Hellsbane 02 - Heaven and Hellsbane

by Paige Cuccaro

  She looked at him. “One of the dudes, the young one, he…he just ran at me. I didn’t mean to hurt him. But I was holdin’ the sword and he, he ran right into it. The other dude and the lady took off. But the first guy dropped dead right there and started…he started melting. Turned into this big pile of black goo.”

  “He was a demon,” I said. “That’s what happens to them when they die. You did good killing him. Did anyone explain all of this to you?”

  That vote of confidence seemed to do the trick and the girl finally looked at me, nodding. “Yeah. Leon said killin’ the demon is what made the sword burn me too.”

  “It marked you.” I showed her the sword and crossed keys tattoo on my inner wrist again. “Switched on some pretty awesome power inside you too. You’ll see. It’s not all bad.”

  Nenita sniffed, looked back at Dan’s badge in her hand. “Whatever. Don’t know nuthin’ about that. Leon said someone would come explain everything, and then he took the extra sword and left me there with the smelly pile of crap.”

  “Someone did come, right?” I asked. “Your magister. Maion.”

  Her head snapped up, brows hiking high. “You know him?”

  I shook my head. “No. Eli, the angel who was just here, he knew him.”

  Hope dimmed and she lowered her head. “Right. Don’t matter now anyway. He’s dead.”

  “How?” I asked. “I mean, it shouldn’t be possible. What happened?”

  I thought she’d slipped into her silent treatment again, but then Dan tried. “Nenita? We need to know what happened. I know it was scary, but you have to tell us so we know who to go after.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was stupid, I guess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nenita wouldn’t look at either of us, her gaze focused on Dan’s badge, her thumb working a steady rhythm around the oval in the center of the shield. “’Bout an hour later, that Maion dude finally showed up. Said he was magi—somethin’ and that he was supposed to teach me stuff.”

  “Magister,” I said. “They’re angels who’ve decided to do a little more than sit on the sidelines and watch us fight for our lives. Did he bring you a sword?”

  She nodded. “’Cept it was silver like the extra one Leon took. Had my name on it, too. It’s with my stuff in that closet. It’s busted, though. Blade snapped off.”

  “Leon had two swords?”

  “Yep. One silver, like mine, and one all shiny and black. The silver one was extra. He only used the black one. It was pretty sweet,” she said.

  “Are you sure one of Leon’s sword was black? Maybe it was just too dark in the alley to see.”

  “Naw, I’m sure. It was real cool,” she said.

  I’d never seen an illorum sword that wasn’t silver. Maybe it’d gotten dirty or stained somehow. But why would he have two? “Well, you can relax. Your sword’s not broken. That’s just how they work. The blade disappears when you don’t need it, makes it easier to carry around. You need to keep it on you all the time. Never let it out of your reach. Okay?” I watched her nod as I crossed the room to the closet and found the hilt.

  “How did you end up in the alley tonight?” Dan asked, keeping the flow of information focused.

  I brought her sword, minus the blade, back to her. It felt almost as good in my hand as my own. And like mine, Nenita’s hilt had her last name, Conrad, stamped along the guard. This sword had been forged for her and her alone.

  She took the metal handle—a thin strip of leather spiraling around the grip for comfort—and slipped it under the sheet beside her. I could almost see some of the tension ease from her shoulders at having it near.

  “Maion was gonna take me someplace to practice fighting,” she said. “We was walkin’ down Clyde Street past them apartments and heard people fightin’ back in the alley. I could see right off it was Leon gettin’ his butt whooped again. I wanted to help. Maion tried to stop me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Nenita rolled a shoulder. “Said somethin’ didn’t feel right. Shoulda listened.”

  “But you didn’t,” Dan said.

  The girl shook her head. “Leon was my friend. ’Least I thought he was. Couldn’t let him go out like that. Not without at least tryin’ to help. He was fightin’ the old dude again, the one with the purple pajamas. Figured I’d scared him off once, I could do it again.”

  “So you went into the alley,” Dan said.

  “And Maion followed,” I added.

