The Infernal Sacrament (Guardians of Elysium Book 1)

by Nissa Leder

  There’s no point in avoiding her, considering we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future. I’m only a few feet away when Dr. Darnell, the guidance counselor, pokes his head out the office door and ushers Rachel inside. Maybe we’ll have a chance to talk tonight. Gran waited to tell me she’d invited Rachel and her dad over for dinner until I was on my way out the door.

  “What’s up, D?” Tuck asks. Then, he takes a good look at me. “You look like shit. Late night?”

  “Something like that,” I say. “Listen, have you seen Ava? She hasn’t returned any of my messages, and I was just kind of worried about her.”

  “Look, D, I know you feel bad about how things went down between you and Ava. You can’t exactly tell her who Rachel is to you and why you suddenly went cold on her. That means you’re just going to have to accept the fact that she’s hurt, and things will probably never go back to the way they were before you started dating. She probably just needs some time to adjust.”

  “Yeah,” I say, unconvinced.

  I don’t tell him about the kiss. I have a feeling Ava won’t tell him, either. Tuck is my best friend, but he’s is completely unfiltered when it comes to being honest. I know what I did. I don’t need it thrown back in my face.

  Tuck checks his watch. “Crap. D, I gotta run. I forgot I’m supposed to make up a Spanish quiz.”

  He slaps me on the back and hurries in the opposite direction.

  I can’t shake my anxiety over Ava. It’s probably just the guilt making me paranoid, but it’s not like her to miss school. Maybe she’s dodging me, hiding out somewhere with Claire. I hope that’s all it is. The bell hasn’t rung yet, but I go ahead and turn the corner to my locker. I need my chemistry notes for class. Claire is digging in her own locker, dressed from head to toe in black. She glances up to see who’s coming when she hears me. Her expression twists into a scowl.

  “What’s up with all the black clothes?” I ask. “Did you invest in a “how to look like a ninja” starter kit or something?”

  She slams her locker. “Sarcasm does not become you, Darien. Stick to stuff you know. Like football and how to be a jerk.”

  “I get the feeling you’re still mad at me,” I say.

  “Do you really want to do this again?” she asks.

  “Not at all,” I say, “but since you’re here and you’re already pissed at me, I might as well just ask.”

  “What?” she snaps.

  “Have you talked to Ava?”

  “What do you care?” Claire takes the rubber band from her wrist and secures her hair back in a messy bun. “You know, either break up with her or be with her. Stop being all weird lukewarm and concerned about her feelings. You’re just making it worse.”

  Yeah … I kind of get that now. “Well, have you talked to her or not? I was looking for her in the commons and didn’t see her. It isn’t like her to miss school. I just wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

  Claire blows out an irritated breath. “She’s fine, Darien. She texted me last night. Her dad’s out of town and she was supposed to stay with me, but she’s got a cold or something. She’s just not feeling well.” She gives me a pointed look. “You want my best advice?”

  “Not really.”

  “Too bad,” she says. “My advice is to give her some space and let her figure out how to be Ava Pierce instead of Darien Crain’s girlfriend.”

  She opens her mouth to say more, but the bell buzzes, directing the masses to class. She grabs two books from her locker and starts to walk away. She pauses, though, thinking better of it.

  “She’ll be just fine without you,” Claire says. “But you have to let her go.”

  She looks at me for a minute, like she pities me or something. I’ve never known Claire Atwood to pity anyone, let alone the guy who dumped her best friend. She was almost nice. Almost.

  Whether I want to listen to her or not, she’s right about me and Ava. It’s not fair of me to want what I can’t have, which encompasses a long list of desires I’ll eventually have to let go. With a groan, I grab my chemistry book and notebook, slam my locker door, and head to first period, where I’ll spend the first of many hours pretending to care about school when there are demons scheming to claim human souls.

  I’ve replayed my conversation with Ava at least fifty times since yesterday. Sometimes, I’m convinced I’m the stupidest person on the entire planet. Why on earth did I think telling her I’m a demon was the right thing to do? Now, she’ll never speak to me.

