by ML Guida
Blade caressed her face. “You’re not as pale.”
“Thanks to you.” She wanted to reassure him, but the torment coiled in her body like a snake, waiting to strike.
Mark sat on his knees and gasped. “You did it. Thank you.”
“Any time,” Blade growled.
“The anger was turning me into a snarling beast in Purgatory.” He wiped his sweating forehead onto his sleeve. Happiness and relief shone in his eyes. “I couldn’t pray and ask for forgiveness. I just chewed on my bitterness and hate.”
“You’ve had many people praying for you, Mark,” Raphael said. “But the prayers were not enough to help you cross into Heaven. Now, you can.”
Mark closed his eyes. “Thank God.”
Abigail didn’t care. “You should thank Blade.”
Her voice filled with malice.
Blade shook his head. “Abigail, I’m the one who caused his pain due to my selfish need for revenge.”
“No, she’s right, Blade,” Mark said. “I do need to thank you. If you hadn’t done this, I would have stayed in that dreary place.” He looked at Abigail and smiled. “By the way, my name’s Vanderbilt, Mark Vanderbilt.”
Abigail forced herself to smile. “Abigail Malcolm.”
Scythe reached his hand down in front of Mark. “Time to go.”
Mark nodded and clasped Scythe’s hand. Scythe pulled him up. Mark bit his lip. Fear filled his eyes. He hesitated, “Has Professor—”
“He forgave you a long time ago,” Scythe answered. “He prayed for you to forgive yourself.”
Serenity filled Mark’s face, his hard lines disappearing. “I’m ready.”
Scythe and Mark vanished. Abigail looked at Raphael. “How many more?”
“Three,” Raphael answered.
“Three?” She wanted to weep with fear and hugged Blade closer. His eyes were tired and he labored to breathe. Her healing wasn’t doing anything to relieve his agony or hers. “Blade, I’m not sure you can do this.”
Saber reappeared again, and he brought another young man with dark, rumpled, brown hair. He had gold hoop earrings piercing his lower lip and his left eyebrow. He scowled at them. “Shit, it’s you.”
Abigail was shocked at the fear in his voice. He hid behind Saber, who moved away. “Sam,” Saber said. “He won’t hurt you. He’s not a demon.”
“Yes, he is,” Sam said, his lower lip trembling. His hand shook as he wiped his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “He made me do things, terrible things. Things I didn’t want to do.”
“Help me up, Abigail,” Blade said.
“Blade, you’re too weak,” Abigail said. Not to mention she was becoming as limp as a daisy.
“The boy’s in pain, Red. I can’t leave him living in fear for eternity.”
He was not much older than Brayden. He shook and trembled. Not even standing next to Saber seemed to calm his fear.
“Please, Red,” Blade urged.
Abigail nodded, but the poison struck. This time it wasn’t just in her gut. Her chest hurt as if an arrow pierced her heart. She gripped Blade’s arm tight until she was sure she could manage the pain.
“Red, are you all right?”
Abigail forced herself to nod and smiled. “Just a small cramp.”
She wasn’t fooling him. Goosebumps traveled over her clammy skin, and she glanced at the boy. His fear pricked at her women’s intuition. Something bad was going to happen.
Against her better judgment, she helped Blade to his feet. He swayed, and she grabbed his arm. Blade pushed her hands down. “I must approach him alone.” Taking small steps, Blade approached the man.
Sam’s eyes widened as he backed into a wall.
“Sam, listen to me. I promise you I won’t hurt you.”
The poor boy darted his eyes back and forth around the room as if looking for escape. He pressed his body against the wall.
Blade raised his hands. “Sam, you have nothing to fear. I don’t have any weapons. Give me your fear and you will be healed.”
Abigail labored to breathe. She wished Sam would hang on to his fear. This wasn’t going to be good.
“Sam,” Saber said. “It’s time. Michael talked to you about this. You must release your fear to move on. He will protect you. Say the prayer. Give up your fear.”
Blade reached for Sam, his hand shaking. Abigail forced herself not to grab his hand to tear him away. He was so weak he’d be unable to fight her. Raphael held up his palm and shook his head as if he read her desperate thoughts.
