David stared at it, clutching the salt cellar even tighter. He darted forward to add a drop of poison to the puddle, shaking off Warwick’s flash-fast grip on his biceps, and advanced on the throne. He stopped at the edge of the dais. “You fucking evil bitch!”
The puddle morphed into a little girl, who jumped off the seat, her pink party dress billowing out as he landed.
“Rachel?” David laughed. “Is that your best shot, Idaline? I’m not about to believe this is my sister. This is you.”
“Clever bastard,” Rachel said in the beast’s voice, her mouth too small for that large noise. Then she shimmered, all but disappeared, and came back as a tall blonde woman, her figure, hair and features that of a gorgeous vintage film star. Her long and flowing hair, as red as her figure-hugging sheath dress, brought Manakel to mind. Was she his realm equivalent? “Here I am. This is the real me.” The new sound of her voice would lure a straight man right into her damn bed. Sultry. Sexy. Irresistible.
Bloody good job I’m gay then, isn’t it.
She twirled—to give him a three-sixty-degree view?—and David raised his hand to use the poison while her back was turned.
What a coward I am, to kill her without looking her in the eye.
She whipped round too quickly and faced him again.
Coward? So? Splash a drop on her anyway.
“Don’t,” Warwick said. “Not until we find out what she has planned—if we even can. We might end up trapped in here with her dead.”
David didn’t look back at Warwick. He didn’t trust Idaline and what she’d do if he transferred his attention away from her. With her eyes lime-green lights now, her hair ends caught fire, the strands growing into individual flames. It was difficult to compute that she wasn’t screaming in pain, that this fire-hair was normal to her.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“What?” David’s exasperation and desperation were reaching critical levels. He wanted to kill her right now and be done with it, not have a conversation like they were discussing the sodding weather. But he trusted Warwick’s judgement, and who knew, maybe his mate had been given new information and hadn’t had time to share it yet.
“Of me,” she said. “What do you think of me? How do I look?” She batted her eyelashes and pouted. A flush that could be called attractive colored her cheeks, and she really was pretty.
However…
“You know I’m gay, right?” David clenched his teeth. He hadn’t come here to flirt with the stupid cow. All he wanted was to get rid of her and the others then go home.
But where is home now? The cabin or Branchley?
She flinched. Bewildered that her charms weren’t working? “I don’t know how you can resist me. No one else has been able to.” Boobs thrust out, she smoothed her hands down her sides, clearly having a right good go at trying to bring him over to bat for her side—in more ways than one.
“Believe me, you’re what I’d call ‘The last woman on Earth’. You know, even if you were the only woman left in existence, I still wouldn’t go with you.”
“But I am a Siren!” She frowned. It was obvious she really didn’t get what was happening.
“A Siren. Think about that,” Warwick said.
Visuals entered David’s head, of myths and ancient people, where spells and magic had been the order of the day. The crags in the lake made sense now. Rachel slamming into one then drowning also made sense. Idaline having her home here, hidden above a crag…yeah, she was a Siren all right. But so what? It made no difference what she was. David wasn’t going to allow her to mesmerize him with her body or her words.
“Your Siren song, whatever you sing to me, won’t make me take any notice of you,” David said. “After all, if I listen, if I believe you… Everyone knows a Siren’s song leads to a bad end.”
“Not everyone is clever enough,” she said. “Do you know how many people I’ve lured to a ‘bad end’? Although to me it isn’t bad. It’s the best thing, adding to my brethren, convincing souls to join me and not those dratted Angels, who, incidentally, are the bane of my existence.”
“Like I would know how many people you’ve recruited. It’s not as though you go around telling everyone who you’ve lured, is it.” He was bored of her and her stupid shots at tempting him under her spell—piss-poor shots at tempting him if he were honest. “I’d have thought you’d try harder. You know, really ramp up your game. Does it bite to know I’m immune? That Warwick is immune? I mean, look at all those years you tried to bring him over to your way of thinking. Bet it stings that the goodness in him won out every time, doesn’t it?”
