Samael

by Heather Killough-Walden

On the right were the “stalls,” which were actually individual rooms, complete with their own full-sized doors that left no space above or below. They afforded total privacy.

  Above, chandeliers made of crystal – actual crystal stalactites that dangled from the ceiling – lit the room with a pastel glow that switched at a relaxed and gradual rate through the entirety of the rainbow’s spectrum. Angel stood in one place and took it all in as it went from blue to green to yellow to orange to red to purple and back to blue again.

  Even the bathroom is perfect, she thought.

  She was losing this battle. Sam was getting to her. He’d always gotten to her. But now he was showing her a world she’d only dreamed of. From the “Nautilus” to the play house, there was no end to the dream-come-true sensation. He was giving her everything she’d ever wanted.

  She put her forehead in her hand and thought of the Culmination… whatever it was. And she realized, with strangely ebbing fear, that if Sam kept this up, there’d be no way the Culmination wouldn’t come to pass.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  When she’d finished in the restroom, Angel left the room and headed back out into the hallway. From the sounds of varying conversations and the lack of music or dramatic speaking, she could tell the play still hadn’t begun. So she was right. It wouldn’t start until Sam wanted it to.

  Just how powerful is that man?

  When she reached the end of the hall, she stopped. Someone had approached their table and was speaking with Sam. For some reason, covert inspiration struck Angel, and she hugged the wall, keeping to the shadows as she peeked around the corner to surreptitiously watch. They were speaking very quietly, but when she concentrated, she could more or less make out the conversation….

  The man talking was one of the gargoyles she’d seen earlier. Now that she was really looking at him, he seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him. His hands were clasped politely before him in supplication. “Mr. Lambent, I of course didn’t want to interrupt your dinner with your beautiful date, but I did want to take any opportunity that came along to tell you how grateful I and the others at the foundation are for your extremely generous donation.”

  Angel blinked.

  Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing, Grant. You do good work. It’s my honor to support it.”

  “Grant” wore an ultimate expression of gratefulness. “You’ve always been more than supportive. How can we thank you?”

  “Just keep your word.”

  “Of course,” Grant said, bowing slightly. “Mum as usual.” He smiled and closed his eyes in a sort of “Namaste” farewell, and with one last bow, left the table.

  What the hell? thought Angel. What was that all about? What word was Grant keeping? And why hadn’t she ever heard of Sam donating money to anyone? Ever?

  At that moment, the maître d’ – Charles, his nametag said – came walking down the hall from one of the back rooms. Angel gently touched his arm as he came near. “I’m sorry, Charles was it?”

  Of course he turned his undivided attention to her. “Not at all, Miss Angel. Please, what may I help you with?” He seemed genuinely earnest to see to her needs, whatever they might be.

  “I was just….” She glanced back at the table, where Sam was taking a slow sip of his wine. She bit her lip. “I was just wondering who that young man is right there.” She pointed at the gargoyle who was walking back to his own table.

  “That is Grant Sterling, of the Sterling dynasty. Why do you ask, miss?”

  “Well, I’m embarrassed to say, I….” She thought fast. “I thought I recognized him, but for the life of me, I can’t remember where from, and should we end up speaking with him, I would hate to embarrass myself.”

  Charles took on a look of absolute understanding. “Ah, I see.” He chuckled softly. “Not a problem at all. Mr. Sterling is the founder and president of United Assistance International. Of course, in the mortal world, he goes by the name Allen O’Hara.”

  Oh my gosh, that’s where I’ve seen him! Allen O’Hara kept a very low profile. He didn’t want people to see him, but to see his company, so his messages to the public were always accompanied by images of those they were trying to help or those they had helped. Just like any charity, it was about the victims, not the saviors.

  “He comes here often with potential donors and when he’s not working, he comes with family and friends.” He smiled graciously.

  United Assistance International. Her mind reeled. UAI had been one of the most wide-spread and successful charities helping people and animals world-wide in crises since the early nineteen-seventies. And Sam was a supporter. Apparently, a generous supporter.

  And here, she’d been accusing him of callous apathy toward the disasters his media companies covered.

  She felt dizzy. “Yes, I remember now,” she said uneasily, hoping the smile she plastered to her face would hide her confusion. It felt horrible to lie to such a kind man. “Thank you so much, Charles. I truly appreciate it.”

  “You’re more than welcome, miss. Anything I can do.” He bowed, as everyone here seemed to do, and continued on his way to wherever he’d been going.

  Angel closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and attempted to compose herself. Could all of this be true? Were the rumors about Samuel Lambent’s nastiness just that? Were the articles that told how he exploited people, manipulated people, never got involved in charity work, and was heartless to his employees all actually lies? But why? Why would anyone say such things about the most eligible bachelor in the world?

  Oh my God, she thought, and almost slapped her forehead. Let me count the reasons. From Jealousy to envy to down-right hatred, there were endless possibilities as to why other companies, other businessmen, would make up lies about Sam and his corporations. Rumors were the life blood that fueled everything from the stock market to wars.

  But more importantly, even if this was the case, and the rumors were just concocted revenge by the competition, why on Earth would Sam put up with it? Why didn’t he put a stop to it all?

