by Kelly Oram
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe my father was honestly willing to give up so much power. Everything he’d done wrong in my life was so that he could use Dani and me for our power. And sacrifice the Devereaux family line, just so that I could have a relationship with Dani? Even I wasn’t sure I could do that. But he was telling me the truth. I knew he was. I could feel it. He really would give up everything he wanted just to make me happy. My throat started to close up, and I found myself fighting my emotions.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Dad said, after watching me struggle to keep my composure. “We have to find the artifact first.”
He had a point. I had time to figure out what I wanted. I didn’t know what I would decide, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least find the artifact so that I could really have the choice. “How do we find it?”
“You’re going to have to have an open mind about this.”
“Not really inspiring my confidence, Dad.”
Dad sighed. “It’s extreme, but if we’re successful, then you may just find the answers to what’s going on with you as well.”
My face turned hard. I’d do anything to figure out what’s going on with me. Those were answers I absolutely had to have if I wanted to keep everyone I cared about safe. My voice was like steel when I said, “What do we have to do?”
Dad tried to smile, but his mood was too somber to accomplish it. “It’s time for you to meet someone.”
I was tempted to eat all the food my dad brought home for dinner while he attempted to coax Clara out of the bathroom. I told him he should let the wench sulk. He lectured me on the proper way to treat women and told me how disappointed in me he was. It was a real bonding moment. At the very least, I was going to eat all the dessert before either of them could have any. Hey, snooze you lose, you know?
Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance to spitefully binge-eat everyone’s dinner, because my father, charming word-for-a-son-of-an-unwed-woman that he is, didn’t take more than five minutes to get Clara to come out. She was even smiling at him—smiling—as they came into the kitchen. Dad had his arm around her all fatherly, and they smirked when they saw me, as if they were sharing some private inside joke. I wanted to punch them both in the face.
Clara dropped into a chair at the table and let my dad put a big plate of food in front of her. Other than an icy glare when she first sat down, she completely ignored my presence. She hadn’t left, but at least she seemed determined not to speak to me. I considered that an improvement.
Dad didn’t sit down with us. He went straight to work, moving around the furniture in the living room. After the room was as clear as possible, he took a can of paint and started spraying a large circle on the carpet.
“What are you doing?”
Dad met my eyes with a determined gaze. “I told you I want you to meet someone. You want answers about who and what you are. I know who has them.”
“Meet who?” I asked warily. Clara didn’t trust the tone in his voice, either, because she was watching him with suspicion, too.
He shrugged and continued to graffiti the carpet. “Beelzebub.”
I choked on the food in my mouth, and Clara ever so gracefully spit a mouthful of soda out in front of her.
“Excuse me?” No freaking way could he mean what I thought he meant. Except, he did. I took a closer look at what my father was busy doing. His graffiti circle on the carpet suddenly looked an awful lot like a devil’s trap. “Dad. Tell me you are not about to summon the freaking devil.”
Dad laughed at the expression on my face and then put the coffee table in the center of the circle. He draped it with a black cloth and set it up as an altar for a summoning ritual. “I’m not,” he said, gesturing for me to get out the knife I had hidden beneath my shirt. “You are.”
“No freaking way!”
Dad stopped setting up his altar and leveled me with a serious look. “You want answers. He’s the only one who can give them to you.”
“Yeah, but Dad, summoning Beelzebub? Like he’s just going to show up in our living room and sit down for a chat? No way.”
“Yeah, Alex, that’s too dangerous. No one should mess around with that kind of evil.”
Dad sighed. “He’s not evil.”
“How would you know?” I asked. When Dad didn’t reply, I figured it out. “You’ve met him before. When he marked me?” My anger flared in me as I detected the foul stench of another deep, dark secret. “What did you do?”
Dad didn’t falter. “It’s best if he explains it.”
I gritted my teeth. “And if we bring him here, what’s to stop him from taking off? Michael banished him to the underworld for a reason. I won’t be responsible for unleashing Satan on the world.”
