“Much more efficient than the halflings, don’t you agree? And at little inconvenience to myself; they only wish for access to Hell, safety from my demons, and a territory in my realm in exchange. Belial’s would be the perfect size, would it not?”
It would not. Though Lilith could readily believe the nosferatu desired a home—they had been hunted endlessly on Earth by demon and Guardian, and their rejection Above and Below had been their greatest Punishment, even greater than the curse upon them physically—Lilith could not imagine Lucifer allowing the nosferatu control of that much territory. A small slice of it, perhaps, but not all that Belial had claimed.
And why the transformation to daywalking and resistance to sunlight? It would not make a difference Below.
But it would in Caelum.
Michael glanced at her; shaken, she lowered her gaze. Her psychic blocks were in place; he probably couldn’t read her. Lucifer might have been able, but his attention was focused on the Guardian.
“Belial is strong,” Michael said. “I do not think he will fall easily.”
Lucifer laughed, as if to convey how little the Guardian’s opinion mattered. “I will succeed.”
“Will it be as successful as your rebellion?” Michael said, his eyes glinting with mockery. “In your arrogance, you give too much away.”
“Then Belial will have time to contemplate his imminent and inevitable destruction, and his extended torment will prolong my enjoyment.”
Lilith bit her lip, but looked up in dismay when Michael said her name.
“Of course, Lilith plans her own rebellion.”
“I am meek,” she said quickly, flexing her talons. “Never rebellious.”
“Hugh will not break; and, already, he manipulates you,” Michael continued, still speaking to Lucifer as if she were not there. “Certainly you realize it was his intention that you should send her back to Earth, knowing you would choose to cause her the most pain by fulfilling the bargain? Truly, you do exactly what the human has desired.”
Lilith sucked in a sharp breath.
She felt Lucifer’s anger, quickly suppressed. Of course, he would never admit to being surprised or lacking knowledge. “Yes, I’m aware of his puerile attempts to manipulate me. But he has broken—has lost his humanity. My Lilith knows this well; it was that which led to her death.” He rose to his feet, stood before Michael. “And what was it that broke him? That girl, and thinking that she had been killed. Easy enough to arrange like circumstances.”
Wrong, Lucifer. Lilith smiled to herself, though she betrayed it by neither thought nor expression. It hadn’t been that Savi had been shot; it had been the decision he’d made, that he’d no longer hold an ideal over human life. It had been reclaiming his will, his freedom—and his break had come from knowing that the only way to give Lilith hers was death. He’d nearly destroyed himself when he’d slain her.
“And your halfling will exacerbate his grief and bring about his death?” Michael shook his head. “He will find a way to save himself, do not doubt it. He has thwarted her before; he will again. Even human, he is stronger of mind than she. He is stubborn, and cannot tolerate failure in himself.”
“A delightful flaw,” Lucifer said.
Lilith clenched her fists, glaring at the Guardian. “One I shall happily use against him.”
“Do you think so, daughter?” The demon’s voice was soft. But though he probably would have liked nothing better than tossing her in the Pit, Lilith had already told Michael she was returning to Earth to fulfill her bargain. If Lucifer changed his mind now, it would appear he had not known of Hugh’s manipulations.
Michael smiled, as if realizing Lucifer’s difficulty. “She is your last halfling; therefore, I suppose she is the best of that failed experiment? I offer a wager. Your halfling’s skills against my former pupil’s resistance to them.”
Lilith’s lips parted in shock. Was he mad?
“What are the terms?” Lucifer asked, his eyes gleaming. “Do you wager your sword?”
“Should Lilith be the direct cause of his death, through whatever skills she employs personally—she cannot instruct a nosferatu to kill him, a more capable demon to torment him, nor manipulate another human into killing him—I will open Caelum’s Gates to you and your kind for eternity. If she fails, you close Hell’s Gates to Earth for five hundred years.”