  Nenita nodded. “Yeah. I walked right up and took a swing at the old guy with my sword, then…then everything got all effed up.”

  Anticipation and wild curiosity edged me closer. “How do you mean?”

  “At first Leon and me were both fightin’ the old guy. And let me tell you, he was fast—I mean, superfast. Sometimes I couldn’t even keep track of him.” She pushed up, sitting straighter, the retelling of her battle melting away her earlier tentativeness. “But then Leon disappeared, like…like he just walked away.”

  “He left you alone to fight a demon before you’d had any training at all?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, that’s what I thought,” she said. “But then I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He was fightin’ Maion.”

  “Wait. Was Leon the one who killed Maion?” Dan asked and Nenita nodded.

  “Why?” I asked.

  She looked to me. “Don’t know.”

  “Well…where was Leon’s magister during all of this?”

  “He never said he had one.”

  “Of course he had one. We all do. Unless he killed him, too,” I said, my mind stumbling over the thought too insane to be possible.

  “I’m still not clear on how he managed to kill one angel, let alone two,” Dan said, ever focused.

  Nenita rolled her shoulders, her dark eyes on Dan’s badge again. “Happened fast. Plus I was busy keepin’ the old guy from killin’ me. Wasn’t doin’ too good. Cut me up pretty bad, like he’d grown claws. And it burned. But I seen Leon. Seen him stab Maion in the gut. Looked like it hurt him, but Maion pulled the sword right back outta him like it was nuthin’. Like it hurt his feelings more than anything.”

  “An illorum’s sword can’t kill an angel?” Dan asked me.

  “Nothing can…at least that’s what I thought,” I said. “Our swords are only deadly to demons and the Fallen. An illorum sword might injure a seraph, but that’s it.”

  “That’s what Leon’s sword did. Just hurt Maion bad enough to distract him,” Nenita said. “He done stabbed Maion right in the heart. And Maion just stared at the sword stickin’ outta his chest. Not like he was thinkin’ he was gonna die, but like he couldn’t believe it even happened.”

  “Then how…” I couldn’t help picturing it, the heartache etched on the angel’s face, fear and betrayal thick in the air. “How did he kill him?”

  “Leon did it. While Maion was standin’ there all sad-faced and disappointed, Leon yanked his sword out of Maion’s chest and hacked off the dude’s hand. The nasty thing bounced across the alley, still holdin’ his sword.”

  “He wanted an angelic sword,” I said, my brain skipping ahead.

  “Yep. Leon snagged up the angel’s sword just as quick as he could, hand and all, and sliced the blade across Maion’s neck. Dude’s head fell right off, and then his whole body exploded. Knocked me and the asshole I was fightin’ off our feet. I think they thought I was dead from it. Plus I was already bleedin’ pretty bad. Anyway, they took off.”

  “What about the sword?”

  “Took it with them. Thing still had Maion’s hand attached to it.” She shivered, her young face scrunching with disgust. “Nasty.”

  “So they killed Maion for his sword?” I asked, looking at Dan. We stared at each other, trying to wrap our brains around the possibilities. “Why?”

  “There’s been another attack,” Eli said, suddenly behind me.

  Nenita gasped, face going pale. “Shit. Why’s he gotta keep doin’ t
hat?”

  “Exactly,” Dan said, standing. “I’ve asked the same question.”

  Eli ignored them. “We need to go, Emma Jane.”

  “Hold on. I’m serious, Emma.” Dan reached for my arm, stopping me. “You heard Nenita. This guy’s human like you. Let the police take care of it.”

  “I am the police. At least when it comes to fallen angels and demons.” I slipped my arm out of his grip, his worry for me squeezing through my chest as real as if it were my own. I hated doing this to him. But I couldn’t stand by and let more people die. “I’m the closest thing to a cop they have. Besides, Leon’s not human, not completely. Neither am I. We just look like we are.”

  I turned back to Nenita. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything you heard or saw that might explain why he’s doing this?”

