Too fucking many, if you ask me.
Nassa releases my hand and magic flows in purple swirls out of her palm as she twists the doorknob.
“Aperi,” she whispers.
The door clicks open and we step into another long corridor—this one stark white. I follow her to a set of glass doors, which I know from previous visits leads into Asmodeus’s empty office.
An office that could pass for an art gallery. He’s painted the walls black and highlighted the bright graffiti-scrawl artwork that adorns them with bright spotlights.
My eyes drop to the animal-printed rug and circular coffee table that sits atop it. Sadly, I feel like the zebra rug is real. No doubt it was a prized killing by the demon.
I scowl at it. Poor fucking innocent animal probably didn’t see the asshole coming. Demons are the goddamn worst. Nassa takes a casual seat on the velvet sectional and smoothly crosses her legs.
I rub the back of my neck. “Now what?”
“Now, we wait,” she rasps.
“For what, exactly?”
“For me,” a smooth, velvety voice answers from the doorway.
Clenching my jaw, I tilt my head and assess the tall demon staring at Nassa. His green eyes are serene, full of stillness, and a coy smile plays on his lips—an off smile that one doesn’t overlook. This guy hides behind an expensive black suit. His tie is missing, and the first few buttons of his white shirt are undone, displaying smooth, tanned skin. As his gaze slides between the two of us, he runs a hand through his perfectly styled short black hair.
Immediately, I don’t like him. Not one fucking bit. Asmodeus, I can maneuver, deal with, but whoever this demon lord is, he makes me anxious and on guard.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask.
“My father,” Nassa rasps.
The power radiating off of the tall well-dressed lord is almost suffocating. If I’ve learned anything over the past century, powerful demons like him like to play god.
Wordlessly, my eyes snap to hers and the emerald in her gaze intensifies. “Gallagher, this is Mammon. The demon of greed. Mammon, this is Gage Gallagher. Gage is a, um, friend.” The word is pushed out of her mouth quickly and with an underlying nervousness that takes me aback. “A protector. The leader of the Paris clan of gargoyles.”
With a blank expression, I watch her. Nassa’s acting as if our interactions aren’t personal. She’s referring to me as if I were simply a random acquaintance. We aren’t just friends, though, and I don’t like that she’s acting like we are. To be honest, I don’t know what we are.
But just friends? No. No fucking way.
A knowing grin appears on Mammon’s face.
“I can smell him on you.”
See that? He isn’t buying the just friends angle either.
“Just like I can smell Mom on you,” Nassa bites back.
“Your mother and I have a . . . complicated arrangement.”
“Is that what you’re both calling it?”
Mammon chuckles. “I do believe that is what the mortals’ social media defines it as.”
My vision tunnels on the sorceress, the anger at his words swirling in her eyes.
“Where is Asmodeus?” I interrupt the family drama.
“Detained.”
Mammon steps into the office and motions for me to sit on the couch with Nassa as he takes a seat across from us in a leather wingback chair. With a powerful glare, he tents his fingers under his chin, as if somehow goading me to question his presence again.
“Whatever it is my daughter has done to her uncle, it is the reason for his lack of interest in meeting with you both this evening. Given my brother’s anger management issues, especially when it comes to family and betrayal, you both should be relieved and show more gratitude that it’s me sitting in front of you, instead of him,” he adds.
“I can assure you, Asmodeus deserved it,” I state.
“When hasn’t my brother?” The demon lord counters with a smirk.
Nassa scoffs next to me at our discussion and sits back, pressing into the couch.
“It’s been a while since we’ve last spoken, or seen one another, Nassa. What have you been up to lately?” Mammon asks. “I mean, aside from plotting your uncle’s demise?”
“You’ve never taken an interest in anything I do. Why start now?”
The warning glare he shoots her is enough for me to sit forward on the couch, narrowing my eyes in a warning of my own as I lean my elbows on my knees. At the protective position I’ve taken, Mammon’s calculating gaze slides to me. When our eyes meet, he smirks knowingly, studying my posture and reading my protective energies. Unlike the rock star–pirate appearance of his brother Asmodeus, Mammon seems more controlled.