  Other times, I’m sure I did the right thing. She deserved to know. Her friends might think hiding the truth of our world from her protects her from the dangers, but I know better.

  Humans are never safe.

  I pick up my cell for the tenth time in the last hour and type her a text.

  How are you doing?

  I erase it with a long sigh and try again.

  Can we meet?

  Again, I delete it before clicking my phone and tossing it to the other side of the couch, out of reach. I should wait. Let her be the one to text me this time. If she doesn’t, then clearly I ruined any chance I had.

  Chance I had to what? Date her? I laugh at how ridiculous it sounds. I’m a half demon with impulses to bring out the worst in people around me, and somehow I think that convincing to Ava, one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, that I’m boyfriend material is a good idea?

  My door handle turns, sending a wave of panic pulsing through me.

  I locked the door. How can anyone open it?

  When the door swings open and someone walks in, I about burst from shock.

  With dark wings folded into his back, Baal, the highest of Greater Demons and father of yours truly, steps inside, nearly hitting his head on the doorframe. His eyes—with dark red irises—scan the room before settling on me.

  “This is what you do with your time?” he asks as he walks toward me.

  I straighten my posture and pull my feet from the coffee table. “Not all of my time.”

  How long has it been since I’ve seen him? At least a year.

  He picks up the sweatshirt I left hung over the chair across from the couch. “I pay a fortune for this place, the least you could do is keep it clean.”

  A red fire sparks from his fingertips, burning the sweatshirt to a pile of ash on the floor.

  I resist a groan. That was one of my favorite pullovers.

  How would he like it if I set it on fire? Not that I can. That’s one demon gift I never developed.

  As always, Baal wears a perfectly pressed suit, not one thread out of place. His face is shaven, and his side-parted hair is slicked back. His beauty and charming smile are what lured my mother into his hotel room twice. No human woman—or man—could resist him even if they tried.

  “So, welcome to my humble abode,” I say, the silence too awkward to take. “What brings you to this part of town?”

  He rests his elbows on the chair’s arms and folds his right leg onto his left. “Would you believe it was just to say hello to my favorite son?” He leans his head toward his shoulder.

  “I would highly doubt I’d earn such a random visit.”

  “You’d be right,” he sneers. “I came to check in and see if you’d considered my last proposition.”

  The last time I saw him, he offered me a spot under him in the demon hierarchy. He wants a few selected delegates to be his eyes and ears in the human world, and who better than his gifted, half-demon son?

  Maybe if he had helped me set Nyla free, I’d have time to dedicate to his cause. But being Seraphiel’s spy leaves me with little room for anything else. “I’m afraid my answer remains the same.”

  His eyes narrow. The room gets warmer as he takes a deep breath and stands. “I do hope you will give it some more thought. I’d hate to use the funds I’ve been using to pay for this condo on someone else.”

  “I didn’t remember any stipulations made when you purchased this place.” My jaw tightens. I’m pushing boundarie
s I probably shouldn’t, but I don’t like the expectation in his tone.

  He lifts his chin and a flash of fire flares in his irises. “I’ll tolerate your disrespect this time. Your arrogance could be put to good use should you choose to accept my offer. You could live a life every Halfling dreams of. Or you can live like the filthy humans. The choice is yours.”

  I don’t respond as he leaves the room.

  He isn’t wrong. Guys like Ruben would likely give their right arm for an offer like the one Baal just gave me.

  So, why don’t I jump at the chance?

  16

  I can’t believe how nervous I am.

  I’ve practically chewed my nails down to the stubs today, which I tried to cover up with deep purple polish. I look down at my hands. Didn’t do very much good.

  “Wow,” Dad says as we get out of the car. “You took out your nose ring.”

  And I’m wearing a dress.

  Dad and I aren’t much on dressing up. Not that we don’t like special occasions, but, in our line of work, we never know when we’re going to have to break out in a sprint and kick the crap out of something. Thus, my typical ensemble of steel-toed boots and leggings.

  When I stare up at Darien’s house, though, I still feel underdressed.

