by Adams, Lori
I walk through the town square like I’m in a trance. Now that I’ve cried until there is nothing left, the numb realization of things has settled in. Despite my training and spiritual connection to a guardian angel, I’m no different than anyone else. I fell in love only to have my heart broken. And the pain is worse than anything I could’ve imagined. It feels wrong, as though I’m losing something I was meant to have. Like I’m losing Mom all over again.
I bypass the café and head straight for work, where I upload and edit my photos from the game. Miss Minnie is hovering. I’ve apologized three times for ditching work, but she is watching me like I’m a chick ready to hatch. It’s stifling, and I cut out the moment I can. By the time I reach my house, Dad is waiting at the door. News travels fast, and he wants to know what my advisor had to say.
“I have some catching up to do,” I mumble. I brush past him, heading for the stairs. I feel like a recurring guest star on The Walking Dead. He tells me to eat something; I’m looking thin. I smile vaguely. “Later. Gotta get to it.”
Sundance follows me up and around the staircase and then stops outside my bedroom door. He won’t go in and that’s fine. I have a serious amount of homework to do before Rama arrives, and I can’t get distracted. So I hoist my backpack onto the bed and pause. I look around. Something’s not right. My window is open again. I walk over, close it, lock it. Then I hear a faint ping sound and turn to the desk. Another ping and then a tinkle and soon a soft lullaby fills the air.
I gasp and stare. The song is familiar and makes the blood drain from my face. There on my desk is a small antique music box. It’s the same box that Dante gave me in the pretty pink room on Halloween night, right before he set the place on fire.
“Ciao, cara mia,” a deep voice says, and I whip around. Dante is leaning against the wall. He closes the door and then walks toward me, his green eyes alight with mischief. I gape and stumble backward, reaching blindly behind me. My back is against the window with no place to go.
“Dante,” I breathe out. I try to process what I’m feeling, what I’m seeing. He looks exactly the same: tall, lean, and devilishly handsome. Black hair falls across his forehead while he sports that sexy grin, so telling of what he’s thinking. He is relishing my surprise. He always loved to shock me, good or bad. Anything to provoke a reaction.
And he has certainly provoked a reaction. I just can’t decide what that reaction is. Part of me is relieved to know he isn’t suffering somewhere in Hell. Another part of me is afraid; he always brought out the darkest thoughts in me. And here he stands in his fine Italian clothes as though he’s been on holiday and didn’t put me through my own personal Hell. It all comes back in a rush, and I narrow my eyes and steel my spine.
“What are you doing here?” I ask coldly, and his eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise.
“Why, cara, are you not happy to see me?” He strolls closer, and I slide by him, moving into the room.
“Uh, well, you did kill me, Dante. And I’m not particularly fond of people who kill me.” I hold up a finger. “Correction: of demons who kill me.” I give him a hard look but he is unfazed. He stands close and caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers. His touch is electrifying and makes me flinch.
“Ah, but you begged me to take your life, didn’t you? Just as I said you would. You said you belonged to me and then you begged me to take you home.”
I’m not as strong as I want to be around him, and I feel myself trembling beneath his touch. Dante always had a way of unnerving me, of setting my blood on fire with just a look. I’m reacting the same way now, and it’s making my thoughts scatter.
“That’s … not exactly the way I remember it, Dante. You were … going to kill my dad.”
“Wolfgang wanted your dad, remember? I only wanted you.” He smiles softly, and I do remember; Dante’s love for me was overwhelming and ancient. He believes we share a past life together and that my soul belongs to him. I see by the love in his eyes that he has still not accepted the truth. That no matter what past we may or may not have shared, it’s Michael I love. And always will.
The idea that the demons are back for Dad jolts me awake, and I knock Dante’s hand down. “Are you here for Dad?” I demand, turning the fire in my blood into anger. I head for the door. “Because if you are, I’ll fight you with everything I—”
He grabs my arm. “Please, cara. I only want to talk.” He tries to lead me to the bed but I don’t budge.
“Are you guys here for Dad?” I demand.
