by Mandy Lee
“I’m sorry. What?” B was thoroughly confused.
Nyx huffed in frustration. “Don’t make me hit you again. It’s hardly fun when you’re chained to a wall and can’t fight back.”
“I’d rather you not hit me again either, but I’m not quite sure who you’re talking about?” B raised his hands in defeat, the chains attached to his manacles clinking metal on metal.
“The Angel of Death — the one called Samael. Tell me about him,” Nyx said with a roll of her eyes.
“We used to work for your brother; you must already know everything about him.” B raised an eyebrow in question. “Anything specific you’re looking for here?”
“What do you think of him?” she asked, careful to keep her expression neutral.
B didn’t quite know what to think of this line of questioning. “I think he’s a good guy…he’s a good friend, always has been, always will be.”
“What does that mean?” Nyx’s forehead creased in confusion.
“What does what mean?” B felt like this conversation was a snake that was about to eat its own tail.
“Why is he a good guy?” She gave him a shrug. “I want to know what that means.”
“I…okay…well…he’s always there for us when we’re in trouble, even when we were working for your brother he did his best not to hurt anyone when he was given a choice.” B looked her dead in the eye. “No matter how hard your brother tried, he was never able to take away who Sam really was.” B felt emotions start to rise up and choke him.
“Hunh.” Nyx considered B’s answer. “Sounds boring. What about his curse? Killing with a simple touch doesn’t exactly fit your definition of a good guy.”
B smiled a half-smile as he thought of his friend. “Unless he was on a job for your brother, he wore gloves, long sleeves, and jeans — he never left any of his skin exposed. He didn’t want to hurt anyone that wasn’t on your brother’s hit list. So yeah, that does fit my idea of a good guy, at least, given the circumstances.”
Nyx leaned toward B. “So, if he kept his skin covered at all times so he wouldn’t rip out souls…?”
The non-question lingered in the air between them. B hesitated to answer. This was a very personal aspect of his friend’s life that wasn’t open to discussion with anybody, much less Satan’s sister. Sam had to be the world’s oldest living virgin, and that was not something he would appreciate having advertised to the entire Netherworld. He gave Nyx a pointed look and kept his mouth shut. Much to B’s surprise she didn’t push for an answer, nor did she punch him in the face or stand up and give him a roundhouse kick to the side of the head. She just sat there quietly for a moment staring at him.
Suddenly Nyx stood, straightening her skirt. “You’re boring me now. I imagine you’ll be dead soon. Enjoy your special TV show.” Turning on her heel, she sashayed out of the basement and up the stairs like she was walking in her own private runway show.
B heard the door at the top of the stairs click shut. “Bye.” He whispered.
He sat there on the floor, alone, staring at the soundless play-by-play of Mara and his friends interacting with each other and the imposter. He felt pathetic. If his archenemy’s sister hadn’t come to have the strangest conversation in the history of the world, he would have succumbed to the demons that plagued him. For all of his coping mechanisms, the man-whoring, drugs, and acting like a cocky bastard, he was a total mess and he had to face it or his friends would suffer for his cowardice. B thought about Luc and how he'd managed to overcome what seemed like insurmountable odds to finally piece his life together. Lucifer Morningstar had done what none of the fallen angels had been able to in all their years of servitude. He’d managed to reconnect with Heofon by making a choice that changed the course of his destiny.
B closed his eyes and turned all of his concentration toward the home he’d been banished from all those years ago. “Metatron?” He whispered. “Are you still listening?” He waited, but no response came. “I need your help. Are any angels listening? I need you…” There was still no response. He continued to beg. His “what would Luc do” idea not panning out quite like he thought it would. B felt cheated. Why had Metatron answered Luc’s plea, but not his? They were willing to assist the angel that had led the revolution, but not one of his generals? It seemed as though they had frozen him out completely. The only way he was going to get out of this and get back to Mara and the guys was if he pulled off the impossible and saved himself.