Dad stomped proudly on the edge of the spray-painted circle. “He won’t be able to go anywhere. Trust me.”
I scoffed automatically, and Dad frowned. “Sorry,” I said. “The words ‘trust me’ just sound funny coming out of your mouth.”
Dad ignored the jab and looked at me curiously. “Before we do this, why don’t you see if you could leave this circle?”
I was startled by the question. I eyed the devil’s trap with a new sense of trepidation. What would it mean if I couldn’t escape it?
“Come on, Russ. It may answer something about how far your connection to Beelzebub goes.”
Grimacing, I stood up from the table. The house suddenly felt way too small. I half believed that harmless spray paint would melt my skin off if I got too close. “I’m not so sure I want to know that answer.”
“What answers are you looking for, if not that?” Clara asked quietly.
I glared at her, but her eyes were focused on the circle of paint. Unfortunately, she was right. I had to know. After one more internal debate—one I lost—I pinched my eyes shut and stepped forward into the middle of the room. There was no change at all. “I didn’t feel anything.”
“You wouldn’t, even if you were a demon. Try to step out of it.”
The circle suddenly felt like my own personal jail. I couldn’t be a demon. My best friend was the son of Michael. I was being trained by the angels to hunt down and rid the Earth of demons. I didn’t want to become my own worst enemy.
Sending a quick prayer to the Creator that this trap wouldn’t hold me, I pushed my foot toward the circle…and slammed against it, unable to step over. Panic flared in my gut as I reached out my hand. It was as if out of that thin, black ring of paint shot a solid, invisible wall. I couldn’t feel anything besides the air in the room, but my hand couldn’t push past it. I was stuck.
It takes a lot to really scare me. I think this moment qualified as a lot, because I was seriously freaked. “Dad? What the hell is this?” I tried to sound angry so that he wouldn’t see my fear.
Clara had abandoned her dinner and stood at the edge of the circle, staring wide-eyed at me. “What does it mean?” she asked. “Is he really part demon?”
Dad seemed impressed by the fact that I was stuck in his dumb trap, and shook his head in awe. “I don’t know.”
I wondered if he was really telling the truth, because he didn’t looked freaked out or even surprised by the fact that I was susceptible to devil’s traps and demon wards. “Do you want to find out?” he asked me. “The only thing we need now is a little bit of your blood.”
“What,” I said dryly, “no newborn baby this time?”
Dad cringed, as if he were sickened by the thought. “I’m really glad you and Dani stopped that from happening,” he said quietly. “I was desperate, but looking back…” His voice trailed off, and he shuddered.
I shook off the thought, needing to stay focused. “So, why my blood?”
“Normally, it would take a devastating sacrifice to call on Beelzebub. I’m not sure even a newborn, or pure blood like Dani’s, would do it. It has to be personal in nature. But because you’re marked, you are personally connected to the Dark Angel. Your blood will work as a key to pull
him through the veil between the two worlds.”
“Fantastic. Ethan can call the angel Michael at will, and me? I can call the devil.”
When Clara smirked and Dad said, “What was that?” I realized I’d muttered that last bit out loud, and quickly shook my head. “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s just get this over with.”
I waited for Clara to jump in as the voice of reason and try to stop this asinine plan from happening, but she was either too curious or too scared to speak up. She moved away from the circle and sat on the couch, face growing paler by the second, as my dad begin chanting.
There was quite a process to the summoning ritual. Dad placed five candles around the outside edge of the circle on the floor at the five points of the star drawn in the middle of the devil’s trap. He lit them one at a time—all with their own incantations. Each chant seemed to be a special poem honoring the Dark Angel in different ways.
With each incantation and lighting of the candles, the energy in the room rose. I could feel power gathering around us until the walls of the house shook and a torrent of wind rocked the whole room. As the energy intensified, the medallion Rachel had given me began to hum beneath my shirt, as if it could feel its master getting closer. It was seriously creepy. I nearly took the thing off, but before I could, my father lit the last candle and then came to me holding up a chalice.
