by Lori Adams
“And you have no authority to disregard The Order,” Dante countered. “You are not allowed to Take anyone on this trip.”
“I didn’t say I would take her soul, just that I would take care of her. And since when have you been worried about obeying The Order? If they knew all you’ve done so far is plague the pastor with pathetic nightmares, they’d drag you back down today. Probably assign the job to me instead.”
Unfortunately, this was true. If Dante didn’t make a move on the pastor soon, Brutus and The Order might become suspicious. Might hand off the death contract to Wolfgang or Vaughn. Or worse, send up a reaper to finish the job.
“What in hell’s name are you waiting for?” Wolfgang demanded.
Several more playing cards fluttered down and Dante checked on Santiago. He gave the kid about five minutes. “We will do this right,” Dante said. “We will prove to The Order that we have reformed our old ways. I withheld the reason they took so long to agree to the petition. There was a debate … not just about us, but about the pastor. It seems … well, The Council of Guardians has not, specifically, released his soul.”
“What!” Vaughn yelled. “But you have a death contract. That means—”
“That means The Order expects The Council to surrender the soul. Not that they have.”
They fell silent, digesting Dante’s disturbing news. It was another unprecedented twist.
“Why hasn’t The Council released his soul if the pastor’s sin is unforgivable?” Wolfgang asked.
“Extenuating circumstances. So you see, I am working the girl, trying to possess her as another angle on the pastor. I want to weaken his resolve just in case The Council interferes.”
Dante watched Wolfgang closely, hoping he believed the part about Sophia.
“So possess her already,” Wolfgang said.
“I have tried. Her spirit is unwilling. Sometimes she is open and I can see she would be easy to possess but it’s fragmented, like shards of moving glass. There is no willing entry.”
“Sounds like she’s already possessed,” Vaughn said, chuckling.
“I bet I could do it,” Wolfgang charged.
“You will stay away from her,” Dante ordered. “I told you before, I am not losing this chance because you lack self-control!” The last thing Dante needed was Wolfgang interfering and killing Sophia too soon. Her soul would be sent out of his reach, again. No, the plan was to bend her will until she submitted freely of her own choice. But bend it by any means necessary.
“I am doing this my way, Wolf,” Dante said. “However long it takes. So you will stand aside because no one is stopping me. Especially you. Are we clear?”
Dante hoped he hadn’t pushed Impatience too far, hoped Wolfgang wouldn’t become too suspicious and make plans of his own.
Wolfgang grunted his disapproval. “Yeah? Well, you be clear about something then; Impatience will simmer for only so long before things start to burn. You have been warned.” They stared without blinking until Wolfgang backed down. “So that’s why you let an angel strike you without retaliation? ’Cause the Dante I know would have attacked without hesitation. Would have walked away wanting more.”
“I maintained control, Wolf. Something you should look into.”
“It wasn’t right. All because of that girl. Just because she can see into both realms. It don’t make her special; it makes her a freak—”
“They had guardian blades. Do you know the chances of defeating angels armed with holy weapons and remaining on the surface? Huh? Nessuno.”
“Besides,” Vaughn added, “it’s obvious Michael’s in over his head. He’s keeping secrets from his brothers. Michael was purposely provoking us into battle to send us below before we could take our victim. He’s not stupid.”
“All the more reason to strike!” Wolfgang yelled. “Dante, you said Michael has all the signs of turning Grigori. If that’s true, they’ll be after him before you can get revenge.”
“And what better revenge?” Dante reclined and steepled his fingers against his pursed lips. Wolfgang and Vaughn exchanged curious looks. “If Michael is experiencing forbidden human emotions, I would like nothing more than to ensure he experiences the most powerful human emotion. One I’ve endured for centuries—loss. Not only is he going to lose Sophia to me, he is going to lose life on earth as he knows it. He will become an outcast to all who love him.”
“Fallen.” Vaughn put the name to it. “You’re going to make Michael Patronus fall?”
Dante smiled. “And there is your retaliation, Wolf.”
