Forged in Fire

by Juliette Cross

  I moped back to the sofa and curled into a ball, wrapping myself in the blanket. Still no Jude. The icy sting in my neck had started to subside, the throbbing pulse slowed, and the shivering had stopped altogether. I stared into the crackling flames, a warm gold around the hearth shadowing the room. One blue flame licked up from the bottom, drawing my eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep, but there I was, certainly in a dream world. No light of any kind, but I could see. Silky folds of a white gossamer gown shimmered over my body, hugging at the bodice, the hem brushing my ankles. My dark hair hung in long, soft waves down my back. Cool gray mist curled around me, parting as I passed. My bare feet skimmed over black sand, the path winding toward a shadowed castle.

  I stepped up to wrought-iron gates, their spires pointing like knives into the sky. Wait, there was no sky, only a murky abyss above. Something made a movement on a low niche in the black cliff to my left. A spindly creature of gray bone and dangling flesh scuttled farther into a crevice, white eyes watching me. A red spider crawled out of a hole in the side of its throat, then disappeared in a cavity somewhere around its rib cage. I had no reaction whatsoever, as if this gruesome sight were normal.

  “Touch the gate,” the thing whispered in a dry, raspy voice.

  I did. The gates swung wide. My feet touched lightly over smooth, black stones. The fortress loomed large with pointed lines holding the stone in place. Flying buttresses jutted out at wide angles, like massive dragon wings. Gargoyles of varying sizes and shapes squatted on columns and niches along the wall—grotesque, pot-bellied, beady-eyed, sharp-clawed, gaping-mouthed, and watching. They were stone, and yet I felt their hollow eyes following my progress toward the black doors. Why was I not afraid?

  Edging closer to the entrance, I crossed under a pointed tympanum. The double doors stood three times my size, made of wood with iron nailheads and no knob or knocker of any kind. There was a gash in the dark wood as if some great beast had tried to claw its way in, but to no avail.

  “Touch the door,” came the hissing command of that thing back near the gate.

  I did. The door swung wide. Unlike the exterior, the inside welcomed me with warmth and beauty. The room had a medieval air with modern luxuries. Crystal chandeliers, gold candelabras, well lit with white candles, and a massive fireplace with crackling flames illuminated the vast hall. Plush carpets of every shade were tastefully fitted between plush sofas, chaise lounges and overstuffed chairs in burgundy and black brocade. Black velvet throw pillows adorned every piece of furniture, inviting guests to sprawl and enjoy.

  Piano music echoed through the great hall, but there was no one there. I stepped lightly into the room, my white gown caressing my skin with each step. The music lured me to a corner, where a white grand piano echoed the music of a melancholy tune—Mozart’s Requiem. When I stepped up to see the musician, I was not surprised, nor was I frightened. Danté had his eyes closed, playing the notes as if he knew them by heart, as if they echoed from his very soul.

  He slowly opened his eyes, still playing the keys, and smiled at me. I smiled back. Why would I do that?

  “Come here, my love, and sit next to me.”

  I felt like a Stepford wife robotically following the commands of my oppressor. But in this instance, I obeyed his will with pleasure.

  “You are so lovely and fair,” he said, still playing while gazing on my face. His voice lilted with charm. I wanted to hear more sweet words from those lips. “You will be the perfect mistress of my domain, and I will be the perfect master.”

  A glint of red twinkled in crystalline eyes, then was gone. I sat there, gazing on him with admiration. He was so beautiful. The golden light of the room cast him in an aura of perfection, blond hair waving perfectly to the nape of his neck, clear-blue eyes gazing on me intently, well-formed lips smiling just right.

  “I have been alone for far too long, Genevieve.”

  He stopped playing. The fire crackled. There was no other sound.

  “I apologize if I frightened you today. It was not my intention.”

  He cupped my cheek, sweeping his thumb across my lip. There was no cut or pain. I leaned toward his hand, closing my eyes at his touch. A compulsion I could not resist. Why?

