“We have to have a plan,” I tell him, crossing my arms. “It’s not just us anymore. We have Josie to think about, too.”
“I am thinking about her. In another week, she’s going to start looking like an uncooked ribeye to these Vampires. You can’t be on-guard all the time. We’re not made for that. Vampires are. They’re hunters, and they will prey on the weakest link.”
I don’t like Vampires all too much, but his words startle me. “She was fine when Deb and I came to rescue your magical butt.”
David sighs, looking at me, despondent. “And I’m grateful for that. Let’s just say my Warlock intuition is telling me that we have to get away from this undead group as soon as possible.”
“And what are you going to do when my master comes for me? Between now and then, or—heck, even when we’re on the move! Because you know he will—”
Slightly offended, he asks, “Are you asking if I can handle the leadership responsibility?”
I want to bang my head on the nearest wall. “No. I know you can handle it. I know you’ll do everything you can for them—maybe not for Mike, but for Josie, my mom, and Deb. I’m just…worried, I guess.” I bite my lip, shaking my head softly. Words seem so useless at a time like this. What I feel, how I feel—I can’t get it across.
He sighs, and before I know it, I’m swallowed in a hug. “I’m sorry, Lexa. I really am. If there was anything I could do for you, you know I’d do it in a heartbeat. Of course, if there’s anyone I know who can handle the Devil, it’s you.” Then…silence. He rubs my back, and for a good, long while, we stand there, unmoving.
I inhale his scent, probably for the last time. He smells like incense and peppermint, two of his favorite things. If anyone walks in on us, they’d think we’re long lost lovers or something. Ick. Just two good friends, hugging it out like weirdos who don’t know what else to do.
Suddenly there’s clapping behind me, and we slowly part as my one, my only master steps out of a fiery portal. Still in his Human form, he grins. “Remarkable, isn’t it? How Armageddon brings people together?” His grin drops as he adds, “It is truly disgusting.”
My stomach flips, and I wait for it; the moment I leave all that I hold dear, forced into a life of servitude to literally one of the worst creatures alive. Even David stands with bated breath. He might be three hundred years old, but he hadn’t had many friends over the years, either. Lovers are a dime a dozen to those who don’t age; true friends are a lot harder to find, he’d say. Though I have a very Human lifespan, I always believed him.
“You,” he lifts an arm as he says, “come with me, now.” There is power in his voice, strong and commanding. Of course, even if his voice wavered and shook like a child’s, I’d have to listen.
My Mark itches, and within four steps, I’m at my owner’s side, watching David’s heartbreaking expression as I feel a warm hand slide into mine. “Goodbye, David,” I say, a portal made of fire and brimstone swallowing us and bringing us to…
A burning, flattened wasteland.
Overhead, the sun is blocked by yellow clouds. I feel strangely hot. Not humid, not hot in the hot-and-bothered kind of way…just hot. The air around me licks at my skin, wanting to burn me. I remain intact, probably due to my Mark.
The Devil lets me go, and I stumble forward, looking all around. The place reminds me of my dream, where I was offered a way out—and I didn’t take it. Silly me, for feeling guilty about betraying the Devil. Stupid me.
“Where are we?” I ask through a whisper, tucking hair behind my ear as the breeze attempts to blow it in a very unattractive version of the animated Pocahontas’s hair. As I walk forward, the flat landscape gives way to a giant crater, and my stomach rolls. No wonder I feel oddly hot. This place still exudes energy from the bomb.
Unmoving, he states, “I thought you’d recognize your childhood home.”
The words are like a slap in the face, and my mind instantly travels to my dad, to Evalina. Our house, our family, all gone. I blink back tears, refusing to let the Devil see me cry. In the distance, through the smoke, the third Horseman stands, balance in hand. He does not approach us, though. His decaying, rotting horse flicks its tail and turns, heading in the opposite direction.
I’m too upset at our surroundings to ask about the Horseman. Now that all four are here, on earth, shouldn’t they be roaming free?
