Milo glanced down the street, and in one swift movement, he pulled one of his swords free. He moved towards the door, slipped the tip of his sword between the door and the frame, and pushed down. The was a soft click and the door swung open.
“Whatever you do,” said Lance as he pushed in, “don’t turn on the lights. We don’t want the mortals to call the cops on us. I never want to have to look at the inside of the animal control cages again. I still have nightmares.”
Alexa followed Milo in and then shut the door behind her. She found herself in a small shop of books and collectables, like a bookstore combined with an antique shop. It was gloomy inside, but with her angel sight, she could see well even without any lights. It was like her eyes were equipped with night vision. The air was stale and smelled of dust, mold, and secrets.
The shop had a feeling of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited. The walls were completely covered in books, bound in old black, brown and green leather. A collection of creepy, antique-looking dolls, their clothes worn and faded like their faces, were spaced out evenly between the books as though their watchful eyes were guarding them against thieves. The room was strewn with various possessions: old rickety tables and chairs, vases, pots, paintings, lamp fixtures, tools, door knobs and pulls, and large wooden armoires topped with more disturbing dolls.
“So, what does Holy Fire look like?” asked Alexa. Her eyes scanned the room. Shadows stretched over every nook, crevice, and corner—the perfect spots to hide treasures and secrets. A mess of newspapers were scattered on a small desk at the back of the room.
“We’re looking for the oil. Holy Fire comes from oil the oracles made,” said Lance as he padded towards a shelf with a clown doll and began to sniff it. “Look for a container of sorts that’ll hold the oil, like a bottle. It’ll have a lid and I’m guessing it’ll look old.”
Alexa glanced about the room again. “It’ll take hours to go through all this mess. You’d think oracles were more organized.” But then as she thought of the haphazard piles of papers, documents, and filing cabinets at Orientation, the mess in the shop made complete sense.
“The oil is precious and very rare,” said the dog as he trotted over to the next shelf and lifted the lid of a box with his nose to peer inside. Finding nothing, he moved to the next shelf. “They’ve probably hidden it well to keep it from ending up in the wrong hands. Places where you’d least expect it, I think. But it’s here all right. And we need to find it.”
“Hidden well and in a place where the oracles expected us to find it,” said Alexa, her hand brushing the pocket where she’d kept Mr. Patterson’s letter.
“Exactly. He has faith that you will,” said Lance.
Milo sheathed his sword. “I’ll start looking over here,” he said as he began opening armoires and rummaging inside.
Alexa still had the feeling he was avoiding her. The fact that he had moved all the way to the opposite side of the shop didn’t help. Milo was an angel of few words and Alexa had always thought of him as more of the silent type, but right now his silence cut her like a stab of his swords.
Focusing on the job at hand, Alexa made for the small desk. She moved around it and pulled open the first drawer. After digging through all three drawers, all she found were old bills, pens, a rabbit’s foot and a dozen dice. No oil.
She moved over and squeezed herself between a stack of old vinyl records and a mahogany dresser to inspect the wall shelves behind the desk. Dust fell like snow as she brushed her hands between books, dolls, and old clocks.
After two hours of searching without any success, and the little shop looking a bit like it was hit by a hurricane from the inside, Alexa began to feel as though Lance had been wrong. Maybe the oil wasn’t here. Maybe it never was.
Discouraged and anxious, Alexa fell into a small chair and watched Lance sniffing his way along the shelves like a customs detector dog.
“Can you smell the oil?”
“If I could, I would have found it by now.” Lance sneezed and shook his head. “I’m trying to locate the oracle’s scent. The last things they touched, for example. But I’m not getting anything. It’s like this place has been vacant for quite some time.”
“Maybe it’s not here,” said Milo, as though reading her earlier thoughts. “How many safe houses are there, anyway?” He stood in the center of the room, his face streaked in dust, but it did nothing to hide his handsome features.
“Too many to search before things go bad.” Lance padded over to a rack of vintage clothes. “Keep looking.”