I knew what he wanted. The only thing left was to spill some of my blood. I still wasn’t sure about this insane plan, but I didn’t see any other option for getting the answers I needed, so I held my hand over the cup and placed my blade against my palm.
My father stopped me before I could slice my hand and moved my knife over my wrist. “It will take a fair amount of blood,” he shouted over the noise of the roaring wind.
I have to admit I was shocked. Exactly how much of my blood would this ritual need? Was it possible it would require all of my blood? We were talking about the father of demons, after all.
“Mr. Devereaux!” Clara shouted. “What are you doing? You’re going to kill him!”
“He’ll be fine, Clara. Trust me.”
Clara didn’t look like she believed that any more than I did. Dad said it would take a horribly gruesome sacrifice to raise Beelzebub. Perhaps a man killing his only cherished son might be what it took. For a brief moment, the thought crossed my mind that my father might be doing some sick reenactment of the old Bible story about Abraham and Isaac. I knew Dad loved me, but was he desperate enough and crazy enough to sacrifice me? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to know what that said about my relationship with my dad.
“Don’t worry. As soon as he’s here, I’ll heal you.”
I don’t know if Dad sensed the true depth of my doubt in him, but at my hesitation, he placed a hand on my shoulder and met my eyes. “You’ll be fine. You are one of his own. He’s probably been waiting for you to call on him.”
Yeah, because that made me feel so much better about all of this.
“Everything will be okay, Russ. I promise.”
I seriously doubted that. This had to be the stupidest thing I’d ever done—and believe me, I’d done some idiotic things in my days—but I took a deep breath and dragged the blade across my wrist before I could talk myself out of it.
I held my wrist over the chalice my dad held, not wanting to let a single drop miss—no need to waste such a valuable resource.
Blood began to pool in the bottom of the cup. It was so much darker in real life than it was depicted on TV. After a moment, my dad started muttering a spell. I thought it was a healing spell, but then my blood started flowing more freely until I quickly became weak. I tried to pull back, but my father held my wrist over the almost-full chalice. “It’s all right, Russ,” he promised, and then helped me to the floor when my legs began to shake.
A bunch of black spots clouded my vision, and I knew I’d been right. My father was actually sacrificing me. I couldn’t even be mad at him because I’d been the moron who’d let him do it, even though I didn’t trust him. This B.S. was all my fault. Hopefully the truth of my death would reach public ears somehow, because I deserved a Darwin Award for my stupidity.
My whole body felt numb, and I was so tired. At least it doesn’t hurt, I thought as my face hit the carpet. There was nothing left to do but close my eyes and wait for death to finish me off.
. . . . .
I was sure I hadn’t made it to Hell. Not unless the devil and my father use the same interior decorator. Then again, Clara was still here, so who really knew? She was sitting on the couch with her knees tucked up under her chin, looking as if she might be sick at any moment. It made me not want to know what had happened while I was passed out.
After the fog in my head cleared, I realized that I had all of my energy back. I felt as good as new. I sat up and looked at my wrist; not even a scar.
My attention turned toward the stranger standing before me. I knew immediately that it was Beelzebub. He wasn’t anything like I’d imagined. No red skin, no horns or pointy tail. No pitchfork, either. The dude actually looked like a GQ model.
My first thought was of Michael. I could totally see the family resemblance between the two brothers, and even a little of Ethan, but they weren’t exactly the same. Michael and Ethan were all golden-pretty-boy, whereas Beelzebub was dark and sharp. His dark hair was perfectly combed, and his dark eyes were almost mesmerizing. Not that I’m into that, but I can tell a good-looking man when I see one. This guy would have the girls lining up to go to Hell if they knew he was going to be waiting for them there.
