“It’s expedient,” Remiel said. “Some of us have more important duties than torturing nephilim. I’ll leave the fun you describe in your capable hands.”
Kerbasi’s body tensed. He’d never handled the insults the angels threw his way very well. It hadn’t resulted in a physical fight yet, but Lucas held out hope.
“Good luck,” Kerbasi said before turning away and heading back toward the mountains.
Lucas gritted his teeth, knowing what was coming next. Remiel froze him—the only power that could keep a nephilim like him controlled—and pulled him close. They thrust up into the sky, with the archangel’s wings beating hard, toward a portal linking heaven and Purgatory. Lucas hated the feeling of vulnerability that came with not being able to move. Worse than that, he loathed being in close proximity to anything angelic.
He breathed an inward sigh of relief when they touched ground after crossing through the glowing portal. Remiel let go of him and released the “freeze” spell, though he stayed within arm’s reach. The archangel wouldn’t want a despised nephilim getting loose this close to heaven’s gates. Lucas knew they were around here somewhere, but with all the thick clouds distorting the landscape he didn’t know exactly where. Old St. Peter sure would get a surprise if he ever found him.
The spongy ground squished under his feet as they walked across an open area toward a pearly white building reminiscent of Roman architecture. It stood by itself with nothing around it. He knew the structure was far older than those similar to it on earth. Lucas had wondered more than once if the angels had exerted their influence on the human version of the design. It didn’t appear very large on the outside, but his previous visits had revealed it would open up disproportionately once they went inside.
They walked up the front steps and crossed under an arched opening. There were no doors. He supposed robbery and vandalism weren’t a concern here. Lucas had never been a fan of graffiti, but the endless white walls, both inside and out, had his hand itching for a can of red spray paint. The sheer lack of color and radiating light (with no apparent source) had him missing the dark hole he’d been pulled out of earlier. If Kerbasi ever discovered this bothered him more, he’d be stuck in glowing white rooms for the rest of his stay in Purgatory—however long that lasted.
Remiel guided him to a marble bench set in the middle of the cavernous room. Then he grabbed a set of shackles bolted to the floor and began attaching them to Lucas’ ankles. They were made of the same metal as the ones holding his wrists. He could feel what little power he’d reserved dwindle even further. His chest tightened, as if that could somehow keep it inside.
They always took extra precautionary measures since an incident at one of his trials many centuries ago where he’d lost patience and kicked one of the archangels in the face. They hadn’t expected him to leap across the room to pull off the move. There’s something to be said for the satisfying crunch that comes with a broken nose when it’s directed at an archangel. Too bad the bastard healed from it as fast as he did.
They’d tacked on another five years to Lucas’ sentence as punishment and Kerbasi had put the extra time to good use. Having his flesh peeled from his body every week made it difficult to decide whether it had been worth it. He tried not to think of that period of his life too much.
Lucas glared at the four archangels, three men and one woman, assembled at the marble table before him. They had no expression on their faces and sat as still as statues in their white robes. The urge to do something to make them react gripped him, but he kept still. For the first time in his life he had someone more important to consider than himself. Every day they kept him from Melena was one more day she could be attacked or killed. She’d amassed too many enemies since moving to Alaska and he didn’t know if those left behind to protect her would be enough.
Even worse, he could no longer feel her life force anymore. Lucas had never paid much attention to the emptiness that came every time they severed his soul from a sensor, but it’d almost gutted him to be separated from Melena.
Before, he’d always known if she was in grave danger. He could even track her whereabouts and “see” her in his mind. It wasn’t something he did more often than necessary, but he did it enough to ensure she wasn’t planning something too dangerous. If she’d died permanently, he would have as well—one of the reasons their souls had been tied together. It’d been insurance that he’d keep his end of the deal with the angels, though after a while it had turned into a whole lot more. She was the one sensor he’d begun to want to protect.
