The Soulless

by Kate Martin

  “Don’t you think that would have been useful information before you left him with us?”

  Carma waved him off. “He’s fine. Though I do plan on getting him a teacher.”

  “Who?”

  “Alec, why must you always question every little thing?”

  “Because you’re a demon!” His frustration spilled over. “Because you brought a child into this house. Because you’ve never had a taste for children before. Because you were gone for two hundred years, and mad when I found you last night. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “Trust me?” She took a step back, cocking her head like a bird of prey. “I never asked for your trust.”

  “No, you certainly didn’t. Obedience will do.”

  “Indeed it will. So, obey me now, and stop all these questions.”

  His next retort died in his throat. The smell that wafted past his nose was putrid, dry, and far too familiar. Most would never detect it; the scent was absent to any who had a soul, or a heart, but he had smelled it before, and once was all he needed.

  Carma had stilled as well. Her teeth sharpened to points, showing between her parted lips, while the tips of her silver hair began to turn red. “Sniffers. Why are there sniffers in my house?” Their presence had incensed her enough to begin the change from something nearly human to true-form demon. If she had not summoned the sniffers…

  Alec felt something slither over his foot, tiny claws scratching his leather boots. But it was gone before he could get a good look. Carma slammed her foot down, and something squeaked, the sound strangled and broken. With a speed too fast for the Mortal Realm, she snatched the wriggling creature from beneath her delicate shoe and held it up for them both to see.

  The sniffer struggled, thin legs reaching all about with hooked claws, while a long rat-like snout whipped around, nose working overtime. Carma took the hairless body in both hands, her skin hardening, and twisted the neck until it snapped.

  Alec watched her drop it to the floor. Hellions came in all shapes and sizes, and some were better suited to certain tasks than others. Sniffers were usually scouts. Hunting dogs. “Who would send sniffers?”

  “Someone in Hell, but who could possibly know I’m back. Unless…” She looked towards the partially closed door. “Unless it’s not me they’re after.” She turned a moment, looking first down one end of the hall, then the other. “Don’t let them in the boy’s room,” she said, her fingers claws now. Like a wild cat, she stalked down the hallway, her nose turned towards the scent on the air.

  Alec backed up to the door, struggling to watch for movement among the complicated patterns of the rug at his feet. Damn you, Carma. You know I can’t see them like this. And you know I loathe my only option. But he thought of Bri, sleeping just beyond. The hellions had an unbeatable sense of smell and were largely used as scouts by demons looking to cause trouble…

  Another squeak, and another skitter.

  He had no choice.

  Closing his eyes, he released the control he so carefully held onto every moment of every day. The power responded immediately, eagerly. It flooded his veins with heat, pooled at his palms and around his heart. It poured into him, filling that empty void Carma had created so long ago when she had taken his soul. When the tips of his fingers burned hot, when he felt strong and invincible, he opened his eyes and clamped down on his control once again.

  That would be quite enough. But, oh, even that small quantity of Hell power felt inspiring, elating—addicting.

  A skitter and a crash. Alec looked down in time to see a sniffer skid head first into Bri’s partially closed door. Their sense of smell far outshined their eyesight. Pulling the door closed, Alec slammed one boot down over the rat-like tail. He crushed the head with his other.

  The manor shook, throwing him against the wall and causing the flickering lights to rattle in their sconces. One fell from the wall, the candle inside rolling free, allowing its flame to lick at the carpet. It wasn’t strong enough to catch and snuffed out, but Alec feared another, stronger quake.

  Carma stood amidst the chaos, an immovable force. “Something has come.” She vanished into the air.

  Another quake ripped through the manor, wobbling the candles in the sconces. The flames in some went out, but others continued to burn even as their holdings fell from the walls. The rug caught the flames, letting them spread. A sniffer at the end of the hall stopped and screeched at the offending scent. Another scurried out from Alec’s bedroom, nose in the air, searching for its target through the smoke.

  It whipped its head around and went straight for the door at Alec’s back.

