by R.K. Ryals
~Bezaliel~
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep. I walked the room instead hoping the exercise would work out the personal Demons eating away at my heart. It didn’t help. I spied the clothes lying on the chair I’d sat on earlier, and I picked them up carefully. The cardigan was beautiful, made to drape the figure but loose and comfortable enough to be easy to move in. The jeans were the same.
I shed the robe and pulled them on over the underwear and bra Marcas had left on the bed. The undergarments were the same color rose as the cardigan. The bra was a size A push up, and I cringed. It really bothered me that Marcas knew my size. I felt so tiny and young compared to everyone else. Weren’t Angels supposed to be tall and magnificent? I moved to the vanity next to the fireplace and took in my appearance. The cardigan was v-neck and fitted in the chest before draping loosely over the waist and dangling over my thighs. The look was appealing and far from the baggy, concealing clothes I was used to.
“What are you thinking, Marcas?” I asked my reflection as I ran my fingers apprehensively through my hair. It hung loose to the middle of my back and the curls framed my face chaotically. I had learned a long time ago that there was no way to tame my hair. How was red hair Angelic? I’d always felt Amber resembled more of what an Angel was supposed to look like. Not me. I ran my fingers across the cardigan before glancing down at the skinny jeans Marcas had left. They were made of stretch material and very comfortable. I wondered again where he got the clothes. They were too lived-in to be new.
I took one last look in the mirror before moving toward the bed, almost tripping over a pair of boots as I went. I looked down in surprise. Where had those come from? Had Marcas left those too? I picked them up and looked at them curiously. They were black and knee high. I was more a tennis shoe kind of girl, but I wasn’t going to turn down the loan.
“Not bad are they?” I asked the room as I slid the boots on and zipped them up over the jeans carefully. They were surprisingly comfortable and made me feel taller. Sexy, even. The need for a little makeup was overwhelming.
“Didn’t think of everything, did you?” I asked with a small laugh.
I had cried as much as I could cry today. There was nothing left to do but smile. I wasn’t going to wallow in despair. It’d just get me killed faster. I moved to lean against the bed with a sigh. It had been two hours since Marcas had left my room. I wasn’t sure I was patient enough to wait much longer. I climbed up onto the bed and weaved stories in my head to pass the time. Some of the stories were typical ones with Princes and Princesses and others were stranger and altogether unsettling. Should it disturb me that I kept imagining the hero as Marcas? He should be the villain. I brushed aside the image and thought, instead, about the events of the past two weeks, cursing fate as I thought about my past, the present, and the future. With no paper, I wrote in my head, the first line one I'd written the night Monroe slept over at the Abbey.
"Ludicrous is he, the tyrant that rules the past you see.
Smug is she, the ruler of now-a-day forever to be.
Enchanting will be the child,
Future's eaves hanging from her hair so wild . . ."
The bedroom door creaked open, and I jumped.
“It’s time, Blainey,” Marcas said from across the room.
I looked up at him and nodded. This was it then. I climbed off the bed and moved toward him. His gaze moved over my frame, and I actually blushed. It was a stupid way to react.
“Thank you for the clothes,” I said lamely as I passed him and moved into the hall.
He didn’t answer. I was used to that by now, and I let him take the lead before following him along the corridor. A noise made us both freeze.
“Where do you think you’re going, Demon?” Conor’s voice asked from behind us.
I turned slowly to find him leaning against the wall not far from the bedroom I’d been assigned. Marcas moved up next to me.
“We don’t have time for this, gargoyle,” Marcas said coldly. My gaze moved between them. Conor’s face had reddened.
“I won’t let you go without me. It’s my job to protect her,” Conor said hotly.
I looked at the floor a moment as Marcas moved slightly in front of me. I hadn’t counted on running into anyone.
“This isn’t your fight, gargoyle. This isn’t your war. If you want to protect her, you need to realize that staying here now is the best way to do that. There’s a lot you still don’t know about Demons, Reinhardt. A lot that Luther can teach you,” Marcas said evenly.
I looked up again. Conor had begun pacing the hall.
“Then why take her, Demon? She isn’t prepared for this battle anymore than the rest of us. You’ll just get her killed,” Conor argued. I didn’t entirely disagree, but I knew why Marcas needed me.
“I don’t have a choice, Reinhardt. She goes because she has to. She needs to be the one to take the ring. I will protect her with my life,” Marcas promised.