“Wolfgang is not here. Only Vaughn and me. And Santiago. But we are not here for your father. As far as I know, Pastor St. James is safe, considered untouchable. Does that satisfy you? May we sit and talk, hmm?” He lowers his chin and smiles. It’s that luring look that reels me in. Knowing Dad is safe puts me at ease, somewhat. I allow Dante to lead me to the bed. We sit too close so I scoot back. He gives me a dubious look but decides to move on. He reaches for my hands; I pull away and clutch them in my lap.
“Why are you here, Dante? And where is Vaughn?” I glance around in case I’ve missed him. I learned the hard way that demons move silently, like shadows.
“He is at home, trying to salvage the mansion.”
“You’re calling the Hardgrave mansion home again?” Now I give him a dubious look, and he sighs heavily and shrugs.
“Temporary, of course.”
I nod, contemplating. He seems quiet, strangely tired. “How did you get in here anyway? The window?”
“I would rather use the front door but your father is home. I thought perhaps you would prefer that he and I not cross paths again.” He smiles brightly, ever the thoughtful little demon.
“Oh, I would most definitely prefer that. Besides, I would love to see you shimmy up the trellis in those clothes.”
He laughs and takes advantage of our light mood by moving closer. He pries one of my hands from the other and holds it, staring purposefully into my eyes. “I am always happy to please you, cara. Unfortunately, I do not shimmy up trellises, in these clothes or any others. And I have access to your home because you invited me in, remember? Our date to the Harvest Festival dance?” Ah, now I get it. I do remember that he wouldn’t come inside until I invited him. Dante grins. “I can come and go as I please now. Undetected.” His eyebrows dance, and I feel myself blush.
“Oh.” I look down and squirm on the inside. “And just how long have you … been coming and going … as you please?” I’m hoping like hell that Dante hasn’t been around to witness anything embarrassing. Especially my breakup with Michael or the self-deprecating aftermath.
Dante throws back his head and laughs. I hate to admit it, but I actually missed that laugh. It haunted me for a year before I even met Dante. He was in my head, and I somehow felt an intimate connection with his deep, devilish laughter.
I fight back a smile and feel my cheeks burn.
“Not to worry, cara mia. We arrived yesterday, and I have been the consummate gentleman. Oh, I was tempted to peek in the shower; mio Dio! how I was tempted. But no. I was a good boy.” He leans forward and cups my face, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs. His touch is as scorching as I remember and makes my pulse jump. “God, how I have missed you, Sophia. You don’t know what I went through to get here.” He rests his forehead against mine. I feel a pinch in my heart; it’s as if no time has passed for Dante. He’s picking up where he left off when so much has changed for me. I want to tell him about my Awakening, that I’m going to be a spirit walker, but the faint scent of cinnamon hits me and I push him away. It was an old trick he used, lacing his breath with a sweet cinnamon toxin to control me. I won’t fall for it again.
“What are you doing?” I stand and move away, angry with myself; I keep forgetting who Dante is and what he’s capable of. I pace and wring my hands. I look at him when he doesn’t answer. Dante is grimacing and tugging at his shirt. “What’s the matter with you?” He shakes his head but I can see he’s in pain. I go to him and sit back dow
n. “Tell me, Dante. And this had better not be a trick.”
“Nothing, cara. It is nothing.” He answers in a strained, thick voice. Something black is spreading along his left sleeve, across his bicep. I touch it, and he flinches.
“Dante, what is it?” My fingertips are black and sticky, and I wipe them on my jeans. He shifts uncomfortably and sweat appears across his forehead. Strangely enough, I’m gripped with fear; something is wrong with him.
“Lay back.” I try to ease him down but he won’t go. He grits his teeth and leans heavily on me. I brace myself so we don’t fall. I peek over his shoulder. More black marks are seeping from beneath his shirt and across his back. I work my hands around to his shirtfront, unfastening his buttons. He groans and fights me, and I swat at his fumbling fingers. “Stop it!” I open his shirt and gingerly guide it over his shoulders. I catch my breath. “Oh my God!”