No, instead I say through bared teeth, “Why would you bring me here?” I turn my head back to him, hating myself even more for fantasizing about him in my dream. You can cover an unholy, evil creature in a handsome Human coat, but it’ll still be ugly inside.
He meets my gaze, although his eyes hold no ill-will. “I wanted to hurt you,” he speaks it simply, without malice in spite of the sentence’s content. “And I wanted to show you that your old life is gone. You may have some friends left, but they will die soon enough.”
I move before him, defiant. “You brought me here to, what, break me? It was just a house. It wasn’t supposed to be ours anyway. I’m not that easy to break.”
“You say that as if your fate was chosen by your parents.” He lifts a finger, hovering it over my chest, where my heart beats. It beats a heck of a lot faster as he adds, “It was written eons ago. Your entire existence hinges on me. You are nothing but a puppet, Human.”
“My name is Lexa, not Human,” I hiss, feeling the urge to slap him. I hold back since he can stop me by saying a single word.
He smirks. Of course he smirks. All bad guys smirk. It’s Bad-Guy-101. “You say that as if I care. I don’t. And, before you ask, you are undeserving to know mine.”
I chuckle. Such an arrogant fruitcake. “I already know your name. It’s Satan now, isn’t it?” My arms are crossed, and I trace circles on my elbows through the leather jacket. What he says next utterly startles and confuses me.
He walks around me like a lion circling its prey. My hair is swept to one shoulder, and I feel his warm hand around the back of my neck. He leans in to whisper, “Ah, of course. You mistake me for my father.”
Father?
It hits me hard. Young Morningstar. I thought the voice in my dream referred to his appearance, not the fact that he isn’t the Devil.
He’s the Devil’s son. Quite literally the Prince of Hell.
In all the stories, I’d never heard of the Devil having a son. Although, I haven’t read up on it too much, considering I never went to church and until recently never believed in any of this stuff.
The realization makes me lose my witty retort. My mouth opens, but nothing smart or sarcastic comes out. For the first time in nearly my entire life, I don’t know what to say. I was prepared for the Devil, not his brooding son.
A tingle of warmth spreads throughout my Mark when he releases my neck. I do my best to shake it off, finding my voice, “Why have a Human, then? Why have me? What does the Devil’s son need with a Human Mark?”
“I do not know.” His deep blue gaze turns on me, and I do my best to hold it. “He certainly could’ve chosen a better one, though.”
My eyes close, and I laugh. It’s ridiculous, being insulted by something like him. “It all makes sense.”
His mean gaze narrows. “Explain.”
“Why you thought Humans were more fun. Why you disappeared to brood for a few days. The Devil himself wouldn’t have done that—but his teenage son?” I chuckle, smiling at my horrid life and luck. “It all makes sense!”
He cocks his head. “I know not what a teenage is, but it sounds like an insult.”
I laugh even more, which he clearly doesn’t like.
With a flash of fiery power, wings sprout. He loses his Human form, gaining a few feet in height and widening with muscle. His skin blackens into a dark grey, horns sprout and curl on his forehead. Smoke puffs from his mouth, where sharpened teeth lay. His eyes are no longer blue, instead a blazing mixture of orange and red. Claws replace his nails, talons on his reverse-jointed feet. He loses his clothes in the transformation, but a black haze hovers aro
und the most private part. The wings on his back grow and grow, blocking out the sky in a scorching, intimidating display of dominance.
And to think all that happened in a few seconds.
My brain bugs out with what I witness, and I stumble back, tripping on my own feet and landing hard on my butt.
“I am nothing to be laughed at, especially by a puny, pathetic Human,” he speaks, his voice practically deafening. I can feel it in my bones, in my core. “I am your master. I own you. The relationship is not symbiotic. I do not need you. I can very easily rid the world of you and be better off for it.”
It takes every ounce of my strength and resolve to stand. My head is at the level of his abdomen, and I have to crane my neck back at an awkward angle to meet his sweltering stare. His pupils, now slit instead of circles, become thinner at my closeness. “Then do it,” I say, serious. “Save us both the trouble and time and do it now.”
