by Lori Adams
“Well, I have just returned from The Council,” Dimitri continues. “We have official word on who they are stalking.”
“Stalking?” I whisper.
“The Demon Knights have a death contract from The Order allowing them to Take an Unforgiven soul. However, The Council must release the soul to them. I’ve just learned they are stalking a soul not yet released.” He is so matter-of-fact that I’m tempted to think this is a ruse, some game they’re playing to teach me to stay on my side of the street. I look around; no one is amused, not even Uriel, who is stoic and clutches a strange, furry marsupial to his chest. Michael has turned pale, and I feel an icy hand of dread clutch my heart.
“Dante was pleading for me to go home with him. He begged me to say I belonged to him so we could go home.”
“He said home?” Katarina shares a look of surprise with the others. “He was begging you?”
I nod, and all eyes cut to Michael. He is stone-faced and rigid.
Gabe starts muttering calculations under his breath, while Raph paces like a wild animal. “I should’ve taken care of this tonight!” he growls. “Should’ve ripped them apart when we had the chance!”
“Sophia,” Katarina says soothingly. “A demon can’t touch your soul unless you are open, meaning you have committed a mortal sin. If you’ve been obedient and have faith, they can’t Take your soul. They can tempt the weak, try to break their spirit and urge them to commit sins. If someone is open to evil work, it comes easily for the demons. But ultimately it’s about free will, the choices humans make. So unless you give them permission, knowing what they are, they cannot Take your soul.”
“Dante said I belonged to him,” I repeat, and Katarina frowns, unsettled by his choice of words. Taking me home and claiming me for his own is obviously not normal diction for a demon. “So Dante was never an angel? He didn’t fall?”
Katarina shakes her head. “Angels are Born of Light, created for specific purposes. They, too, have free will. They, too, disobey and fall from grace. They can descend into darkness and become dark angels—as what happened during the Great Rebellion. They are in a completely different league from regular demons. Their work is catastrophic in proportion: war, famine … they wield great power. They are the counter rivals to our Archangels.” She hesitates and then chooses her words carefully. “Dante was never an angel. He was born human and died human. He was chosen by The Order to join the Knights of the Unforgiven. As a Demon Knight, he is quite powerful, ruthless, and calculating in his efforts. His reputation is that of full destruction, legendary for a demon. He resurfaces only so often. Rumors in the spirit realm say he is searching for—” She stops abruptly and the unspoken words drop like a lead balloon.
Me, he is searching for me.
“How did he die?” I ask quietly.
“Suicide,” she whispers, and I envision Dante’s handsome face etched with pain. I remember his pleading in the pink room. I remember his outpouring of love for me. You know how long I’ve waited for you! I drop my head into my hands.
“It’s just a rumor, Sophia.” Raph tries to help but I hear the pity in his voice.
Michael turns on his dad. “You said The Council has not released the soul. How can The Order issue a death contract?”
“Because they think it’s inevitable.”
“How is that possible? She hasn’t done anything!” Michael yells and the energy in the room swells and vibrates.
“Because the demons are not here for Sophia. They are here for her father.”
*
I love the Gravity Vortex ride at the fair because of the way it liquefies my mind and skews my vision as I spin around. I love the sensation of pulling up anchor to float freely inside myself. I’m experiencing a repeat performance, except now there is an annoying thought boiling in the liquid and my brain refuses to let it solidify. My reality is off kilter.
“What did you say?” I ask, because nobody else is talking.
“Dante’s prey … is your father, Sophia.” Dimitri’s admission is kind and gentle, but still it feels like an ax plunged through the sinews of my heart.
“No, that’s not right. Not my dad.” No one is agreeing with me, so I stumble on, “Is Dante … trying to persuade Dad to do something?”
“It’s already been done,” Dimitri says, and I feel Michael’s arm wrap around my shoulders. He is to hold me together while his father’s edict cleaves me in half. “The Council is aware that your father has committed a grave sin, one so serious they have deliberated it for some time. There are extenuating circumstances, complications, and they don’t have full compliance. The Order must have given the death contract to Dante.”
