by S. M. Reine
“I’ll take a critique later,” Elise said.
“It will be less of a critique and more like glowing praise.”
She almost smiled.
She had left the gates to the House unlocked when she last visited, so all it took to open them was a push. She sidled in. As soon as she set foot on the grounds within, the soul-linked wards filled her with welcoming warmth, greeting her silently. The House still thought it belonged to her.
Inside, there was no sign that anyone had been flayed by the wards—at least, not recently. It looked like a harpy might have flown too low and ended up pancaked on the ground, but its splattered remains were dried, blasted halfway to nothingness by the wind. A few tattered feathers stuck to the bloody bones.
But no Lincoln.
Elise thought her wards would have probably let him in safely anyway. She’d given him universal amnesty to her spells, both within the Palace and without. She hadn’t wanted him to wander off and get killed. He was just a deputy, a man raised on Earth with a mundane mortal life. He wasn’t experienced enough to figure out where he could safely explore in Hell.
At the time, it had seemed like a reasonable safety precaution. Now, it had given a confused, dangerous man access to everything that belonged to her.
Including the House where a deadly poison had been mined.
That was where Elise headed with James at her back—the mines at the back of the property. It was a long hike to reach them, but she didn’t want to phase in case they passed Lincoln on the way.
“When we find him, what do you want to do?” James asked as they walked through the workshops positioned alongside the manor. The windows looked like hollow eye sockets watching them climb.
“We’ll take him back to the Palace so you can heal him.”
“After what he’s done?”
“I’ve killed more demons than he has.”
“True. It’s just a generous policy, coming from you.” He labored to follow her up the steep mountain, shuffling along the path. His feet caught the rocks and sent them skittering back down toward the gates. “I remember when we caught the angel Samael killing babies. I remember that you tried to save him once. Only once.” James caught her eye. “You’ve already saved Lincoln once.”
“We’re not negotiating whether or not we’re killing Lincoln.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” he said. “I’m saying that—well, I think if we met Samael now, you might have found a way to spare his life.”
Another crack of rock against rock. This time, it didn’t come from James’s clumsy steps. It came from higher on the mountain, a path that led toward an old temple.
Elise’s eyes narrowed as she studied it from a distance, opening her senses. She thought that she detected life within the temple. It was faint. Maybe one of the last guards she had sent to patrol the property.
She changed directions.
“Lincoln’s in all this trouble because of me,” Elise said. “He was poisoned because he ate something cooked for me. He doesn’t deserve to die.”
“The fact that he cares about you has nothing to do with it?”
“I don’t consider it relevant.” Elise’s cheeks were hot. She dried her jaw with her thumb again, making the motion discreet. More black sweat. That was…new. “Stay down here. I’m going to investigate the temple on my own.”
“No, I don’t think so,” James said.
She shot him a look. He stared back at her, equally unwavering.
Rolling her eyes, she headed into the temple.
The faint life within the temple snuffed out before Elise managed to enter.
She passed through the door with her Taser drawn. She had other, more lethal weapons—including boot daggers, the obsidian falchion, and Seth’s Beretta 9mm—but she wouldn’t use any of them on Lincoln.
It didn’t seem to matter now, though. There was nothing alive within the temple.
The nearer body belonged to Viola, one of the women that had come from the House of Abraxas at the same time as Gerard. She had requested the patrol. She had told Neuma that it was liberating to walk the halls of the place where she had once been chained, only as a conqueror. Elise had trusted her enough to watch the mines.
Viola had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest, stomach, and throat. There were defensive wounds on her arms. The veils protecting her from Dis’s harsh air had been ripped away. But despite the blood, she looked peaceful sprawled at the feet of the statue beyond the altar, almost graceful in the way that her arms stretched over her head.
Elise’s gaze tracked up the blood-spattered legs of the statue. It depicted three figures: angel, human, and demon. They had been worn down until their features were unidentifiable. She had seen one version of the statue intact, so she knew that it wasn’t Eve, Adam, and Lilith as she would have expected. It seemed important, somehow, that this woman had died at their feet.
The other guard was sprawled near one of the open windows. Elise kneeled beside him and wiped as much of the blood off his face as she could. She didn’t feel any urge to consume his fluids or flesh. He had been dead too long, already cooled to room temperature.
She couldn’t remember this guard’s name. She had been making an effort to memorize their faces and names—or, to be more precise, Neuma had been making an effort to coach Elise on these things—but this one just hadn’t stuck. He must have been new.
He looked like any of a hundred other slaves that she had liberated from House ownership: brown skin, brown hair, brown irises that were rolled halfway into his skull when she peeled his eyelids back. He was emaciated and covered in rashes. He looked tough. He must have been tough to survive slavery and go on to agree to work for Elise.
She didn’t know his name, but he had died for her here, at Lincoln’s hands. Trying to protect the House of Abraxas.
“Elise,” James said gently.
It was only then that she realized she had been stroking the cheek of the dead guard. She jerked her hand back. “They were patrolling the House for me. They probably didn’t realize Lincoln was dangerous.” Elise straightened, clenching her fists. “He was here not too long ago.”
