“My word, Dumah was the first.”
“The first what?”
“Demon.” She bit her fingernail. “The first of seven, I’d bet.” Armen pulled away from him and headed for the bookshelf. She ran her fingertips along the spines. “Each one is stronger, higher than the one preceding it. They’ll work their way up until they reach the seventh one, the strongest and highest one.”
“Lucifer?” Terry asked, concern showing in his green eyes.
Armen gazed into those eyes then plucked a book from the shelf. “I don’t think it’ll go that high, but we need to figure out why they keep coming after me.”
“I think they want you back.”
“But they’re attacking you, too, in a manner of speaking. I mean, Sariel’s attack on your parents was about your dad and you, not me.”
Terry shook his head. “I don’t know about that one. Maybe they’re pissed because you have redemption from Him, and they’ve seen me with you.”
Armen bit her lower lip in contemplation. “What did your dad say? Something about they want the one who saved him. That’s me. And the one related to him. That’s you.”
“But why?”
“You’re an angel of death, Terry.”
He frowned. “But I’m not an angel.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ve been put on a path for a reason, and now it’s being fulfilled. By the way, I don’t have complete redemption.”
He stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you still a demon?”
“No,” she replied.
“Then you’re on the path, Armen. Name one demon who has met the same fate as you.”
“I can’t.”
“See?”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him.
“This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”
“Well, it certainly isn’t good.”
He kissed the top of her head. She pulled away from him, grabbed the ancient book, set the new one on the table, and sat down on the sofa once more.
Terry stared at her for a moment before sitting down next to her. “You may not know what you’re looking for, but you’ll find it in that book. It calls to you for a reason.”
Armen stopped scanning the text and eyed him. “What is this?”
Terry smiled and patted her knee. “Find what you’re looking for first, and then I’ll tell you about the book.” He rose from the sofa and headed into the kitchen to put away his groceries. “And while you’re at it, figure out who the next demon is.”
She repeated his last words in a grumble and scanned the text again. “Yeah, right.”
Heavenly histories eons old lived within the pages of the book in her hands. She scanned the handwritten words, and memories long forgotten revealed themselves to her. For a brief moment, she saw the Light of Him and she rescanned the page to see it again, to no avail. She continued to search, moving along as Terry came into the living room once more and sat in a chair near the fireplace. He watched her intently, drinking a cup of tea, until she stopped, her finger pressed against the page. Terry leaned forward when Armen looked up at him. The word beneath her finger glowed around its edges.
“Pax?” She didn’t understand.
Terry nodded once and sat back again.
“What, you couldn’t give me the peace symbol?” She held up two fingers, but Terry shook his head. “It’s a good thing you didn’t live in the sixties.”
“And was born after the era of disco.”
Armen frowned. “Why that word?”
He took another drink from his tea, and then leaned forward again. “It’s kind of like what you did for my mom, a release to the light, I guess, or into grace, rather. I can’t really explain it. I don’t know how it works.”
Realization hit Armen. “You would have said that to me?”
“Yes.”
“But it wouldn’t have worked. Not for me.”
“How do you know? Maybe you need someone to pray for you.”
Armen blinked rapidly. “Have you prayed for me?”
Terry smiled. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Terry’s smile faded. “You really can’t see the good in yourself, can you? Have you forgotten that you were once divine?”
Armen bit her lower lip and shook her head.
“Which question are you answering, or is it both?”
She nodded and stared at the book. Its voice among the words gracing its pages was unique, in that it spoke directly to the person reading it. She now looked at a sentence that echoed what Terry had just said to her. There is good in you. Armen flipped the page over to the next and her eyes widened. Why do you question when you know the answer? Armen moved her jaw forward and bit her upper lip. What am I questioning? She turned the page once more. Within the many words on the page, only four stood out, separately glowing like a beacon to form the answer:
When she returned her gaze to Terry, a smile beamed across his face. “What?”
“He’s speaking to you, isn’t He?”
The words had appeared in her story, written by . . . it couldn’t be possible. “Who wrote this?” She held the book up.
“Certainly not my dad, but definitely yours.”
“How old is it?”
Terry looked into his cup and ran a finger around the rim. “It’s older than the Bible. That’s all I know.”
“But it’s in English.”
“I know. It was Latin before that, and Aramaic before that. It would be in Russian if so needed.” His eyes met hers. “The language changes to that of the Keeper. That’s the beauty of it, Armen.”
She blinked one, two, three times. “How is that possible? I don’t remember any book like this.”
“Perhaps you weren’t privy to that knowledge.”
“Obviously. So then, this is . . . His book?”
Terry smiled again. “Yes. Ask it something else.”
“Like what?” she said wide-eyed.
“Like, who’s coming next.”
She turned the page again and saw a name that terrified her to the core. “Oh shit.” Her voice wavered and she met Terry’s eyes with worry. “How did you come by this book, Terry?”
