Forged in Fire

by Juliette Cross

  “Dommiel! Aperio!”

  The power in Jude’s voice shook the air. A black shroud of menace enveloped him in a dark mantle, brushing against my skin, chilling me to the bone. I gasped. Malevolent whispers echoed in the mist, reaching out to me. Kill…cut…maim…slice…devour…pain.

  “Aperio, Daemonum.”

  Jude’s grave command to “reveal” made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The injured creature choked out another caw, obeying him at once. Talons elongated and thickened. Feathers ruffled and vanished. Wings stretched, and the fat, round body grew into a man’s torso. Beak shortened, black eyes widened and bled into red. Within seconds, there lay the nude form of Dommiel, clutching at the stump of his arm, severed above the elbow and bleeding black. His dismembered limb lay closer to me, the silver skull ring decorating the lifeless hand.

  It twitched. I jumped away.

  Before Dommiel could even roll to his back, Jude was there, planting a boot into the man’s injured shoulder as he shoved his blade through the demon’s chest, piercing flesh to the pavement beneath with a definite clink of steel in stone. Staked to the ground, Dommiel writhed in agony, bleeding out from several wounds. But a high demon couldn’t die. Was Jude simply torturing him? His misty cape draped over him completely. There was no sign of his other aura of fire and flame. What was going on? My heart raced into panic mode.

  “I warned you, Dommiel,” said Jude, death in his voice.

  The creature gaped, sucking in air, still clutching his mangled arm.

  “I didn’t come to hurt her! I promise,” he pleaded, sounding much less sinister than my last meeting with the lord of The Dungeon.

  “I don’t care about your motives. My word is absolute.”

  I hardly recognized Jude’s voice, leaking such menace that I stepped back and gripped the cold railing for support. He whipped out a razor-sharp stiletto, glinting in the streetlamp, and leaned closer to the helpless demon awaiting more punishment, wiggling like a worm to try to get away. Jude’s back was to me, but I knew darkness veiled even the whites of his eyes.

  “No! Please, Master! Don’t! I have information,” he stammered, his feet scrabbling against the pavement helplessly. “I’ll give it to you. Please!”

  George and Kat sifted onto the scene in a blink. George’s amiable expression had vanished behind a fierce mask, blue eyes glittering like exploding stars.

  “Damn it, Jude!” shouted Kat. “I told you to take care of it!”

  Seemingly unaware of either of them, Jude had gripped Dommiel by the throat, leaning forward to do something terrible, though I didn’t know what.

  “He’s fallen into the Black. You take care of the demon,” ordered George, “and meet us back at Jude’s place. Come, Genevieve,” he said, holding out his hand to me.

  Instantly, I obeyed. There was something in George’s voice that made me move, a promise of protection in those startling eyes. By the time I reached him, he had yanked Jude to his feet, and then we were sifting. Sifting fast. My stomach roiled as shapes streaked by in one long blur of gray. My high heels were yanked from my feet, flying into nothingness.

  We came into a quiet grove of oaks. Dizzy and nauseated from the sift, I fell back against the sturdy trunk of a tree. I leaned behind it and lost the contents of my stomach. I shifted from one bare foot to the other on the cool ground.

  George guided Jude to the center of the grove and thrust him to his knees. Jude didn’t protest. I could see his profile clearly. He stared down, hands at his sides, completely docile. Yet the misty shroud circled him still, whispering. George began to chant, not to Jude but out to the world itself, his arms spread wide. I couldn’t make out the words.

  A gibbous moon peeked from behind the cover of clouds, filtering through the oaks strung with swaying moss, casting moving shadows around us. It felt as if the night itself were alive. Cicadas buzzed incessantly. An owl hooted nearby. Gray clouds swallowed up the humped moon once again.

  Arms still raised, George’s body began to shimmer with brilliant light, then all was still and quiet. Not a sound. Not a shadow flickered. Even George’s whispered chant had died away. Gooseflesh prickled along my skin, for I’d felt this sensation before, this feeling that the world had frozen and I was being sucked into a soundless vacuum.