  This time he grabbed the creature and, although it was itself a child of Hell, the power in his hands burned it. The rough flesh cooked between his fingers, and the sniffer struggled until that flesh crisped and flaked away. Alec threw it to the ground, its insides spilling out over the rug.

  Then he heard glass shatter and a startled scream. He tore the door from its hinges to get inside.

  The moonlight shone in through the window, full and bright enough to illuminate the colors in the painting that hung on the adjoining wall. In that light, two sniffers clung to the outer panes of the window, clawing and scratching at the glass, unable to gain entrance, all the while pressing their noses against the window.

  The second window had been thrown wide open, the lock broken and twisted. Muddy bootprints marked the path from that window to the bed. At the bed stood a towering figure, armed in gleaming plate metal, the starburst and sword engraved along his back—framed by impressive, feathered wings. He had drawn his sword, and the blade shone more brightly than its wielder. A seraph.

  What the hell was a seraph doing in the Mortal Realm?

  Alec drew more power, concentrating it in his hands until he felt they might melt. He tried to ignore the other feelings that came with it—like the feeling of being alive for the first time in centuries. The feeling of his pulse racing, of strength coursing through his muscles. He tried to ignore them because of the heady feeling that followed, the sense that he could accomplish anything, bound up mountains without tiring, swim the ocean—tear through walls, pick a fight. His Hell power made him a dangerous drunk, but right now…he needed it.

  On the bed, Bri had woken and had pressed himself so far back it seemed he might become part of the wall. He shook terribly. Good gods, what has he seen that makes him tremble in fear of a seraph, but willingly sell his soul to a demon?

  The seraph spoke, an echo lacing the sound that made it clear he was not of this realm. “Brishen, son of Talia. By the power invested in me by the Almighty Law, I hereby sentence you to death.” He lifted his sword.

  Alec dove across the room, aiming for the seraph. The armor burned him as they went down in a tangle, and the sword clattered on the floor beside them both. Twisting away from the burning caused by the armor, Alec struggled back to his feet. He couldn’t do anything to protect himself against the holy blessing that protected the seraph.

  The sword came at his head again. Alec barely dodged, feeling his shirt tear as the steel came too close. He suddenly missed the days when it had been fashionable to be constantly armed.

  The seraph adjusted the weight of his long blade and ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. “Soulless,” he said, as though the word carried all the filth of the world. It had been a long time since Alec had heard that level of contempt. “You have no right to stand against me. You have betrayed your maker and defiled the body and soul you were given. Redeem what little honor you can. Give me the boy, and I shall end your pitiful existence.”

  “I was never the pious type,” Alec said, inching his way between the seraph and the bed.

  “I cannot read your sins since you are without your soul, but given your circumstances, I would assume that to be an understatement.”

  “This from the holy being willing to use hellions to get what he wants.”

  “What?” The seraph lo
oked confused, then glanced at the sniffers twitching about the open window. His expression turned to one of utter disgust. “You think I summoned sniffers?”

  “Oh, they just happened to come at the same time as you?”

  “It would seem that way,” the seraph said, steady and sure.

  But seraph, unlike demons, could lie. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Hoping the seraph was sufficiently distracted, Alec lunged forward once again. This time, he reached for the seraph’s face.

  Slamming his bare hands against the soft flesh of cheeks and eyelids, he heard instant sizzling. The seraph screamed as he burned, and yet Alec felt nothing beyond the heat he created.

  The seraph had blessed his armor, but not himself. Which only meant one thing.

  A Hellwalker.

  No sooner had the realization struck before Alec felt himself fly through the air and strike the far wall with havenly force. Hell’s power flared within him, clearing his head and washing away any pain he felt. He staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall as the room continued to spin.

  The seraph stood over the boy, sword ready. His face had been mangled, burned beyond recognition, and bled shining silver in some places, but the determination, the sinless pride of doing what The One required of him still guided that expressionless mess.

  The seraph drew back his weapon.