“Why are you riling her, man?” Warwick asked.
“Because she’s a murdering, scheming bitch who needs to know she can’t have everything her own way. Plus, I want to catch her off guard, to talk her into a frenzy where she gets so distraught at being spurned she forgets what she’s really here for—to destroy me.”
“Careful…” Warwick’s tone showed he wasn’t sure about that course, that he was worried.
“Where are your friends?” David asked her. “Your shitty little devils? Have they abandoned you? Because I can’t see anyone here helping you out. Or do you think you can kill me and Warwick on your own, is that it?”
She laughed, throaty and rich, then whipped her hand out. Flames crackled from her fingers, lightning bolt tips striking the floor. A crowd of fiery devils appeared, standing around the edge of the cave, five or six deep. They looked much like she had done as the beast, except they had mad black tongues that flashed out, tasting the air. Wanting to taste David and Warwick.
For a second David wondered if he’d pushed her too far—after all, he had no clue who he was really dealing with, did he—but the anger still boiled inside him, for his parents, Rachel, and every other innocent person or shifter she’d messed with. He swallowed and steadied his nerves a little.
“Did you think I’d talk to you without them here? You silly boy.” She laughed again. “I was just playing with you.” She gazed around at her crew or whatever the hell they were. “Just one more moment, my loyal darlings, then you can have the pair of them, these dumb shifters.” She pointed at David and Warwick. “These two are incompetent and have brought no weapons. Except some pointless poison in a little glass bottle that won’t do a thing to us.”
“She’s bluffing,” Warwick said. “Don’t believe her.”
“But what if she isn’t?” Panic ripped through David. It annoyed the hell out of him that he’d gone from over-confident to worrisome in under a second.
“That’s exactly what she wants you to believe.”
“Would you like to test that theory of yours?” David asked Idaline, the energy from the crumpled sword igniting in his gut, the new, swift change of emotions making him sway a bit. “I’m quite happy to.”
Fuck it. Let’s do this.
He swung his arm out in an arc to his right, imagining that a spray of fine droplets whizzed from the bottle toward the devils. Their eyes grew brighter and wider, then the poison must have hit its marks because great wails came out of black-hole mouths and the demons cavorted, features bunched in pain, hands gripping their throats, the beasts gasping for air. He switched the cellar to his other hand and did the same on his left, the devils there reacting the same as the others.
Idaline stared on in glee. She was enjoying him slaughtering her people? Her followers? Or was she deluded and had convinced herself this wasn’t happening? What kind of woman was she? He knew she was evil, but to see it in action? Christ Almighty.
The creatures puffed into ash and drifted to the floor. Idaline threw out the flames from her fingers again, and more demons replaced the first lot. David splashed the poison in a frenzy, hoping it didn’t run out before he could kill Idaline—and why wasn’t he just splashing it at her anyway? What was stopping him? Was it because she looked like a woman? A human? How was it so easy to bump off fire-filled devils but not their leader? Why couldn’t he g
et past that when he’d promised himself he’d get rid of her without mercy?
With the ashy remains of the second bunch of devils joining the first, Idaline brought in more of her minions. And there seemed so many more, hundreds of them crammed into the tiny space, David and Warwick standing in the middle of the circle they’d created around them. Then the cave expanded, the walls sliding so far back that David estimated thousands upon thousands of fire-beings now occupied it. He cast the poison in higher arcs, willed the droplets into a fine spray, and imagined it landing on each and every one of those twisted souls.
The roars of agony were incredible—and heartbreaking. These had once been innocent people, born without hatred inside them. Throughout their lives, hatred had been taught, and it had come to this, them being permanently obliterated so they couldn’t harm anyone ever again.
The gray ash floor of the vision David had seen made sense now—he’d been given a glimpse into the future back then—and he braced himself for the cave to explode next. The sound of cracking stone rent the air, then the walls turned into individual blocks that separated then hovered, thankfully so far away that they couldn’t do any damage. They darted upward, like a bomb had gone off, and turned to even more ash mid-air.