Alexa glanced out the window and saw the street lights flicker on, illumining the streets and the front bay windows in a soft yellow.
“But what if it’s not here,” she said, looking at the dog. “If the oracles haven’t been in this bookstore for a long while, maybe they took the oil someplace else to keep it safe, not wanting to take a chance by leaving it here for demons to take.”
Lance turned around and his yellow eyes glinted in the soft light. “Demons can’t touch the oil. They’ll burn if they do. Only oracles, angels and archangels can handle the Holy Fire. Even if it was designed to trap a celestial being, it’s fatal to demons. The stuff is rare and hasn’t been used in such a long time… I doubt even demons remember it exists.”
“And if we don’t find it,” said Alexa. “Then what? Can’t we try another safe house? You said you knew where they all were.”
“I know what I said,” answered the dog. “Did either of you remember to pack mortal money for public transport? No? I didn’t think so. It’ll take about a month on foot to reach the next safe house—time we don’t have. I know what you’re thinking. I’ve made arrangements for only one covert trip jump back to Horizon. We have to use it wisely. The plan was once we’ve found the Holy Fire, we make the jump to Horizon for the Staff of Heaven. You see, I might be able to sneak back to Horizon without being detected. I am a Scout, after all, and sneaking around is part of my DNA. But the two of you might never make it out. And without an angel prison… You better hope we find it. I don’t want to think about what they’d do to you.”
Alexa leaned forward in her chair. “Surely not Milo. I understand why I’d get in trouble after the whole Lucifer incident. It was my idea to travel to purgatory. But Milo…” she moved her eyes over to the angel and found him staring at her. She swallowed and said, “He didn’t do anything. He tried to stop me from going.”
“The last thing we all saw was him agreeing to follow his father,” said Lance. “And then he disappeared with him. These are troubling times for the Legion. They’ll be on high alert. He’d have to go through vigorous questioning before they’d trust him again.” His yellow eyes found Milo. “No offense, but your father is Lucifer.”
Milo shrugged, but his voice was hard as he said, “None taken.” He walked away, kicking over piles of magazines and rubbish as he went. He still had that look on his face like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Her soul ached for him.
Alexa sighed loudly. “Why does everything always have to be so complicated?”
“Because it just is,” said Lance. “It’s here. Keep looking.”
Alexa glowered at the dog, but she bit her tongue before she opened her mouth to lash out at him for giving orders. This wasn’t Lance’s fault. It was hers.
She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Mr. Patterson intended for her to find it. She had to assume he thought she’d search the oracle safe houses. If the oil was hidden in a particular location, he would have mentioned it in the letter. Which meant the oil was here somewhere… but where?
Alexa scanned the ceiling, the floor, and the walls, her mind whirling with possibilities. If she were an oracle, what would be the perfect spot to hide such an important thing? Where would she keep it? There was no safe that she could find in the shop, and now Lance and Milo were going for another round of searching the same spots over again.
Lance said the oil would most like
ly be in a bottle of some kind, she thought. Bottles break. So, it had to be somewhere safe, somewhere out of reach, somewhere that a delicate bottle wouldn’t accidently fall over, somewhere easily accessible and yet well hidden… the note had been left on the oracle’s desk…
Alexa jumped to her feet.
Milo whirled around at the sound. “What? What is it?”
“I think I know where it is.” Alexa leaped over chairs, antique side tables, and floor lamps as she rushed over to the desk. She pulled the first drawer open and felt inside with her hands.
“I thought you checked it already.” Milo stood next to her, his face half hidden in shadow.
“I did,” she said quickly as she dumped envelopes, pens, and pencils all over the surface of the desk. “But maybe… just maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Lance stood on his hind legs and rested his front paws on the desk. “You’re killing us. Maybe what?”
“Maybe,” she said, trying to keep her excitement out of her voice, “maybe I was too hasty—there’s nothing.” She pushed the right drawer back, feeling the beginnings of disappointment crawl into her mind.
