by Harley James
“Well, not really,” Stark intoned in an upbeat, sing-song voice that sounded nothing like Stark’s real voice. “I actually do have her grandparents.”
Jessie’s blue eyes burned into Nate’s. “I can’t believe you’re not even considering this. It’s just an object.”
An object that his redemption depended on. The archangel had made that painfully clear. “Are you listening to me? This is a prince of Hell, Jess. He’ll never hold up his end of the bargain. We could give him the relic—”
“Nate!” Katherine barked.
He glanced at Katherine and shook his head before turning back to Jess. “He has no honor. Bargains and promises mean nothing to demons. I’ll find another way to get your grandparents.” If they were even still alive.
“I’m standing here not harming anyone. It’s unfair of you to besmirch my honor, Nathaniel,” Stark said.
Dorian lifted his arm to aim a line of holy water at Stark. Before the water launched, Stark lifted a hand, blasting Dorian against the wall so hard he crushed through the drywall, landing inside the kitchen. Stark smiled. “There is no other way, Jessica. It’s the relic for your grandparents, or no dice.”
Jessie trembled under Nate’s fingertips. She brushed him away and turned to face the demon. “Are they alive?”
Stark shrugged. “I’m not the make-nice, vomit-my-feelings-to-make-you-feel-better kind of guy, so I guess you’ll have to take my word for it. Honestly, these Guardians belong in Hell themselves, so how do you know you can trust anything they say either? So what’s it gonna be? Going once…”
Jessie whirled to face Nate, the beseeching look on her face making his heart wrench. “Please, I’ll do anything. What object could possibly be more important than a human—two human—lives?”
Guard this sacred relic. Your everlasting soul depends upon it. The entire human race depends on it. The archangel’s words held the finality of death…and worse. “There’s no bargaining with devils, Jess.”
“I can’t believe you won’t even take the chance. They’re my family!”
Stark’s nostrils flared. “Walt and Tilly will have to die, then. I’ll make it quick, Jessica, if you come willingly to my bed.”
Nate leapt, rage licking his amygdala in hues of red, orange, then a pure, brilliant white. He felt Jessie turn and run, but nothing would divert him from his mission.
Kill. Maul. Destroy the threat to his mate.
Nate was mid-air when the last of Asmodeus’ colloid form ejected from Stark’s body. Katherine cried out, blasting Stark sideways with a stream of water to save him from Nate’s Xiphos, which rang through the empty air where Stark had been moments before.
Father Angus ran across the dance floor, a crucifix held high above his head as he headed straight for the red smoke. Nate went down on one knee and slammed a fist onto the floor, sending a ripple across the wooden boards, removing the kamikaze priest from the demon’s aim. Nate spun as the red haze circled high above them, then dove at the group of injured citizens. “Dorian!”
Nate’s warning was too late. Asmodeus reanimated the largest of the injured men, using the vessel’s mass to bulldoze his way through the other bodies toward the club’s front door where he’d earlier blown away the salt line.
“Grab him!” Nate bellowed.
But the archdemon launched his possessed body through the glass doorway onto the mangled sidewalk outside, and was up, running down the block before Nate could even make it to the club’s entrance. Voices called out behind Nate, his boots pounding the floor in pursuit of the Hell Prince until Dorian’s arm shot out to clothesline him. He scrambled to his feet, swinging out in raw frustration. “What the bloody piss? He’s getting away!” The demon had actually threatened his soul mate. Had made the blasphemous suggestion to take her to his bed.
Never would he let that black scoundrel defile her. Wouldn’t even let him touch a hair on her head.
Wouldn’t—
An explosion of heat split his jaw. His fists balled up, but before he could return the punch, another landed. This time in the gut, followed by two slaps to his cheeks. Unease—not the threatening kind, but the oh-fuck-something’s-wrong type—drifted through him. He shook his head, squinting through the dissipating furious haze to hear the voices arguing around him.