David panted, and Warwick came to stand beside him, in front the dais that was still standing with the throne and Idaline on it. She appeared calm and composed but glared at them with lime eyes that pulsed with hate.
“One more chance,” she said in the beast voice. “Come with me and we can change Heaven into Hell.”
David’s answer was to flick his wrist. The salt cellar reappeared, and he watched a large bead of liquid soar through the air toward her in slow motion. She had no time to retreat. It landed on her chest, a bright splodge of fluid, which dribbled between her breasts.
“Oh, that…stings,” she said and blinked in shock.
Her hand strayed up to hover over her chest, fingers fluttering.
And David had to turn away. Even though she’d taken everyone he’d loved, even though he’d thought he had hardened himself enough to detest her, he still didn’t have it in him to watch her burn.
Chapter Twelve
Warwick watched Idaline, wanting to see her die, to make sure she actually did. He felt David’s emotions and understood them, but Warwick wasn’t about to trust that the devil-woman wasn’t pretending, mimicking how the others had perished so Warwick and David dropped their guards. The way she’d handled this didn’t make sense to him, either. For years, in his dreams, she’d presented herself as a conniving entity who would have no problem defeating two inexperienced Superiors, so how come she’d allowed David to administer the poison?
And what was with her saying it ‘stings’? He imagined it did more than bloody sting. Such an inadequate choice of wording.
A hole opened up in her chest where the poison had landed, expanding until it was as big as a beach ball’s circumference. Through it, to the right of the throne, he could see the gray ash of the other demons’ remains on the ground behind her, and the dull beige of the horizon sitting on top of it. Then her flailing arms dragged his attention back to her face, and he stared as she clutched at her slender throat.
“Why didn’t my song work, or my magnetism?” she rasped, and it sounded like she’d smoked two packs of cigarettes a day her whole life. She wheezed and gasped.
Her behavior since they’d arrived here became clear suddenly. She’d honestly thought she could charm anyone and everyone with her Siren chicanery. How could that be when Manakel had told Warwick that the Angels had convinced previously wicked souls to become good and join them in Heaven? Had she deluded herself that those souls’ exits from Hell hadn’t happened? That those souls hadn’t turned from her? Hadn’t left her?
“You were so wrapped up in yourself, in thinking you couldn’t be defeated, that you believed you were invincible, didn’t you?” he said to her.
“I-I don’t understand,” she said. “This isn’t supposed to be happening. The others, where are the others? My darlings?”
“Others?” He darted his eyes about, seeing nothing but a vast, empty, ashen landscape.
“Did he kill everyone?” she whispered.
The hole in her chest extended downward, the poison taking its time to eat her and her dress up bit by bit. Her lower half disappeared, ash dropping off what remained of her chest. Her shoulders, arms, and head floated in front of the throne.
“He did. And now it’s your turn,” Warwick said.
She laughed. Threw her damn head back and laughed. “Oh, you silly boys. You just wait…”
A chill wended up his spine.
“What is she implying?” David asked, still with his back to her.
“I have no idea, but I don’t think we’re done here just yet.”
“Fuck.”
Idaline wailed, an ear-splitting cadence that reached a terrible crescendo. It was like a call, a cry for help. The rest of her split into microscopic-sized atoms, Warwick seeing her as a bitty visual, as though there weren’t enough pixels to create a truly solid picture. He itched to take the cellar from David and splash another drop of poison on her but didn’t dare to change the will of The Objective, putting David in danger. Then the atoms separated further, resembling a swarm of gnats, and they flew backward, heading for that bleak horizon until he couldn’t see them anymore.
But he could see something else. Beyond the throne. In the far distance.
“Oh, hell…” he whispered.
David turned around, and together they stared.
“Oh, my God. Do you see that? Shift!” Warwick snapped out.