  She had no idea. But she was willing to bet five bucks that it had something to do with Sam’s cryptic reminder to Grant: “Just keep your word.”

  And Grant’s response: “Mum as usual.”

  Was Sam… asking people to keep quiet about the good things he did? Could he, maybe, just possibly, actually want the world to think he was an asshole? Why in the world would he want that? What could he possibly hope to gain by making everyone think he was that hard, that ruthless, that….

  Oh.

  The tougher a man was, the more difficult he was to beat. The less intelligent it was to cross him. The better it was to leave him alone. And Sam had more than his fair share of enemies.

  Angel shook her head. She breathed. Then breathed again.

  Everything she thought she’d known about Sam was being picked up in a tornado of confusing possibilities, and all the windows of her mind were open. She was going to lose it all. It was all going to go flying away.

  But maybe that’s a good thing, she thought. Just maybe.

  When she thought she had some control over herself again, she opened her eyes, straightened, and stepped out of the hall into the main room of the play house.

  As she approached the table, Sam stood.

  The movement was so fluid, so graceful, it almost stopped Angel in her tracks.

  Oh yeah. The Culmination was definitely going to happen.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Not in two thousand fucking years had this happened. He was having trouble concentrating. Every time she looked at him, he was back in his dreams, back in the depths of that longing that was born in their recesses and grew until it had nearly consumed him. There she was – the woman he’d tracked down and hunted, the one thing he’d sought relentlessly for the last month, and unknowingly for the last two millennia.

  And he could barely think straight to damn well talk to her. The demure drop of her eyelashes against
her cheeks made him want to reach out and lift her chin. The storms in her eyes that he had never cared for in his own gaze, and the slight hint of clean, fresh rain drifting toward him, were a constant draw on his soul. He felt like a child presented with a rain puddle, and all he wanted to do was play in it. Nothing else mattered!

  She’s where angels came from.

  Her hair looked like star dust woven into locks like comet tails. It shimmered with impossible dimension every time she moved. Her skin was so fair, it was nearly translucent. Alien and perfect, she looked like a China doll.

  His mind reeled at her beauty. She was so very obviously not human, despite the loss of her powers. He could understand how she’d felt the need to hide her true self over the years. She was Helen, ready to start a war with nothing more than a wayward glance.

  Sam waited until he was sure she wasn’t looking, then took the opportunity to loosen his tie. It was getting harder for him to breathe.

  The play had just begun, with a slight nod from Sam to the director who waited at the edge of the curtain, when Sam’s senses kicked into overdrive. His ears pricked. His skin began to over-sensitize, his nerve endings sizzling to life. He became hyper-alert, and ultra-wary, and for the first time ever, he was unable to sit back and enjoy one of his favorite scripts, which he’d very much been looking forward to sharing with Angel.

  Something was wrong.

  They can’t find us here, he attempted to reassure himself. He’d rid them both of their powers, effectively cutting off their traceable signatures. He’d greased a lot of capable palms pretty much across the globe in the name of their safety. The two of them were virtually surrounded by an army of bodyguards disguised as something else. And yet, he was in full code red.

  No doubt, the Four Favored and their good for nothing Guardian were scratching their chins over the Adarian business and the fact that they’d become heart-gobbling monsters straight from the abyssal imaginations of Hollywood. But Samael was fully aware of Gregori’s motives. The more the world looked as if it were coming to an end – and what screamed “apocalypse” like zombies? – the more the archangels were going to want to stop it from happening. And if Gregori assured the archangels that the only way for the end of the world to fully come about was for Sam to mate with his archess, then surely, they would join him in attempting to stop it.

  Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew the rumors. Hell, he ate rumors for breakfast. He knew Gregori had approached Azrael in San Francisco and warned him to stop Samael. Yes, Sam had people there too. In the fog. In the wind.

  Sam also knew, now, what had happened to Jason. Gregori had killed the incubi and re-animated him prior to setting him upon Sophie Bryce like some sort of well-trained attack dog.

  And at this point, Sam was up to speed. And everything pointed to Gregori and his general plan to deny Samael the one thing he wanted. All so that the Culmination wouldn’t come about. Because Gregori had a vendetta against the Old Man – and apparently the Old Man was here on Earth.

  Now… that was interesting. Samael’s teeth ground together as he pondered the implications. The possibility that the very same man who’d cast them all down here thousands of years ago had actually resided amongst them all this time was mind boggling. It was also infuriating.

  Gregori was not the only one who had a bone to pick with the Old Man.

  But could it even be true?

  Sam glanced at Angel, taking in her profile, the curve of her chin and neck, and the corner of her beautiful smile. She’d worked her whole existence fighting the evil on the planet. With no help from anyone. And sometimes she failed. Sometimes the evil was too strong, and she went home with a job half-done, and it destroyed her. He knew.

  Oh, he knew.

  Sam had often wondered about the lack of any kind of communication any of them had experienced from the Old Man all this time. He’d never once appeared to any of them. He’d never interfered on any of their behalves, much less the mortals he’d left down here to rot. For all intents and purposes, he may as well not exist.

