by Joy Nash
Just as his consciousness faded, Rand jerked him upright. Luc gulped air, and then gagged on the stale beer breath. He opened his eyes. Rand’s snarling smile was barely an inch away.
“You don’t fucking disrespect me, you hear?”
Luc spat in his face.
Rand roared. From that moment on, Luc was aware of nothing but pain. Punches, kicks, lashes of fire. He rolled. Rand dragged him back. Luc wasn’t entirely helpless. Even shackled, even with his magic muted by the thrall collar, he managed a few solid kicks and a couple of hellfire blasts.
But it was a losing battle, one Luc was insane to fight. Groveling would have been easier. Not to mention smarter. Fuck that. The sight of Rand limping up the cellar stair, spewing curses, was a pleasure worth hurting for.
The door slammed. Luc, his cheek pressed against cool concrete, closed his eyes.
***
Gabriel held an honored position as Holy Messenger of the Earthly and Celestial Realms. He’d been praised in myriad prayers and songs. His most notable communication by far had been one delivered in Nazareth a couple thousand years ago. The event had caused his lofty self to be featured prominently in more works of art than he cared to count.
In short, Gabriel was the subject of endless human adulation. One could logically assume that he enjoyed his profession. This, however, was not the case.
His job, sadly, was not all it was cracked up to be. Sure, he held an exalted title, but he was, in truth, little more than Raphael’s errand boy. Certainly, if he had his druthers, he’d never find himself accompanying a disgusting Nephil into a damp and smelly ruin.
Since his druthers were unfortunately nowhere to be found, he let out a long-suffering sigh and followed his charge into the breach. Arthur sprinted through the stable’s sagging doorway and dashed past a row of empty stalls. Gabriel picked his way through more slowly, careful to keep the soles of his shoes a few inches above the grubby floor. He didn’t care to look too closely, but he suspected a large part of the muck on the stone paving consisted of animal dung.
A fine mess this assignment was turning out to be. Keep an eye on the Nephil, Raphael had ordered. Don’t let him do anything rash, he’d said. Well. Easier said than done, Gabriel thought sourly. Nephilim were the opposite of prudent.
A brilliant light shone from beneath a fallen beam at the end of the passageway. Arthur barely paused before diving under the heavy timber and its associated pile of ruined roofing. Gabriel, grimacing, used his walking stick to lift a section of rot. With a delicate shudder, he faded into spirit form and melted through mold, slime, and a rat’s nest. His scalp crawled with revulsion. The things he did for Raphael.
On the other side of the obstruction, he found Arthur standing as if frozen, staring down at what looked like a cluster of braided twigs, lying on the ground amid a small puddle of blood. A few steps beyond, more blood formed a trail of droplets, leading to a pool of celestial light. Gabriel drew up short, not quite able to believe his eyes. Oh, holy...shining clouds above. This was not good. Not good at all.
Arthur bent down and picked up the clump of twigs. He stared at it for a moment. Then, with a curse, he shoved it into his pocket and started toward the hole. Gabriel sped past, inserting himself between the Nephil and the portal. “No farther,” he said, brandishing his walking stick.
Arthur’s jaw set. “Get out of my way.”
“No.”
A wisp of vapor rose out of the glow. It carried the odor of brimstone. It was accompanied by a faint but unmistakable wail. Dear Lord. Worse, worse, and worse again.
A vein in Arthur’s forehead throbbed. “That was not a request. That’s the entrance to Merlin’s Cave and I’m going in. Cybele—”
“Couldn’t possibly be in there,” Gabriel said. At least, she wasn’t supposed to be. “Her entrance is forbidden. As is yours.”
“Her blood’s on the ground.”
“That could be anyone’s blood. An animal’s, maybe.”
“It’s hers,” Arthur said flatly.
“How can you be sure?”
“I can smell it.”
“Oh.” Gabriel gave a faint shudder. “Disgusting.”
“I found her touchstone. She wouldn’t let go of that. Not voluntarily.”
“Touchstone? Isn’t that some Druid thing?”
“You don’t know?”
