Beyond the window, Guatemala City stretches out under the hot midday sun. We've been fleeing for days now. At first we stayed in more remote places, but if we’re going to gather together Leijonskjöld, Madeline, and Räum, we need to be in the city. Thankfully, Andras happens to have a lot of money and a sixth story penthouse stashed away. I’m actually willing to bet he has sixth story penthouses or, you know, converted desecrated churches in every country in the world.
“This is probably the worst idea ever,” I say as I set the phone back into its receiver. “But it’s an idea that doesn’t involve unleashing the armies of hell or wiping out humanity.”
My standards are obviously very low.
Andras paces out of the living room, but he doesn’t grab the phone or incinerate it or anything, so I’m guessing he’s passively okaying the call.
“Seriously, Albert?” I say as I pick up the phone and press redial for the twenty-fifth time.
It rings. Two dial tones in, someone answers. “Hello, you’ve reached Leijonskjöld castle,” says an impatient Russian-accented voice. “State your business because we have more calls in than we can answer.”
“Dina?” I ask, remembering the redheaded Russian cook from the guest house of the castle. “Dina, is that you? It’s Raven.”
The woman I’m pretty sure is Dina doesn’t answer for so long, I think she hung up. “Raven Smith?” she asks on a breath. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I need to talk to—”
The phone clicks, and suddenly another much deeper voice I recognize takes over the line. “Raven?”
“Richard Jones?” I ask, a little taken aback.
“Where are you? Are you safe?” He rushes through the questions.
“Sort of—did Linnie, Nicholas and Cassidy make it back safe?” I ask because more than making plans for survival, that’s what I really want to know first and foremost.
“Yeah, Linnie’s here. Leijonskjöld airlifted her out of Mexico. Nicholas and Cassidy were given a new mission.”
“What mission? Cassidy doesn’t even work for you guys.”
“She’s been given temporary status as a soldier, and the mission is classified,” he says, unsurprisingly.
“Whatever mission they have, Jones, it’s not important. Nothing that mattered a few weeks ago is important anymore. Archangel Michael tried to collect me; the angels are trying to bring about the end of days and the final judgment.”
On the other side of the phone, I hear a loud boom, and then several voices call out, “Jones, are you okay?”
“Fine, fine—I’m fine,” he says into the phone, but I don’t think he’s talking to me. “I just tried to sit and missed the chair, is all. Uh, give me a moment, Raven—wait, give me this number.”
As soon as I read it off to him, the phone disconnects.
“You reached Albert?” Andras asks as he leans into the room, holding on to the thick doorframe.
Even though Andras’ penthouse is in a country that lies between the Tropic of Cancer and the Equator, it’s not whatsoever colorful. It’s decorated so similarly to the house he kept in Italy, I keep thinking they’re the same decorations, only to find they’re slightly different.
Heavy wooden frames surround German Expressionist paintings of grief, war, and loss. Mismatched, bulky furnishings clutter around lush blood red carpets. Everything looks fine, and nothing whatsoever matches.
“I reached Jones,” I say with a sigh. “He’s the top ranking guy in Leijonskjöld after the Tapper brothers.”
Andras’ lips pucker and eyes heat with what I’m pretty sure is anger. “Richard Jones. I’ve heard about his interactions with you in Thailand.”
I glare across the room at Andras. “First, you have no right to be jealous over me ever, demon stalker—”
“I have every right. You’re my wife.”
He word-smacks me upside my head. With all the craziness, I haven’t really been able to process the full implications of the fact that Elena married Andras when she fled to another country. Clearing my throat a couple times, I manage to tell Andras, “And second, Jones hated my guts when we were in Thailand— for a good reason. And I wasn’t too fond of him either, for good reason. The only reason we kissed was because a demon forced us, and both of us felt horrible about it afterward. We have a tentative friendship now, but mostly because he and my sister hit it off and he left before the Leijonskjöld imprisoned us. But I want to stress that I do not owe you an explanation—you freaky over-possessive demon. I’m not your wife anymore, and I don’t owe you anything.”
