by Adams, Lori
Dante lifted his chin defiantly. “I would think you would have more concern for him than I. After all, it was Wolfgang who lost the pastor’s soul for you. No doubt he is receiving your special brand of punishment?”
The old man’s crusty lips curled against his teeth as he snarled, “If not for Wolfgang’s attempt at the pastor’s soul, we would never have known your true intentions!”
Dante’s jaw muscle flexed violently. If the old man thought to provoke a reaction, he would have to try harder.
“So, am I to understand that your real purpose for resurfacing was not to Take the pastor’s soul, but to Take that … that girl’s soul?” Lord Brutus snapped his fingers to gain someone’s attention. “What was her name, that girl in Haven Hurst?” The members of The Order bent heads to confer. Dante scrambled for an idea and offered an option.
“Release Vaughn and I will tell you everything you want to know,” he lied.
Lord Brutus looked aghast. “You dare to bargain with us? After what you—”
“Sophia!” Lord Malachi jumped in as the name came to him. “Sophia St. James.” He locked eyes with Dante and grinned cruelly.
Dante had once considered Lord Malachi an ally; in fact, Dante had used Persuasion on Lord Malachi to convince the others to vote in his favor. It was Lord Malachi who was responsible for Dante’s trip to Haven Hurst. Apparently, the Demon Lord had not liked being made to look a fool.
“Yes, Sophia,” Lord Brutus repeated slowly. “Now tell us, what was so special about this girl?”
“As I said, release Vaughn and we will talk.”
Lord Brutus narrowed his eyes. “Did you know what she was when you resurfaced?” he demanded.
Dante faltered at the strange question. “What … do you mean ‘what she was?’ ”
“Let’s not play games, Dante. I never trusted you and your dregs to resurface alone. I had a spy in place before you even got there. Imagine my surprise when a report came back indicating that an Awakening was in progress in the very town named in your petition—Haven Hurst. Of course, you understand there is no such thing as coincidence.”
Dante’s head was spinning as one thought split into another. A demon spy in Haven Hurst? Impossible. He and the others would have sensed it; they would have known if another demon was present. Hell, Michael Patronus and his brothers would have mentioned it if they had known. Unless …
Dante stumbled onto a horrific thought, and his eyes snapped to Lord Brutus. The old man was smiling.
“Ah, the look of a man well played.” He chuckled dryly and then shrugged in surrender that the game was up. “Yes, I admit it was an old trick, sending a demon to inhabit a human vessel, but sometimes the old ways are best.”
The realization hit Dante hard: Someone in Haven Hurst had a demon living inside them, a demon spy who could kill Sophia without a second thought of where it would send her soul. The vessel would have to be someone close to Sophia, one of her friends perhaps.
He ran down the list of names of everyone he’d met in Haven Hurst. Who could possibly be a vessel for a demon? Unfortunately, a few people came to mind.
Even so, Lord Brutus was not making sense. What did Sophia have to do with an Awakening in Haven Hurst? He couldn’t possibly think …
“A pathetic trick, old man. Sophia is no more Awakening to the spirit world than you will enter the gates of Heaven.” Dante tried to effect confidence because he knew spirit walkers had a price on their heads. He didn’t want Sophia associated with them, and yet something didn’t feel right. A look of awareness rippled around the group; they knew something about Sophia that he didn’t.
“You would have us believe that you petitioned this court, put your friend’s life in jeopardy”—he gestured toward Vaughn’s slumped body—“just to Take the soul of an inconsequential human girl? That you were ignorant of her true identity?” The insinuation was an insult to Dante’s intelligence, and he stared at the ground as he grappled with this newest revelation.
Sophia was experiencing an Awakening? She would become a spirit walker? How was it possible? And why didn’t he know?
The truth rocked Dante to the core. He did know. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew Sophia was different. It certainly would explain her odd behavior and those visions he had suspected she’d had but never shared with him.
A black knot formed in his stomach. He now had more questions than answers: What had happened to Sophia when she waited for him at the Borderlands? How did Armaros know she was there, and why had he helped her return to her body?
