“What about Lilith?” Adramelek asked.
“She’s my consort.” Lucifer looked at Adramelek in confusion.
“Yes, but she’ll be furious if she finds out about this.”
The corners of Lucifer’s mouth turned upward a fraction. It was the barest ghost of a smile, but Adramelek smiled back. And found himself wanting to taste those lips again, properly this time.
“She has her own lovers, Adry. As have I. These are things we in Hell understand.”
“Ah, I see. Then I just have one more question. How long have you wanted to do… that? With me?”
Lucifer coyly lowered his eyes. “Oh, only since the Fall.”
Adramelek snorted. “No, really. You were very angry for the first few months after that.”
“It began just before the Fall,” Lucifer said, looking up. “All right, I was enraged about how the war in Heaven went and how we ended up here, but it was all for the best. I love Hell, Adry. I wouldn’t leave here even if I could. Hell is my domain and my home. It’s where I belong. It’s where I want to be. And”—he reached out, taking Adramelek’s hand—“it would mean much less to me if you were not here. Take that as you choose.”
Adramelek thought about it for a minute. “All right,” he said. Then he moved closer and kissed Lucifer.
This time it was a proper kiss, a kiss that went from chaste to passionate and hungry in a heartbeat. Adramelek nipped Lucifer’s lower lip and tasted blood, and the sharp metallic tang of it inflamed him. He flexed his left hand and a moment later, talon-tipped claws replaced his fingers. He raked the claws down Lucifer’s chest, earning a low growl.
“Adramelek,” Lucifer purred, the sound of his voice echoing with its true tones. “True form.”
Adramelek didn’t need to be told twice. He shed his human form easily and stretched, now in his real shape, a being of energy, silver-white coalesced around murky black and red. Lucifer made an approving noise, his hands sliding through the energy that was Adramelek’s body to touch the jet black wings, ragged sheets of tar compared to the rest of Adramelek’s form.
“Your turn,” Adramelek said, his voice now low and gravelly, sounding to his own ears like the hollow booming of a rock fall.
Lucifer leered at him, a predatory expression, and a moment later, the true shape of the devil was revealed to Adramelek’s hungry gaze.
It had been eons since Adramelek had seen his lord like this—proud, strong, powerful. Etched out of pure white energy, flickers of silver and gold shimmering like dust motes. His wings, whiter than new snow, seemed to absorb all other light in the room, leaving them surrounded by shadow.
Hell had gone silent, awed by the sound of Lucifer Morningstar speaking in his natural voice, the rich tones that echoed and vibrated along every nerve and sinew, trilled in the blood, and raised the gooseflesh on skin. Adramelek didn’t care about the rest of Hell right then, however; all he wanted was the shining, glowing form in front of him.
They came together, winding around each other like living flame, wings flared and twining. Their joining filled Hell with the sounds of passion and renewal, of pleasure and exultation at what they were, embracing not just each other but their own basest natures. Archdemon and Firstborn Fallen, they rose above the Castle of Black Ice in a surging beam of light, sparks of red, purple, silver, and gold dancing within.
When they returned to Lucifer’s rooms and resumed their human forms, Adramelek was panting. It had been a very long time since he had indulged himself, let alone with one of his own kind. He had not been particularly interested in the sexual couplings of human, demon, monster, or angel, finding such things to be messy, noisy, and ultimately unsatisfying. But with Lucifer, who was not just an angel, not just Fallen, but his lord and superior, Adramelek found himself feeling more content and more sated than he ever had before.
“It has been a long time since I have loved like that,” Lucifer said as he sprawled on the floor.
Adramelek barked a weary laugh. “I was just thinking that.”
“You must be getting old if that wore you out,” Lucifer said.
Adramelek poked him with his foot. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just been a very long time.” He paused a moment, summoning the courage to ask, “I hope it won’t be so long a time between now and the next?”
Lucifer stretched like a cat. “I should hope not,” he said. “Adry, we are the same. We remember it all, from the beginning. Lilith doesn’t. The Grigori don’t. My Archdemons don’t. The other Fallen were made after we were, and so they don’t remember it all, either. You and I, we are the only ones here in Hell who do. So, no, it won’t be a long time until this happens again. Also, this is not one of those strange aberrations inspired by the corruption of the Grail. This is genuine.”