  “Being adoptive parents to the greatest Hellwalker in history must have its perks,” Dad says, referring to Uriah Donnelly. When I look back at Dad, he’s staring up at the ornate Victorian house, painted a tasteful color of gray with pops of burgundy detail and white trim. He tugs at his collar and smooths his hair, which is pulled back in a neat braid for the occasion.

  The house is at least three times larger than the two-room bungalow I share with Dad. It looks like something from one of those home magazines available at any given dentist or doctor’s office, with flower-filled window boxes and a rectangular turret that stretches up three levels.

  “Are you ready for this?” Dad asks. He nudges my shoulder.

  I look down at my black-and-gray leopard print dress, burgundy leggings, and boots. Edgy, yet tasteful. I’m not sure what sort of grandmother Lillian Crain will be, but given the handwritten dinner invitation we’d received yesterday, I’m guessing she hasn’t exactly pictured multiple piercings and a colorless wardrobe.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I say.

  I’ve only caught glimpses of Darien ghosting through the halls for the past two days, and I’m nervous to come face-to-face with him at a formal dinner. But Triad families are pretty close-knit. They have to be. It wasn’t exactly an invitation we could refuse.

  I follow dad through the wrought iron gate and up the steps to the covered porch. He hands me the bouquet of fresh flowers we’d picked up at the market on the way and raps on the door. The sound of light footsteps grows closer, sending my stomach fluttering.

  The door opens wide, revealing the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen in my life. White hair with streaks of gray is pulled back into an up-do that reminds me of the sixties, framing a porcelain face that deceives her age. But her most striking feature is the set of bright blue eyes she shares with her grandson.

  She flashes a smile and extends her hand.

  “I’m Lillian Haley, and you must be Caleb Sharp.”

  Dad shakes her hand with a “nice to meet you” and steps inside at her urging. Then, her eyes fall on me. My legs feel like gelatin.

  “And Rachel, I’d know you anywhere from Darien’s description.” She takes my hand and holds my arms out wide, taking me in. “You’re even more exquisite than he told me.”

  I can feel the heat rush to my face. Not at all what I had spent so much time dreading.

  “These are for you,” I say.

  “Oh, sunflowers,” she says. “Just the thing to brighten up our table. Thank you, my dear. Do come in.”

  I step past her into the entryway, taking in the beautiful interior. Period chandeliers hang suspended from the ceiling and complement hardwood floors and walls painted in bright colors. Every detail is perfect. Like some kind of real-life dollhouse. A floral, yet spicy scent rises up as I follow her down the hall.

  “Mmm,” I say. “Jasmine tea?”

  “Yes, my dear, that’s exactly right. Are you a tea drinker?”

  “My mother was,” I say. “Her favorites were jasmine and rosehip. The scent always reminds me of her.”

  “Those are my favorites, too. Now, I’ll just go put these in water.”

  She ushers us into a formal living room with antique furniture and a gorgeous piano. Dad raises his brows and flashes me a nervous grin. He’s out of his comfort zone, too, taking in the gorgeous artwork and opulent ceilings. Some framed photos on the mantle catch my eye, and I rise from the floral chair to get a better look.

  I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I take in the photographed scene in front of me. A five or six-year-old Darien stares back at me, posing with a string of fish beside an older man I presume to be his grandfather.

  “Wait till she brings out the baby pictures,” a voice says from behind me.

  I whirl around like I’ve been caught doing something scandalous, holding my hands behind my back. Darien stands in the doorway, clad in his usual jeans and a T-shirt ensemble, his bare feet informal against the gleaming hardwood. His hair sticks up in damp spikes, like he’s just gotten out of the shower, and he’s looking at me with those blue, blue eyes.

  “Hi,” I say. My heart whirs inside my chest like a hummingbird. “Mrs. Haley invited us.”

  “I know,” he says. “Sorry about the wet hair. Practice ran late, and I had to hurry and clean up. And you can call her Gran. Everyone else does.”

