by Elise Marion
What would happen to Micah, Jack, and the other people she had come to care about? They weren’t a traditional family, but they’d become the only family she had.
Taking a step away from Elizabeth, she pulled in a deep breath and steeled herself to take the plunge.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock. “Addie, what are you doing?”
“I have to go back,” she whispered, taking another step toward the portal, this one easier than the first. “I chose to take on the Seal and everything that came with it. I chose to become a Guardian, and even a dream as beautiful as this one can’t absolve me of my duty to the people waiting for me back home.”
“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Elizabeth insisted. “You’ve given enough. It’s time to come home.”
Shaking her head, she clenched her fists at her sides. “This isn’t home. It never was.”
One last step back put her on the other side of the portal, once again enveloped by heat and the odor of sulfur mixed with death. Through the open vortex, her mother stood in the beautiful kitchen with the sounds of Charlie and little Addison playing outside coming through in the distance.
“You can’t leave me here!” Elizabeth cried, falling to her knees as the façade of health and beauty faded away. “I’m trapped, Addie … burning. Don’t leave me!”
Addison clapped a hand over her mouth as her mother went up in flames, her pretty sundress burning away, her skin flaking off to reveal a gray, ashen exterior. The wraith-like apparition of Elizabeth’s soul screamed in agony, reaching out to Addison through the portal.
Taking another step away, Addison choked down a sob, even as tears splashed her face and neck. “I’m so sorry … but you made your choices. It’s time for me to make mine.”
Turning her back, she forced herself to take a step away, then another. Soon, she was running as the portal closed behind her, casting her into near darkness. She ran until the wails of those burning in the cells faded in the distance, her lungs on fire from the effort it took to get away from the sounds, smells, and sights of torment.
She found herself at the end of the long tunnel, trapped with no place else to go. Collapsing from exhaustion, she sank to the earthen floor and drew her knees up to her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she lowered her head and sobbed, unable to contain the grief any longer.
Addison had no idea how long she sat there, crying until her throat became raw from the force of her sobs. It could have been hours or days for all she knew, yet as the wall to her left slid open to admit her into a room like the ones that had held Antoine and Derek, she realized it could only have been minutes. Forcing herself to stand, she stumbled into the chamber to find Alice waiting for her.
Despite looking a bit tired, the other woman appeared no worse for wear. Wrinkling her brow, she approached Addison, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
“Hey, are you hurt?”
Shrugging out of her hold, Addison glared at Alice, needing some outlet for her emotions. “Don’t touch me! Why do you care, anyway? We both know you never liked me.”
Sighing, Alice backed away. “Okay, I’m sorry. Look, for what it’s worth, I don’t dislike you in particular. I only gave you so much hell because of Micah. Remind me to tell you about it sometime. It’s kind of a long story.”
Addison swiped at her face to dry her tears. “Just go. I’m not done here.”
Nodding in understanding, Alice turned toward the portal that had begun to open across the room. She paused, turning back to face Addison before leaving.
“Whatever they did to you down here … well, I hope you make them pay for it.”
With that, Alice was gone, disappearing through the hole which closed behind her, casting Addison back into darkness.
Once alone, she let out her anger on a scream—a long, high-pitched cry that buckled her knees and caused her to double over. The force of her rage caused her to tremble, until her blood seemed to boil like molten fire. Breaths ragged, she forced herself to straighten, and then stand. Her breathing slowed, and she swiped away the last of her tears and composed herself.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited for the final test. Lilith didn’t know what she had coming. Whatever the final test entailed, she intended to beat it before making the demon wish she’d never been born.
Chapter Seven: The Den
“You sure about this, kid?” Micah asked as he and Drew waited for Jack to finish closing up Mama Jo’s Café for the night.
Micah had finished setting the kitchen to rights, and Jack only had to balance out the cash register and secure it before locking the doors and setting the alarm. Then, they had Guardian work to be about. While Jack was exhausted from a long day of waiting and bussing tables, he knew sleep would never come once he’d allowed himself to settle in for the night. Until Addison was back, his nights would pass much as the one before had—with him tossing and turning while trying not to worry, and failing miserably.
Thankfully, they didn’t have to just sit around waiting. Reniel had charged them with recruiting the children of Eligos to their cause, which was where Drew came in. Having lived from place to place in several states, he had intel on numerous havens, which he called ‘dens.’ According to him, these places were filled with Naphils who had somehow found each other and formed a bond. Living in abandoned places like warehouses and condemned properties, they existed in squalor, many of them with records longer than Jack’s arm. Trouble seemed to seek them out, and because they had no outlet for their demonic urges, they seemed to revel in it.
“Sure about whether or not they’ll listen to you?” Drew murmured in response to Micah. “No. Sure that this place is a bona fide Naphil den filled with Eligos’ children? Yes.”
Jack finished his tally, double-checking his math before closing the record book and turning back to the register. He left a hundred dollars in change and took the rest, sliding it into Mama Jo’s bank deposit bag. He would lock it in her office for her to take to the bank in the morning. Zipping the bag shut, he turned to Drew.