If Sophia was Awakening to the spirit world, it would explain why she was sent back to her body. That part made sense now. But what Dante couldn’t understand was the part Armaros played; Grigori had no allegiance to spirit walkers. Why would he have helped her?
“Tell me which way her Awakening is likely to go,” Lord Brutus demanded as though Dante had known all along. Dante looked up, and his mouth opened but nothing came out.
He understood all too well what it meant for Sophia to experience an Awakening. Training to become a spirit walker was a precarious time; any demon or reaper could lure her away from the light and into the darkness. If one succeeded, Sophia would bond to it. She would be loyal only to the one who turned her dark. Sophia would never again have the ability to love Dante, and the memories of their past life would burn to ash inside her.
But if Sophia could not be turned and she became a spirit walker, she would be hunted for her unique light and destroyed.
“Tell me!” Lord Brutus demanded again, snapping Dante back to the present.
“I have nothing to tell you,” he said coldly.
“Then you will remain here to suffer until I run out of patience or until the girl has been turned. Make no mistake, Dante, you and Vaughn will be ashes in the Nether Region while Sophia sits at my feet!” Lord Brutus swung around and yelled toward the door. “Bring in the witch!”
The chamber door opened and in walked one of The Order’s mute servants. Shrouded in the customary black cloak and hood, the servant was comprised entirely of brittle bones left over from the Death Bunker’s boneyard. Vaughn was forever teasing the servants, calling them Marrow Men because they had no marrow.
The Marrow Man shuffled aside, allowing Isatou to enter. As Mistress of the Dark Arts, Isatou was occasionally called upon to administer specialized effects. Members of The Order of Reapers, such as Lord Brutus, held powerful positions in the Royal Court of Bastards, but even they could not conjure or cast spells. They needed a witch, and Isatou was the best.
She moved through the chamber in a gossamer gown of delicate pastels that looked as though it had been dragged through a swamp and hung up to dry. Her long hair was random shades of color: bright green, red, orange, yellow, and blue. It was spiked high and wild on the top while the rest hung past her waist. Her bare feet were covered with chalky powder from the Marrow Men’s constant shuffling throughout the corridors.
“I want something to contain them,” Lord Brutus explained, indicating each Demon Knight. “I want them physically bound to Hell. You understand?”
Isatou’s lips spread into a smile, and her hands curled into fists. When she spoke, her voice was soft and rich with a French Quarter accent.
“Oui, monsieur. Liens qui unissent. Ties that bind. It shall be done.”
Isatou closed her eyes and raised her hands. She brushed the air and chanted methodically as though reading from a mystical grocery list. Once her needs were stated, the air before her opened in a three-foot-long crevice. It rippled and split, folded in on itself, and then split again. She opened her eyes and reached inside the quivering fissure. One by one, she pulled out the items she needed: a long iron chain, a pinch of green fire, and an obsidian handle. She waved her hand before the fissure, and it slammed like elevator doors. The air whooshed and ruffled her clothes and hair.
Dante’s eyes fell on the obsidian object. It was sleek and gleaming like the handle of a dagger. As beautiful as it
was, Dante didn’t like the look of it.
Isatou positioned a link of chain close to the tip of the black handle. It snapped together as if by magnetic attraction and created a chain whip. Then, taking the pinch of fire, she lit the last link in the chain. Green flames traveled up the chain, burning like a holiday sparkler. Dante flinched and looked at Lord Brutus’s grinning face.
“Enjoy.” Was all the old man said.
Isatou raised a hand and used her dark energy to yank on Dante’s restraints until his arms and legs were spread like da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.
Dante grunted as his appendages stretched beyond their limits. His chest pumped feverishly as he fought the constraints. It was no use, and he stopped to stare across the aisle. Wouldn’t Vaughn love a taste of this?
