Demon Kissed (Cursed Angel Collection)

by Michelle Madow

  “And with a locater spell, another witch can still find it?” Teresa asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “If they’re strong enough.”

  “Then I suppose we’re about to do a locater spell.”

  “Right now?” I ask. “I mean, you don’t need time to prepare?”

  “Yes, right now,” she says. “There’s no reason to wait.”

  “I’ll get the crystals from the safe,” Marco volunteers.

  “And I’ll get the table set up,” she says. “Rebekah—you’ll come with me.”

  I can tell she doesn’t want me to know where this safe is that Marco will be grabbing the crystals from, and I don’t blame her for being wary about trusting me. After all, I’m a stranger in her home. I’m just grateful that she’s stopped trying to exorcise me and is now working with me. So I follow her downstairs and set up the table as she asks, doing as she says and not asking any questions.

  Once finished, the table is covered with a black cloth, and there are three candles in the center. Teresa lights them. Once finished, she reaches for Marco’s hand.

  Watching them, and looking at the setup in front of us, it hits me that I’m about to witness witches doing magic. I’ve never been in the presence of witches conducting a spell. Like all angels, I keep my distance from witches and their ungodly magic.

  “I’m assuming you’ve seen the Flaming Sword before, correct?” Teresa asks me. “The real Flaming Sword, and not the replica used for the continent’s insignia?”

  “Of course.” I straighten, slightly offended that she felt a need to ask. “All angels have seen Uriel’s Flaming Sword.”

  “Good,” she says. “Your help—as someone who’s seen the sword with your own eyes—will be beneficial in the accuracy of the spell.”

  “My help?” I sputter. “You want me… to do magic?”

  “Not most of it, but your help will make the spell more effective,” Teresa says, and she turns off the lights, the only glow in the room now coming from the candles. “Is that a problem?”

  The dim lights make me feel trapped and closed in, and I rest my hands on the table for something to help steady myself. “I’ve just never done magic before,” I explain. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “I thought you were an angel?” Marco asks. “Don’t angels have magical abilities?”

  “Yes,” I say. “But that’s different.”

  Teresa raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “Our magic is part of who we are—who we were created to be,” I explain. “I can’t use my magic while in this form, but when I use it to do something—for example, to heal a human—I don’t have to use any spells or potions. I just think of what I want to do, and it happens.” I want to add that my magic is natural, but I don’t want to offend them by accusing their magic of being unnatural—even though it is unnatural—so I leave it at that. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about assisting with a spell.”

  “Luckily for you, Marco and I will be doing the hard part,” Teresa says. “Your part is easy. Just hold our hands, close your eyes, and picture the Flaming Sword.”

  “Okay,” I say, since that doesn’t sound too bad. “That’s it?”

  “Yep,” she says. “By holding our hands and thinking of the sword while we do the spell, you’ll be sending the energy of the object in question—the sword—to us. It’ll help our location spell be more accurate. I won’t be able to sense exact coordinates, but I’ll be able to get a general vicinity. Now—are you ready to begin?” She holds out her hand and watches me, daring me to take it.

  I step forward, first taking Teresa’s hand, and then Marco’s. Together, we form a circle around the table. Their faces glow with the light of the flames, as I’m sure mine does, too.

  This feels so… dangerous. As if I’m doing something wrong. Rationally, I know I’m not—since this is what I’ve been sent here to do—but witch magic has been something I’ve thought of as forbidden for so long. I never thought there would be a day when I would willingly participate in a spell. But here I am, doing just that. It’s crazy and scary and invigorating all at the same time.

  “I’m ready,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it.

  “Once I start chanting, I want you to close your eyes and picture the Flaming Sword,” Teresa instructs me. “Don’t stop picturing it until I break the circle. Okay?”

  “Yes.” I nod. “Okay.”

  She starts chanting—the spell is in Latin—and I close my eyes, picturing the sword. I recall Uriel holding it half a century ago before marching into battle—how he lifted it above his head, the gold gleaming in the sunlight, and ignited the sword with his flames. I remember how optimistic I and the other messenger angels were as we watched him—how we believed that with the sword, he would defeat the demons on Earth, win the war, and force the demons back into the Hell dimensions where they belong.

  We didn’t expect him to be defeated—to have the sword stolen from him, forcing him back up to Heaven. And we certainly hadn’t expected the sword to go missing. Throughout history—for thousands of years—that sword had been by Uriel’s side. It represents strength and hope. We must get it back.

  Teresa gasps and pulls her hand away from mine.

  “What?” I flex my hand and look at her. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” she says, breathless. “Not at all. You did great.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Fear flickers over her eyes. “I saw where the sword is being hidden,” she says.

  “And?” I ask. “Where is it?”

  “One of the places I was hoping it wouldn’t be,” she says grimly. “The Watchtower.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few days later, we’re no further along with figuring out how to get the sword from the Watchtower than we were after finishing the spell.

  We’re all eating lunch in the kitchen when the television screen suddenly lights up. An image of the Watchtower with “special announcement” written in front of it appears on the screen, and alert music blasts from the speakers.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  “Whenever there’s an announcement that everyone needs to see, Ezekiel broadcasts it to all the televisions in the continent,” Teresa explains, putting down her sandwich and facing the screen. “It doesn’t happen often. Something big must have happened.”