His clawed right hand grips my face. The entire blackened thing is the size of my head, and I hold my breath, knowing how effortless it would be for him to snap my neck and move on. Would his actions kill me? “Brave, for a mortal.” Ever so slowly, he retracts his hand, freeing me from his deathly grip. “Perhaps you are not as boring as I thought.”
“Now that’s an insult,” I say.
He laughs as he returns to his Human form. His wings dissipate into the air. Grey skin fades into a golden tan, covered in the same clothes it was earlier. He acts as if he’s about to say something, but he pauses, glancing toward the sky. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?”
He flashes me a white, dazzling smile. “Things are about to become fun.”
“Goody,” I whisper as he takes hold of my arm and portals us to someplace else.
Chapter Nine
A field of bright green grass. Giant trees surround us, and raucous gibbering and laughter echo the space behind us. I sneak a peek, and before I know I’m doing it, I step closer to Devil Jr.
Creatures huddle in the darkness, their forms and features alien to my eyes. Some are blobs with no limbs. Some are all teeth and no eyes. Some look like they were taken straight out of War of the Worlds. Tiny, huge, fat, thin—every possibility, every combination. My brain is about to fry, thinking about all the havoc the Demons around me could create.
“Um,” I whisper to him, “what are we doing, exactly?”
“Hush,” he says, and the Demons around us agree in various ways—snarls, head bobs, flashes of teeth.
I zip my lip and return my gaze to the field. The sun shines atop a granite altar that I know for a fact wasn’t there a minute ago. A man in sparkling armor stands beside it, a stone tablet in hand. His gaze is commanding, and the Demons around us shrink when his amber eyes turn upon them.
“Michael,” he whispers with a frown. “Unimpressive.”
Michael? As in Archangel Michael? I see a glimmer of light brown wings as he turns to the altar. Without any visible aid, the altar slides open, revealing a cave of sorts. When Michael turns to the field, a man is there, looking confused. His angelic face reads the tablet, and his voice—oh, his voice; it sounds like honey.
“Aaron Adams,” Michael reads his name, and the Human steps forward, into the altar. As he crossed the threshold, his dirty jean and t-shirt combo morph into a white robe. Very similar to the purification garments Deb’s psycho cult family made us change into…yet different. Simple. Good. “Rest.”
Next is a woman, who literally steps out of nothing to appear in the field. She flails around for a bit, confused, muttering to herself about how she got there. Her black hair is wild, kept in place by tight cornrows.
“Letoya Adam.” The woman holds in her questions, wandering into the altar. Her wrap and tube top are replaced by the same white robe. “Rest.” She disappears into the altar’s depths.
I know what I’m watching, and an uneasy feeling swims through my gut.
Hours pass. Hundreds of names are read, and each enter the altar willingly. Each changes into a white robe. Down the alphabet Michael goes as the sun begins to set. The people called are from every walk of life, every age and every nationality. Old and young. Black, white, and every color in between. American, Mexican, Chinese. Rich and poor. Jewish, Christian, Muslim. These are the people who are to be saved, free of witnessing the rest of the apocalypse, and taken to heaven when it’s all over.
None of the Humans, I notice, are Marked. These are free Humans, Humans with souls, and the Demon crowd is here to watch as possible victims and slaves are taken away.
The next name stops my heart.
“Josefina Sánchez,” Michael speaks with a flawless Spanish accent. He hasn’t misspoken anyone’s name, and he knows every language, it seems. Josie stumbles to the altar as he says, “Descánsate.”
But the sweet little girl doesn’t go in.
She turns her head to Michael, who hides his shock well. “I don’t want to rest. I want to play with Deb and Lexie.”
Michael gives her a warm smile that melts my heart. He seems nice (and not too bad on the eyes, either). “It is time for you to rest, now.”
She shakes her head and steps backward, away from Michael. The Demons around me itch, hungry and wanting. An innocent girl like her, she’s a delicious snack for them. I won’t let her get taken or eaten; she’d go in that altar and sleep the apocalypse away, even if I have to throw her in myself.
