Something about her eyes. Her haunted eyes. The fight in her voice. The way she’d resigned herself to battling him, as though she’d lived a thousand lives feeling the way he felt now, and accepted it as normal.
There was movement to his right. Gula was leaning against the brick wall that reinforced the yards in this stretch of neighborhood. The house their target lived in was perfectly situated for long-term stakeout for this reason.
“So,” Gula said, jolting Campbell back to the present, “tell me about her.”
“What?”
“The girl who popped your oh-so-delicate cherry.” Gula grinned when Campbell glared at him. “It counts. The world ended. Technically, kind of. All that’s old is new again. And sex feels like the first time, only without the learning curve.”
“It’s sad you had a learning curve.”
“Come on, Campbell. You’ve been channeling your inner moody teen since we got here. Embrace the good things.”
“You should write Hallmark cards.” He shifted irritably. “I’m not going to talk about it with you, okay? So drop it.”
Gula’s eyebrows winged up. “She musta been something.”
“Just because I don’t gab about my sex life?”
“No, the fact that you’re so pissy about it.”
Campbell shoved down his rising annoyance—best as he could, anyway. “I just don’t know what we’re doing here,” he said, gesturing at the house.
“I know what I’m doing here. You’re the one who tagged along.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“And you’re free to leave at any time, Brother O’ Mine.” Gula shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. “Honestly, I don’t mind the quieter jobs right now. Especially after Lilith.”
Campbell tried hard to hide his instinctive flinch. It was bad enough how much he thought of that night on his own—he didn’t need additional reminders. And perhaps the best way to not talk about whatever his brother had on his mind was to not talk at all.
Of course, that left him with his thoughts.
Thoughts starting with this assignment, as the assignment was isolated from everything else that made it difficult to sleep.
Except Six Degrees of the Apocalypse was a game his brain kept playing. The girl they were watching, Hannah Barnes, was an Oregonian that Lucifer had happened across during Lilith’s rampage. The only direction Lucifer had provided Gula in this assignment was to make sure she was okay.
Nice, vague directions. Something that historically had never ended well for the Sins.
Yet, on most occasions, Campbell knew when not to push an issue. He might be curious, he might be annoyed, but he also knew Lucifer didn’t cave when pestered. Especially since, as the tag-along, it wasn’t his place to whine about Gula’s assignment.
It had just turned out everyone else was a lot more apt at walking off the apocalypse than he was. They had all proven themselves, his siblings. Hell, even those he now supposed were his in-laws, or whatever, had fought the good fight. Even with each of the Seven Seals open, providing a handy tunnel from Hell to Earth, no one seemed concerned. The Guardians had been repurposed to destroy any demon that crawled for freedom, aided by a rotating staff of angels for the two Seals whose Guardians were no longer in commission. All in all, Team Lucifer was damn near unflappable.
Campbell, on the other hand, had proven weak. Not because he’d nearly been butchered by Hell Demons, but for what had come after.
The nightmares. The fear. The dread that coiled in his belly when he thought of being alone.
Yeah, he was a fucking joke. Big bad Sin, afraid of the dark.
That was some depressing shit.
Campbell sighed, rolling his head against the brick partition. He was so sick of himself, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t know if there was anything to do about it other than ride it out and hope the feeling dissipated. There had been highs and lows over the centuries, to be sure, but he’d never experienced anything so long-lasting. And his bad moods of years’ past hadn’t been like this. There had always been a thing to do, something to fix—there had always been a clear course of action.
The only thing that was broken, far as Campbell could see, was Campbell.
Cheery fucking thought.
The air shifted with a familiar weight, jarring Campbell out of the nightmare that was his mind. He snapped back to himself just in time to see Pixley, curator of the Arbor Scientiae, pop onto the sidewalk.
“No,” he said by way of greeting.
Pixley arched her eyebrows, tossing a lock of blonde-and-purple streaked hair over her shoulder. “Hello to you as well, Campbell. I see we have yet to reconnect with pleasantries.” The Registration, which floated behind her head in its usual place, seemed to bob with agreement as its enchanted quill scribbled the names of Hell’s new arrivals.
“Sorry, but you don’t show up just to talk,” he replied. “And I’m not in the mood for another job. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m already on one.”
Gula snorted. “Yeah. You’re holding up the fort.”
“Fuck you.”
Pixley narrowed her eyes and exchanged what could only be called a skeptical look with Gula. “How long has he been like this?”
“Do you really wanna know?” he replied.
Campbell glowered, waiting until Pixley turned back to him before barking, “What do you want?”
“You have already guessed.” She took a step forward, her arms behind her back. “Lucifer has an assignment.”
No. No assignment. Campbell knew damn well he wasn’t in any shape to do more than stand in one goddamn spot and glare at anyone who crossed his path. “In that case, fuck off.”
Pixley sighed. “You and I both know how this is going to go.”
A rush of anxiety seized his spine, pushing his temper over the line from calm to explosive. “Can’t you get someone else?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the only one not currently on assignment.” Pixley looked again to Gula, then back. “And Lucifer indicated you were especially qualified for this particular task.”
“Good for him.”
