by Vicki Keire
“And then?” Belial prompted, still sounding surprisingly gentle.
How to condense the events of those days into something Belial would understand? He had said he once had a wife… did that mean he understood such concepts as human love and sacrifice? How could I explain the first time I saw Ethan, that first touch that left me seared to my core? I couldn’t. I raised tear-bright eyes to lock gazes with a demon. “We love each other,” I said simply. “And it changed everything.”
It had, too. Ethan’i’el had become Ethan as he chose a human life with me over an eternity as a messenger of the Light.
“But your brother was still dying,” Belial said, crossing to sit right next to me at the small table. “Caspia, how did my brother save yours?”
Here it was―the question even I wasn’t sure I knew how to answer. “I don’t know,” I said, my face almost completely obscured by my dark hair. I barely spoke above a whisper. “Logan was dying. He was broken and bleeding, and there was nothing I could do.” Again I saw the accident, saw my brother’s body sprawled across the hood of the car. “And then Ethan was there. The light was leaving my brother’s eyes, and Ethan said, ‘Take mine,’ and suddenly Logan was breathing again. Whatever Light Ethan had, he gave to my brother that day.” I slumped away from the table. “And when I finally saw him again, he was human. Completely, fallibly human.” I took a long drink of wine. It burned the back of my throat and almost made me cough. “That’s all I know.”
I left out the part about Ethan being immune to all forms of magic. Belial hadn’t asked about the Immunes in Whitfield, and there was no way I was going to volunteer the information.
The demon nodded at me across the table. “Yes, of course. They stripped him of his powers and threw him out.” He snapped his gaze to mine, his face menacing again. “Where he found you waiting for him. Because you love him.”
I nodded feebly. There was no use denying it.
He shook his head, something like triumph shining in his eyes. “Foolish mortal. Love is the greatest weakness of all.”
Asheroth had said that to me once. But he, like Belial, was wrong. They both had to be wrong, or else all of this was futile.
“You said you would grant me one request,” I reminded him. “I told you what you wanted to know. Now it’s your turn.”
Belial settled back in his chair as if I’d just promised him a wonderful gift. “I suppose I did.” He almost looked like he was laughing at me. “Well? What will it be? A fortune in riches? Instant celebrity?” he saw my face and snorted. “Or, let me guess. Something different. Something noble. And boring, probably. Of course Ethan’i’el would choose a boring girl to fall in love with.”
I ignored his insults. This was it, my moment of choice. I could be safe in Ethan’s arms for real, not in some Dreamtime version with all its limitations. I could be home with Logan and Asheroth, with Cassandra Blackwood and all my friends and neighbors.
I could go home.
But that would mean leaving all these Nephilim exactly as I found them: miserable and hurting and in need. I thought of young Caroline Bedford, punished for failing to burn down my town. Could I leave a twelve-year-old locked in isolated punishment?
I looked at Belial, so like my Ethan, but so different. I thought of the war coming to my hometown and how badly I would be needed there, as well.
Yes, I thought. I would give anything to be safe in Ethan’s arms again.
“Home,” I announced. My voice wavered with the burden of guilt I now carried. I would probably carry it for the rest of my life. I was only one person, I told myself. There was no way I could make that big of a difference. Besides, without me, Belial’s army would be missing one of its weapons.
Me.
Belial looked bemused. “Very well. I must say, I am surprised. I expected you to demand that I free that annoying little girl.” He ran one long finger around the edge of the wine bottle. Drops of condensation dripped from his fingertips. “I was sure you’d fall for that,” he said, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“Fall for what?” I asked, surprised.
“I punished the girl to test you, dearest Caspia,” he said, standing and looking out over the balcony again. I stayed where I was, staring at his back. “The girl is too valuable to leave locked up for long.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“So you will know what you have given up,” he said. “And so you’ll remember who has the upper hand.” Suddenly he was in my face, cupping my chin in his strong stone palm. I tried to move my head and couldn’t. “So you’ll know you can never, ever defeat me.”
“But I chose home,” I protested. “I chose Whitfield, and Ethan. You promised!” This last word was a shout, echoing over the balcony and across the barren landscape.