“If I knew,” Gabriel said testily, “would I ask?”
“It’s a stone,” Arthur said. “Embedded or wrapped in wood. Every Druid has one. It helps us focus magic.”
“Ah,” said Gabriel, finally understanding. “Stone and wood are elemental to Druid magic. Water is as well, is it not?”
Arthur scowled. “Much as I’d love to give you lessons on Druid magic, I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait. Right now, I’m going after Cybele.”
Gabriel watched with mild disgust as dark lights burst to life under Arthur’s skin. His eyes changed, the gray of his irises dissolving into hellish red. “And. You. Will. Not. Stop. Me.”
An epiphany struck. Gabriel’s eyes went wide. “Amazing!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think this sort of thing was possible.”
Arthur’s scowl deepened. “What the hell are you going on about now?”
“Why, you, of course. I’d assumed you were merely in lust with your blond dormant. But it appears...” Gabriel shook his head. “As unlikely as it seems, I believe you’re actually in love with her. A Nephil in love. Who would’ve thought?”
A muscle ticked in Arthur’s jaw. “Get out of my way.”
Gabriel shook off the oddity of a Nephil in love and returned to the subject at hand. “Listen,” he said. “You don’t really know if she’s in there. She might just have dropped her stone without noticing. And then got tired of waiting. She probably went back to your guesthouse.”
“Cut the bullshit.”
“It’s not—” Well, all right, yes, Arthur had him there. Though he had no idea how it had come about, it was likely that Arthur’s lover was inside the cave. But he wasn’t about to admit it. Raphael would have Gabriel’s wings in a sack if he let Arthur follow after her.
“I don’t know what’s happened,” he continued, “or how your friend was injured. If she went into that cave, I don’t know how she did it. No Earthly or Hellish being may pass through a celestial seal. Or at least, not without—”
His mouth snapped shut.
Arthur went still. “Without what?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“You white-faced sot. What were you about to say?”
“Never you mind.”
“Fine.” White flame erupted in Arthur’s palms. Stepping neatly to one side, he took aim and...
“Wait.” Gabriel lunged for him. “What are you—”
Hellfire exploded. He whipped his walking stick around—unfortunately, not quickly enough. He deflected only a portion of the attack, and poorly, at that. The lion’s share of the fire blasted right past him into the pit.
Gabriel’s hair stood on end. He watched in horror as Arthur poured all his fury and fear into the flame. The Nephil’s eyes burned red, his skin glowed darkly. The force of his magic was so raw, so pure, and so filled with the power of death, it actually sent Gabriel staggering backwards.
Dear Heavenly Host above! Cherubim and Seraphim aloft! Raphael was right to fear Arthur. The Nephil was a grave menace. What was Gabriel even doing here? He was a messenger, not an avenger. He wasn’t used to situations like this. Conflict was Raphael’s and Michael’s domain.
He raised his walking stick, considering how best to interfere. Before he could act, Arthur’s hellfire sputtered and died. Gabriel breathed a sigh. Then he realized his relief had been premature.
Arthur, arms outstretched, flung himself headlong into the light. As Gabriel watched in horrified shock, a hand rose from the brilliance and closed around the Nephil’s wrist.
What? Oh, no. No, no, no, no.
His walking stick clattered to the ground. Hurling himself
forward, Gabriel grabbed Arthur’s nearest ankle with both hands. “Stop. Stop right now!”
Arthur’s arm had sunk into the light up to his shoulder. Gabriel tugged as hard as he could, but the Nephil wouldn’t budge. “Noooo!” he wailed. “This cannot be happening!”
Arthur smirked at him over one shoulder. “Must be a goddamned miracle.”
“Nephilim,” Gabriel cried, “do not receive miracles.”
Arthur’s leg slipped from Gabriel’s grasp. In a blink of an eye, he was gone. He’d fallen into the cave that he was not, under any circumstances, supposed to enter. For one wild instant, Gabriel considered plunging in after him.
Then he came to his senses and shook his head. Darn it all to holy heck, he was a messenger, not a warrior. What was he supposed to do? Attack the situation with a round of Hails?