“You owe me some things, like twenty more days in my company,” he says, but the look of malice visibly diminishes from his eyes. “You promised a lot of things, and you did not say death would end our marriage. You told me your soul would follow me down to purgatory.”
“Stop reminding me. It just makes me want to open up a portal to hell and swallow you again.” Directly after the words come out, I realize the awkwardness of them and turn away, cheeks heating. “Now I need to find a way to contact Madeline and Räum . . . which I’m sure is nearly impossible.”
A knock comes at the door, startling us both.
Andras unsheathes his blade, sending sparks to smoke and singe the dark-wood walls. His face twists with anger. “I would not be surprised if the Leijonskjöld had operatives in the area.”
I hurry to my feet. “If they do, it’s probably Cassidy and Nicholas. Put your sword away.” I articulate the last words slowly.
“No,” he annunciates just as clearly.
“Fine,” I say, and then I rush past him and toward the front door of the penthouse.
He follows right behind me. An orange glow illuminates the hallway. A dozen feet from the door, I slow to a stop.
Looking back at Andras’ enraged expression, I can’t help thinking how absolutely stunning he is. Stephen had become so beautiful to me, but right now I know I’m not really seeing Stephen, but Andras. Something essential changed when Andras took over Stephen’s body, divorcing the two from each other.
Through all my centuries of existence, I saw Andras in his many forms. My husband—it doesn’t matter the body he wears, something essential in me knows him.
“What?” he asks as confusion falls over his features.
“I want to kiss you again,” I whisper.
The look that crosses his face—it’s like I’ve slapped him. He looks shocked, confused and even a little afraid.
My sneakers squeak on the hardwood as I pivot back toward him. I can’t even remember why I’m heading away from Andras.
His full lips part, mouth hanging open in the most mystified expression I’ve ever seen him wear. Absently, he sheathes his blade back into non-existence. “I hear the truth in your words, but still, I don’t believe them.”
“Believe them.” I close the distance, going to stand before him.
He looks so incredibly miserable as if I offered to stab him rather than kiss him.
“I know I shouldn’t want to do it . . .” I raise my hand toward his unscarred cheek. “Even knowing all I know now, I want to hate you so much. I’m trying so hard to keep hating you. One kiss won’t change anything, right?”
When I reach up and touch his cheek, he flinches a little, as if he truly does expect a slap. But when my fingers brush over his skin, his eyes slip closed, and his cheek leans into my touch.
Tentatively, his hands wrap around the back of my waist, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
He stands still as a statue as if he had truly turned to stone.
Going to my tiptoes, I pause with only centimeters separating our lips. “I’ve never wanted anything so dearly as to kiss you right now,” I whisper. “I want to do more than kiss you. I want everything. If the world is going to end, why not live in the time we have left?”
My body thrums in agreement with the words.
“How can this be the truth?” The words sound like they rip out of them. His breaths come shor
t and fast as his hands grip me at the waist. “This can’t be the truth.”
The squeak of a door opening sounds behind me, and an unfamiliar British male voice says, “Well, I suppose it’s all how you look at truth.”
A man I’ve never seen before stands in the doorway. He looks no older than me but wears a tweed jacket and bowtie. His hair, thick mustache, and complexion all have an almost identical tawny shade. Familiar glowing maroon eyes shine out at me through thick-rimmed glasses.
“Räum,” Andras growls as his hands loosen around my waist.
“No,” I say, pulling Andras closer. “Don’t let go of me.”
“Raven. Let. Go.” Andras gently but firmly pulls my arms from around his neck. He then pushes in front of me, blocking Räum from view.
Wanting just a little bit of closeness to Andras, I wrap my arms around him and press my face into his back, running my hands over his lean, muscled chest.
I know we have company, but honestly, I don’t even really care. If I could get Andras alone for a little bit longer, maybe we could finish what we were about to start before we were interrupted.