Milo leaned forward. “You’re looking for a hidden compartment.” Their eyes met, and the grin on his face sent heat over her body until she felt like she stood before a fire.
Alexa pulled her eyes away, the corners of her mouth twitching, and moved on to the middle drawer. She yanked it open. After she emptied its contents of rabbit feet, dice, bills, and dried mushrooms folded in a handkerchief, she slid her fingers carefully along the sides, moving them over the bottom and then the top—and her fingertips felt a latch. She pressed it, there was a pop, and the false bottom popped loose.
“Holy Souls,” gasped Lance.
“Clever fledgling,” said Milo.
Excitement pounded through Alexa as she grabbed the false bottom and tossed it onto the desk.
A clay jug lay at the bottom of the drawer.
It was an unimpressive gray, like dried mud, with the archangel sigils carved on the sides and lid. Alexa reached into the drawer and took it out, holding it carefully between her hands. As she turned it over, she recognized all seven of the archangel houses. It was the size of a coffee mug and surprisingly warm, but it throbbed as though the contents were alive. As she held it, she threw out her angel senses and felt the familiar waves of energy that came with any supernatural power in the mortal world. It hummed with power—the power of oracles.
“Careful with that,” said Lance, leaning for a closer look. “You don’t want to drop it. Trust me.”
“Why? What happens if I do?” Alexa hadn’t thought about the effects the oil might have on them. Fear tightened into a ball in her stomach. Should she even be touching it?
“Well, for one thing,” answered the Scout, “it traps celestial beings. We’d be trapped here, in this place, with all these human collectibles, forever.”
“I can think of worse things.” Alexa gave a nervous giggle as she held the jug, her fingers sticky with sweat. And then the three of them laughed, Lance chuckling the hardest. She felt the day’s tension leave her body in hot waves, the storm of emotions unwinding like the loosening of a tight knot.
When Alexa looked away from the jug, she met Milo’s eyes. His smile transfixed her, and she found herself incapable of looking away.
“We have it,” she said. She was afraid the moment she looked away, he’d never look at her again. “We did it. We have the first ingredient—”
“Are you making a cake? I love cakes.”
The front door burst open and Alexa gasped. A girl with protruding black eyes twirled into the small shop like a ballerina.
CHAPTER 10
“IS IT CARROT CAKE? THAT’S MY FAVORITE,” said Willow. Her smiling face was smeared in blood, human blood, as though she had rubbed it in a large open wound. Through the smears of blood, Alexa could see the rotten flesh underneath, blackened and gray and oozing. Her bald head gleamed in the soft light as she sucked on a lollypop.
A tear through her jacket at her left elbow revealed a mess of black stitches that went around her arm as though it had been stitched up in a hurry. Yellow and black liquid oozed from between the stitches.
Willow was quickly followed by four demons dressed in human clothes. Their faces were emaciated and scabbed, just like Willow’s, only they were much worse. Their hands, stripped and skeletal, held long, slender death blades.
Alexa could see that there was nothing left of their mortal suits. Their human guises hung in ribbons where there was still some flesh left on their rotted bodies. She guessed it was only still there because their clothes kept it from falling off.
It was obvious they had reached their fill of mortal souls. Alexa cringed at the thought. How many mortal souls had they devoured? The air stank of sulfur and spoiled meat.
Alexa fixed her glare on Willow, who looked like she was an extra in a zombie movie. “What are you doing here, Willow?” Carefully, she moved her free hand to her belt—and froze. Her fingers brushed the smooth, familiar leather but no cold steel. Her soul blade was still in Vegas.
The girl’s eyes widened along with her grin. “Looking for you, of course.”
Alexa kept her eyes on the girl demon. “Well, you found me.”
“I did.”
A growl sounded in Lance’s throat. He moved around Alexa so that he was facing Willow, his white fur standing up on his back. “So, this is the Willow I’ve heard so much about?” said Lance. “Funny, I expected her to be taller and more… mannish.”
Willow stared at the Scout as though she’d just noticed him and then flashed him a smile. “Good doggy.”