“I did promise,” he said, releasing my chin to stroke my face. “And I’m pleased with your choice. As far as I’m concerned, you couldn’t have made a better one.”
“Why?” I asked, suspicious now.
“Because I never said how long you could stay.” He smiled at me as one might at a particularly stupid, but well-meaning child. “And I never said you could go alone.”
“But…” I tried to protest.
“Oh yes, Caspia Chastain. I’ll be going with you.” He wrapped a stone hand tightly around my forearm. “As long as you are with me, I can breach the wards around your guardian’s stronghold.” His smile turned sickening. “And I’ll be face-to-face with my brother at long, long last.”
I stared at him in horror, not believing my ears. “If that’s true, why haven’t you breached them before? Why haven’t you taken another Nephilim and―”
“Because no one else is from Whitfield, stupid girl. The wards won’t recognize anyone else.”
His arm was still wrapped around mine when I tried to stand up hastily. My goblet of wine fell over, spilling the liquid all over the tablecloth and dribbling onto the silk of my dress. “No,” I said as assertively as I could. “No way. I won’t be your personal ticket into Whitfield. I take it back. Free the girl instead,” I begged, horror replacing fear in my gut.
Instead, Belial laughed. He jerked me right against his chest so that I stood, his front to my back. He smelled of rotten meat and dead carcasses burning under the sun, and I wanted to gag. He wrapped one arm around my waist and placed a hand at my throat. “Remember, you chose this,” he said.
And I had. I had chosen so very wrongly. This would teach me not to be selfish, to never trust demons or believe in their lies. How stupid could I possibly be?
The icy chill of abyss-wings opening behind me cooled my skin. It was an unforgettable feeling like the emptiness of a black hole sucking at me. Belial tightened his grip across my throat until it became really hard to breathe. Black spots danced before my eyes as he stepped backward into the portal he’d created. I closed my eyes, desperate for breath and sick to my stomach at the abrupt spatial displacement.
And opened them to see Asheroth standing not three feet away, his face darkening into rage as I gasped for breath like a dying fish. His diamond eyes were a sharp contrast to the dark night around us as they locked with mine, growing in brightness until they resembled twin halogen headlights in their intensity. Belial laughed softly behind me. I struggled against his hold, but he had me firmly pinned. I was gasping; I was choking; my world was whiting out.
I barely heard the growl that came from my self-proclaimed Fallen guardian angel. “Let. Her. Go,” he howled.
Asheroth in a rage was not a pretty sight. His abyss-wings unfurled behind him, and I was reminded that the demon that held me wasn’t the only Fallen one around here. There was no telling what Asheroth would do; he might not even care that I was caught between two enraged immortal beings. Belial merely laughed, and removed his hand from my throat. I gulped down ragged increments of air, my throat tender and bruised. “If you’re lucky, I won’t kill her in front of you,” Belial taunted.
“If you’re lucky
,” Asheroth said, stalking closer with the grace of a cat, “you’ll live long enough to wish you hadn’t.”
Then he rushed us both.
unny what you think about when your life’s about to end.
As Asheroth charged us, it was the silver and crystal bracelet Ethan had given me that occupied my mind. I thought of the way it looked like sunlit water flowing over rocks deep in the mountains, and the way it fit me perfectly, the clasp forming a set of wings that rested right over my pulse. I could envision it, sliver-bright and linked with crystals; it matched my damning Nephilim eyes. Although the bracelet would always remind me of Ethan, for now all I could think of was Asheroth, and the way the crystals on the bracelet glowed like his irises.
Then Belial’s crushing hold clasped against my throat, and was jerked right back into reality.
With a cry of rage so deep and guttural it reminded me of rocks grinding against each other, Asheroth slid to a halt mere inches from my face, digging gouges in the grass with his feet. He seemed to not even see me; the rage written on his face was directed all at Belial as his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed.
“What. Have. You. Done?” he raged while he looked solely at the demon who was choking me. But even though I hadn’t drawn his direct glare, his words were aimed at me. “Why have you brought him here to the sanctuary I prepared for you?”