“Stupid loophole. Let Raphael deal with it.”
FIFTEEN
Cybele sat up and immediately wished she hadn’t. Damn. She’d smacked her head so hard she was still seeing stars. Gingerly, she pressed the lump swelling on the back of her skull. She was sitting in a puddle, her jeans rapidly wicking up moisture. Her upper arm stung. She touched the spot, and her fingers came away sticky. Blood. Right. She remembered snagging her arm on a nail or something when Jack dragged her under the fallen beam blocking the old tack room.
And light. She remembered brilliant, golden light.
Whatever that light had been, it was gone now. It was dark, almost totally so. A constant drip, drip, drip fell from above. A splash of water hit her nose. An eerie wail rose and fell like a tide through the darkness.
That had to be the sound Jack had described. But as for it being Merlin’s voice—Cybele had her doubts. It didn’t sound at all life-like.
Still, the place was creepy. She hated suffocating spaces. Reaching out to the right and left, she spread her palms on slick stone. She was in a dark, narrow tunnel. She tried her best to ignore the panic that thought brought.
She levered herself to her feet. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized she wasn’t entirely trapped. A narrow slice of space stretched out before her. What illumination there was seemed to come from above. She tilted her head back. A layer of gauzy light filtered down from overhead. Exactly how far above, it was difficult to judge. And where the hell was Jack, who had gotten her into this mess?
“Jack? Are you here?” She paused for an answer. It came only as an echo of her own voice. She tried again. “Jack! Answer me.”
The effort of shouting made her head spin. The cave seemed to waver. Imagination? Or magic? She craned her neck, focusing on the light.
It vanished, plunging her into total darkness.
An explosion of panic nearly choked her. A sudden downdraft drove her back against the cave wall, palms slapping on the slick stone. Just in time. Something fell from above, landing with a thud in the spot where she’d just been standing. A dark opal light illuminated the darkness.
“Fuck,” a voice said.
She went limp with relief. “Arthur.” She threw herself at him.
“Cybele.” A ball of hellfire ignited above her head. His arms closed around her. He was in demon form. His wings swept forward, sheltering her. “What happened?” he whispered frantically, running a hand over her hair. “I saw blood on the ground...I can smell it now...”
She looked up. Arthur’s expression, delineated by sharp-edged shadows, was frantic. “I’m fine. A nail or something found my arm.”
“Let me see.”
“No.” She eased from his arms. “I don’t need you going into kill mode again.”
“Oh, I’m already in kill mode,” he said darkly. “But it’s not you I want to kill.” He glanced at the light far above. “Goddamned coward didn’t follow me in.”
“Who?”
He told her about his encounter with Gabriel. “So there’s the reason none of my ancestors could find this place,” he finished. “A celestial seal. Goddamn interfering archangels.”
“But...if that’s true, how did we get in?”
“I’m not sure. Someone pulled me through,” he said.
“It had to be Jack. He dragged me in here, but I don’t know where he’s—”
“Here,” a voice said. “But we need...we need to go...”
“Jack!” Cybele spun around. The boy was huddling in a shadowed nook.
“Get over here,” Arthur growled. “And tell us what the hell is—”
“No. Don’t say that.” Though his voice was rusty with disuse, Jack’s speech emerged distinctly. “That’s a bad word. Very bad.”
Cybele paused, frowning. “And you don’t like bad words? All right. Just tell us. Why did you bring us in here? And how?”
“No. No time to tell. You must come. Now.” Jack reached out and grabbed Cybele’s arm.
Arthur let out a growl. “Get your bloody hands off her.” He jerked the boy up by the collar and gave him a sharp shake. “Or I’ll snap your neck.”
Jack’s eyes bugged. A few unintelligible words choked out of his mouth. “Gaaa— Gaaa—”
Cybele easily twisted her wrist free of Jack’s grip, and then turned her scowl on Arthur. “Stop it. You’re scaring him.”
“Good,” he said. “Maybe if he’s scared, he’ll give us some answers.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not going to tell us anything if he’s too terrified to talk.”
