Demon Angel

by Meljean Brook

  She looked around the room and results of the half-assed search. Smith was likely compiling and forging evidence in his case against Hugh before he went for the arrest in Lilith’s disappearance. A lot of work, when he could have easily spun a story about an assignment to explain it, could even have covered up the books and weapons . . . but had chosen to pursue a murder investigation instead—without her body and little evidence of violence. Had he planned on providing that body and violence later?

  Why bother, when there was enough evidence to take Hugh into custody—even of short duration—for the other three murders?

  “I don’t know,” she said again, and slid on her boots. “All I’m certain of is that Beelzebub’s going to be pissed when I show up with you at the Bureau and blow his murder case. If he has time to be pissed when I’m pumping him full of hellhound venom.” She glanced up at Hugh and grinned. “Either way, it’s a good day to be alive.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist as they sped north to Tiburon. The smooth rumble from the engine was a constant presence between her thighs, through her body—pleasant, but not half as thrilling as the firm muscle of Hugh’s back, his taut abdomen beneath her hands. Now and then she glimpsed Sir Pup running alongside them, ears flopping.

  At first she thought the strange reverberation in the back of her mind was a result of the engine, but as they neared the bay it became insistent—and familiar. Overwhelming as they crossed the bridge, then fading again on the northern end.

  Suddenly sick, she tugged on Hugh’s shirt, signed for him to stop. A scenic viewpoint for tourists was off to the side; he pulled over. She tore off the helmet and walked to the low wall at the edge of the cliffs. Took deep, cleansing breaths. The hum faded, though it seemed an effect of her will rather than a lessening of its presence.

  Hugh touched her cheek, smoothed back her hair. “What is it?”

  “I can still feel the Gate.” She pointed over the side, where the bridge spanned the mouth of the bay.

  A thoughtful look slid over Hugh’s features. “When in close proximity to them, I can still sense Caelum’s Gates. Another mark left behind.”

  “This is normal?” She should have been relieved, but his expression made her wary. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  He nodded. “We can’t go through them, but they still resonate.” Abruptly, he turned and remounted the bike. “Come on. We have a visit to pay to our congressman.”

  Dread knotted her stomach, but she got on behind him. She felt the new tension in the line of his shoulders, feared she knew its source. It was one thing for her demonic name to be scrawled across her chest; another to have an invisible, irreversible link to Hell.

  No. She squeezed her eyes shut, forced that evil little voice away. That wasn’t it; those were her doubts, not his. The gentleness in his hands, the hot touch of his mouth—his words—had spoken for him endlessly the previous night and day.

  But what had forced this withdrawal? She knew he didn’t want to hurt her, so why withdraw unless he thought he’d cause her pain? What would—

  No. Oh, God, no.

  If she’d had her gun, she would have shot him, injured him so badly he couldn’t get out of bed, much less jump off a bridge. She dug her nails into his waist, and she might have thrown him from the motorcycle had he not turned into a driveway. She barely saw the manicured lawn, the landscaped borders of the drive.

  She was off the bike instantly, shaking with rage. “You selfish fucking martyr.”

  Her throat closed when she saw his eyes, dark with defensive anger, as if her assault had hurt him. He spoke from between clenched teeth. “I don’t want to, Lilith. That’s why we’re here: to find another way. But if there is no—” He bit off the rest. “This isn’t the time.”

  A voice spoke from behind her. “But I’m enjoying it immensely.”

  Her hands flexed as she automatically tried to call in her swords—but there was no need. Stafford couldn’t attack either of them; if he could, Lilith would never have risked coming here.

  She turned, but Stafford’s gaze was on Hugh, his blond eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. He stood in front of the entrance to his house, arms crossed over his chest as if guarding it. “I know you.”

  Hugh smiled coldly. “And I, you. Rael.”

  Lilith blinked, looking between them uneasily. She had not known Stafford’s demon name; there were many of Belial’s she did not know.

  “You have slain hundreds of my brethren.”

  “Thousands,” Hugh corrected softly. “As you have mine.”

  “Not as many,” Stafford said, and opened his front door. “We are not equal. Do you still regard the Guardians as brethren?”