Dante’s back is lined with horrible lashes that seep black blood. A green chain tattoo circles his bicep and trails down his arm; it’s fresh, still red around the edges. I’m no idiot. I can see it’s no ordinary tattoo. It was branded into his skin. The lashes across his back are struggling to close. Just like Michael, Dante will regenerate and heal, but the wounds are deep. Progress is sluggish and painful.
I cradle him against my neck, stroking his head. Dante hugs me, giving his stern male ego a moment’s reprieve. He must’ve suffered horribly but, of course, he won’t complain.
He’s quiet and tense as his breathing comes in fitful waves. After a while, he gains some composure and withdraws. His hair has fallen across his face but I can see that he is embarrassed. He eases into his shirt, and then runs his fingers through his hair. “My apologies, cara. You were never meant to see that.”
“Dante, please tell me who did this to you. Were you beaten because of me? Because you returned to Hell without a soul?”
He blinks slowly and gives me a lopsided grin. “There is nothing I would not endure to be with you, cara. You know that. I never intended to Take your soul in the traditional sense. I wanted you for myself; I wanted you to live below with me. And for that, I was punished.”
I look at the scars peeking through his open collar. They are old, regenerated from weeks ago. Dante has been suffering since the day he was dragged back to Hell, two months ago. Whipped and tortured while I’ve been romping around town with my friends. I’m sickened by the idea. I guess I never really believed he would be hurt. Certainly not to this degree. Dante always seemed so strong, indestructible.
I ask about the others, and he tells me Vaughn almost died, Santiago was spared, and Wolfgang is still locked away. He took the brunt of the blame and is enduring a special brand of punishment from the henchmen; Wolfgang has become The Order’s whipping boy. I feel horrible until I remember how evil Wolfgang is and then I get over it.
“I’m so sorry you were tortured. I can’t imagine what you’ve endured. But, Dante, why have you come back?” He frowns as though he doesn’t comprehend.
“I … thought you would understand, Sophia. I told you at the Borderland. We are not finished. That was not the end. It is not an easy thing to do, tracking your soul over the years. Now that I have found you, I am not giving up. We are destined to be together. You declared this to me in our past life, remember?”
Remember? Remember? No! Of course I don’t remember! And now I’m overwhelmed all over again. Stupefied, actually, and I have a million things to say, but the closet door is thrown open then, and Dante and I spring up. Rama steps into the room with his usual flare. He thinks I’m still moping about and wants to reenergize me. His hand is raised and his mouth is open to call out his familiar greeting, “Aloha, wahine!,” but he sees Dante and freezes. His hand drops and his mouth clamps shut. Color drains from his face.
Uh-oh.
I rush over because he looks like he might faint.
“What’s going on?” Rama’s voice is surprisingly crisp and clear. He might have been shocked but he’s no wilting flower. He is glaring at Dante.
“Oh, well, this is my … uh …” I don’t know how to explain what Dante is, and I look to him for help.
He slides his hands into his pockets and smirks with a glint in his eye. “Well, if it isn’t Obi-Wannabe-Kenobi.”
Rama scoffs. “Hello, Darth Faker.”
Chapter 14
Bats in the Belfry and Demons in the Bedroom
“You two know each other?” I ask, looking from Dante to Rama.
Dante chuckles and strolls over to my desk, casually propping a hip against the corner. I see that he’s well adept at masking the pain still radiating through his back.
“You’re Rama Kuan,” he says. “A somewhat newly minted Ascended Master, if I’ve heard right.”
“And I’ve heard plenty about you, Demon Knight Dante. Your reputation is … appropriate.” Rama is not happy and he turns his back on Dante to face me. He scowls through his dreadlocks. “Well, wahine, mind telling me why you have a demon in your bedroom?”
I grimace and say, “Well, gosh, that’s not something a girl hears every day.” He doesn’t think I’m the least bit funny so I straighten up. “Um, a few months ago we kinda went out and I kinda invited him in so …” I fade off as his expression drops with understanding. I have never seen Rama angry or upset or anything but mellow. I suppose I don’t blame him, finding a notorious demon keeping company with his trainee can certainly harsh his mellow, if people still do that these days.