James’s hand smoothed down her spine, tracing the length of her hair. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I’m in charge. Everything is my fault.”
“It’s too much for any single person to control,” he said gently. “And too much for anyone to bear.”
“You’re the one who wanted to become God to change the world.”
“But you’re not omnipotent.”
She thrust her chin toward the statue. “Recognize them?”
“Yes. They’re all over Dis. You have one like it in the Palace.”
“No, I don’t,” Elise said. “Those aren’t who you think they are. They’re a different triad.”
He stepped carefully around the statue, avoiding the smears of blood on the floor. “But they’re arranged like Adam, Eve, and Lilith. They’re the right species. Wait.” He took his glasses out of his front pocket and slid them on. “The demon has the prominent placement here, doesn’t it? It’s meant to be viewed from this angle rather than the nave…” He took a step to the left. “Yes, the markings on the base seem to indicate…hmm. Interesting.”
The sound of another heartbeat caught her attention. It was pounding hard—not hers, not James’s, and certainly not belonging to the dead.
Someone was approaching the temple.
Elise flitted on shadow to the rear door, leaning out onto the step.
A human figure staggered up the mountain. He was coming from the direction of the mines.
Lincoln Marshall was lugging a chest that sparked with magic that wasn’t witch, warlock, or mage in origin. It was that strange other-magic that Elise had seen in the weapons in the Dark Man’s home—and in the anathema powder.
“James,” she said.
He was beside her in a moment, and understood her worry in a moment more. “I’ll take care
of it.”
James stepped out to meet Lincoln on the path. The deputy’s reaction was delayed—he didn’t even look up to the temple until he was already within a hundred yards of it, and once he did, he struggled to focus on James.
At this distance, Elise could see that Lincoln was doing worse. Much worse. He had shed the leather body armor that she had given him, and that had been his only protection from the brutal winds of the City of Dis. He had found jeans somewhere, but they were shredded. His skin was raw, chapped, bleeding. The smell of the blood wasn’t appealing. It was sickly blood.
“Stop right there,” James said.
Lincoln didn’t stop. Once he realized whom he was seeing, anger flashed over his face. “You people.”
James loosed his magic into ribbons, burning lines of electric blue into Elise’s vision. He pulled together gentle spells—wind and disorientation and cushions of air.
With a flick of his wrist, the runes activated.
Lincoln staggered under the sudden push of wind. The chilly blast made Elise shiver behind James. At the same time, a second wind pushed the chest out of his hands, and Lincoln’s fingers released it easily.
The chest clattered to the ground.
Shock only made the deputy hesitate for an instant. Then he was charging, drawing the same blade that he had used to kill Viola and Fenix from behind his back. It was a wicked iron dagger almost as long as his forearm. He must have taken it from Elise’s rooms while she was gone.
He dived at James, who stepped aside easily.
Elise caught Lincoln’s second swing. Her forearm slammed into his, knocking it aside. The blade swiped across her sleeve. A gash opened, baring untouched skin.
She drove the heel of her palm into his chest. He fell. Elise dropped to the ground with him.
He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back down easily. The enraged man who had killed three people on his path to the House of Abraxas was weakening. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin drenched in gray sweat.
She straddled him and pushed his wrists to the ground on either side of his head.
“Let me go, you dumb bitch,” he snapped in the nightmare’s voice.
“Lincoln. Stop it.”
“Your Lincoln isn’t here!”
“My Lincoln is alone in his skull,” Elise said. “You’re just confused.”
“Your Lincoln?”
“My Lincoln. The one who thinks cherry pie and milkshakes are a well-rounded breakfast. The one who has Jesus crucified on the wall above his TV. That Lincoln.” She shook him gently. “Snap out of it so I don’t have to hurt you.”
Confusion flicked over his face. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. Skinny, creepy, crucified Jesus.”
“He’s not creepy,” Lincoln said, and it wasn’t that biting, snide nightmare tone. “It’s a memorial to a great man. A man who died to save us all.”
That was more like it. “You’ve killed three people, Deputy Lincoln Marshall.”
It was the final nudge that he needed. His vision cleared, and then horror struck him. “I wouldn’t.”
Elise released his hands, sitting back. She didn’t let him up yet. “You should have told me that you were getting worse, Linc. I could have protected you from yourself.”
“God save me.” He slid his hands over his face. Then he lashed out again—no warning, just a sudden reach for Elise’s throat. “Bitch,” Lincoln said again.
She dug her fingertips into his wrist. “For fuck’s sake.”
“I’ll sedate him,” James said.
If he did that, there was a good chance Lincoln wouldn’t wake up again. She shoved hard. Pinned Lincoln down again. He needed strength to help him last the next few hours, not magical sleep.
“Feed,” she urged. “Take it from me.”
“You need to be angry,” Lincoln said. She couldn’t tell if that was him or the nightmare speaking.
“Trust me, I’m fucking pissed. Feed.”
She shoved all of her frustrations at him—the fact that he had been getting sicker rapidly and had hidden it, and the fact that his deception had led to the murder of a centurion she needed to protect Rylie, as well as two innocent guards who had deserved better lives. Grief and annoyance burned hot as fury inside of her, a furnace that she never needed to stoke.