  “Yes.”

  Stafford’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you are Fallen.”

  “As are you,” Hugh said. “Only I have not fallen as far.”

  With a quirk of his lips, Stafford gestured for them to come inside. “It is a pity that you dragged Lilith down with you.”

  Hugh shook his head at the same time Lilith began laughing. “Oh, Thomas,” she chuckled as she passed into the foyer. “Don’t even attempt it. You can’t break him, can’t make him bend. Believe me—I’ve tried for centuries, and you aren’t half the demon I was.”

  CHAPTER 31

  How had Michael let it come to this? Demons in positions of power in a human government? Hugh took in the expensive furnishings, the tasteful décor. Oddly feminine touches throughout—flowers, patterns—were probably the influence of a designer who’d been instructed to make the room appeal to all his constituents; manipulation, down to the last detail.

  Outside the windows stretched a multi-million dollar panorama.

  Money was also power, and Rael apparently had a lot of it. Was it only Belial’s demons who had managed to gain such a gilded foothold in human society—or Lucifer’s as well?

  Hugh’s fists balled in his pockets, and he welcomed the cold that settled in him. It made it easier to think, to examine the pieces falling into place around him.

  He knew feudal systems; from all Lilith had told him, Lucifer’s reign resembled one. Protection—of a sort—and power traded for service and payment. But Rael did not have the same obsequious air as Beelzebub, or any of Lucifer’s demons.

  Any of Lucifer’s demons, except for Lilith. She’d always resisted and hated her service, whereas Beelzebub seemed to find honor in it.

  Rael was a mystery, but his willingness to cooperate was not. He hadn’t taken his eyes from Sir Pup since he’d scratched at the door and Lilith had let him into the room. The hellhound hadn’t transformed—appeared only as a large dog—and lay at Lilith’s feet, staring up at her adoringly. Hardly a scene to inspire terror, and yet the demon looked almost sick with it.

  “We need weapons, Thomas,” Lilith said. Her hair caught the light streaming through the window, the deep black strands glinting blue even under the golden sunlight, as if they refused to be gilded with false color. He’d not often seen her in the daylight, no matter the form she’d taken—it suited her as well as the darkness did.

  As if she’d felt his gaze, Lilith turned. She flashed a quick, mischievous grin, and something inside him warmed and softened. She was still angry with him, and he had no doubt he’d pay for it—and not as pleasurably as he’d paid before. Had no doubt they would argue again. But for now, he simply allowed it to be—and took pleasure in watching her work. Though it would be more difficult for her now. Hugh had made the demon uneasy; although he thought Rael rather enjoyed Lilith’s presence, he did not appreciate Hugh’s.

  Rael stared at her, as if trying to probe her thoughts. He’d done the same to Hugh when they’d been outside and failed. Hugh doubted he’d be any more successful with Lilith—particularly not with the hellhound as a constant distraction.

  “Why?”

  Lilith shrugged, and reached down to scratch Sir Pup’s ears. Hugh had to fight his grin; she’d never let the demon forget the hellhound’s presence. An unspoken
threat lay beneath that fond caress. “What if I said I plan to kill Lucifer?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you.”

  “And if you did believe me?”

  “I still wouldn’t give you weapons to do it; killing Lucifer is an honor that belongs to my liege.”

  Hugh’s eyes narrowed. Rael actually believed that. “Because it would secure Belial’s power Below?”

  Rael nodded slowly, his gaze traveling between Hugh, Lilith and the hellhound. “Perhaps we can bargain.”

  Hugh’s stomach turned to ice, and Lilith’s gaze hardened. “No bargains,” she said, and Hugh relaxed slightly. “What if I said we’d kill the nosferatu with them?”

  “I’d laugh,” Rael replied, although laughter seemed the farthest thing from him at that moment. “You two? Even with your hellhound and an arsenal of weapons, you’d fail. And I don’t think you play to fail, Lilith—so I wouldn’t believe you.”