  Her head swung slowly back and forth, but I could tell she was thinking…going over everything in her head. Then she straightened, brows going up. She turned her wrist and pointed at her illorum mark. “His tattoo thing. It was different than yours and mine. His sword was busted. Looked like the blade was cracked, and after he killed Maion—I think…I think it was bleeding.”

  Chapter Five

  The flat-screen monitor in Pittsburgh’s International Airport, Concourse A, droned on to a missing audience. The same announcements, business promotions, and traveling tips played one after the other on a constant loop to a spattering of tired travelers shambling past now and then like autumn leaves kicked up by an inconsistent breeze.

  At one in the morning, the arrivals and departures had slowed and metal gates had been pulled closed on the darkened shops in the main terminal. A haunting quiet had settled over the massive airport as though the building itself had lain down to sleep for the night.

  But at gate fifteen, fear crackled through the air, alive and real, setting hairs on end and jittering the nerves of every person who had stopped to stare. When Eli and I came to a stop at the edge of the yellow police tape, the crowd had grown to more than thirty people. Another six were cops taking statements, snapping pictures, collecting evidence. Not one of those people noticed our sudden arrival.

  “Emma Jane, wait,” Eli said. “I should have warned you. The illorum didn’t survive.”

  But I had already looked behind him, had already seen through the crush of morbid gawkers to the headless body crumpled across the row of plastic seats. An icy dread squeezed my chest and my stomach rolled.

  Blood coated the seats around the body and pooled on the floor underneath. The huge floor-to-ceiling window behind was sprayed with blood, the dark night making the glass a black mirror canvas and the blood a kind of gruesome, abstract painting.

  One of the body’s legs dangled to the floor, the other stretched straight out across the seats. A thick male arm, brushed with hair, was draped over the back of the seats; the other was half trapped beneath the body as though he’d been bracing on that elbow when he lost his head.

  Blood splatters dotted over tan work boots, more drops speckled up the legs. He’d been wearing dark green cargo pants and a teal, flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. Now the collars of his shirts and his chest were so drenched with blood that the white T-shirt had turned a deep merlot, almost black—the sodden fabric molding to his body.

  White bone jutted up from the bloody pulp of his neck, a stump of muscles and veins sheared straight across by an unearthly, sharp blade. It had happened so fast that the hand draped over the back of the seats still held the hilt of his sword—the blade having vanished with the death of his willpower.

  One of the police officers was just then covering the body, making do with a few airline blankets. On reflex, a wall went up in my mind, blocking any stray emotions radiating from the onlookers—and keeping my own spike of wild panic neatly contained. I stepped closer. “Where’s his head?”

  “There.” Eli lifted his chin, gesturing to the tall check-in desk near the door to the Jetway.

  I looked and fought to swallow the bile rocketing up the back of my throat. The head looked like a rotten melon, blackened and fuzzy. But then, through the blood and bruising I recognized a nose, the dead gray eyes, the gaping mouth—front teeth chipped and broken.

  Illorum are only half angel. We don’t explode in a beautiful flash of light when we die. When an illorum dies it’s almost always bloody, almost always violent, and almost always brutal.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, turning away. “Do we know who he is—was?”

  “Mathew Stonewell,” Eli said. “He was just twenty years old.”

  “When was he marked?” I asked, thinking of Nenita, searching for a connection.

  “I don’t know. After speaking to other magisters and seraphim, I would guess it was less than two weeks. That’s about the time Karoz stepped forward as his magister.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Eli. “Has anyone heard from Karoz?”

  Eli shook his head, his hands in the front pockets of his slacks. “We’re fairly sure he’s gone, too.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “No. But it seems he was well liked by many of my brothers.”

  The guy next to me glanced over and then back at the scene, pretending he wasn’t listening. I didn’t care. I’d discovered a while ago talking crazy out loud earns you elbow room. People keep their distance just in case weird might be contagious.

  “Is it possible whoever’s doing this is after angelic swords?”

  “No,” Eli said without hesitation.

  “Why so sure?”

  “It’s just not possible. An angel can’t be separated from his sword. It’s a part of him like his arm, his head. When his body is banished from this plane and he returns to the divine ether, everything that made him physical in this world goes with him.”

