by Kristie Cook
“Close your eyes,” Marcas said softly. “Imagine the light you wrapped yourself in earlier suddenly shutting itself off."
My eyes slid shut, my mind cutting off the light before opening again. The light in the house looked normal. Maria had gone stock still, her complexion pale.
Her eyes were focused on me. “Holy mother of God!” she swore as she crossed herself. She glared at Marcas. Her fingers entangled themselves in her rosary. “What have you done?”
She held her hand out to me, but I didn’t move.
“It’s all right,” she soothed. “I won’t hurt you, Angel.”
My head snapped up. What had she said? I glanced at Marcas.
“She has the Sight. It’s a blessing some are bestowed which allows them to see what creatures like us are,” he explained.
Maria clucked. “It’s a curse, Demonio. Not a blessing. I see too many of your kind lately.” She urged me to take her hand again. This time, I took it. Her palm was papery but soft and dry. Mine were soaked with sweat.
Maria’s eyes widened. “A half-breed,” she muttered. She pulled me to a scarred kitchen table and urged me to sit. “It can’t be,” she muttered.
Marcas moved in behind me. “She’s the daughter of Bezaliel.”
Maria’s wide-eyed gaze flew to his. She glanced at my face again. Shaking her head, she moved away from the table while muttering to herself in Italian. She reached into a cupboard and came back to the table bearing two china tea cups. I noticed she didn’t offer one to Marcas. I nodded my thanks.
“And she’s not a monster? Her mother?” the woman asked.
She took a kettle and placed it on a stove. The house was small. There appeared to be only three rooms and they were all open to each other. Rosaries hung everywhere. Fresh herbs hung above an old fashioned stove and crocheted throws were flung over threadbare furniture, the original colors of the sofa and chair unrecognizable due to age.
“A Sethian descendant,” Marcas answered.
Maria paused. “Pure?”
Marcas nodded. Maria started sprouting things in Italian again. I would be amused if I wasn’t so confused. What were we doing here?
The kettle whistled and Maria moved back to the table. She sat opposite me, her uncanny gaze searching mine for some time before glancing up at Marcas.
“What are you doing with a Naphil?” she asked suspiciously. “I would have hoped you had learned your lesson, Demonio.”
I glanced up at him. Lesson?
Marcas avoided my gaze. “She’s bound to me,” he answered.
Maria swore. She reached across the table and grabbed my left hand. I tried pulling it away, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Look at me,” Maria demanded.
I did as she asked. I didn’t see a way around it. Marcas sure as hell wasn’t any help. Maria took one look in my eyes and cursed again, her gaze taking in the wedding and engagement rings on my finger.
“All of this is impossible,” Maria said.
I looked away and she dropped my hand. I twisted the rings worriedly. I needed to make Marcas get rid of them, but the weight of them was comforting somehow.
“It’s apparently possible,” Marcas remarked off-handedly.
Maria focused her attention on him. “Being bonded should have killed her.”
“It didn’t.”
“Why did you do it, Demonio? For revenge? For Sophia?” Maria asked.
Marcas roared and his fangs flashed. “Do not go there, old lady! This was my brother’s doing. He bound us with the hopes that her blood would bring the line of Cain redemption.”
It was the first time I’d really seen him become incensed. Who was Sophia?
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “Your brother has lost his wits.”
“A lifetime of bloodlust will do that to you,” Marcas said.
Maria didn’t argue. “And now he’s incited a war,” she said thoughtfully. “I wondered why the Demon activity had picked up. What did you bring her here for?” Her eyes moved once more to the rings. It was definitely time to get rid of them.
Marcas stared. “For the Seal of Solomon."
Maria’s eyes widened. Her tea cup shook in her hand. “You are not serious, Demonio!”
I looked between the pair. “I know the dangers,” I inserted quietly.
Maria’s head snapped in my direction. “Do you, Angel? Do you really?” There was bitterness in her words.
My brows furrowed in confusion. Was there something Marcas hadn’t told me?
