by Nick Freo
I also didn’t imagine that the reason my father had kept his distance was based on my safety.
“My mother passed away a long time ago,” I said.
“Yes. My condolences.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that. It’s…my father was my last family member. I didn’t have a close relationship with him, but if he was murdered by somebody, I’m going to find out who it was. If I need to be an Arbiter to do that, I’ll consider it.”
“I was under the impression that you had already considered it and agreed.”
“Michael and Belial were being dicks. I wanted to prove them wrong,” I said. “But I needed more time to decide about whether I really wanted the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’m not sure about that, but I am sure that I want to find out who killed my father.”
Mr. Gray continued to study me. His face reminded me of slate more than ever. If I ever saw him smile, I would assume I was hallucinating.
“Very well. I surmise that in order for you to investigate your father’s murder, the best course of action would be for me to inform you about the last incomplete case for the Celestial Court that he was investigating at the time of his death.”
“I’d surmise you’re right.”
Chapter 5
I leaned against one of the shelves, my hand brushing against the Glock, as Mr. Gray pulled a pen out of his trench coat pocket. He took the coloring book off the shelf, flipped it open and tapped the pen against it. He handed it to me. The front of the coloring book had shown a unicorn, the lines thick and the depiction of the animal incredibly simple, but now, there was an intricate drawing of a woman in her twenties. There was no color in the drawing, but the drawing was detailed enough that I would have been able to pick out this woman in any room. She was straddling the line between plain-looking, with a heart-shaped face and a button nose, and stunning, with thick hair and an energy that crackled off her as if she had just finished a day whitewater rafting or robbing banks.
“Case file 41872-14. Serena Foster, a twenty-four-year-old witch, filed a complaint concerning demons who were committing the crime of coercion by initiating death threats. She requested your father’s assistance, and your father resolved to track down where these threats originated from.”
I gazed down at her photo, trying to imagine her going to my father for help, and my father tracking down demons. I kept picturing it like it was a black-and-white film from the fifties.
“Witches aren’t in league with demons?” I asked.
“No, that’s a myth. Or a partial fact, depending on how you perceive it. Witches aren’t how humans depict them. They can choose an alignment. It’s fairly equal between those who choose Heaven or Hell, although I can comprehend why those who chose Hell have made such an impression on humans. They are more likely to resort to eye-catching behavior.”
“Do we know whether Serena Foster was aligned with Heaven or Hell?”
“No,” he stated. “Your father liked acting alone.”
“Is there a way to tell what her alignment is? A book or an online directory?”
“No,” he repeated. “Once you officially become an Arbiter, you should be able to sense her allegiance when you’re near her. Other than that, if you had an angel or demon accompanying you when she was in your presence, you would be able to determine her allegiance as well. All creatures of Heaven are instinctively repulsed by creatures of Hell and vice versa. In our world, it is one of the most important distinctions to know.”
“Michael and Belial must have a strong sense of their allegiances,” I said, my eyes following the curve of Serena’s hair in the drawing “I would have thought Heaven would give off more of a warm, fuzzy feeling rather than that freezing cold, though.”
Mr. Gray didn’t say anything. I looked up from the drawing. Mr. Gray was observing me, his eyes shifting back and forth over my face like he was trying to read a blurry text behind it.
“Explain,” he said.
“Explain what?”
He scowled, the first strong emotion I’d seen him express. “Explain what you felt when you looked at Michael.”
“I…you know what it felt like, don’t you? When I looked at him, I felt cold. And when he disappeared, it felt even colder. It was the opposite of what I felt with Belial.”
“You felt Belial’s allegiance too?” he asked, taking a step toward me. He and I were similar heights, but at this moment, he felt taller to me. I nodded.
“Yeah.”
“And Belial felt extremely thermal to you?”
“That seems a bit tame for how it felt, but, yeah.”
“Strange.” Mr. Gray rubbed his palm along his jaw, taking a step back again. “It’s as if you are already an Arbiter, but I am the only one who can officially appoint you. And I have certainly not accomplished that yet.”
He glanced down at the gray ring before looking back at me. He forced a smile on his face. It looked like a crack in a stone.
“I can give you Serena Foster’s last known address. She had to leave it when she filed the complaint. Under the circumstances, and considering the statistics of all the factors, we can make the assumption that there is a strong potential for a visit being a perilous trip. I don’t intend to aggravate you with the repetitive requests, but I believe it would be in your best interest to consider my earlier offer.”
I flipped open the coloring book. It was completely normal inside. “I’m going to decline. Again.”
“Then I will give you a second offer: I can assign an angel, a demon, or both to you as chaperones. They would be able to protect you better than you can protect yourself, and they will be able to sense other creatures’ allegiances. However, you should be aware and vigilant that their loyalties will always be dubious. With your father’s death, there is the possibility that one of the sides betrayed him. If you are willing to take on a chaperone, we may be able to mitigate the risk of betrayal with a soul-marriage.”
I waited for him to continue, but he only watched me, waiting for me to give up my soul for some other insane idea that I had never heard of.
“What’s a soul-marriage?” I asked. Mr. Gray frowned. I was certain he thought I was mildly or fully stupid.