He looked back up at the screen and saw Mara talking to the shape shifter and his decision was made. Looking back down, he examined the unbreakable Wolframite cuffs that surrounded both of his hands and his ankles. There was no way out of these shackles without Keir’s key. The metal was charmed, the situation hopeless. He’d spent years chained up in the exact same manner at the hands of the demons that had snatched him after his fall. He took a deep breath and glanced around, his eyes lighting on a sledgehammer that was propped up against the wall a few feet away. B chuckled. Keir must have left it there to use on him in some creative torture scenario later. He got onto his hands and knees and crawled as far as his chains would allow, stretching out full length on the floor to grab the base of the sledgehammer with the tips of his fingers. With one last stretch he was able to get enough purchase to tip it over. He clutched the wooden handle and dragged it over, pulling himself up into a sitting position.
B stretched one of his legs out straight in front of himself and bent it slightly. This was really going to suck. He got a good strong grip on the handle of the sledgehammer and took a deep breath. Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted it and slammed it down hard on his right foot. The searing pain tore through his body and the breath whooshed out of his lungs. He wasn’t even able to scream. B dropped the sledgehammer and slammed his head back against the wall as sweat broke out on his brow. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain. Numbness began to break through the pain…shock really was a wonderful thing. Opening his eyes, he took a look down at the mangled mess of his foot and ankle. It seemed as though he’d met with success, every bone looked like it was well and truly broken. With another shuddering breath he reached down and cranked his mangled foot into position, sweat pouring down his neck and back from the renewed screaming pain. He huffed out a couple more breaths, and then slid the manacle down over his crushed foot and ankle. The cuff clinked as it hit the floor. B stared down at the mess of his leg and broke out into hysterical laughter. The agony was excruciating, but it was starting to give way to a strange exhilaration. It was like the pain was washing away his past and giving him the strength he needed.
Before he could lose his nerve, B took care of his other ankle, again slipping out of the unbreakable Wolframite. His eyes were practically crossing now from a combination of agony and the burning sweat running down his face. Two more manacles to go and he’d be free. This was going to be a bit trickier. Two hands, one sledgehammer. Turning toward the wall, he placed one hand flat on its surface and struck. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming to the point where he dry heaved. The sledgehammer clanged down on the floor as he turned his attention to sliding off the first wrist manacle. As it hit the floor, B turned his pain-addled mind toward the Houdini act he’d have to pull off next in order to get free. Twisting around, he placed his only uninjured limb up against the wall. He turned his head toward the magic screen and saw an image of Mara. She was sitting alone, staring straight ahead as though she were looking through time and space directly into his eyes. With a deep breath, he slammed his shoulder into his hand over and over until he heard a multitude of snaps and pops. The feral scream that tore from his lungs blew out his vocal chords as his now ruined hand dropped down into his lap, the final manacle clinking to the floor as it slipped off his crushed appendage.
B had been in pain before. He’d been shot, had his throat slit, and had his wings sliced off, but nothing compared to what he was going through at that very moment. He fought hard a
gainst the encroaching darkness that threatened to take him into unconsciousness. He was too close to quit now.
Step one — escape the inescapable manacles and chains. Step two — escape his basement dungeon. Step three — get back to The Advocate and save Mara and his crew. It was time to get going on step two before it was lights out. He flipped himself over onto his knees and forearms and crawled slowly toward the staircase that would lead him to freedom. Every stair he dragged himself up was a fresh kind of hell. When he reached the door he realized there was no way he was going to be turning any doorknobs with his crushed hands. Heaving himself to his knees he threw all his weight into the heavy wooden door shoulder first. With a snap the doorframe gave way under his strength and weight. His body fell through the open doorway, landing in an awkward heap of misery.