“We’re trusting you to make them listen to us,” he said. “In a situation like this, there’s always a leader. Tell us about him.”
Drew lifted one eyebrow—the one pierced with three silver rings—and pursed his lips. “He’s a she, and her name is Harley.”
Micah scoffed, leaning against the front counter. “What kind of name is Harley for a girl?”
“A badass one,” Drew replied. “She’s one of the most powerful Naphils I’ve ever encountered, which is one of the reasons so many people follow her. You get Harley to agree, she’ll sway her people to our side.”
“We don’t need people who are loyal to one person,” Jack muttered. “We need people who can be dedicated to a cause.”
Drew and Micah trailed him from the café’s front room once he had locked up. Filing out into the alley, they waited for him to secure the back door before following him up to the apartment so he and Micah could change out of their work clothes.
“Harley’s cause will be theirs,” Drew insisted. “Make her see the light, and she’ll make them see it, too.”
Jack nodded as they reached the top of the wrought-iron staircase. “If you say so.”
Not bothering to wait for either of them, he made a beeline for his bedroom, where he quickly traded his Mama Jo’s T-shirt for a clean, long-sleeved one, making sure to grab a hoodie from his closet before emerging. Summer had begun to make way for fall, which meant cooler nights. Having lived in the South for seven years, Jack had become acclimated to warmer weather. Where it once took a negative number to get him shivering, now all he needed was a drop below seventy. Before leaving the room, he grabbed his pistol—the golden Desert Eagle he carried as his Guardian’s weapon—and tucked it into his waistband. He never left home without the gun if he could help it.
Micah emerged behind him, striding from his room in a plaid shirt,
his worn cowboy hat jammed onto his head. Jack didn’t have to ask if Micah carried his knives, made of the same gold as all Guardians weapons. They were always somewhere on his person.
The two didn’t speak to each other, but that had become the norm between them. What else needed to be said? He’d never been one to let a woman come between himself and a friend, but Addison wasn’t just any woman. Things had been done and said that couldn’t be taken back, leaving them in a limbo of sorts until she came back. Even then, who knew what sort of shape she’d be in? Neither of them had the right to expect her to be ready to make that kind of decision. Things were going to be strained, probably for a while. He hoped focusing on the job would keep them from having to dwell on their little problem.
“Let’s go,” Micah declared, leading them from the room.
His truck sat parked in the alley behind Mama Jo’s and the row of other businesses flanking it on either side. Because the location of this Naphil den was across town, Micah would have to drive them there.
While waiting for Drew to climb into the back so he could take his place in the front passenger seat, Jack spotted someone coming toward them down the alley. While it wasn’t unusual for people to use this path as a shortcut, something about this guy’s presence struck him as off. Maybe it had something to do with his starched business suit and costly loafers. He definitely didn’t belong in an alley in downtown New Orleans. The guy paused near Mama Jo’s, glancing down at a slip of paper in his hand before looking back up, as if to ensure he’d come to the right place.
“Hey, you lost?” Jack asked, unable to shake the feeling that this guy was here for a reason.
Turning to look at him, the suited man faltered for a moment, as if uncertain that talking to Jack was a good idea.
Rolling his eyes, he turned back toward the truck.
“Whatever, stay lost,” he muttered under his breath, in no mood to put someone at ease about his presence in a dark alley.
“Would you happen to know Addison Monroe?” the man called out just before Jack slammed the door.
Pausing, he stepped one foot out of the vehicle, turning back to look at the man, who now approached the truck. A briefcase swung at his side.
Narrowing his eyes on the stranger, Jack looked him up and down. “What do you want with her?”
He reached into his pocket, and while Jack’s instincts had him reaching for his pistol, he resisted the urge to draw it. He kept his hand on the grip until he realized the guy held out a business card.
Scowling, Jack left the truck, lowering his sweatshirt over the gun. Reaching out, he took the white card and turned it over in his hands, reading the raised, black letters.
Weston Blake, Estate Attorney.
“You’re a lawyer?” he murmured.
Weston nodded. “Yes, and I’m looking for Miss Monroe. Her last known address is vacant, but one of the women at her place of employment said she saw her coming here often with two guys. Would you happen to be one of those guys?”
Uncertain of this stranger’s intentions, Jack clenched his jaw. “Look, if I see her, I’ll give her your card. Is there a message to go along with it?”
“Only that it is very important for her to contact me regarding matters of her mother’s estate. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her call, or she can visit me at the address on the card.”
Jack nodded, but didn’t confirm or deny his association with Addison. For all he knew, this guy could be a demon or Naphil in disguise, trying to track Addison down to harm her. Besides, everyone knew Elizabeth Monroe had been a junkie before she died, and there was no living family on her side left. The notion that she might have some sort of estate to leave her daughter was asinine.
Getting back in the car, he closed the door, watching in the rearview mirror as Weston Blake made his way back the way he’d come, careful to step around puddles from last night’s rain and the refuse littering the way.