Face ashen, Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Saint Michael the Archangel—”
He recited the prayer, the words barely a whisper, and stretched out his shaking hand. He clasped Blade’s hand. His voice became stronger. Blade fell onto his knees and tremors shook him.
The poison inside Abigail shrunk and pooled back into her stomach. Each time Blade absorbed someone’s sin, the poison retracted, but it wasn’t defeated.
Sam opened his eyes, rather than being shifty, they were bright and shiny. The ashen pallor on his cheeks faded and pink stained his cheeks. Instead of his shoulders slumping, he stood straighter. He spoke the words loud and with a vengeance.
He released Blade’s hand and Blade collapsed onto his side. Abigail rushed to his side. His ashen face terrified her, but it was the fear in those eyes, those eyes that had always given her strength that stole her breath. “Blade, oh, Blade.”
She clasped his hand, and he held hers tight. His hand shook, and his lower lip trembled. She kissed his knuckles.
“My fear,” Sam said, his owl eyes huge. “It’s gone.”
The air shifted. Chills ran over Abigail’s flushed skin. “Blade absorbed it,” a strong voice said.
Michael stood next to Saber. For once, he didn’t wear a scowl on his face. “Blade will now know what it’s like to experience true fear. His punishment is to feel what his victims felt when he faces Balthazar. Balthazar is coming.”
“No!” Blade gritted his teeth and struggled to sit up. “He said at midnight.”
Michael snorted. “He lied.”
Chapter Twenty
“I can face Balthazar,” Blade insisted, ignoring his pounding heart and rumbling bowels. An urge to run downstairs to run outside screaming gripped him. Shit, is this what Sam had experienced after he gave him Xanadu? This sucked.
Between Mark’s acid hatred running through his veins and Sam’s fear crippling his courage, he was failing. He had to be strong. Abigail gazed at him with concern in her eyes. He refused to tell Abigail he was weakening, but by her face, he suspected she already guessed. She wasn’t in any better shape.
Her dull eyes were racked with pain, and her skin had lost its peachy glow, turning to a pale gray. Crap, hadn’t he done anything to stop the poison. He had to do better or lose her. “No matter what happens, Red, you must not interfere.”
She frowned. “Why? What’s going to happen that you’re not telling me?”
Distrust echoed in her voice. Pretending not to notice, he pushed to get up, but fell on his ass. “Will you help me up?”
She hit him in the shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on, Blade?”
Despite being a weaken state, her punch sent a shudder of pain down his arm, but he clamped his mouth tight, refusing to cry out or tell her his fate.
“Rosemary and Heather are sisters, Abigail,” Michael said.
Abigail looked between Blade and Michael. “And?”
Michael ignored her. “Sam, it’s time to go. You’ve done well.”
Sam glanced at Blade. His features softened. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish my fear on anyone, not even you. May God go with you.”
Before Blade could answer, Michael and Sam were gone. Dizziness swept over him and the people in the room blurred. Abigail snapped her fingers in Blade’s face, momentarily making him focus again.
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Blade, are you going to answer me?”
Blade lowered his gaze. He
didn’t want her in the room. Not when the sisters came. He didn’t know if he would survive it and didn’t want her interfering. Her soul was at stake.
He’d find a way to control his fear. How? He had no idea. Too many emotions swirled inside him. It was crippling. Balthazar would have a field day.
With his last remaining strength, he pushed himself to stand. His legs shook. He leaned heavily against Abigail and was surprised she didn’t shrink from his weight. Even infected with hell’s poison, she was a strong, determined woman. She never failed to amaze him.
Her brief touch diminished the hate and fear inside him, but it wasn’t enough. The fear was stronger than the hatred. He could deal with hate, but fear. He never experienced that emotion in his life. Not good. Not good at all.
Saber and Scythe flashed back into the room. They were not alone. Rosemary and Heather were with them. Both women had the same facial structure, same high cheeks bones, and same dark brown eyes. Rosemary had long, black hair that reached her waist while Heather had shoulder-length, brown hair.