I moved closer to him. Conor looked surprised.
“Why are you doing this, Craig? Why are you protecting her?” Conor asked helplessly.
I didn’t understand it either, but I knew there was a reason. It would come out sooner or later. Marcas growled.
“That’s not an answer you need right now,” Marcas said harshly. I knew Conor was walking on thin ice.
“I won’t let you take her!” Conor protested.
I felt the sudden heat come off Marcas and I placed a hand on his arm before moving between them. I looked at Conor pleadingly.
“Don’t do this, Con."
He moved closer.
“I won’t let him do this to you,” he said.
“He isn’t doing anything. I agreed to go."
This made Conor pause.
“Why?” he whispered.
“Because I really don’t have a choice. I’m more of a danger bound to Marcas than I would be if I wasn’t."
Conor shook his head.
“There’s no guarantee it will work,” he said hoarsely. I knew what he was referring to. The risk was great, and I still wasn’t sure it was worth it.
“Do you love me, Conor?” I asked him suddenly.
His head snapped up and his eyes met mine. His gaze was conflicted.
“I do,” he admitted. There was no doubt in his voice. My heart clenched.
“Then let me go,” I said softly as I moved to stand before him. I looked up into his face.
“If you love me, then let me make this decision. Let me go now. Let me make this sacrifice for you and for Monroe. Give me that."
His hand came to rest on my cheek, and I didn’t pull away. I wouldn’t this time.
“I’m not sure I can,” he said as he bent over me.
Our faces were so close I could smell the mint on Conor’s breath. It was such a familiar, comforting feeling that I found myself smiling.
“Yes, you can,” I said as I placed my hand along his cheek as well.
Conor’s eyes darkened. I saw the guilt there. I knew he felt he'd failed me because he hadn't been there to stop my aunt and Damon. He was young. I didn't blame him. I let my eyes show him that.
“Let me go,” I added gently.
He closed his eyes a moment as if needing the time to make a decision. They opened again reluctantly.
“You better come back, Red,” Conor said darkly.
I grinned. The smile made his frown slip away. I didn’t promise to come back, but I let my eyes be the open book he’d told me I was. They promised I’d try. Conor moved so close our noses touched.
“I love you, Red," he whispered.
“I know you do."
I couldn’t say it back, but he didn’t seem to expect me too. I started to pull away, but he held me tightly and brought his other hand up to rest on the other side of my face,
“Give me this much,” he said huskily before placing his lips firmly on my own.
The contact was so unexpected I froze
as his lips moved over mine. The pressure was pleasant and warm, and I thought about the words he’d just said. Give me this much. I kissed him back. That much I could do. My hand slid to his shoulder and I gave everything I had to that kiss. Fire burned between us. I did it because I knew he needed it. I did it because I wasn’t sure I could ever kiss him again. Not in that way. Conor pulled away.
“Come back,” he pleaded softly.
I nodded as I backed away. I turned to find Marcas watching me with an unreadable expression. I let my eyes lock with his. I wasn’t going to feel bad for that kiss.
“Let’s go,” I said as I moved next to Marcas.
He turned and walked back down the corridor. I followed him. Neither one of us said a word as we moved until we reached the stairway that led to the street above.
“Do you love him?” Marcas asked unexpectedly.
I looked up at his back. He had changed clothes and wore a new leather jacket. He climbed the stairs. I followed.
“In my own way,” I answered quietly.
Marcas stopped at the street and peered cautiously into the night. I moved in close to him and fisted my hands into his jacket. I was nervous and the contact made me feel better. He shifted and my hands fell away.
“You don’t like to be touched, do you?” I asked him lightly.
I didn’t want him to know that it hurt when he pulled away. I didn’t even like the man for God’s sake, but he was all I had at the moment and I was scared.
“No, I don’t like to be touched."
I looked out into the street. It was empty. The one time I had the chance to see Italy and, of course, it’d be at night.
“No contact at all?” I asked.
I couldn’t let it go. Everyone needed some kind of affection. Was it different for Demons? Was it always all about hatred and sin? Marcas stepped out into the street and turned toward me. His face looked pale in the darkness, and I could tell he was irritated.
“Do you want to touch me, Blainey?"
My gaze shot to his. What a bastard thing to say! And just when I was beginning to feel we were making some type of progress. Not friends maybe but at least more civil.