“What was that all about?” Micah asked as he threw the truck into drive.
“Some estate lawyer looking for Addison,” he replied, glancing down at the card again. “He said it had something to do with an inheritance from her mother.”
Micah scoffed. “Liar. Liz didn’t leave that girl anythin’ but a legacy of shit bogged down with more shit.”
“You’re right about that,” Jack murmured, glancing out the window into the night as Micah guided the truck out of the alley.
Yet, running his thumb over the embossed lettering on the card, he couldn’t help but wonder if there might be something to this he knew nothing about. One thing he did know … none of it could be figured out until Addison returned. The sooner, the better.
Drew’s directions guided their trio to a dilapidated historical building that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years.
Stepping out of his truck, Micah stared up at the crumbling staircase leading up to the entrance. A multitude of windows—some broken—faced outward toward the street. A single flicker of light couldn’t be seen from inside, so Drew’s assertion that there could be a den of Nephilim here rang false.
“What the hell are you tryna pull?” he groused as Drew and Jack rounded the truck from the passenger side, joining him on the sidewalk. “If you lead us into a trap, I swear to God—”
“What kind of place did you think we were going to?” Drew retorted, following him up to the decrepit building. “Naphils like these don’t have homes, so they hole up wherever they can—old buildings, warehouses. This used to be a school, but it took a lot of damage from Hurricane Katrina. It’s been sitting abandoned ever since, so Harley and her crew set up here.”
“Well, let’s go meet her,” Jack said, leaving them both behind to start up the dingy, gray stone steps.
Micah and Drew followed, stepping over uneven chips in the stone, and chunks that had been torn loose. He didn’t expect the heavy door to open, but it gave way when Jack pushed it inward, creaking and groaning on rusted hinges.
“Wait,” he said suddenly, remembering the flashlight in the toolbox sitting in the bed of his truck.
The inside of the old school’s lobby loomed like a dark cave, and Micah would be damned if he walked in blind. Jack and Drew waited patiently while he retrieved the light, grateful to find that the batteries weren’t dead.
As he shined the beam on the front of the building, he noticed the old stone placard on its façade which read: Israel Meyer Augustine School. It was a good thing Drew seemed to be telling the truth. Micah was starting to like the guy and didn’t want to have to kick his ass.
Joining them at the entrance, he led the way, shining the light beam ahead of them. A set of filthy, cracked mirrors reflected the light back at him, while silky spider webs glowed, stretching across corners and coating light fixtures. Something shuffled in the dark, and he caught movement beneath a pile of garbage—a rat, most likely. A series of hallways stretched in four directions, framed by carved archways and pillars.
“This place looks like a castle,” Jack murmured, glancing around to take in crown molding and ornate fixtures that even time and rust couldn’t disguise. “Must have been a private school.”
“Catholic, I think,” Drew replied. “This way.”
Micah followed the direction he indicated, shining the light down one of the hallways. Old paintings of school alumni hung from the walls—a few of them tilted on their nails, all of them covered in dust. Closed doors led to rooms marked as various offices—one sporting a shattered window that gave a glimpse at the splintered desk and dusty interior.
Eventually, the hallway split again, leading to what appeared to be classrooms flanked by rows of lockers. Keeping a hold on the flashlight, Micah reached back to clutch one of the knives resting in the holster strapped across his torso, resting the blade against his lower back. While Drew seemed genuine in his desire to help, he didn’t trust anyone else in this den. The first thing to jump out at him and say so much as ‘boo’ was going to get a knife to the gut.
“Here,” Drew said, pausing at a door marked ‘Auditorium.’ “There’s a staircase leading down to the theatre, and other rooms on the basement level. It’s where most everyone lives and gathers.”
Nodding, Micah reached for the door handle and slowly turned it, wincing as it gave a loud creak. “Does Harley have a security patrol set up or somethin’? Any Naphils we need to worry about?”
Brushing past him, Drew snatched the flashlight from him as he took the lead. “They don’t need security. There isn’t a place in this building you can set foot without being detected. Harley knew we were here the moment we arrived.”
“Does she know we’re just here to talk—not chase her out of her hiding place?” Jack asked, trailing them down the stairs.
“She knows I wouldn’t bring just anyone here,” Drew replied. “That’ll get us through the door. After that, it’s up to you to convince her.”
Depending on what this Harley person had seen or been through, that could prove to be a difficult task. But, it wasn’t as if they had anything to lose. This was eternity they were fighting for—the future of both Heaven and Hell, as well as the world of men. Every plan they executed from here on out was going to require a lot of risk.
As they drew closer to the bottom of the staircase, the sounds of music and voices reached out to them. Slightly muffled, the din became louder the lower they went, until the pounding throb of bass caused the surface of Micah’s skin to vibrate.
Arriving at a set of closed double doors, Drew paused and handed the flashlight back to Micah. Reaching out, he took the knobs of both doors in his hands.
