Sins of the Damned (Fallen Cities: Elisium Book 2)

by Elena Lawson

  “A gift?” I prod.

  “From the archangel Gabriel.” He snorts. “As if I would want to return to Hell. We keep order in the cities. If we fail to do so…there will be open war between Heaven and Hell on earth. That is something neither side wishes to happen.”

  “So, the cities that Dantalion and Malphas oversaw…?”

  “We’re taking care of it. That isn’t the point.”

  “Then what is?”

  Kincaid pinches the bridge of his nose. “The point is that you should not have the ability to travel between this plane and the other. It’s not possible.”

  Seems to be the story of my life. Making the impossible possible.

  Impossible that I could be Diablim, and yet I am.

  Impossible that I should have been able to cross The Hinge, and yet I did.

  Impossible that I could hear and see the spirits of Kincaid’s fallen demon brothers, and yet I had.

  Now it seems I can travel to Hell and back, a right only reserved for seven demons—also somehow extended to me.

  “There are many who will wish to unravel you now, Na’vazēm. In more ways than one.”

  I clutched the covers tighter around myself, drawing my legs up to try to get some warmth into my cold toes.

  “The Carver , it seems, has taken a keen interest.”

  “The…Carver?”

  “You are abnormal,” Kincaid replies, ignoring my query. “And those aren’t tolerated on any plane of existence. For now, you’re simply a curiosity. I need to keep it that way.”

  Even I know what they say about that. Except in my case I don’t think curiosity will kill the curious. Me, however, it just might.

  “What is going to happen to me?”

  I hate how my voice sounds small and high, like a child’s. I dig my fingernails into my knees, remembering who I am. Remembering everything I’ve survived. And I feel better.

  I can’t be broken so easily. My limits have been tested.

  Warm hands seize me beneath the covers, bring me close until the length of him is pressed against the length of me. I press my cold nose into his neck, and he flinches.

  “You are mine,” he hisses. “If one so much as touches you, they will lose the offending hand.”

  I want to believe him, but where his chin rests at the precipice of my skull, I feel a twitch. His arms around me tighten as though he truly is afraid to let me out of his sight for even a second.

  “Sleep now,” Kincaid commands, and I feel the heated flood of his power seep into my skin. It delves deep into muscle and sinew. Excavates the disquieting thoughts from my mind and leaves nothing behind but a comforting dark.

  I sigh against him, falling into the void.

  4

  I’m ravenous.

  My belly burbles and grumbles as I fetch a plate of Tori’s macaroni and cheese from the casserole dish in the fridge.

  At least one of us knew how to actually cook for a while in the house. I hadn’t the stomach to eat much of anything while Kincaid was gone, but now I heft three large scoops of the congealed cheese and noodles onto my plate, not even bothering to warm it up first before snatching up a fork and heading to the dining room.

  Kincaid slept deeply when I finally woke sometime in the early afternoon. He hadn’t so much as stirred as I rose from the bed. His face had been buried in a pillow so I couldn’t see his expression, but the softness of his body in slumber made me want to trail fingers over the wide expanse of his bare back. Or brush my fingers through his raven black hair.

  How could something so lethal look so ethereal in sleep?

  Something Pattywort told me about him returns, and I wonder at the truth of it. If Kincaid truly was once an angel. If he’d fallen from grace.

  “Sleep well?” Artemis asks as I enter the dining room, nearly making me topple the entire plate of mac and cheese in surprise. I’m glad I had a mind to get dressed in my room before coming down.

  His smirk tells me he knew exactly what he was doing, and I shoot him a glare.

  “Fine,” I reply, dragging a chair noisily from the table to sit down opposite him at the long dark wood table.

  Artemis stuffs his face with a bite of Lucky Charms and chews with his mouth open as he grins. His eyebrows waggling. “Better than fine, I bet.”

  “Remind me again why I tried to save you?”

  Art shrugs, flipping his muddy brown hair out of his face as he takes another bite. Milk drips from his chin as he replies, “Beats me.”