“How?”
“The night we returned from the convenience store, I sent word to the Borderlands. I am requesting an audience with a Grigori. It should not be long before I hear back.”
“Why would you do that?” Vaughn cried incredulously. He was sitting at attention for the first time, shock and bewildered. “You invited a Grigori here? You gave them our exact location? You know they’ll gather a legion and destroy us by morning! What possible reason—”
“To inform them about Michael.”
Wolfgang snorted. “You’re not seriously thinking that you can summon a Grigori and they’ll just drop out of the sky to help you.”
Before Dante could answer, a howl cracked the air and a body slammed into the tea table between them. Cards and wood fluttered up and then down. All three demons peered down at Santiago’s headless body: black skinny jeans and ROCK ’N ROLL OR DEATH T-shirt riddled with playing cards. Within moments, his head thuds to the floor, followed by the rope spiraling down like a dead snake.
“Five-second rule!” Santiago’s head yelled. His body blindly scrambled to its knees, snatched the head, and plopped it back onto his neck. Santiago wiggled it into place, as strips of skin crawled up and around his neck. Regeneration had begun.
“Hold still or it’ll leave a scar,” Vaughn advised, mildly amused.
“I know, I know,” Santiago grumbled. “You told me last time.” His eyes rolled left and right to look at them. “So? Somebody order a Grigori?”
“You should stop eavesdropping, kid. In fact, you should stop dropping altogether.” Vaughn smirked.
“I didn’t eavesdrop. He’s right there.” Santiago pointed and the demons turned toward the massive staircase.
*
Legend said the Grigori existed as tufts of clouds and evaporated in bursts of spontaneous combustion. They wore only shades of gray or white and radiate a temperature of the outer atmosphere.
At first glance, it was a white shadow that looked like a swarm of angry albino bees descending the staircase. Then it elongated and intensified and took a human shape, sharpening around the edges until it solidified into a man. By the time he reached the bottom step, the demons were in the foyer, approaching cautiously. They stopped several yards back as a blast of icy air stirred their hair and clothing. Vaughn and Wolfgang slipped daggers from their ankle sheaths. They bore an aggressive attitude; after all, Grigori had a reputation for being ruthless killers when threatened.
This Grigori manifested to about six-foot-seven with shoulder-length blond hair and two braids in his blond beard. He sported a long, white cloak, silver gauntlets, a silver chain mail over a white tunic, and gray pants. A small, round silver shield rested on his hip, next to a thrusting sword and several daggers. A black Rose Cross sigil with Hebrew symbols was burned into his neck—the mark of the Grigori. If the sigil was not warning enough, his peculiar eyes signified his heritage from the spirit world. Every Grigori had one blue eye and one brown eye, representing the union of Heaven and earth.
The Grigori turned toward the demons with a detached confidence afforded his position. He had no compunction about meeting a pack of demons alone. Gray boots moved soundlessly along the hardwood floor as he surveyed his surroundings.
“Well? Who begged an audience with me?” His breath was icy and emitted a soft vaporous cloud that chilled the room. His eyes fell on the green-eyed demon—the only one unarmed.
&n
bsp; Dante raised his chin defiantly. “I did not beg an audience with you. I requested to speak to any Grigori. Not you, in particular. I don’t even know who you are.” His tone was rich with distaste and arrogance, and the Grigori acknowledged him with a frosty stare. Then all at once, the Grigori smiled brightly and bowed at the waist.
“Then permit me. I am known as Armaros.”
A look of disbelief passed between Vaughn and Wolfgang but Dante remained aloof. “One is just as good as another, I suppose,” he lied, and shoved his hands into his pockets to posture artificial indifference. Actually, he was shocked.
Armaros was one of the original two hundred Grigori. They were rarely seen, prompting rumors that they had died out and their leadership had been replaced by newer Grigori who had fallen under the “spell” of human females. His presence here proved the rumors false.
Armaros was the Grigori who had revealed supernatural enchantments to humans, what they subsequently called magic.
