When she turned off the water, there was a knock on the door. “Just a few more minutes!” she called out.
Another knock.
“Um… Do you speak English?” Achaia said, more to herself than whoever was outside. “Un moment!” she recalled from her few French classes.
A thump on the door, as if someone had slumped against it, shook the room. “Um…”
Achaia dressed quickly and threw her things sloppily into her bag, and cracked the door. A man in a suit stood outside. “I’m done now,” Achaia said opening the door further, to come out, and move past him.
“Achaia bat Shael?” The man said in a British sounding accent, his eyes turning black. His voice was hollow, and cold. Achaia barely had a chance to register her own surprise before the man was pushing her back into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him.
Achaia screamed for help, but the man covered her mouth. She bit his hand, and slapped his arm away from her. She felt the heat in her eyes, and knew they had turned red. The man raised both of his hands, his all-black eyes widening. “I am not here to harm you Miss Cohen,” he said.
“Who are you?” Achaia said spitting the taste of his hand out of her mouth.
“A messenger,” he lowered his hands, straightening his suit, “here to propose an offer.” He smiled weakly, which only made him look more demonic. “Lucifer has a proposition for you.”
“Noland!” Achaia called out.
“He can’t hear you. Your friends are still in the dining car. Completely surrounded by demon possessed people. It would take them a while to get to you without killing any of them. We have the train covered.” He smiled at her more widely. “A view of what could happen…” the man raised his hand up to cup her face.
His hand was cold against her cheek, and Achaia could no longer see what was right in front of her, but was back in the dining car. All the people in the car turned and looked at her, their eyes turning black and hungry. Their mouths opened wide to reveal needle like teeth, as they all stood as a horde and lashed out and pounced on Noland and the others.
Yellaina’s throat was slashed in seconds, before Olivier could even get to her. Emile was swarmed. Amelia, was screaming in pain. Noland and Olivier were fighting to get to the others, but were themselves overrun.
Achaia blinked, and was once again standing in the bathroom with a strange man. “Now, are you prepared to listen?”
Achaia clenched her jaw, her mind racing with every possible scenario of how to get out of this. The least violent way, she figured, was to listen to the guy and see if he would let her leave afterwards. She cocked her head as a signal for him to continue.
“I’m sure you’ve become aware of the fact that your father has left you.”
“Left? More like kidnapped,” Achaia said outraged.
“Matter of opinion,” the man brushed her comment away with his hand. “Lucifer would like to extend an invitation for you to join them, if you like.” The man spoke formally, like some sort of butler.
“Satan is inviting me over for dinner?” Achaia asked in disbelief.
“It’s Lucifer.” The man said harshly, his features transforming into a sharper face, with thin translucent skin, laced with black veins. He cleared his throat, and straightened his sports coat again, and his face relaxed into a human face once more. “And this isn’t an invitation to dinner. It’s an invitation to eternity. Join us, and you can be with your father forever.” The man smiled.
“Where are they, anyway?” Achaia asked casually.
“Come with me and see.” The man gestured toward the bathroom door, which shimmered around the edges and became some sort of a portal to the beyond. Achaia couldn’t make out what was on the other side. She almost laughed, but she knew it was nerves. Nothing about this situation was actually funny. Not unless you found being stuck in a bathroom with a demon possessed business man talking conversationally about spending eternity in Hell, funny. But some people have a dark sense of humor.
Achaia thought for a minute, she needed to buy more time. Maybe the others would notice how long she’d taken by now. “What if I don’t?”
“You’ll never see him again.”
Achaia went to open her mouth to respond, but the demon butler held up a hand to stop her. “Lucifer is willing to give you time to think this over. Those of us who got on in Strasbourg will get off in Warsaw, as a show of good faith. I’ll be in touch.” He slid aside, and let her out of the bathroom. “And if you should wish to reach me,” he opened his mouth revealing rows of dagger-like teeth, and ripped one out from the back, “if you draw blood with this, it will foster a connection between us.” He handed her the fang.
Achaia took it, looking down on it disgusted. It was big enough to span the palm of her hand. “I have to cut myself with your tooth? That is only a little intimately creepy… If that’s the case, I think I should at least learn your name.” She looked back up to his face.
“Kumbhakarna.”
Achaia cocked an eyebrow.
“But you can call me John.”
“John?” Achaia grinned. “An inspired alias!” Achaia complimented sarcastically, glancing at the toilet behind him.
“What’s that?” The man asked.
“Nothing,” Achaia said, raising her eyebrows and her hands in a mock-innocent dismissal of his question before turning around to walk away as John shook his head.
She walked back to the cabin slowly, putting John’s tooth in her pocket and mulling over the whole conversation she’d had with him. Assuming John kept his word, and all the demons got off in Warsaw, Achaia thought she might keep the bathroom rendezvous to herself, at least for the time being. She knew Noland would be on high alert if he knew she’d been cornered by a demon in the shower. She’d never have a second’s peace or privacy, and she didn’t have much of that, now.
She also knew none of the others would be okay with her considering accepting the offer, even if it was under false pretenses. Achaia wondered if Hell was a place you could leave? Escape? But what if you couldn’t, and she ended up trapped there forever with her dad— she had a lot to consider.
