by Lindsay Mead
Placing a hand on the fence, ready to jump over it, Vi nodded to the shovel. "I think it's time you meet my new friend. I've named him Azriel."
27
Stretching its mouth wide, the demon screeched. Chills swept along Viola's spine and she leapt over the iron fence. As pedestrians cowered behind trashcans, vendor booths, and each other, Vi literally hit the ground running. The strigoi widened its stance and faced her charge.
Viola drew back the shovel, Azriel, and gripped it with two hands. Her muscles gathered, compensating for the heft of the sacred gardening tool. At the right moment, she threw her whole body into it. The blade glinted in the moonlight as it swung through the air.
Leaping to the side, the demon was a touch too slow. Azriel's sharp edges sliced along its torso, cutting a clean line into its skin. Hunching defensively, the strigoi grabbed its ribs. Black-ish blood poured over the demon's fingers as it hissed in anger and flexed its fangs at Viola.
"That's angel power for ya, buttercup." Vi let Azriel swing lazily to her side.
"Azriel," it growled, backing away from her.
Silent alarms went off in Viola's head—the demon was going to run. It would wait for a chance to catch her unprepared, without a sacred weapon, and then drag her soul to the fiery pits of Hell. As long as she was laden with the sins of a thousand others, the strigoi would always hunt her. If she wanted to have any measure of peace—Ha!—she had to put it down now and give the strigoi enough reason to hesitate in the future. Was she worth the trouble of climbing out of Hell again and again? Maybe next time they'd turn their eyes to another instead.
"Hey, don't run away now." Divine inspiration seized Viola as if Heaven guided her actions. "You think I'm gonna let you just walk away from this?"
Viola tossed the shovel into the air, grabbed it by the hilt, then drove the blade hard into the road. Thick cracks, spraying brilliant emerald light, shot forth. They zipped around the demon and Viola, too fast for her eyes to track. The beaming lines came together, and power whooshed from above, whipping her hair and sending goosebumps down her arms.
A smirk crept onto Vi's face as she recognized the large circular symbol surrounding them. It was the Key of Solomon, a demon cage. She'd drawn the symbol dozens of times but never had she willed it into existence. Her eyes swiveled to the demon glowering at the rays of light now trapping it.
The strigoi crouched warily against the wall of green light and studied her. Viola straightened, knowing that only one could leave the circle alive. She yanked Azriel from the ground and casually walked along the illuminated seal. The demon moved to keep its distance, causing them to circle each other.
"You know, this new relic makes me think of my sword." Viola paused to stick her hand through one of the light beams. The rays passed through her fingers, casting green hues onto her body. "Uriel killed most of your brethren—do you think they've managed to climb out of Hell yet?" She raised a teasing eyebrow at the demon. When it didn't answer, she shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The sword was badass, but this"—Bringing the shovel forward, she held it with both hands. It fit firmly against her palms like two magnets pulled together. It felt good, right—"well, this was made for me. I can feel death in its touch. Isn't that crazy?"
Viola smiled to herself, still admiring the shovel and remembering her first sacred weapon. "With Uriel, I felt power and rage; a weapon crafted from the wrath of God."
The palm-print on her shoulder burned in response. Wielding the sword made her feel like a powerhouse, as if she was Zeus and Uriel was her lightning bolt. Nothing could stand in her way. Her strike was absolute. But the weapon felt borrowed. As though it ultimately belonged to the archangel, not to her.
When she held the shovel, it felt different. The power was airy like the night sky. A coolness seeped from within. If Viola closed her eyes, she could imagine that it was the cold embrace of grave soil. Part of her wished that she didn't enjoy that feeling so much; part of her knew that's who she was—why the Angel of Death had chosen her.
"Death is more me, don't you think?" Viola blinked, shaking herself out of her revere and returning her attention to the strigoi. "Wrath is quick, burns hot for a brief and terrifying moment." She heaved the shovel upward, somehow masterfully twirling it like a baton. "But death is persistent. Slow even. It'll dog your footsteps 'til the end of time. Run all you want, death will always catch you in the end."
"Like an exorcist," the strigoi hissed.
