“Who's your friend?” Andras asks without releasing Derek's hand.
“Uh,” Derek starts. “My friend? I don't know what you mean.” Derek glances at the kid beside him. “I don't know him.”
Andras' eyes narrow and his lips pull back into a snarl. Derek's eyes dart back and forth, then meet Lamia's who has just come over.
Andras turns to her. “This acolyte has a tag-along,” he says, a snarl in his voice. “The same spirit who was on the bed with Nichole. I can smell her still,” he hisses.
“Really?” Lamia's eyebrows rise to a high, thin line. “Now that's interesting. I haven't sensed it.”
Derek pulls back on his hand, which is locked in Andras' grip. “Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't bring anyone. I haven't told anyone about these meetings.” He glances back and forth between them.
“Take him to a cell,” Lamia commands, her arms folded over her chest, her ice-blue eyes, hard and unforgiving.
“Wait! I haven't done anything!” Derek screams as two neanderthals grasp him by the arms and drag him out of the auditorium.
They throw him in a room identical to Brecken's and shut the door with a loud bang. The lock turns from the outside. I stay by his side.
Derek stares at the door, then turns and thrusts his hands through his hair, his breath hissing out. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” He paces the floor, sweating like he's run a marathon, his eyes rolling like a dying animal's.
“Oh, Derek. I'm so sorry. I'll get you out of here if I can,” I say, trying to send a message of calm, although it flies far from the mark. He continues to panic. He can't hear me. Natty was right. I need help. Even if it means humbling myself and admitting I broke the rules, I'll do it to make things right.
Closing my eyes, I take in the silence, the quiet of this haunted death chamber. I hate leaving Derek and Brecken here, but I have to. I have to go straight to Raphael. I know he'll help.
I picture his face and his office, willing myself to appear there.
I open my eyes.
I'm still in the vampire's death den.
Please no.
I try again with the same results. With a sinking heart and an awful dread, I realize I'm trapped. Hurrying out of Derek's cell and over to a back door that surely leads to freedom, I run my hand over the handle, but of course, I can't turn it, and it isn't even locked. Without thinking, I bang on the door in frustration. My hand doesn't slip through like it should have. It stops at an invisible barrier, like the one at the bridge to Elysium.
Leaning my head against the solid wood, I ponder my situation. I'm trapped, like always... on the wrong side, making stupid choices. Just like my brother.
But this time it isn't about me. I've come to save Brecken. He is my whole reason for being here. With a blink of my eyes, I appear inside his cell. At least I'm not trapped from moving between rooms.
Brecken still lies on the stained, bare, sheetless cot, but he has woken up. Kind of. His arm lies over his eyes and he moans softly, as though having a bad dream.
“Brecken, can you hear me?”
He turns toward the sound of my voice, squinting. “I feel like I'm gonna puke.”
I kneel at his side so our faces are only inches apart. “I'm here.”
“Where am I?”
Placing my hand on his cheek, I say, “You're in the basement of some really fancy house. A mansion. Some really bad stuff is going on here.”
He rolls away from me and faces the wall, holding his stomach. “I don't feel good. Let me sleep.”
“Brecken, no. You need to get up. We need to get out of here. We can leave right now if you do. There's no one in the hall. All you have to do is open a door.” I put all the urgency I can into my pleading, hoping he'll pull out of his drug-induced stupor.
With a long sigh, he rolls over to face me. His bloodshot eyes find mine, and he blinks slowly. “Why can't I sleep for a little while?”
“Because you'll miss all the fun,” a voice says from the door.
I whirl around to face Andras in all his demon glory.
“So we meet again,” he says, stepping into the darkened room, his eyes darting from corner to corner.
“Do I know you?” Brecken asks, gazing sloppily at Andras.
“You used to,” Andras answers. “Who were you speaking to?”
“My guardian,” Brecken says, turning over again. “This is a terrible mattress,” he mumbles into its bumpy filthiness.