Father Angus was up in his personal space. “Alright lad, enough of your ‘roid rage, we have a problem.”
“I was trying to deal with that before you blighters cock-blocked me.” Nate fingered his broken nose, but it was already mending. He looked around, his limbic system relaunching into warrior mode before he could even process what was wrong. “Where’s Jess?”
The priest shook his head like he wanted to punch him again. “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you while you’ve been acting crazy, you bowsie. She’s gone.”
“Jess!” Nate’s hoarse holler ricocheted around the club. “Jessica!” The walls of the building shook so hard plaster cracked, tumbling down, spilling white all over the floor that Jessie had swept meticulously earlier today. His heart pounded so hard he felt light headed. “Jessie!”
He raced to the sanctorum, remembering the hurt in her eyes. She thought he didn’t love her. She didn’t know he would give up every last relic for her if he believed the demon would actually honor his bargain. She didn’t know that demons never kept their word.
He’d make her see. Make her believe that he’d been telling the truth.
He opened the door to the sanctorum as Dorian pushed the bookshelf back into place, hiding the reliquary which housed the relic. When Dorian looked up, his face said it all.
“Jessie and the relic are gone.”
Chapter 33
Jessie slammed the car into park in her grandparents’ driveway and ran to retrieve the hidden key to their house. Like always, it was under a pot of burgundy mums next to the back door. Entering the house usually felt like slipping into her coziest pajamas. Now, the simple, orderly rooms looked like they always had, gave off the same lilac scent, but they echoed with a hollowness borne of compulsion.
Two nights ago she’d lain naked in Nate’s arms as he’d explained how demons often possessed people close to their intended targets. People who were less resolute, more vulnerable to attack, than the actual targets, chosen simply because they were in the target’s inner circle. Demons could only enter homes if they were invited inside. Hence, the frequent possessions of their target’s friends or family.
Jessie paused by Tilly’s sewing machine to pick up a framed photo of her mother and uncle when they were children. They looked so innocent, holding hands in a field of sunflowers. But as they’d grown, neither had made good choices. Her mother had chased fame, and when her star was burning out, she’d sought solace for her fading relevance in pills and the bottle. Mason tried to halt his spiral of poor business decisions by turning to black magic.
Neither solution worked. Instead, they’d damned themselves and left a legacy of heartbreak that not only dwelled within her, but especially her grandparents.
Aurora and Mason were already dead. Were Walt and Tilly next?
Damn you for your weakness, Mason.
And damn her for thinking Nate cared enough about her to actually agree to Asmodeus’ ultimatum. She was a measly human. Nate was an archangel’s chosen Guardian. He was fighting demons, for chrissakes. How could she think her needs were more important than the world’s?
Jessie swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand and set the picture of her mother and uncle down with the other. An hour had passed since Nate had told the Hell Prince there was no way he’d trade the relic for her grandparents. She’d been so stunned, so numb with fear for her grandparents that she didn’t even remember going into the sanctorum, opening the bookcase, and breaking into the reliquary to steal the relic. Didn’t even know how she’d managed it since Nate had told her only Guardians could complete the unlocking spell. The only thing working in her favor had been the Guardians’ preoccupat
ion with Asmodeus. She’d slipped away before they even realized she was gone.
She’d driven down residential streets, turning around when she came to an avenue that hadn’t yet been cleared of debris, trying to come up with a plan to help her grandparents. A strategy to defeat Asmodeus.
A way to forget how much all this hurt.
Nate had been trying to touch her mind for the last thirty minutes. She could tell by the slight pins and needles sensation in the front part of her brain. The pressure had grown so strong that she’d nearly ran into a street lamp. Luckily though, she’d managed to shut down whatever connection he was trying to establish. He’d only fill her head with words she wanted to hear.
How many times in the last week had he told her that she was all he’d never known he wanted? How many times had she marveled at his goodness? His natural charisma with people which he was now using for positive purposes instead of manipulation.