"Exactly!" Vi smiled at the demon, continuing to twirl the shovel like some well-trained swordsman. "I knew you'd understand."
It tilted its head. "We're the same."
"Is that a threat?" Vi snatched Azriel from the air and let it hang from her hand, scraping loudly—disturbingly—on the pavement as she walked. "Are you trying to tell me that you'll drag me to Hell in the end?" She laughed like the idea didn't bother her a bit. "No matter how many times I kill you, some strigoi will find a way to the land of the living and come after me."
"Sinner," it agreed.
"Yup, that's me." All of that sin sat below the surface, ebbing against her soul like a dark ocean. "You tell your brothers that they can come after me again and again. Azriel and I will be waiting."
The demon charged.
Shockingly fast, it closed the distance between them. The strigoi swung at her face, its claws reaching her cheek. Vi acted on instinct and rammed the shovel's handle into the creature's chest with both hands, gut-checking it like a hockey player. Its claws raked against her skin as the strigoi was knocked across the circle.
Viola touched her burning cheek, surprised by the strength the shovel gave her. Several gaping cuts throbbed in protest. She sucked air through her teeth and her fingers came back sticky with blood.
That fucker. Vi was going to be really pissed if she scarred.
Panting from the chest blow, the strigoi lifted its hand to the holes in its face where a nose should have been. Blood gleamed on the tips of its jagged claws. The demon inhaled and swayed its head side-to-side as if to suck in every ounce of coppery scent.
Darting out, the strigoi's tongue wrapped around a claw. It cleaned the blood away in a single swipe. Viola's stomach rolled as the demon did quick work of the other claws. A moan of pleasure rumbled from the creature's throat and it closed its soulless eyes.
Now was her moment, when the demon was nearly overcome with hunger and desperation. Vi just had to keep her head. Craning its neck, the strigoi exposed its fangs and issued a bone-chilling keen. Viola gripped Azriel with both hands. This demon really was the stuff of nightmares—and she sure as shit wasn't gonna die with its nasty mouth latched onto her throat.
"You hungry?" She licked her lips. "Come get me, sparky."
Falling for her taunt, the strigoi charged again. Its long, thin legs crossed the seal in only three powerful strides. At the last second, she stepped around the demon, twisted, and swung the shovel like a baseball bat. After this was over, Viola should consider a career in baseball—ya know, because she'd be unemployed anyway. The back of her shovel's blade connected with the rear of the strigoi's skull. A bone-crunching thwack followed the impact, propelling the demon directly into the green beams of the demon trap.
Bright light exploded with a snap and expelled a wicked shock wave of hell no at the strigoi. Viola cringed, shielding herself as the ancient power ricocheted around the seal. The supernatural windstorm whipped her hair and tingled against her skin.
All at once it stopped, descending them into total silence.
Clutching Azriel, Vi blinked away the stars in her eyes. The strigoi lay at the seal's center, light rays shining around its sprawled body. Struggling to breathe under the weight of its crushed bones, the creature's jaw snapped involuntarily at the night sky. If she left it alive, though, it wouldn't be long before it healed and came after her again. Already, she could hear its bones snapping into place.
"Remember what I said, strigoi." Carrying Azriel in one hand, Viola went to the demon.
"Tell your brethren that Azriel and I will be ready. They might want to focus on another sinner for a while."
The strigoi watched her but didn't attempt to speak, likely in too much pain to try. Not wanting the demon to suffer—strigoi and exorcists were usually on the same side, after all—Vi hovered over it, allowing her feet to straddle its chest. She took the shovel in both hands, blade pointed down, and raised her arms. The demon's tongue lashed out of its gaping mouth. It rose several feet but failed to go any further.
"Donec iterum conveniant illi." Viola flexed her grip on the shovel, hesitating long enough for the creature to inhale.
Clenching her teeth, she drove the blade into the demon's neck. It struck clean through, hitting the road beneath. The strigoi's head went slack, rolled to the side, and its tongue flopped out. Viola exhaled. It was dead… for now.