“Not in the way your tone suggests, Craig. Not if my life depended on it,” I answered crossly as I moved into the street next to him. He turned away.
He started across a stone path next to the building we had been in and I stumbled as I followed. There were lights throughout the city, but the alley he was moving into was dark. I couldn’t see a thing. Starting to reach out to him again, I stopped. I wasn’t going to touch him now.
“You could see in the dark if you tried,” Marcas said from in front of me.
My eyes narrowed. “How?”
I’d always been almost blind in the dark. My mother used to joke that I was night blind. Marcas quit walking and turned around. I almost bumped into him. He reached a hand out and steadied me before placing a hand on each side of my head. Warmth flowed into me.
“Close your eyes, Blainey,” Marcas ordered.
I looked up at him in the dark.
“I thought you didn’t like to be touched."
His hands were in my hair, and I felt him pull it slightly in agitation. It made my toes tingle.
“Just shut up, Blainey, and close your eyes."
This time I complied.
“Imagine a light. When you see it, watch it grow and expand around you,” Marcas said quietly. His voice was hypnotic, but even if it hadn’t been, the task would have been simple enough. I’d always had a great imagination. Light blossomed in front of me, and I pulled it toward me with my mind. I stepped into it.
“When you have it pulled around you, open your eyes,” Marcas continued.
I put my hands up and placed them over his. Gently, I pushed his away. If he didn’t like to be touched, then I didn’t either. Our hands fell apart, and I opened my eyes.
“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed as I glanced around me. The alley was still dark, but I could see everything in it plainly. I looked at Marcas. Every line of his face was visible to me.
“What did you do?” I asked him in awe. He turned away.
“I didn’t do anything. You did. It’s part of being a Naphil.”
He had started to walk away, and I rushed to catch up with him.
“I’ve never been able to do any of this before,” I said reasonably.
He had to have done something. Maybe it was part of being bound to him. His powers? Marcas kept walking.
“You didn’t try before,” Marcas said simply. “But it’s not the first time someone’s tried to show you how.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. What did he mean? Marcas came to the end of the alley and stopped, but he didn’t turn around. I didn’t move. Look for the light, Day.
“Jesus!” I mumbled under my breath. My father. The dream.
“Is that how you knew to show me?” I asked.
I knew he’d seen my dream. I’d known it on the plane, and I had been grateful to him for not commenting on it.
“Demons can already see in the dark. Angels can too. Because you are half mortal, you have to work a little more at it. But the power is still there,” Marcas answered.
I gave that some thought before moving to catch up with him.
“What does my dream mean?” I asked him as we started to move again. We stuck to the alleyways. I wondered if I’d even get to see Italy.
“It’s not my dream to decipher,” he answered.
I rolled my eyes. Why couldn’t anything ever be simple? If he saw the meaning, why couldn’t he just tell me? And why the hell didn't my dad find a simpler way of getting in touch with me? Was the dream even from him? Marcas came to the end of an alley and turned again. I was getting tired of walking.
“Is there a faster way to get where we’re going?” I asked Marcas wearily.
“We could fly,” he said from in front of me. I shuddered.
“I don’t know which would be worse, the height or you having to endure touching me."
Marcas ducked under an overhanging roof.
“Do you, by any chance, have an off button?” Marcas asked.
I followed him under the roof without having to stoop at all.
“Didn’t you know? I’m one of a kind, Craig, with a few necessary malfunctions,” I grumbled as we moved into a small courtyard. The house it belonged to was small. A cross was hung carefully on the arched wooden door. Marcas moved up along the walk to the small porch beyond. I followed carefully.
“The cross doesn’t bother you?” I asked Marcas as we moved to stand in front of the door. He reached up and knocked.
“You read too much,” Marcas answered as the cross on the door shook suddenly.
My eyes widened, and I moved closer to the Demon. My hand found its way into his jacket. To hell with his dislike for touch! There was no telling what would open the door. Marcas didn’t shake me loose. Someone yelled in Italian from within and Marcas answered. The door creaked open.
“Speak English,” Marcas said coldly to the figure that appeared.
I peered around Marcas and found myself staring at an old, stooped woman with gray-peppered black hair twisted into a severe bun. She wore a dark blue house dress and had a rosary hanging plainly around her neck. She was scowling.
“What do you want, Demonio?” The woman asked harshly.