“A soul-marriage will lock your soul to an angel or demon’s life. It would make it impossible for them to betray you because if you died, the angel or demon would die as well.”
I almost snorted. “Why would any angel or demon agree to marry their life to someone like me? Isn’t that just adding a huge risk to them?”
“Angels and demons lack souls,” he said. He slid his pen back into his pocket. “You, as a human, believe you have five senses—taste, touch, sight, smell, and hearing—but your soul is another sense that allows you to fully experience emotions. It is the fabric of humanity and, for those who lack souls, this experience is dulled. Both species are incredibly envious of humans. However, if a human sells, pardon me, marries their soul to—”
I sighed, rubbing my temple and using all of my self-restraint to not cut him off. He paused but seemed to make a firm decision to ignore my interruption. “In exchange, you would receive power from the consort and—”
“A consort?” I asked.
“You would receive power from the consort,” Mr. Gray repeated, irritation edging in his voice. “Angels and demons are similar, in that they are faster, stronger, and more durable than humans. However, there are differences, too. Angels can heal themselves and others. Demons can cast hellfire. You would gain one of those two abilities.”
“Hellfire? I could…shoot fire?”
“Yes.”
Holy shit. Hell shit. I had spent years thinking about how much easier my life would be with magic and plotting what I would do if I had powers. However, in all those thoughts, selling my soul was not part of the deal and I was well aware that Mr. Gray had tried to sneak that back into the discussion. Not only did it sound like the beginning of a horror film, where I’d die a horrible death and spend eterni
ty in Hell, it also sounded like a long-term commitment, which was much more terrifying to me. If Mr. Gray had thought marrying my soul was more palatable than selling it, he was quite mistaken.
“You mentioned that they could just be chaperones, right?” I ask. He nodded. “Without the soul-marriage or soul-selling? What’s the difference, anyway?”
“Correct. To be precise, a soul-marriage is a method of selling one’s soul. There are other methods, some offering more power, some offering less.”
I shivered to think what the others might be. “Could I meet one of them? Maybe one angel and one devil? I want to see what I’m getting into.”
“Absolutely.” Mr. Gray looked over his shoulder, toward the doorway. “We should walk back to the front door—since you insist on learning that way. They are already waiting.”
I set the coloring book down on the shelf. Serena Foster’s face lingered in my mind for a second longer before being replaced by thoughts of hellfire. Both were beautiful and, if I were a bit more honest with myself, likely dangerous.
Chapter 6
“You must remember to keep your father’s death and your relationship to him a secret,” Mr. Gray said. “Other than the Celestial Court, no one knows about the existence of the Arbiter’s son, nor are they aware of Morgan’s passing yet. Through some discreetly worded reminders, I have convinced Michael and Belial to keep silent about his death for now, and your chaperones are aware of the situation. But it remains classified information. If anyone inquires about your role or your association to the Arbiter, you must tell them that you’re merely doing a task for him. Do you understand, Mr. Bishop?”
We stopped in front of the door. I had a hundred and one questions, but only one seemed important at the moment.
“Are all angels and demons as big of assholes as Michael and Belial?” I asked. Mr. Gray let out a sigh that he could have been holding in for the last decade.
“No,” he said. “But I’ve heard some people suggest that it’s a prerequisite for both species.”
“Are these two going to be assholes?”
He inclined his head. “What do you consider the traits of an asshole?”
“Uptight. Shitty.”
“I don’t believe I would use either term for either of them, but I have only briefly met the two of them,” he said, the joke flying over his head or simply ignored. “You can complete a scientific inquiry and inform me of your conclusion at a later date.”
“I’ll just get the door,” I said, already grabbing onto the East Coast handle. I swung them open, preparing myself for the worst.
It wasn’t the worst.
Or, at least, it wasn’t what I imagined the worst would look like.
The taller one had shoulder-length wavy, honey-blonde hair, mixed with a few lighter shades and a few darker shades. She was dressed in a long black cashmere coat, over a white silk top, black pants, and flats. She had small pearls in her ears. If I had imagined a high-maintenance woman, I’d imagine this one. Except I wouldn’t have imagined one that had the defined elegance of her demeanor, or one that gave off an almost refreshing chill. I also wouldn’t have imagined how impressive a high-maintenance woman’s breasts would look under a white silk top, but life throws you curve balls sometimes.
Besides her, there was a woman who was about four inches shorter. She was a brunette, but it was hard to pay any attention to her hair when she was wearing a thin satin and lace shirt—maybe it was intended to be a dress for someone even shorter than her—that ended a little higher than the middle of her thighs. She also had black knee-high boots. I tried to keep my eyes up, but from the thinness of the material and how two ribbon straps kept it on her body, I was constantly aware that she was not wearing a bra. I would assume she was generating supernatural heat, but my heart was racing and my face was flushed, so it could have also been a natural reaction.
Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.
I turned to Mr. Gray, hoping for a proper explanation, but before I could look at him, the blonde bounced forward, wrapping her arms around me.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you,” she said. She kept both her toes outside of the house, causing her to lean against me. She pressed her small hands against my chest to push herself back up.