  My eyes darted to every shadow, waiting for wraithlike Acheron to emerge from one of them. But he did not. The covetous clouds opened, allowing the moon to reveal herself again. One beam shone through the foliage directly in front of Jude. The moonbeam brightened and brightened. Thinking I was imagining things, I gripped the rough bark of the trunk for support. The beam shimmered, morphing into a transparent shape.

  George backed away, his stony expression showing a brief glimpse of revulsion before fading into passivity. My breath quickened. An eerie pulse of dread emanated from the form appearing by slow degrees.

  Gossamer limbs and silken hair solidified into a creature of fearsome beauty. Floating in a gown of translucent white, the pale silhouette of a voluptuous woman’s body touched the earth before Jude. Pearlescent arms and spidery-long fingers reached out to him. I gasped, but there was no sound. All was drowned, except for the voices hovering around Jude in the inky mist, growing louder.

  Slit…slash…eviscerate…gut…devour…annihilate.

  The air reeked of loathing—doubling, tripling, continuing up the scale until I crumpled to my knees. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block the painful swell of evil pouring from both Jude and the ghostly creature. My VS beat within my breast, pushing against the tide of hatred lapping against my body. The ghastly being, vaporous gown billowing in soft, slow curls, cradled Jude’s face in her hands, demanding that he look up at her. He remained silent, obeying her will. White orbs narrowed into slits. Pallid lips creased into a sinister smile. I wanted to remove her hands from him but was crippled by the heavy malevolence rippling in the air. I couldn’t move. I screamed for Jude but made no sound.

  Jude raised his hands, palms out, like an invitation to the creature. She wove her long, slender fingers through his, gripping him hard, pulling him to his feet and against her translucent body. With a resounding crack, a powerful ripple hit the air. Her head snapped back. Her mouth gaped wide. The voices of vile souls inside her screamed. Images flashed in my mind—bloody death, twisted limbs, mangled bodies. The weight of primal hatred threatened to crush me down into the soil. The white woman inhaled the black aura surrounding Jude, sucking it into her mouth and nose like smoke through a flue. Within seconds, she had finished her grisly meal and vanished with a silent flash of blinding light. The screaming voices died with her sudden disappearance.

  I could hear myself again, gasping for breath, the hangover of emotion overload so familiar to that of my encounter with Acheron. George was at my side, helping me to my feet.

  “Just breathe, Genevieve. The feeling will pass shortly.”

  I could care less about how I felt, peering past him to Jude. As I raced across the clearing, he stood and spun to face me. Sheer shock froze me to the spot.

  “Jude. Your eyes.”

  Amber gold, devoid of swimming pools of black, glinted with unnatural luster. A thin dark ring outlined the shining irises, but that was all. These were the eyes of the man in my vision, yet the hatred was gone.

  “What, what happened? Who was she?”

  “Her name is Stygos, also known as Styx.”

  “A Collector,” I said, knowing she was one of Acheron’s sisters. Styx, the river of hate.

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “But, what was—”

  “It’s the Black. She feeds not only on souls but on the residue that accumulates in demon hunters.”

  “Residue of what?” A chill tingled up my spine.

  “Each demon I cast out leaves something behind. A piece of him clings to me, to my soul. It builds up over time until I must purge the bulk of it. I’m afraid it built up rather quickly this time.”

  Golden eye
s shimmered bright, even in this dark grove. I stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes.” He cupped my face with one hand, caressing my cheek with his thumb. My heart broke a little, realizing the constant battle warring within him. The Black, the residue of evil, always growing and building, smothering his soul bit by bit. Those whispers of malevolence made me shudder. How could he possibly listen to those voices all the time?

  “But why? Why does this happen?”

  He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “It’s part of my penance, Genevieve. I am Sisyphus,” he said with a wistful smile, “and this is my hell.”

  What a terribly morbid joke. And yet, not a joke. I hadn’t felt the tear escape until his thumb brushed it away distractedly.

  “Jude,” I whispered, wanting to say something, anything to comfort him. No words would come. How could he endure such pain all the time? For hundreds of years! The thought was unfathomable. I felt sick.