  Alec sprang forward with every ounce of speed he could muster. The blood rushed behind his ears, his heart drummed heavily against his chest, and his palms burned. He threw himself between the boy and the seraph.

  The pain was too much for the power of Hell to combat completely. The blessed blade slid into him easily just below his ribs. The wound hissed, as did Alec’s hands where he held tightly to the base of the blade, just above the hilt, preventing any further movement. The seraph pulled his sword back insistently, but could not free it from Alec’s body. He growled through a mouth that no longer had lips. “You will pay for that, Soulless.”

  Alec’s vision blacked at the edges, and his throat felt tight. He wanted to offer a witty retort, but only blood spilled from his lips. It dripped down his chin and over his neck.

  Bri called his name.

  His grip on the sword wavered, and the seraph wrenched the blade back and away, slicing Alec’s palms. Then his knees hit the floor. His wound ached, burned and froze all at once, the power of the blessed blade still working its holy magic in his unholy body. But unless the seraph finished the job and unmade him completely, such a wound would not kill him.

  Through his blurred vision, Alec saw the seraph raise his sword yet again.

  Suddenly, a pillar of blue fire rose from the floor. Heat engulfed the room. When the flames receded, Carma stepped forth, teeth still elongated into fangs, hair tinged red nearly halfway up to her head. Her arms and face were splattered with silver blood.

  She hardly spared him a glance. “Really, Alec, you couldn’t handle yourself for such a short amount of time?”

  Alec coughed more blood. “Just trying to avoid a beheading here. What the hell took you so long?”

  “This seraph was not alone. And I wanted some answers.”

  Alec wished he had the strength to snort. Could have gotten your answers from this one, you heartless bitch.

  Carma stepped towards the seraph, exuding an eerie calm. “Bri, are you all right?”

  The boy managed a shaky yes.

  “Excellent.” Carma smiled. The seraph had her complete attention now. “As for you, I don’t appreciate having my home invaded. What has my poor soulless done to merit a visit from Haven’s police force?”

  “I do not answer to demons. I am Vihiel, Captain of the Second File,” the seraph said.

  “Really? And still you get such messy assignments as this?”

  Vihiel bristled and lifted his sword to point at Carma. “You will announce yourself, demon. As is protocol.”

  Carma moved the tip of his sword out of her face with a finger, her expression revealing annoyance and boredom. “As is your protocol. I no longer adhere to such things. But, in the interest of ending this, I shall play along. I am Carma. And that says everything.”

  “Carma.” Apparently, it did. Vihiel’s burned face lost a bit of color for a moment, and he lowered his sword. “You’re free.”

  “You knew?” She took a single step forward as she said it. “You knew I was trapped in the myst?”

  “We tolerated it because it meant one less demon in the world.” Vihiel raised his weapon once more. “Now that you have escaped, you know the penalty for what you have done, and I hereby arrest you in the name of the Almighty Law. You will be taken to the Hall of Judgment to be tried and sentenced for your actions.”

  Carma examined her fingernails. “No, thank you. Never did like Haven much. Too many rules.”

  “How dare you.” Vihiel snarled.

  “Hell has much less paperwork. You should think about it.”

  “I would never.”

  Alec braced himself to keep from falling over. “He’s a Hellwalker.” The taste of blood made speaking bitter.

  The information had the desired effect. That deep red color spread further up Carma’s hair. “A Hellwalker? So Hell does intrigue you. Yet you don’t have the stomach to do what needs to be done to really experience it.”

  Vihiel attacked. Carma kept still.

  His blade sank into her left shoulder, but once in, she grabbed it, and stopped its progress, the tips of her fingers sizzling.

  “Foolish of you. You said you knew my name. I did not think you would be so stupid.”

  Vihiel put a bit more force behind his blade. “You are nothing but a demon.”

  “I am what my name implies. All that notion of karma comes from me. Anything you do to me shall come back to you at least three-fold.”

  The seraph’s eyes widened.

