Sinner: Feathers and Fire Book 5

by Shayne Silvers

  He made Samael look tiny. To look so large from so far away…I shuddered in horror. I also recognized him. I had seen him twice before while fighting against his minions. This Demon had been a silhouette in their eyes as I watched them take their last breaths after killing them.

  I frowned at that thought.

  Last Breath…

  Samael turned back to us, grinning wide. “He grants your wish, Cain. Thank him, for soon you will serve him.” Samael met my eyes for a moment. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, girl. Don’t worry. I have something special in store for the one who set me free,” he purred, his chain beard swinging and clinking as he laughed.

  “What do you want, Samael?” I demanded. “Cain is nothing to you. I think you’re here for something long, hard, and eager to say hello. But we’ll start with just the tip.”

  He grinned back. “Naturally,” he admitted. “I can practically taste your hatred, White Rose. It makes this next part so much sweeter.”

  “Come get it, then,” I taunted, tugging Cain back beside me.

  Samael sighed. “You do not wield even half the power you will need to confront me, Daughter of Solomon. Let alone enough to actually defeat me. Run along, gather some more. I can be patient. Take as much power as you want from the world. Whenever you are content, we will meet. You have but to call out my name.” He continued to advance, looking amused at our defiance. I hadn’t realized we had continued stepping back, my Spear growing stronger with each step.

  But his words froze my bones. Was he that arrogant? Or was he telling the truth? I could sense his raw power. It was enough to make my skin feel tight, almost forcing me back.

  “You lie,” I snarled, gripping my Spear tighter.

  Samael paused. Then he blinked a few times. Finally, he sighed. “Have at it, then, White Rose. I will not move. Do your worst and see for yourself.” He lifted his arms and waited.

  “I don’t see any Doors, Callie…” Cain muttered under his breath. I frowned suddenly.

  Doors. This was a challenge.

  Icy fingers suddenly danced across my scalp at the realization.

  We weren’t here to fight Samael. This wasn’t real. Or, at least, it wasn’t my true purpose. I was on a Quest to find Solomon’s Temple. And this asshole was in my way. Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone…

  “We just need to stall him long enough to find it,” I whispered back.

  “That might be a problem. I don’t think he was exaggerating about his strength.”

  “I can hear you, in case you were wondering,” Samael said with a chuckle. “And I want you to find the Doors, Callie. How else would you get the strength to stand against me someday? The strength to avenge Cain’s death?”

  We both tensed, expecting an attack, but nothing happened.

  Samael grinned. “I’m a Demon of my word. I’ll let you have the first punch.”

  I shared a long look with Cain. Then I scanned the bridge for Doors. There weren’t any. Without another word, I drew deep on my wizard’s magic, calling up every drop I could muster. Then I fueled it with white light, something I seemed to recall hearing that most wizards couldn’t do. Something related to my ties to Heaven—whether through blood or happenstance, I didn’t know. Or couldn’t remember. I thought I remembered one other person who could do it…

  I waved away the irrelevant thought. Regardless, the white tint made for a stronger punch in the magical arena.

  I hit Samael with everything I had—one great concussive blast to his forehead with a condensed vortex of power the size of a dime. Cain groaned as I let the power go, almost knocked from his feet. The release of so much power made me wobble on my own feet, seeing stars and feeling as if I was about to vomit. It was all I could to do continue clutching the Spear and not drop to my knees, panting.

  My magic hit Samael directly. He didn’t even try to block or deflect it.

  His beard clinked slightly and he may have blinked.

  Samael stared back at me, nonplussed, his smile stretching wider. “My—”

  He had been too busy gloating to notice the Spear of Destiny screaming towards his face.

  But he had good reflexes. He batted it away like a pesky fly, frowning at it in annoyance. But all I heard was the echoing splintering sound. Not a final snap of breaking entirely, but the more torturous creaking noise. The broken Spear went flying off the bridge—into the infinite sky. I grabbed Cain by the sleeve and leapt off the bridge, my wings of ice and stone chips erupting from my back on instinct. I tucked them close, increasing my speed as we shot down after the Spear. I managed to grasp it and unfurled my wings, halting my descent and sweeping us back up to rise above the opposite side of the bridge than we had plummeted from.