“My father gave it to me.” He leaned forward. “What’s the matter? Who is it?”
Armen looked down at the page again and felt a shudder run through her body. Would Terry know who it was if she said the name? She didn’t want to say it aloud, for fear of invoking her.
“How did your father get it?” Her mind reminded her of the demon in vivid detail.
Terry sat on the edge of his chair, waiting for her to say the name of the next demon they would face. “To answer your question from that day in the apothecary, yes, he worked at the Vatican.”
“He specialized in ancient relics, didn’t he?” Her eyes remained on the page.
“Yes, ancient religious artifacts. Who is it, Armen? Why won’t you tell me?”
She shook her head. “You really don’t want to know and I can’t say it aloud.”
Terry abruptly stood from the chair and walked over to sit next to her. When he looked at the page, the word burned brightly with a hint of flame at its edges.
Judging from his facial expression, he recognized this demon.
“How far is this going to go?” he asked her, but the book provided the answer.
Until the End.
“Of days?” Terry asked.
“Yes.” Armen looked at him again. “I told you.”
“Shit,” he said and stared at the name that still burned brightly amidst the other message on the page: Ashtoreth.
Armen closed the book and set it on the coffee table. She picked up her blended coffee and leaned back into the sofa, wrapped her lips around the straw, and drew the frozen beverage into her mouth. She batted her eyelashes at Terry and smirked around the straw.
“Why are you suddenly so calm?”
“I’m enjoying my coffee. It may be the last one I
ever have.”
“Funny.” He moved closer to her. “Let me have some of that.”
She held the cup away from him. “You want me to give you some of my coffee?”
“Well, I did buy it for you.”
Armen stared at him a moment. “Okay, here.”
He took the straw into his mouth. When he pulled away, surprise filled his features. “Hey, that’s pretty good. I should’ve gotten myself one.”
Armen nodded and took another drink. “Yes, you should have.” Terry leaned closer, and she placed a hand on his chest. “And just what do you think you’re doing, Detective Armstrong?”
“I’d like some more,” he replied with a glint in his eyes. “Pretty please.”
She eased up and allowed him closer. He took the straw again, his eyes remaining on hers as he sampled the coffee once more. Slowly, he pulled back from the straw and licked his lips. Armen licked hers in response, and he moved in, his face only inches from hers before he closed the gap. She allowed the kiss, having longed for it since the apothecary. He pushed his tongue past her lips, and she responded by pressing a hand to his chest again and holding him back.
“What are you doing?” She couldn’t let him think it would be so easy, even if he’d held her in her near-bare skin recently.
“Trying to seduce the woman I love. I mean, it may be the last time I ever have the chance.” His brow jumped and humor held his eyes.
She raised one eyebrow. “Does that actually work on women?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried it before.” He pressed against her hand, her arm giving only a little. “Is it working on you?”
“Not even close.” Of course it was working.
“Worth a shot,” he said with a shrug. “How about another kiss then?”
“That, you can have.” She set the coffee on the table and pulled him toward her.
His lips crashed against hers and the collision set her body on fire. In a series of swift motions, he had her pinned beneath him, and in all her years of seduction she’d never had a man turn her on the way he did with such simple moves. Terry hovered over her, bracing himself with his left hand near her shoulder, and the other settled next to her hip before he dropped to his left elbow and moved his right hand slowly down her leg. He kissed her again, and his warm lips trailed kisses along her jaw line to her neck. Her breath hitched.
“Terry?”
“Yeah?” He continued kissing along her neck and shoulder, his hand gripping her hip now.
“We should take it slow.”
“Why’s that?” He nibbled on her earlobe, which about drove her nuts.
“Are you trying to get me cast into the Darkness again?” She tried to make it sound funny.
He bolted upright. “What? Why would you say that?”
Apparently, it wasn’t funny.
She propped herself on her elbows. “I’m sorry. I really do want this. It’s just that . . . a part of me is scared shitless. It frightens the hell out of me not knowing which choice I made that might send me back.”
He slumped. “Shit, Armen. I didn’t even think about that.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, sitting up.
“But I should.” He ran a hand over his head. “When it comes to you, I should. I’m sorry.”
She grabbed the sides of his head and made him look at her. “And this is why I love you.” She let him go and reached for her coffee.
He sighed heavily, as though he’d fought an entire demon horde. “What if we were to get married? Would he reject that idea?”
Armen choked on her coffee and quickly covered her mouth. After wiping the liquid from her chin, she stared at him as he chuckled. “You haven’t taken me out to dinner yet and you want to jump into marriage? Great proposal, by the way. I’m all aflutter.” She placed her hand over her heart and batted her eyelashes.
“Fine, I’ll take you to dinner tonight. Let’s go buy you that little black dress.” His eyebrows jumped.
“It’s barely morning.”
Terry looked at the clock on the far kitchen wall. “Okay, so we have some time to kill. What would you like to do?”
She shrugged. “At this hour?”