  “I don’t. Thomas, be reasonable. You know I won’t kill you, because then I wouldn’t get any weapons. But what if I ask my puppy to eat your limbs one by one? Sure, they’ll grow back, but—and you can believe me on this, because I speak from experience”—her lashes lowered, and she smiled down at the hellhound—“it really, really hurts.”

  Sir Pup woofed, as if in agreement.

  Carefully maintaining his psychic blocks, Hugh turned away, and wandered over to a large fireplace. Pretended to study the pictures atop the mantel, though he didn’t see them. She’d spoken the truth about her experience. Beelzebub had also mentioned a similar torture, but it had been so wrapped up in his manipulation and lies that Hugh hadn’t been able to separate them perfectly.

  He closed his eyes. Not now. He couldn’t think of Beelzebub now. Lilith was carefully dancing around every reason but the real one; though the truth might be reason enough for Rael to offer his help, to tell the demon of their intent would also carry the risk that he’d betray them. One phone call would ruin the only real weapon they possessed: surprise.

  And neither Hugh nor Lilith trusted the demon not to give them away.

  Exhaling deeply, Hugh faced them again—and caught the flicker of unease in Rael’s expression when the demon glanced at him.

  “You could rob a gun shop,” he said.

  Lilith’s brows rose. “That’s completely inane. They don’t have the kind of weapons we need, Thomas.” Then her eyes narrowed, as if she too noticed something off.

  Slowly, Hugh turned. Saw the wedding picture. Without a word, he picked it up and tossed it to Lilith. Rael groaned.

  “Fuck me,” she breathed, and peered closely at the photo. “Is she a demon? She looks bitchy enough to be one. Do you love her?”

  “Yes,” Rael said quickly.

  “Lie,” Hugh said and glanced with new eyes around the room. “Human, and you don’t love her. And I’d wager she’s an heiress.”

  Lilith grinned. “You kept this quiet, Tommy.”

  “You don’t pay attention,” Rael said, exasperated. “You never have. It was the Wedding of the Year in 2004.”

  “And it will be the Divorce of the Year in 2007 if I tell her about your lovers. I imagine she’ll believe it readily enough; you aren’t a sexual creature, can only simulate it, so you’re probably cold in bed. Do you think it’d be hard to convince her you’re getting it elsewhere? Do you think her daddy would like to receive a letter, complete with photos? Or the local news?” Lilith tilted her head. “Voters are unpredictable when it comes to these things. How far do you think you’ll get with that kind of scandal? I don’t believe for a moment you are aiming for anything less than president.”

  Rael was unimpressed. “In ten years, it will have been forgotten. Infidelity won’t damage my political career—and my wife is as ambitious as I am. She’ll accept that I might have other women, and eventually we’ll spin it to our advantage: the couple who persevered through adversity.”

  Hugh stifled his laughter; Rael didn’t think Lilith was done, did he?

  Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Have you seen what happens if pure hellhound venom gets into a demon? It paralyzes them. Think how easy it would be to pose you for photos then. I’ll probably keep a few for my own enjoyment; you’re both so handsome.”

  “I want to be on top,” Hugh said.

  Startled, Rael glanced at him, then turned to stare at Lilith. “This is San Francisco,” he said weakly.

  “True. But you don’t plan to stay in California, do you? And we could always put Sir Pup on the bottom, make him a poodle; then there wouldn’t be a conservative or a liberal in the country who would support you.” She sighed. “I suppose you could remake yourself in another identity, but that takes so much work. Would that be worth it for a couple of weapons?”

  Rael held up his hands, a smile twisting his mouth. “Very well.” His eyes glowed. “But I can’t just give them, Lilith. You’ll owe me a favor.”

  She agreed before Hugh could object. “I can live with that.”

  They found a motel in the Tenderloin to wait out the afternoon. It was cheap and ugly, but it wasn’t any worse than her apartment had been. As long as it had a sink so she could wash away the blood later, Lilith was fine with it.

  Sir Pup lay stretched out on the bed, and she practiced with him, asking for specific weapons and rewarding him with bits of cheeseburger when he called in the correct one.

  Hugh sat at the table, cleaning a crossbow and inspecting the bolts for flaws. He’d worked over each weapon in that careful, precise manner—not just to ascertain the demon hadn’t given them faulty weaponry, she knew, but to avoid discussing his plan to sacrifice himself for her.