  “No tears for me,” he said, so close I could feel warm breath against my face, amber eyes bright and mesmerizing. “I don’t mind bearing a small burden of hell, since it’s giving me another chance at heaven.”

  He leaned down, pressing his lips to my cheek where the tear had fallen. I placed my hand on his jaw, tiptoeing to brush a soft kiss on his lips. Not one of desire, but one filled with all the compassion spilling from my heart. Our lips came apart reluctantly, as if neither of us wanted to let go. The look shining in those unnatural eyes beckoned me closer. He touched his forehead to mine. I felt a rope tying me to this man, knotting us together and drawing tight. Being tethered to Jude made me feel stronger, as if I could weather any storm.

  “Come, you two,” said George, startling me. I’d nearly forgotten he was there. “We’re too vulnerable here. I told Kat to meet us at your place.”

  I noticed he’d used her nickname. Jude pulled away slightly, clasping George’s shoulder.

  “Thank you, friend.”

  The charming George reappeared, tension gone from moments before.

  “Of course.” He smiled. “Wouldn’t want my senior man falling down on the job, now would I.”

  George winked, then sifted out. Jude pulled me into his arms. I’m not sure what he saw in my eyes, but something made him stop abruptly. His expression softened. Could he see what I truly felt? Were eyes truly the windows to the soul?

  “God, woman.” He pulled me tight. “You will most certainly be the death of me.”

  His armor of protection shielded both of us as we sifted into his house. George and Kat were seated on the sofa together, talking heatedly. They broke up on our sudden appearance. Kat scooted away.

  “Jude, you are the most stubborn man I have ever known. Didn’t I tell you to deal with the Black last night?”

  Last night? It felt like eons since he’d destroyed Fabio into a crumpled carcass of burnt bones. Apparently, the Black had a way of taking over, guiding a demon hunter beyond the necessary means of destruction. I had wondered what caused Jude to lose control like that. I couldn’t imagine what he’d planned on doing to Dommiel before George pulled us out. I shivered.

  Jude guided me to the overstuffed chair, which was, thankfully, no longer embedded in the window. He picked up a brown fleece draped over the back and wrapped it around my shoulders. I tucked my feet underneath me, burrowing into the blanket.

  “Yes, Katherine,” Jude replied, mimicking George’s way of drawling out her name pleasantly. She glowered at him. “I should’ve listened to you, of course, but no harm done.”

  “Tell Dommiel that,” she snapped.

  Jude sobered.

  “The demon got no more than he deserved. I’d already warned him to stay clear of Genevieve. It’s his own fault.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

  “What other payment might he have received for disobeying you had we not arrived in time? If you removed him, another less cooperative high demon may have taken his place.”

  Unruffled, Jude crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall, next to three fist-size holes in the drywall. He’d tidied up the splintered wood and shattered glass from last night’s tirade, but there were still signs of his raging temper. No one remarked on that or the plywood-covered window or the bare hearth with exposed brick, but I saw George observing with a smile.

  “Let him alone, Katherine.”

  Back to her formal name. What was their story?

  “Oh, you two always side with each other!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

  “What did you do with Dommiel?” Jude asked pointedly.

  Kat straightened with a superior air, flipping her ponytail and crossing her rather shapely legs. George’s eyes wandered down the length of them.

  “I made a deal with him, which you were certainly in no mind to do.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “His measly life, or rather a stay of expulsion back to hell, in exchange for very important information. Thanks to me, we now know which high demon wants Gen dead.”

  She paused for dramatic effect. It was very effective. I leaned forward, breathless. Jude didn’t move, but the muscles in his shoulders and arms tightened.

  “Well?” I blurted. “Who is it?”

  “Bamal, High Demon of New York. Dommiel’s orders were to do surveillance, not to kill.”

  “Surveillance? Why the sudden change? Did he say?” asked George.

  “That, he wasn’t privileged to know.”

  “Wait,” I interjected, “isn’t New York your territory, Kat?”

  She nodded. “Yes. But, I’ve never laid eyes on him. He stays cloistered in his lair, coming out only either in shape-shifting form or in possession of his Vessel.”