Very business-like.
After a moment, the demon lord leans back in his chair and continues to rest his chin on his steepled hands, flashing me a devilish grin. Mammon’s eyes quickly turn cold and dark as silence falls between us.
“The demon of greed. How’d you come into that title?” I inquire.
He cocks his head. “I earned it. By taking things that weren’t mine. Fostering wealth. Corrupting humans, who are innocent, into building their worldly treasures, instead of focusing on mortal virtues that they can carry with them into the divine kingdom.”
“Interesting career choice,” I mumble.
“No more so than being the leader of the Paris clan of gargoyles is.”
“Actually, Mammon’s least-known but greatest power is the influence he can exert over mortals’ hearts and minds.” Nassa sighs. “Inspiring envy, greed, and lust. Each so potent that even the purest of souls can be corrupted by him, giving him the title of one of the seven princes of Hell,” she adds, as if his mere existence embarrasses her.
“All true,” Mammon agrees proudly. “Just ask Nassa’s mother.”
Ironic. I peer over at her. “You are the sorceress of prosperity. And your father”—I pause and swallow—“is the demon of greed?” I state so low, she can barely hear me.
“Not all prosperity comes in the form of wealth.” A hint of annoyance surrounds her. “I don’t use dark charms when I wield my prosperity magic. So shut the fuck up.”
“That’s her mother talking.” Mammon shifts our focus to him. For the briefest second, I think he’s going to roll his eyes at her behavior. “Sadly, she is only half demon.”
Nassa takes a deep breath and silently runs her palms over her skirt. My guess is she’s biting her tongue in order not to tell him where to go. Interestingly enough, the sorceress has no issues telling me where to go or what to do. Yet, with him—there’s nothing.
The demon lord’s dark gaze takes her in, as if he’s taking stock of everything she is doing wrong by simply existing. It pisses me off. My lips part to tell him so, but he speaks first. “Mr. Gallagher, you should know that my daughter gets her mortal sympathies from her mother and that ridiculous white-magic coven, who have brainwashed her,” he states.
“I am not brainwashed,” Nassa argues. “Mom and I take the moral high ground. Something you should consider doing every once in a while, Dad,” she snarls.
“Regardless of your mother’s ideological teachings, Nassa, there is no denying you are my child. You have my eyes. My devilish grin.” Mammon’s eyes slide to me. “And apparently, my taste for lovers and partners with dark auras and broken moralities.”
The sorceress fists her hands and I can’t help but move closer to her, calmingly.
Once again, my position doesn’t go unnoticed by Mammon.
Oddly, he almost seems pleased at my reaction to him and my protectiveness.
“What gives you the impression my aura is dark?” I ask, already knowing.
“Or that we’re together,” Nassa growls under her breath.
“I’m a demon prince, Mr. Gallagher. I can see the holes in your soulless inky glow.”
“Those holes that you see are present because the only light that surrounded my darkness, that lived
within me, was snuffed out by evil. Your kind of evil, actually. A light that was extinguished at the hand of those who were full of greed and envy. My love was an innocent soul who was caught in the crossfire of the life I led. In the end, I was punished for the choices I made. The choice to love. To be loved. By beings you corrupted,” I spit.
“You assume I had a hand in your father’s actions,” he replies casually. “What of your divine kingdom? Did the very leaders you align with not protect her at your request?”
“So you did know my father,” I state, having goaded him into confirming he did.
“I did,” he answers. “As I’m sure you already knew, given his greed-filled decisions.”
My lips twitch. I knew it. “I prayed to the divine. To the saints. To the angels. Begging them to protect her. I thought they would know my love didn’t deserve to suffer. They would see she wasn’t supposed to die, in an act of vengeance meant for me, at my father’s hands. In the end, no one showed Camilla mercy. Not for her kind heart and spirit. Her pure soul. Or her undying love and devotion to me. Even though I didn’t deserve either.”
