by Lori Adams
They passed under it and continued along the stone causeway to a high-arched doorway manned by a giant Philistine. His bright yellow eyes glowed beneath a heavy iron helmet. One beefy hand swung the main door open for the guests while the other hand swallowed the hilt of a giant sword that measured the length of a man. The Philistine was the last line of defense and well chosen. No one had ever stormed the inner sanctum.
Once inside, the distant torches along the walls gave way to their surroundings. It was a narrow corridor, room enough for three to walk abreast. Intricate runes carved into the stone floor made the walk particularly annoying. One could turn an ankle or catch a toe on the thick carvings. The path was not made to be easily traversed; not made for one to breeze along it without notice. The demonic sigils gave warnings against anyone who sought to harm the members of The Order.
Every precaution was taken in the design of the tower: narrow corridors to clog an army, single-file stairwells, and twisting pathways to confuse those unfamiliar with the direction. Only the Marrow Men could navigate their way. Anyone who hoped to memorize the route would be sorely disappointed; the tower frequently turned on its base, every level rotating a different direction and settling again at a random configuration. No one ever entered the same way twice.
When they finally reached the door to the inner sanctum, the Marrow Man stepped aside. Dante squeezed Ka’s hand and pulled her forward. Vaughn fell in line behind them, twitchy with anxiety.
The single door opened and they walked into chaos. Dante had last been inside when he had received the pastor’s death contract. Members of The Order had been pensive and curious then. Not so now. The room was loud and unruly with nobles from every house in the fifth kingdom arguing with one another. Members of The Order stood behind the long, rectangular stone table on the raised dais across the room. They jabbed fingers and grew red-faced in their arguments. Somebody was beating a stone pestle for attention with little effect.
Ka’s eyes roamed over the strange ceiling, a hammered dome of dry iron the color of rust. Forged into the iron ceiling was an enormous round demon trap that seemed to hover over their heads like a giant spiderweb. The concave shape was no mere accident but designed to prevent secrets; plots whispered at one end would travel as soft echoes to the opposite side of the room. There should be no secrets in the inner sanctum.
But there was no whispering today. Opinions and accusations flew like bats without direction. It took a full minute before Dante and the others were noticed and voices began to dissipate. The nobles, some in the formal liveries of their houses and others in neutral cloaks, gradually turned toward the door. Dante’s chin went up and he cast a sharp look at the familiar faces. He found Isatou pressed against the wall with her hands clasped in anticipation. Her eyes were wild with a pleading sort of look. Dante couldn’t decide what had her so worried.
The crowd parted in a path leading up to the stone table and members of The Order. Many were breathing heavily from their quarrel, some were flushed in the face, but all were looking wide-eyed in Ka’s direction.
Seven members occupied the table, three thrones to the left, three thrones to the right, and the leader in the High Throne—dead center and two feet above the others. The member on the farthest right was always the scribe who took an accurate account of proceedings. Isatou stood near the scribe in case she was needed. Dante noticed that Lord Malachi, not Lord Brutus, stood before the High Throne. It appeared that the rumors were true; Lord Brutus had refused to name his spy and vacated from the High Throne. The second in command had taken over until a proper vote could be held.
“Dante!” Lord Malachi called, throwing his hands in the air in welcome. “Come forward!” His tone held no malice or sarcasm, so Dante pulled Ka forward. Vaughn followed, cautious and alert.
There was a flurry of activity as the members arranged themselves along the table and took their seats. The nobles on the floor closed in behind the three. Dante stopped them in the middle of an enormous rune burned in the stone floor. It very much resembled the demon’s trap over their heads, with a few varying symbols.
Dante’s eyes slid to Lord Brutus, the withered old man who was so gray he appeared to be made of ashes pasted together with crackled varnish. Crusty lips curled back to snarl at Dante.
“The Order stakes claim to this time and the words spoken by each member.” Lord Malachi stated the standard address that began every meeting. “All words in all tongues, herewith and in the invisible empire, belong to the Dark Master. All who agree?” A chorus of Aye’s echoed and faded. The scribe, Lord Hailu, scratched out the words on a skin parchment.