  “That’s right, love. Deep down, you know where you belong.”

  When his lips pressed hard against mine, I felt the icy chill of death at once but could not make myself resist him. On the contrary, I wanted him as he wanted me, all along feeling the grip of ice crawling up my spine, bleeding into my bones.

  “You are mine now,” he whispered against my lips.

  “Yes,” I murmured, threading my fingers into his golden hair, leaning into his cold embrace.

  The great black doors exploded open, knocking them off the hinges. A gusting wind carried chanting words, a familiar voice, snuffing out every candle and the roaring fire in one swoosh. The prince’s eyes flared blood-red. My body slid away from his with my arms still outstretched toward him. He stood, furious. A golden prince veiled in shadow. I felt myself being carried by the wind back out of the luxurious room, past the smashed doors, through the open gates and past the thing cowering on a precipice of the rocky outcropping.

  My eyes shot open. I gasped as if I’d been underwater. The figure of a man, Jude, was beside me, over me, chanting with large hands wrapped around my skull. The cold fear that had been absent in my dream gripped my body so tight I started to cough and spasm. I jumped backward on the sofa, punching out at him, totally freaking out. A cold sweat covered my body and dampened my scalp. Jude held his hands out in a calming gesture.

  “Shhhh. It’s me, Genevieve.”

  “How do I know it’s you! It was supposed to be you last time!”

  “It’s me.”

  He leaned closer into the lamplight. Black eyes swirled with flecks of gold; the whites of his eyes had returned to normal. The familiar hard, impenetrable mask shielded his thoughts. Yes, it was him.

  “Well, damn it! I couldn’t tell. We need a code word or something.”

  “A code word.”

  “Yes! Like Rapunzel or Rumplestiltskin or something.”

  “A fan of fairy tales?”

  My breathing was almost back to normal. “Yeah, actually, I am.”

  “Then Rumplestiltskin it is.”

  I nodded, noticing an unusual smell on him—earth and electricity. He appeared calm and in control again.

  “Where’d you go anyway?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Okay, then how in the hell did you get there! And don’t tell me I was seeing things. You just vanished.”

  He seated himself on the sofa facing me and sighed in a sort of resigned way.

  “It’s called sifting, moving between space, not vanishing.”

  “You mean like time travel?”

  “No. More like travel between space and dimension.”

  “Space, like stars-and-the-cosmos space?”

  “Space as in the unlimited or incalculably great three-dimensional realm or expanse in which all material objects are located and all events occur.”

  “You lost me there, Einstein.”

  “The plane in which all things exist in this dimension and other dimensions.”

  I had no idea what all that meant. I simplified in my own terms.

  “So, you can move like superfast here on earth where people can’t see you, and you can move in other dimensions, as in dimensions that are not earth.”

  “Close enough.”

  “Okay.”

  “I didn’t tell you this sooner for fear it would frighten you.”

  “Well, you got that right. It scared the bejeezus out of me!”

  “There was no other alternative. I needed you in a protected space. Quickly.”

  I was still curled into a ball, backed into the corner.

  “Your house is protected? Like spells and stuff.”

  He cocked an eyebrow
. “Spells? I thought we had our discussion about witches.”

  “Yes, yes. They don’t exist. I got that. So what, holy water or something?”

  “A cast of protection. Some Flamma have this power. You will too. One day.”

  I gave a curt nod. “I just wish it could protect me from nightmares. I don’t want to have another one like I just had.”

  His face shifted from slightly relaxed, as much as Jude actually relaxes, to stone once again.

  “It wasn’t a nightmare.”

  “What do you mean? It certainly wasn’t a daydream. I was out cold. I went to this other terrible place.”

  “He marked you. You were soul-sifted to his lair. It wasn’t a dream of any kind. Dreams are subconscious fragments within your mind. None of what you experienced took place in your mind.”

  “Wait a second…soul-sifted?”