“If you’re lucky to even survive getting the ring, there’s a huge possibility you won’t survive wearing it,” Maria revealed.
I knew this. “I know,” I whispered.
“And you agreed?” Maria looked at Marcas. “Why didn’t you just take her soul? Why attempt the impossible?” She slammed her cup down on the table. It shattered.
Marcas leaned over and placed his hand over the debris. “Where’s the ring, Maria?” He moved his hand away from the table to reveal a completely mended china tea cup.
Maria watched him quietly. “I understand you don’t care about your own existence. I even understand if you want to end it. But to risk the Angel?”
My wary gaze found Marcas. Didn’t care about his own existence? “You want to die?” I whispered.
Marcas’ jaw tightened, his gaze locked on Maria. “Where’s the ring?” he repeated.
I stood. Maria stared down at her hands.
“Do you want to die?” I asked Marcas more forcefully.
He looked down at me, his eyes glowing. “I wouldn’t find it unwelcome,” he answered me coldly. The chill went straight to my bones.
I placed my hands against his chest and shoved. “So this is a suicide mission?”
He didn’t answer me. I shoved again. I knew Demons could die. I’d seen Marcas kill Samuel. Didn’t I?
“Can you die?” I asked.
He still didn’t respond.
Maria shifted in her chair. “It takes a lot to kill a Demon, but they can die. Because they are already occupants of hell, there is no true life for them after death. Only recycled life,” Maria answered in Marcas’ stead.
I shoved him again. It wasn’t having much of an effect, but I was angry.
“Do you care that I could die too?” I yelled.
Marcas continued to stare at Maria. “Where’s the ring?”
She didn’t answer.
“Fuck you, Marcas!” I shouted.
Maria gasped.
Marcas finally glanced down at me, his gaze on my hands against his chest. “I told you not to mistake my saving your life for anything less than self-preservation.”
I reached up and slapped him. “What preservation, you asshole?”
He grabbed my wrist, and I bit back a scream. I wouldn’t let him win this one.
“Do not slap me again,” he ordered harshly.
How dare he? I had once thought he was saving me because he feared his brother. Now, I realized he’d promised Damon he’d return me because he wasn’t expecting either one of us to make it back. And I’d trusted him.
“You are one arrogant son of a bitch!” I hissed.
Marcas’ eyes lit up. “Figures you’d mistake confidence for arrogance,” he replied.
I clenched my fists. I was so naÏve. I slapped him again.
He snarled. “And here I thought you’d been through puberty, Blainey.”
Oh, that did it! I’d had enough. I tried to ignore the rub. Really I did. The slap had been childish but he’d deserved it.
“Well, geez. They keep raising the age of adulthood, Marcas. At least I’m not stuck for an eternity having to relive an age too young to drink,” I snarled.
Marcas froze. “Would you like to be, Blainey?” he asked.
“Are you threatening me, Craig?”
“Damn it, woman! If killing you wouldn’t destroy what little part of me wasn’t a monster, I would murder you!” Marcas cried out before punching the wall behind me s
o hard the plaster crumbled. I felt fear but didn’t blink. I had his strength now. He wasn’t the only one who could badly redecorate a house.
“Awww, Marcas. I’m flattered. I didn’t realize you liked me so much,” I said quietly, using that moment to twist the rings from my finger.
I threw them on the floor before ducking under his arm. We both needed space. But even as I walked away, his words resonated so deeply within me, it made me rub the sudden goosebumps on my arms. “If killing you wouldn’t destroy what little part of me wasn’t a monster …”
Chapter 27
There is not much known about the artifacts of Solomon beyond myths. Demons have always sought them, been obsessed with their so called powers. They could give a Demon control of his kind. It could give him control of the earth. It cannot be allowed to happen.
~Bezaliel~
I went only as far as I knew I could go in a strange country with a strange language while being followed by a league of Angels, Demons, and fanatic religious groups who wanted to see me dead. I went out into Maria’s small courtyard and sulked. What else was I supposed to do? Run?