Remiel finished locking Lucas’ leg shackles and moved toward the other archangels at the table. The room only had benches for seating—most likely because all of the others present had wings and needed the space. It was the one thing he envied about them, that they could fly. Even master vampires could develop the ability to levitate far off the ground. The gift had skipped nephilim altogether.
With the flick of Remiel’s wrist, a scroll appeared on the table. The archangel picked it up and unwound it. He scanned the contents for a moment before he spoke.
“Lucas of Pistiros, you have been brought before divine authority today for breach of contract—an agreement you signed three hundred and twenty-five years ago and consented to uphold without benefit of a termination date. Eight weeks ago you failed to protect your assigned sensor and allowed her to die, albeit temporarily. This is a grave violation of the terms and one that cannot be ignored.”
Remiel looked up from the scroll. “How do you plead?”
Lucas ground his jaw. “As you know, there were extenuating circumstances.”
“The circumstances you speak of are the primary reason your trial has been delayed until now. After careful consideration, we’ve decided the evidence is strong enough to move forward with the proceedings.”
How convenient that he was left to rot in a black hole while they sat on their angelic arses twiddling their thumbs over what to do with him. The whole thing was a joke.
“Let’s not pretend this trial is modeled after the American court system, or some variation thereof. This is nothing more than a superficial attempt to make yourselves feel as if you’ve acted in a fair and just manner. I don’t know why you haven’t skipped straight to the execution that we all know will inevitably come at the end of this, but I’m not going to pander to what you most likely consider an excellent idea for entertainment. If that’s what you want, I’d suggest hiring a rock band or renting a movie.”
Remiel set the scroll down and strode forward to stand before Lucas. He clasped his hands in front of him. “You may not wish to believe me, but we are seeking to do what is best for you. Centuries ago you wouldn’t have been given this opportunity. Now we are attempting a different method in dealing with your kind in the hopes that you, and the other remaining nephilim, can contribute to the mortal societies in which you live.”
“Hope for me? For the humans?” Lucas leaned back on the bench. “Aiding the humans is a waste of energy. Give them a little more time and they’ll destroy themselves. I’ve merely helped them along in their endeavors.”
“That is the point.” Remiel narrowed his eyes. “They don’t need your violent contributions to what is already a growing problem. This is exactly why we were forced to rid the earth of so many of your kind in the past. Nephilim have abused their powers and made matters worse. You must be held accountable for your actions, regardless of your personal opinions.”
Lucas stretched his legs as far as the chains would allow. “I’ve most likely killed hundreds of humans in my life…”
“Thousands,” Remiel interrupted.
“At least someone is keeping count.” Lucas muttered. “What I fail to understand is how you could be less concerned over the thousands of deaths I’ve caused while focusing so diligently on this one incident. Let us not even get into the other violations of the contract that I’ve made over the years. Most of those didn’t even warrant a trial and only merited a brief stay in Purg
atory. Why is this near-death so much more important?”
Ironic that he was being prosecuted because of Melena when she was the one mortal he didn’t want to see die.
Remiel narrowed his eyes. “You failed to hold your end of the bargain with the most important element of your contract. All the other stipulations were merely there as guidelines for your behavior, but none of them were as critical as keeping your assigned sensor alive. By not protecting her, you crossed the red line.”
The archangel’s hands shook as he said the last part. Lucas had finally managed to crack his stoic facade. Under different circumstances, it might have amused him.
“You’ve been watching too much of the human media, archangel. This isn’t about weapons of mass destruction.”
“Lucas of Pistiros, you are a weapon of mass destruction. Whether you choose to see yourself that way or not, it is my duty to keep you contained.”
“For the humans’ sake,” Lucas drawled, “let us hope you’re more effective at it than the United Nations.”
Remiel glared. “Your lackadaisical attitude toward death is what makes you even more problematic. Your presence in Melena Sanders life has been less than positive. Are you aware she has a higher kill rate than you did at her age?”