“Good.” Adramelek found he couldn’t stop grinning. “I’ll have to go back up to Earth soon, though,” he said.
“I know. Responsibility is pressing on you, I can tell.” Lucifer propped his head up on one hand. “Be careful.”
“I will.” Adramelek stretched. “And you’re still not going to die. Not on my watch.”
“You sound like Uriel.” But Lucifer was smiling. “Go with my blessings and my love, Adry.”
Although Lucifer had said those words to him countless times before, this time they seemed to somehow have more weight to them. Adramelek wondered if he was perhaps developing a potentially dangerous infatuation when he should just simply enjoy this additional aspect of their long friendship. And then he mentally slapped himself, feeling foolish.
Lucifer had been watching him closely. “You always have my blessings and my love,” he said. “That has never changed. It never will.”
Adramelek shifted and kissed Lucifer quickly. “I can live with that.”
“I’m so pleased to hear that,” Lucifer drawled.
Adramelek laughed. “I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.”
“I know. But you had best be off. The sooner you go, the sooner you can ferret out the information you need, and the sooner our people and the Archangels can shut down Naamah for good.”
Adramelek got to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. “I’ll just drop in and check on the cat, then I’ll head back up,” he said.
“All right. Keep in touch, Adry.”
“Always, Lightbringer.” Adramelek winked, and Lucifer laughed. Then with only a small pang of regret at having to go, Adramelek left Lucifer’s abode and went to his own.
Sprite was a little awed when Adramelek walked into the dacha. The Hellcat stared at Adramelek with unblinking golden eyes as Adramelek bustled about, dusting here and there and setting out more food, using his power to ensure that meals would be regularly supplied. Finally, tired of being stared at, Adramelek turned to face his cat.
“What?” he demanded.
Sprite’s hissing voice seemed unusually subdued. “What transpired between you and the Lord, Adry. That was… remarkable.”
Adramelek quirked an eyebrow.
“I do not think Hell has ever heard such sounds. Two Fallen, together, in their true forms, without any barriers… it was… holy.”
Adramelek spluttered a little at that. “Holy?”
Sprite tilted its head to one side. “Do you not think so?”
“You’re saying sex is holy now?” Adramelek demanded.
“No, I am saying that mating between you and the Lord is holy.” Sprite rolled its eyes. “There is a difference.”
Adramelek frowned. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but oddly, he could see how Sprite and the other denizens of Hell might feel it. “Huh,” he said finally.
Sprite flicked its tail. “Fallen Ones!” it said in a tone of annoyed tolerance. “Go to work, Adry, and bring me good salmon.”
Adramelek laughed. “And so everything went back to normal,” he said.
Sprite hissed at him, and Adramelek laughed harder.
“All right, I’m going, fuzzbutt. Take care of things while I’m a
way.”
“I always do,” Sprite said.
“I’ll be back soon,” Adramelek said and vanished, returning to Earth.
He found Ondrass and Markus in a warehouse by the docks in Hong Kong’s main port. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of dead fish that seemed to pervade every dockyard in the world, Adramelek sauntered over to join his companions. When they saw him, both Ondrass and Markus bowed low to him.
“What’s this?” Adramelek demanded.
“You and our lord,” Ondrass began.
“Oh no, don’t you start,” Adramelek interrupted. “I’ve had the awe and holy speech from my cat, and once was enough. Did every Hell denizen hear us?”
“I believe so, my lord,” Markus said.
“Fuck it all,” Adramelek grumbled. “Next time, I’m making sure we put up shields so no one is listening in.”
“Next time?” Ondrass demanded incredulously.
“For the love of little demons, just stop.” Adramelek looked around. “Why are we in a warehouse?”
Ondrass coughed and shook himself. “Right. Yes. Work. We are in a warehouse because we are waiting for a group of criminals who specialize in finding and selling very rare antiquities.”
“In a warehouse.”