“Is there anyone who doesn’t want me dead?” I asked the Heavens in frustration.
Great! Now I was yelling at the skies the same way Marcas did. A light from over the courtyard wall illuminated the garden, and I kicked at the rich green soil in the corner of the yard while practicing yelling at myself in my head. It seemed more productive than having someone else do it. And yet, Marcas’ voice still managed to interfere. “If killing you wouldn’t destroy what little part of me wasn’t a monster …”
“Damn it!” I cried.
“Ah, piccola Ragazza. This is not pleasing. You curse a lot for an Angel,” Maria said pointedly from behind me. I froze. Now was not the time for company.
“You curse a lot for an old woman who wears a rosary,” I bit back.
I closed my eyes and lifted my face toward the sky. The breeze felt good against my skin. The old woman chuckled softly from behind me. At least one of us was amused.
“You glow when you are out of doors,” Maria said.
I looked down at my body before turning to face her. I saw no glow.
“Only a select few can see it. Angels and Demons have their own distinct marks,” Maria explained. She held a shawl firmly around her shoulders as she moved down the porch, and I tried my best not to glare at her as she made her way over to my side. She looked up at the sky while I looked behind us at the porch. All seemed quiet.
“He’s fixing the damage he did to my wall,” Maria said suddenly, and I turned to look at her. Her eyes bored into me.
I frowned. “I honestly don’t care what he’s doing.”
Maria shook her head, her lips curling upward wryly. “Of course you do, Angel.”
This time I didn’t refrain. I glared. Maria seemed unfazed.
“One thing I have learned in my old age is that lying to yourself only causes further damage. The Demonio is an interesting specimen, no? You aren’t the first Angel he’s been involved with,” she said haughtily.
My eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”
Maria snorted. “Her name was Sophia. Or Aurelia. Angels tend to have many names. In this case, it is Sophia.” She turned to look back up at the sky.
What? My gaze went to the house. Sophia? What was she saying?
“What do mean by involved?” I asked.
The question slipped out before I could catch it, and I groaned. There was no taking it back now. Ugh, why couldn’t I not care about the stupid Demon and his messed up past. I shook my head miserably. It couldn’t be helped. The old lady was right. I couldn’t lie to myself. Marcas interested me way more than he should.
Maria lifted a brow and laughed softly. “Oh, ho! So the Angel is interested in the sordid tale.”
I blew my cheeks out in frustration. “Fine, I’m interested.” I didn’t need it rubbed in. “What happened?”
Maria pointed to a bench on the side of the courtyard, and I followed her over.
“These old bones can’t stand the duration of this kind of tale,” she explained as she sat carefully. I took her elbow and helped her down. She nodded her thanks. I remained standing.
Maria looked at the sky. “The world above and below us is a complicated one and our world is caught in between. They are everywhere. Demons and Angels. We interact with them daily at times and never know it. The Demonio in my home is no exception. He is an old Demon. His mother is one of the most powerful evil creatures to ever exist. His father is an immortal cursed to travel the earth with a bloodlust that would drive mortal men insane. Their children are as powerful as the mother and as bloodthirsty as the father. They are a cursed breed. But you knew that. That isn’t a new part of the tale. Sophia is.” Maria had a voice most storytellers would envy. It enthralled me. She shifted, her knees popping. I pretended not to notice.
“It was a century ago. Not so long in the life of a Demon when Sophia happened upon Marcas. She was a young Angel. Probably older than Marcas himself but that is still young for an Angel. And they fell in love."
I gasped. “They what?”
Maria glanced at me, her smile wide. She was missing a few front teeth. It should have distracted me but it didn’t. I stared at her in disbelief. Marcas and an Angel?
“Ah, I knew this would be the part that would capture your attention.” She patted the bench next to her. I sat. I wasn’t sure I wanted to remain standing.
