by Nick Freo
Lilah peered over at the bar. “I definitely imagined him more as a White Russian guy.”
“If we take his letter literally, he never said he’d be here,” Cara said. “He just told you to come here.”
“Aren’t there private rooms in these places?” I asked. “Maybe I should talk to the bartender. They always know everything.”
“No.” Lilah grabbed my arm. “Look.”
She pointed toward the back of the table section. The lighting converged on the stripper’s stage, so the farther away the tables were from the stage, the harder they were to see. All I could see were the tables and silhouettes.
“Oh,” Cara murmured.
“What?”
“Look at them,” she said. “The demons. They won’t go near that table.”
I saw it. Strippers and wait staff were milling all around the various tables, giving special attention to every client, but the table farthest to the right in the back didn’t have anyone attending it, though there was a hint of a person there, a hand barely visible as it picked up a martini.
A stripper walked through the tables with a client. They were about to enter the table’s orbit, but they made a wide turn to the left, giving it a wide berth, before returning on their path. A waitress, holding up two plates, took a step that put her within a couple of feet of the table. She took a quick step back when she realized her mistake and circled around all of the tables to set the plates on a table that was five feet from the martini table.
The Dead Man.
I moved toward it. Who knew the harbinger of death would prefer martinis? It was like he thought he was a British Secret Service agent. As I approached, I felt the slight chill of someone with a heavenly alignment. As it got colder, I saw it wasn’t the Dead Man. It wasn’t a man at all.
The woman was wearing a slinky silver dress. At first, I didn’t recognize her. Her hair was such a pale shade of blonde, it was almost white, which threw me off, but as I took in her heart-shaped face, the button nose, and the way she gave off an energy that I wanted to get closer to, even if it would be the last thing I did. The memory of her sketch came back to me.
“Serena Foster,” I stated, stopping in front of her. She smiled at me.
“Charmed,” she said, standing up. She gestured to the chair next to her. “Come. Sit down. There’s always space for Morgan’s son. There’s also space for your friends if that’s what you desire.”
I sat down beside her. Cara sat down to my right. Lilah stood behind the chair directly facing Serena. Serena sat back down, undisturbed by Lilah’s hostile gaze.
“How did you know I was Morgan’s son?” I asked, my brain full of thoughts and questions I couldn’t contain, most of them built on the word why.
“I know who you are because of your father,” she stated. Her silver dress seemed to glitter, though there wasn’t any light to reflect off it. She seemed unreal, like some part of a dream had entered my real life. After seeing so many people be killed in my search for her, it had begun to feel like I’d die before I found her. I had been chasing a ghost, but the ghost was here now.
“We’ve been looking for you this whole time,” I said.
“I know.”
“How did you know my father?”
“He needed my assistance for a project,” she said. I stared at her, expecting her to dissipate, but she stayed remarkably solid. Remarkably real.
“What happened to him?” I asked. “Do you know who killed him?”
Serena finished her martini, setting it carefully back on the table. “We should talk somewhere more quiet.”
She glanced at Lilah and Serena. Her gaze fell to my hand, where the ring remained gray.
“So, it worked,” she murmured. I looked back down at my ring. She knew about it. Or some aspect of it.
“Aren’t demons trying to kill you?” Cara asked. “Why are you here?”
“Demons,” Serena laughed. “Oh, no. If only.”
“But we saw the dead coven,” I said. “At the hotel that you were at.”
“That wasn’t hellfire,” Serena said. Lilah smacked her hand on the table. Cara jumped.
“I fucking told you assholes. It wasn’t demons. It didn’t have the smell of hellfire. But neither of you listened because demons always end up being the scapegoat. There’s a lesson for y’all. Don’t be prejudiced assholes.”
“But if it wasn’t the demons, who was it?” I asked. “Who else would be motivated to kill angel guards and the coven?”
“Follow me,” Serena said, standing up. She sidled past me. Cara, Lilah, and I followed her, Lilah appearing much more relaxed. Serena led us toward the bar but turned before we reached it. She stopped at a small trident on the wall. She grabbed it, pulling open a door.
