and a foot and a half long, and when Azrael opened it, I noticed tiny writing scrawled across the pages.
“Every demon must sign in before a possession,” Azrael said to me as I stepped up beside him. “This will tell us who Alan and Mark were possessing at the time of their deaths.”
Azrael quickly found the last entries because they were on the last page in the book. I frowned at that and turned toward Luke with a question in my eyes.
“The book adds pages as they're needed,” Luke explained.
Of course, it did.
“Here they are,” Azrael tapped the page. “Alan possessed a woman named Felisa Bianchi in San Casciano, Val di Pesa, Italy.” He looked up at me expectantly. “Are you going to make a note of this?”
“Oh!” I pulled out my cell phone and opened the note app. “Felisa Bianchi in San Francisco, California. Got it.”
Azrael made a face at me while Luke chuckled.
“San Casciano, Val di Pesa, Italy,” Az repeated. Then he spelled it for me.
I stuck my tongue out at him while I typed it.
“And Mark was with a Mr. Donato Botello in La Moraleja, Spain.”
“Donatello Turtle in La Marjoram, Spain,” I said slowly as I typed. Then I looked up at Azrael's pained expression and repeated, “Donato Botello, La Moraleja, Spain. Got it.”
“I married a woman who never stops cracking jokes,” Az said to his father. “No matter what the situation.”
“Be thankful for that, Son,” Luke said grimly. “A woman who can make you smile through your tears is a rare gem indeed.”
Azrael smiled softly at me and said, “Indeed, she is.”
Chapter Three
When Luke, Azrael, and I returned to Pride Palace, we found the dining hall alive with animated conversations between the God Squad and some of my Intare. My lions were ready for a fight—as usual—but I hadn't been there to direct their angry energy so they were demanding information from Odin while he tried to calm them down. Luke's demons had fought with the Intare before; as in side-by-side, not against. Once you go to battle with the Pride—especially on behalf of the Pride or me—you become family, and we take care of our family. The Intare wanted justice for Alan and Mark nearly as much as Lucifer did.
“Wow,” Lucifer breathed out the word softly, but he somehow managed to be heard over the cacophony.
The room quieted, and everyone turned to look at him.
“I am overwhelmed,” Luke said as he walked forward. “I did not expect such fury and passion expelled on behalf of my people. Thank you; thank you all for caring about my friends so very much.”
“They've been there for us and our Tima,” Fallon declared; his hazel eyes bright with conviction. “We won't let them down now that they need help.”
“We're extended family,” Aidan added. “Our heart is married to their prince. I think that makes us siblings or cousins or something.”
“Then why do you keep chasing after Gello?” I asked Aidan as I stepped up beside Luke.
“Haven't you ever heard of kissing cousins?” Aidan smirked at me.
“You're right,” Azrael said to the Intare. “We are family, and I'm proud to be able to call such fiercely loyal men my brothers.”
The Intare in the room roared—literally—in approval. A few good words could motivate my lions like nothing else; except maybe barbecue. They really loved barbecue.
“That's fantastic,” Thor said in a tone normally employed by Horus. “But before we release the weapon that is your fierce brothers, we need to find out who to point them at.”
“Did you discover anything useful?” Odin asked with a little more tact than his son.
“We did,” Azrael said. “We have the names and locations of the people Alan and Mark were possessing. I think that's the best place to start.”
“So, where are we going?” Finn asked with a little more Irish lilt than usual; he must have been spending time with his siblings.
“One is in Tuscany; just outside Florence,” I said.
“Tuscany?” Eztli asked with a surprised look at her husband.
Blue shrugged noncommittally. Eztli had once been our enemy, and we'd fought her and her allies at a Tuscan villa. She'd gotten over her craving for the blood of my children when she became the Goddess of the Blood Moon, and now we were cool. Mostly. I glanced at Blue and then quickly away before I blushed.
Eztli would not be so cool if she found out how intimate Blue and I had been recently. We hadn't meant to betray anyone; our romance had happened in one of the alternate timelines that Aion had forced us into. Unfortunately, the memory of those timelines—all three of them—had returned with us. Some of us remembered more than others; as was the case with Odin's memory of our unborn child. Both Blue and I had remembered our affair from the mom
ent we returned to the correct timeline, and more memories were surfacing every day... memories that left me a little breathless and flushed.
I glanced at Blue again and caught his knowing smile. He'd asked me to keep our intimacy a secret, and I had agreed. Confessing would hurt the people we loved—and our relationships with them—over something we'd done when we'd thought we were free to do so and could never take back. Blue had loved Eztli once and lost her. It had taken him years to find her again and a lot of trouble to win her back. Their love was epic; I could see it in the way they looked at each other. I didn't want to harm that happiness, and neither Blue nor I wanted anything more than friendship from each other now. But that didn't stop the memories from making me blush. Blue was an... aggressive lover, and the things we'd done together were not easily forgotten. It was hard for me to look at him and not see him in ways that I shouldn't.
“It's a coincidence,” Blue said to Eztli.
“Yes; of course it is,” she agreed. “But if we need to stay in Tuscany awhile, I'll have a place for us.”
“That could be helpful,” Trevor said as he held a chair out for me. “Thank you, Eztli.”
“My pleasure.” She nodded regally.
I gave my werewolf prince a kiss on the cheek before I took my seat. Kirill was already seated in the chair to my right; looking as if he'd been the only quiet lion in the room. He took my hand and lifted it to his lips for a quick kiss; his deep cerulean eyes focused on me adoringly. It was a look I attributed to the old Kirill; the broken lion who I'd saved from insanity and death. Nowadays, my Russian lion was much stronger and even had moments of acting the alpha. But that look reminded me that broken or whole, Kirill was the same honorable, kind, and loving man that I had fallen in love with.
“Do I have to dominate you to make you forget him?” Re whispered in my ear as he slid into the seat on my left; stealing it from Trevor.
Trevor rolled his eyes and took the seat one down from the Sun God as I dealt with my fiance.
“I don't know what you mean,” I said evasively.