“Now, it is important for you to know that there are many theories about Angels and Demons. For one, it is believed that Demons cannot love. It is believed that, if they do have a soul, it is corrupted. They are born of evil and are, therefore, an incarnation of evil itself. This is also the reason why Demons can be killed but Angels can’t. Demons are born of darkness. They can be destroyed, but they are reincarnated in Hell. With each death, a new Demon is created. So, in a way, they never die. Just the body they reside in can be destroyed. The only way to truly rid the world of a Demon is to know his true name.
The only exception to this is the children of Lilith and Cain. If they die, they return to the earth their father was cursed to roam. There is no Hell for them but neither is there Heaven. These cursed children are an exception to many Demon rules, one of which is love. Most still argue that even the cursed children cannot love, but Marcas contradicted this theory. He has lived, like any Demon, unlawfully. His crimes, I am told, are many. But he has fallen short where the worst of his kind has not. He has spared lives when many would not have, taken souls only when people have offered it to him, and killed only when necessary. This does not please many among his kind. His own twin brother has shown no sign of these demonic shortcomings. But both brothers do have their difficulties. Many believe this is the result of being the first Demon born sons of Cain when Cain still had a certain amount of humanity. His sons seem to have inherited this. Damon’s unending search for redemption is his human fault. No matter how insane it has made him or how dangerous he has become because of it. Marcas’ failure is his mercy,” Maria explained.
I looked at the house. “Mercy a failure?”
Maria cleared her throat. “To a Demon, any human weakness is a failure. The most powerful of that is love. Marcas broke the laws of both his own kind and that of the Heavens when he fell in love with an Angel. I don’t know Sophia and Marcas’ story beyond the fact that they loved each other. No one has dared repeat it for fear of Marcas’ retaliation but what is known is no less amazing. The love they shared was forbidden and, when it was discovered, both were ordered to end their relationship. They were forced to choose between each other and Heaven and Hell. For Marcas, there was no choice other than Sophia. He began a war with his own kind over her. It almost destroyed him.”
She paused. I looked away from the house and faced her.
“And Sophia?” I whispered.
Maria’s eyes met mine. “It’s a choice no one should ever have to make. Heaven or Hell,”
“Her choice?” I persisted.
Maria didn’t answer.
“She walked away,” a male voice said instead.
Startled, I looked up to find Marcas standing a few feet away from the bench. The story had made me feel inexplicably forlorn. I couldn’t say I blamed Sophia. Who could make that kind of choice? Marcas had said no to Hell. That was a lot simpler than saying no to paradise. I watched Marcas’ face for any sign of emotion but there was none.
“And you want to die because of it?” I asked.
Marcas looked from me to Maria. “No. I have no interest in dying."
I glanced between the old woman and the Demon curiously. What kind of past did they share?
I stood slowly. “Then what is this mission really about? You said yourself you wouldn’t find dying unwelcome.”
The story had somehow smoothed down his edges. He was still scary, he was most definitely intimidating, and he was still a bastard. But he was more real now.
“I was being honest, Blainey. Dying wouldn’t be unwelcome, but I don’t seek death,” Marcas answered. His gaze stayed locked on Maria’s, and he took a determined step closer to the bench. “Where’s the ring, Maria?”
The old woman didn’t budge. My gaze passed between them.
“The ring, Maria." This time he didn’t ask. He commanded with a fury that made me nervous. I moved between them. Without thinking, my hand went to Marcas’ chest.
“Look, calm down, would you?” I said.
Marcas’ gaze met mine. His eyes shone red. “That’s your job, Blainey. Hell hasn’t given me much patience.” He glanced down at his chest and removed my hand. This time, it didn’t bother me.
I looked over at Maria. “Do you know where the ring is?”
Her gaze met mine. “It’s a fool’s trip you two go on. It isn’t natural. The ring was made for Solomon. And only Solomon. It was never meant to be used by Angels or Demons.”
She showed no fear. Marcas huffed from beside me. He shifted forward. Heat came off of him in waves.