“Yes, Adramelek, in a warehouse. Where else do you think they store the goods until they ship them? Honestly. One afternoon of hot Hell sex and your brains dribble out your ears, good grief.” Ondrass rolled his eyes.
Adramelek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Point taken.”
“I’m so happy for you. Now, these men are arrogant and rich. Please do not offend them. They work for me, and I would like them to continue to do so, and that means I need them alive.”
“Since when do you deal in antiquities?” Adramelek asked.
“I don’t. This is their little side operation.” Ondrass drew a silver cigar case from the pocket of his suit jacket, opened it, removed a cigar, and popped it between his lips. He lit it with a snap of his fingers and a brush of power and inhaled deeply. “They know that I know, and so all is right with the world of high-level crime.”
Adramelek shook his head. “It all seems unnecessarily complicated to me.”
“That’s because you aren’t a criminal,” Ondrass said.
That brought a startled bark of laughter from Adramelek. “That depends on your definition of criminal, I suppose.”
“True enough. Say instead then that you are not a criminal who deals in the same markets as I,” Ondrass replied.
“I can accept that.” Adramelek looked around again. “How long do we have to wait?”
“Not long, I shouldn’t think. They are only late because of the traffic. Traffic jams are worse here than in Hell.”
Markus cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lords, for interrupting, but they have arrived.”
“Ah, excellent,” Ondrass said.
The door to the warehouse creaked open and a group of a dozen men in very expensive suits and dripping gold swaggered into the space. Adramelek kept his expression neutral, although he felt an almost overpowering urge to roll his eyes. Such a flamboyant and ostentatious display of wealth was, he thought, not exactly a smart way to keep a low profile, particularly when one’s business dealt with all things illegal.
Ondrass and the men greeted each other with warm handshakes and half bows, and then Ondrass introduced Markus and Adramelek.
Adramelek inclined his head once in greeting, more of an acknowledgement of the men than anything else. They regarded him with cool gazes, calmly assessing, and Adramelek slowly raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. After a moment, as one, they looked away.
Turning aside, Adramelek paid only scant attention to the conversation as Ondrass and Markus spoke with the men in rapid Chinese. He looked at the rusting tin walls of the warehouse with unseeing eyes, replaying again in his mind the interlude with Lucifer in Hell. The knowledge that Lucifer had felt that way about him for so long was more than a little humbling. Suddenly, Adramelek understood just how astonished and awed Gabriel felt upon learning that Michael had been in love with him for centuries.
“How could we have been so blind?” Adramelek wondered to himself, speaking in Russian. He chose Russian deliberately—he wasn’t sure that Ondrass’s human colleagues would understand him for one thing, and for another it firmly identified him as being an associate who was with the bratva. Adramelek had worked with the Russian mafia in the past, but it had been infrequent and was more in the nature of a mutually respectful relationship.
Still. Lucifer loved him beyond being a friend. Lucifer loved him! Adramelek felt a little giddy. What a remarkable thing to learn! He didn’t think of himself as particularly lovable, although a being such as Lucifer who knew Adramelek as well as he did was naturally the only one who really could… or who would hate Adramelek and seek his death. Adramelek was glad it was the former.
His own feelings for Lucifer were so complex that Adramelek mentally shied away from examining them. Lucifer was his best friend, his oldest friend. He was Adramelek’s confidant, his fellow Firstborn angel, his fellow Fallen. He was the lord and ruler of Hell and had as much power—all right, perhaps a little less—as God.
“Wow,” Adramelek said to himself. Then he laughed quietly. “This is a very good day,” he said.
“Adramelek,” Ondrass called him over, and Adramelek pulled himself from his reverie, feeling a trifle embarrassed. He was, after all, an Archdemon. He was not a love-struck puppy, on par with Archangels or teenagers. There would be no glitter pens or candy hearts in Adramelek’s life, no indeed! Squaring his shoulders, Adramelek walked over to Ondrass, raising an eyebrow in silent query.
“Bruno here reports that he sold a gold funerary bowl to the young man in the photograph. It was from Mesopotamia, Bruno says.”