“And what is my father supposed to have done?”
“Murder,” Dimitri says regretfully, and my heart lurches.
I shake my head. “No! You don’t know Dad. He wouldn’t hurt anyone! He is a pastor!” No freaking way is this going to fit inside my head!
I am ready to unleash a tirade of reasons why they are wrong, but a flourish of spiritual energy rises in the room. Something is happening.
Katarina’s eyes drift into a trance as Raph starts backing out of the room. His eyes are churning. Katarina says, “Mr. Cummings,” and Raph takes off. I hear the front door thrown against the wall, and see a light flash down the hallway.
We stand in stunned silence, but there is more. I follow them onto the front porch. “Mayor Jones,” Katarina and Gabe say together, and then he bounds from the porch, vanishing in a burst of light.
I gasp.
“Sophia, what is it?” Michael demands, but I stare without seeing; I am back at the haunted mansion where we played Hearts of Pain. Two of the three “victims” are now fighting for their lives.
“Miss Minnie,” I whimper, and Michael’s eyes sparkle like diamond chips. Katarina nods, and Michael spins away, racing from the yard. I close my eyes against the blue flash and sway with the weight of reality. Uriel and Dimitri help me to an antique rocker, and I slump, emotionally exhausted.
“Will they make it in time?” I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Miss Minnie.
“It’s too soon to tell,” Katarina answers, her voice heavy and vacant.
I cry quietly, terrified that we have somehow killed the others, that I have killed Miss Minnie. I fist my hands in my lap and notice the lavender dress riddled with holes. Dante’s tears.
Dante. The word stops my blood.
“I need to go home,” I announce abruptly. “I have to see Dad. Can you please take me home?” Dimitri agrees, and we climb into his silver Audi. We ride in silence but it is still too loud. There is so much I want to say but nothing polite. I feel hostile toward Michael’s father, shoot the messenger and all that.
My house is dark but for the porch light. It’s almost three o’clock in the morning, and I hope Dad has been sleeping peacefully for hours. We stop at the curb, and I clutch the door handle.
“Who did he … who is my dad supposed to have murdered?” I almost choke on the words; there is a lump in my throat that I can’t overcome. Dimitri’s pained expression says I’ve asked a forbidden question, so I yank open the door. He grabs my arm.
“Sophia, please remember The Council has not passed judgment yet. Your father has plenty of time. Don’t frighten him unnecessarily. It will be hard but you must be brave, for him.” I nod and try to say thanks but nothing comes out.
I flick on the lights as I move through the house. Over and over my mind works on the question. Who could Dad have killed and why? The kitchen is empty so I move into the foyer. Who do I know who has died recently? Was it recently? Sundance didn’t attack me with slobbery kisses and I find him curled on the couch like a hedgehog. I absently drag my hand over his soft, golden body. He is submissive and trembling; I am suspicious. My eyes shoot to Dad’s bedroom door. It’s closed, and I relax minutely but walk over. I crack it open, peek inside, and then slam it against the wall. Dad isn’t there.
Panic rips thr
ough me as I race around the house bursting through doors and yelling for Dad. Up the stairs and down. Every nook and cranny. Dad isn’t here. Sundance has recovered and barks and scratches to get out. I can’t think with all the racket, so I fumble with the door as he pushes through. I lean against the doorjamb and think. The only person I know who has died is … Mom. A wave of queasiness hits me. I want to cry but fear has turned me cold.
Sundance bolts from the yard and runs across the park like his tail is on fire. He heads straight for the courthouse. My eyes climb up the tall brick building to the third floor. The windows are illuminated, and somehow I know.
I clutch my dress and sprint across the square. Sundance is clawing at the door and I yank him back and slip inside. The grand staircase is shadowed and still with a dopey-looking scarecrow poised at the base holding a sign that reads, And Justice for All!
I race up the stairs until I reach the third floor. I am panting as quietly as panting goes. Light shines down the hallway, and I move into it with all the confidence of a three-legged mouse. One prayer is making rounds in my head. Don’t let him be here. Please, don’t let him be here. I step into the room and there is Dad, slumped in a chair amid the town council’s holiday boxes.