Whispers and murmured voices reached her ears. Glancing up, Vi realized that she'd broken the seal by killing the strigoi. The emerald rays were gone, leaving only the moon and dim streetlights to brighten the night. Breaking from the stupor Archangel Azriel had put them in, the crowd was starting to come out of hiding. A brave few walked warily toward her.
"No, quédate atrás." Vi stepped over the demon, telling the curious onlookers to stay back.
Exhaustion slammed into her. She swayed on her feet, shaking her head. It seemed that Viola's constant exorcist badassery was finally catching up to her. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to sin-eat, free hundreds of souls, sanctify ground, and magickally call forth the Seal of Solomon all in a single twenty-four hour period. The sin Viola carried suddenly felt a hundred times heavier and not even her growing hunger could outweigh the need to sleep. In fact, she was about to pass out.
Leaving her shovel in the demon's neck, Vi fished the flask of holy water from inside her leather jacket. Thank God for Lana or the thing would probably be empty. A pedestrian said something to Viola as he edged closer, but her brain couldn't focus enough to translate. He held up his hands like he approached a gun-wielding criminal.
"No, quédate atrás," Vi mumbled.
Quickly, she unscrewed the flask and poured the contents onto the strigoi. The bare skin sizzled on contact, causing the man to hesitate. She shook more holy water onto the demon's face as the body ignited, blue flames turning it slowly to ash. Glaring at the mystified man, Vi stuffed the flask in her jacket and jerked her shovel from the ground.
"Hey, you let it burn," Viola warned the man, drawing his dazed attention to her. The strigoi corpse would be dust in a moment, but she wasn't taking any risks. "You understand? It must burn."
She raised her eyebrows for emphasis. He gulped and nodded, staying where he was. Unable to fight the sin and exhaustion any longer, Viola stumbled toward the cemetery. The people watched her go, some looking like they wanted to reach out. But she must have scared them because, instead, they withdrew and let her pass.
Viola didn't care about the crowd or the demon. She just wanted to sleep, just wanted the weight of sin off her shoulders. Passing onto sacred ground, Vi paused as her soul actually lightened. She inhaled, sagging against the iron archway with relief and then pushed herself onward. Moving through dozens of decorated tombstones and flickering candles, Viola dragged her heavy feet to the same forgotten section she'd taken to earlier that night. She used the last of her strength to slam Azriel into the dirt and drop into the groove of tree roots. Eyes half-lidded, Vi tugged her jacket around her. Sleep was coming fast. She couldn't fight it.
Unfortunately, as the sweet surrender fell over her, Viola's mind decided to remember Ian's face. A tear slipped down her cheek—all her tired body could spare—sorrow squeezed her heart, and sleep whisked her away.
28
Anubis sat motionless in the shadows of the cemetery, watching Viola sleep soundly among the graves. After leaving a plate of food and a candle at her feet, a family of four quietly shuffled away from the exorcist. And they were not the first to leave her offerings. The pile around Viola had been steadily growing, with none of the worshipers aware of Anubis lurking nearby. Occasionally one would glimpse his glowing eyes, but they did not dare investigate the thing in the shadows. It was for the best, he did not like the living.
He belonged among the dead. For centuries and centuries, Anubis had guarded the remains of the departed and led wayward souls into the hereafter. Forever alone—that is, until her.
Viola looked beautiful nestled against a forgotten gravestone. She was an oddity, a marvel, to him. In all of his long years, Anubis had never met a human who belonged with the dead as he did. The living were often disturbed by the sleeping dead but, unlike them, Viola was comforted by the stillness of the otherside.
Before her, Anubis had lived in a world of grays. He existed, but he did not live. He knew only of the tombs he guarded, and occasionally observed the life occurring beyond a cemetery's borders. Even his family had little contact with him.
But when Viola became an exorcist, he had felt it. A pull toward something alive. Anubis had spent many days staring in the direction of the pull but was too afraid to leave the Valley of The Kings to seek out the thing that called to him. He did not belong with the living…but he did belong with her. And she traveled far to tell him just that.