I step out of the unnatural shadows, about to scream for her, but Michael’s gaze instantly turns to me, and I’m immediately blinded by a bright white light. Michael’s eyes blaze with righteous fury, and he seems to grow. His face twists into something my brain can’t register, no longer a good-looking man with ashy wings. A monster. A monster with no eyes and quite a large mouth. My body starts shaking uncontrollably, and a rough hand pulls me back into the darkness when my legs refuse to work.
The Demons around us are quiet, watching me now, instead of Josie, who apparently hasn’t seen the frightening sight. Michael is back to his Human, winged form. “You may return to them, if you wish,” he tells Josefina, “you will not be forced to enter.”
Josie hadn’t even seen my quick step into the light, either, for she shrugs and turns around, walking back the way she came.
“You will always have a place at His table,” Michael says, a sadness crossing over his face as Josie disappears. But the sadness is gone in a second, and he continues reading off the tablet as if nothing happened.
“No!” I shout, struggling against the iron-strong arms that hold me. “No, let me go! She has to—” Neither Michael nor Devil Jr. acknowledge my futile struggle. I step on his foot, elbowing him in the gut, which makes him finally release me. I’m back in the light—even though it’s nearly nighttime, now—falling on my knees.
After the next person enters the altar, Michael transforms all over again, and I can’t even raise my head to look at him. The Demons hiding away are eerily silent, as if they all know I did a no-no.
Michael is suddenly before me, blinding and ferocious. My body shakes; I feel like I’m seizing. The arms holding my upper body collapse, and my face meets the grass. I’m fairly certain I do some drooling.
Footsteps crunch the grass behind me, and I’m too immobile to do or say anything.
“This one is yours, Deceiver,” Michael speaks, his white blaze burning brighter as Devil Jr. approaches. “She interrupts a preordained ritual. Even the mindless know not to do such a thing.”
He has no problem staring at Michael directly, unlike me. That face…it’s no wonder people who say they’re visited by an angel are a little crazy. A face like that would make you go crazy, even if you started out as the sanest one around.
“She does not know the ancient ways,” he tells Michael.
“Teach her,” the Archangel says through a smile that has no lips. All teeth. He bends to me, and while I tremble, forces me to meet his eyeless face. Worse than the Horsemen. Worse than all four combined. A million times worse. His
forehead is stretched upward, similar to a crown, or a halo of hardened flesh. Wings of dusty brown fire flicker on his back like whips. “Or my face will be the last she sees.”
Devil Jr. says nothing as he picks me up and we portal out, away from the ritual and the altar, far away from the furious Archangel. My body stops trembling as we emerge in a park. Of course, there are no people in it. Not only is it night, but this side of the state is evacuated. I’m sure some stayed, but most went. I’d go, if I could, as long as my friends and family could go with me.
Too late for that.
He sets me down, and I vomit in the nearest garbage can, legs weak. I fall onto the bench beside it, wiping my mouth and spitting out the last foul remnants of throw-up. Devil Jr. stands before me, not amazed at my outburst.
“I’m surprised you didn’t urinate yourself,” he says quietly. “Most do.”
I run my hands through my hair and bend forward, putting my head between my knees. “I thought Angels were nice and pretty and good.”
That gets him amused. “And I would wager you thought he was, in Human form.”
My eyes squeeze shut, because he’s right. I did think that.
“Simply because he is not Fallen does not mean he is good. Even the virtuous ones have darkness inside of them. Without darkness, there can be no light.”
I lift my torso and give him a glare. “And without light, there can be no darkness,” I say. “See? I can talk riddles, too.” There’s a pause as I make a bumbling, inept attempt at standing. “How could you look at him when he was…”
“Not disguised as a Human? We are on opposite sides. It is easy, although for others, it always seems much more difficult.”
“Is there a way I could…” I trail off, realizing just what I’m asking for.
He smirks, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “The only reason one would want the power to face a true Angel…” The way his eyes stare at me, like he’s seeing something he’s never seen before. Something new, something exciting. “…is to face them in battle. Do you wish to fight the Seraphs?”
A Mark Unwilling Page 16