He is wearing pajamas and a T-shirt and his hair is mussed as though he had been plucked from bed. His hands are in his lap and his feet are tucked beneath the chair, submissive like a little boy in a time-out. His left eye is swollen and red, and blood seeps from cuts on his forehead and lips. He is trembling.
When I march in, Dad’s head snaps up. His good eye bulges with fear, and I track the source across the room. Wolfgang is propped on the edge of a table with a leg swinging back and forth. Black from head to boot and slapping a riding whip against his leg, he looks appropriately sinister. I recall what I’ve been told about him but the evidence is there in his eyes. Vacant and lifeless—a man crossbred with evil. How could I not have known?
“Ah, the irrepressible Queen Mab finally arrives to perk up our nightmare.” He exaggerates a sigh. “I got so tired of waiting I sent your do-gooders off on a few errands. I’m impatient, what can I say?” Wolfgang grins, and I am sure somewhere something small and meek just died.
Dad whispers, “Sophia, go home. This doesn’t concern you.” My heart aches at the sight of him, but then turns cold when I hear Wolfgang’s bellowing laughter.
“What are you doing with him?” I make demands on the demon because apparently that’s what you do right before your heart explodes. His arrogance is bringing my courage out of hiding. I march toward Dad and hear a whoosh, and then Wolfgang is standing before me. I have to stop abruptly or risk running into him.
“You have no right to do this,” I say like I know what I’m talking about. “Let him go.”
“You’re awfully bossy for such a small piece of work, you know that?” Wolfgang taps the whip against my shoulder. “Simmer down. You won’t like me unhappy. Your dad doesn’t like me unhappy. Do you, Dad?”
“You’re not allowed to Take him!” I say, and Wolfgang looks mildly impressed.
“Ah, and she surprises me yet again. You’re well informed, for a human. Unfortunately, you are also wrong. You see, Sophia, Daddy has been very naughty.” He circles me and clicks his tongue and then whacks Dad across the face with the whip. Dad howls and doubles over, clutching his face. I want to go to him but Wolfgang positions himself between us.
“Your daddy is open to a world of hurt. He damned his soul and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“That’s not true. The Council hasn’t released his soul.”
“I’ll make him wish they had.” Wolfgang raises his arm and launches Dad across the room. Dad slams into a stack of boxes and drops with a sickening thud. More boxes rain down.
“Dad!” I run to him and push the boxes aside. He is grimacing and grabbing his back.
“Sophia, you have to go home. These monsters will kill you.”
“What?” I help him up and look around. There is Vaughn Raider, in jeans and a T-shirt, leaning against the far wall. His arms and neck are lined with red welts, and he is flicking a blade across his thigh. His jeans are sliced open and soaked with something black. He looks at me with eyes as sad as wounds, and I remember who he is. Affliction.
Dad returns to the chair and I hiss at him, “What are you doing? Let’s go!”
“There is nothing to be done, Sophia. I’ve committed a sin I can’t undo. They have every right to this. The best I can do is not involve you.” Dad’s voice is an empty church on Monday morning. He has succumbed to his sorrows and aged ten years since yesterday. I want to convince him otherwise but there is movement in the corner, and I snap to attention.
Pale green eyes glow in the shadows, and then Dante’s dark silhouette takes shape around them. He walks into the light, looking the same as when I left him an hour ago, handsome and heartbroken. He casually slides his hands into his pockets.
“Ciao, cara mia.”
I flinch at his voice, and his brow twitches with disapproval. Unlike Wolfgang, Dante takes no pleasure in my fear. He looks apologetic, as though resigned to the inevitable. Something occurs to me and I turn to Wolfgang. “This is your doing. Here, tonight, torturing my dad. It’s all you, Wolfgang. Isn’t it?” He flashes a magnanimous smile. “Well, I won’t let you Take him.”
“Yes, I heard you the first time.”
I look back at Dante. “Are you here to help Wolfgang Take my dad?”