Isatou worked the whip back and forth through the air, leaving streaks of green fire around her head. She honed in on her target, aiming for Dante’s left bicep. All at once she hurled the chain, wrapping the tip around his arm. Like a snake, it coiled tightly and then burned into his flesh. Dante contorted in pain and then went rigid. His eyes slammed shut and seeped silent tears. The metal links seared down his arm, over his elbow, and stopped at his wrist. It sizzled and smoked and forced an unnatural stench into the air. Once the links had adhered to his flesh, the unused portion fell away and retracted into the handle.
Panting and trembling in excruciating pain, Dante forced his eyes open and looked at the witch’s creation. His bicep was circled with a dark green chain tattoo that ended at his wrist.
“Tethered. Just like the Master,” Isatou said proudly, staring at Dante. The whites of her eyes were decorated with sadistic markings that Dante always found distracting. Sometimes they pulsated and sometimes they rotated like tumblers in a lock.
When she winked at him, Dante didn’t know what to think. He’d known Isatou for centuries and understood that her loyalty to the Master was beyond reproach. Isatou had been human like him, and he’d always thought of her as a friend. But she had just chained him to Hell, so why the wink? Why so damned happy to see him in pain?
Dante glared at her, remembering that allies were few and far between in Hell. Because Isatou had been human once, she was more susceptible to Dante’s compulsions. So without wasting another minute, he released his demon and infiltrated Isatou’s subconscious. She quickly gathered her things and hurried to Vaughn’s cell. Lord Brutus and the other members gave her room to continue her work. Dante watched with relief as the witch seared a matching tattoo into Vaughn’s arm. The chain of fire burned with such intensity that Dante half expected the limb to fall off and thud to the floor. Not that Vaughn would have minded.
Persuasion urged her to extend the process, adding to Vaughn’s pain and pleasure. Hopefully he would regain his strength. But Vaughn failed to move.
“Enough!” Lord Brutus shouted when he realized what was happening. He was furious to have momentarily forgotten the nature of Vaughn’s personal demon. The last thing he wanted was to give any comfort to his prisoners, even in the form of torture.
Isatou blinked out of the trance and looked quickly at Dante. She had no idea she’d been under his influence.
“Now, as Isatou has said, you are bound to Hell, just like the Master,” Lord Brutus proclaimed with a triumphant flare. “Should you change your mind about revealing information regarding Sophia St. James, the servants know where to find me. In the meantime, remember, this is not the worst you will suffer before the chute opens and you are sucked into the Nether Region.” He turned and led the others out.
When the chamber door closed behind them, Dante’s eyes cut to Vaughn. His friend had shown no signs of life during the branding, and Dante feared it was too late.
“Vaughn! Lift your head. Your hand. Anything. Show me a sign that you’ve survived.” He stared hard at Vaughn and released his demon. Maybe Persuasion would have better luck rousing his friend from the edge of madness. The chamber fell quiet as Dante closed his eyes, narrowing his concentration in Vaughn’s direction.
“Get the fuck out of my head,” came a low grumble. Vaughn slowly lifted his head and grinned sideways. “You know it makes me all giddy with bromance when you pull that shit.”
Dante’s eyes opened. He exhaled with relief and slumped forward. “It worked. The chain tattoo was enough to bring you back.” He scoffed in disbelief.
“I always did like adult toys. I’ll have to get me some of those.” Vaughn looked at the green chain links burned around his arm. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Don’t thank me. It was Lord Brutus. Or didn’t you hear?”
“Yeah, I heard everything. But I figured you compelled Isatou to give me an extra helping.”
“Are you okay?”
“Not great.”
“We’ll have to risk it. This is as strong as you’ve been in weeks, and we need to get out of here.”
Vaughn struggled against the chains. “Look, it hasn’t been A Night at the Roxbury over here. I’m weak as hell.” When Dante frowned at the reference, Vaughn rolled his eyes. “Shit, man, didn’t you watch any cable TV when we resurfaced?”
“We have to get out of here. Now,” Dante repeated. He worked his hands against the shackles, hoping the fresh blood would make them slick enough to pass through. No such luck.
“What’s the sudden hurry, besides the obvious?”
