Devil Without a Cause

by Terri Garey

  Devil Without a Cause

  Terri Garey

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  By Terri Garey

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  “You went to the wedding, didn’t you?”

  The woman in Samael’s bed rolled lazily onto her stomach, propping her head on one slender arm. Her dark hair, gloriously mussed from lovemaking, spilled over her shoulders, framing a face that would’ve been perfect if not for the coldness in her eyes, the petulant curl of her ruby red lips.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Samael—Prince of Darkness, Ruler of the Underworld, the Great Shaitan—stared into the fire, taking another sip of wine.

  “Liar,” she said softly. “You may lie to the world all you wish, my darling, but you can’t lie to me. Bethlehem Baptist Church, just outside of Atlanta, Georgia, yesterday afternoon. The bride wore white and carried a bouquet of pink tulips.” She laughed dismissively. “How utterly unimaginative. Still, the irony of the situation is amusing, don’t you think?”

  The man before the fire gave no response. Like the woman on the bed, he was naked, but where she lay in comfort amid goose down quilts and velvet pillows, he sat sprawled in a hard wooden chair, carved with symbols and blackened with age. His long legs were stretched toward the fire, the flames catching the blond hairs on his calves and turning them to burnished gold. A silver chalice rested on his flat belly, clasped in a hand adorned with two rings: a plain band on his thumb, a heavy black and silver pentacle on his ring finger.

  “Just imagine,” the woman went on, tauntingly, “the great and mighty Satan, brought to his knees in the twenty-first century by a mere mortal woman.”

  “Yes,” Samael said, turning his blond head to pierce her with disturbingly pale blue eyes, “just imagine.”

  She ignored the warning in his gaze. “And the name of the church! Bethlehem Baptist—” Her laughter trilled again, filling the otherwise empty chamber. “Oh, it’s too delicious for words.”

  “Perhaps you should keep the words to yourself, then,” he murmured, his voice deceptively gentle. “After all, you wrote the book on true love, didn’t you? You and Adam, all alone in your garden paradise.”

  Her laughter stilled.

  “Until you saw me, of course,” he went on, “and decided your hairy ape of a man wasn’t good enough for you. An angel was far more interesting quarry, wasn’t he?”

  “You’re an angel no longer,” she hissed. “Besides, I don’t recall you putting up much resistance at the time.”

  “You were like ripe fruit,” he said, meeting her anger with seeming indifference. “Dangling yourself before me, tempting me with the sweetness of your juices and the soft sheen of your bare flesh.” His voice hardened. “Little did I know how such softness and sweetness hid the rottenness at your core.”

  “You wanted me!” she screeched, jerking herself upright. Her breasts heaved, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders and dripping like trails of ink over her pale skin. “You’ve blamed me for eons, when you were just as much at fault as I! I won’t have it, do you hear? I’m sick of the guilt, sick of the blame! I was the one who was punished—shoved out into the cold to give birth in pain and suffering to a whole new race, while you”—she raised a shaking finger, pointing it at him—“you were given a kingdom!”

  “Ah, yes,” he said calmly, “the kingdom of the damned. Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven, and all that. Still”—he looked back toward the fire, taking another sip of wine—“it would’ve been nice to be given a choice.”

  “You had a choice.” She rose from the bed, clad in nothing but her hair and her fury. “And you chose this.” Proudly, she swept a hand down her body, but he kept his head turned away.

  “No, Lilith,” he said. “You tricked me.” With a snap of the wrist, he flicked his remaining wine into the fire, where it hissed and sizzled amid the embers. “As I have tricked you.”

  As if on cue, a small creature crept from the shadows, its sickly yellow-green color almost as ugly as its features: bulging eyes, pointed ears, and a tail like that of a lizard.

  “Ichor,” Samael said lovingly, “come sit with me.”

  Lilith stared with loathing as the lizard-thing clambered up the arm of the wooden chair and perched there, raising its chin to be scratched.

  “Ichor? You named it after something as revolting as pus?”

  “Why not?” he asked lightly. “It’s what I created him from. Are my creation skills not up to your usual standards?” His lip curled in a parody of a smile.

  “Why would you keep such a creature?” she asked, taking a step back. “It’s beyond disgusting.”

  “He’s useful, as are his brothers.”

  Several more creatures crept forth from the shadows, as the one on the chair made small chirruping noises of contentment, tilting its scaly head for easier access to Samael’s fingers.

  Lilith leapt back onto the bed, clutching a pillow to her nakedness as even more of the creatures oozed forth from the darkest corners of the room. “Sammy,” she said warningly, “keep them away from me.”

  “I can’t, my dear,” he said, giving Ichor a final pat. He turned his head to look at her, a fiendish look in his bright blue eyes. “They’re drawn to wickedness and depravity, and you present an irresistible temptation.” He smiled wryly. “Sound familiar?”

  She shook her head, staring with horror at the encroaching army of creatures, all of them now advancing steadily toward the bed. “You can’t,” she said feverishly. “I’m an immortal, just like you! You can’t kill me!”