  I thought my head was going to pop off. You know that phrase TMI, referring to some embarrassing thing you didn’t want to know about someone? Well, that’s a load of crap. This is the true definition of Too Much Information. I couldn’t fathom everything he was telling me.

  “Having tasted your blood, the prince,” he ground out, as if saying his name were too painful, “now has the ability to summon your soul, among other things. I should not have left you, but I was unable to… I needed to leave before things became volatile.”

  Before they became volatile? They were pretty damn volatile before he left.

  “Are you saying my soul left my body?”

  He nodded. “When I returned, I knew what had happened instantly. I did not think he would summon you so soon. I called you back at once.”

  I thrust both hands through my hair along the sides of my temples, trying to grasp this. My soul had left my body?

  “What would’ve happened if you hadn’t brought me back? Would my soul be stuck there forever in that freaking Dracula castle?”

  I think his jaw popped. Or he was literally grinding his teeth to the bone. “No. He needs you, body and soul. Soul-sifting you is a way for him to, how should I put this, woo you.”

  I actually snorted a laugh, but there was no joy in it. “This is dating in the demon world?”

  “It’s no laughing matter.”

  “Trust me, Jude, I in no possible way find any of this funny.”

  Perhaps it was the sudden crack in my voice or desperation in my eyes, but his tense vibe ebbed a tad.

  “I thought demons couldn’t do their dirty work on holy days. That’s what you told me.”

  “No, I told you they couldn’t take possession of another being on holy days, which he did not.”

  I stared at the fire in the hearth, trying to come to grips with a new fear I’d never imagined, that my soul could actually be pulled from my body without my permission. I tried to imagine what it would be like if a demon took possession of my body. Would my soul be stuck inside with the demon too? Or would it go to some other place?

  “When I was there,” I started hesitantly, “I couldn’t, I mean, I didn’t have full control of myself. It was like I wasn’t myself.”

  Jude sighed. “He’s marked you. With your blood, he can manipulate you to a certain degree, have a certain amount of control through soul-sifting.”

  I nodded but made no other response, remembering the haunting way I fell so easily into Danté’s arms.

  “Genevieve, I understand this all must be difficult for you, but there are certain things I must know. Now.”

  His voice had dipped lower than usual, taking a more serious tone, if that was even possible. His eyes darkened ever so slightly. His posture stiffened.

  “Which are?”

  “Have you ever murdered someone with willful intent?”

  “What! No! Not with any kind of intent. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Have you ever physically or emotionally harmed someone with malicious intent, with hatred on your heart?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not. What is this Jude? Why—”

  With each answer, he seemed to relax a fraction. “Just one more. Are you still an innocent, a maid?”

  What the hell? Is he asking me what I think he’s asking me? A maid? Who says that in the 21st century? I didn’t respond. This was so personal and none of his damn business.

  “Are you still a virgin?”

  “I sincerely don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  My lips clamped shut. I knew I was blushing, feeling heat flush my cheeks and neck. I was still tightly curled in a ball, feeling smaller and smaller by the second. He leaned toward me, eyes carefully measuring.

  “Answer the question.”

  When he spoke to me that way, I could do nothing else but obey. I wondered if he used some sort of Stepford mumbo-jumbo like the Lord of Goth back in my dream. Wait, not a dream. I was feeling overwhelmed and exhausted again. I’d been feeling this way a lot lately.

  “Genevieve.”

  A gentle coaxing. Tenderness from Jude made my heart beat a little faster. Finally, I nodded. His squared shoulders visibly relaxed. I became quite busy fiddling with a loose thread on the fleece blanket.

  “Why do you need to know any of this? It’s so…so personal.”

  Of course I was only referring to the last question, but I’d never admit it.

  “I needed to know what we were up against. A Vessel with untainted hands, heart and body has a better chance of keeping the demons at bay, so to speak.”

  “Not funny, Jude.”