B squinted around the main floor and spied a large window behind a couch in the adjoining room. He planted an image of Mara in his mind and began the slow, painful crawl toward freedom. He glanced back at the trail of blood he’d left in his wake and sighed. It would really rock if he could manage to keep the stuff in his body for a while at some point in the near future. He eyed the expensive looking antique piece and hoped there was a good upholsterer around because when he was done with it, it was going to look like a crime scene. He dragged his bleeding body up onto the couch and peered out the window. The sky was dark and the street was wholly unfamiliar. With one last deep breath, B heaved his body toward the glass. The window shattered, shards of glass flying outward as his broken body tumbled over the ledge and landed in a flowerbed on the other side.
B lay there for a moment letting the fresh, cool night air wash over him. Step three — crawl back to The Advocate with broken limbs and glass shards embedded in his skin. B closed his eyes and cringed. Step three was really going to suck.
Chapter Twenty-One
Time was running out. He’d felt it start a while ago but hadn’t wanted to admit it. There was no doubt in his mind now, he was fading fast. He had to get back to the safe house. He looked down at his arm and saw the damage. A patch of his skin flickered and calmed intermittently, a sure sign the transformation was wearing off. The shifter knew he had to get back to B so he could re-up his magic or he would start shifting uncontrollably and eventually, unless he found a new host, die. The fallen and their little vampire cohorts stuck together like fucking crazy glue. How in Sheol was he supposed to get one of them away from the group long enough to infect them? He had to find a way to access at least one of them before returning to Keir’s place or he’d be at risk of losing his head. Keir was not the epitome of mental stability.
The shifter eyed Gadreel across the table they’d taken in the main bar. He would make a great first target. From the memory flashes he’d inherited from B, he knew they shared a special bond. Gadreel would definitely be the easiest to peel away from the group. He stared down into the bottom of his beer mug and fidgeted, making himself seem as nervous as possible.
Gadreel glanced at him in concern almost immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” The shifter nodded shakily. “Totally cool here, bro. Don’t worry.”
“You don’t look fine.” Gadreel frowned worriedly.
“Seriously, I’m good.” The shifter choked out, his internal evil smile growing wider and wider by the second.
Gadreel stood and motioned toward the stairs that went down to the portal room. “Let’s go, bud. You need to get some shit off your chest, I can tell.”
“Thanks, buddy.” The shifter whispered, getting to his feet.
The two men headed toward the basement, the shifter making a show of looking around nervously and rubbing at his wrists as though he were still haunted by imaginary manacles. Gadreel kept shooting worried glances at him, clapping him on the back in a show of brotherly support. When they reached the bottom of the worn staircase, the shifter stopped and started to shuffle his feet nervously, kicking at the stone flags in a show of nerves.
“Spill it, bro. You know you can tell me anything.” Gadreel said solemnly.
The shifter took a deep breath. “They drugged me…at Brimstone. It was…I could feel everything slipping away…I had no control. They took me to the warehouse and chained me up…I can still feel the cuffs on my wrists.” He swallowed hard and allowed his eyes to water, seemingly choking back his tears. “The blood…there was so much blood…”
“Oh shit.” Gadreel breathed, stepping toward him.
The shifter waved him off, putting on a show of embarrassment at his display of emotions. “I just…it was so much like…before…” He trailed off.
Gadreel stood there at a loss, shaking his head in distress. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, well...” The shape shifter feigned discomfort at his disclosure.
Gadreel stepped in and gave him a bear hug. “Always here for you, dude.”
“I know.” The shape shifter said, finally allowing his evil smile out to play.
Satisfaction coursed through him as he grabbed a chunk of Gadreel’s hair and smashed his head into the stone wall with all of his strength. The fallen angel tried to fight back, but wasn’t any match for the overpowering attack as his head was slammed repeatedly until he blacked out. The shifter let Gadreel’s body slide down to the floor where it landed in a heap with a dull thud. Bending down, he slipped Gadreel’s knife out of his pants pocket. He flipped the knife open and wasted no time slicing a cut into the unconscious man’s arm. He dropped the knife to the floor where it landed with a clatter beside its owner. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small glass vial, popping off the top and carefully allowing one obsidian droplet to fall into the open wound. He congratulated himself on a job well done as he slipped the top back onto the vial, paying close attention not to allow any of the contents to touch his own skin. It was one thing to infect Gadreel with the ultimate evil, that didn’t mean he wanted any of it for himself. He liked to choose evil; indentured servitude was definitely not his bag.