“Ah, yes. But you won't be here long, so don't worry.” Andras steps forward and lays his hand on Brecken's arm. “I've waited a long time to see you again, Undoer. A very long time.”
At the strange title, Brecken sits up, a frown on his face. He stares at Andras and shakes his head. “Who are you?”
“Ah, you don't remember?”
“Should I?” Brecken rubs his eyes and peers at Andras. “Dude, I've never seen you before in my life.”
“We're old friends,” Andras answers with a lazy smile.
“I don't remember your face,” Brecken says, sitting up straighter, his expression still confused.
Andras takes a step back and cocks his head. “Really? That surprises me.”
I'm frozen by the door, observing the exchange. It's like watching an old black and white movie where I expect Vincent Price to step into the scene, and I can't shake the feeling I've missed something.
“You don't remember. I can fix that.” Andras begins a slow chant as he moves forward. His lips pull back into a snarl, his words, undecipherable. Before Brecken can react, Andras grabs him around the neck and shoves him hard against the cement wall, breathing heavily into his face. “You know me now, don't you? I see it in your eyes. Or at least the beginning of recognition.”
Brecken jumps up, but struggles against Andras' strength, his face growing red as he gasps for air. He presses against the fist at his neck. Andras squeezes tighter, and then his leg rises swiftly, kneeing Brecken in the groin.
The reaction is immediate. Brecken falls to the floor, curled into the fetal position, moaning, and rolling back and forth, his breath coming in ragged hitches. Andras rubs his hand and watches Brecken with unbridled hatred. “You're time is over, Bretariel. You're done. Do you hear me? Done!”
Brecken looks up into Andras' eyes, agony glazing his features. Then Andras flees the room, slamming the door and locking it behind him.
CHAPTER SIXTY
~Lost and Confused~
Brecken
Brecken lies crumpled on the cold, cement floor, writhing in agony. Never has he felt such white-hot pain. It fills his belly and spreads out with fierceness to his arms and legs. His whole body feels shattered and broken. He wants to die, just to have the pain end.
When the pain does finally subside, the name Bretariel repeats in his mind, as if he should know it. The familiar cadence of the name wiggles through his brain, but he can't quite remember, can't pull the memory out—like distant answers to forgotten questions on an impending exam.
The man's face floats beneath Brecken's eyelids, a dark phantom that won't disappear. The enraged eyes glowing with hatred.
That face. He knows that face.
But from where? Everything around him feels off, like a nightmare. He can't grasp how he even got here. The last thing he remembers is Jill sitting on his bed, crying. Had Alisa shown up? He can't remember that either.
Brecken begins to relax enough to take a breath. He looks around and doesn't know where he is, or why he's here, but a dark foreboding condenses inside him, coating him from the inside out.
Something terrible is about to happen. He feels it deep in his bones. That man who was here hates Brecken with an intensity he's never felt before. He can't imagine why, but he has a feeling he is about to find out.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
~A Bad B Movie~
Alisa
“Wha—what was that all about?” I say, still leaning against the wall, staring into Brecken's luminous blue eyes. I li
stened to the whole exchange between him and Andras in complete confusion.
Brecken doesn't answer me, but after a few moments, he rolls over and stands up on shaky legs.
“He called you Bretariel.”
He falls onto the cot, pulls his legs up, and rolls toward the wall.
“Brecken?”
“Wait... a second,” he answers, his breath catching.
“He acted like he knew you.” I stare down at him, waiting. This whole situation is too bizarre. “Brecken. Do you know him?”
“I don't know!” He sits up, his eyes watery pools of suffering. The vein in his forehead throbs as his jaw clenches. “You don't know how terrible I feel,” he says, blinking his eyes, and then wiping his face with his arm.
“So...”
“So? What do you want me to say? I have no idea who these people are or what they want.”
“Jill's here,” I say, frustrated.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“She stuck me with those needles!” he yells into the quiet. His gaze moves around the room but he doesn't really seem to see anything. “I remember. She dug those... those things into my chest!” He rubs his hand over the sore wound.