“It won’t require skill,” Lilith said dryly, though her heart pounded. “In sixty years I can jump out of a closet at his retirement home and induce a heart attack.”
“And it must be done within the next fourteen days,” Michael said. “Furthermore, you must discontinue the rituals until the end of the wager; his grief acts as an outside influence. The nosferatu must be dependent upon you for knowledge of how to perform the ritual; refuse to do it, and do not allow them to abduct more humans, until the end of the wager. I will not have you and the nosferatu kill all of his loved ones to assist Lilith, only to claim it was a separate action.”
“Why would you enter into such an agreement?” Lucifer watched the Guardian carefully.
“I want him in the corps. As I’m certain you are aware, my ranks have been severely reduced of late. Hugh was my best warrior, the best mentor; and if he dies, it will likely be sacrificing himself to save her. He will accept the transformation again, and I will have him teach my new recruits, as I have neither the time nor inclination to do it myself, and no one else is as qualified as he is.” Michael smiled coldly, and his gaze raked over Lilith’s form. “And I believe I have little to lose, as I have the advantage here.”
“Seven days, and you cannot speak of our wager with anyone else—human, demon, halfling, or nosferatu—except to instruct your Guardians that they may not attack my demons or the nosferatu, unless they are breaking the agreement and have begun the ritual on a human against the human’s will,” Lucifer countered, and Michael’s brows rose.
“If you wish. Making Hugh aware of it won’t change the outcome; he already has full knowledge of what Lilith is, and what she will try to do. And so long as your demons and the nosferatu are not instructed to perform any rituals nor abduct any humans, my Guardians will not engage them.”
Lucifer did not try to hide his triumphant smile. “It is done, then.”
“It is done,” Michael agreed.
The Doyen spared her a final glance, then disappeared. Lilith stared at the empty space, trying to comprehend what had just taken place; beside her, Lucifer began laughing.
“He is surely not so desperate to have one man return to the Guardian corps,” Lilith murmured.
“It is an act of desperation, but not for the human’s sake,” Lucifer said, returning to his seat. “His hold on Caelum is tenuous; he wagers what he will lose anyway.”
“Why do you take the risk?”
“Do you think I make rash, thoughtless decisions?”
“No, Father,” she said immediately.
He smiled, and a shiver ran over her skin. “It would be a risk, if not for the other surprise I spoke of. For it would be stupid to think that you could bring him to suicide within a week. Do you think me stupid, Lilith?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Only if it gives you pleasure.”
“You dare too much,” he said quietly, and leaned back into his chair. “Sit. I do not like you standing above me.”
She complied, vanishing her wings. Whatever his next surprise was, she wanted to see it coming.
A book appeared in her lap. She looked down at the embossed lettering, the now-familiar cover, and saw her doom.
“I have overlooked the others for centuries; the poets and the playwrights whom you would have sought immortality with—is not the immortality I gave you enough?” When she did not answer, he said, “He only mentions my name three times, Lilith. Do you think you deserve such attention?”
Instinct demanded that she flee, but she couldn’t move; his magic suddenly held her frozen, motionless. But she could speak, and the words tumbled from her mouth
without heed. “Do you envy me, Father?”
His fingers clenched on the arms of the chair, and the fabric ripped under his nails. “When I made you, you swore to serve me for as long as you were a demon. You do not place yourself above me.”
“I serve. I will serve until I’m dead of it,” she said bitterly.
“Which will be sooner than you think should you fail in this new bargain.” His eyes flashed. “Six days; you have six days to fulfill your bargain, to see him dead, and then I send the nosferatu to kill you.”
One day less than he’d wagered with Michael; apparently, he did not trust her to fulfill her bargain. If she failed, Lucifer would likely lead an attack against the Doyen, and attempt to kill him before the wager ended.
“You do not destroy me yourself? Have you not the stomach for it, Father?”
He sat forward in his seat, smiling. “Will you have the stomach to kill him?”
