Waltzing into Damnation

by Rita Stradling

  The waiter pours the wine, takes our order, and then leaves me alone with the demon who’s tormented me since before I was born.

  Andras only watches me, still looking at me like I might attack at any given second.

  “Does it bother you at all?” I ask as I fiddle with my gold cloth napkin on the table before me.

  “Does what bother me?”

  “You spend all this time and effort pursuing me, even though you know I hate you. You know I would destroy you if I could. Doesn't it make you want to give it all up? Does it bother you?” I swallow because I thought getting the hateful words out would feel like a release, but I feel more like I swallowed toxic gas.

  His hand moves to his own napkin, and he unfolds it slowly. “I'm still not sure you hate me,” he says as he drapes his napkin in his lap. “You haven’t said it in a way where I can judge the truth of it unquestionably.”

  I squeeze my hands to stop them from shaking. Fixing him with my gaze, I articulate very clearly, “Andras, I hate you.”

  His eyes widen ever so slightly and then narrow in thought.

  Needing to wipe his expression away, I continue, “you ruined my life. You destroyed the lives of everyone I ever cared about. If all the world was destroyed and you were the last being in the universe, I’d still wish you were dead.” And just to really drive it home, I add, “I’d rather be on this date with Hampus Leijonskjöld than you.”

  I finally get the reaction I want as he draws back like I punched him in the face.

  “Well, that is something I will never be able to give you. I killed Hampus Leijonskjöld, beheaded him within Leijonskjöld Slott while his father searched for news of you.” Andras props both of his forearms on the table and leans in. “And to answer your question, yes. The way you feel about me now bothers me very much.” His face is so close to mine, I can smell the Burgundy on his breath.

  “Then let me go. Let Stephen go. You are the only one with the power to make this right, Andras,” I say.

  “I have a different plan for making this right,” he whispers back, unsurprisingly.

  Well, I had to try.

  “A hem.”

  I startle from where I’ve practically climbed onto the table, leaning in way too close to Andras to find the waiter. Settling back in my seat, I right my napkin back onto my lap and squeeze the linen in my fist.

  Our waiter is just about my favorite demon in the world right now—not that that’s saying much. My date probably can’t say the same though, because Andras levels a glare on the demon laying out appetizer platters of stuffed mushrooms, baked brie, and crab cakes.

  Hot coals of anger still sizzle in my belly, and I stuff the bite size morsels into my mouth, one by one, just so I won’t say another word to Andras.

  I’ve said plenty enough already.

  Halfway through, I realize how stupid it is to stuff my face. I drop a mushroom back onto my plate, and it clatters onto my spoon. “What’s in this, drugs, poison … anything that isn't just food?” I ask the words through numb lips.

  “No. There's only food in those platters, and there’s nothing that would at all intoxicate you.” He shakes his head.

  “Then why aren’t you eating?” I ask him, even though I know he had to be telling the truth.

  “I'm drinking,” he says.

  We lapse into silence, probably because I'm being so rude, but I can't help it. The situation is just too surreal. Eating across from Andras in this lavish dining room, and I'm not even trying to kill him. The tinkling piano and low murmur of conversation rising from the restaurant below are our only company.

  The waiter reappears with salad, takes that away, and comes back with soup. Andras doesn't touch anything.

  Clearing my throat, I break our silence. “So, you said you would tell me about our lives—back then--when I was Elena.” I raise a hand. “I don’t want to know about all the intimate details, obviously. I just want to know the other stuff. Like why you decided to run away with me instead of finishing your mission in Leijonskjöld Slott.”

  He swishes the wine around his glass slowly. “I thought that would be obvious.”

  “Clearly, it's not to me.”

  He sets down his wine glass. “I did it because I cared about you. He was going to kill you.”

  “Pah,” I say, and that’s the only response I have to that.

  His eyes seem to glow more at my reaction.

  “You know I cannot lie, and yet you act as if you do not believe nearly every single word I say.” The strange brooding vanishes from his expression, and he almost laughs the words.