  “Ugh,” I gag, giving him a very pronounced eye roll to which he just grins more. I take back every time in my life I ever wished I had a sibling to share in my misery. It is not how I imagined it would be.

  Besides, I wouldn’t have subjected anyone to the childhood I’d had to endure.

  “Oh!” I gasp as Casper leaps up onto my lap under the table and curls up, purring animatedly against my stomach. “Have you forgiven me now?” I ask, sinking the fingers of my left hand into his fur while the right busies itself with a cold breakfast.

  As if in answer, Casper pushes his nose against my knuckles and rubs his little face over the side of my hand. I don’t know why I ever thought he was so scary. “That’s a good boy,” I croon, sitting back to get a look at him.

  I cock my head, finding the aura I’d thought I’d seen around him in the basement yesterday wasn’t a trick of the light after all. Hmm.

  His green eyes open along with his mouth, showing a little row of nubby teeth sandwiched between his itty-bitty fangs. The eyes are what draw me, though. Brighter than ever before.

  My power must still be strengthening if I can see a demon cat’s spirit aura so easily now when there had been virtually nothing there before.

  “Can I ask you something without you giving me a smartass response?” I question after a time of eating in relative silence, with only Casper’s purring and the scrape of cutlery on china for sound.

  Artemis purses his lips, as though what I’m asking of him is some great feat that he isn’t certain he can accomplish.

  “Artemis,” I grouse, dropping my fork back to my plate.

  “All right, fine. What?”

  I straighten in my seat, trying to appear casual. “Do you know of someone called the Carver?”

  Artemis’ hand stills barely an inch from his lips. His bright brown eyes consider me carefully. “Why?”

  “Are you nearly ready to leave?” Kincaid enters from the library, and both our heads swivel in his direction. He shoots a warning glance at Artemis, and I know for certain now that I’ll never find out who the hell the Carver is.

  Art resumes eating double-time, polishing off the remains of his massive cereal bowl so he can leave.

  I shove my plate away. “I guess so.”

  “Where are you going?” Artemis asks and then winces, casting an apologetic glance Kincaid’s way. I’m reminded of where he’d been before he came here and wonder how many ruthless hands he’s been passed through and for how long.

  That he feels regret and fear at asking a simple question in the presence of his master tells me it’s likely been his whole life. The same as me.

  “To where I lived before. To look for clues of what I am. Where I came from.”

  “To the mortal side of the river?”

  “Paige,” Kincaid warns, and I realize he doesn’t trust Artemis knowing where we’re going. Which is ridiculous. He lives in this house. He’ll find out one way or another. And besides, I trust him.

  Comforting myself by stroking Casper’s soft fur, I give Artemis a nod.

  Kincaid washes a hand over his face and gives me an appraising look. “You do realize that I’ll have to kill him now?”

  “If you mean because I’m not supposed to know about the Underbridge, I already do. That’s how I was smuggled into Elisium.”

  “And you didn’t go running to tell the first Nephilim you saw?”

  “Why? I don’t have a death wish.”

  Kincaid makes a non
committal sound and eyes Artemis in a way that has me on my toes beneath the table, ready to shove Casper from my lap and leap between them if I have to.

  “You may join us,” he finally decides, and I melt back into the wooden chairback. “But you will tell me who smuggled you across.”

  There brokers no room for argument in Kincaid’s tone and Artemis’ mouth snaps shut. A real and vivid fear brightens his eyes, almost as brightly as his pulsating aura. Wild and undulating with terror. Turning a sickly shade of grayish green.

  “Kincaid,” I say in a soft tone, trying to reason with him, but he hushes me sharply.

  “I’m afraid this type of betrayal must be dealt with. Only a very small few Diablim in Elisium know of the Underbridge and even fewer have access to it. Brining a Nephilim, or anyone, through those tunnels is expressly prohibited.”

  “Will he know it was me who told you?”

  Kincaid considers this for a moment before replying. “Yes.”