Lord Malachi nodded his approval, and then his eyes fell on Ka with a deliberate look. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and tilted his head thoughtfully. The room grew quiet as a tomb. The moment stretched. The scribe looked up from his scratching and followed everyone’s attention.
Dante could feel the weight of the entire room on them; too many probing eyes. He could feel Sophia’s grip tighten around his fingers. He knew she was nervous and sweating. Their fingers became slick, sliding together in a crushing grip. Dante shifted beneath Lord Malachi’s lingering gaze on her. He grew more uncomfortable under the pleasing look spreading across the man’s features. Women found Lord Malachi charming and handsome, attributes he used to his advantage. But the man was a greedy letch that Dante never should have befriended. Before his interim on the High Throne, Lord Malachi was ambassador to all five kingdoms for The Order. He kept them informed on weapon development and any shifts in noble ranks within the kingdoms. In truth, he abetted the gossipmonger, although members of The Order were strictly forbidden to associate with their kind. Gossipmongers were a slippery sect that worked behind the scenes and caused trouble for the nobles. Despite the restrictions, most members of The Order had their secret proclivities on the side, be it trading in whores, slaves, weapons, or information.
Lord Malachi was neither a negotiator nor a war commander. When The Order would eventually take their vote to replace Lord Brutus, Dante doubted that Lord Malachi would be chosen. More than likely it would be Lord Kruell, who headed the war council, the Totenkreig or War of the Dead. Dante had no idea what temporary power of the High Throne would do to a man of Lord Malachi’s nature.
“Ah, forgive me, Dante!” Lord Malachi finally said, breaking the silence in a burst of inspiration. “You have been gone and don’t know what’s happened in your absence. Let me explain.” He stood in a dramatic display that reminded Dante of another reason he’d never cared for the man. He enjoyed the politics of Hell the way a starving man enjoyed a steak.
“There were conditions put to our Lord Brutus while you were gone, and rather than comply and give up the name of his spy, he opted to step down.” Lord Malachi cocked his head, grinning and nodding toward Ka.
Dante glared at Lord Brutus, but rather than address Lord Malachi’s complaints about the lord’s devious tricks, Dante moved on. He released Sophia’s hand and took a step apart to formally introduce her to The Order. “My Lords and Ladies,” he said, then turned and nodded to include the crowd around them. “Nobles of all nature, I present Sophia St. James.”
Murmurs broke out. Heads craned. There was a rustling sound of movement from back to front as the crowd reconfigured around her. Ka lifted her chin and stepped forward gracefully, confidently. She offered The Order a courteous bow befitting any royal court. The room fell quiet as her head dipped out of view. The nobles eagerly weighed her attitude for sarcasm or defiance, but when she looked up again, she charmed them with a dazzling smile.
Lord Malachi’s face lit up. “It is true then. You are the one to Awaken. You are to become a spirit walker.” He seemed delighted to confirm that he hadn’t been made a fool. When his eyes dropped to her hands, Ka held them up.
Dante was quick to explain. “She was in the process of completing her third trial when we were yanked back here.” His voice was charged with accusation and he looked deliberately a
t Lord Brutus. Noise among the nobles swelled to a deep rumble as they understood the underlying allegation. If Lord Brutus had left them alone, Dante would have turned her dark already, and the fifth kingdom would have had a new weapon to lure in lost souls. The fifth kingdom would have moved ahead of the other kingdoms in the Dark Master’s favor.
Lord Hailu, the scribe, beat the pestle on the table for quiet and eventually got it. Lord Brutus scowled at the opposite end. He’d had little to say since his status had been revoked. Only his long-standing loyalties to higher nobles had kept him from being removed from The Order altogether.