  “We’ve been over this; there’s a big difference between telling the truth versus actually being honest. You cared about me in some other way that doesn't mean affection or fond feelings. I was your ticket to killing Tobias Leijonskjöld or something—and so you needed to keep me alive. That’s it, right? You want to keep trying to manipulate me, fine, do your worst.” A fresh surge of anger shoots through me, and I stand from the table. My breaths come short and fast as I glare down at Andras. “I can't do this. I can't sit across from you and act like this is normal.”

  “Okay.” He just acquiesces.

  No retorts. No seductive arguments. It makes me more furious. I want him to act like the Andras I know, to react back so I can . . . fight him or punish him. But he remains so despicably agreeable.

  “Take me dancing.” Part of me cringes hearing my own demand. Even though I don't want to, I soften my tone and say, “Will you please take me dancing? I need to move. I'm just feeling so aggravated, and I need to do something.” I'm not sure how much of that reads as truth, but most of it feels like the truth. Obviously, it's not the real reason I want to go dancing, but it is a reason.

  He hesitates only long enough to set down his wineglass. “Of course, Raven. I would really like to take you dancing.” Coming around the table, he offers me his arm like I might consider taking it for no purpose.

  “Uh uh,” I say as I walk past. Deciding to make an attempt at civility, I choke out, “Thank you. I can manage on my own.”

  He nods, and we head out of the opulent dining room and down several yellow and blue staircases where demons prostrate themselves at our feet like mounds of quivering limbs.

  As we step out onto the balcony, I immediately recognize the chandelier and a sweeping staircase that surrounds the entire ballroom. The ship’s bloody hand emblem decorates every wall and across the dance floor.

  Dancers stop to bow in our direction, but at a wave of Andras’ hand, they fall back into their waltz. As we descend the staircase, I look from couple to couple. Some of them aren't spending the least amount of effort disguising themselves. Glowing eyes follow me about the room. Tentacles and extra limbs wave through the air.

  Down at the bottom of the staircase, the moment I've been dreading arrives as I turn to Andras.

  I have to let him take me into his arms.

  I'm not sure I can do it. Everything in me screams, ‘No, Raven! Don't let Andras hold you. Not tenderly. Not ever.’ But the rest of me knows if I don't continue on this course, undauntedly on, I'm toast. The demon Barbas made it so I have no choice but to follow this course until I kill Andras.

  Andras reaches for my side, his fingers spanning the length of my waist, and then he offers me his hand. His touch feels so disconcertingly familiar.

  A look crosses his face as I take his warm, dry hand, and I can't read it, but I don't like it. Forcing my gaze away, I settle into my tormentor’s arms and let him lead me onto the dance floor.

  Chapter Twenty

  Two Days Before

  The orchestra plays a few discordant notes and then begins a waltz. The world falls away for a second, and I remember another dance with Andras. I’d had such mixed feelings for Andras then, such fascination and fear. He’d held me to him, leading me with his hips. His passion and heat had consumed me, taking me over until only Andras was in that ballroom.

  He doesn't squeeze me now.
Where he holds my waist, his hand and touch are light. It's not like Andras to be so cautious. I deliberately avoid looking at him, just focusing on keeping up with his movements. Fortunately, that takes almost no concentration at all.

  We glide about the room, moving in and out of other couples. So close, I’m hyper-aware of his proximity, the wine on his breath and light scent of his jacket, the space between us and how if we moved any closer, our bodies would align. But I pointedly don’t look up.

  Andras dips me, and I fall into the move as if there’s nothing more natural in the world.

  “You’ve lost so much weight.” Andras says it like an accusation.

  That finally motivates me to look back at my dance partner. And by look, I mean I glare at him. “What did you think was going to happen when you unleashed a demonic plague? Did you really think I was going to get three squares a day?”