  Artemis shudders, and it’s almost too much for me to take. I give Kincaid an imploring look until he relents.

  “But there won’t be time for the offender to tell another soul before his is swiftly taken.”

  It took me far too long to catch on that we were calmly talking about murder here. Or more aptly, an execution.

  Artemis’ throat bobbed before he replied, “Zak.”

  Kincaid didn’t show even a lick of surprise. Not a hint of anger.

  He smiled.

  “Finish up. We leave in ten minutes.”

  I pushed my chair back and scooched demon kitty from my lap, “Go on, Casper. We’ll be back soon.”

  Kincaid startles, and a low growl pulls my attention from Casper to him, frozen in the doorway. His horns jut out from his skull, curving up and out as his hands turn black, a stark contrast to the white tunic he wears.

  “Casper?” he demands, eyes glowing brightest gold in a face quickly being consumed by darkness. The fabric of his jeans and tunic strain against his demon form, and despite myself, I cower, nearly knocking the chair over as I back away.

  Artemis has backed up, too, and together we both stand against the old buffet and hutch where Kincaid’s spirits permeate the air with a cloying sweetness.

  “I—you…you said it didn’t have a name so—”

  “You named it?”

  “It needed a name! I don’t know why you’re being such a dick about it.”

  Kincaid laughs darkly, and it’s worse than if he’d shouted, but at least some of the darkness of his demon form is receding. My pulse slows, and I lengthen my spine, trying not to show just how much he scared me.

  He mutters something in another language beneath his breath, and I don’t have to speak it myself to know that it’s something rude. Probably laden with a truckload of curses.

  When his demon form has all but vanished completely, leaving him in some freshly stretched clothes, he closes his eyes. “We’ll deal with this later.”

  Deal with what, I want to ask, but I can tell now is not the time to press him. He leaves, still fuming and chuckling—a terrifying combination that has me worried I’ve done something very, very wrong.

  “I told you not to name it,” Artemis says in a low voice, and I elbow him in the ribs, growling.

  “Shut up.”

  5

  “It’s here?”

  They’re the first two words I’ve spoken to Kincaid since we left the house, deciding that I’d slide into the backseat with Artemis, forcing Kincaid to take the front or else be squished in with us.

  The Midnight Court looks nothing like it did under the light of the full moon. In the pale light of a cloudy day, it just looks like any other fancy building. An abandoned one at that. With only one stationary host standing sentinel at the entrance when the driver pulls up.

  Now there is only a stone pathway and immaculately cared for shrubbery and freshly trimmed grass.

  “My lord.” The host bows as we pass, and Kincaid doesn’t spare him so much as a glance.

  Our footsteps echo in the entry, and unable to help myself, I peer into the grand ballrooms, finding them speckless and devoid of life. The floors polished to a mirror shine, reflecting strange murals on the ceiling I hadn’t noticed the last time.

  At least we’re alone. I’d wrung my hands to the point they felt chapped on the way here, wondering which boogeyman would be the one to make a move for me. To pick me apart and find what makes me tick.

  But it seemed, so far at least, that Kincaid is right. So long as he’s with me, or I’m within the walls of his home, I am safe.

  It’s a small comfort. If only I could offer him the same protection.

  “Na’vazēm!”

  I rush to catch up, a stone weight in my belly when I see where he’s leading us. Around the main entry and down a flight of stairs to a cold stone pathway. We pass the exact spot where he pressed me up against the wall and…

  Our eyes meet in the dark for an instant before I break the contact, gaze firmly back on the ground.

  The door to the gambling floor opens and a rush of sound drenches my senses along with a metallic odor. Like sweat mixed with strong liquor.

  We enter into another world, entirely divergent from the quiet streets outside. Down here, a realm of sin throbs as though contained in a beating heart. Music thuds behind my breastbone and bodies crush together. Naked Diablim dance around shining silver poles, and a group of horned men shout and cajole one another around a card table.

  Slot machines whir and ping, eliciting sounds of glee and disappointment all around.