Arthur gave the boy a final shake and let him go. Jack stumbled and fell, his arms coming up to cover his head.
“You’re not helping matters at all,” Cybele told Arthur, exasperated.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He rolled his eyes. “All right. Fine. But he better start talking.”
Jack rose to his feet. Keeping a fearful eye on Arthur, he sidled past him. “No time for stories. We have to go. We have to go now.” He gestured toward the open end of the cave. “Go this way. We must. We must save him.”
“Save who?” Cybele asked.
Jack’s words tumbled out. “Save my friend. This way. Hurry. Please.” His eyes filled with tears. “He’s in trouble. I must bring you. He said so.”
“He?” Cybele asked. “Who’s he? Your friend?”
“No. My friend’s...master. If I don’t obey...he’ll hurt...my friend.” The syllables emerged like hiccups. “Come. Hurry. Please.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Arthur said. “Until you tell us what the goddamned hell this—”
“Nooooo!” Jack clapped his hands over his ears. He dropped into a crouch then fell over and curled into a fetal position. “No!” he wailed. “No more bad talk. No more.” He rocked back and forth on the wet ground.
Cybele sent Arthur a repressive look and dropped down on her haunches beside the hysterical boy. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Jack? Don’t worry. It’s okay. I won’t let him say those things anymore. I know those words hurt you.”
Jack sat up. “You do?”
“Yes,” she told him. “I do.”
His face had taken on a faint glow. Tears dripped off the end of his nose. He sniffed once, and then began to sing in a clear, sweet voice. “Lo! He comes with clouds descending...Once for favored sinners slain...”
Cybele rose and took a step back. She didn’t know much—or anything, really—about religious music, but... “Um...do you think that’s a church hymn?” she asked Arthur.
He pulled her to his side. “I guess so.” His voice was strained. “Why’s he singing it?”
“Thousand, thousand saints attending...”
“I don’t think he’s singing it,” she said. “Or at least, I don’t think Jack’s singing it.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Swell the triumph of His train...”
“I think Jack—the real Jack—is possessed,” Cybele said.
Arthur snorted. “By a hymn-singing demon?”
“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
“No,” Cybele said. “Not by a demon. Arthur, Jack’
s possessed by an angel.”
***
“The Nephil known as Vaclav Dusek is not currently in residence at the Institute,” Michael told Raphael. “His assistant, a human male, gave me a tour of the facility. I found this.”
Raphael sat on his cloud throne, twirling Fortunato’s lost feather between his thumb and forefinger. “I see.”
“I also did some snooping on my own. There are dark forces at work in that place.”
“What forces?”
Michael cleared his throat. “I don’t know, exactly. When I looked, it was like...like there was a wall. A thick brick wall. I couldn’t see past it.”
The feather stopped twirling. “Dark magic indeed.” Raphael met Michael’s gaze, his golden eyes greatly troubled. “Is Fortunato caught up in all this?”
“I think it’s likely. I can’t be completely sure, but I don’t think our lost cherub is in Prague. I suspect Dusek has him.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Raphael’s brows lowered. “How can you not know? It should be easy enough to track the Nephil’s movements. He’s half human, after all.” The feather started moving again, spinning clockwise, then reversing course to spin counter. “Besides which, an angel cannot be trapped against its will by any lesser being. Not by a demon, not by a human, and certainly not by a Nephil.”
“Yes. Well,” Michael said. “That’s official celestial law, of course. But remember, there are loopholes...”
Raphael sighed. “Yes, of course. Loopholes.”
“I’ll continue my search,” Michael said. “But finding out exactly what’s going on may take some time. This Nephil is far more powerful than he should be. In fact...” He pulled his phone from his back pocket. “I’ve been Googling him.”
“Goggling?”
“Not goggling. Googling. I’ve been Googling him.”
“What in blessed Heaven’s name is that?” Raphael asked.
“It’s a way to look up information,” Michael said. “On the human Internet.”
“This Internet thing again. Really, little brother. There are better ways to operate. Magical ways. Heavenly ways.”
Michael scowled. “Do you want to know what I’ve found out or not?”