Stranger at the Hell Gate

by Ash Krafton

  "I'd rather not. I'm not a pretty guy."

  "Jagger. These scars. You have countless hurts. I can't see a part of you that isn't injured." She raised her eyes, tears brimming on her lower lashes. "Let me help you."

  "What, you're a plastic surgeon?"

  She swallowed and regained part of her composure. "Better."

  He looked alarmed and rocked back on his heels. "You don't mean—"

  "Yes, I do." She held onto his hands and kept him from backing away. This felt right, this decision. It had to be a part of her mission. Her Seraph blood ached for an opportunity to do good work. It stirred inside her, quickening her pulse. "I can fix some of these."

  His eyes shifted. "Ah, I don't think it's a good idea, doll. Our kinds don't mix well."

  "Oh." She gazed at him, uncertainty playing in her wide eyes. For the first time, she doubted herself. What would happen to a demon once exposed to her divinity? "I didn't think of that."

  He extracted himself from her grasp. "Yeah, well. That's my job. Always thinking one step ahead."

  Jagger pivoted and walked back to the desk, flipping open his jacket and pulling the vials of holy water out of the inside pockets.

  The water was fresh, glowing with pearlescent warmth.

  Divinity undiluted.

  She noticed he had no qualms about handling holy water and took it as a good sign. Without a word, she walked up behind him, slid her hands around to his chest, and pressed a kiss to his wounded shoulder blade.

  Her essence trickled into his skin, flowing along the ridge of scar in a streak of heat. Jagger cried out and arched his back but she held him fast. The scar shimmered, smoothed and faded, until only perfect skin remained. Only once the healing had completed did she let go of him.

  Jagger leaned heavily over the desk, palms planted and head bowed. His breath was labored.

  Did she cause more pain? Her heart trembled. She never meant for that.

  He twisted and sat against the desk, holding onto the edge as if he feared he might tumble off. His eyes were wide, the pupils swelling until the irises were reduced to thin rings. "What did you do to me?"

  "I healed that scar on your—" She swallowed hard. "It was so terrible, I couldn't help—please, I didn't mean to hurt you."

  "You…didn't." He lifted his arm and rolled his shoulder, hunching his back and stretching his arm out in front of him. "It used to catch right there. How deep did that thing go?"

  He reached behind him for his blade, hefting it in an arc over his head to slide it down into the scabbard on his back. He flicked his wrists, cracked his neck, then reached to draw the blade free.

  And he smiled.

  He repeated it twice more, stowing the blade and pulling it out again, before setting it back on the desk. "Wow. I haven't been able to do that since I closed the Anthers portal. Not bad, doll. Not bad at all."

  "So…" She eyed him, watching him shrug out of the harness. "It didn't hurt you?"

  "Oh, it hurt all right. That shit stings. But, you know, at the end, there was a little…" He rubbed his mouth and unfocused his gaze. "A cool little glow, like peppermint."

  "I think it hurts more or less depending on the severity. There was a muscle torn underneath. But this one…" She stepped closer and indicated a thin line on his arm but did not touch him. "This is only on the surface."

  She tilted her head. "It wouldn't take much."

  "You're not going to kiss me again, are you?"

  "Oh." She chewed her lip. "It's how I learned to heal. My mother, she'd kiss a scraped knee or a scratched finger. You know, make the 'boo boo' go away. Her healing was always connected to the deep love she had for me. I never…"

  "Never tried just waving a magic finger?"

  "I never tried to heal anyone before. A stranger, I mean. I guess I just reacted."

  Jagger regarded her for a moment.

  "I've lived through worse." He shrugged and lifted his arm. "I'm game."

  She cradled his forearm, leaning to press a kiss onto the scar. It warmed like a blush beneath her lips. Pulling back, she inspected the skin. The scar had vanished.

  "That tickled," he said.

  Something in his eyes made her linger in her touch. There was something unspoken in his gaze. He cleared his throat as if to speak—

  A crash sounded on the porch, a stomping that made the floor tremble. Sonya's gaze jerked to the door. The lock rattled and the door opened hard, banging against the wall. The doorway was filled with a mountain of flesh and leather. The biggest man Sonya had ever seen.