“Cara, Lilah, you can come in,” Mr. Gray said, gesturing beside him. The blonde bounced inside while the brunette strode in. Mr. Gray looked over at me. “There are wards to prevent anyone from marching into this house without permission. I have special access, but without permission, anybody else can be blocked from entering your home.
“My father trusted you a lot,” I mentioned, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Of course.”
I glance over at the women. They had taken a huge step away from each other. I closed the door, trying not to focus too much on how much I wanted the blonde’s arms around me again, preferably with her body tightly pressed against mine.
“This is Cara,” Mr. Gray gestured to the blonde. He shifted a few inches to indicate the other woman. “And that is Lilah.”
“It’s such a beautiful honor to meet the Arbiter,” Cara said. She stepped forward to shake my hand, disappointingly more restrained than a minute beforehand. Her hands were cold, but as she pulled me forward, I couldn’t help but notice that she still produced body heat. “Especially one that looks like he could survive this apocalypse.”
I looked down at myself. Maybe she could feel my soul, and it exhibited a lot more power than I felt. Or, hell, maybe I could deal with this mess.
“Please,” Lilah drawled, stepping up to the two of us. Her fingers stroked down my spine, lingering at the small of my back. Her hand glided around my waist and up to my wrist, her fingers twisting around it like a snake. An incredibly suggestive snake. “Don’t mind her. They teach flattery one-oh-one in angel school. You know what they teach in Hell? The seven deadly sins. I specialized in lust. I was top of the class.”
“You certainly do need someone to teach you some class,” Cara muttered. She forced a smile as she leaned up against me, her hip brushing against my thigh. “Miss Lilah, I understand that coming up from Hell must give you self-esteem issues, but you don’t need to throw yourself at every man that—”
“I wish I gave a shit what you thought, but until then, I’m going to do whatever the hell I want. And just so we both know—I’m doing absolutely nothing for my self-esteem. I do it all for the sheer pleasure of it, you ass-kissing bitch.”
“Say whatever makes you feel superior, but the Arbiter isn’t going to choose you simply because you lack clothing,” Cara said. She smiled up at me but kept talking to Lilah. “The Arbiter bloodline isn’t fooled by your attempts to seduce them into giving up their soul. They know that our side has the best intentions and the best offer.”
“Healing doesn’t do jack shit until you’re already hurt,” Lilah said, her grip around my wrist tightening. “Hellfire will take care of the problem before it’s an issue. He’s smart enough to know that he needs a weapon, not a band-aid.”
I stepped backward, untangling my hand from Lilah’s grip as my whole body denounced me for not fully tangling myself in the sensuality of these women.
But my mother had read enough parables to me as a kid that I knew that giving into short-term pleasure led to events like soul-selling.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I never said I was going to sell my soul to anyone.”
They both turned toward me, Cara’s eyes widened in surprise, and Lilah’s narrowed in suspicion. Just as quickly, they shifted their gaze to Mr. Gray. Mr. Gray shrugged.
Lilah’s hand slipped down the side of my abdomen, over my coat, and down toward my thigh. “Is that a gun in there, or is your cock made of steel?”
I felt a cold breeze as Cara stepped close enough to me that I caught a scent reminding me of sugar cookies and vanilla. So good. When I caught her eyes, she smiled at me, slow and comforting.
“This must be stressful for you, Kyle.” He
r cold fingers stroked against my cheek and settled on my shoulder. “Why don’t we sit down? I can make you a drink, give you a nice massage, and figure out where to go from there.”
“Or,” Lilah said. “You could skip all the mushy shit, ditch these two, and I could show you a little bedroom trick I know called Heathen’s Heaven. We just need at least three restraints and anointing oil.”
“Both of those sound—” I stopped myself. “Okay, let me state again that I’m not going to sell my soul. At least, not right now. I just want to find out who killed my father.”
Lilah opened her mouth, and I feared whatever she’d say would send me over the edge, but instead of her voice, there was a sound that could only be described as shrieking.
Cara covered her ears, and I couldn’t blame her. It was worse than an ambulance siren, the high pitch digging into my eardrums and setting them on fire. I turned to Mr. Gray. He was looking away from me, his body stiff and a deep frown engraved in his face.
“The wards have been triggered,” he said, turning back toward me. He strode up to the front doors. He touched a couple of islands above Canada. The carved-out section of the United States flipped. On the other side, there was either a high-resolution surveillance video or a window that showcased a large part of the front yard.
In the distance, a man was standing at the end of the lawn. The man could have been homeless—he was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt that was slightly too large for him and had rips ruining it. His pants were black, a bit baggy and seemed out-of-fashion for a man that had to be in his seventies. Or fifties. Maybe his forties. It was hard to tell from the mansion, but his hair was a nest of gray and his face looked like cracked porcelain. Or maybe his skin was pulled so taut over his face, I was witnessing the veins underneath it.
“Fuck.”
With the alarm still trying to combust my eardrums, I thought it was Lilah who cursed, but after a second, I realized it was a man’s voice. I turned to Mr. Gray. He was shaking his head and stroking his hair.