She’d started to believe him when he said they were meant to be together. That whole scar-vanishing thing was so incredible.
But who was she to think she deserved him? Even now, she’d betrayed him—betrayed all the Guardians and all humanity—by stealing the very thing that could set the Devil free.
What are you doing, Jess?
She closed her eyes, taking a moment to breathe deeply. She would make this right. She grabbed what she needed from Gramma’s house and hurried back to her car. She fastened her seat belt, glancing at the relic wrapped in aged gold linen on the passenger seat next to her zebra duffel bag. Nate had said the relic was called the Veil of Veronica. Supposedly, it had been used to wipe the sweat off Jesus’s brow as he’d carried the cross to his death.
The Veil was supposed to bear the likeness of his face.
“How can I do this?” she yelled in the car. Was the safety of her grandparents more important than the safety of the whole world?
No.
Of course, she’d never let Asmodeus have it, but maybe even a Prince of Hell could be tricked.
Chapter 34
Jessie pulled onto a narrow gravel road that led to a cemetery three miles away from Walt and Tilly’s house. She drove west, watching the last of the sun’s rays extinguish, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Once dusk fell, she would summon the archdemon.
For so long, she’d wanted to bring more of her JBlaze persona into her every day life. To not feel so damn self-conscious all the time. She’d thought that when she finally managed to feel that way—on the clock and off—she would have ‘arrived.’ Then, life would be perfect because she’d never have to wonder if she measured up. Would never feel insecure or unlovable again.
And that she might actually be worth the love of an intelligent, charismatic man like Nate.
Jessie squinted at the cemetery’s shadowy headstones as they came into view. Those markers were all that were left of individuals. Young or old, rich or poor, extroverted or shy. No matter when or how they’d died, they’d probably all wanted the same things as their life slipped away.
Love. Understanding. A sense of belonging. The knowledge that their life mattered.
Maybe she’d been looking at all of this through the wrong lens.
No one was immune to insecurity. No one walked through life completely confident or without fear. It just wasn’t possible.
Perhaps how one chose to fight that insecurity was what made the difference. Her mother had chosen chemical remedies. Her uncle had gone with an evil antidote. Nate’s original panacea was aggression, dominance, and manipulation.
But he’d been overcoming that. Not perfectly, of course, but God, no one was perfect.
Not even Heaven’s chosen Guardians.
What redress should she seek to overcome her insecurities? She needed to believe in her own self-worth. Nate did. Even though he’d never said the words, all of his actions told her that he loved her unconditionally. He accepted her and all her faults. All her darkness.
I’m so scared. She looked across the acres of headstones and wished she was anywhere but here. What if Asmodeus had already killed her grandparents, and she’d only be playing right into the Hell Prince’s hands? The look on Nate’s face back at the club had suggested this was highly probable.
Still, she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try to do this. She’d return the relic after her grandparents were safe. And it would work. After all, she had the relic, and Nate had assured her that no death could come to whomever possessed it.
She shoved the relic in her zebra duffel bag, which already held a vial of holy oil and a container of salt. She unlocked her car door and stepped out into the still eventide, the duffel bag firmly in hand. Her sounds of movement amplified in the hushed dusk, the rising moon only half what it had been a week ago when Hell had literally broken loose.
She’d picked this cemetery to summon Asmodeus almost without thought. She’d been here in high school with half a dozen friends on a dare. Rumors said the place was haunted. It had been a cool fall night much like this one. Semi-cloudy. Perfectly spooky. When she and her friends had first arrived, they were too wound up to notice anything. Girls and their endless noise. Finally, when they’d toned it down, Jessie had first noticed it. The sound of a heavy, blunt object striking something metallic and hollow. It wasn’t overly loud, but persistent. It originated next to the twenty-foot, white sandstone statue of Christ on Calvary. The sculptor had carved three mourners at the foot of the cross. The one on her knees, most likely Jesus’s mother, Mary.