When she opened the door to the cabin, she found Noland standing at the door. “I was just coming to check on you.”
“In the shower?” Achaia asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“You were gone for a long time.” He said, going a little pink in the face. He sat back down on their seat, which was a seat again and no longer a bed.
“Girls take long showers.” Achaia said putting her bathroom bag back into her book bag.
“Amen,” Yellaina said in agreement. She smiled weakly at Achaia, and Achaia knew she was sorry about the night before. She smiled back, letting her know they were okay. She settled into the seat, leaning against the window.
“It looks like you could use some lavender on those.” Yellaina said gesturing to the cuts on Achaia’s face, and digging in her bag.
“Emile was worried about you at breakfast,” Noland said, trying to sound casual.
“I think it’s like you said. I just didn’t get good sleep last night,” Achaia brushed it off.
Noland gave her an appraising look. “You slept restlessly, I heard you.” He said quietly, almost more to convince himself. She could tell he didn’t believe her. She found herself really glad that Emile wasn’t there now. She spent the rest of the train ride trying to figure out how to keep Emile from picking up on her dilemma.
14
Bale
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
-Dante Alighieri, Canto III
The lamp posts lining the street had flags of ice frozen mid-wave from where they had succumbed to the freezing wind. Walls of snow lined the streets, building trenches through which numbed pedestrians trudged. Even with her thick new clothes layered, and the snow boots Yellaina had picked out for her. Achaia couldn’t feel her toes. Her nose, on the other hand, actually hurt, and her cheeks burned in the wind.
No
land had said it wasn’t a long walk to the safe house from the station. Achaia followed him, bitterly watching the steam rise from his shoulders. She would have bet it didn’t seem long, when you weren’t getting frost bite.
As if feeling the knives she was stabbing through his back with her eyes, he turned to look at her. She could tell he was doing a quick head count to make sure no one had fallen behind.
“It’s just around the corner.” He said reassuringly.
Achaia thought that even if they were walking through the doorway it wouldn’t have been close enough. She didn’t understand how the people in Russia could live like this.
Noland slowed his pace until he was next to her. Without a word he slipped his hand up her sleeve and under her glove to her wrist. The warmth spread through her arm and into her chest, then to the rest of her. Though she could breathe again, more easily, her feet were still unbearably heavy. The thought of a nice warm bed, in a quiet room, sounded beyond perfect; and yet the feeling that the place lay just out of reach, was torture. “It’s just around the corner.” He said flatly.
Achaia looked forward and saw the corner he was referring to. It was mostly hidden in the snow, and with the wind whipping that snow through the air, it was too far away to really make it out.
She remembered a day when she was a little girl and her father had taken her to the zoo. She had run from one exhibit to the next, thrilled at the sight of the animals. She could remember the smell, of earth and waste, of adventure. She had day-dreamed of safaris, and of living in a rainforest—yet, at the end of the day, she had grown so tired and fussy that her father had had to carry her back to the car. Before they had even reached it, she had fallen asleep.
Achaia remembered everything about that day, except the ride home. She remembered it more vividly now that the same exhaustion had taken hold. She had burnt through all of her sense of adventure long before, and now only felt the weary drain the adrenalin-rush-hangover had left behind. She almost wished someone would just pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. She couldn’t bear anything else standing between her and heat.
Finally, Noland led them around the corner. Ahead, was one of the most magnificent buildings Achaia had ever seen. A cathedral composed of towers. Atop each tower was a dome which came to a point, each one painted ornately in an array of colors. They reminded her of Christmas ornaments. The walls were covered in arched windows, trimmed with yet more colors. She couldn’t help but think it looked like an incredibly-intricate gingerbread house. Though undeniably beautiful, the building looked like a playhouse.
Noland marched up to the enormous front doors and knocked. The sound rang through, sounding like an empty tomb. The doors opened. The inside looked black, a stark contrast to its exuberant exterior.
Achaia squinted her eyes to adjust them from the brightness of the light reflecting off the ice and snow. Noland turned and waved the rest of them ahead, into the building. Achaia stuck close to Yellaina’s side.
The large wooden doors clamored closed behind them, sending an echo through the immense hall, in which they now stood. Achaia took in the room. There was no bright colored paint here. The room was large and damp, cave-like. She was still incredibly cold. Going indoors had done little more than cut out the wind. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed that the room was lit by candelabras mounted to the walls and ceiling. There was also a pair of large doors ahead of her, mirroring those through which they had just entered.
To her left, stood a single chair next to a small table, the only furniture in the room. On top of the table stood a half melted candle, flickering in the draft. Against the table, leaned a sword.
A man stood next to Noland, bolting the doors closed. Achaia had never seen so many locks and bolts. They ran the height of the man up the doors, and over his head as high as he could reach, reminding Achaia of a medieval castle.