My blood ran cold as the Dead Man stood on the other side, casting a shadow over us. His eyes darted to each of us, ending on me.
“You brought them?” he asked, his hand barely moving to indicate Lilah and Cara, but we all flinched back. The Dead Man’s lip curled up, exposing yellow teeth. And, for the briefest second, I could have sworn he rolled his undead black eyes.
Before I could think more about it, he lurched forward, his hand swiping straight at me.
Chapter 23
All hell broke loose in the most literal sense.
Cara yanked me out of the way right before I saw my life flash before my eyes. We stumbled backward as Lilah conjured enough hellfire to surround the Dead Man. The fire was enough to catch the attention of everyone in the club. Demons jumped forward to assist Lilah. Liquor bottles and glasses shattered. Stools caught fire. The fire alarm came blaring to life.
I pushed Cara behind me, though I’d already been grazed by some hellfire and could feel a faint pain. I was definitely not immune to it. Cara ignored my attempts to protect her. She ran toward a burning stool and threw it at the Dead Man. It shattered on contact. She jumped over the bar, grabbing liquor bottles and hurling them at the Dead Man. As soon as they shattered against his body, the hellfire swelled, burning the ceiling and spreading farther out.
A demon in a push-up bra and thong standing nearby swung a fist at her. Her eyes focused on Cara like a cat noticing a mouse. I watched the flame grow in her palm before I recognized what she was doing. Cara ducked and leaped back over the bar. The demon began to chase her.
I ran after the demon. As we reached the hot tub, Cara jumped in, diving under the water. The demon clung to the edge of the hot tub, scowling. She must have been waiting for Cara to come back up. I imagined hellfire could make the temperature of the water unbearable, but this demon wasn’t about to waste her time when she could wait for Cara to come up for air.
I wasn’t going to waste my time either.
I dove straight at the demon. I shoved her, and she flipped over the edge of the hot tub. As she splashed down, I jumped in on top of her. I gripped her shoulders, pinning her down under the water. Her feet frantically kicked at me, but the adrenaline concealed any pain. Cara burst back out of the water, gasping for air. She climbed out of the hot tub, running again. As soon as she ducked under a large, circular booth, I let the demon go, running back toward Lilah while forming a ball of hellfire in my hand.
The Dead Man still seemed undisturbed by the hellfire, but as it crashed all around him, destroying the club, it kept him from making any significant movement. We’d need something more, or else we’d all die soon.
A few feet away, I could see Serena, producing some kind of magic in her hands before casting it. It seemed to have the same negligible effect as the hellfire. On my other side, I could see the soaked demon, her eyes searching through the demons and hellfire. Her eyes passed right over me. She must not have seen me when I shoved her or while I held her underwater. She squeezed the water out of her hair before retreating from the crowd. I kept an eye on her as she passed by the circular booth Cara was behind. Cara lunged forward, holding a vodka bottle. She slammed it against the demon’s head, and the demon dropped to t
he floor.
Good enough.
I sidestepped some hellfire, rushing over to Serena. I couldn’t let her escape from this chaos without her telling me the truth.
“Serena, who killed my father?” I asked. She glanced at me, the magic in her hands swaying and convulsing.
“Kyle, I don’t think—”
“I need to know,” I said. “Just give me a name.”
She opened her mouth but stopped as two bodies fell to the ground in front of us. The Dead Man stepped over the bodies. Serena flicked her middle fingers forward. The magic shot straight into the Dead Man’s chest. He took a small step back, but it might as well have been a softball. He stepped forward, swiping his hand toward me. I dodged it. As he tried to reach for me again, several balls of hellfire blazed up his body before vanishing. His eyes narrowed, the black irises charring my thoughts. I tensed my legs, preparing to evade him. In my periphery, I saw Cara seizing more liquor bottles and Lilah trying to shove her way through the crowd. If Cara managed to smash a bottle close to me, I could grab a shard of the glass. I could stab the Dead Man and get some answers from Serena.