“She's in on everything. She's... bad, Brecken.” I stand there, wondering what he'll do now. What will I do now? What can I do?
With a broken smile, he shakes his head and pats the cot beside him. “It doesn't matter. I don't really care anymore. Come here. Sit down.”
I don't want to sit down. I want to fight. Not with him, but fight my way out of here, and I want him to fight with me. I have to rescue my brother and find Raphael. The last thing I have time for is sitting and chatting.
I sit down anyway.
My arm tingles when he presses against me and all those feelings of anger and irritation vanish. Oh, how I wish I could hold his hand, run my fingers through his floppy bangs, and brush a kiss across his lips.
Our time is almost over. I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm sure Natty is in trouble for helping, and I've screwed things up royally. No one is coming to help. All is lost, and I bow my head in defeat.
The cell door clanks open. Andras and Lamia step into the room, startling us. They are followed by a couple of their hired thugs.
“Bring him to the bed,” Lamia commands. “And tie him tight. I want this to hurt.”
***
As soon as Brecken is laid on the bed, my heart sinks. He struggles in their grasp, kicking his legs, connecting with his fists here and there, but all to no avail. He can't and doesn't get free. It ends up taking four people to tie him down, and even then, it takes Lamia's thugs forever to make the knots hold tight.
I stay beside him, feeling each wave of fury, frustration, horror, and hopelessness that crashes through him. Who will do the dirty deed this time? Lamia? Andras? Jill?
How can I stop it? I wasn't able to help Nichole, and now she lies dead, drained, and alone. For eternity. Not even her soul will find peace now.
That can't be how Brecken is meant to die.
If Raphael saw this in his crystal ball, why didn't he warn me? This isn't some random drunk driving accident or even a suicide. This is hellfire and damnation spewed up from the depths of the earth. Demons come alive. Every horror movie made real.
“Brecken! Tell me what to do,” I whisper urgently. “Tell me how to help you. It can't end this way!”
He turns his head on the crimson satin pillow, his hair filling with static. In any other situation, I would laugh out loud, but the hilarity of the moment forms a thick ball of tar in my stomach instead. He lies there panting, bare-chested because they ripped open his shirt. A sheen of sweat beads his brow.
“Spirit!” Andras bellows.
I jump and turn to see him looking in my direction. Can he see me? Has something changed? Can Lamia see me as well? I feel exposed all of a sudden, vulnerable. His eyes scan the stage. He searches for me.
“Bretariel should have told you the truth from the beginning, spirit. But as we can all see, he chooses not to remember.”
This man is powerful. More powerful that Lamia. I don't understand how the hierarchy works, but somehow, he is the one to be afraid of. He is the one who can destroy me.
“I don't know what you're talking about!” Brecken yells, raising his head from the satin pillow.
I lean over Brecken, my lips brushing his. That's when I realize he's not being completely truthful. I feel it as our lips touch. Something inside him knows the power of these beings. Something in him has begun to remember.
“Don't worry,” I whisper. “It will be over fast and then we'll be together, just like we wanted.” I don't know what else to say as I gaze into his beautiful face, his terror-filled eyes.
“You have no idea who you're dealing with, Bretariel,” Lamia says. “But you will. You will!”
“Go, Alisa,” Brecken begs, his eyes filled with such remorse that I can do nothing but break inside for him. “I don't want you to see this. It's going to be bad, whatever they do. I know it. Go back to heaven and I'll find you when I can.” His anguish reaches out and wraps around my heart, but I can't leave him.
No matter the danger or outcome, I will stay by his side. I shake my head and stroke his face. “I'm not going anywhere.”
He gives me a tragic smile, his gaze never leaving mine. “Everything has finally caught up with me. I'm sure I'm getting what I deserve, but I don't want you to watch me die. Please,” he begs.
Returning his tender gaze, I know I will never know anyone like him again, and in that moment, I vow to do all I can to free him. To give him a chance. To give us a chance. No matter how impossible that seems.