  But… if he’d been here instead of there, then that would explain a few things. Maybe here on Earth, he was altered somehow? Maybe he was incapable of helping? Maybe… maybe he was even injured! Now there was a thought!

  One to give anyone good dreams. The son of a bitch.

  At once, Sam’s recollection of the Old Man turned to bitterness. There was no avoiding the memories of betrayal. The loyalty he’d shown, the devotion. Only to be replaced at a moment’s notice because he, like Lilith, had thought to speak up about something. And Michael, the perfect, had not. Michael the most favored. Michael the kiss-ass.

  Sam felt his teeth begin to throb, and he realized several things at once. First, he realized that if Michael and his archangel posse did decide to take Sam on to prevent him from being with Angel, Sam would relish the fight. Bring it.

  The second thing he realized was that his teeth would not throb the way they were throbbing if he weren’t suddenly mortal. And that reminder was grounding. Not that he wouldn’t give the Warrior Archangel a run for his money, but in the end, Sam would probably lose. Michael was a paladin archangel with a chip on his shoulder and more power than a little boy knew what to do with.

  Sam was only a man.

  The final thing he realized in that moment was that the air in the play house had grown so heavy, people were beginning to notice it. It wasn’t a humidity kind of thick. It was thick with something else – a foreboding. A darkness.

  Up on the stage, the actor and actress continued expertly with their lines; they were professionals, consummate and wonderful, and that was why he’d chosen them for his play house. However, out in the audience, people were exchanging glances. At the entry way, Charles was speaking with security. Small signs of trouble moved like ripples through the area.

  As he’d surmised earlier, something was indeed wrong.

  He held up his hand – one finger, just slightly. Up on stage, the play stopped at once. Two men approached their table, flanking it and awaiting instructions.

  Angel was at once alarmed.

  Sam stood, rounding the table. When she looked up at him, her brows were raised, and her eyes wide.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Angel, please come with me. We need to leave immediately.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have worn heels! Angel quickly stood up and joined Sam in front of the table. She’d lived long enough and been through enough shit in her time to know better than to look around like an idiot when someone yelled duck. When someone told you to duck, you hit the ground. Shit was about to fly, and Angel could tell.

  She’d noticed the air growing heavy with darkness a few minutes ago, but she’d figured it was just her nerves, or maybe even someone in the audience of the play house. After all, Sam owned it, and there was no telling what kinds of connections he had.

  But the tension in the play house increased, and her instincts kicked in. Something wasn’t right, and from the look on Sam’s face right now, and the way the play house was emptying out, she’d been spot on.

  The patrons managed to maintain a fairly orderly escape, as if they’d been prepared for something like this all along. They hurried quietly, filing out in two separate lines. One headed to the cave opening on the left with the beach, and the other to the right with the dense forest.

  Sam had grabbed Angel’s hand and was leading her down another hallway in the opposite direction, but she managed to glance over her shoulder in time to watch as people stepped through the barriers she’d known had been there, and into the worlds beyond.

  Angel squeaked when she tripped a little in her heels. Then she let out a low curse when Sam immediately stopped, and she went barreling into him. He steadied her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but held up her finger and bent over, ripping the heels off her feet to toss them to the side. Once she was barefoot, she straightened again. “I’
m good.”

  Sam took her elbow again and guided her very quickly through the hallway. One of the men who’d approached their table earlier was in front of them, and the other followed behind. She guessed they were bodyguards of some type; both men were very large, but it was the magic moving through them that stood out to Angel. She wondered how mortals could perpetually miss something like that in a person, because she was mortal at the moment, and she could definitely sense it.

  The hallway was the same one she’d gone down to find the restroom. But it was changing now as they hastened through it. The windows were fogging up as if the humidity in the cave was rising rapidly and drastically. It wasn’t humidity, though; she would have felt that on her skin and seen it in curls around her face. It was magic making them fog.

  The stalactites wrapped in their tiny lights that were so plentiful before were becoming scarce, and the bathroom door was gone. The walls were smoothing out, becoming featureless.

  She and the others seemed to run for full minutes, the cave changing around them. Eventually, it was a man-made hall, square and perfect. Angel was just getting winded when they finally reached the end of the hall. It bore a single door.

  The man in front of them placed his hand on the door knob and signaled for Sam and Angel to step back. Sam pulled Angel back several feet and stood in front of her. The bodyguard whispered words Angel didn’t recognize – a magic spell. The doorknob lit up with spinning runes, and those runes spread out and began to speed through the door as if a spell were literally writing itself across the metal surface.

  But the runes grew redder and redder, and Angel could feel their heat. The man let go of the knob and spun to face them. “Get down!” Sam turned, taking Angel to the ground, covering her body with his. She felt an extra weight squeeze down upon her as well and knew the other two men were shielding them both.

  A humming sound rose, lasted around half a second or so, and then there was a blast. It was nothing like thunder, which crashed right through the atmosphere with a spear-like sound that announced itself all at once and sizzled through the brain. This was a rapidly building popping sound that made her head feel fat for an instant, right before it exploded outward and hurt so bad that she knew she was screaming and couldn’t hear it over the roar of fire and debris.