  Artemis doesn’t seem at all enthralled or interested in the place, preferring to keep his head down and eyes front. Perhaps I should’ve done the same. We don’t get more than several paces in before I begin to notice the heads turning, devilish eyes calculating. Searching.

  Curious.

  I nearly run into Kincaid when he stops abruptly and leans in to say something to a Diablim man in a black tuxedo wearing an earpiece. The man nods and then speaks into the watch on his wrist, relaying an order I do not hear.

  He then waves Kincaid through a doorway in the wall that you would never know was there if someone didn’t tell you.

  The sounds and smells and heat of the gambling floor evaporate as the door shuts behind us.

  “This way,” Kincaid says in a dead monotone, and I keep on his heels, not wanting to get lost as the long corridor forks off into several smaller ones. Kincaid scans his palm on not one but three different doorways as we delve deeper down and farther in.

  It’s just after the third door where he pauses, his breath lightly clouding the air in front of his face, making my sudden desire for a jacket seem all the more warranted.

  Tilting my head and listening carefully, I find that I can hear the river. I have no idea how far above us it runs, but there’s a dull roar that for once is not the sound of spirits chattering incessantly in my head.

  The compounding weight of all that water and earth over our heads is enough to make me curl in on myself.

  “Is it just me or is it hard to breathe down here?”

  Sweat drops down Artemis’ head when he shakes it. “It’s not just you. It sucks down here.”

  “If at any point you cannot bear the pain, we can turn back,” Kincaid says, not bothering to turn around when he speaks. “This passage allows us to get across alive, but it doesn’t come without a cost.”

  I sigh. I’m no stranger to pain but that doesn’t mean I welcome it. “You could have warned me,” I mutter before stepping past him, eager to get it over with. Staring down the barrel of a gun never helped anyone.

  I lengthen my strides, taking long lungfuls of air in preparation for the pain. It comes swiftly, like walking through a forest of knives or over a carpet of poisonous spores. My vision wavers, and about halfway there I find I have no choice but to slow. I can’t push myself on at the speed I’d maintained for the first half.

  A vein in my forehead throbs in tu
ne with my pulse, and I carve deep half-moons into my palms.

  “You’re doing great,” Artemis whispers from beside me, and I feel the press of his fingers on my elbow, helping me along and also healing whatever damage the crossing is doing to my body.

  I want to cry at the relief, but only a whimper gets past my teeth.

  “So how old were you?” I ask, trying to distract myself.

  “I was four when Zak took me.”

  I try to think of something else to ask, but I don’t want to pry, and I can tell he doesn’t relish remembering his past any more than I do. So I’m surprised when he continues on his own.

  “It was to pay a debt.” He turns his head back, and I think he must be looking at Kincaid lagging behind us. I can’t hear him save for his footfalls, slow and measured. I hope he’s all right.

  “To Kincaid?” I wonder.

  “To the casino, so, yes, I guess so. He kept me for about a week before he sold me at the Demon Market. I’ve passed hands three times since then.”

  I grunt, and Artemis wraps an arm around my lower back like a band, pushing his healing magic into me as he hurries me the rest of the way across. I lurch to my knees when the pain releases me, bending at the waist to vomit over the concrete.

  Kincaid is there in a flash, lifting me from the damp disgust of the ground and into his arms.

  “Thank you,” I manage, swiping my sleeve over my lips.

  Kincaid cocks his head.

  “Not you. Him.”

  “Anytime.” Artemis grins, and my heart warms and breaks all at once. Because I know that no matter what it takes, I won’t allow Kincaid to bring him back to Elisium with us.

  There has to be something I can say to convince him. A new bargain that can be struck.

  Artemis will have his freedom. “It’s not what I imagined,” Artemis says with a sour look as the house comes into view.

  “What were you imagining?” I ask, hating how my voice sounds strained even to my own ears.

  Artemis bumps my shoulder. “Spires? Maybe a fire-breathing dragon? I don’t know. Something not like this.”