He also had the same physical presence as Michael. I was sure he could rock the skirt just as hard as Ethan’s dad—his just would have been black instead of white. He wasn’t wearing a skirt, though. He was wearing really stylish suit pants and shoes that could have been plucked from my father’s outrageous collection.
His chest was bare, and he had wings every bit as incredible as Michael’s spilling out from behind his back. Amazing wings that were so black they had a bluish tint to them. They looked like a beautiful work of art, and yet somehow deadly and sinister at the same time. The guy appeared friendly, but there was no question in my mind he was the most dangerous being I’d ever come into contact with.
He smiled at me then, and I did something totally inappropriate. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I think I was slaphappy from blood loss, because I was feeling something really crazy. It was like…like…like Beelzebub was familiar to me—like I knew him. More than that. It was as if I were a one-handed pirate and he was my freaking hook—like the guy completed me in some way. Even though I’d never realized part of me was missing, I felt truly whole for the first time in my life. The feeling was euphoric.
I got myself under control, but it was difficult to do because I felt fantastic. Then I tried to get mad, and couldn’t do it. I just kept getting these creepy, peaceful vibes. My body—no, my soul—wanted to trust him. Thankfully, I knew enough to fight the feelings. “I don’t care that you are the lord of the underworld. Whatever you’re doing to me, stop it right now, or I will stab you in the freaking heart.”
“Russ!” My father sounded horrified.
The Dark Angel just smiled again. “I’m not doing anything. You are simply feeling the connection between us. I’m afraid I can’t ‘stop it,’ as you request.”
A sick part of me was glad he couldn’t make the feeling go away. “Well, at least lose the smile,” I grumbled. “It’s the same as Michael’s, and the family resemblance is seriously creeping me out.”
Beelzebub’s smile turned wry. “Ah, yes. How is my dear brother?”
I shrugged. “Eight million kinds of awesome.”
My dad gasped and I finally remembered he was there. He was standing about as far from the boundary of the devil’s trap on the floor as he could get while still being in the same room. Apparently, he wasn’t taking any chances. At least, not with his own safety. Mine? I guess that was a different story, since he’d left me unconscious
, locked in a devil’s trap where Beelzebub could do whatever he wanted to me. “You’ve met Michael?” he asked, blinking at me in shock.
Beelzebub laughed loud and hard. “Met him?” he cried, slapping a hand on my back like a proud father. “Your son is a highly favored pet of my brother’s. He’s charmed the bastard into training him to be a warrior.”
Dad couldn’t find words to respond. I’d never seen him so bewildered.
Beelzebub watched my dad flounder and chuckled again. The dude was awfully chipper for a guy who lives in Hell. “Don’t look so surprised, Alexander. You know that charisma is one of my greatest gifts. The boy was bound to inherit more than his fair share of it.”
It was strange to see this man address my dad as if they were lifelong buddies, considering he was the devil and all. Then again, it was my father he was talking to. Maybe they were BFFs.
Dad stared at me, waiting for an explanation, but I wasn’t in the mood to give him one. When the silence stretched on, Beelzebub broke it with a blissful sigh. “It is such beautiful irony. My brother, who has devoted his entire existence to defeating me, has been instrumental in aiding my cause without even knowing it. I couldn’t have done a finer job preparing Russ for his destiny.” His eyes twinkled with laughter. “You must thank Michael for me the next time you see him.”
Like my dad, I had no clue how to respond to this guy. I was also sick of all the small talk. I shrugged out from under the devil’s hand and asked what I’d brought him here to ask. “What do you mean, my destiny? What am I? Am I a demon?”
Beelzebub frowned, as if disappointed that the pleasantries were over. He waved his hand, and a couple of chairs appeared inside our circle prison with a small table between them. Two tumblers each half filled with amber liquid materialized on the table. Beelzebub took a seat in one of the chairs and gestured for me to do the same as he took a sip from one of the glasses. When I didn’t move to join him, he snapped his fingers and I was instantly sitting in the other chair.