  Something snatched at my wing, shattering it with a squeeze before hurling us into the white throne. I felt multiple bones break, and my wings crunch upon impact. Blood oozed from my lips and my vision wavered to show a stunned Cain at the base of the throne, barely able to see straight as he struggled to regain his feet.

  I held the Spear in my hand but gasped to find that it was nearly broken into thirds, the wood bowing alarmingly at the weak junctures so that it was no longer perfectly straight, barely able to even support its own structure. Dropping it may have been strong enough to destroy it for good.

  And…I was sitting on the white throne, where it should have been at its strongest. I shambled to my feet, falling down the steps to check on Cain, my broken wing trailing behind me, flaring with throbs of agony as it bumped each step. I gritted my teeth, my eyes watering against the pain as I helped Cain to his feet. He stared back at woozily, then noticed something behind me.

  “The Door,” he whispered eagerly.

  “You are free to go, White Rose,” Samael growled. “Tuck your broken wings between your legs and run through your precious Door with your broken Spear. I’m afraid Cain won’t be joining you. I need you properly motivated to fight me down the road, Callie. I don’t want you running and hiding from me when I come calling. Not a second time,” he added, chuckling.

  “No…” I whispered, shaking my head defiantly. Then I grabbed Cain’s sleeve. “You can’t have him. If he stays, I stay.”

  Samael frowned. “Then you both die,” he explained, sounding annoyed.

  “Just go, Callie,” Cain growled, jerking free of my grip.

  I snatched back on, harder this time. “No! I’m not leaving you with him!” I hissed.

  “Are you certain?” Samael asked, staring directly at me.

  I ignored Cain’s protests, answering Samael with a resolute nod. “Yes.”

  Samael let out an annoyed breath. “Oh, well. It probably wouldn’t have even been a good fight anyway. I’m just romanticizing it. Perhaps I’ll just kill you instead, leaving Cain to eternally wander this place alone, reliving the moment he lost his second sibling.”

  Then, in an absent, almost dismissive gesture, Samael lashed out with a black trident of inky obsidian that was about a mile long. I hadn’t even seen him holding it. I snapped my eyes shut, accepting my fate, knowing I could never dodge it in time. I heard the thud of impact.

  But…I felt nothing.

  I opened my eyes to see that something obstructed my view. Cain stared at me, his eyes wide. Three barbed points stuck from out of his chest, only inches away from piercing the both of us. He coughed up blood and fell to his knees.

  “Idiot,” Samael murmured absently.

  I gasped, following my brother down to the ground. I was screaming in horror, slapping at his shoulders, hitting him, punching him. “What have you done?” I shrieked at him, sobbing over Samael’s laughter. This wasn’t fair. Wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

  Cain gasped in pain, struggling to draw enough air from his torn lungs to speak. “I thought I’d hold the Door open for you…sis,” he rasped. He shoved his bone dagger into my hands weakly. “Take it.” Then he coughed up more blood as Samael jerked the trident back from his torso.


  Cain weaved back and forth for a moment and finally lifted his hands to my shoulders to support himself. He managed a smile through bloody teeth as I wept, gripping the broken Spear in one fist and Cain’s bone dagger in the other, ready to hurl them both at Samael the moment my brother died.

  Cain squeezed my shoulders weakly, drawing my attention. “You tried to warn me…that sisters are the worst. You were wrong…” he said, smiling weakly. “Get out of my room, brat.”

  And he shoved me.

  The motion was so unexpected that I toppled right through the Door behind me, cursing and screaming as I dropped my weapons in an attempt to snatch onto the frame with my bloody fingers—anything to keep me beside Cain for one moment longer, to at least see his eyes close for the last time.

  But all I heard was Samael taunting me. “I’ll be seeing you soon, White Rose…”

  I wished I could have told Cain that I didn’t have much longer to live myself, because my vision was already tunneling. I had broken something in my head when I struck the throne.