  I was suddenly glad I hadn’t let Jeffrey Davis make a homerun on Prom Night like he so very much wanted to. I’d always guarded that part of myself. Perhaps it was because my mother had always taught me to be a good girl. Even after her death, I had wanted to please her. I gasped, realizing what Jude just said and what this meant, and for some insane reason, I was unable to filter the thought running through my head and out of my stupid mouth.

  “Does this mean I have to stay a virgin forever?”

  Why, oh why did I ask that question? The smile spreading across Jude’s face made those blind birds flap and flutter around again in my stomach. I swear, one of them rammed its birdy head into the wall and knocked itself out.

  “No,” said the man whose voice made things melt inside me, “not forever.”

  He stood and outstretched his hand.

  “Now, come, let us get you into bed.”

  I know I must’ve drained sheet white. He laughed a full, hearty laugh. I could so get used to that sound.

  “You are sleeping in my bed. Alone. I’ll escort you to class in the morning.”

  I nodded, too tired to argue. As soon as I placed my hand in his, a shock of Jude armor enveloped me.

  “Why are you casting illusion?”

  He glanced back with a frown as we came to the side of the bed.

  “Instinct, I think,” he said, as if he hadn’t realized he’d done it. Weird.

  I climbed under the gray down comforter, lying on my side. So cozy, but a frightening thought frosted my heart in ice.

  “What if he summons me again?” I asked almost in a whisper as I snuggled my head into the pillow. The bed didn’t smell like him at all. Just clean, unused.

  Jude gave me a closed-mouth smile.

  “He won’t be able to. I’m going to chant you into a dreamless sleep. You’ll be safe.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes. He switched off the pewter lamp on the side table. I felt one of his hands brush aside my hair, then remain still, covering my temple and forehead. He planted his other hand on my shoulder.

  “Will I be able to sift?” I whispered.

  “Sifting is a power of the angels. Only they can give this power to other Flamma.”

  Eyes still closed, I asked, “But demons can sift too. He…Danté sifted.”

  Jude remained quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing softly at my temple. “High demons can sift.”

  My mind was already slipping into deep relaxation, but I managed one last question. “
How?”

  “They were once angels. They are the Fallen. Now, relax and go to sleep, Genevieve.”

  Jude whispered words in Latin, lulling me into serenity. I caught some of them—haven, encircled within, wings of, hearth and home. The chant was songlike. It reminded me of the Gregorian chant my high school English teacher used to play while we took tests. The words didn’t make sense to enhance a dreamless sleep, but none of this really made sense. All I knew was that whatever he was doing chased away the edge of fear, sadness and confusion. Perhaps I imagined it, but as I slipped further into a quiet oasis of warmth, I felt someone combing my hair with featherlight fingers.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mary had been right. Professor Bennett’s exam on Milton was a torture device masquerading as an assessment of Paradise Lost. After ten short discussions and two multiparagraph essays requiring textual evidence, I thought my brain was going to melt. Bennett was such a sadist. He loved making us sweat, and he was doing a damn fine job of it today.

  The exam had already begun when I’d crept in a minute late. Malcolm had given me a sharp, annoyed glance before burrowing back into his test. That was when I remembered I’d promised to call him after the incident in the French Quarter and had failed to keep that promise. Geez, Genevieve. Can you get any more inconsiderate?

  Mary gave me a two-fingered salute as she dropped her test on the pile on Bennett’s desk. Of course, Bennett wasn’t even present. His annoying grad assistant relaxed lazily in the professor’s chair, kicked back with his Converse shoes propped on the desk, flipping through some Marvel comic way too loudly. I stopped contemplating the agony of the test. Instead, I started devising the best way to torment a certain insensitive grad assistant—the rack seemed the best option at the moment, perhaps disembowelment—when Malcolm finally made his way to the front, plopping his exam down and making a hasty exit.

  I scribbled my last paragraph, not really caring if I was right or wrong. Somehow, Bennett’s philosophy on angels and demons didn’t matter so much anymore. I knew a hell of a lot more than he did, regardless of what grade he gave me.