The Veil of Veronica had been there the day of the statue’s depiction.
Jessie’s friends had linked arms, giggling and utterly oblivious to her alertness. She hadn’t joined their chain, instead walking ahead toward the statue, not because she wasn’t scared, but because something was drawing her there. A deep, yawning chasm of pain that seemed to echo with a cry of despair.
As it was again tonight.
And similar to that night so many years ago, as her footsteps crunched on the gravel path as she approached the large statue, the ambient air temperature warmed. The flagpole next to the statue was still there. Only tonight, there was no spirit banging on it.
She’d never actually seen the figure that had used the pole to reach out across the dimensions to share her pain, but Jessie had felt her back then. Had sensed that the energy was feminine, and had felt an overwhelming sadness for whomever she was. Jessie had been about to reach out and touch the pole when one of her friends saw a bat and screamed, cuing group hysteria. The girls had fled to their loaner minivan before Jessie could tell them they had nothing to fear from the nocturnal animals.
Jessie grasped the duffel to her chest, her fingers numbing with cold in spite of the unexplained warmth near the statue. She stared into the thick wall of forest beyond the large cross, wondering if the sad spirit had finally been able to move on. Her car’s headlights cast eerie shadows beyond the numerous small, white cross grave markers that fanned out around the statue in a forty-foot diameter. The crosses bore no names, only numbers of anonymous patients of a mental institution long ago shut down. She’d researched the hospital after leaving the cemetery that first night, speculating that the young woman banging on the flagpole had probably been a patient there.
A soft breeze sifted through the trees, lifting their branches in a subtle wave—a sound that would soothe during the day. At night, yeah, not so much. Especially in light of the fact that a few significant things had changed since high school.
Like witnessing demon possession. Yay.
Funny how fearless youth was. A good thing, she supposed.
Unless you were a parent.
The trees quivered again, and she shivered.
Fight your fear. She had the relic, and by now she knew enough about demons to ensure she wasn’t an easy target for possession.
Still, she couldn’t help glancing back at her car, grateful that the headlights still worked, and praying that they wouldn’t drain the battery. Sh
e’d only leave them on for twenty minutes. If she couldn’t do this in that amount of time, she’d find another way to get her grandparents back.
Too bad the relic didn’t give three wishes.
Jessie set the duffel bag in front of the statue and brought out the chrism oil. She kept the duffel within reach, dragging it around as she began sprinkling the oil around the perimeter of the statue, the closest of the white crosses, as well as the flagpole to protect the woman’s spirit if she happened to suddenly return. As Jessie enclosed the final portion of the makeshift circle, the temperature raised considerably, providing relief to her cold, achy fingers. The wind picked up in earnest now, fluttering the American flag on the pole.
She cleared her throat and spoke forcefully into the night, looking up at the image of the man on the cross. “I ask everything that is good and right in the universe to guard me as I face this evil tonight.” The duffel bag vibrated at her feet.
Alright, shit’s gettin’ real.
Next she pulled out the salt and scattered it in the grass within her circle. Please let this work. A banging started, the wind pulling the flag taut. Goosebumps broke out across her arms. She squinted into the shadows near the flag pole. “I mean no harm to anyone or anything. All I want is my grandparents’ safe return.”
An echoing howl eased through the atmosphere as though filtered through a long tunnel. Her heart squeezed like it only ever had in Nate’s presence. What did that mean? She turned in a rapid circle looking for him. But no, it was only forest beyond the statues, crosses, and larger headstones.
How she wished he was here.
She dashed at her eyes and picked up her duffel bag, holding it across her chest.
Now what? Was she supposed to call his name? She exhaled heavily, looking up at the gauzy night sky, wondering if she should be looking downward instead. “Asmodeus, Prince of Hell, I have a deal for you.”
Nice, Jess. That sounded like a script for a class B melodrama. She was about to open her mouth with a better summons when her car headlamps went dark, and the wind suddenly ceased.