Barefoot, Rosemary had on a white peasant blouse and a long, blue skirt. A three-bead turquoise necklace hung around her neck, a nineteen sixties flower child.
Heather was the opposite of her sister, more of a motorcycle chick. She wore a tight, red halter and a black, leather jacket. Long, black boots hugged her calves and skinny blue jeans were tucked inside the boots. She stepped closer to Scythe and clasped his hand. The same fear flashed in her eyes that had been in Sam’s. Could he blame her? The last time he saw her, he had forced her to take Xanadu. Strung out on the drug, she had attacked Scythe and tried to kill him.
“Well, well, Blade,” Rosemary said, scorn heavy in her voice. She flicked her gaze of hatred over him. “It’s so nice to see you again. You don’t look well. Take some of your drug, did we?”
Abigail bristled next to him. “No, he didn’t. He’s been saving people.”
Blade eyes widened. He couldn’t believe the pride in her voice. Was she truly impressed with him? He couldn’t help but smile.
Rosemary laughed. “Saving people? That’s a laugh.”
Heather shook her head. “Rosemary.”
“What?” Rosemary narrowed her eyes. “The bastard killed me.” She flicked her hands. “People still think I was strung out on drugs when I killed Carolyn Carmichael. A dear sweet lady who hurt no one.” She glared at Blade. “I hope you rot in Hell.”
Her hatred hit Blade full force and he staggered. He had gone to 7-11 where Rosemary had worked and tempted her with Xanadu, promising her something he’d never had any attention of granting.
Heather released Scythe’s hand, walked over to Rosemary, and hugged her. Rosemary laid her head on Heather’s shoulder and sobbed. “I couldn’t stop myself. I knew what I was doing was wrong. But hatred ruled me. Carolyn begged for her life, running around the car.” She sobbed. “But I kept stabbing her and stabbing her.”
“I know, honey.” Heather rubbed her sister’s back. “Carolyn has forgiven you.”
“But that doesn’t erase what I did. I was worse than Susan Atkins when she killed Sharon Tate.” She lifted her head off Heather’s shoulder. Eyes wide, Rosemary trembled, and her voice raised an octave. “My God, I wanted to stop. I wanted to stop so badly.”
Rosemary released Heather. She stared at Blade, her eyes glistening. “So, did you get off on it, you bastard?” She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “Did I give you a good show?”
Blade held her sorrowful gaze. He refused to deny her accusations. He thought about saying sorry, but sorry wouldn’t cover what he did to her. Rosemary walked over to him, and he refused to budge. His blood chilled, and he sucked in his breath. She stopped inches away from him, more than a head shorter than him, and flicked her gaze over him. “I actually scare you, don’t I?”
He swallowed hard and clamped his jaw tight.
“Answer me,” she demanded.
Heart pounding, he nodded, unable to speak.
She slapped him across the face. “I said answer me.”
His cheek throbbed, but he was too scared to speak. This was ridiculous.
“Rosemary,” Heather said. “Stop.”
Rosemary twirled around. “Why?”
Heather studied Blade. “Because I can read his aura.”
Blade tensed and clenched his fists. This was it. Whatever she said would determine Raphael’s decision. He had changed, but what if it wasn’t enough?
Rosemary slid her fingers back and forth on her beaded necklace. “So, what color is it?”
Heather walked over to him, and he licked his lips. Both sisters stood in front of him. He wanted to run, thanks to Sam’s fear rushing through him. His tough exterior was gone.
“It’s green,” Heather said.
Abigail clasped his hand. “So, what does green mean?”
Reassurance spread through him, but he couldn’t stop shaking.
“It represents growth and balance. Usually means change.” Heather studied Abigail. Dismay filled her eyes. “But yours is a muddy gray.”
Blade tightened his grip. “No, you’re wrong. She’s getting better.”
But he looked into Abigail’s dull eyes and knew it was a lie. Her face was blanched and she was hot to the touch. After all he’d endured for her, it still wasn’t enough.
“What’s wrong with her?” Rosemary asked. “Did you do something to ruin her life too?”