  But as she couldn’t think of it without her throat tightening and her eyes burning, she avoided it as well.

  Grabbing another burger from the stack on the side table, she unwrapped it and tossed it to Sir Pup. He caught it midair in a movement so quick she couldn’t follow it and settled back down on the bed.

  “Axe,” she said and held out her hand. The hellhound was only a little bit off; the handle was at her fingertips instead of squarely in her palm, but she could compensate for it with a flick of her wrist.

  The danger was not in his placement of the weapon, but in how slow she was compared to Beelzebub. She sighed, and glanced up to find Hugh watching her with his steady blue gaze.

  “Two axes, three swords, a crossbow, a mace, and it’s still not enough,” he said.

  She rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension there, and nodded. “I was hoping I wouldn’t, but I need a gun.” Stafford hadn’t had one, and Hugh had confirmed it wasn’t a lie. What kind of asshole had unlimited storage for weapons and didn’t pick up a gun? It was pathetic; everyone Above and Below, stuck in the Dark Ages. Frustrated, she kicked the corner of the bed, and it lurched across the room. Sir Pup woofed and grinned at the impromptu ride, but she didn’t get as much pleasure out of it.

  Until a pistol fell at her feet.

  She recognized it; it was the same one she’d put in Hugh’s bag on Friday night. She looked at Hugh, startled, then back at the hellhound. And remembered Hugh’s story of how he’d lost it.

  “You picked this up from Colin’s basement? When did you plan on letting us know, you ungrateful cur?” Sir Pup opened his mouth, flopped his ears. The ungrateful cur was laughing at her. She fought to keep the smile from her lips and failed. “Was it the pig thing in the park? You’re still punishing me for that?”

  “Do you have my swords?” Hugh said from beside her. She hadn’t heard him move.

  Two slim blades landed on the mattress. Hugh picked them up and nodded his appreciation to the hellhound. “If we are looking for speed, these will be better than the heavy swords Rael gave us.” Turning back to Lilith, he said, “So we didn’t gain anything, but you are indebted to a demon again.”

  “It’s not the same kind of debt. If I don’t fulfill it, I don’t spend eternity frozen in Hell,” she said and strode past him to pick up the quarrels from the ta
ble. “And we gained these.”

  She returned to the bed, laid each bolt out on the mattress. Picked up the gun, pulled out the clip, and pushed out the bullets into a neat pile. She slipped out of her clothes and stood silently for a few moments, clad only in her underwear.

  “Do you need help?” Hugh said quietly, removing his own shirt.

  She shook her head, but she had to swallow several times to push down the sickness that began roiling within her. “The venom sacs are under his tongues. Only two incisions each, but they’ll be deep and long,” she said hoarsely. “Just hold the ice bucket underneath to catch the fluid.”

  “He’ll heal quickly.”

  “Yes,” she said and laughed without humor. “But it will hurt him. All these years he avoided Punishment, and now I’m the one to hurt him.”

  Sir Pup looked at her mournfully and shifted into his three-headed form, growing until he filled most of the queen-sized bed. Her vision blurred, and she spent a few minutes rubbing his noses, letting him slobber kisses across her cheeks. “You shouldn’t let me do this,” she told him, but he only licked her face again.

  Dammit. She was drawing it out. “Can I have your short sword?” Her hands trembled.

  Wordlessly, Hugh gave her the blade, and his palm lingered against hers, solid and warm. It was the sharpest of the swords, would cause the least damage and pain—but if she hesitated or shook, it would hurt him more.

  Hugh withdrew his hand from hers, then brushed his thumb over her cheek. “He allows you to do it because he loves you,” he said.

  The knowledge didn’t help steady her, but that simple touch did. She steeled herself and began to cut.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Sword,” Hugh said as she exited the bathroom, and that was the only warning she received before he swung the blade at her head. Instinctively, she ducked and threw herself at his legs to knock him off balance. He staggered back into the TV stand; Lilith rolled to the side and leapt up onto the bed next to Sir Pup.