  I stop talking and stare at the TV. The shot shifts from the overview of the Watchtower to a large man in a fancy suit holding a microphone. I nearly ask if he’s Ezekiel, but then I see the green tattoos on his wrist. He must be an entertainer—an actor.

  He holds the microphone closer and begins. “Good morning, citizens!” he says with a grin. “I’m interrupting your day with some exciting news. I know it’s only been a few weeks since the last selection, but I just received word that, as of this morning, none of King Ezekiel’s concubines remain alive. He must have picked a bad bunch last time, because they usually last for a little longer than that!” He laughs, his smile huge, as if he’s truly amused that these concubines had been murdered so quickly. “I’m sure all you lovely ladies will be thrilled to know that he’s looking for ten new concubines to come live in the Watchtower, and he’ll be hosting the selection next week. So mark your calendars for next Saturday night at eight sharp. As always, the ball is open to anyone who can afford a ticket and an outfit fit for the occasion. And remember—if you’re a woman who wants to be considered as a concubine, wear a red dress to the ball so Ezekiel knows you’re interested! I’ll be there all night covering the event for those who won’t be lucky enough to attend. I can’t wait to see you there!”

  He smiles again, and then the broadcast cuts out, switching to an infomercial advertising beautiful ball gowns.

  “What was that about?” I ask, forcing my eyes away from the gorgeous dresses to focus on Teresa and Marco.

  “How much do you know about Ezekiel’s concubines?” Marco asks me.

  “Not much,”
I admit. “Just that he selects ten girls each year to live with him in the Watchtower, and he usually ends up killing them all.”

  “That pretty much summarizes it,” Teresa says. “When he held his first selection, he claimed to be searching for a queen. He was supposed to choose one of the ten of them to marry.”

  “But that’s not how it happened?” I guess.

  “Nope,” she says. “He killed them all before the year was up—apparently none of them were good enough for him. And so, year after year, he holds more selections, but he never finds a queen. Even if some of the girls survived the year, he asked them to leave after the year was up so he could make room for ten new girls. Now, everyone knows he’s not looking for a queen. He simply keeps the girls around for entertainment. If they step out of line and anger him, he kills them. Usually all ten of them don’t make it, but some years at least one or two survive and are kicked out. Killing them all after a few months is extreme, even for him.”

  I raise my hand to my mouth, horrified. “If he kills them… why would anyone want to be selected as a concubine?” I ask.

  “Because if they survive, they’re elevated to a Gold,” she explains. “They’re given an apartment and a generous amount of money every year for the rest of their lives. For so many women in the city, becoming a concubine is a ticket to a life of luxury and wealth that they couldn’t otherwise dream of.”

  “So their own greed causes them to risk their lives,” I realize.

  “I suppose it does,” she says, her eyes sad. “The only other way to switch castes is through marriage—but then, both people become the lower caste, so it’s not something people seek to do.”

  “So if a Gold man wants to marry a Green woman, he would have to become a Green for her,” I say.

  “Yep,” Marco says. “As you can imagine, this happens very rarely in a city cursed with greed. No one’s willing to give up their status for anything—not even for love.”

  “The only way to move up in caste is to survive a year as one of Ezekiel’s concubines and become a Gold,” Teresa says. “The chance gives the women of lower castes hope.”

  “They want to become a Gold so badly that they’ll die for it.” I look down at the tattoos wrapped around my wrists—around Adriana’s wrists—and shudder. The people here are truly bound in chains to Ezekiel.

  And I’m the only one who can free them.

  Another infomercial comes on—this one advertising shoes that go with ball gowns and yet are still comfortable to wear while dancing the night away. The actress glides across the floor, lifting her dress up to show off her high-heeled shoes, a huge smile on her face. I can’t imagine any pair of heels being that comfortable, but the actress is convincing enough that I want to try them on for myself and see.

  Suddenly, the phone rings, yanking me out of my thoughts. How did I allow myself to be swayed by a stupid infomercial after learning such horrible things about the selection and Ezekiel’s concubines? I know it’s the fault of the curse, but it’s still my responsibility to do everything I can to resist it.

  Teresa walks over to the phone and answers it. “Hi, Sofia,” she says, looking at me while she speaks. “Yes—Adriana’s right here. I’ll hand you over to her.” She drops the phone from her ear, and I walk over to take it from her.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to force some enthusiasm into my tone.

  “Adriana!” Sofia squeals. “Did you see the announcement from the Watchtower?”

  “Of course,” I say, and I glance over at the television. The lady is still dancing in the heels, but now with a handsome man guiding her. They gaze at each other in adoration, and I almost believe they’re truly in love.

  “We need to go shopping,” she says.

  “We do?” I ask.

  “Of course!” she says. “It’s your first selection ball! Anyone who’s anyone will be there—including the hottest single Gold men on the continent. We must go.”