  He laughed. “Who said anything about killing? Though you may long for death before a century or two has passed.”

  Her look of panic was briefly replaced by one of intense concentration.

  “You can’t transport yourself anywhere from here,” he said smoothly. “This is my realm, not yours. My inner sanctuary. You have no power here.”

  “No!” she shrieked, tearing her eyes from the creatures to stare into his. What she saw there gave her no comfort, however, for she began to shriek even louder. “I’m glad your little human whore married another, do you hear? It hurts, doesn’t it?” She scrambled to her feet on the mattress, back against the headboard, pillow still clutched in her arms. “It hurts when someone you love doesn’t love you back!”

  “Pain is relative, darling,” he said silkily, “as you’re about to discover.”

  “All these months in my bed—you were lying to me, keeping me busy so I wouldn’t go after her again, weren’t you?” She was frantic now, trapped, with nowhere to go.

  “Oh, Lilith,” he said mildly, cocking his blond head. “How could you have forgotten? Lying is what I do best.” He made a tsking noise. “And besides, you
’re in my bed now.”

  “I knew better than to let you bring me here,” she spat, glaring at him.

  “ ‘Come into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly,’ ” he quoted. “How does it feel to be caught in a web of your own making?”

  The first of the yellow-green creatures climbed atop the mattress, quickly followed by others on each side. They darted toward Lilith’s toes, snapping and biting at them with razor-sharp teeth.

  “You should’ve left her alone, and not forced me to choose between the two of you.” He watched, deaf to her shrieking, as despite her kicking and flailing, she was covered in a swarm of lizardlike imps. “You thought you’d won, but you were wrong. I chose her, which meant I had to let her go to keep her safe.” He gave a short laugh. “Too bad there’s no one here to do the same for you.” A wave of his hand, and the frenzied woman on the bed was gone, the creatures with her.

  In the sudden silence, the one remaining on the arm of Samael’s chair gave a questioning little chirrup.

  “Yes, Ichor,” he said absently, reaching again to stroke its scaly head. “It was far too kind of me to let her keep the pillow.”

  “Master.” A shadow separated itself from the wall. “A thousand pardons.”

  “What is it, Nyx?”

  Black as night, with wings of ebony and a form as shadowy as the darkness where he had been concealed, the Chief Servant of Darkness bowed low before his master. The only color he possessed was in his pupils, slits of red barely visible in the dim light.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, O Mighty One, but you’ve been summoned.”

  A bark of laughter escaped Samael’s throat. “Another midnight Mass? Another chanting group of robed sycophants wielding bell, book, and candle, perhaps?” He waved a hand negligently toward the shadowy figure. “Don’t trouble me with such nonsense, and get me some more wine.”

  “Immediately, my lord.” The gurgle of liquid came as it poured into the chalice. “This is not an ordinary summons, I fear, or I would not have brought it to you.”

  “Indeed?”

  “He says his name is Gabriel, my lord.” Nyx’s voice was hushed. “He is surrounded by light. Light such as I have never seen.”

  Despite the crackling fire, the sudden stillness within the chamber was tinged with ice. Ichor’s pointed ears drooped, and he quickly climbed down from the chair, retreating to the shadows from whence he came.

  “Gabriel is here? Within my walls?” Samael rose from the chair, his naked body gleaming in the firelight, and very carefully put the chalice of wine down on a side table inlaid with squares of ivory and onyx.

  “In the outer temple, my lord. He would come no further. He bid me tell you he waits for you there.”

  “Well,” said the original Fallen One, with a sardonic curl of his lip, “let’s not keep my dear brother waiting too long.”

  Only a quick blink betrayed Nyx’s surprise. In silence, he helped his master dress, bringing forth the jeans and T-shirts so favored in today’s modern age, and waiting as a selection was made. He knelt to assist as Samael stepped into a pair of black jeans and gleaming boots of black leather. A soft gray T-shirt, a black belt with a silver buckle, a wrist cuff of braided leather, and it was done.

  Dressed and ready, Samael paused before the full-length mirror that stood beside his bed, and smiled. No mortals observing him now would realize who they were facing. They would see only what he wanted them to see, a virile, good-looking male in the prime of his life. The ability to blend was a talent he’d mastered long ago, and if he wanted someone’s attention, he knew full well how to get it. Running a careless hand through his short blond hair and smiling a grim smile, he left his chamber behind and strode down hallways made of stone toward the cavernous room known as the outer temple.

  It was a long walk, but he was in no hurry, despite what he’d said to Nyx. He could’ve willed himself there in an instant if he’d cared to, but instead he walked, and as he walked, he remembered.

  Wind, cool and invigorating, and the glorious sense of weightlessness that accompanied flight. The pinpricks of distant stars against the night sky, the brilliant smear of a million galaxies, like glitter tossed carelessly across the heavens. Innocence, laughter, and joy as he and his brother angels darted in and out among the cosmos, their wings outspread, naked and unashamed as they played, secure in the knowledge that they were loved and protected by the One who created them.