Lance snarled.
“You look terrible, by the way,” said Alexa, sensing Milo’s tension as he stood protectively next to her with his spirit sabers glistening. “Did you pull out all your hair?”
Willow rubbed her bald head, her black talons scraping her scalp, and black blood seeped from small cuts. “You like it?”
Alexa gave an unpleasant laugh. “Not really.”
“It’s much better this way. I never have to worry about styling it or washing it—not that I did in the past that often. anyway. Angels don’t need to bathe, right? But what does it matter now? It doesn’t.” Her black eyes locked on to the jug in Alexa’s hand. “What is that, anyway?”
Alexa slipped the jug inside her jacket pocket and pushed it down as carefully as she could under Willow’s scrutiny, doing her best not to break it in the process. “Nothing that concerns you. I see you got your arm back. Did you stitch it up yourself?”
Willow flexed her arm and wiggled her fingers. “I did. See? As good as new.”
“I beg to differ,” mumbled Lance. “It smells like hell.”
Willow stared at the spot where the jug lay hidden. “What’s in the bottle?”
“Nothing.”
Willow giggled, as though Alexa had said something hilarious. “Oh, but I think it’s not nothing. I think it’s something. Something important, right? Why else are you hiding it from me? And by that scared look on your face, I’d say whatever’s in that bottle is important to you. Legion business, isn’t it? Yes. Legion. Legion. Legion. The start of all the lies, and you fools believe in it. Have you ever stopped to think why you have to slave yourselves to the mortals? Why is it so important? Why does the Legion make you believe that their lives are more important than yours?”
“They don’t.” Alexa’s voice was low. “Our lives are just as important.”
Willow threw back her head and howled. The other demons joined in with wet hacks that sounded more like the screaming of pain than laughter. “You’re so stupid. Do you even know what you’re fighting for? No, I didn’t think so. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”
“Don’t listen to her,” came Milo’s voice. “She’s just trying to throw you off with her lies.”
“Lies?” Willow’s eyebrows rose up towards her bald head. She picked her way forward between a small wooden desk and
typewriter, her black eyes on Alexa. She moved like water, thought Alexa.
“I’m really going to enjoy ripping out your souls,” leered Willow. “I think I’ll start with Thor’s,” she said and waved her fingers at Milo.
Alexa could feel the tension rise again, so thick she could cut it with one of Milo’s swords. The other belphegors had moved in a semicircle around them, blocking the door. Again, Alexa was reminded that she had no weapons. Part of her wanted to kick herself for not keeping one of the Nephilim’s swords.
Alexa looked at Milo and saw hatred, malice, and rage on his beautiful face.
“Where are the rest of your kind?” Alexa took in the four belphegors behind Willow. “I’d imagined there would be more of you by now. This doesn’t seem like much of an army. It doesn’t seem like much of anything.”
Willow arched an eyebrow and smiled. “The angels are waiting for something better. Same as us. Soon everything will change. We will change.”
Alexa had no idea what she was talking about. “Why are you here, Willow?” Alexa said again. “And how did you find us?”
“Actually,” Willow’s eyes settled on Milo, “we were sent to kill this one.”
Milo gave a start, clearly surprised. “Who sent you?”
Willow pulled out her lollypop and waved it in the air like a baton. “Imagine my surprise when you showed up,” she said, looking at Alexa. “I knew there was something more to it. Your being there wasn’t a coincidence. So, I waited. And after you killed all the Nephilim, I followed you. I was curious. I wanted to know why you’d risk showing your face here. Maybe to live out the rest of your angel days in the quiet of this tiny store? I know you can’t go back to Horizon. I heard all about your breakout from Tartarus.”
“I had nothing to do with that.” Alexa felt rage pounding through her.
“Face it,” said the demon girl. “You’re a fugitive. An outlaw. You’re stuck in the mortal world until your angel body kills you. But I can help you with that. I can slice your throat right now and end your pain.”
The Lord of Darkness Page 8