As he turned to walk away, Gadreel groaned from down on the floor. “What the fuck, dude?”
The shifter spun back around when he started to shift. His skin was rising and falling, changing colour and texture. He could feel the frame of his body beginning to shrink and stretch. He was officially out of time. Rushing forward, he grabbed Gadreel’s head again and locked in on his eyes.
“Who the fuck are you?” Gadreel asked in confusion as he tried unsuccessfully to tear his eyes away from his assailant.
“I’m you.” The shifter said with a sick smile as he slammed Gadreel’s head into the floor, putting his lights out yet again.
Wearing his new Gadreel skin, the shifter whistled a happy tune as he made his way up the stairs toward the main tavern. Time to start thinking up excuses to sneak out; he had to get back to the mansion and to B.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A scream cut through the air and the demonic band stopped dead in the middle of their performance. Everyone turned to stare at the door and what had just come through it. The man was unconscious and lying on his stomach, he looked like he’d been hit by a Mack truck. Blood seeped out from unseen wounds onto the floor; his hands were a crushed and twisted mess. Theo jumped over the counter of the bar and raced over to the broken man’s side, whipping his bar rag off his shoulder to wipe the blood off his face. He rolled the man over and finally got his first good look at him.
“Sam! Get over here!” Theo shouted.
Sam burst through the crowd that had gathered in a semi-circle around the prone man. He dropped down to his haunches beside Theo and looked down.
“B? What the fuck happened to him? I just saw him a few minutes ago and he was fine.” Sam grabbed the towel out of Theo’s hand and wiped his friend’s face. Blood from a multitude of tiny cuts came away, showing a pale, tired, and worn face.
“Dude, I just saw him go downstairs with your buddy.” Theo shook his head in confusion.
“Which buddy?”
Sam asked as he grabbed B under his arms and slid him the rest of the way inside the door.
“Gadreel.” Theo replied.
Sam turned toward one of the demons in the crowd. “Get Al, Bill, Sergei, and Mara.” He switched his attention back to Theo. “Do you know where Gadreel is? He might know what happened here.”
Theo shook his head. “Sam, he left about five minutes ago. I saw him walk past the bar and right out the front door. He didn’t say where he was going; he just took off.”
“What the hell is he doing just up and leaving like that.” Sam frowned and threw up his hands in frustration. “All hell is literally breaking loose here.”
A groan from the floor caught their attention. B was moaning and twisting his head back and forth as though he were locked in a nightmare. Suddenly, his eyes popped open and he stared straight at Sam’s shocked face.
“Shape…shift…not…me…” He croaked out through parched lips.
Sam leaned down closer. “What is it, buddy?”
“Not…me…shape…shift…” He coughed and wheezed.
Sam sat back up and looked at Theo. “Do you know what he’s saying?”
Theo shook his head. “Not a clue.”
There was a shuffling and jostling of the crowd and Bill, Al, Sergei, and Mara burst through.
“Holy shit!” Sergei exclaimed as he saw B lying on the floor.
Mara dropped down to the floor beside B. She reached for his arm in an attempt to examine one of his crushed hands. Half-delirious, B tried to raise his arm to grab at her with his useless limb. Mara shushed him, trying to calm him so she could study his injuries without causing him any additional pain. B raised his head as much as he was able and looked her dead in the eye.
“Not me…other me,” he said in a rush of breath.
Mara reached down and placed her hand on his forehead, leaning closer to him. “Shhhh, just lie there and let me examine you.”