I have never wished for the power of speech so desperately in my life. I tried to answer Asheroth, to protest, to tell him that it wasn’t my fault, but Belial’s arm tightened even more across my throat until breathing became so difficult I was afraid I was passing out. I scrabbled uselessly with my fingers at Belial’s unmoving arm, all the while trying to gurgle out some kind of words that would make sense to the mad Fallen angel.
Behind me, Belial laughed. “Trust you to be the one to get things backward,” the demon smirked. He released my throat just enough to allow a trickle of air to get through, but not enough to form actual language. I coughed and choked at this reprieve until my vision blurred.
“I brought her to break your wards, Fallen one,” Belial said in a darker tone. “It was one of the reasons I took her.”
Asheroth began to circle us like a sleek, and very angry, cat. Pieces of his tousled black hair hung in his eyes. I was relieved to see that he was wearing his red leather jacket; the jacket was actually battle armor, and was impervious to assault from other angels. I didn’t know how it would stand up to a direct assault by a demon, however. I had no idea if demons had abilities the Fallen lacked.
The cold electric tingle of the Shadows danced in my hands. I thought of a long-ago afternoon when Ethan and I had tried to practice with the Shadows; it left me sick and shaky and I had destroyed a huge old oak tree. But if it gave me any kind of advantage, I had to try. I stopped scrabbling at the merciless arms that bound me, and fisted my hands at my sides instead. It was always an unpleasant feeling, these Shadows; they pulsed in my palms like a dark heart. But this time I welcomed them. Opening my hands, as they flowed across my palms and fingers, and finally, up my arms.
I closed my eyes and focused with all my might, trying to forget what was happening around me, letting the sounds of angry Fallen angels and demonic snarls fade to nothingness. Belial’s forearm was still pressed against my throat, and I grabbed at it with my Shadow-encased hands, gripping his arm as hard as I could, willing the slippery darkness out of me.
Thick black lines of power poured forth, wrapping around my arms in a sinuous caress. They crept upward until my skin was almost completely obscured by them. More, I commanded the dark place inside me. I had never explored that blackness, and had spent my life trying to pretend it didn’t exist. It was the same place my drawings sprang from, the ones that always came true. I knew this now, just as I knew if I was going to have a chance at defeating Belial, or at least throwing him off balance, I had to dig even deeper. I concentrated on the power and pulled, sending it outward through my hands.
Belial snorted in surprise. Not enough, I thought, and pulled even harder until the Shadows were so thick and dark they almost covered me entirely. I thrashed in his arms, and the pressure increased against my throat. He was cutting off my air again, and damned if I would let him. The world narrowed to just the two of us―Belial and me―locked in a struggle that would determine my fate. Out, I thought, commanding the electric cold. His grip tightened further.
Just as suddenly as the Shadows appeared, they vanished. There was nothing left: not a tingle of cold, not the thick lines of darkness, nothing. I barely had time to wonder what had happened when Belial let out a low roar and flung me away. I flew several feet through the air and landed hard on my back, cracking my head against the ground. I landed hard enough to drive all the breath from my lungs and make tiny white lights dance across my field of vision. I gasped for breath, choking and gagging, tears of pain forming in my eyes. I rolled over on all fours, feeling like I wanted to puke the entire contents of my stomach up. Not that there was much in it; I hadn’t eaten any of Belial’s breakfast.
That’s when I noticed the full spectrum of what my Shadows had done to him. When they left my body, they had crawled up his arms and now clung to him like carnivorous skin. Everywhere they latched onto him, small fissures appeared. A dark liquid, thick and black in the night that surrounded us, seeped through a couple of the cracks.
My little trick had worked better than I had ever expected. Perhaps a little too well, judging from the murder buried in the advancing demon’s eyes.
Asheroth, who had been waiting for just such an opening, tackled him. I wanted to cry out a warning, but clearly Asheroth didn’t care if the Shadows hurt him too. The former angel and the demon went sprawling to the earth, wrapped around each other as they grappled for the upper hand. They fought as only the Fallen can; moving too fast for me to see every blow. Resounding cracks and crashes echoed across the landscape.