A small, rough exhale escapes Nassa’s lips. Her eyes slide closed, then open, from the pain I’m sure hearing my story causes. I haven’t shared a lot of it with her, trying to shield her from all the gory, ugly, raw details. Each tears me apart whenever I speak of them.
“Your soul is drenched with guilt?” he surmises.
“I don’t have a soul. But if I did, yes. It would be.” I shiver, my chest locking up. “Every last drop of her blood that was shed seeped into every last fiber of my existence. Until I drowned in it, whispering to her corpse how much I loved her, and how fucking sorry I was. I held her tightly, until my light was gone, and only darkness remained. So yes, my aura is dark. My soul nonexistent. My heart gone. My moralities corrupt.”
“I respect a being who has no principles,” he whispers.
“I didn’t say I didn’t have principles. Simply that I’m willing to bend them.”
Inhaling through my nose, I slide my focus over to Nassa. Her eyes are blurred with tears and she drapes strands of hair over her face, barely allowing me to see her. I take in a few breaths, needing more air, because her reaction is the exact reason I never told her.
“Tell me, Mr. Gallagher, how did a gargoyle who renounced his position after the death of his love return to become the leader of the Paris clan?” Mammon asks, forcing me to look at him. “A prestigious title and position that once offended you so?”
“I returned as a favor to someone.”
He nods. “Through my brother, I’ve learned favors seem to be your downfall.”
I remain silent, at a loss, because there is no argument from me.
He’s right.
“Why are you here?” he inquires. “And with my daughter?”
Next to me, Nassa shifts and I grab her hand, squeezing it in warning.
Carefully, I weigh my words. “We’re searching for the second peace treaty.”
“That is not why you’re here,” he debates.
“It’s not?” I sit back on the couch, closer to Nassa.
“No.”
“Then why?”
Mammon’s lips twitch and a gruff laugh escapes him. “You’re both here because you want to know what my brother is up to. Isn’t that right?” I nod in confirmation. “An unfortunate inquiry, which you’ve wasted an entire trip to the Midnight Temple for.”
“Why is that?”
He falls silent before lowering his voice. “Mr. Gallagher, perhaps you and my daughter aren’t as close as I had first assumed.” Mammon looks between Nassa and me. “If you were, you would know that she already has the knowledge you came here to seek.”
Irritation slices through me at his insinuation, but I do my best to hide it.
Mainly because he could be lying.
He is, after all, a demon lord; they aren’t known for their honesty.
Nassa shoots up out of her seat. “Untrue.”
Mammon’s gaze snaps to hers, hard and unwavering. “Is it?”
“Whatever lies you’re spinning, stop!” Nassa yells, a little too assertively.
“Sit.” His voice thunders as he stares down the sorceress.
She doesn’t. After a moment of enduring her defiance, I yank on the hand I’ve been clenching and pull her down. Angrily, she tumbles onto the couch next to me.
The demon lord’s eyes narrow. “You’re lucky it is me in this office, sitting across from you, and not your pissed-off uncle. You know, the one you tried to destroy.”
“Tried being the operative word,” she mouths off, using my words from earlier.
“Daughter or not,” he spews. “If you continue to show me disrespect, Asmodeus will be the least of your worries.”
“Do not threaten her,” I caution.
Mammon’s eyes twinkle. “You’re awfully protective of something that isn’t yours.”
I peer back at him with nothing but disdain. “Where is the peace treaty?”
“My brother was the one who penned the contract of creation.” The demon returns his attention to me. “Therefore, Mr. Gallagher, whatever you think you will find written within the second peace treaty, I can assure you, you will not. To seek it out and attempt to decipher its contents is a fool’s errand. I don’t take you, or my daughter, for fools.”
“Respectfully, I’d like to be the one who deciphers its contents for myself.”
“For what purpose?” he asks.
“I’m sorry?”