  Dad clears his throat behind me. Darien straightens, raises his chin, and extends his hand. “Mr. Sharp, I’m Darien Crain.”

  “So I gathered,” Dad says. “Caleb Sharp.”

  Darien looks him right in the eye as they shake hands. Firmly. The handshake is still going. I look from Dad to Darien. Take in their serious expressions. They’re still shaking hands.

  Really?

  I elbow Dad and smile up at him through clenched teeth, silently begging him to release Darien from his death grip.

  He smirks down at me and pulls his hand back.

  I notice Darien shakes his hand out but tries to play it off.

  I glare at Dad again.

  “What?” He shrugs his shoulders, but I can tell from the glint in his eye that he’s having fun.

  Mrs. Haley sweeps back into the room, the queen of her castle, and leads us into the dining room. We’ve just sat down when there’s a knock at the back door.

  “Ah, that’ll be Uriah,” Mrs. Haley says.

  “I’ll get it.” Darien rises from the table and disappears.

  I exchange an anxious look with Dad. He didn’t believe me when I had first told him about Darien’s personal trainer.

  A few seconds later, Darien re-emerges with a tall man, clad from head to toe in black, making me think of all the Johnny Cash albums Mom used to play on her vintage record player. As Uriah Donnelly and Darien both settle in at the table, a heavy wave of cold air seeps through the dining room, as if somewhere, a window is open, allowing in the crisp fall breeze. I fight off a chill and study the room.

  Mrs. Haley makes introductions. I reply automatically, scanning the room for the source of the cold spot.

  Darien’s aura is bursting gold, just as it should be, considering his spiritual awakening and newfound power. Around the inner edge of the aura is a faded black that indicates the faint traces of demon blood that mark him a Hellwalker. A tinge of deep blue in between suggests a denial of the truth he has just learned. All things considered, nothing unusual.

  Uriah’s aura is a softer gold, not as bright and new as Darien’s. Mrs. Haley is still the same color of violet I saw when I entered the house, and even in his nervousness, Dad emanates a calming light blue.

  But still, something lingers heavy in the air. I can’t see it—no thick black or dark pi
nk that would indicate anything malevolent or malicious. But it’s a feeling I can’t shake.

  Suddenly, the conversation stops, and all eyes are on me.

  “Rachel, would you like some rosemary potatoes?” Darien asks. I assume he’s repeating a question from his grandmother.

  He’s smirking, as if he’s enjoying my discomfort.

  “Um, yeah,” I say. “I mean, yes, please.”

  Manners, Rachel. Good grief.

  Beside me, the corner of Dad’s lip twitches.

  Jerks. I’m glad they’re having fun.

  As we pass bowls and platters and pitchers, I catch bits and pieces of the conversation, mostly about how pleasant it is to have guests in the house and how great it is to have Uriah back at home after such a long time away.

  I can’t stop thinking about how close I am to Darien and how much that closeness affects me. While the rest of the conversation buzzes through my mind, I hang on his every word. My heart lifts when he laughs. My anxiety spikes as his rises, which happens every time Dad questions him. It’s a heavy, dark feeling, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s coming from Darien at all. I examine him. The black aura around him has grown darker.

  What if it’s because of me?

  Every Hellwalker is paired with a Lightbearer for a reason. It’s to work together and help others, but also to create balance. Have I been too distant? Is Dad right? And Tuck? Am I fighting a losing battle against fate? My light counteracts his darkness, yet this is the first time I’ve seen Darien in two days.

  “Well?”

  I look up. Mrs. Haley is smiling at me, as I roll a potato around on my plate.

  “It’s delicious,” I say.

  “I must say, Caleb, I didn’t expect your daughter to be so beautiful. Darien was quite detailed in his descriptions, but he didn’t do her justice.”

  Dad clears his throat. “She is lucky to have taken after her mother.”

  “I think it’s simply wonderful these two have found each other already,” Mrs. Haley is saying. “There’ll be wedding bells before you know it.”

  I nearly choke on my lemon water. The table grows quiet. It’s an odd sort of feeling. A heaviness that grows thicker with each awkward second.