The man had dark brown hair, long enough for him to have tucked it behind his ears and pulled it back into a short ponytail. It was a thick mess of curls. He had broad shoulders, made broader by the layers of winter clothes he wore. As he turned to face them, Achaia noticed he was whispering. Noland was speaking to him in hushed tones. She also noticed he was younger looking than she expected, which with Nephilim didn’t mean much. Nephilim never looked older than forty. He wore a grey scarf, wrapped close to his face, but she could see that he had dark eyes, brown or hazel, she wasn’t sure.
Then, the eyes she was appraising, started appraising her. She wasn’t sure if she had become paranoid, or if there was a suspicion in his glance. Achaia looked away until the man redirected his attention to Noland.
Emile met her eye and gave her a reassuring nod, but his eyes were perturbed. She studied the man out of the corner of her eye, as he loosened his scarf. She glanced at him again to get a better read on him but was distracted by his mouth. There was something about his mouth when he spoke, something nice. She liked to watch it change as he shape his words.
“You just want to trust him don’t you?” Yellaina said, her eyes also glued to his face. “It’s because he is beautiful.”
“Well he certainly isn’t bad looking…” Amelia smirked.
Yellaina smiled and looked over at Achaia. “I meant his soul.”
Amelia looked over at them. “Oh yeah, sure. That too…”
Emile chuckled, coming to stand next to them. “That’s his gift.”
“He’s God’s gift to women?” Olivier asked, staring the guy, sizing him up.
Yellaina and Amelia laughed. Achaia stared at the man as Emile went on.
“No,” Emile smirked. “Trust.”
“His gift is trust?” Olivier asked. Achaia and the rest looked at Emile.
“Care to expound on that?” Amelia said.
“Don’t you know who that is?” Emile asked excitedly, looking star struck.
Achaia looked around at the others, who were all shaking their heads. She was thankful that for once, she wasn’t the only clueless one in the room.
“Think about it.” Emile looked alive, like the man was a celebrity he’d always wanted to meet. “You want to trust him without knowing him. Who, of the original generation, is trust worthy? Selfless….”
“Bale?” Amelia’s eyes lit up.
Yellaina’s eyes grew wide as she stared at Emile for confirmation.
Emile nodded.
“I always thought he’d be—” Olivier whispered, staring at the man. “Blond…”
“Who’s Bale?” Achaia asked, but the man had turned to face them and was walking their way.
“Welcome to Russia.” He said with a Russian accent. “I am Bale. I’ll show you to your rooms.”
Achaia thought that his eyes may have lingered on her a moment longer than the others as he met their eyes. But he had turned promptly and walked through the second set of doors that led into the safe house.
Inside, the walls were covered in murals that had not been maintained. They had grown dull in color and detail. Still, Noland could not take them all in. He had never seen anything like the intricacy of the safe house. The moldings were carved and etched, there was wainscoting, and what wasn’t covered in murals was painted what once had surely been a rich blue.
The safe house’s beauty was dulled by dust and neglect. “Do you live here alone?” Achaia asked.
“I, a healer, and a handful of servants are the only current occupants.” Bale said in a flat tone that told them he wasn’t the talkative type. He looked around at all of them admiring the ornate walls. “We don’t frequent this part of the cathedral,” he explained in way of an excuse.
He led them through hallways, each more beautiful than the last, until they came to the part of the cathedral that held the bed chambers. As they neared the heart of the house, Noland could smell clove and frankincense through the dust. The spicy scent of the place reminded him of Christmas.
One by one they were shown their rooms until Noland was left alone with Achaia followi
ng Bale through the halls.
“Very well,” Bale said after depositing Emile into his room. “Achaia Connolly Cohen.”
Noland saw Achaia’s attention snap to.
“Your room—,” Bale opened the door on the right and turned to them, blocking Achaia’s entry with his arm. He spoke to Noland in a low his voice, “I know what she is. I sensed it the second she walked through that door.”
Noland instinctively reached out a hand to Achaia, as if to push her behind him. But he couldn’t protect her from words.
“What I am?” Achaia asked.
Bale ignored her. “The council was audacious to send her here.” He said to Noland. “Russia isn’t safe. You’ll bring Hell upon us.”
Noland stepped halfway in front of Achaia. “What are you saying?” He struggled to regain his composure.
“I think you understand me.”
Noland’s mind was racing to comprehend if what Bale hinted at was true, or if he was simply wanting to trust him. She was her father’s daughter…
“The council has sent orders for her,” he said to Noland before turning to Achaia. “You’ll have your studies, but no training.” Bale had a tight expression on his face. Noland could tell, without Emile’s abilities, that he was conflicted.
“No training?” Noland felt Achaia move away from him as he flushed in anger. Bale stared at him, eye to eye. “That is a violation—”
Bale studied his face appraisingly. Noland could see the sadness of agreement in his eyes. “Defense only.” Bale said in compromise. “She won’t be taught how to kill, here. We will discuss this more over lunch.” He cocked his head, lowering his arm. Achaia followed his instruction, and entered the room.
Noland looked in past her. The room was sparse. It had stone walls, a small fireplace housing some dying embers, a single bed with a nightstand next to it with a short candle. The blanket on the bed looked old and worn thin. It looked like what you’d expect from an old monastery.
Transgression Page 27
