by Lauryn Evans
“I have no idea what it means, if it means anything, or if I’m just slowly going insane.” Renata laid her head on Jackson’s chest, enveloped in his embrace.
Jackson gently stroked her hair. “What does he get out of freaking you out?”
His gesture comforted Renata. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Well,” he said, thinking over what Renata told him. “Is it worth telling Clarissa?”
“No,” Renata shot out. “At least, not yet,” she added, backtracking after she thought it through, remembering the tumultuous coven environment. “She has enough to deal with at the moment. If it’s important, I’ll tell her.”
Besides, she’d fill Clarissa in on everything after meeting with the Nightblood ancestors. It would be easier to tell her everything at once.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, grabbing the keys to Will’s truck as she slid her work bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.”
Jackson pressed a tender kiss on the top of Renata’s head. “Sounds like a plan.”
Renata met her clients at a coffee shop not far from the house. She threw herself into her work, her professional demeanor coming naturally. It was easier to focus on work instead of worrying about what Azazel would do next. At work, with her client, she had everything under control. Unlike the rest of her life.
Once she got back home, she found Mariel, Edwin, and Heather, all dressed in their pajamas, sitting on the couch in front of the television, while Alice and Veronica sat at the breakfast bar, talking. Adela was in the kitchen, leaning up against the countertop, playing a game on her cellphone. The monotonous sounds of the car commercial on the TV droned on, Renata tuning it out as she put her bag down onto the countertop in the kitchen.
She unbuttoned her blazer. Now that her work mode had been switched off, her mind wandered back to Clarissa’s last phone call. Lelahel, whatever it was, had to mean something if Azazel kept saying that word, that name. But what? Could it be a spell?
A curse?
Hopefully, after tonight, she got some answers. Or anything that could lead her in the right direction, at least.
Renata pulled her smartphone out of her back pocket, setting the alarm for eleven forty-five that night. She didn’t need to be up early tomorrow—Heather and Veronica were meeting with their clients. If Jackson woke up and asked about the alarm, she would say it was an incoming phone call from Clarissa.
Renata hated lying to him, but she needed to do this ritual without him trying to stop her. She convinced herself that it was better to avoid an argument until she got some useful information.
The noise from the television ebbed in and out of Renata’s awareness, enough for her to know that the news was on.
“Guys,” Heather beckoned to them, engrossed in the news report. “You should take a look at this.”
Adela slid her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, walking over to the couch.
Renata stood next to her, keeping her eyes peeled on the television screen.
The news reporter on the screen held a mug in her hands. “Global tensions are rising, as world leaders increasingly raise attention to nuclear weaponry.” She continued, “As of right now, the United Nations works for peace, assisting diplomatic negotiations and other efforts. The United States seceded from the UN, however, and will not be part of…”
Renata’s mind reeled. Was all of humanity turning on each other? First, the witches, and now this? The beginnings of what could very well result in another world war? With opposing sides wielding nuclear weapons, there was no telling what kind of destruction a war would cause.
Mariel picked up the remote, and the television screen went black. “That’s enough of that.”
Veronica hopped off of the barstool she was sitting on. “Are you okay, Renata?”
“Yes,” Renata lied, faking a smile. “I’m fine.”
She was far from fine.
Adela looked as if she was about to protest, obviously seeing through the lie, but kept her mouth shut.
“Goodnight, everyone,” Renata said, leaving before anyone could ask something else. She’d need her energy later, and this news report was not helping her stay focused.
After changing into her pajamas, Renata sat on her bed, braiding her hair. What she’d seen on the news today couldn’t be a coincidence. Witches around the world were losing their magic and turning on each other. And now, humans were turning on each other too. Nations with atomic weaponry were threatening each other with declarations of war.
Jackson tugged on a T-shirt before getting into bed beside her. He glanced at her. “Are you okay?”
“The news,” Renata told him, dodging his question. “Apparently, global tensions are at an all-time high.”
“Okay,” Jackson processed, trying to follow her train of thought.
“It just seems too coincidental.” Renata tied the end of her braid with a hair elastic. “First, the witches’ power starts fading, and then the covens turn on each other. Now, countries around the world with nuclear weapons are threatening to go to war? Something’s off.”
“You’re right,” Jackson said, his brows stitched together. “Do you think Azazel is doing this?”
“Yes,” Renata nodded. Something deep inside her knew Azazel was doing this. “I don’t know how, but it’s him.”
Renata’s gut never steered her wrong. Back when she’d first met Jackson, she found a glass vial and knew it was connected to the series of attacks devised by the Order of the Seven Blades—an organization of vampire hunters, who didn’t fight the old-fashioned way. Instead, hunters drank an elixir that transformed them into a magna feles—a large cat-like creature designed to kill vampires. Back then, she didn’t know how the vial was involved in the attacks, but she knew it was important. She was right then, and she was sure she was right now.
She just hoped she could stop Azazel before he caused irreparable damage.
“I believe you,” Jackson told her genuinely. “Now, we just need to find out why.”