The Dead Man turned around, his shoulder blades visible through the thin material of his shirt. I watched Serena, her lips silently forming words as she produced the magic in her hands. She only looked up as his hand came down.
All of the hellfire stopped. The room was silent except for a sensual R&B song that kept crooning about begging for forgiveness. The club felt like we were all stuck in a photograph except for the Dead Man and Serena. His fingertips touched below her left eye. Her body swooped downward like a fallen leaf until she hit the ground, her head bouncing against the hardwood floor.
My eyes fixated on her face. Her eyelids were partially closed, but I could see the top of her irises, focused on nothing. Her whole body was slack. All of that energy that had pulsed around her had vanished. Her death hadn’t been as violent as the angel guard’s, the covens, or my fathers, but the sinking feeling dragged me down. I’d been so certain when I recognized her that everything was going to fall into place, and now she was just another casualty.
The Dead Man turned. He took steps toward me. I knew he was coming, but I couldn’t stop looking at Serena. I saw his hand rise up.
The door burst open. Two men rushed into the club. Everyone, even the Dead Man, turned to look.
Their bodies were glowing with power. The one in front flared with embers, rising like stars around him. He wielded a whip that was either consumed in hellfire or forged out of hellfire. The other man radiated gold light, bright enough that it was almost blinding, as he held a sword that blazed with one long blue flame along with a spiral of whitish-blue flames twirling around it.
As they came closer and I took in their expensive suits, their enraged expressions, and the compatible contrast between them, I recognized Michael and Belial.
They stopped a couple of feet away from the Dead Man and me.
“The undead individual known as the Dead Man,” Belial stated, staring at the Dead Man. “Under the power given to us by the Celestial Court, we demand that you yield.”
“I will not yield to the Celestial Court,” the Dead Man said, his distinct voice making some of the demons wince. He let his hand fall to his side. “I will only yield to the Arbiter. I will place my fate in his hands.”
Michael and Belial looked at me. Everyone in the club followed their gaze. Whispers rumbled over the music, many of them barely audible, but I caught fragments of sentences.
…a new Arbiter?
…Morgan, rumors of being…
…They were all dead, I’d heard…
…Morgan didn’t have a son…
…What the fuck?
Everyone’s eyes felt like a condemnation, except Michael and Belial’s. I would have thought they would be the ones most likely to hate me in this moment—when I had all of the power and they had to go along with what I wanted. But their faces didn’t show any resentment. Only patience.
Because they fully expected me to do what they wanted.
I straightened up, focusing on the Dead Man. “I agree to decide your fate.”
There was a tremor under my feet and a fluctuating flash of colors. I didn’t need to look to know that Mr. Gray had arrived. I kept my eyes on the Dead Man.
“Arbiter,” Belial rumbled. “You must pronounce judgment on the Dead Man. I will personally deliver the punishment on your behalf.”
“My side will also contribute to the punishment,” Michael said. The Dead Man stared at me. His body showed no sign of fear, which conflicted with the fear of the demons surrounding him. Why would he allow me to decide his fate? From our previous encounters, he must have known I was out for blood. He must know that my mindset wouldn’t have changed much since he paralyzed my legs.
But when we first talked, he knew I was the new Arbiter. He knew that I was Morgan’s son. He claimed to know about my father’s murder. He had ensured he was the last living individual who could give me answers.
Belial and Michael’s offer settled into my thoughts. I’d seen Lilah and Cara argue until they were ready to kill each other and only agree when it came to preventing me from going off half-cocked. But the only time I’d seen Belial and Michael agree was when they were talking about how incompetent I was and when they found out I had married my soul to Lilah and Cara. When I had met them, they had been ready to start the apocalypse. I didn’t know what they cared about, but it certainly wasn’t human life. But the Dead Man cared even less about other people’s lives.