There was evidently no love lost between the two of them. Marcas put his hand on top of the door and shoved it open. The woman backed up hurriedly while sprouting a nice string of what I assumed was Italian curse words. He moved into the house and I moved with him.
“Be gone, you lousy Demonio!” she shouted. Marcas’ eyes glowed red.
“Now, Maria, I’ve heard much nicer things from you before," Marcas crooned.
The woman spat at his feet. Her ire was evident, but the fight was slowly draining out of her. There was no denying that Marcas had the upper hand.
“Wha
t do you want?” she asked again as Marcas moved further into the house.
I let go of his jacket but stayed close to his side. Maria switched on a light and I blinked. It was too bright, too fast.
“Close your eyes,” Marcas said softly. “Imagine the light you wrapped yourself in earlier suddenly shutting itself off."
I complied quickly. I opened my eyes and the light looked normal again. Maria had gone stock still, and her complexion was pale. Her eyes were focused on me.
“Holy mother of God!” she swore as she crossed herself. She glared at Marcas. Her fingers entangled themselves in her rosary.
“What have you done?” she asked him forcefully.
She held her hand out to me, and I looked at it warily.
“It’s all right,” she soothed. “I won’t hurt you, Angel.”
My head snapped up. What had she said? I looked up at Marcas.
“She has the Sight. It’s a blessing some are bestowed which allows them to see what creatures like us are,” Marcas explained. Maria clucked.
“It’s a curse, Demonio. Not a blessing. I see too many of your kind lately,” she snarled as she urged me to take her hand again. This time I placed my right hand in hers. It was papery but soft and dry. I’m sure mine were soaked with sweat. Maria’s eyes widened.
“A half-breed,” she muttered.
She pulled me to a scarred kitchen table and urged me to sit.
“It can’t be,” she said to herself.
I sat down. Marcas moved in behind me.
“She’s the daughter of Bezaliel,” Marcas said.
Maria looked up at him wide-eyed. She glanced at my face again. She shook her head and moved away from the table muttering to herself in Italian. She reached into a cupboard and came back to the table bearing two china tea cups. I noticed she didn’t offer one to Marcas. I nodded my thanks.
“And she’s not a monster? Her mother?” the woman asked as she took a kettle and placed it on a small stove.
The house was small. There appeared to be only three rooms and they were all open to each other. Rosaries hung everywhere. Fresh herbs hung above an old fashioned stove and crocheted throws were flung over threadbare furniture, the original colors of the sofa and chair unrecognizable due to age. At the moment, they appeared grey.
“A Sethian descendant,” Marcas answered. Maria paused.
“Pure?”
Marcas nodded. Maria started sprouting things in Italian again. I would be amused if I wasn’t so confused. What were we doing here? The kettle whistled and Maria moved back to the table. She sat opposite me. She stared at me for some time before glancing up at Marcas.
“What are you doing with a Naphil?” she asked suspiciously. “I would have hoped you had learned your lesson, Demonio.”
I glanced up at him. Lesson? Marcas avoided my gaze.
“She’s bound to me,” he answered.
Maria swore. She reached across the table and grabbed my left hand. I tried pulling it away, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Look at me,” Maria demanded.
I did as she asked. I didn’t see a way to get around it. Marcas sure as hell wasn’t any help. Maria took one look in my eyes and cursed again, her eyes glancing down at the wedding and engagement rings on my finger.
“All of this is impossible,” Maria said.
I looked away and she dropped my hand. I twisted the rings worriedly. I needed to make Marcas get rid of them, but the weight of them was comforting somehow.
“It’s apparently possible,” Marcas remarked off-handedly.
Maria focused her attention on him.
“Being bonded should have killed her.”
“It didn’t.”
“Why did you do it, Demonio? For revenge? For Sophia?” Maria asked. Marcas roared and his fangs flashed.
“Do not go there, old lady! This was my brother’s doing. He bound us with the hopes that her blood would bring the line of Cain redemption,” Marcas said heatedly.
It was the first time I’d really seen him become incensed. Who was Sophia? Maria’s eyes narrowed.
“Your brother has lost his wits.”
“A lifetime of bloodlust will do that to you,” Marcas said. Maria didn’t argue.
“And now he’s incited a war,” Maria said thoughtfully.
“I wondered why the Demon activity had picked up. What did you bring her here for?” Maria asked, her eyes moving once more to the rings. It was definitely time to get rid of them. Marcas didn’t even blink.
“For the Seal of Solomon."