“Raven, please back away from me so I can relieve this demon of his body.” Andras’ voice is more like a caw than human’s. He grabs my wrists, pulling them slightly away from his chest.
“Kill me, Andras? I only came here to help you,” says Räum in that unfamiliar British sounding accent. “Didn’t you want your wife by any means necessary?”
“I do not want her like this. Stop enthralling her, or I will decapitate you and make you stop.” As Andras speaks, feathers slide out of his neck and hair.
“No need to transform. I’ll stop the thrall,” Räum says, with laughter lacing his voice.
Reality snaps back into my mind like an enormous rubber band.
“Whoa,” I say as I yank my hands away from where I was still trying to feel up Andras’ chest.
He releases my wrists and steps away from me as his feathers slide back, disappearing into his face and neck.
Red hot anger surges into me, and I storm around Andras and right up to Räum.
I pull back my fist, ready to punch the demon straight in his smug, much-altered face, but that now all too familiar prickling sensation tickles behind my ear and knowledge pops into my head.
Räum knows about my deal with Barbas. Not only does Räum know exactly what I have to do to save Stephen, Barbas told him the plan long ago. Barbas told Räum exactly what I have to do to turn Andras human. He and Barbas each want Earth, and they’re happy to team up to get it and sort out each other later.
Meaning Barbas knew the entire time, and he set this situation all up intentionally. Of course he did.
And now Räum is here to ‘help,’ all right.
Dropping my fist to my side, I glare at Räum’s brand-new face. “Don’t steal my will again. If you do, I’ll send you back to hell—I have a talent for that.”
Taking a dark wood pipe out of his breast pocket, he twirls the stem in his fingers. A sly little smile creeps onto his thin lips. “I have hoped we would get another chance for a conversation, Raven Smith. I’ve always been so curious about you. How have you been enjoying my gift?”
“It’s kept me alive a couple times—but I’m not going to thank you,” I say.
“You don’t need to. That in itself is the only reward I desire. I intend for it to guide you when hope is just out of reach, and perhaps we’ll get what we both desire most. Are you going to invite me in, Andras?” Räum casually lifts his gaze from me to the demon who looms at my back.
“No,” Andras growls.
“But part of the reason I’ve come all this way is to help with your Angel problem. That is what you want, isn’t it?” A sly smile spreads up his face with his words.
“Yeah, but I don’t know why you’re smiling about it. So . . .” I glance back at Andras before turning a questioning look on Räum. “Is this, like, a vampire thing? You can’t cross the threshold without being invited in?”
“No, it’s, like, a demon thing,” he says with a bob of his sandy eyebrows. “I’m not crossing the threshold because if I do, it’s very likely Andras will pull out his mighty sword and slice through my neck.”
I look back at Andras.
“Yes, that is my plan,” he says.
“Seriously?” I gesture at Räum. “He’s our only confirmed ally.”
No wonder the angels are winning here.
The phone ringing in the other room is my ticket to leave these two ass-heads, and I take it. “That will be the Leijonskjöld. Feel free to fight this one out without me here.”
As I turn from them, absolute panic bubbles up through me. Räum’s main mission here—perhaps main mission all along-- is to encourage Andras to fall in love with me. And after watching Andras’ anguish today, I’m not sure how hard of a mission that will be.
The thought of me actually succeeding in my mission makes my insides feel as if they’re ripping in two. Half of me wants it more than anything in the world because it’s the only way I’ll save Stephen. I owe it to Stephen. The other half of me knows if I turn Andras human and kill him, it will obliterate the last lingering bits of humanity I have left in me. Stephen will return, and I’ll be gone.
Sinking into the couch, I pick up the phone and press it into my ear.
“Your number is untraceable. I need your location,” Albert greets me.
“Hey, I’m okay, thanks for asking,” I say as my head falls into my hands.
“We can ensure that you’re okay once we know your location,” he says with less patience than he usually displays—which is pretty much zilch where I’m concerned.