Pixley’s expression darkened. “He also thinks it could be good for you.”
Campbell felt himself tensing all over again. “What does that mean?”
“I think you know.”
Yeah. That Lucifer was playing camp counselor, which the devil was prone to do when he didn’t know how to fix something. And that galled for an entirely different reason. Campbell hadn’t realized that his problems were so obvious that everyone could see them. He’d never thought of himself as easily read—apparently, he’d been fooling himself.
Feeling defeated, Campbell released a long sigh and met Pixley’s eyes. “What’s the job?”
Not that he was taking it. Asking never hurt.
Pixley inclined her head. “As you know, when Lilith opened the Seals, she unleashed some of the strongest and most dangerous Hell Demons into Earth.”
Yeah, he’d gotten that memo. “And?”
“While many of these demons have been captured or killed, there is one that Lucifer is particularly anxious to retrieve.”
Campbell swallowed. Something cold thumped inside him, and at once his heart was galloping at speeds that would kill a mortal man. Sweat gathered at his nape, and his throat seemed to close in on itself. Somehow, though, he managed to croak an inelegant, “Who?”
But he already knew. Pixley wouldn’t be here if it was any other demon.
Pixley frowned, her eyes softening a bit. “It’s Legion.”
Legion. Legion.
Of fucking course.
His jaw tensed and he looked away before he could betray too much, but he knew it was a wasted effort.
Legion would be the one demon hard to find in the aftermath of Lilith’s apocalypse, and not just because Campbell’s luck was that shitty. No, Legion was a special breed of asshole
. It was what made him—it, however many personalities the thing actually had—so terrifying. Unlike every other Hell Demon Campbell had ever encountered, Legion didn’t have a physical body. This was annoying enough in Hell, but on Earth, it could be devastating.
In order for Legion to survive on Earth, it needed a host. And it took hosts wherever it could—particularly vulnerable humans, like the mentally imbalanced or physically incapacitated. Those souls too weak to put up an honest struggle. True, Legion didn’t require human flesh, but humans were the preferred meat of choice.
And because every demon was greedy, Legion’s favorite host had an asterisk beside it. The mentally or physically compromised would do in a pinch, but if it had its pick of the litter, Legion would choose a young, healthy child as its body every time.
Campbell shuddered.
“We let Legion escape,” he repeated at last, pulling himself as far out of his thoughts as he could.
Not far enough.
“Legion escaped as a result of the Seals opening,” Pixley replied. “And since you had such success in retrieving the demon last time, Lucifer has nominated you to do it again.”
The last time had been a fluke. Legion had gotten the bright idea to possess a lower demon in an effort to leech its power. All Campbell had had to do was open a collection box, and abra cadabra, no more problem.
The last he’d heard, Legion hadn’t stopped raging on how easily it had been captured. Centuries of roaming and terrorizing the Earth and its occupants, only to be done in by a pedestrian collection box—a common tool of the trade for Hell Demons, and meant to hold lower Earth demons. The unlucky victims found themselves imprisoned and owned by their hellish counterparts, and released to instigate chaos during natural or manmade disasters. It had been a stroke of luck that Legion had decided to try its hand at possessing a lower demon—even more so that it had followed its host into the collection box.
And there was no way Legion would make that mistake again. It would possess a human this time, and that meant…
The part of Campbell’s chest that had been numb seconds earlier jerked, hardening into something closer to fear. He swallowed hard and looked away. “I…that’s not a good idea.”
“On the contrary,” Pixley said brightly. “It is a fine idea.”
“I’m on assignment here.”
“No, you’re not. Gula is, and he is more than capable of continuing the Hannah Barnes assignment unaided.”
In his peripheral vision, Campbell saw Gula’s enthusiastic nod. Traitor.
“Why me?” he asked.
“Because Lucifer requested it.” Pixley tilted her head. “I do not understand your hesitation. You captured Legion before.”
Oh yes, capturing Legion had been a terrific feat.
“Last I checked, the world’s not exactly a small place,” he said. “And Legion’s not the type to announce a master plan. This isn’t much to go on.”
“Ah, but we have a signature this time around,” Pixley replied. “A specific signature to follow, and Lucifer has already done that part for you.”
“Any reason Lucifer can’t swoop in and do the rest?”
“Because this job is beneath him and I’m pretty sure he has other things to do.”
Campbell wasn’t quite so convinced, but he knew he’d only attract attention if he protested. While his brothers and sisters were known to throw an unholy temper tantrum if they were given a task they didn’t like, Campbell took the good with the bad and rarely objected.
Something he regretted at the moment. If complaining was his habit, he could do so without being shoved under the proverbial microscope. He could pitch a royal fit. It likely wouldn’t do any good, but it’d at least be a good outlet for the rising fear in his chest.
Pixley studied him for another moment, her eyes narrowed. “Are you well?”
His heart somersaulted. “What?”
“You seem…off.”
“I do not.”
“I think I’m a better judge.”
“From a girl who used to fuck my brother on a regular basis, doubtful.”