“Even now, I am thinking of the best way to go about it.” A lie. She could only think of escape.
He rested his elbows on his knees and whispering conspiratorially, “I’ve thought of one for you.” Reaching across the space between them, he grasped her wrist, his skin slithering over hers. “But first, I have to take the demon out of you. No need for him to commit suicide if you can kill him with your sword. Six days, Lilith. You or him.”
Her eyes widened, and she frantically tried to move—and could not.
His face transformed. Huge, terrible. Ice slipped through her, and the markings on her chest began to burn. Closing her eyes, she clenched her teeth and refused to scream, though it felt as if he tore her to shreds.
“Do you like your surprise?” he asked, laughing.
She looked up, though she could barely focus through the haze of pain. “I’ve had better.”
And was grateful for the silence that followed.
CHAPTER 25
Hugh held his hand to his side as he shuffled across the hospital room, ignoring the tandem sighs of frustration from the detectives, just as he’d ignored the countless questions they’d asked since he’d woken.
Almost forty-eight hours since he’d last seen Lilith, and he had not yet heard from her. Those who might have known where she was, what might have happened to her, were equally silent: Michael, Selah, Colin—he’d have welcomed a visit from Beelzebub if it brought him news of her.
Thoughts of the demon made him close his eyes against a wave of doubt. He’d called the demon a liar when he’d said Lilith had procured another human for them, but had it simply been Hugh’s arrogance that had blinded him to the truth? Sue had been killed, and Lilith had seen her alive the same afternoon. She’d been preparing herself, as if for a ritual—had he believed her explanation because he was accustomed to catching lies?
If they had threatened her with Punishment or death, would she lie to him, help with the ritual—and he’d been too desperate to believe her to see the truth?
He couldn’t believe it . . . didn’t want to believe it. But he couldn’t force away the doubt.
“I don’t think you understand, Castleford,” Taylor said as he gathered the clothing Savi had left for him earlier. Every movement ripped at him with angry teeth. “The last thing you should do right now is leave here.”
“You said I was not under arrest. You have no reason to keep me here.” His voice was still hoarse—a bruised windpipe. The bandage around his throat and the sutures beneath itched, multiple contusions pulled and ached, but it was his ribs that bothered him most: two cracked, one broken. Each breath burned.
“Putting you back in that bed would suit me just fine right now,” Preston said.
Taylor laid her hand on Preston’s arm, then stood and walked over to Hugh. “Look, Castleford,” she said, taking a shirt from him and unfolding it. He hesitated, then accepted her help, sliding his left arm through the sleeve. She moved around to his other side, easing it over his shoulders. “I don’t understand what I saw in Miss Murray’s house. Frankly, I’m a bit . . .” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “. . . freaked out by it.”
“And the idea that the shit you talk about in your book might be true,” Preston added.
“We’ve just told you we have two eyewitnesses who will testify they saw you dump the bodies of Sanchez and Fletcher in Harding Park. We have a fire at a location that matches a name and address written on a note found during our search of your house, and the owner of that house—whom we know you spoke with only hours before the fire—is missing. We have a missing FBI agent, with your torn clothing, traces of your blood and semen, and your fingerprints at her apartment.”
“Along with almost half a million dollars in stolen books and an arsenal of stolen weaponry.”
Taylor flicked a glance at Preston. “Our case against you seems solid—except that we were talking to you when you allegedly made the dump in the park. Except for reports of howling from several of Beaumont’s neighbors, and another eyewitness in the area who told the police they saw someone matching the description of a nosferatu exit the house after the fire started, accompanied by a man she later identified as FBI Agent Smith—who, two hours ago, took over our jurisdiction in the investigation of the three murders, Milton’s disappearance, Beaumont’s disappearance, and the fire. The three bodies have disappeared from the morgue, and though we are being told by the Bureau that they’ve taken possession of them, we have no records of transfer, nor any evidence that they’ve been picked up through official channels. We don’t like what we’re seeing, Castleford; and now his office is denying our requests to share information. It reeks of a cover-up, or a setup. And the few things my partner and I have to go on are an unbelievable story from me, and a letter whose authenticity is questionable, at best. And that you show up with an injury that looks like something out of a horror flick, and that the doctors tell us your rate of recovery has been . . . unusual. But we have no evidence to give to my superiors that might protect you—and I don’t doubt Smith will be coming after you soon. We can help you,” Taylor said. “But we need you to give us something, too.”