  “But,” Carma continued, her eyes glowing brighter, “I think for you… seven.”

  Holy silver blood spurted from Vihiel’s left shoulder, just where his blade had lodged within Carma’s. Then it came again, and again, and again. Until seven times he had been struck, and his arm collapsed, hanging useless at his side.

  Carma flicked the sword to the ground. Her demon’s blood—silver-streaked black—darkened the blue of her dress. “You cannot win this. Would you like your death to be quick and painless, or slow and agonizing?”

  Holding his wounded arm, Vihiel held Carma’s gaze. “This is not over. We found him once, we will find him again. He will not be yours. Gabriel will come for him.”

  “Gabriel?”

  “This child has long been her one and only agenda. She will hear of this, and she will come.”

  Carma leaned in close to the seraph. “Then I look forward to seeing my old friend.” Fire began to lick at the seraph’s feet. The flames burned red and blue, crawling upwards slowly, as though savoring the feast. Carma smiled, and Alec knew she could taste the power her flames sucked from her prey.

  Screams of unimaginable pain echoed through the room. The seraph twisted and struggled, limbs beating against the floor though nothing would put out the flames. Things began to pop and crack, and Alec hoped Bri wasn’t watching. Then, in a burst of white light, the seraph was ash, his armor and sword all that remained.

  Carma sighed and walked around the pile, casually tossing a sniffer out the window. The remaining creatures followed and left. “It always goes too quickly,” she lamented.

  Another bolt of pain lanced through Alec. “For you.”

  She shook her head, amused, before finally looking upon him, taking notice of his wound. “Too far, Alec.”

  “Oh, pardon me. I thought getting run through would be fun.” He pressed against his wound, trying to staunch the flow of his red, once-mortal, blood. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken so damned long.”

  She went to his side, kneeling, and pushing aside his hands so she could see the wound. “Like I said, I had hoped you could handle yourself, though I did
not think it would be against him. The other one was nothing more than an expendable sentry.”

  Placing both hands on his face, she kissed him, breathing life-supporting power into his body just as she had when she had first taken his soul. “That should keep you for now, and if you keep hold of your power it, too, will sustain you, but I will summon Picadilly.”

  Alec groaned.

  “If you don’t like it, then don’t be so reckless in the future,” Carma said. Standing, she pulled Alec with her. He leaned heavily on her for support.

  Bri came closer. He looked miserable, with dark circles under his bright eyes and his hands still trembling. “Can I help?”

  “No,” Carma said. “He is still too thick with power, and I don’t believe it would be a good idea for you to touch him right now.”

  The manor shook again, and Alec clutched tightly to Carma to remain on his feet. “I thought that was you before.”

  “Not me. Those seraph set holy fires. There is nothing I can do to quench them.”

  “Feeding yourself to it would do the trick,” Alec mumbled.

  “Ah, but then your soul would be destroyed with me, and where would we be then?”

  Alec looked to the open doorway. Smoke crept steadily down the hall, leaking into Bri’s room, like a predator not yet ready to strike. “So how do you intend to get us out? The fire will burn the both of us, as you said, and Bri as well.”

  “I suppose the window will have to do.” She supported him easily as they made for the window Vihiel had broken through. “Remember to roll when you hit the ground,” she said, easing him towards the opening.

  He was already in so much pain he couldn’t make himself care. Groaning with each movement, Alec pulled himself up onto the sill, then jumped.

  His roll turned into more of an ungraceful flop. He lay in the cool grass, the heat of the burning manor growing in the air. A blur he assumed was Carma and Bri soon followed him to the ground, albeit with far more grace and skill. On her feet, Carma set Bri beside her and hauled Alec up without any warning.

  The world spun.

  In the darkness, the manor seemed a bright sun. Flames licked the sky from the windows, while a dark cloud of smoke collected above the roof. Three floors of the best architecture and design, a home that had withstood the test of time—now only hours away from being nothing more than the ash Carma had made of the seraph.