Pixley’s brow furrowed. “Yes, you do seem off. Jumpy as well as defensive. You’re sweating too, which is unusual for you.” She paused, and her frown deepened. “Perhaps this is too much to ask right now. I will explain to Lucifer that given your recent trauma, you are unfit for this assignment. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Dread collided headfirst with relief and was chased by crippling awareness that morphed into all-out panic. The part of him that longed to confess wasn’t strong enough to outwit or overpower the part that refused to show weakness. His neck, face and chest were consumed in a thick layer of cold sweat.
He couldn’t say no. Couldn’t. No one could know how weak he was.
No one.
“No,” Campbell barked, then tried to cover with a cough. “No. This is fine. I was just…curious.”
Pixley looked unconvinced. “Curious.”
“About…how we’re going to track down Legion. You said we have a signature to follow this time?”
His voice sounded unnaturally high even to him. Pixley’s expression went from skeptical to downright worried, which in itself was a frightening prospect. Pixley didn’t get worried.
But she didn’t linger. Instead, she shook her head and continued, “Yes. When Legion was captured before, Lucifer catalogued its specific signature…in the unlikely event that it were to escape again. Legion is unlike other Hell Demons. You know this.”
He nodded. Unlike was one way to put it. Unnatural was more accurate.
“We’ve been tracking it over the past few weeks,” Pixley continued, “but it hasn’t manifested with any sort of true energy.”
“So it hasn’t possessed anyone.”
“Yet,” she said. “We think, based on where its signature has been detected, that Legion is in a weakened state. It’s targeted the site of an old confirmed Legion possession.”
Campbell frowned. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said without thinking, and then fell quiet as his brain kicked in.
No, it made total sense. Demonic possessions were rare but horrible occurrences—those like Legion often left an imprint on a location, due to the spiritual nature of forcing one’s essence onto a different body. Legion would find it easiest to hide in a place already tainted with its signature. Those places had already been marked.
Then Campbell thought of the redhead. Her subtle but very real lingering signature. Old places of possession combined with old victims…
Shit.
“Shit,” he said aloud. “Legion wouldn’t be creating a new signature.”
“Just amplifying the one left behind.” Pixley nodded. “Yes, that was Lucifer’s guess as well.”
“But the body couldn’t last long.”
“It doesn’t need to last long,” she said. “Just long enough. We have yet to uncover all of Lilith’s allies. Legion is fully aware that it was supposed to go down with the ship, so to speak, during the apocalypse. Its only hope of survival is finding an enemy of Lucifer’s. If it can do that while escaping detection…”
“Then we might have a problem.”
Pixley shrugged. “Not an end of the world problem, but definitely an undesirable situation. Hence why we need to capture Legion now.”
“Using what, exactly? Last time we had a collection box and we were damn lucky it worked.”
“We’re fashioning another,” Pixley explained. “One made specifically for containing Hell Demons. Time will be required, as we haven’t had reason to construct such a device since…well, since Mammon betrayed Lucifer, but that was the first of its kind, and we did not anticipate needing one again. In the meantime, however, Legion must not be allowed to possess a host. If it disappears inside human flesh especially…well, Lucifer is going to be angry and I am not going to take the blame for it.”
Right. Because humans, unlike every other creature, couldn’t live inside collection boxes. The
y weren’t meant to.
Campbell offered a numb nod, his mind firing off possibilities, scenarios and solutions too fast to be rationally disseminated, resulting in a large cluster of screaming voices. Resignation joined the inner surge of dread—almost enough to overshadow it, but not quite.
He looked to Gula, who was watching him with uncharacteristic silence.
“Guess this is goodbye,” he asked, stalling for time. He turned back to Pixley. “He’s going to go nuts without someone to talk to.”
“I’ve managed just fine without you to chaperone my assignments,” Gula said.
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Campbell kept his attention on Pixley. “So…where am I headed?”
Her lips twitched in what looked like an attempt at a smile. Seeing as she could only pull it off while gloating or in full-out villain mode, the movement looked pained an unnatural, but he appreciated the sentiment for what it was.
“Magnolia Cross, Louisiana.”
Campbell’s heart kicked up.
“No way,” he heard himself say. “No fucking way.”
Pixley blinked. “What?”
Magnolia Cross. Home of one gas station, a dilapidated cemetery and Rat Trap.
The part he’d been missing, the missing piece he’d refused to consider, slid defiantly into place. Over the course of eternity, coincidences were bound to occur every few centuries. Still, in a world where the odds were literally seven billion to one, where he’d been beside her—inside her—earlier today, he couldn’t believe it.
“What’s her name?” he asked hoarsely. He hadn’t bothered to learn it earlier, beyond whatever the bartender had called her. The name hadn’t mattered then.
A look of genuine surprise crossed Pixley’s face. “You know it’s a her?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit,” Gula said. “Seriously?”
Pixley frowned. “How?”
Campbell shook his head, his heart thundering. “Just…I do. Okay? I just do. Her name?”
Pixley studied him for a moment. “Varina Jefferson.”
Varina Jefferson.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Pixley said, her tone cautious. “I have a whole file.”
Deliverance from Sin: A Demonic Paranormal Romance (Sinners & Saints Book 5) Page 4