  I sank farther into my chair. I’d forgotten Kat had told me there was a Vessel in New York. Poor woman. My mind conjured up Danté, leering over me. Jude came to my side, resting on the edge of the chair, bracing one arm protectively behind my head.

  “Who’s covering for you now, Katherine?” asked George.

  “Dorian. He’s assured me nothing unusual has happened, not since I left anyway,” she answered in a much more professional, and less hostile, manner than she used with him before.

  “Dorian’s covering his province as well as yours?”

  George’s devil-may-care expression faded behind an austere one. I suddenly had no doubts about his capabilities as leader of the demon hunters.

  “He has had no trouble,” she assured him. “I only left New York at Jude’s request because of, well, because of Genevieve and the odd circumstances surrounding her.”

  I realized that while George was indeed their commander, he gave them leeway to make decisions on their own. There was trust in this hierarchy. I liked that.

  “And what’s so odd about my circumstances? Besides being attacked by demons on a daily basis, I mean.”

  Kat smiled. “That’s just it, Gen. Vessels aren’t usually attacked, as in, to be killed.” The clarification made me a little uneasy, but she went on to avoid that awkward pause. “They’re collected by high demons to harvest their power, to use as weapons for darkness.”

  “So something unusual did happen before you left New York?” I asked.

  “There have been a number of high demons, barons and dukes, coming and going to his penthouse residence. No princes, but lots of courtiers of the underworld.”

  “Is this so odd?” I asked. “Wouldn’t demon princes always be surrounded by them?”

  “No,” said Jude. “High demons are territorial and extremely paranoid of anyone usurping their power. If he’s gathering them to counsel, you can bet there’s a big reason.”

  “I still don’t get it,” I said. “Why would he want to kill me? What do I have to do with anything?”

  The three of them glanced at one another before Kat looked at me. “I believe it has to do with the prophecy. Bamal thinks you’re the one as well, the Vessel mentioned. Do you remember, the prophecy said, ‘Two great
sons of Morning Star’? Bamal must see himself as one of these two sons in the prophecy, and Danté as his other rival. He has been trying to destroy you, while Danté has been seeking you for his Vessel.”

  I tightened the fleece around me, ignoring the prickly sensation of fear tingling down my spine.

  “Danté?” asked George. “Who the devil is that?”

  “Ru’um,” clarified Jude. “He’s going by Danté these days.”

  “What a pompous prick. So now he thinks he’s Danté Alighieri, creator of The Divine Comedy? That’s a laugh.”

  “But why the sudden change?” I asked, repeating George’s question from earlier. “If Bamal thinks I’m this one in the prophecy, why would he tell Dommiel to just do surveillance? What is he watching me for? Waiting for? To kidnap me instead?”

  “That would make sense, actually,” said Kat. “The prophecy mentions a face-to-face sort of showdown, Vessel to Vessel. At least the part we have does. No matter the reason, I need to start doing surveillance of my own when I head back, which needs to be soon.”

  “I agree,” said George. “What we really need is a way to draw him out, or at least other minions he may have in play. Dommiel is a local high demon, and we’ve taken him out of the equation. Have we not, Katherine?”

  “Yes. He’ll stay out of it now.”

  George nodded. “Then if he’s serious, he’ll send some of his own demons.”

  Jude leaned forward. “He has. There was one the night I met Genevieve. And another, Garzel, a lower demon who attacked her in a local bar. Of course, that was before this incident with Dommiel. It seems Bamal has changed tactics since then. You’re right, George. We need to set a trap. Someplace public that would also offer a way for his demons to stay hidden. They’ll know we’re watching Genevieve closely, so they’ll be cautious.”

  I cleared my throat, shifting sideways so I could see Jude as I spoke.

  “I know of a place,” I said, twisting the frays of the fleece absently. Three pairs of eyes turned to me. “Mindy and I are invited to the Crescent City Masquerade coming up. It’s exclusive but will be very crowded, and of course, it’s a masked ball. Anyone could stay hidden.”