  Something important…

  Chapter 33

  I landed in a pool of boiling water and instantly screamed as my head went completely under, the water scalding not only my flesh, but my open wounds. My sensory receptors exploded with pins and needles and my skin twitched and burned with both fire and ice, tugging and pulling as the conflicting sensations raced from my toes to my ears. My eyes shot open at the unexpected shock, and then they too caught fire as if flushed with acid.

  My scalp tugged and twisted agonizingly.

  I floundered for the surface, the pain so overwhelming I thought I was about to gasp and suck down the boiling liquid and burn my insides raw. I breached the surface, gasping frantically, realizing that the water was actually only waist-deep—if even that.

  And the air was pure fog and steam.

  I stared down at my body as the pain slowly began to ebb and fade. My wounds…

  Were gone. Or almost gone. I felt as weak as a day-old kitten, though. And I was wearing only a silver cross for some reason. I wasn’t sure where I had gotten it, but it looked old. Its heavy weight stuck to my chest rather than hanging free as I glanced left and right in an attempt to pierce the fog and find out where I was.

  Or how I had gotten here. I focused on that last one, gripping the cross in my fingers and squeezing until my fingers ached. Then it hit me.

  Samael. I’d fought the Greater Demon…and he’d kicked my ass. Did that mean I was in Hell? It was very hot, but it was also…pleasant. And the water seemed to have healed my wounds.

  “Would ye look at that, Aidan,” an older man sang in a deep, Irish accent, his face suddenly leaning forward from out of the fog. “Hair as white as a rose.”

  I squawked instinctively, jumping back a step upon realizing that I wasn’t alone and that my nudity was on full display. Where the hell had he come from? And who was Aidan?

  And where was my brother when I wanted protection from a creepy old—

  Cain…

  My legs turned to jelly and gave out as a high-pitched whining sound abruptly filled my ears. Instead of sinking, my rear landed on a submerged bench near the outer lip of the apparent hot tub—the seat low enough to leave only my head and neck above the surface. I tucked my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, hugging myself into a ball as I blinked back sudden tears, resting my chin on my forearms as I pursed my lips to keep from openly weeping.

  I no longer cared that a stranger shared the hot tub with me. I didn’t care about anything.

  Cain was dead. He had sacrificed himself to save me from Samael. The demon I had accidentally unleashed upon the world. My only friend in this place was gone. Through my tears, I realized I was actually biting my lips, now, a deep ocean of rage bubbling up within my heart.

  Another thought drifted in and out of focus through my warring anger and agony, taunting me, but I couldn’t catch a hold of it. It was something about this place—the reason Cain and I had chosen to come here…

  What he had died for…

  “White Rose, eh?” another man asked from directly beside me, chuckling jovially at my new nickname. I managed not to flinch at the realization that I’d almost landed in this second old man’s lap when I had fallen into my seat.

  That would have started an unwanted party.

  “The bloomin’ hell did ye come from, then?” he asked, waving a hand to dispel some of the steam between us and reveal a bulbous, red nose and a scraggly beard that dominated a rather small face. He was old and looked wiry—his cheeks were drawn, and sported a long, wicked scar on one side—and his milky green eyes were that of a kindly but crafty grandfather.

  “When yer our age, Aidan,” the first man piped back up, leaning forward as if to give his friend a hard time, “ye don’t question miracles. Ye just thank the Lord.” He pursed his lips and jerked his chin down, signaling he had stated an unarguable fact. Then he shot me a mischievous wink before leaning back again.

  The larger man’s cheeks were red, plump, and round above his thick white beard, and the skin beneath his eyes was puffy, giving him a perpetual squint—or a permanent smirk. He sported maybe three hairs on the top of his head, and his skin was windburned from a life spent outdoors. His emerald green eyes were vibrant, and I sensed a ruthless intelligence in those depths. This man wasn’t just smart—he was also no stranger to danger. I could tell that he was deliberately orchestrating his body language to assure me he meant no harm, but I could tell there was no deceit in it. No trickery. He genuinely wanted me to feel safe.