“I thought you understood what I am here for, Sophia. I want you and only you.” His voice is soft and full of ancient grief.
Wolfgang scowls and makes a strange, guttural noise against Dante’s admission.
“Then help me stop him!” I yell, pointing at Wolfgang.
“There is nothing I can do, Sophia.” Dante sighs heavily. “When your father killed that boy, he set everything in motion.”
“Boy?” I choke out, and Dad cringes as though he has been struck again. I drop to my knees and clutch his hands. “Dad! Tell me what happened!”
Dad bows his head and sobs. “That boy! I killed that boy who hurt you, Sophie. I hit Steve with my car. I killed him.” He wraps himself around my thin shoulders and cries so desperately I am rendered immobile.
Dad killed Steve? Steve is dead?
He mumbles incoherent details and I catch snippets of his confession. It was intentional. It was vengeful. It was unforgiveable. This explains so much: Dad’s self-inflicted torture, his insomnia, his obsession with Hell and the afterlife. He wasn’t doing research for a book; he was preparing for his future.
I stroke his head and murmur that everything will be all right, while the full implication of what’s happened settles on my conscience. Dad got caught up in a mistake I made. I brought Steve into our lives. Dad insisted Steve was wrong for me, and I ignored him. I was intentionally obstinate because Dad refused to answer my questions about Mom’s death. Dad would never have killed Steve if it weren’t for me.
I did this.
I climb to my feet and face Wolfgang. Ignoring his brimming enthusiasm and sadistic smile, I argue my case like a defense attorney. “There are extenuating circumstances in Dad’s case. You don’t have a right to Take him. You have to wait for The Council to pass judgment.”
“The old man knew exactly what he was doing, and I have a death contract that allows me to Take him. Nothing else matters.” Wolfgang negates my argument, and I don’t know who is right. I don’t know what the extenuating circumstances are. I want Dad to explain but when I look down, his chair is empty—Dad is gone.
I whirl around and find him standing next to Vaughn. Dad is stooped in pain from his beatings and the Demon of Affliction is helping him gingerly climb onto a crate, a Boy Scout walking the elderly across the road. Dad steadies himself on the crate and takes the noose from Vaughn.
“No! Dad! Don’t!” I run to him, but Wolfgang flashes between us. We struggle and he pushes me aside. I throw myself against Dante, crying out,
“Please! Dante! Don’t you have any sympathy for him? It wasn’t his fault!”
“Sympathy is not mine to give,” he says evenly.
“Make them stop!” I beg, clutching his shirt. “It’s too soon! They can’t Take him!”
“Oh, there is always a way,” he says affectionately, as though coaxing Dad into taking his own life is child’s play. And then Dante’s face softens and his hands lovingly caress my hair. “Shhh, now, cara mia. It will be over soon.”
“No! No!” I shake him so hard that hair spills across his forehead. One thought evolves into another, This isn’t right; this isn’t supposed to happen; there has to be a way—and then I understand. “You make bargains, don’t you?” I demand.
This peaks Dante’s interest and his face becomes very still. “You would bargain with me?” He sounds cautiously optimistic.
I look at Dad readying the noose to accommodate his neck. Vaughn tosses the rope over a beam, and Dad pushes his head into the noose.
“Yes!” I snap at Dante. “Just tell me what to do.”
He cups my face and looks hard into my eyes. “You must know exactly what you are asking for, Sophia, or it will not work. You understand?”
In this moment, I understand that life is full of mistakes and debts to be rectified.
Mistakes that bring me to face the debt I didn’t know I owed, and the one who has come to collect it. I never imagined it would be Dante. I never imagined I would beg for it.
His handsome face grins as anticipation plays in his eyes. An unseen clock ticks silently in my heart and I am caught in that tender space between thought and action. I can’t say if my faith is subtracted or multiplied; there is only the certainty of action. I must die for my debt.
I nod in surrender.
One kiss. Is that so bad?
Yes.
I know Dante loves me, and I know it is a kiss—this kiss—he has wanted all along. The kiss that will kill me.
“You must state your bargain,” Dante whispers eagerly.