He smiled for the first time since awakening. “That sounds very much like a bargain,” he said. Pulling away from her, he slowly walked back to the bedside table and collected his eyeglasses. “But not one either of us can fulfill. I don’t have any evidence to trade, and you certainly can’t protect me.”
“If you don’t have physical evidence, we’ll take information.”
“What good will anything I have to say be? Even your partner doesn’t believe you,” Hugh said, glancing past her to Preston.
The older man stiffened. “I do.”
“You only believe that she believes it.”
“Perhaps that is true, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is willing to listen,” Taylor said. “And I couldn’t blame him for not believing what he has not seen.”
He’d once told Lilith almost exactly the same thing, but referring to a priest instead of a detective. His chest ached at the memory, more fiercely than his injuries.
Where was she?
Taylor’s cell phone rang, saving him from an immediate response; she scowled at the display before answering. Her tone changed quickly, and she looked at Preston, wide-eyed.
“Tom’s sending the images through now,” she said, and handed her partner the phone. Tucking her hands into her blazer, she rocked back on her heels and waited, watching Preston with an expectant—almost triumphant—expression.
Hugh turned away, looking over the room to make sure he’d left nothing unpacked. It was white, sterile—exactly the type of room that made him most uncomfortable, and he’d heal no more quickly here than at home. And, when she returned, Lilith would know where to find him.
If she returned.
“They could be faked,” Preston said suddenly, with a note of aggrieved disbelief.
“Dr. Castleford, is Agent Milton a demon?” Taylor asked.
Hugh’s ribs protested as he jerked his head up, turning b
ack to stare at the detectives. Preston held the phone in his hand, frowning down at it.
Taylor’s eyes narrowed on Hugh’s face. “She is. And you knew who she was when we visited your office with her on Friday.” She made a disgusted sound. “And the setup congeals. She gave us the letter, which, because of your book, only made us more suspicious of you.”
Hugh looked between the two of them, then at the phone; relenting, he offered, “She didn’t know about the book. The letter was designed to lead you to Polidori’s and the nosferatu, and to remove suspicion from me.”
As if understanding the information meant that he was bargaining, Taylor countered, “You must realize telling us that only implicates you in a conspiracy to falsify evidence. Why is one agent from the FBI planting evidence against you, and another agent trying to do the opposite? Why would she use the letter, instead of bringing forth real evidence to clear your name?”
“There is none. And the semen and the blood at her apartment are mine.” Hugh glanced at Preston. “She has to lie; she’s a demon. She protects herself by lying. It allows her to excuse any good that comes from it.”
“Why would she need the excuse?” Preston rose from the chair, gave the cell phone back to Taylor.
Hugh’s expression hardened, and he shook his head. “No. It’s your turn.”
A smile played around Taylor’s mouth, and she gave him the phone. Hugh had to squint to make out the picture on the display: black and white, slightly blurred—but the figure in the center was undeniably Lilith. In her human form, except for the dark outline of her wings. A small, dark figure lay at her feet.
“Press the back arrow,” Taylor instructed.
With his thumb, he moved through two more pictures: a close-up of Lilith’s face, and the grainy image did little to conceal the resignation in her expression; and another, from a different angle, with her back to a small crowd—she was poised on the bridge railing, as if about to leap over. His throat closed; wordlessly, he handed it back to Taylor, and waited.
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