Maria’s eyes widened. Her tea cup shook in her hand.
“You are not serious, Demonio!” she exclaimed. I looked between the pair.
“I know the dangers,” I said quietly.
Maria’s head snapped in my direction. Her eyes focused on me.
“Do you, Angel? Do you really?” she asked me bitterly.
My brows furrowed in confusion. Was there something Marcas hadn’t told me?
“If you’re lucky to even survive getting the ring, there’s a huge possibility you won’t survive wearing it,” Maria said plainly. I knew this.
“I know,” I whispered.
“And you agreed?” Maria looked at Marcas. “Why didn’t you just take her soul? Why attempt the impossible?” she asked him hotly.
She slammed her cup down on the table. It shattered. Marcas leaned over and placed his hand over the debris.
“Where’s the ring, Maria?” Marcas asked.
He moved his hand away from the table to reveal a completely mended china tea cup. Maria watched him quietly.
“I understand you don’t care about your own existence, Demonio. I even understand if you want to end it. But to risk the Angel?” Maria asked.
I looked at Marcas warily. Didn’t care about his own existence?
“You want to die?” I asked him softly.
Marcas’ jaw tightened as he continued to stare at the old woman.
“Where’s the ring?” he asked her again.
I stood up. Maria stared down at her hands.
“Do you want to die?” I asked Marcas more forcefully.
He looked down at me. His eyes were glowing.
“I wouldn’t find it unwelcome,” he answered me coldly. The chill went straight to my bones. I placed my hands against his chest and shoved.
“So this is a suicide mission?”
He didn’t answer me. I shoved again. I knew Demons could die. I’d seen Marcas kill Samuel. Didn’t I?
“Can you die?” I asked curiously.
He still didn’t answer. I heard Maria shift in her chair.
“It takes a lot to kill a Demon, but they can die. Because they are already occupants of hell, there is no true life for them after death. Only recycled life,” Maria answered in Marcas’ stead.
I shoved him again. It wasn’t having much of an effect, but I was angry.
“Do you care that I could die too?” I asked him fiercely.
Marcas continued to stare at Maria.
“Where’s the ring?” he asked her again. She didn’t answer.
“Fuck you, Marcas!” I shouted as I shoved him again.
Maria gasped in shock and Marcas finally glanced down at me. My hands were still against his chest.
“I told you not to mistake my saving your life for anything less than self-preservation,” he said coldly. I reached up and slapped him.
“What preservation, you asshole?”
He grabbed my hand by the wrist, and I bit back a scream. I wouldn’t let him win this one.
“Do not slap me again,” he ordered harshly.
How dare he? I had once thought he was saving me because he feared his brother. Now, I realized he’d promised Damon he’d return me because he wasn’t expecting either one of us to make it back. And I’d trusted him.
“You are one arrogant son of a bitch!” I hissed. Marcas’ eyes lit up.
�
�Figures you’d mistake confidence for arrogance,” he replied.
I clenched my fists. I was so naïve. I slapped him again. He snarled.
“And here I thought you’d been through puberty, Blainey,” he said through gritted teeth. Oh, that did it! I’d had enough. I tried to ignore the rub. Really I did. The slap had been childish but he’d deserved it.
“Well, geez. They keep raising the age of adulthood, Marcas. At least I’m not stuck for an eternity having to relive an age too young to drink,” I snarled.
Marcas quit moving, looking down at me so swiftly if I had blinked I would have missed it.
“Would you like to be, Blainey?” he asked.
“Are you threatening me, Craig?”
“Damn it, woman! If killing you wouldn’t destroy what little part of me wasn’t a monster, I would murder you!” Marcas cried out before punching the wall behind me so hard the plaster crumbled. I felt fear but didn’t blink. I had his strength now. He wasn’t the only one who could badly redecorate a house.
“Awww, Marcas. I’m flattered. I didn’t realize you liked me so much,” I said quietly, using that moment to twist the rings from my finger.
I threw them on the floor before ducking under his arm. We both needed space. But even as I walked away, his words resonated so deeply within me, it made me rub the sudden goosebumps on my arms. “If killing you wouldn’t destroy what little part of me wasn’t a monster. . .”
Chapter 27
There is nott much known about the artifacts of Solomon beyond myths. Demons have always sought them, been obsessed with their so called powers. They could give a Demon control of his kind. It could give him control of the earth. It cannot be allowed to happen.
