by Lori Adams
I am nearly choking on smoke but I realize Dante is unaffected by it.
“What did he say about me?” Dante’s eyes are sharp and penetrating, searching for signs of treachery in my expression.
“Nothing,” I gasp.
“Of course not,” he sneers. “Michael Patronus would never admit that we are so similar.”
“What does that mean? Are you a guardian, too?”
“I said we are similar. Very similar.” I shake my head in disagreement, and Dante gives me a challenging look. Then he turns to the fire, which has now consumed two walls and most of the ceiling. He waves a hand and the flames turn in on themselves, shrinking and withdrawing until they die completely and are nothing but smoldering ashes on the floor. The smoke is sucked out around the doorframe as if by a vacuum. What remains is black and crispy but the room is perfectly clear.
I stagger forward and fill my lungs with clean air. I take in the implication of having witnessed a miracle.
“How … did you do that? I don’t understand. You are the same as Michael?”
“We are similar, not the same,” he tries to clarify again but leaves me more confused.
“What are you, Dante? Do you have an official title?” I remember how Dimitri described Michael and his family. What is similar to an angel?
He finds my innocent question amusing and returns to the laidback, handsome guy with the sexy smile and piercing eyes. “A title? Yes, I have a title. Angel.”
“What kind of angel?”
“Ah, she is suspicious.” He laughs and folds his arms, willing to placate my skepticism. “What kind of angel would you like me to be?”
“No, Dante. No more games. Just tell me. You owe me that much.”
“I owe you?” His eyebrows fly up in disbelief.
Because I’m not willing to recount the last horrific hour of my life to prove my point, I make my demand simple.
“Are you a guardian or not?”
“If you wish.”
“Do you guard people?”
He deliberates. “I help them. Yes.”
“Help them how?”
“I help them get what they deserve, Sophia. You understand, everyone gets what they deserve, eventually.” His voice is flat and calculating and makes my stomach lurch with the coldest kind of fear.
I don’t want to catch the word banging around in my head. Doubt runs deep because this is Dante. My Dante. He would never hurt me. But I have to know.
“Are you a … dark angel?”
His lips twist into a sardonic smile. “I was never dark.”
“Fallen?”
“I fell for you.” He is being playful, full of hope that I might remember something.
“A dark angel and a fallen angel mean the same thing, right?”
“Not to me.”
“But to me.”
His eyes snap to mine and I feel a sense of loss—not fear. I wait for him to deny the evil descriptions in my head. He takes my hands and gently caresses them, and I know I am right. Dante would never let me believe he is evil if it weren’t true. However this came about, whatever his circumstances, I know Dante would never hurt me. And this knowledge pinches at my heart. I am the one hurting him.
“Dante,” I whisper and squeeze his hands. “I am so sorry.”
“Save your pity, cara mia. Once we are home, in time, we will have a good laugh about this.” His sincerity is rich and full of timeless love.
“Dante, please understand. I don’t want to hurt you, but … whatever you are, whoever you were to me, it’s too late for us. I have given my heart to Michael.”
Dante pulls me closer and his eyes churn from green to black. His voice is a mixture of excitement and admonishment as he murmurs, “Sophia, do you really think I am here for your heart?”
The spices are hot and powerful this time, and they hit me like a desert wind. My thoughts scatters and I slur unsteadily, “What … does that mean?”
“It means our life begins when your heart stops beating.” He leans in to kiss me again, but my knees buckle and I wrench away, reaching for the four-poster bed. I sink into the softness and clutch a post to stop the room from spinning. I am panting, each breath unraveling the stitches that join my heart to my soul. Dante is on his knee beside me, taking my hand in his. He tells me not to prolong the inevitable, to make myself remember so we can finally go home.
“I don’t know what you mean!” I wail in frustration, in fear that somewhere deep inside me I know exactly what he means. I fight it with everything I have.
Dante kneels at my feet, wrapping his arms around my waist and laying his head on my lap. For a moment, my fear and confusion is overcome by pity. Dante is crying.