A gentle hand touched my shoulder. “Don’t move,” whispered a voice like honey and velvet. The touch was so soft, it was almost a caress, but it also promised buried strength. I wanted to collapse when I realized who it was.
Ethan had come for me. In the midst of all the danger, he had come for me at last. I knew then that all the fighting, the brushes with death, and the Shadows were all worth it if it meant one minute spent in his company. I was cracking, breaking apart. I spun, still on my knees, to face him. I choked back a sob as I saw him standing there, a dark figure that emanated love as well as wrath.
“Is it really you?” I asked, studying him anxiously.
He slipped from the forest that surrounded Asheroth’s property. “Caspia,” he said, half exhalation, half prayer. He gingerly brushed my hair back from my face, peering at me as if he couldn’t trust his own powers of sight. He took in the whole of my appearance: battered, bruised, and wearing what were now little more than silken rags. The muscles of his jaw clenched tightly. “Yes, it’s me.” Ethan bit his own knuckles. “I’d hug you but I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
“Oh, Ethan.” I wanted to collapse right there and forget about the fight that was going on behind me. “I’m okay, really.” I launched myself into his arms.
He was right. I hurt all over, and the impact with his warm body made me wince as tender, torn flesh came into contact with leather and denim. But I didn’t care how much it hurt. Ethan was here, and I was, for the moment, out of Belial’s grasp.
I could only hope Asheroth could keep it that way.
Ethan’s arms were like a band of steel around me, he held me so close. His lips brushed the top of my head, and he spoke in a strangled, choked voice. “Where are you hurt, Cas?” He swallowed hard like he was ripping the words out from somewhere deep inside. “What did that bastard do to you?”
I tightened my arms around him, burying my face in his shirt. “Nothing that won’t keep until later,” I tried to assure him, but my voice cracked on the last few words. My throat was still very tender, and, I suspected, very bruised, and tal
king hurt like hell.
His jaw clenched. He slipped one arm under my shoulders and pulled me up until he was supporting most of my weight. I burrowed deeper into Ethan’s side and laid my head down on his shoulder.
His leather-clad shoulder. My head snapped up in shock; he was wearing battle armor. Since he’d insisted I put his own jacket on just before I was kidnapped, I hadn’t expected him to be wearing one. “That jacket…” I whispered hoarsely as sounds of fighting resounded across the clearing and echoed through the forest at our backs. “How did you get it back?”
“I didn’t,” he said grimly, turning the both of us so we could watch the fight. “It came with the sword.”
That’s when I noticed. Ethan held Jack’s lost sword loosely in his free hand. It was long and silver with a slightly curved blade. It shone in the moonlight, and the surface resembled crushed diamonds more than steel. I knew only two other pieces of metal like that: my twin daggers, given to me by Asheroth, which could cut through anything, even a Fallen angel’s heart.
Ethan would be able to use it against any angel, Fallen or not. It would cut through their impenetrable skin as easily as chopping vegetables; with the armor and the sword, even my mortal Ethan was a force to be reckoned with.
“Does Asheroth know?” I asked, indicating the sword.
“He knows. He’s not happy, but he knows. Even he agrees it’s useful, although he refuses to touch it.” I couldn’t say that I blamed him. I wouldn’t want to touch the only weapon that could cut out my heart either.
Except it wasn’t the only weapon; I had a pair of daggers that did the same thing. They’d been taken from me sometime after I entered the Twilight Kingdom, and it was anyone’s guess where they were now.
The clearing seemed very far away; I wanted to stay at the edge of it, hidden by trees, with Ethan, but the sounds from the fighting were getting more desperate. Asheroth wasn’t faring well. Even though my Shadows had done their part to hurt Belial and make him let me go, they appeared to have faded entirely away. Asheroth lay pinned underneath him, twisting to avoid a hailstorm of blows raining down on his chest. His red leather protected him from the worst of it, but when Belial punched his jaw, his head rocked back with titanic force. Even Asheroth wouldn’t be able to withstand much more.