I turn to Lamia, who slowly makes her way up the stage steps, fury ravaging her fiercely beautiful face. Her confidence astounds me, like a dark queen, sure of success.
I close my eyes, a prayer in my heart for a single miracle—the ability to stop this horrific tragedy from happening. A tingle begins in my fingertips and moves up my arms, like tiny diamonds of light twinkling from the depths of my soul. Energy gravitates toward me, like the bending of light, tightening, expanding, entering my soul.
In that moment, I realize Raphael is right. I am strong. I can prevail, but only if I truly believe it. Only if I make it so.
I open my eyes.
Lamia stops, her mouth hanging slack for a millisecond. “I see you,” she hisses, raising her hands like claws.
“Your nails will do nothing to me, demon,” I say, recognizing the darkness within her. The soul that inhabits her body does not belong in there and is not its original owner. Where is the true spirit of the woman who stands before me? It doesn't matter now. She let this happen to herself. She allowed evil in. I know it as surely as if I watched it on a movie screen.
“I know you, Lamia, demon vampire, Queen of lies and deceit.” I stare her down, no longer afraid. She can’t defeat me. She can't obliterate me. Lesser spirit, my butt.
“You have no authority here, guardian,” she says, waving her hands in some sort of incantation. “Be gone!”
I can't help it. I bust out laughing. She's so dramatic. And even though I know she can’t hurt me, I'm not sure how to stop her from hurting my brother or Brecken.
Their fates seem sealed.
But isn't this why I'm here? My job can’t be over yet. No matter what Raphael says. I am a guardian, but I need someone with the power and authority to cast the angels of Hell back to where they belong, past the fiery pit of Soul Prison, into the eternal depths of unending darkness.
“You don't scare me, you vapid blood sucker. Let him go!” I point to Brecken, my eyes flashing hot. Then I hear it. Soft, like the chant of a child. It grows in volume. Undecipherable words, in some unearthly language.
Whirling, spinning, and gurgling away, the power and vitality I felt only a moment before melts into nothing—drained as though some thoughtless moron pulled the plug in the bathtub.
I turn in slow motio
n and catch Brecken's eye.
“Alisa!” he cries.
I blink, falling to the ground in a heap. The Earth rushes up to meet me and my face slaps against the cold tiles next to Brecken's deathbed.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
~Helplessly Helpless~
Alisa
“Your guardian cannot help you,” Lamia says, her teeth grinding. “How pathetic—lesser spirit that she is—she'll never get out.” Her laughter wafts up like bells gone bad.
I claw back to a sitting position as Lamia bends over Brecken, her arms on either side of his head.
Brecken's response is to spit in her face. I am so proud. She screeches like a banshee, and rakes her nails down his cheek, leaving four straight seeping lines of red.
Lamia turns to the crowd in the auditorium, her lips pulled back into a snarl. “My children,” her voice, a growl. “We have a special guest tonight. It will require a special ritual. One you have never seen before and never will again.”
She steps down from the stage and moves slowly up the aisle, caressing faces and bestowing smiles. “In fact, you will all have the chance to taste immortality tonight.” In a brilliant show of light, she spins, her red cape whirling out like fire, her golden hair, a veil of reflected candlelight. “Behold, Bretariel of the Irin, the great Undoer!”
She holds her arms out toward Brecken as though showing off a fine piece of art. A cheer erupts through the crowd and a hundred hands begin to clap rhythmically, chanting the name Bretariel, Bretariel, Bretariel.
I'm so glad my brother isn't participating. He's still down the hall, locked in a cold, dark cell. Although, he might be the next dish served. Grasping Brecken's hand tighter, I squeeze, hoping he can somehow glean courage from me.
When the noise dies down, Lamia continues. “He brings with him his protector. A guardian of the weakest form.”
The cheers ring loud.
“Tonight, not only will one of the greatest of fallen angels be sacrificed on the altar of perdition—his damned soul extinguished into nevermore—but his guardian will also be erased from time and existence!”
Reluctant Guardian Page 21