“No,” Abigail said. “I’m infected with hell’s poison. Muddy gray means what?”
“It means fear is accumulating in your body. It’s centered in your heart which could lead to a heart attack.”
Blade pulled Abigail toward Raphael. He got on his knees. “Raphael, please, I beg you, heal her.”
Raphael turned his head. “You know I can’t. Quit asking for something I can no longer give.”
“Just because Blade’s aura is green doesn’t mean anything, Heather. He could be reverting to evil,” Rosemary said.
Heather nodded. “I know.”
“You can find out, Heather,” Rosemary urged.
Abigail wiped the sweat from her brow and swayed. “How can she find out?”
Her voice was barely above the exhale of her ragged breath.
Blade clamored to his feet and held her tight. “I’ve got you.” He wanted Abigail to be whole again, to see her rosy skin, to see her eyes bright. But she was becoming weaker and weaker. Did this mean Balthazar was getting closer?
He wanted to ease Abigail’s fear and squeezed her hand. “She needs to paint me.”
Abigail glanced between them. “What?” Her voice was strained and tired.
“Part of Heather’s psychic gift is that not only can she read auras, but she can paint people’s future.”
When Abigail’s brows furrowed in confusion, he added, She can capture my change and determine whether it’s good or bad.”
“How do you know that she won’t paint you the way she wants you?”
“Because I can’t,” Heather said. “My ability doesn’t work that way. When I paint, I’m not in control of my hands. Something takes over me. I paint what people will be, what they can be. But I think with Blade, this time, I’ll paint what he is now.”
Abigail rubbed the bridge across her nose. “So, you’ve already condemned him?”
“My power will reveal his true essence.”
Blade shook his head. “Enough. I’m not the prize at a turkey contest. Just paint me, Heather. Let’s get this over with.”
“But Blade—” Abigail said, her voice filled with worry and weariness. She still doubted him, doubted that he could save her.
“Abigail.” He gripped her shoulders. “You heard what Michael said. Balthazar is coming. He’s not waiting until midnight. I think it’s because the poison is consuming you.”
She nodded. He gritted his teeth. She could feel it too.
He kissed her warm brow. “This is the only way to see if I’ve repented.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What if she can’t finish in time?”
“I will,” Heather said.
“Then do it,” Blade said.
“If you’ve not changed—” Rosemary took a step closer, her body inches from his, the hatred drenching him.
“Then my mate goes to Hell.”
Rosemary blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Balthazar scratched her arm, inflicting her with Hell’s poison. She’s branded.”
Rosemary pointed at Raphael. “You’re lying. He can heal her.”
“Actually, I can’t Rosemary,” Raphael said. “Blade said the binding words. Only he can heal her, but not as a man, as an angel.”
Rosemary stepped away from Blade. Her features softened. “I’m sorry. I truly am.” Looking at Blade, she sighed. “For her sake, I hope you’ve changed. Otherwise your selfishness just condemned the woman you supposedly love to hell.”
“Supposedly?” Abigail glared. “How can you say that?”
“I was a demon, Red. She has every right to say that.”
“But you’re not a demon,” Abigail insisted.
His heart swelled at her defending him. Maybe there was hope for them yet.
Heather put her hands up. “We need to stop this debate. My painting will determine whether he is a demon or not. There will be no doubt.”
“Let’s get on with it,” Blade said.
“Time’s up.”
Blade cringed. The last voice he wanted to hear.
Balthazar cast his gaze over Abigail. Desire simmered in his eyes. “Time to go, Red.”
Blade glared. “Don’t call her that.”
“Ah, yes, your endearment,” Balthazar said.
Blade wanted to slam his fist down his throat to rip out his taunting voice.
Abigail edged closer to Blade. “I…I…I…have until midnight.”
Her voice was weak, and pain mirrored in those eyes. Her skin was sickly gray. She trembled, and he didn’t know if it was from fear or a fever.
Blade stepped in front of Abigail. “Raphael.”
Raphael hung his head. “I’m sorry, Blade. I can do nothing. You know this.”