I glanced over at Lilah and Cara, who had both crept closer to me. Cara gave me a weak smile. Lilah’s eyes burned into the back of the Dead Man’s head.
“Arbiter, you must decide whether to order the Dead Man’s annihilation now or turn him over to the Celestial Court,” Michael demanded. “Fulfill your role.”
“I am the Arbiter,” I said slowly. “Which means that I am judge, jury, and executioner.”
“Then execute.”
“And I have come to the verdict that I will spare the Dead Man for now—”
Angry hissing filled the club. Feet shuffled against the floor as demons turned to fume to each other.
“—and I will turn him over to the Celestial Court after talking to him in private,” I finished.
“No,” Belial stated, the word coming out of his mouth like a cannon. Michael glanced at him, his face strained.
“As Arbiter, it is your decision,” Michael said, turning back to me. “But that choice is incredibly dangerous. The Dead Man came here to commit murder. He is a serial murderer. There is a strong likelihood that he will try to kill you.”
“He’s right, Kyle.” Cara walked toward me. “I know that you want answers, but it’s too much of a risk.”
I glanced to my left toward Lilah. She was watching me now. She shook her head.
“I agree with Cara now. Both Belial and Michael can deal with the Dead Man. Now that they’re here, it makes more sense to hand him over than try to get information out of him. You saw what happened here. We’ve dealt with him three times, and he’s gotten the best of us every time. I’d rather take the loss than risk you losing your life. Our lives.”
I looked through the crowd until I saw Mr. Gray, sticking out in his monochrome appearance. Cara and Lilah were right. The risk was colossal. But I didn’t come this far to hand the Dead Man over. I could carve his secrets out of him. I could force the name of my father’s murderer out of him. And then I could let him serve his sentence.
“Mr. Gray. Can you transport us back to the mansion?”
He nodded, walking forward. “Of course.”
He grabbed onto my shoulder and touched the elbow of the Dead Man, after a slight hesitation. The floor tilted. I tensed my legs as colors drenched everything around me. Just as quickly, the colors disintegrated, slipping away and revealing the entrance of the mansion. After all of the colors of Mr. Gray’s magic, the mansion appeared duller, but there was a s
ense of comfort in returning to a place I knew well.
I wasn’t surrounded by demons anymore. Just a supernatural serial killer, who could kill anyone with a touch of his hands.
I took a step back as I turned to look at the Dead Man. He must have used his own magic because Serena Foster was in his arms, her limp body hanging over his arms like a blanket. I shifted my gaze to Mr. Gray, thankful for his stoicism for once.
“Kyle Bishop,” the Dead Man said. “I must speak to you alone. Mr. Gray, can you take Serena Foster’s body with you?”
Mr. Gray turned to me. “Mr. Bishop, are you satisfied with what the Dead Man is proposing?”
“I didn’t come here to half-ass anything,” I said. “I’m fine with being left alone with him.”
“As you wish,” he said. The Dead Man carefully placed Serena in Mr. Gray’s arms. Her head awkwardly rolled onto his arm, and her blank eyes stared at me. I mouthed the words I’m sorry, hoping that she had ascended into some afterlife and she knew that I had some regrets.
The floor shook. The colors swooped into the room, swallowing Mr. Gray and Serena like a killer whale before smashing into the floor. The colors and the two of them disappeared.
The Dead Man stared at me. I stared back, ignoring the scurrying attribute of his eyes. Some of the material from his sleeve was missing. It reminded me of his message. It reminded me of what led me to Second Circle, which led to Serena’s murder. I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my focus on getting answers and not on getting revenge.
“You must have a lot of questions,” he said.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Let’s get the first one out of the way.” He opened up his bony hands, looking at them like they were a separate entity from him. He looked back up at me. “I know who killed your father.”
Chapter 24
I know who killed your father.
The sentence contaminated the room. It was all I could breathe in, all the Dead Man could breathe out, and it had infected me so fully that I could feel a fever inside me, heat flooding my face and nausea rolling in my stomach.