Renata snuggled into bed. “That won’t be easy.”
“It never is,” Jackson said, pulling the comforter over them.
“I know,” Renata sighed. “But I still wish it was.”
“Me too,” Jackson agreed, turning off the bedside lamp.
As soon as she closed her eyes, Renata was fast asleep.
“Lelahel.”
Piercing yellow eyes flashed behind Renata’s eyelids as a hot breath dusted her neck, sending chills down her spine.
Her amber eyes shot open, accompanied by shallow breaths.
“I’m coming, Lelahel.”
Renata lurched upright, drenched in sweat.
Lelahel. That word again. What does it mean?
Maybe, Lelahel was a name, a person, perhaps. But who? Surely, there was no Lelahel here. She’d know if there was, wouldn’t she?
Renata panicked. Her alarm hadn’t gone off yet. What time is it? Did she miss her chance to do the ritual?
She reached for her phone on her nightstand, anxious to see what time it was.
11:37 p.m.
Renata winced as Jackson stirred beside her.
Damn.
She’d woken him up.
Again.
“What’s wrong?” he grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
Guilt twisted in her stomach. She’d woken him up so many times this way.
“It happened again.” She put her phone back down on her nightstand, snoozing the alarm she set for eleven-forty.
His head snapped towards her, suddenly alert. “It did?”
“Yes, and,” she hesitated, not wanting to admit what she’d heard. Saying it out loud made it feel real. “This time, he said something else.”
“What did he say?”
“He said…” she paused, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat. “He said he’s coming.”
The expression on Jackson’s face looked beyond worried.
“He said, �
��I’m coming, Lelahel,’” Renata recounted. “Almost as if Lelahel were a person. Like Lelahel is—”
“You.” Jackson’s brown eyes went wide at the realization.
The words flew from Renata’s mouth. “That’s not possible.”
“He thinks it is.”
“I’ve never heard of the name,” Renata said nervously, coming up with excuses. “How could he be talking about me?”
She couldn’t believe Azazel was coming for her. She couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. There was no logical explanation. At least, not one she found plausible.
Jackson cupped the back of her head, gently kissing her forehead. “He’s not going to get anywhere near you.”
Renata nodded. “Alright.”
Jackson’s intentions were good, and she loved him for it, but how could he stop a pure immortal? A fallen archangel? Even if Azazel was coming for her, what could Jackson do to stop it? What could she do?
“I love you, Jack,” she told him softly.
Jackson pulled her into a tight hug. “I love you too.” He held her for a moment, before settling his arms around her. “You know what,” he said. “I’m going to take you out on a real date, to get your mind off this.”
Renata lifted an eyebrow, and the corners of her mouth perked up into a genuine smile. “A real date?” She couldn’t remember the last time a guy took her out. A date with Jackson would be incredible.
“Yeah,” he said with a wide grin. “We’ll get away from all of this for a little, just the two of us.”
“That sounds amazing,” Renata said, giddy, like a high school girl who got asked out by her captain-of-the-football-team crush.
A wide, happy grin spread across Jackson’s face, melting Renata’s insides. “Great,” he said, breathless, running a hand through his black hair.
He dipped his head down, his gentle mouth caressing her lips. Pulling herself closer to him, Renata slipped under the covers, waiting for him to fall asleep.
It was time to take matters into her own hands. She wouldn’t sit around and do nothing any longer.
Not while Azazel kept taking turns playing his own game.
6
Once Jackson was fast asleep, his chest peacefully rising and falling, Renata slipped out of bed. She didn’t have much time. It was almost midnight, and the full moon would soon be at its highest point in the night sky.
Renata remembered enough of the ritual from when she’d helped Clarissa that she felt confident enough to do it on her own. She fumbled through the kitchen cabinet, searching for candles and anything she could burn. Renata scrounged up three miscellaneous birthday candles, some old, some new, careful not to make any noise. She wouldn’t risk waking anyone up. If she wanted the ritual to work, she needed to focus. Distractions would only get in the way.
She slid outside through the back door, sticking the birthday candles into the ground as she drew symbols in the dirt with a stick she’d found nearby.
Renata called forth her power, igniting a flame on each of the candles. She knelt before the drawn symbols, closing her eyes as she chanted. The foreign words flowed from her tongue as Renata pooled her energy into the circle, focusing her mind and magic on the Nightblood witches she wanted to see.
This ritual has to work.
Her chants grew louder, but not too loud, more and more of her magic pouring into the ritual. The spell was working. Renata could feel the bridge to the spirit world forming, bit by bit. She wouldn’t have long once she made the connection, thanks to the ancestors’ weakened state. She’d have to be quick and get right to the point.
Renata concentrated harder, scraping the last bits of her power reserve, pushing it into the circle.
The suddenly cold air around her stilled, blowing out each of the candles.
Renata opened her eyes as words ceased to exit her lips. White, blurred air surrounded her, sending chills down her spine.
This is different from last time.
She must have done something wrong.
Renata looked around, seeing nothing but white mist for miles. Where am I?
She felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, except she’d landed somewhere other than Munchkin Land. Her backyard seemed like only a memory. All around her, hundreds of figures walking toward her took shape, emerging from the mist. These had to be the Nightblood coven ancestors. But, to be there with them, she’d have to be where the dead were, in the…
Renata took a deep breath.
She was in the spirit realm.
Good lord.
How did she end up here?
“Please help me,” she asked the deceased witches.
The witches kept walking, their strides slow, with their eyes focused on the space beyond, as if she didn’t exist.
“Please,” she said again, frantically running up to another witch. The witch stared through her like she wasn’t there.
“Please, I need your help.” Renata approached another Nightblood witch. She reached out, but her hand fell through the witch’s shoulder.
Good lord. They couldn’t see her. They probably couldn’t hear her either.
“No!” Renata cried out, taking short breaths. “Please! I need you to tell me what you know about Azazel!”
Her plea for help fell on deaf ears. The witches continued their journey through the misty afterlife, passing through and around where she stood. Renata fell to her knees, her hands in her hair.
What was she supposed to do now?
It was too late. Renata would never reach them, and she was stuck in the spirit realm. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with.
Just another thing to add to her list of problems.
A soft touch on her shoulder caught Renata’s attention. A woman with dark hair and eyes helped her up, steadying her. She wore a dark medieval-looking gown that complimented her smooth olive skin tone, and her stare was deep, yet kind.
Her voice was soft, gentle even. “You wish to know about the demon Azazel?”
“Yes,” Renata said and nodded her head eagerly, wiping the redness from her cheeks.
The witch bowed her head, closing her brown eyes as she placed both her hands on Renata’s shoulders. A gust of wind blew around them. The white mist surrounding them morphed and changed, taking the form of tall, green trees, hard, cold dirt, and a gray sky.
Renata looked around for the witch, but she was nowhere to be found.
“Good lord,” Renata muttered. She was alone and had no idea where she was.
Perfect. Could her day get any worse?
A tall young man with clear blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, dressed in some odd-looking tunic and pants, emerged from the forest behind her. He seemed to be in a hurry, like there was somewhere else he needed to be.
“Um,” Renata stammered, approaching the young man. “Excuse me, but can you tell me where I am?”
The young man kept walking, unfazed by her request.
“Hello?” Renata asked, reaching for the young man’s arm. Her fingers passed right through him as if he were a ghost.
Renata stared at her hand in shock. None of this could be real, could it? What on earth was going on?
She jogged after the young man, eager to find something. In the distance, she saw him, and her stomach dropped.
Azazel.
Azazel, dressed in the similar clothes as the young man, approached him. “Hello,” he drawled. “Evander, is it?”
Renata only knew of one person by that name.
Evander, as in Alexander’s son and founder of the Order of the Seven Blades?
But Evander was long dead.
That meant the dark-haired witch had to be responsible for what she was seeing, showing her ghosts of the past.
The young man, who bore a resemblance to Alexander, backed away slowly. “Yes, and you are?”
“How silly of me,” Azazel chuckled, taking a step forward. “I am Azazel.”
“What do you want?” Evander asked, his body tense.
&
nbsp; “I hear you have a problem. I intend to help.”
Evander crossed his arms. His skepticism was clear. “How can you help me?”
“You want to save your father’s soul, do you not?”
Evander shifted his weight, intrigued by Azazel’s proposal. “You can cure my father’s ailment?”
“I can.”
Evander’s eyes narrowed, debating whether to trust the demon. “I’m listening.”
The last thing Renata saw was Azazel’s signature smirk before the scene around her changed, shifting to another. She was inside a building of some type, with cold stone walls and wooden floors. The lit fire-place was the only source of light in the dank room.
Azazel lounged in a chair with his legs propped up on a wooden table. “You cannot accomplish this on your own, dear Evander.” He cocked his head away from the fire. “There are others who wish to eradicate vampire filth from this earth. You must find them and recruit them to your cause.”
“Of course,” Evander said, standing from the table with a goblet in his hand. His eyes were wide, in a frenzy of some type. “With an army of hunters at my disposal, we can cleanse this land.”
Something wasn’t right. Evander was… different.
“An order, if you will.” Azazel picked up a goblet from the table, taking a careful sip.
“An order, yes,” Evander said, his tone wild, like a madman. “A righteous order named for the seven archangels.” He paused. “The Order of the Seven Blades.”
Azazel stiffened for a quick moment. His calm and collected demeanor returned. “Indeed.”
Renata’s mind reeled.
Azazel orchestrated the Order’s founding? He molded Evander into the man he became, drove him mad, and urged him to form the Order—to kill vampires. Why? Why did Azazel poison Evander’s mind and cultivate his hate? Was that Azazel’s purpose all along? To create long-lasting hatred that would last for centuries after Evander’s death?
The surrounding room blurred, the scene around her shifting again. A gust of wind blew her hair, and Renata found herself back in the spirit realm, surrounded by a blurry white mist. The hundreds of witches passing through were gone.