Lucas smiled. “I’ve found that to be one of her more endearing qualities.”
If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn the archangel had steam coming from his ears. The ivory skin of his face had certainly turned an unbecoming shade of red. Remiel paced back and forth several times before he relaxed his shoulders and reclaimed his normal veneer of stoicism.
“Her one saving grace is she is more particular about who she kills. You, on the other hand, are less discriminating. We have considered that there may be a reason for that. Your destructive tendencies began quite early in life, which gives us a clue as to what might have set you on the wrong course. It is possible you developed a case of what the humans call PTSD due to traumatic events during your childhood and that this condition may have contributed to your path of destruction as an adult.”
Brilliant. Heaven was moving toward becoming more politically correct. Hell must have frozen over and they needed an excuse to “save” him.
Lucas leaned forward. “Do not attribute human weaknesses to me. I can assure you I have enjoyed every moment of my so-called path of destruction and do not believe my childhood has had anything to do with it.”
Now it was the archangel’s turn to smile. “Nevertheless, we have ordered a psychological evaluation to determine whether or not this is the case. I’d suggest you cooperate to the fullest extent because his findings will help us decide if you will be allowed to live and perhaps one day return to the mortal realm.”
Remiel looked over to his left toward a doorway Lucas hadn’t paid attention to before. A man who could only be described as a younger version of Denzel Washington stepped through, wearing a tailored gray suit. He had somewhat broader shoulders than the actor, but the dark skin tone and height were about the same. The look in his eyes made Lucas think he could see right through a person to the parts they didn’t want observed too closely.
“To make the evaluation more palatable for you,” Remiel said, turning back to him, “we called upon another nephilim who specializes in psychology to speak with you. Eli is an excellent example of someone who does well performing his civic duty to the mortal race, rather than harming it. You’d do well to cooperate with him during your sessions.”
They’d clearly been planning this while he’d been stuck in the black hole. The arrogant bastards really thought he’d go along with this?
“Your own lack of a childhood must be clouding your judgment, archangel. I understand. No Easter Bunny or Santa Claus or even a friendly little Tooth Fairy to collect your baby teeth.” Not that those things had existed when Lucas was a child, but that wasn’t the point. “It must be traumatic for you that you missed out, but drawing attention to my life isn’t going to solve anything. I DO NOT need a psychologist.”
Eli closed the distance between them. He walked with a slight swagger that didn’t match the professional appearance he was trying to convey. Who was this guy? Lucas hadn’t met him before, which was surprising, considering there couldn’t have been more than four dozen nephilim left alive.
“Tell me, Lucas.” Eli cocked his head. “What is it you really want right now?”
Whoever this guy was, he couldn’t be very old. Lucas wasn’t a sensor like Melena, but supernaturals could still pick up on the power levels of each other. It felt like a static charge and Eli didn’t have much. He probably wasn’t more than a few centuries old.
“That’s none of your business, collaborator,” Lucas growled.
The psychologist didn’t even blink. “Perhaps I should ask Melena if she can provide any valuable insight about you. It’s early evening in Alaska right now. I imagine she should be home.”
Lucas leapt to his feet and took a menacing step. The chains kept him from moving any farther, but he was close enough he could have grabbed the younger nephilim’s neck if his arms had been free. “Stay the fuck away from her.”
Triumph lit Eli’s eyes. He turned to the archangels. “And that, my friends, is the Achilles’ heel you’ve been looking for.”
Visions of ripping the man’s head off swam before his eyes. Lucas had never wanted to kill anyone more than this guy right now. His arms strained against the manacles binding him until they bled and began dripping on the floor. There was nothing he could do. The cocky man had him. Lucas needed to find a way to protect Melena and cooperating with the psychologist would buy him time to figure that out.
“You want to ask your ridiculous questions, collaborator, then go ahead. I’ll play your little game, but go anywhere near the sensor and I’ll find a way to kill you. Do not doubt it.”