Rama smoothes down his Hawaiian shirt and straightens his spine. He faces Dante with cold indifference. “Mind chillin’ some place else? Sophia and I have some training to do.”
“Yes, about that.” Dante walks over, and they stand toe-to-huarache-sandal. “I think you’ve done all the training you’re going to do here. So why don’t you meditate or levitate or remediate yourself back to wherever you came from.” Dante’s eyes are swirling, trying to compel Rama. I have no idea if Persuasion is powerful enough to control an Ascended Master, but I don’t want to find out.
“Hey!” I holler and wedge myself between them. They are both taller than me and I look up at Dante. “For your information, I’m experiencing an Awakening and on my way to becoming a spirit walker.”
“I think he’s already hip to that,” Rama says, his eyes hard on Dante. He is not compelled, and neither one is backing down despite my involvement. “Is that why you’ve come? To stop her Awakening? Or maybe turn her at the last moment?”
Dante’s eyes stop swirling and turn cold, deadly. I’m racing to catch up. “You know?” I tug on his shirt but his eyes remain locked with Rama’s. “How? Is that why you’re here? Are you trying to turn me? Dante! Answer me!” I wait an eternity but he doesn’t answer, so I fling myself away, furious. I stomp around the room, throwing innocent apparel and cursing. Dante unleashes threats under his breath, something about lesser demons and Rama not being qualified to train a dog. They are ignoring me altogether.
“It’s my job to train her,” Rama says, and Dante growls back, “Talk her out of it!”
“Hey!” I yell. “Nobody is talking me out of anything. Dante, look at me!” He turns and I say, “I want this!” but he shakes his head. He says what everyone else has said; that I don’t know what I’m asking for, that it’s too dangerous, that I will be killed.
I dead bolt my arms across my chest, feeling everything inside me lock up. “I’m sick of people telling me that I can’t do this. Rama is my Ascended Master, and he thinks I can do it. Don’t you?” I toss the challenge into his lap, and he hesitates to agree. “I know, I know, we’re behind schedule, but I did really well the first day, right?” Now he agrees and I smile smugly.
Dante takes me by the shoulders and gives me a grave look. “Sophia, I came here for the reason I told you in the beginning; you belong to me and I will do everything in my power to convince you or remind you of that fact. That has not changed.”
“And I told you months ago, that I don’t believe you. You trick
ed me with your hoodoo voodoo and gave me strange memories that don’t mean anything.”
“My ‘hoodoo voodoo’?” Dante’s eyebrows shoot up, and he laughs affectionately.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“Not whatever. And it was not a trick. But I now understand why your memories are buried so deep. This damned Awakening has taken over and replaced your common sense.”
“My common sense is just fine, thank you very much! Now, if you’ll excuse me, Rama and I have to get started. We’re behind and I have a lot of homework and … stuff.” I open the window and wave a clear path for Dante to climb out. He gives me a sardonic look and strolls to the closet. He steps inside and then looks back.
“Ciao, cara mia. It was so good to see you again.” His eyes drift down my body in a deliberate display of his carnal desire. “I look forward to our next visit, where I will come and go, as I please.” He laughs at my mortified expression and quietly closes the door.
* * *
I bend myself into the lotus position across from Rama. The realization that Dante has actually come for me, again, is slowly settling into the deepest part of me. The fact that he didn’t drag me off to his cave by my hair is both comforting and disturbing. Dante is cunning and calculating in his plans. Whatever he is up to this time, I’m sure he won’t be repeating any mistakes. He won’t strike until all the pieces are in place and all guards are down; no loopholes this time. I have to be ready for anything.
Rama asks that I unwrap all thoughts and relax but I can’t. I see he is just as tense as I am. He was unsettled to find a demon in my bedroom, so I fill in the details. To my surprise, he already knows the story, having been updated on my past transgressions when he was assigned to me. But neither of us expected Dante to show up again.
“Don’t know why your demon dude would’ve been released. Word up the spirit chain says that he and Vaughn Raider were in the Death Bunker. Can’t figure why they’re free to roam.” We fall silent to contemplate things.