“What is it you think you’ll find within the scripture?”
“As a leader within the protector world, I’m hoping to find fairness,” I lie.
Mammon’s gaze intensifies. “Nothing we do, whether divine or demonic, is ever fair. I would think you, of all beings, would understand that is how our worlds work.”
“My understanding of that is the very reason for my interest in the treaty.”
He considers me, running his tented fingers over his lips. I’ll give him credit; given the tension between all our realms, Mammon is good at holding his cards close.
“The treaty is in the Goetia,” he shares.
I’m actually surprised that Mammon would willingly give this information over so easily. Then again, gifts like this from demons always come with a price, or a catch.
“What is the Goetia?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
Nassa shifts beside me. “The first book of the Lemgeton, an ancient grimoire from the seventeenth century, which is guarded by the seventy-two demons of the Goetia.”
“Only seventy-two?” I quip.
“Any one of them could be hiding it in their vaults,” Nassa sighs. “Even with a locator spell, finding it would be almost impossible.”
“Surely two capable, dark supernatural beings such as yourself and Mr. Gallagher can cross into the underworld, bypass seventy-two upper-level demons, find an ancient grimoire, unlock the magic, release the treaty, and then decode its contents,” he mocks.
My lips press together. Even with all those odds stacked against us, there really isn’t anything to think about. I don’t have a choice. I’ve been tasked with finding out what the contents are and agreed to it.
In this moment, finding that fucking book is my only purpose and focus. My way of repaying my debt to the protector race. And I don’t really like to fail.
I bite down on my lower lip and nod. “We’re capable.”
“Maybe you could help,” Nassa grits out of a tight jaw.
“How so?” Mammon inquires.
“Be more specific.”
“Mr. Gallagher only asked where the treaty was. Now you know. It’s up to you to find which Goetia vault. I’m sure with each other’s help you will have no trouble,” he replies.
“Why are you helping us?” I question.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
With demons, it always does.
Mammon’s expression turns serious as
he looks Nassa over with a gentler gaze.
“Consider this my penance for all your troubles,” he replies. “Unlike those who hide behind the golden gates in the divine kingdom, I happen to know what it’s like to be punished for my choices. My choice to be free. My choice to have ideas of my own. To live each day exerting my free will,” he snarls. “Demons are thought to be heartless. Unable to forgive, or to ask for forgiveness. Like you, I too was punished and then exiled by my own kind. I know those shadows. They haunt me to this day.”
Swallowing, I dip my chin. “Self-punishment is its own prison.”
“Even the darkest imprisoned demon once roamed free in love and light.”
9
Make Our Mistakes
NASSA
With narrowed eyes, I trace the Eiffel tower through the glass windowpane, wondering if the people taking in Paris from the viewing platforms can see me. Probably not. Gage’s loft is the epitome of privacy—even with an entire dramatic wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, which are tinted gray, shielding him from the outside world and prying eyes.
Staring out at the gloomy charcoal sky, I watch the rain as it frees itself from the ominous clouds. The downpour feels ill-omened. A metaphor of Gage’s life. Shadowed. Dreary. Nefarious. Confined, he watches over Paris from his high-perched loft; those on the outside can’t see or touch him. The large droplets plummet from the heavens, hitting the pavement below before pooling and drifting away to some unknown dreary place.
Behind me, Gage ignites the fireplace. Its amber glow reflects in the window as he moves glass bottles around behind his bar. I ignore the gargoyle, continuing to stare out the window, not ready to let go of these last moments of silence between us. After our meeting with my father, reality crept in, clawing at the edges of our carefully crafted dance. The entire flight home was silent—both of us lost, caged by our own demons.
Until yesterday, I hadn’t realized just how deeply Camilla’s death had taken a hold of his existence. Nor had I known how much Mammon and Gage have in common.
A warm hand touches mine and, alarmed, I squeal and jump. Twisting, I push my back against the window. Gage pinches his mouth together, displeased at my reaction to him.
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