  She backed away without thinking.

  He lifted his arm to partially shield her, chuckling. "Ionis, get your ass in here. You're scaring her."

  Sonya remained behind Jagger, peering at the man called Ionis. He was huge. And human. She blinked, mouth agape. She didn't think humans grew so large.

  Ionis shut the door with a deep laugh.

  "Sorry, miss. Din't know anyone was here." He bowed deeply before her. "I am Ionis, son of Berkhall. At your service."

  "My partner." Jagger scratched his head. "I'm sorry, Sunny, I—"

  She shrugged. There was no point to picking up where they'd left off. Not in front of another person.

  "You have business. I'll give you privacy." Sonya turned to Ionis. "Pleasure is mine, sir."

  She retreated to the muffled quiet of the upstairs apartment, the touch of Jagger's skin on her lips a tingling memory.

  DEMONS

  "It's not getting any better down there." Ionis slid a massive axe out of its hip holster and leaned it against the desk. Turning to a chest cooler against the wall, he opened the lid and dug through the ice to retrieve a can of beer. "That hell gate gets hotter by the week."

  "Hmm?" Jagger had been staring at the apartment door, lost in thought. He shook his head to clear it, rubbing his arm. "It's him."

  Ionis sighed. "So he's close?"

  "Gotta be. I saw this before, in Anthers. Acheron and the gate feed off each other. He figured out how to loop the energy."

  "Look, Jag." Ionis cracked the beer and drained it in three great swallows. "I know you don't want to hear it, but we have no choice. We have to get to him and shut him down."

  Jagger sat down in the desk chair, rocking it on its back legs. "There's gotta be another way."

  "There isn't and you know it."

  Jagger's face went blank, devoid of expression. "He's my brother."

  "And he's tried to kill you, more than once. You said it yourself—he's getting as strong as he was in Anthers. He almost beat you at Anthers."

  "That was a fluke. He can't beat me. We're matched."

  "Yeah, but if he gets help from the other side…" Ionis crossed his arms. "That portal was stable enough to allow some pretty high level demons through. Those third ringers took everything we had."

  "And we did it, buddy. You gotta be proud of that."

  "Are you getting cocky, Jag? I don't think I need to remind you who is first ring. Once he gets through, it's over."

  Jagger rubbed his eyes. All this talk about Lucifer made his head hurt. "He won't get through. Anthers won't repeat itself here. I just need time to come up with a plan."

  "I got one. Kill Acheron."

  "Listen. I'm not going to kill him, all right? I can't."

  "He's nothing to you, man. You can't hang on—"

  Jagger stood, the chair dropping beneath him and falling against the wall. "I'm not. Okay? I just can't kill him. He mirrors everything I do. How many times have I gone up against him? I can't even count all the times. You can't understand. It's my damned father's blood. It recognizes him. It's fucked up, I know it. And it drives me insane."

  Jagger circled the desk and stood chest to chest with Ionis. "I know he has to die. Everything he's done—these damned hell gates—"

  He cut off, clenching his fists. His hatred for Acheron went far deeper than hell gates. It went all the way back to Jagger's earliest memories. "I know it will only end when he's dead.
But you can't beat him. And neither can I. All I can do is keep him from getting the jump on me."

  "There has to be something we can do. If he pulls off another Anthers, he's going to make that gate permanent."

  Jagger spread his arms. "So whattaya think we should do? Pray for a miracle?"

  A creak on the step behind the closed door took his attention. It was slight enough that Jagger was sure Ionis hadn't heard it. How much had she overheard?

  He rubbed his mouth. Didn't matter what she knew.

  She was probably used to his sarcasm by now, anyway. Half-demons didn't exactly rank high up on the list of miracle recipients. He only got whatever he earned, whatever he fought for. It was the only return he had ever expected.

  Jagger turned back to the desk where his weapons lay and spoke no more. Ionis, accustomed to Jagger's habits, simply racked his gear and oiled his armor. He grabbed another beer before leaving for home, leaving Jagger alone in the office.