“I promised I would never let you go. I’m here, cara, so please wake up! You are my only light, and I have waited so long on the other side. You must choose to come home. You must choose us!”
His choking plea is gut-wrenching, and tears stream down my face while familiar visions swim in my eyes; we have been pulled apart before. Something inside me snaps, more stitches, and I feel compelled to ease his pain.
“Please don’t cry, Dante,” I whisper, stroking his hair. His tears burn holes into my thin lavender dress, and his arms are bands of fire around my back. I coax his head up, my heart ripping at the sight of his tortured expression. Pale green eyes are dilated and drowsy with pain, his black lashes wet and sticky with tears. I kiss the tears from his eyes, first one and then the other. As I lean forward to kiss his mouth, a sharp jolt like a lightning strike explodes in my chest and rocks me backward. Dante jumps up and catches me before I fall.
“Sophia! What is it?” Another hit, and then the house shudders like an earthquake. There is a roar of a freight train, thunder lifting the house and slamming it back down again. Horrific screams rise from the rooms beyond me, and my eyes fly open to find Dante hovering over me.
“Say you belong to me!” he demands urgently, his eyes fixed on my mouth. “You have to say it, Sophia!” He is frantic with raw terror in his eyes. He lowers his mouth closer to mine and repeats, “You have to say you belong to me!”
The air leaves me in a rush, and I whisper, “I belong—”
There is a crash and the room shakes and the wall behind us is ripped away to the sound of crumbling stone. Dante is torn from me and spun through the opening into the cobblestone street. Ghoulish cries rise up; somewhere in the house the gargoyles howl and fight their chains. A flash of blue light burns my eyes, and the second heartbeat slams against my ribs: Michael is here.
The pulling in my chest lifts me off the bed, and I am airborne across the room and into Michael’s arms. Two more lights flash, and Raph and Gabe are poised in the cobblestone street.
Dante has climbed to his feet, and Wolfgang and Vaughn materialize from the shadows. There is a clanking of chains against stone as the gargoyles lope up the street, dragging their steel tethers. Vaughn yells a command, and they halt to crouch and wait. Red eyes shift and cock, and black wings rise and fall with each labored breath.
Michael is trying to shield my view but I have to look. I have to see Dante.
His face is taut, and his cheekbones cut hard angles to the line of his mouth. His eyes are no longer green and swirling but splitting and elongating into diamond shapes. Dante has snake eyes.
Raph whips around, his eyes shimmering like Michael’s. “Get her out of here!” he yells, and Michael breaks off his glare at Dante and looks down at me. I have never seen such anger in his face. I know he wants to fight Dante, but he swings me up in his arms and kicks down the blackened door. He stomps away, and all I hear is Dante yelling my name.
Chapter 38
Principalities of the Air
Cold wind whips against my skin, and I shiver in the thin lavender dress. Michael is carrying me across the lawn as I squirm and fight to look back at the mansion. I expect it to implode or explode or any kind of ’plode. Nothing.
“What’s happening?”
I want to let him calm down, but since patience is my recessive gene, I launch into it. “What about Raph and Gabe? What about my friends? Michael, we have to go back! I found out something—”
“I bet you did.”
I am stunned by his coldness; and then I get it. “You knew about Dante.” I state this as a fact and don’t wait for a denial. “Is that why you hate him?”
“Isn’t that enough?” He looks at me for the first time. His eyes are pale blue again but they contain something that wasn’t there before. Disappointment. I have disappointed Michael, and I hate it. I hate that I’ve let him down, but I know I’m in too deep now. I have to push on.
“You should have told me,” I say, and Michael’s temper flares.
“I told you Dante was evil and you compared him to broccoli!” he yells.
Oops.
“Well, Michael, if you would’ve told me exactly what he was, I would’ve left the vegetables out of it!” I yell back.