Without giving more of an explanation, Warwick began stripping, throwing his things down. David wedged the cellar deep into the ash then wrenched off his clothes. Naked, Warwick willed his wolf to come to him, and his inner beast obeyed, taking over his human body and contorting his limbs, his bones, his muscles. Suspended in what felt like a stretch of never-ending, miserable forever, his wolf seeming to idle in completely taking over, Warwick watched the approach of another wolf. It was large—too large to defeat on his own—its jaws snapping as it galloped at them.
Warwick glanced at David, who’d managed to fully shift, then Warwick’s animal got its arse into gear and completed the turn. Beside David, Warwick stood firm, resolute in his belief that not only had his Hail been to accompany David, but that he had been sent here to help defeat the rabid-looking beast hurtling toward them at speed.
“Good luck,” Warwick said.
“We’ll need it,” David answered.
Then the stranger-wolf leaped the last few feet, landing right in front of them. Warwick lunged, his animal giving his human side no time to dither. He allowed it free rein and attacked the wolf, biting one side of its neck while David jumped up and bit the other. They rolled, a trio tussle of fur and growls and snarls, getting covered in the ash of the dead, the stuff getting up Warwick’s nose and in his eyes. The stranger-wolf struggled, trying to shake them off, and managed to roll them so that even though Warwick and David held on to it with their teeth, the beast stood above them.
Warwick released his teeth grip then went for the jugular, snatching at it, wrenching his head to one side and ripping fur and flesh. The wolf howled and slumped down, pinning Warwick and David beneath. Gagging on the taste of tainted devil blood, Warwick shoved with all four paws, successful in throwing the wolf off of him. He pounced on its back, bit it on the scruff, and yanked with all his might. The animal flew off David and onto the ground, ash puffing up all around it.
“The cellar. Quick!” Warwick said.
David scrabbled away while Warwick eyed the wolf. It rested on its side, bleeding profusely, its form changing from wolf to…to some kind of otherworldly being he’d never seen before, even in books or films. It had a human’s seriously muscled torso and legs, but its arms were huge ebony wings. Its face was that of a bird, a crow, the beak long and black. It opened that beak, and what seeme
d like thousands of razor-sharp glass teeth were on display. One bite from that fucker and they’d be goners. The neck, though, gaped from their bites, and blood, dark as the night, streamed down its chest.
“Shift so you can throw the poison!” Warwick screamed.
Remaining as wolf, Warwick prowled in front of the bird-man, ready to attack if it had a mind to finish them off. Or it had the energy. It appeared to be failing in that regard, mercifully, its marble eyes turning cloudy and swirling in their sockets. Its beak opened and closed repeatedly, but anything the creature had to say remained locked inside. Only a soft squawking and throaty gurgles managed to break free. The damn thing was dying, thank fuck, but not fast enough.
David appeared beside him, as naked as the day he’d been born and brandishing the salt cellar. Warwick only allowed himself to see David from the corner of his eye—he wasn’t about to move his main focus off the bird-man. The creature flapped its wings, but they had no power to lift it—they looked too heavy—and some of the feathers brushed over the black chest blood, leaving elongated smears like a paintbrush on canvas. Except this being wasn’t any oil painting that would render the viewer speechless at its beauty.
It managed to emit a wail similar to the one Idaline had screeched, and Warwick hoped the call wouldn’t be answered by any other devil. He sensed this was the last man standing, so to speak, the one who had sent the likes of Idaline to do his bidding while he’d sat back and watched the proceedings.
Bastard.
The relative ease with which they’d tackled the bird-man and brought it to this state wasn’t anything like Warwick had expected. Why was that? Why had it been so simple? Had it really just been a matter of good triumphing over evil—good being stronger than bad? He’d have thought it would have been the other way around. Bad equaled hate, didn’t it—and wasn’t hate filled with more strength than love?
No. No, it isn’t. Love conquers all, right?
Maybe not all, otherwise the devils wouldn’t have existed in the first place, but the sentiment is a nice thought.
The Crumpled Sword Page 9