The first time Anubis had seen Viola, he could not look away. She was a blaze of color from head-to-toe, walking confidently among the graves as if their chill did not touch her. If death could take a living form, Anubis was certain that Viola was it. When her gaze alighted on him, seeing him as no other did, he saw love and companionship in her honey-colored eyes. In that moment, Anubis knew he never wanted to be alone again. He was hers.
A strange sensation swept along Anubis' spine, drawing him from his memories. The ground rumbled with a splitting vibration and moaned from the strain. As Anubis shifted his physical form to the otherside, a familiar grayness settled across his vision. Something was coming. Not a wayward soul, but something that did not belong.
Anubis stood on all four, his acute eyes searching for the intruder. His long ears twitched at a cracking sound. It came from one of the forgotten graves, the first stone to mark this land.
Black veins of hellfire soot crawled along the headstone, falling into the faint lines of a forgotten name. Hot smoke rose from the dirt. It tumbled away from the plot and covered the ground like a malicious fog. Anubis curled his lips over his fangs, letting a deep growl roll from his chest. There were few underworld beings able to set foot on sacred ground—and Anubis did not want any of them near Viola.
A hand shot up from the smoke. The skin was tinted a greenish-gray, nails brittle and cracked. It slammed onto the ground, the fingers sinking into the soil, and pulled. First appeared the elongated ivory crown of an Egyptian god, horned by two gold peacock feathers. His face was nearly emaciated with the skin pulled tight over a strong chin and cheekbones. Then out climbed a broad, bare chest and a torso wrapped in the linen strips used in the ancient ritual of mummification.
Osiris. The old king of the afterlife, now a servant of Hell. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and brushed the dirt from his arms. Aside from his shining eyes and muscled body, he could have been mistaken for a walking corpse. It was good that the living could not see the otherside.
"I hate climbing out of Hell." Osiris scowled, scratching the thin mustache lining his jaw. "This place disgusts me."
That is because you do not belong this close to the living, Anubis sneered. Why are you here, Osiris?
He glanced around, taking in his new setting. "We have not seen each other in an age or two and this is how you greet family?"
Anubis was not fooled. Osiris had ended their relationship with a single and clear act. We both chose our sides when the powers shifted and the afterlife split in two.
"Are you still glad you sacrificed your true form to continue serving the dead?" He knelt to peer into Anubis' jackal eyes. "A former god turned lesser being."
And you are a former god turned de
mon.
"I may not be King of the Afterlife anymore, but I still rule over legions." Osiris stood and hooked his lip in disgust. "My sacrifice did not put me on all fours like a mongrel."
Be careful, corpse, Anubis snarled, showing Osiris just how sharp his fangs were. My power is not lessened by my form, and you are in my dominion now.
"I am not here to quarrel with you—"
Then why are you here? his voice boomed, sounding like a thunderous bark.
"To collect what is owed." Osiris held out his hands. A crook and flail—a hook for ripping the soul from the body and a whip to enslave it—appeared in his palms. "My strigoi have been returning empty handed. It seems that I have to collect the bounty myself."
Possessive rage made Anubis' hackles rise along his spine. Osiris was here to take Viola when she was too weak to protect herself. Anubis lowered his head, focusing his predatory gaze upon the old king. You cannot have her.
Osiris looked at him, his eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. "You are protecting a living human?"
She is different. She and I are the same.
He frowned sympathetically. "That is unfortunate because her soul belongs to Hell and it is my right to claim it."
She belongs to no one, other than me. Anubis crouched, ready to pounce.
"You really have lost your touch." Osiris vanished in a swirl of sooty smoke and reappeared a few feet from Viola. His eyes trailed over her form appreciatively. "She will make a good strigoi."
Stay away from her. Anubis jumped in front of Viola, his growl so loud now that it vibrated the surrounding air.
"Do not worry, I will kill her quick." He lifted the sharp crook into the air.
Gathering his muscles, Anubis jumped onto a tombstone and vaulted himself at Osiris. He aimed for the long, hooked soul-stealer. Flying past the old king, Anubis' jaws wrapped around the crook and ripped it from Osiris' hand. Anubis landed nimbly, keeping the object pinned squarely between his fangs.