If Dante had known the original Grigori were available, he would have summoned Azazel, the legendary expert in weaponry. After all, it was only fair that Michael have the most lethal outcast hunting him.
Armaros strolled closer, emanating the whisper of a cool cloud. “And you must be the Demon Knight called Dante.” He sized him up with a quick look. Dante shifted uncomfortably at the cold atmospheric change warring with his internal heat. “Might I guess the others?” Armaros continued. “Vaughn Raider and Wolfthang—”
“Wolfgang!” Wolfgang growled.
“Whatever.” Armaros shrugged.
“Do you know about the Guardian Michael Patronus?” Dante said, eager to begin.
Armaros seemed curious of his surroundings and meandered toward the fireplace. His cold white shadow rose over Santiago, who was sitting on the floor and steadily holding his head in place. The ring around his neck was moving like worms burrowing under his skin. His brown eyes flashed with a mix of fear and awe as the giant man passed by.
“You know, if you hold still it won’t leave a scar,” Armaros said casually, and Santiago’s mouth dropped open. The Grigori stopped before the fireplace and the scorching yellow flames instantly died out for the first time since the demons’ arrival. “Tell me about Michael Patronus.” Armaros plucked a card from the mantle and mimicked spinning it across the room as he suspected the demons had done.
“He is turning,” Dante announced boldly.
“And you know this … how?”
“He has acquired the necessary human emotions.”
“Ah, but there are a great many human emotions. Be more specific in your accusation.” He looked at Dante with a master-to-student attitude.
Dante bristled. “Do not play games with me, old man. I have neither the time nor patience. I said Michael is turning. He has developed desire and jealousy toward … a particular human. Are you and your clan going after him or not?”
“You are misinformed, Demon Knight. We, Grigori, do not hunt our brethren.”
“Call it what you will but it is understood that you forcibly recruit angels who have succumbed to human pleasures—to join your clan, grow your brotherhood. Strength in numbers and all that. Maybe you want to repeat the ‘Great Rebellion’ like the Master? I don’t care. Whatever your cause or reasons, just know that Michael Patronus is turning.”
“And your stake in this is …?” Armaros aimed the playing card at the ceiling and flicked his wrist. The card disappeared and reappeared in the middle of Santiago’s forehead.
“Hey!” Santiago’s eyes crossed as he looked up at it.
“My stake in this is my business,” Dante answered.
Armaros chuckled without humor and continued around the room. He seemed intrigued as to how Demon Knights lived among humans. It had been years since he’d returned to earth, not that humans would have known; they couldn’t see him. Only those entities from the spirit realm had that privilege.
“Your stake in this is now my business,” Armaros said. “I would hate to be accused of being in alliance with a demon.” He tucked his hands behind him and strolled into the game room, methodically observing details like a real estate agent. At this late hour, the two flat screens not destroyed by Wolfgang’s temper were blaring obnoxious infomercials. The helicopter and T rex were still circling the coffee table. “Fascinating,” Armaros murmured. He waved a hand over an electric guitar, making it strum softly.
“What do you care about my motives?” Dante asked following at a distance. “You are damned the same as I am. Rejected by all those bearing the Sign of the Archangels.”
The insult brought about the first emotional reaction in Armaros. His benign demeanor dissipated into a stone-cold stare and his irises contracted into pinpricks of ice.
“Do not categorize us as anything but enemies, demon. I am still an angel, Born of Light, and I would just as soon remove your head as look at you.” He nodded toward Santiago in the other room. “And believe me, it would not regenerate as nicely as his.”
“We’re not so different, you and I,” Dante pushed. “We were inflicted with the same ‘disease,’ if you will, and then damned for being consumed by it. Like it or not, Grigori, we are as brethren. You just had a longer fall than I did.”
Armaros stiffened. His eyes iced over and turned white, and a fresh vapor of frigid air permeated the air around him. His spiritual energy had been ignited.
“What the—” Dante stepped back, thinking he had gone too far. Vaughn and Wolfgang flanked his sides with weapons ready.