  The sound of footsteps and distant singing overhead made him look up. Not exactly alone, he thought. There had never been footsteps overhead for as long as he's stayed in this building. It was odd. Unsettling, almost.

  Yet…comforting.

  Jagger stripped down to his pants and dropped onto the couch, one arm crooked behind his head. A tingle on his forearm made him inspect the skin. That scar was definitely gone. Lowering his arm to his face, he breathed in her scent, lingering from her touch.

  Jagger stared at the ceiling long after the sounds ceased.

  ANGELS

  Sonya lay awake long after the sun came up, thoughts churning in her head. She couldn't sleep for all the noise her brain was making.

  She felt guilty about having eavesdropped on the men after she'd left them. She only had meant to linger, hoping for another chance to speak with Jagger. However, the conversation had taken a grim tone, leaving little chance of rekindling an intimate exchange.

  Was this the reason she's been sent to find Jagger? She was more than familiar with hell gates—her kind had been fighting to close them for millennia—but this was the first time she'd found a non-divinity battling them.

  Such a complex man, she mused. Jagger had more to his nature than demon's blood. His sword was dual-natured. His body was dual-natured. Perhaps…his soul was dual-natured, too?

  And he had a soul, she was sure of it. She'd peered inside him and had seen it firsthand.

  So. Sonya lay under the covers, feeling the air change with the advent of sunrise, listening to the sounds of the night diminish with the dawn. A demon that fights against the forces of Lucifer.

  A rebel? No, he couldn't be so shallow a being. Something else drove him to fight against his brother, something stronger than his fear of the Morningstar himself. Rebellions against Lucifer never lasted long. He was the source of every demon's power. Rebellions failed because Lucifer simply took back his power from the revolting demons.

  After all, Lucifer was the ultimate rebel. His pride wouldn't allow another to outshine his dark light.

  Question was: did Jagger have that same dangerous pride?

  She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a prayer. Every angel knew that pride went before a fall.

  Over the days that followed, Sonya fell into a routine. She meditated and prayed when Jagger went out on a job, searching deep within herself for some clue. She'd been raised to heal, to nurture. What could she possibly do to shut down a hell gate?

  What if the hell gate was only secondary to her mission?

  Now, it wasn't only the desperate urgency within herself that drove her; it was the weariness she saw in Jagger's expression when he thought she wasn't looking.

  Jagger didn't realize just how much she could see.

  Jagger also didn't realize just how close Acheron was coming to his office—and to her.

  Sonya began to leave the office to go walking, usually when Enzo arrived. She made him uneasy, she knew; the human signs of suspicion and anxiety were simple to detect. Heart rate, skin temperature, perspiration—obvious signs he didn't like when she was around.

  Enzo was never rude to her…but she didn't want to provoke him, either. Jagger valued him. She thought it best if she avoided the agent and let him concentrate on his job.

  Going out at night wasn't the most attractive idea but Sonya had been raised in a culture of sacrifice. It was the right thing to do. Still, she always hesitated on the stoop, unsure she should venture out.

  Every time, Enzo's vibe of relief made her step off the porch and into the damnable night, putting all her faith in the One whom she served.

  This city was vast, sprawling for miles in every direction. Jagger's office was located in an old neighborhood in one of the suburbs. Once, this had been a beautiful area—the architecture was splendid, if not well-maintained, and an over-grown garden park lay some four blocks to the east.

  She didn't have to venture far to discover where the hell gate stood. She couldn't get very close to it—no untrained Seraph ever would, not without armor and a legion behind him—but she could feel it, smell it, hear it on the wind.

  An old warehouse stood on the farthest edge of town, in a neighborhood now deserted by the humans who had grown tired of the paranormal occurrences that plagued the abandoned industrial park. The air surrounding the area was stagnant, thick and sluggish, lending to a sense of claustrophobia.

  The hell gate had to be part of the reason why she was led to Jagger. Although she knew Jagger would disapprove, she had to get closer. Her instincts told her an answer lay close by.

  She couldn't allow fear to stop her. She'd come too far already.