“You heard what Lord Brutus said about Sophia. She is experiencing an Awakening. If the demon spy can’t turn her, it will kill her. And by the looks of Lord Brutus, he’s lost his last charming quality, patience. We have to go after her.”
“Listen, Dante, we’re seriously fucked here. No one’s ever escaped the Death Bunker. But just for grins, let’s say we do get out. We can’t cross the gates now. We’ve been branded. The mother of all tats.”
“I have to try. Besides, what more can they do to us if we’re caught?”
The realization set in; they had nothing to lose.
“Yeah, well, we still have no way to get—”
Grinding footsteps along the briny corridor interrupted Vaughn’s argument, and they scanned the chamber, verifying they were alone. Slowly, something stirred in the darkness. Within moments, a black figure was born out of the shadows and stared at them. Dante squinted and leaned toward the bars to get a closer look. The shadow shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered into the dim light.
“ ’Sup, guys?” Santiago asked with a cockeyed grin.
Chapter 4
All Things Are Made to Fall
The temperature has dropped with the sun, and I’m blasting the jeep’s heater and bouncing in my seat, singing backup to “Christmas Bop” by T. Rex at the top of my lungs. It’s a great way to stay warm and burn off nervous energy, even if I look like an idiot. Which I know I do because I can see Michael standing on his porch and laughing as I pull up at his house.
I stop and cut the engine. My cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as I climb down. Michael meets me in the yard, smiling.
“Well, that was entertaining,” he says, taking my hand and leading me around the side of the house.
It’s cold and I start shivering. “Aren’t we going inside? We can tell your family that you’re still tutoring me in astronomy. Which nobody ever seems to doubt, by the way.” I give him a perturbed look but he isn’t paying attention.
He stops beneath a tree and pulls me into his arms. He crushes me against him until I can’t breathe.
“Michael!” I grunt, and he relaxes a bit. Then I snuggle myself more comfortably into his arms, and he buries his face in my hair, inhaling.
“Mmm, you smell so good,” he murmurs.
“Who can smell in this cold?”
“So good, in fact, that I’ll forgive you for being three minutes late.”
I smile but wonder if he is kidding.
Michael leans back and looks at me. His eyes are cobalt and full of secrets. He gives me that slow, sexy grin, and I feel myself growing warm from the inside out. He is
trying to stay calm but is excited about something. His chews on the inside of his cheek, contemplating.
“Come,” he says, taking my hand again. We continue toward the back of the property, where the land slopes naturally and runs a hundred yards until it meets the forest. Everything is bluish white under the moon. Spectacular. A Currier and Ives Christmas card.
Michael stops and we stand, hand in hand, gazing appreciatively at the winter wonderland. It’s quiet because winter has stripped away its sins and Heaven has thrown a mantle over everything. I smile knowing that Hope hibernates deep underground.
“I imagine this is what Heaven is like,” I murmur. “Calm, pristine, covered in a bluish white blanket of frozen precipitation.” I peek up at Michael to gage his reaction. He is staring ahead, smiling. Michael has yet to confirm or deny any heavenly descriptions I toss out. Always withholding details of his supernatural life as though he’s trying to forget he is an angel when I’m around. The irony is blinding; I want so much to start my supernatural life, and Michael wants so much to be as human as possible. At least when he’s with me. The grass is always greener, I suppose.
Michael looks down at me. “I thought my California girl might like to sample the local flavor.”
“It’s magnificent,” I say. Being here with you, Michael, not just the view.
“Yeah, well, this ain’t it.” He laughs and tugs me along and we’re off again.
We take a path through the pasture, and I walk in giant footprints that have gone before me. They are at least two feet deep, and I have to step up and over or I’ll miss.
We pass through the edge of the forest and come out the other side to a red barn. I come to an abrupt stop. In front of the barn is a beautiful palomino hitched to an old-fashioned sleigh.
“Michael!” I breathe.
“Happy anniversary.”
Oh shit! Really?
I feel my eyes swell. I have forgotten our … Wait—how long have we been dating? I must look panicked because Michael says, “Eight weeks, Sophia,” in his no-nonsense voice.