We huff and stare until Michael finally explains, “I am not allowed to reveal his identity, Sophia. Why do you think I said he wasn’t your friend, stay away from him, trust your intuition?” He ignores the road back to town and cuts through the brush. We are on a worn footpath that trails through shadowy woods.
I should say I’m sorry but I’m not yet so I don’t. “Why aren’t we stopping? We need to go back. What about your brothers and my friends?”
“Your friends have already been sent home. They’ll remember little if anything about tonight.”
“And Raph and Gabe? Will they fight—”
“Guardians don’t have first strike against demons. If Raph loses his temper they may fight but—”
“Demons? Who said anything about—” Michael jerks to a stop, and we stare again. “But … Dante said he was an angel. Um, I think he said fallen angel.” I realize now that I’m uncertain what Dante claimed to be.
“He is no angel, I can tell you that. Dante and his dregs are full-fledged demons, Sophia. I thought you understood now.” I shake my head and all the marbles cascade into my stomach. I’m seriously light-headed and nauseous. Michael sets me on my feet and takes my hand as though I might not stay where I am put.
We stand quietly for a moment, Michael letting me take in the magnitude of his statement.
Dante is a demon in the way Michael is an angel.
I stare at the ground remembering all those strange feelings that Dante provoked in me, all my thoughts and dreams that he spoke aloud. Those times I felt him trying to control my thoughts and how hard I fought it, just like tonight. Was he manufacturing some fake memories to convince me that we shared a past life? Was it just some demonic game?
Something tells me that tonight was no game and Dante truly believes we belong together. Even now the heat from his scorching kiss is stinging my lips.
I touch my mouth and grimace. Michael pulls my hand away and looks. “They’re red and swollen,” he says and then looks alarmed. “Sophia, did he kiss you?”
I make my Oops, I’m sorry face, and he exhales in frustration. His head lolls to the side. Not a good sign.
“Michael, what’s the matter?”
“Tell me what happened, exactly, this time. And leave nothing out.”
I explain Dante’s kiss, the burning, his surprise, his questions, his tirade, and the fire in the room.
“Just one kiss?”
“Yes, Michael.”
“And did you make any bargains? Did you promise him anything?”
“No, Michael.”
“And right after the kiss, he asked if I had kissed you?”
I nod and explain the peculiar comment about a sigil of something.
“Protection,” Michael supplies, and then rakes his fingers through his hair and almost laughs. “By all that’s holy, I don’t know what happened. When we kissed I must have released a Sigil of Protection on you without realizing it.”
I touch my lips again to identify anything unusual. “You can’t feel it,” Michael says. “Besides, it’s probably gone by now. I might have seen it on your tongue, a light rune, but I didn’t think to look.” I’m almost grossed out, but I stick out my tongue and Michael says, “Gone.”
“What’s a sigil?”
“A supernatural seal that can represent numerous things, depending on what type of seal is needed. A Sigil of Truth, of Healing, of Illusion, and so forth. I’ve applied them before, just never, I mean, well, never with my mouth.” His lips twitch and I can tell he is embarrassed. I smile softly.
“You know, Michael, I didn’t kiss Dante back.”
“Yes, Sophia, I know.” We exchange intimate grins and I know Michael’s anger has abated; we’re going to be okay.
I want to reach up and lay a hand on his beautiful face, but Michael has gone ramrod straight. I know this look. He has received a call, and my heart aches knowing he will leave me.
“You have to go,” I state flatly. My face falls into a deep pout. I will never get used to this.
“Dad is calling.” Michael steps back hesitantly, noticing my disappointment. “It’s urgent, Sophia. Please go … Will you go directly … Now don’t look at me like … oh, for crying out loud! Come on!” He grabs my hand, and my face lights up. We take off running, and I couldn’t be happier if I were twins.