  “It was time,” he says, just making me more aware of the fact that I’m dancing with a monster. “Thank you, Andras, for reminding me how little humanity you possess. If you're continuing to wear Stephen's body because you think I'm going to be confused between you two, you're completely deranged. Now when I look into your face, I only see a creep I hate.”

  “All your talk of honesty and truthfulness, why do you keep lying?” he asks.

  “I'm not lying,” I immediately object, but he only quirks an eyebrow as if that too is a lie.

  I decide just to shut up and dance. Unfortunately, after what he said, it’s very hard to stop darting looks up at his face. We move about the floor as I examine him and he studies me.

  “Why don’t you ask me why it was time?” he asks, surprising the hell out of me.

  “I don't need to ask. I know why you released all those birds.” My words don't have as much bite as I hoped they would—I blame the soft and gentle way he leads me around the floor. Strangely, my body enjoys the dance. I don’t want to be enjoying it, but dancing with Andras feels so disturbingly familiar, like a romantic dream with someone you detest. Unfortunately, I have more than enough experience with that.

  “You would rather be willfully ignorant than chance learning something that will make you hate me less?” He asks it as a question, but from the almost amused tone of his voice, I can tell he believes what he said.

  “Okay, fine, I'm game. Why did you unleash the bird plague? Though I really can't think of any answer you could possibly give that would make me hate you less.” I know at least that’s true. At least I hope it is.

  “It was time, Raven, because the Angels have arrived. I'm doing everything in my power to delay them so we can have our time together before the end of days.”

  I had stopped dancing, but the beautiful gold and crimson ballroom still spins around me. Andras’ words echo through my mind, just four words: the end of days.

  The end of days?

  I don't even know that I speak the words out loud until Andras answers me. “Yes. They have decided the time is nigh. Angels have always been the ones to decide when humans would meet their final judgment. I’ve been doing everything in my power to sidetrack them.”

  “They’re not even going to give humans a chance to win? Aren’t they supposed to be benevolent?” I sound like Linnie. I sound like a child. I know the answer, but yet I keep insisting, “I only met one angel, and he was nothing more than kindness and joy. Being in his presence was like nothing I've ever felt.”

  Andras takes a while to answer as the ballroom shifts around us, colorful swirls that feel more nauseating than beautiful now. Finally, he answers, “I guess it depends on what you consider benevolent. They are compassionate and empathetic. But they do not think the way most humans do. They do not consider death evil, even in mass numbers. They only think of it as change. To them, the end of days is simply the closure of the great test, and they excitedly welcome those who succeed and mourn those who do not.”

  “How do we stop it?” I whisper, even though I know I’m asking the leader of the earth-bound demons how to stop the Angels from unleashing the apocalypse. I’m asking someone who had two years ago almost opened the gates of hell--someone so maniacally self-centered that he would let millions die so he could come up in his own body. I shake my head. “You probably don't even want to stop it.”

  “I do,” he says as he leads me back into a waltz. “You're never going to succeed, Raven, if you are so determined to misunderstand what I want and who I am.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, depending on Andras’s strong, confident movements to lead me. “Succeed in what, Andras? Stopping the end of days? Are you saying that if I let you in, it would be possible to stop the Angels or the demons from destroying the world?”

  “No, I’m not saying that.” His unhappy expression drops away as the quartet moves into a different song. In the frown’s place, a slow smile creeps over his features.

  “Why are you smiling?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Stop smiling.”

  His grin only increases as Andras pulls me against him. He leans in and whispers, “I was surprised you wanted to dance with me.”

  “Don't make too much of it,” I tell him.

  Somebody bumps into me from behind.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” a man says with a familiar accent.

  I spin, suddenly waking up from my apparent trance and remembering why I’m here in the first place. Looking up into the beautiful, sculpted faces of Santiago and Theo, I bite back a gasp. Theo looks away, clearly avoiding my gaze, but Santiago fixes me with warm, kind eyes.

  “Not a problem,” I tell him. Again, I realize I have absolutely no possible way to communicate with this couple without drawing suspicion from Andras.