Adramelek looked the Chinese man up and down. “Bruno? Really?”
“My mother is Italian,” Bruno said. “What of it?”
Adramelek held up a hand. “Nothing at all. It was merely curiosity. So, you sold this bowl to the gentleman in the photo, da?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. And did he say what he wanted it for?”
Bruno looked uncomfortable. “Something about a ritual to imprison the dead. I don’t want to know. You don’t mess with the dead. That’s bad luck.” His companions made the sign against the evil eye.
But Adramelek narrowed his eyes. A thought had occurred to him. “Spaseeba, Bruno,” he said, and before Ondrass could stop him, Adramelek moved away, fished his cell phone from his jacket pocket, and telephoned Michael.
“What do you want?” Michael’s voice on the other end of the line was weary.
“I’ve just had some interesting information fall into my lap,” Adramelek said. “Your Necromancer—”
“Gabriel’s Necromancer,” Michael corrected primly.
“Whoever’s Necromancer,” Adramelek said, rolling his eyes, “he said the dead were scared to talk to him, right? Well, I think I know why.” He told Michael about the bowl and what it was used for.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Adramelek wondered if Michael had hung up on him. Finally, Michael said, “Thank you, Adramelek. This answers a very great deal.”
“Glad to be of service,” Adramelek drawled. “We’ll see you at the meeting later, then.”
“Quite.” Michael ended the call before Adramelek could say anything else. Adramelek pocketed his phone and returned to Ondrass’s side. “We need to hunt down more information,” he said in an undertone.
Ondrass nodded. “Understood.” He looked at the criminals in front of him and gave them a shallow bow. “Thank you, gentlemen. You’ve been very helpful.”
They filed out and when the sounds of their car engines filled the warehouse, Adramelek looked at Ondrass and Markus. “I think we’re getting somewhere here,” he said. “The pieces are beginning to fall into place.”
Chapter Eight
&nbs
p; GABRIEL PORED over maps, a frown on his face. He had two computer screens facing him, images of topographical data displayed on them. Every so often, he would look up from his maps and peer at the computer screens, and his frown would deepen.
He was not worried about Shateiel—his lieutenant had contacted him early in the morning to inform Gabriel that twenty Seraphim had been chosen to be the squad that Gabriel had ordered. Shateiel had said—with no small annoyance—that he had checked them out quite thoroughly. He did not want any chance of turncoats being in their midst, and Gabriel approved of that. He had praised Shateiel and given him orders to go to Oregon to train the Seraphim with Michael’s Venatores still at his lover’s house, and then, when everyone came to meet to exchange the information they had discovered, to join them in Yerevan. Shateiel, as always, had been efficient and accepted his orders without question. Gabriel had approved of that.
Michael was away at that moment, having disappeared after a call from Adramelek. Gabriel had heard part of that conversation and knew—more or less—what it was about. Michael would take care of it, he knew. Michael would fix just about anything.
For his own part, Gabriel was puzzling over another riddle: where to secure the Holy Grail once they had retrieved it from Purgatory. That question still hadn’t been answered, and he wasn’t sure that it would be. Gabriel did not like the idea of a place chosen on a whim or because they needed somewhere and anywhere would do. He wanted to be sure and certain about the Grail, and placing it back in the monastery at Saint Catherine’s seemed wrong to him.
The Grail was of the Earth and humanity—all humanity, not just those who followed this or that denomination. Gabriel did not want it to be used as some sort of bragging rights by whichever diocese kept it safe, and he did not want it to become a display to be gawked at. He also felt that putting it somewhere like the monastery would lead to disputes between religions, and if those went on for too long, Gabriel cynically felt that war wouldn’t be far behind.
No, he wanted to be sure the Grail was housed somewhere safe and secret, somewhere it would be protected and left alone by the curious or the acquisitive. The Grail wasn’t something to be stared at or worshipped, it wasn’t to be sold or trafficked between countries or groups or movements. It was to be left as a legend, forgotten, allowed to do what it had been made to do: protect the boundaries of all the realities and creation.
The Bone Cup Page 9