  “Aye, Paddy,” the scrawny man—Aidan, apparently—agreed in mock reverence. “Praise be to Jeezus, and all of that other nonsense.”

  Paddy rolled his eyes as he grumbled an apologetic prayer that I couldn’t quite catch, but his tone made it sound like a familiar curse aimed at the blaspheming Aidan.

  Despite everything, I felt myself relaxing. Maybe it was the hot water fusing my body back together. The banter of these two old men—and the utter ridiculousness of my current situation—was even forcing a sliver of a smile to creep over my cheeks, even though happiness was the last thing I wanted to feel right now. I was growing accustomed to the fog, and the two men slowly came into focus without me having to squint.

  Paddy noticed my obvious discomfort at being nude in a hot tub with two strange men and smiled disarmingly, pointing out a stack of towels behind me. “We don’t bite, child. And Aidan’s as blind as a shite on a log. Ye may as well be a sheep for all he can tell.”

  “A shite in shining armor, I is!” Aidan cackled, splashing water at Paddy. “But she ain’t no sheep, that’s for certain. She’s a White Rose! Ye said so yerself!”

  Paddy wiped the splashed water from his face, rolling his eyes. “Those must belong to ye,” he said, pointing. I turned to see my leather clothes neatly folded up within reaching distance from the pool. The Spear of Destiny rested atop them, and I cringed to see the deep cracks in the haft—the two places where it had once been broken and re-forged now looking hollow and brittle. A flick of the finger might be enough to destroy those weak points.

  I turned back to my new pals, frowning thoughtfully. Why weren’t they bothered by the fact that I had just appeared out of nowhere? They hadn’t asked a single question, taking the whole situation in stride. More importantly, why was I here in the first place?

  “Where am I?” I asked, prioritizing my needs. Because wherever I was, I needed power. I needed to go find weapons. Magic. Anything that would give me the strength to crucify Samael—to avenge Cain.

  “She speaks, she drinks!” Aidan cheered, suddenly holding a glass of whiskey in his hands.

  Paddy nodded his agreement, holding a glass of whiskey in each of his beefy hands. I spotted a bottle resting on the edge of the pool, but didn’t see a label. “Welcome to Dublin, White Rose,” he said, extending a glass my way. “God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from ruling the world, but we keep trying anyway!”

>   I frowned hesitantly, drinking being the newest last thing on my mind after happiness.

  “No harm in declining,” he said gently. Something about the look on my face made his own crinkle compassionately. “I have a niece about yer age—pretty as a red rose, as a matter of fact—and I would hate it something terrible if I ever saw such sorrow on her sweet, freckled cheeks.”

  “Aye,” Aidan growled, suddenly sounding surprisingly dangerous. “Point out the bastard that set such a fright in yer eyes!”

  “We’ll roast him on a spit,” Paddy assured me in a calm, promising tone.

  “Give him a proper kickin’, and maybe a few more on the ground for good measure!” Aidan added, sounding like he meant it quite literally.

  I accepted the glass of whiskey with an uneasy smile and took a sip, hoping to draw their attention back from what they assumed was a boy problem—but I did find it oddly comforting, their sudden protective streak for a damsel in distress.

  Chivalry wasn’t dead in this hot tub.

  The whiskey hit my tongue like straight smoke and fire, almost making me cough in surprise. It wasn’t that it was bad—it was delicious—but I hadn’t expected quite such a kick. The burn somehow helped to soothe the pain in my heart at the loss of Cain. I glanced about the room, searching for an exit of some kind, but it seemed I would have to get out of the pool to check because the room was massive, illuminated by dim torches that didn’t quite reach the outer walls. Our hot tub was one of a dozen, reminding me of a Roman bath house.

  I needed a way out. I needed to get stronger. To avenge Cain. Regardless of why we had ever come here, that was all I cared about now. I stared into my glass of whiskey, imagining it fueling my rage, strengthening me, like lighting a fuse.

  “I don’t know what yer lookin’ for, Lass, but ye should stop and smell the roses, ye should.”