But it wavered as Lincoln fed. His heartbeat quickened and his throat worked, reflexively swallowing.
The redness in his skin faded around the edges. His eyes brightened.
Energy drained out of Elise and fatigue crept in. A good sign. As she weakened, he strengthened, and she could lose a lot before it slowed her significantly.
She barely felt a dent in her energy by the time Lincoln was done. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“That’s better than I’d like it to be,” he said.
Elise got up and hauled him to his feet. “I know what you mean.”
James was focused on the chest, wrapping spell after spell around it until it glowed faintly with ethereal magic. He was locking it.
She tried to pull Lincoln’s arm over her shoulder, but he dislodged himself, pushed her away gently. “I can stand. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Elise said. “Why were you getting more anathema powder? That is what’s in the chest, isn’t it?”
He looked embarrassed. “I thought I was her. I was taking care of unfinished business. Had to get a couple more vials because…” Lincoln rubbed his forehead. His mind churned with hard thinking. “There are a couple of demons in Dis that they wanted dead. Aquiel and Abraxas had a hit list and I never finished it. It was important. I needed to finish it.”
“I’m going to take you back to the Palace for healing,” Elise said. “But before James does anything, I need you to write down everything new you’ve remembered.”
“I don’t know that I remember anything. Now that I’m clear-headed, it’s all slipping away.” Lincoln frowned. “I know that thing is important, though. That’s really important.”
She followed his gaze to the statues, only halfway visible through the door leading back into the temple. “Why? Who are they?”
“The last three,” he said. “The pantheon of the previous genesis. Aquiel was trying to keep anyone from finding out about them.”
“Genesis?” James cinched the magical locks on the chest. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that word down here. What do you mean by it?”
But Lincoln looked confused again. He was grasping hard for thoughts, but Elise could see them slipping away from him. “Draga would know. She’s the only one who knows now, and that’s where I was going next. That was who I was going to kill once I had more anathema powder. I needed the poison to kill her bodyguard—he’s too strong to defeat otherwise.”
Elise and James exchanged looks.
She should have been finding a replacement for Fenix. She should have been marching the seventeenth centuria to Earth. She should have been conferring with the witches trying to map out another route to New Eden.
All of that suddenly seemed horribly insignificant. She wasn’t sure why, but nothing seemed as important as the identity of the statues.
The sensation faded quickly and pragmatism set in. The war couldn’t wait for her to follow her curiosity.
“I’ll have Draga brought into protective custody and questioned,” Elise said. “In the meantime, no more waiting, Lincoln. We need to get you back to the Palace.”
Three
TERAH WAITED BESIDE Elise as the seventeenth centuria mounted the stairs to the crystal bridge. She was prepared for battle in full body armor, which made her stand a full three inches over Elise, not counting the spikes on her helmet. She clutched a chain in one gauntlet that led back to the collar of her fell beast, currently slumbering against the wall. Smoke spiraled from its nostrils every time it snored.
“Think they’ll be a problem for you?” Elise asked, eyeing the demons of the seventeenth centuria as they passed. They were
a ragtag band—not the best of her legion. They didn’t know obedience like a centuria of fiends would.
“A problem? For me?” Terah tossed her head back and laughed. She had a booming belly laugh, somehow a little too grating, like there were rocks in her throat. “I could handle the entire legion if you let me, Father. No. These won’t be a problem.”
“Don’t overestimate your ability to command them. They admired Fenix.” Or so Neuma had told her.
“Trust me. I would never overestimate my abilities.” She grinned. Her teeth were very square and white. “It’s not even possible.”
Bodies rustled as they climbed the stairs, metal armor clanking and leather creaking. There were only a hundred demons altogether—more like ninety-seven, since Elise had reassigned the earlier troublemakers. When the last of them reached the floor above, she climbed after them. Terah jerked her fell beast to its feet and followed.
The base of the crystal bridge was still five floors higher, but the army ascended rapidly. The tower had been designed well to move armies as quickly as possible. The steps were broad and shallow, fitting handfuls of demons abreast.
“Even if you can control them in a battle, can you keep them from hurting non-demon allies?” Elise asked.
“My pet smells traitors,” Terah said, jerking her thumb back at the fell beast. “If anyone thinks half a thought about betrayal, they’ll be dead before they can disobey.”
Useful trick. “Then I’ll need you to keep yourself glued to Rylie Gresham, the werewolf Alpha. You and your…pet. Don’t let her out of your sight the entire time you’re in Northgate.”
“Not a problem.”
“I’m serious.” Elise stopped Terah at the top of the stairs. The wind was rough at such a high elevation. It blasted through the open windows and doorways, making the demons’ feet slip on the crystal. “Rylie is first priority.”
Terah finally seemed to really listen. She nodded slowly. “I understand.”
“Fenix failed me,” Elise said. “He got himself—” She cut off, realizing that Lincoln was hovering against the wall. He should have been waiting in her rooms for James. Instead, he was looking out a window, features rimmed by the dim red light of Dis, wearing a new pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Elise forced herself to refocus on Terah. “I expect you to do better than Fenix.”