“He’s calling the legion!” Vaughn yelled. He and Wolfgang nervously scanned the room for intruders.
“A summoning,” Armaros murmured to appease their fears. He was not attacking but sliding into a trance to assess a disturbance in the spirit realm. His brow twitched with uncertainty. “Impossible. Someone is calling for …” He hesitated and then his eyes melted back into their color and he blinked into focus. He had a cockeyed grin as he rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “What has she gotten herself into this time?” he muttered.
“Do we have a deal?” Dante demanded. He had no use for the mundane activities of the Grigori when so much was riding on his own needs. The sooner the Grigori began hunting Michael, the sooner Dante’s path to Sophia was clear. “I tell you where to find Michael Patronus and you take him to the Borderlands.”
“I don’t make deals with demons.”
“Will you hunt him or not?”
“If you want this guardian out of the way, why don’t you take care of him yourself?”
“It is important that I not challenge him now. I cannot afford to be decapitated and sent below just yet.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can’t.” Armaros stepped back and inclined his head, respectively. His image began to crack and break apart like a puzzle. Once again, the smell of ice wafted across the room as if a freezer door had been flung open. “By the way,” he said, his voice crackling like his image. “The Grigori do know about Michael Patronus. And now we know where to find you, too.” His icy laughter shattered his apparition, and millions of tiny white flecks buzzed in a swarm and then abruptly disappeared.
Chapter 29
Michael
Soft lighting illuminated the windows of the three-story Victorian farmhouse. Music thumped low and steady like a healthy heart, compliments of Raph’s personal iPod collection—a modified Mozart remix. Michael stood outside the gate, absorbing the soothing emotions emanating from his family. He knew he would need all their understanding and all his strength to get through this.
A peel of laughter reminded Michael that Saturday night was game night, and it was Milvi’s turn to choose. Undoubtedly poker.
The family had gathered as per their custom on game nights: Uncle Paavo, Aunt Sasha, and Milvi on the far side of the polished mahogany dining table, Dimitri and Katarina at each end, with Raph, Gabe, and Uriel filling out the rest. The chair at Dimitri’s right hand was empty.
They were clutching five cards to their chests
and grinning suspiciously at each other. Milvi covered a smile with her fanned cards, her violet eyes dancing between Raph and Gabe.
“Now, boys.” She giggled. “Just because you can read my emotions doesn’t mean you know what cards I’m holding.” She raised the bet with two blue chips, and her cousins broke up laughing.
Michael hated to wreck their good mood so he worked to dissolve his mixed feelings into a singular emotion. It was nearly impossible; his memories of being with Sophia in the courthouse were too fresh to completely subdue. So he faked a smile and stepped into the room.
“Hey, guys,” he called out cheerfully, but stress wafted over the family like a stiff breeze; eyes shifted and smiles capsized.
For the first time in his life, Michael felt like an outcast. Apprehension hummed around him like a live wire, and he looked for his mother’s caring face.
“Come have a seat.” Katarina lifted her smile but her voice wavered with concern.
Michael approached, carrying such dread that it felt like a heavy mantle across his shoulders. Dimitri offered a wooden smile to put the others at ease but no one could ignore Michael’s whirlwind emotions.
“Son? Something happen tonight?”
Michael gripped the back of his empty chair. One deep breath and then he confessed. “Yes. Tonight, Sophia St. James revealed her suspicions of me … of what she has witnessed over the past several weeks … well, since the day she arrived here. She is very confident that I have an ability to know when someone is in danger. That I can save them.”
“Did you admit it?” Raph’s voice was tight and his hair-trigger temper cocked and ready.
Michael had expected as much. He had convinced his brothers not to tell their parents about the incident at the Grab ’N Go convenience store. About Michael taking first strike against a demon, Dante’s failure to retaliate, and about Sophia’s ability to see into both spirit worlds at the accident with the nurse. For the first time in their lives, the boys were withholding information because Michael was losing his resolve. In return, Michael had agreed not to approach Sophia until they could figure out who or what she was.