“Guatemala City. We flew in and landed on the roof last night. I haven’t the faintest idea of where I am in the city, but I’ll try to figure it out and call you later.”
“Good,” he says, his accent nice and thick. “What is this you told Jones about the angels?”
He doesn’t say anything at all as I tell him, and I leave nothing out that pertains to the angel problem. Haltingly, I even tell the whole ‘Key to Death and Hades’ issue.
He’s silent for a long time after, only finally saying, “And because of this other deal you so foolishly made with Barbas, you have to stay with Andras or you’ll be dragged to hell.”
“Yep,” I say. Of course Nicholas told Albert everything. “By the way, Nicholas made a really cute bunny—like the cutest little bunny ever.”
“What are you talking about, Raven?” he snaps.
Ah, huh. Obviously, Nicholas left out a few details.
“It doesn’t matter.” Albert continues. “Are you able to give a full report now safely?”
“Not even close,” I say. “But I can tell you that Andras doesn’t think we’ll be able to stay ahead of the Angels for long. Andras is somewhat willing to meet with you guys if you’ll agree not to behead him on sight. The demon Räum is also here, and he intends to help us against the angels.”
“I can’t think that’s good news,” he growls. “I’m sending everyone I have to Guatemala.”
I don’t respond, as I don’t need to be a demon to know what he said was a lie, but I have no doubt in my mind Albert will send an army of his finest. Likely, they’re not too far away already.
“I’ll be in touch when we can secure a safe location to meet, probably within the next seven hours if you can stay by the phone.”
He sounds like he’s about to hang up, so I hasten to say, “Wait, wait, Albert.”
“What?” he asks.
“There’s a price I want for my cooperation or this whole thing is over, okay?”
His voice is little more than a growl. “Raven, this is no time for your antics. I swear, you act more like them every day.”
The bite of his comment only serves to harden my tone as I tell him, “This is a take it or leave it situation, Albert. You guys need to leave Linnie and Richard Jones behind. They’re not going to want it, but those are my terms. I do
n’t see this working out so well for us in Guatemala, and they need to survive.”
“Yeah, okay, Raven,” he says, his voice softening just the littlest bit. “That can be arranged. Jones is second-in-command here anyway, and your sister can either help with the injured or assist Hayvee in training the refugees to fight. They’ll always have a place here, no matter how this ends. Do you want me to tell your sister . . . anything before I leave for Guatemala?”
“No, she already knows. Thank you,” I whisper before I hang up the phone.
Across the penthouse, the door to Andras’ room slams shut. The front door to the penthouse also sits closed and latched. No body parts or obvious blood stains the dark-wood of the hallway, so hopefully, Andras sent Räum away.
Violin music leaks out of the cracks in Andras’ doorframe, filling the penthouse with a slow melody. And as seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, he doesn’t stop playing.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Day Four
Knocking on Andras’ door for probably the hundredth time, I wait for an answer.
Once again, nothing.
Awkward is far too small a word for what I feel as I stand outside Andras’ room, just knocking and knocking. Night fell hours ago, about the time Andras stopped playing the music. Albert and I arranged a rendezvous for late tonight we’re more than likely going to miss at this rate. Andras has to have heard the phone ringing, but he doesn’t come out.
We have so little time, and I have so much to say to him, but he’s throwing the mother of all butt-hurt hissy fits.
“Seriously?” I call through the door.
Nothing.
“Yeah, whatever. I’m coming in, and you better be dressed,” I growl as I finally work up the anger to turn the knob and invade his privacy.
I stop just inside the room, freezing. Andras sits on his bed. His black wings extend out, covering the comforter and almost filling half the room. He sits with his head in his hands, face down, fingers gripping his hair.
He doesn’t even look up.
“Is this all a manipulation, Andras?” I ask him.
His head rises, bright green eyes meeting mine, but he doesn’t respond.
Waltzing into Damnation (The Deception Dance Book 3) Page 24