  Santiago smiles, and the tiniest peek of sharp canines show. He continues, “Theo and I were just talking about how beautifully you two dance together, and now I have gone and spoiled it.”

  As he speaks, Theo reaches around Santiago’s side with a small slip of paper pinched in her fingers. Quickly, she reaches up and tucks it into the back of my bodice before her hand returns to her partner’s shoulder.

  The entire move takes maybe two seconds, but a queasy feeling fills my stomach—terror that Andras or anyone else in the crowded ballroom saw the exchange.

  I want to scream obscenities at how reckless the move is, but instead, I plaster a smile on my face and say, “Thank you.”

  Turning back to my partner, I study Andras’ expression.

  “Are you okay?” he asks as his brow furrows with apparent concern.

  Obviously, I need to rein in my shit because it seems I’m the one giving away the fact that something’s up. I wrack my brain for anything truthful to say as we stand there in the middle of the ballroom. “It wasn’t a compliment I wanted to hear—the part about us dancing together.”

  As I say the words, the awful queasy feeling doesn’t lessen, and I drop my arms from around him.

  “I don’t want to be here with you, Andras,” I say.

  “I see.” He releases me. “Do you want to do something else, or do you want to go back to your room?”

  “See, the problem is—you’re being nice to me while I’m being rude and angry. But you’re not nice. You’ve ruined my life and the life of everyone I’ve ever cared about for self-serving reasons. You plan on continuing to do the exact same for the foreseeable future. I don’t like to be rude, and I don’t like to be angry, so I don’t want to be around you.” That’s about as true a statement as I could ever make, and after I say it, I just feel exhausted.

  To my astonishment, a small spark of amusement lights in his emerald eyes, and it’s reinforced by a smile touching the corner of his lips. “Perhaps you’re acting rude because you think you’re supposed to. What would it say about you if you enjoyed my company?”

  “I don’t,” I tell him.

  “Don’t you?” He quirks a brow.

  “You’re really getting full mileage out of this whole ‘you know when I’m lying and acting like I don’t know my own truth’ thing.”
I lean in. “But I’m not buying what you’re selling, not anymore.”

  “All right, then, Raven.” He leans in a little more, just a bit too close. “I won’t force my company on you any longer.” Spinning away, he walks straight through the dance floor as the occupants rush to get out of his path.

  I hesitate only a moment, but I’m not about to just stick around and wait for the next murder attempt.

  Andras doesn’t pause by my door this time; he strides right past, walks down the hall and disappears into his room.

  Pausing at the doorway, I stare at his closed blue and white door. Within seconds, muffled violin music leaks out from his room. The song isn’t one I’ve heard before. It’s quick and furious, the notes short and high. The song is so intense and emotional that I back away into my room, shutting the door in the hopes of blocking it from entry.

  Leaning back against the wall, I suppress the urge to scream. Pressing my hands into my forehead, I whisper, “Stupid. Stupid. Ugh.”

  Why do I feel so guilty for the way I treated Andras?

  The guy literally held a sword to my throat and tried to drag me into hell. He stole the body of the boy I love. What was wrong with me?

  Even the hurt expression I watched fall over Andras’ face was likely some sort of manipulation.

  Weak.

  He makes me so damn weak every damn time he enters my world.

  Releasing a heavy breath, I push away from the wall and reach to my back. Unzipping my dress, the letter clatters down to the floor, and I quickly snatch it up.

  Unfolding the small slip of paper carefully, I read: outdoor pool deck bar, ten-thirty.

  A thrill of excitement bubbles up through me as I read the message, but my eagerness is met with an equal surge of dread.

  After nervously undressing and putting on shorts and a T-shirt, my bare feet sink into the lush crimson carpet as I pace the length of the room. I killed a demon—permanently killed a demon less than twenty-four hours ago, so killing Andras would be no different. If I convince Santiago to show me how tonight, I’ll just do it. I’ll just come back here and kill Andras while he sleeps.