Eli put his hands up. “All I’m asking for is a little cooperation. You can keep up the tough guy act as long as you talk.”
Remiel put his hand on the psychologist’s shoulder. “We’ll adjourn for now and you can meet with him again in a few days. I believe he needs some time to cool off.”
Lucas gritted his teeth. What the archangel really meant was he could look forward to visiting Kerbasi in his torture chamber. They’d want to make sure any time he spent with Eli would be preferable to what he faced in the depths of Purgatory. It didn’t matter. Lucas could handle it for as long as it took to get what he needed. After that, he’d face whatever punishment they meted out.
Chapter Three
Screams of agony rang out through the tunnels as two of Kerbasi’s minions escorted Lucas back into the lower levels of Purgatory. He’d recognize the tone of them anywhere—Bartol. He was still serving his century-long sentence for corrupting a female angel, resulting in her falling from grace. Lucas still hadn’t decided whether to respect the nephilim for what he did or be disgusted that the man willingly touched one of the enemy.
Up until ninety-eight years ago when he was imprisoned for his crime, Bartol had been one of the most renowned womanizers in the supernatural world. After Kerbasi finished with him, though, there wasn’t much left of the man. Lucas had watched him change into something else over the years and it wasn’t pretty.
The minions led him to the same cell he always occupied while here. When not in the black hole, anyway. It was nothing more than a carved out space off the main tunnel with rows of bars made of the same metal as his shackles. He’d often wondered where the material came from. There were a total of ten cells alongside and across from his with the same set-up. The metal had a silver luminescence he’d not seen anywhere else.
Once closed inside, there would be no breaking through the bars. Lucas had tested them enough times to know. When one is stuck in a space not much larger than a dog kennel, it’s only natural to check.
One of the minions opened the cell door while the other grasped the back of his neck and shoved him down and inside. He could have fought them, but it
would have been a waste of energy. There might come a time when he’d need what strength he had left for something more important. He wouldn’t throw it away when it would only mean more guards would come to aid these two. Lucas knew that from experience as well.
His bare ass hit the cold, wet floor. He had to draw his knees up part-way to fit inside. At least with his hands shackled to the front he could rub the water off of his face as it dripped from above him. Another annoying trait to the prison cells.
Lucas glared at the guard who turned the key in the lock. That one had taken his robe as soon as he got back. Prisoners weren’t allowed any comforts in Purgatory, including garments. Lucas gritted his teeth against an involuntary shiver and concentrated on regulating his body temperature to handle the freezing stone surrounding him. It could leach the heat out of him otherwise. It wasn’t as bad as the black hole, but it was close.
“You’ve finally returned to the land of the semi-living,” a high-pitched female voice said from a nearby cell.
He couldn’t see her since she was on the same side of the tunnel as him, but he recognized the owner of it—a rather unwelcome one. The list of reasons another stay in Purgatory would be unpleasant was growing. If anyone deserved to take the blame for the mess he was in now, it would be her. She, at least, deserved to be here.
“Enjoying your stay, Zoe?” he asked.
She might be an older nephilim than him, but she enjoyed her creature comforts far too much to handle this place well.
“Purgatory is definitely getting a bad review when I leave. That’s for sure.”
The sound of her hitting the gate to her cell reached him. She must have made quite the commotion when she first arrived.
“I’m sure they’ll spend their nights despairing over your low opinion,” he said, sitting back and trying to ignore the cold stone wall he leaned against.
“It’s been nearly three millennia since I last had to stay in this vile place and the accommodations have not improved at all. If I were a guardian here, I’d be making changes if for no other reason than one can only take so much of the blues and grays in the color scheme. Not to mention these leaky walls are leaving sores on my butt that won’t heal so long as I’m stuck in here. Let’s not even get into the activities program…”
Chained by Darkness (Sensor Series, Book 2.5) Page 2