We are racing toward a precipice that looks dangerous and scary. I glance at Michael, trusting him to do the right thing. Without missing a beat, we hurl ourselves over the edge. We are aloft for seconds with only our hands connected and a deep ravine fifty feet below us. We look at each other, smile, and free fall. Michael spins me into his arms like we’re doing an airborne tango. I see a flash of white across his back, as he takes flight. We assume a parallel position to the ground with me tucked inside his arms. I hear a flurry of beating wings, and then feel a single hard thrust. We shoot across the ravine, over the blur of countryside, and arrive at his house in mere moments. I am breathless when we touch down and wriggle free to glimpse his wings but they are already gone. I humph, and Michael laughs.
*
There is a feeling I sometimes get when I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be. Like stepping into a classroom and then remembering we have a test I’m unprepared for. I should be there, but not at that particular moment. This is what I am feeling as Michael and I walk into the living room. I’m stunned and relieved to see Raph and Gabe safely home, but they, like the others, share a look that speaks volumes. I should not be here.
Katarina forces a smile and says everyone is glad that my friends and I are safe. She is sincere, and I nod with due shame for my reckless behavior that endangered her sons. Michael ignores their soberness and tries to sound upbeat.
“So, what happened, guys?”
There is a moment of strained silence, and then Gabe begins, “Well, it was quite an elaborate ruse, I can tell you that. The entire mansion was a morgue. Night of the Living Dead meets Amityville Horror. I saw apparitions I hadn’t seen in years. Anyway, the kids were walking through smoke laced with numbing spice. They didn’t stand a chance.”
I lower my eyes, remembering the effect, and how I hadn’t listened to my intuition but ignored every instinct of fear I’d felt.
“After you guys bailed,” Raph jumps in all hyper like he’s describing the last clutch play of a football game, “Dante was furious, but not so much at us. He was yelling at his men, and then—for no reason I could see—he picks up Vaughn Raider and chucks him through the air. A face-plant right in a stone wall!” He laughs and claps his hands. “The entire facade comes crashing down. ’Course all the dead take off running and the gargoyles turn on each other without Vaughn to control them. So then it’s just Dante and Wolfgang staring at us. I’m poised and waiting for Wolfgang to cross my line, right
? He comes at me and Dr. Killjoy over here holds me back.” He shoots Gabe a scolding look. “And then Dante starts ordering Impatience to back down. Impatience yells back, and I swear I’ve never seen such controlled rage in a demon before. Wolfgang was totally under the influence. His demon was growling and his eyes were swirling like sadistic vortexes. Anyway, they argue like we aren’t even there. Eventually, Persuasion coaxes him down and they fade out, so we leave.” Raph’s smile can be infectious but I don’t catch his enthusiasm this time.
I force a swallow and say, “I don’t understand. Why are you saying Impatience and Persuasion?”
The family is nonplussed to learn that Michael has failed to clue me in. Once again I am the outsider. Since I care about this family, their disappointment in me and my lack of prudent judgment feels like a weight on my heart.
“What?” Michael says to everyone staring at him.
Katarina wraps a comforting arm around me. “You should have taken her home.”
I want to sink into the floor. I apologize for jeopardizing her sons but that is not her concern. And then I remember that Michael said his Dad’s call was urgent. Something else has happened.
Dimitri seems reluctant to speak in front of me, but evidently his news trumps my presence. He looks at me. “I assume by this evening’s events that you understand about Dante and his pack?”
“Dante said he was a fallen angel but Michael says he is a demon. That he and his family are demons.” The words sound foreign on my tongue. If Michael’s father didn’t look so serious I might laugh.
“That’s correct. And to answer your earlier question, Dante houses the Demon of Persuasion, just as Vaughn Raider keeps the Demon of Affliction and Wolfgang the Demon of Impatience. They are Demon Knights with a dual purpose: to inflict others with their demonic disorders and to Take souls to Hell. They are bound by The Order of Reapers.” I must have an incredulous look on my face, because Dimitri continues, “Remember we talked about balance in the world, Sophia? Everything has an opposite?” I nod and understanding clicks into place. Demons are the opposite of angels.