Lord Malachi had taken to ignoring the old man. He continued with gusto. “Yes! Yes! We’re all eager for her to complete her Awakening. Soon the Chelsea Light will be luring in untold numbers of lost souls! Our slave trade will flourish! And we will win the Dark Master’s favor!” A cheer rose up that startled Dante and Vaughn. They frowned at each other in disbelief. Could they have misjudged the situation? Were the threats against them exaggerated?
Lord Malachi hushed the crowd again and went on with the plans. “Now, as I am ambassador to all five kingdoms and involved in all weapon developments, I know best how to use our weapons. I will personally oversee the Awakening. When the Chelsea Light rises within the girl, I will procure it within myself so that it will be used to its maximum benefit. For as we all agree, it’s best for a high-ranking noble to take charge of such a powerful instrument. We will not leave it, literally, in the hand of a commoner, however beautiful and innocent.” He flashed an impressive smile at Ka, but his statement brought on a mixed reaction. Some called for a vote while others shouted allegations of conspiracy for despotism. No individual noble should have so much power.
“And what of the Demon Knights?” Lord Brutus shouted over the ruckus. His sudden outburst stopped the squabbling in an instant. As though he’d never been dethroned, he stood and took command. “These nobles have betrayed The Order at every turn!” He thrust an ugly, gnarled finger at Dante and Vaughn. “They should be subjected to the worst, and sent to the Nether Regions! At once!”
The room exploded with outcries again as though the nobles were picking up where they’d left off when Dante and the others had entered. Arguments and tempers flared. By all accounts, things seemed evenly divided. Some wanted the knights destroyed and Ka taken into custody. Others wanted Dante to turn her dark under his care.
Vaughn swore under his breath and adjusted his stance for a fight. He opened his palms, waiting for the sign to unsheathe his daggers.
Dante’s mind raced for a solution as panic gripped him. It was as he had feared. The underlying hostilities were surfacing. Jeers from Lord Brutus’s loyal nobles were overtaking Lord Malachi’s shout for silence. Things were quickly escalating out of control. Over and over the question was asked: “Why pardon the knights when we have the girl?”
“My Lord of the High Throne!” Ka’s voice shot through the chaos as an arrow to a target. The unexpected tone and force brought the room into quick submission. Jaws dropped. Lord Hailu, who had been beating the table with the pestle, plopped down on his stone chair, stunned. Then he remembered himself and picked up his quill and scratched out her words.
Ka stepped forward, moving away from Dante and Vaughn. Her eyes narrowed and slid methodically over the faces of the members, marking each man with a hard look. Her expression was stone, her back straight with defiance. When she had their absolute attention, she lowered her chin and spoke directly to Lord Malachi.
“Do not mistake me,” she began quietly but with controlled force. “I come here by choice, at Dante’s bidding. I will complete my Awakening with his help and his alone. Then I will gladly transfer my light to the most deserving noble, when the time comes. But I warn you now, if anyone harms Dante or Vaughn, or myself, I will turn all the power of the light in your direction. And I will destroy you all.”
Chapter 10
Michael
Clothes, electronics, shoes, a stack of books. Michael stuffed his duffel bag with a few selective items. He really needn’t bother; everything he’d want, and more, waited in the barn’s private chambers. But he knew there were some things he wouldn’t find there. From a drawer, he pulled out a small white box and set it on the dresser. Inside, he placed a hair tie that he’d slipped from Sophia’s ponytail. A blue scarf that captured her perfume. A pack of her favorite gum with two pieces left that he planned to share with her. One leather glove because she’d lost the other. And a Christmas card she’d given him.
Smiling down at the small collection of their life so far, Michael felt a little foolish. No, he felt like a boyfriend. A guy in love who was in way over his head. He laughed softly, imagining what Sophia would think if she knew he’d gone all sentimental, keeping her personal things. It wasn’t wise to keep pictures of her, even on his phone. So Michael kept things she had touched or worn. The scarf he especially liked and he picked it up again, holding the soft material to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled its delicate fragrance, her fragrance, one more time. Then, carefully folding it, he returned it to the box.