  “What if a part of him was separated from the rest before he was killed?”

  Eli looked bothered by the question, almost angry. “What do you mean? What part?”

  “Like his sword and the hand that held it.”

  Eli’s expression flattened, his face paled, and several heartbeats thudded by before he opened his mouth to answer. But it was Mike Rizzo whose voice cut through the thickening tension between us.

  “Emma?”

  Eli and I both looked at the wrestler-sized cop staring at us—head cocked to the side, crooked nose crinkled in confused surprise. The other three cops he stood with spared me a curious glance then turned back to their conversations.

  I forced a smile. “Hey, Mike.”

  He hooked his thumbs on his thick black belt and strode over. Dan’s good friend poked a finger at the bill of his hat, pushing it higher on his forehead. “Second time in one night. What are you doing here?”

  “I, uh…” I jabbed a thumb toward Eli. “We’ve got a redeye to Maryland. Martial arts conference.”

  “You guys leaving town?” He asked Eli and Eli nodded, backing up my lie. Because of his constant presence in my life, Eli had used his power to impress a memory of himself in those closest to me. They knew him as my harmless, unassuming martial-arts instructor. Not too far from the truth. “Huh…so it’s just a coincidence?” Suspicion creased his dark brows.

  “Exactly.”

  “Yeah. Had to be, right?” He glanced at the body then back to me. “Where’s Dan?”

  “Still at the hospital talking to the first attack victim. He wanted to come see us off, but they needed him there.” I crossed my arms under my chest and brightened my smile. It was mostly true. I just hoped he didn’t ask to see our tickets. When you can travel at nearly the speed of thought, little things like getting past TSA screenings aren’t much of an obstacle.

  “First victim?” Mike pulled his notepad and pen from his back pocket and jotted something down. “Dan thinks the attacks are related? Did the girl say something? Last I heard, she wasn’t talking.”

  “She wasn’t. Not until Dan got there. He has a way of making people trust him.” It was one of the many things I liked abou
t him. And I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Dan was usually the guy they sent in to talk to witnesses, especially those who’d been traumatized in some way. That’s how we had met. I’d been the one traumatized.

  Mike nodded, reaching up to tug his hat lower on his brow. “Yeah. He’s got a way about him. That’s why he always gets the best women.”

  My cheeks warmed and my smile turned a little more genuine. “Nenita, the girl, said her attackers had swords. Judging by the damage and the hilt in that guy’s hand, I’m guessing something long, sharp, and pointy was used here too. That’s a helluva coincidence.”

  Mike glanced at the body under the airline blankets then back to me. “Yeah, that’s what we’re thinking, but keep it to yourself, okay? We don’t want the details getting out yet. Plus we need to ID the vic. See if he’s got family.”

  “Mathew,” Eli said.

  Mike’s eyes narrowed on my angelic teacher. “What’s that?”

  “His nam—”

  “Nothing,” I said before Eli got us hauled in for questioning—questions we couldn’t answer without being committed afterward.

  “You know the victim?” Mike asked anyway.

  Eli didn’t answer at first, his gaze stuck on the dark blankets as though he could still see the headless body of the illorum underneath. Finally he said, “No. I didn’t know him.”

  “You sure?” Mike asked, straightening his shoulders, his stern expression telling me he’d shifted back into full-on cop mode. “What was that you said before? Mathew?”

  “Thank you,” Eli said, his expression emotionless. His attention slowly shifted from the covered body to the cop in front of him. “I said thank you…for considering the boy’s family. It’s very noble of you.”

  Mike flinched, the compliment knocking him off his game and bringing a quick blush to warm the color of his cheeks. “Yeah, well y’know, it’s standard procedure. Just the right thing to do.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “You guys do an awesome job. Listen, we need to get going. Eli’s about to miss his flight.”

  Mike’s brows jumped high under the bill of his hat. “Oh, right. Yeah. Have a good trip, man. Emma, you want me to pass any messages to Dan when I go back to the hospital?”