  I take a deep breath and lean against the wall. The last thing I want is to go to this ball where Ezekiel is searching for women that he’ll end up killing. I don’t want to be anywhere near Ezekiel. He’s a horrible, disgusting monster.

  But I was sent here to kill him. And I now know he’s hiding the Flaming Sword in the Watchtower. Attending the ball could prove beneficial to my mission.

  I won’t let my own worries and fears keep me from succeeding in what I was sent here to do.

  “You’re right,” I say, suppressing a sigh. “Of course we need to go.”

  “Great!” Sofia chirps. “And we need to go shopping now, before all the best dresses get snatched up. I’ll be over to pick you up in ten minutes—be ready to head out!”

  She hangs up before I can answer, and I stare at the phone in my hand, amazed with how much just changed in the span of a few minutes.

  It looks like I’m going to this ball after all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sofia’s car is packed—three of the girls I recognize from brunch are in there. Apparently she forgot to tell me that this is going to be a group shopping trip, but I slide into the car anyway.

  We arrive at the street that Sofia says has the best shopping in the entire city, and after we park, I follow her and the girls out of the car. As Sofia guessed, the street is packed. Mostly Golds, but I notice some Silvers as well.

  “We have to go to Maria’s,” Sofia says, hurrying down the street. “Before all the best gowns are taken!”

  I recognize the store name as the first one advertised on the infomercials. The girls all squeal in excitement and rush down the street. I follow them, looking around at everything we pass.

  I see a music store, and I stop walking at the sight of a beautiful violin displayed in the window. Sucking in a sharp breath, I can nearly feel what it would be like to rest that violin upon my shoulder and play.

  “Come on,” Sofia nags, pulling at my arm. “Why’d you stop?”

  “Can we stop inside that music store so I can check out that violin?” I ask. “I’ll be fast.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “You play violin?” she asks.

  “I did when I was younger.” I shrug. “I want to pick it up again.”

  “Hmm,” Sofia says. “I guess we can stop by on our way back. After we find our dresses.”

  She pulls me away from the store, and I go along with it, placated by the fact that we’ll return to the music store later. As long as I come home at the end of the day with that violin by my side, I’ll be happy.

  Except hours into dress shopping, Sofia still hasn’t found a dress she likes. I found one soon after starting, and the other girls found theirs after a bit more searching. But apparently nothing is good enough for Sofia. I huff from my spot on the couch, waiting for her to model the next one she’s trying on.

  She comes out of the dressing room and twirls in a shimmery green ball gown.

  “It’s beautiful!” I say, even though she’s tried on others that were much better.

  “No, it’s not.” She pouts. “I look like a plant.”

  The shopkeeper comes back over to us, holding a few more dresses. “I brought over some more for you to try,” she says to Sofia. “These are the best in the store—I promise.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Sofia takes them and marches back into the dressing room.

  I look out the window—it’s already getting dark—and sigh. “What time do most of the stores close around here?” I ask one of Sofia’s friends—a girl named Ana.

  She glances at her watch. “We have another hour, at least.”

  My heart drops, since I have a feeling that Sofia will be here until the store closes. Which means I’ll lose my chance of stopping by that music store on the way back.

  I really want that violin. Playing violin not only relaxes me, but it also helps me think. I flex my fingers, wanting nothing more than to wrap my hands around that bow and create music. Once I have the violin, perhaps I’ll be better able to sort through my thoughts and figu
re out a plan to steal the Flaming Sword from the Watchtower. Maybe seeing that store today was a sign from God that I need to buy that violin.

  All I know is that I refuse to return home without it.

  “I’m going to stop by that music store really fast,” I tell the girls. “You’ll still be here in half an hour, right?”

  “You’re going alone?” Ana asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “This is a busy street, right? It’s safe?”

  “It is,” one of the other girls says. “Just stay on the main street, and you’ll be fine.”

  “Will do,” I say. As I head out, I hear one of them mutter something about “stupid country girls” and another say something about how I was being a downer, anyway.

  I feel like I can breathe again the moment I step onto the street, and I head back to the music store. It’s still open, and I smile at the sight of the violin in the window.

  The instrument is perfect, and I use nearly the rest of my coins to buy it. I’m grinning as I step back out on the street, the bag with my new dress on one side and the violin in its case by my other, excited to get home and play. I’m feeling happier than I have all day.

  I’m halfway back to the dress store, stopping to wait for a car to cross the street, when someone tugs at the bottom of my shirt. A young child around the age of six. His hair’s unwashed, there’s dirt smudged on his face, and his eyes are sad. The tattoos around his wrists are red. I look around for someone nearby who might be his parent, but everyone I see is a Gold or a Silver.

  “Hey there,” I say with a smile. “Are you lost?”

  He nods, still looking up at me with those soulful, wide eyes, and my heart goes out to him. I have to do something to help.

  I kneel so I’m closer to his level. “We need to find your parents,” I say. “Do you know where you saw them last?”

  “That way.” He points down a dark, narrow street nearby. I don’t see anyone in it, but it curves around, so it’s possible for people to be on the other side. Perhaps that’s where the more affordable shopping is—it would explain why his parents are there instead of here. He must have wandered over here accidentally and gotten scared in the crowd.