God, he missed her. Even an hour apart was too long. All he wanted to do was find her and ask how her day had been. Then sit back and listen to her describe the exhilarating feeling of helping a lost soul cross over. He remembered his first experience saving a soul, the overwhelming sense of awe. He saw the same emotions reflected in her eyes when she’d talked about the little girl. She’d crossed over two more souls after that, and he witnessed the change in her. She’d returned from the resting place with a deep sense of calm about her, a confidence that nearly made him burst with pride. Her spiritual power might be “off the Richter,” as Rama Kuan had said, but she controlled it like a seasoned warrior. Used it to her best advantage. More than once, Michael had seen raw fear in the reapers and soul seekers that faced her. That suited him just fine. Let them fear her. Let them all think twice about challenging her.
Anxious to be on his way now, Michael closed the box and placed it in the duffel bag. He zipped it closed and slung it over his shoulder. The house had been empty when he’d arrived but now he sensed the family stirring downstairs. It was time he told them he was moving out.
“What’s with the bag?” Raph asked when Michael walked into the living room and dropped it on the floor. Raph was lounging on the sofa, digging into a carton of ice cream. Milvi hollered from the kitchen that she wanted in on the ice cream and he’d better not hog it all.
“Where is everyone?” Michael asked.
Uriel strolled in balancing a hedgehog on his head. “Dimitri and Katarina are out back in the greenhouse,” Uriel answered as Milvi charged in with a spoon and flopped down next to Raph.
“Well?” Raph asked, waiting for Michael’s response. They held a steady gaze as Michael debated how to feel about Raph now. Guardian brothers who shared the same spiritual family had a unique bond, even if their callings changed shape and took them in opposite directions. He and Raph had always pushed each other to excel, butted heads, and tested the limits. Once, they’d had respect for one another; once, they were loyal without question. But their relationship had changed since the day Sophia entered their lives.
Michael wished he could make Raph understand what had happened to him, how he fell in love against his will. It wasn’t something he could have stopped. A glaring fact that seemed so obvious to him now. It was truly beyond his control. Only someone who’d experienced that kind of love could understand. In the end, he couldn’t blame Raph for being upset. If the situation had been reversed, Michael knew he would have done everything in his power to stop Raph from breaking his holy vows.
Michael felt the vow he would soon make to Sophia would somehow overpower and, in essence, heighten his holy vows. Wasn’t love for humanity the driving force that fueled an angel’s Light? Wasn’t love the core foundation of everything?
It was a good argument, but not one he was prepared to defend at the moment.
“I’m
moving out,” he finally answered, as Raph’s expression changed from suspicious to surprised.
“Is that allowed?” Uriel asked, rolling the hedgehog off his head and cradling it in his hands.
Before Michael could explain, the back door whooshed open and clapped shut. Footsteps echoed along the hardwood floors as Dimitri and Katarina walked up the hallway. Their arms were full of juicy hothouse tomatoes, which they carried into the kitchen. Raph called out to them and they appeared in the living room a moment later. Their eyes were bright and cheeks pink from the trek through the snow. Both of their heads and shoulders were dusted with white flakes.
“He’s moving out,” Raph announced without warning. He sounded accusatory, as though Michael had gone mad and his parents could somehow stop him.
Katarina lowered the dishrag in her hands. Her eyes flicked to the duffel bag and then up to Michael. Dimitri crossed his arms and considered things.
“It’s not what you all think,” Michael began. As he explained about his first mission with the Halos and the death kill, he worked hard to regulate his emotions; he was glad to be out on his own, away from their suspicions, but also sad to leave on awkward terms. He’d run roughshod over them lately and felt bad about it. They’d been his loving family for a long time and deserved better than his temperamental moods.
“The seven days of grace.” Dimitri nodded with understanding. “Yes, I’ve heard the Halos must cleanse their Lights after a kill. It’s a good thing, Michael. And congratulations on the kill. I wish you many more.” He offered his hand, and as they shook, Dimitri continued quietly, “You may have surpassed my authority, but I can still be proud of you as a father of a son.”