  One evening, she'd made it as close as the outer barrier, a bubble-like structure that she felt rather than saw. It was a tenacious film that smelled like baking garbage and human waste. Sonya covered her nose at the repulsive odor and backed away but before she could turn and hurry away, the crystal flickered and took up its glow.

  Sonya stopped and looked around. "Jagger? Is that you?"

  She peered through the darkness, using her Seraph sight. In the distance, deep within the barrier, she saw a figure standing on top of a steel crate some fifty yards off. The moonlight glinted off a shock of silver hair.

  With a sigh of relief, she started toward him. The barrier repelled her.

  "Jagger," she called. "I'm right here."

  The figure didn't answer. Instead, it cocked its head toward her. His eyes glowed a sickly gleam of red.

  Not Jagger. He didn't have eyes that sinister.

  Sonya ran and didn't slow down until long after the crystal had quieted.

  She kept the occurrence to herself, fearful Jagger would be angry to learn she'd gotten so close to the hell gate. That was the last time she ventured out at night. Instead, she paced the roof, searching the skies for an answer.

  Days passed by, the urgency of her mission growing. She tried to dismiss the oppressiveness of the rooms, convincing herself the feeling came from staying cooped up. She looked forward to the moment late each night when the crystal would light, telling her Jagger had returned.

  Although they'd never picked up their intimate conversation, they still seemed to be getting along. Sonya caught him grinning on a number of occasions, although he always did his best to quell the expression. She imagined he was worried about losing his gruff nonchalance.

  He never asked when she'd be on her way, never questioned her supposed mission or her plans. He simply expected her to be there when he got back from a job.

  One night, long before she expected his return, the crystal suddenly sparked, sputtering into activity. She had been deep in meditation when the heat became too great to ignore. Extinguishing her candle, Sonya opened the apartment door, expecting to see Jagger standing right outside.

  The hall was empty. Sonya peered around the corner and down the steps, but saw no one.

  Brows furrowed, Sonya went back inside and re-lit the candle. "Must have been a fluke," she muttered.

  "Nop
e. It's just me, darlin'."

  She spun to see a dark figure crouched upon the sill of the open window. Silver hair. Red eyes. The same she'd seen at the hell gate.

  He wolf-whistled at her. "Well, hello, gorgeous."

  Sonya screamed and raced down the steps, charging straight for Enzo. The man looked so surprised he'd jumped up from his chair and caught her, holding her and trying to calm her.

  All she had to do was show him the crystal, glowing hot. That brought out Enzo's true nature.

  "Don't move!" He extended a hand toward the apartment door. It slammed shut.

  A piece of lumpy chalk appeared in Enzo's hand. He drew a protective circle around them on the floorboards, chanting low under his breath. Drawing a small knife from his pocket, he sliced his thumb and dripped the blood onto the chalk line. A flash of red light raced around the circle. When it closed, a veil of energy shimmered up from the floor, encompassing them within a shield of magic.

  Blood magic. Sonya realized why Enzo was so wary of her. Blood magic was a sin.

  They stood, chest to chest, with nowhere else to look but at each other. He pressed his lips into thin lines, defiance in his gaze.

  She smoothed her expression and quelled the urge to preach. This was not the time. There was a much more immediate threat, and Sonya had to make a choice—denounce his display of sin, or admit that same sin was saving their lives.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  Enzo merely nodded and dropped his gaze, before drawing her to his chest for a bolstering embrace.

  She closed her eyes, welcoming the comfort.

  They stood inside until the crystal flickered and dimmed, waiting for it to cool. When they seemed to be out of immediate danger, he scrubbed away a section on the circle. The light fell to the ground like sand, scattering onto the floorboards. As the grains melted, the circle vanished with them.

  She sank down on the couch while Enzo made notes and took calls. When the crystal lit again, the man gestured to her to stay on the couch while he aimed a missile launcher at the door, the projectile containing a Holy Water-loaded head.

  Jagger clomped through the door, looking bloodier than usual. And it was Jagger, Sonya knew, not that red-eyed demon who wore his face. She only needed the briefest of brushes against his core to know beyond a doubt.