  He remembered, too, the shame and the fear of that day in the Garden, when he had lost his innocence and angered his Creator. Oh, how he’d wept, how he’d begged to be forgiven—to no avail. He’d been cast down from the lofty heights, stripped of his wings; sometimes, in the night, he felt a faint tingle between his shoulder blades and felt anew the pain of his loss. He’d been blamed for defiling mankind and bringing an end to Paradise, when it was mankind, and their emphasis on the flesh, who’d defiled him.

  Jaw set, Samael kept walking, not noticing or caring that Nyx followed several feet behind, a silent and shadowy figure at his back. After the Fall, he’d made sure mankind suffered, just as he had suffered. Abandoned by the One, shunned by his angelic brothers, he tempted, as he had been tempted. He lied, as he had been lied to. And when they succumbed to lies and temptation—just as he had—he punished them as he had been punished, by everlasting damnation in the pit of despair.

  The hallways rang with his footsteps, but he didn’t hear them. Another memory surfaced: a young woman with laughing eyes and a kind heart, streaks of pink in her dark hair. He’d lost her, too—lost her to the Light that had already cost him so much. There’d been other women through the centuries, of course, long dead now, but she still lived. She lived, and she laughed, and she’d clutched her pink tulips during her wedding to the man she’d chosen over him, and try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to hate her for it. For she had been the one who’d known him for what he was, and forgiven him anyway—the only one in all these eons who’d shown him an ounce of genuine compassion, despite the blackness that stained his soul.

  Light gleamed at the end of the corridor, as unwelcome as the one who brought it. A few steps more and he was in a chamber, huge and vaulted, full of echoes and dust and silence. A man stood waiting at the far end, his features obscured by the brilliance that seemed to emanate from his very pores.

  “What’s the matter, Gabriel?” Samael asked coldly. “Afraid of the dark?”

  “Samael,” said the figure, in a voice filled with sorrow. “My long-lost brother.” The light dimmed, fading to reveal a tall man with brown hair, worn long and free, dressed in a white robe and sandals. “My eyes delight in the sight of you, yet my soul will forever grieve over what you’ve become.”

  “Spare me your pity,” Sammy said, planting his booted feet and crossing his arms over his chest. “The time I could’ve used it is long past.” He raked a scornful gaze over his visitor. “You look like a wandering prophet. This is the twenty-first century, you know; camels and cave markings have been replaced by cars and computers.”

  Gabriel shook his head, a slight smile lifting one corner of his lips. His garb changed, morphing into plain khaki pants and a blue chambray shirt, long hair clubbed into a ponytail. “Better?” he asked his host.

  “No,” Sammy growled. Despite his open hostility, a small part of him was pleased to see his old friend and erstwhile brother. He clamped down viciously on the feeling, and trampled it into dust. “What do you want?”

  Gabriel was silent for a moment, merely looking into his eyes.

  Uncomfortable to find he could not easily meet them, Sammy felt his anger rise.

  “Speak and be done with it, damn you,” he ground out. “My patience grows short.”

  “Your patience was ever short,” said Gabriel, “as was your humility. Even now you taunt the heavens with your pride and your hubris, establishing yourself within these once hallowed walls”—he gestured toward the vaulted ceiling—“built to proclaim the glory of the One.”<
br />
  Samael made a noise of disgust. “Solomon built this temple to proclaim his own glory.” He smiled grimly. “His spells and incantations are what keep this temple hidden in plain sight, invisible to the eyes of mortals. He used that same magic to force my demons to build it, so why shouldn’t I use it now that he’s dead?” He shook his head, smiling wryly. “The mighty King Solomon, keeper of all the world’s mysteries, save one—that of death itself. All the treasures he collected in the name of the One now belong to me, including this dusty monument to greed and glory.”

  Gabriel frowned, looking troubled. “You take such joy in profaning what was intended as house of worship.”

  “Is that why you’re here? An avenging angel, come to smite me with your flaming sword of righteousness?” Sammy spread his arms wide, as if baring himself to a blow. “Go ahead. Oblivion would be a welcome change after all these years in Hell.”

  “I will not fight with you, brother.”

  “We are brothers no longer,” Sammy snapped, dropping his arms. “Now get to the point, or get out.”

  A heavy sigh came from the angel at the far end of the room. “I wanted to help you, you know.”

  Sammy said nothing.

  “I would’ve spoken on your behalf, but the One forbade it, saying whatever befell you was meant to happen.”

  “Meant to happen?” Sammy scoffed. “So I was created merely to be punished, is that it?”

  “His ways are not our ways,” Gabriel answered quietly, “and it is not for us to question them.”

  “Not for you, perhaps,” came the grim reply. “I question them every day.”

  There was a silence, in which Gabriel turned away. He moved to an old stone altar, touching the tip of his finger to the dust that coated it, revealing white marble, veined with gold.

  “Must your minion be present while we talk?” he asked quietly, changing the subject. “The dark one, skulking in the doorway. He disturbs me.”

  “I don’t care if he disturbs you or not,” Sammy said smoothly. “Nyx is my faithful servant, and my ever-present shadow. His loyalty, unlike that of others I’ve known, is unquestioned.”