“How about breakfast?”
“I don’t eat breakfast.”
Terry laughed. “That’s because you usually wake up just before dinner.”
She couldn’t argue with that one. He was right. Dinner was her breakfast. “True, but you do realize a quite nasty demon is coming after one of us soon, right?”
“Right now, I don’t fucking care,” he said.
“We should still plan for her. We can’t go on like everything is just peachy fucking normal.”
He cupped her face. “I’m not sacrificing any normalcy we might have to prepare for a demon I already know how to fight,” he argued. “Life goes on, no matter what’s coming.”
Armen laughed. “You can’t possibly know how to fight her.”
Terry raised his face to hers and smirked. “She’s a goddess of war, but I’d think you would know that.”
“I do, and I’ve seen the bitch fight. I am not looking forward to facing her.”
Terry pulled her head closer. “So let’s have some fun. We have until Friday.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because that’s her day.” He kissed her before she could respond again. Smart man.
Armen’s voice disappeared, as did her thoughts.
“I’ve been thinking about this, the days they appear, except for Sariel because there was some sort of link between you two—” Armen started to interject, and Terry quickly placed his hand over her mouth. “Which I am not upset about, so let me finish.”
She nodded for him to continue.
“They are each connected to a day of the week. I don’t know why, but it’s in the texts. Yes, I’ve been reading the texts. I’ve read them all my life, and now I know why my father made me do so. He’s been preparing me all this time. All the books he’s made me read, the courses he’d told me to take in college, which made me think at the time that he wanted me to be a priest or a wrangler like him, but he never came out and said it. The relics he’s shown me, the knowledge he’s passed on to me about them, and that book.” His eyes moved to the book on the table and quickly returned to hers. “That book. It’s the Book of Secrets, Armen. He gave it to me a few years ago and told me to keep it safe. I wondered about that for a long time. Why would he give it to me when it would be much safer at the Vatican?”
Armen shook her head. “Damn, that was a mouthful.”
“Armen, I’m serious.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She laughed. “It’s safer here than at the Vatican because anyone looking for that book will look at the Vatican first, among several other places. But . . . .” She scanned her memories for anything about a Book of Secrets. Wait, wasn’t there an angel who guarded a book? What was her na—
“He gave it to me after a certain demon sacrificed her life for his.”
She gulped. Shit.
“I think it’s here for you.” He sat back and stared at the book.
“It can’t be. It’s not my burden. I’ve never even heard of it.”
“Maybe it has become your—”
She shook her head quickly. “No, that doesn’t change. Ever.”
“Well, it’s here for some reason.”
She sighed and dropped her head against the back of the sofa.
“Do you know what I am?”
She shifted her eyes to him. “Truthfully, I’ve never run across anyone like you before. I don’t know what you are, other than human. And apparently Death to demonkind.”
“Sariel kept calling me a knight.”
“He was being sarcastic and condescending. Sariel was a Prince of Darkness. Don’t be fooled by words. They’ll be your undoing.” Though if she really considered it, Terry had taken on the title and knights were higher than angels, which would have been the only way he
’d been able to kill Sariel. Shit. What the hell did that mean?
Terry moved to the side and picked the book up from the table. He sat back again and flipped through the pages before finally closing it with a heavy sigh. “It never works for me.”
“Why don’t you just ask your dad?” Armen sat up and finished off her drink. “I mean, you said the book calls to a person. Maybe it doesn’t need to call to you because you already have a way to speak with Him.”
Terry placed a hand on each side of her face and kissed her hard. “You’re brilliant! Let’s go eat and then we’ll go visit my dad. You wanted to talk to him about yours anyway.” He jumped to his feet and went into the kitchen.
Armen sat in shock a moment or five. She finally got to her feet and wandered into her bedroom, walked over to the bed and sat on its edge, and stared into the picture that hung on the wall in front of her. It was a nice landscape painted by one John Constable, according to the signed name in the corner. England, she assumed, from the looks of it. She sighed heavily. What is he? She examined the painting more closely to see if it was real; Terry certainly couldn’t afford a real Constable painting on a cop’s salary, detective or not. Then she glanced to the corner of her room.
“Damn Goya,” she said aloud, staring at the only surviving anything from the fire. That was an original, and it took quite a bit to procure. “I should go look at my condo.” Armen stood, disrobed and pulled her jeans from the closet, along with a long-sleeved shirt she bought the day before the funeral, and a new hoodie. She dressed, fiddled with her hair until it was back in a ponytail, slipped on some Converse sneakers that she picked up that same day at the store, and walked back out to the living room. Normally, she’d be dressed much nicer, in more casual work attire, but with what had been happening lately, and the fact that they hadn’t returned to work just yet, she felt the most comfortable in jeans. It sure as hell beat pristine white robes or scales any day.
Terry sat on the sofa and flipped through the book again. His frustration showed in his face until he noticed her standing there.
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 15
