He kicks at the yellow flowered chair, splintering the wood. “You can just walk away? After Jake . . . after everything? We have to do something.”
She puts her hand on his shoulder, looks him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry for them. Truly. I didn’t know Damien was going to take Jake. Or the girl. He hired me to find the bra&F�let, and now that he has it I can go home, get back to work.”
But there’s something in the way she says it. “Hired you or blackmailed you? What does he have on you, Liv?”
Her hand slides away, down his shirt, over his heart. “Does it matter? He doesn’t need me anymore. If I stick around, if I go chasing after him, I’ll just draw attention to myself and to—”
“The chain he has locked around your neck?”
She tilts her head, like her king’s just been checked. It’s the sadness that breaks him. Liv looks just like she did standing on that street so many years ago. Forced to settle for the lot she’d been given when all along she was meant for something greater. Marco steps toward her, but she moves away, her back pressed into the wall.
“You really think Damien’s going to leave you alone? His man killed Ali because she stumbled into his world, and he all but branded you tonight. You’re his, and he’s coming back for you. Unless we can find a way to help Jake and Brielle.”
“I’m missing why they have the power to change anything, but that’s beside the point. You planning to sprout wings and fly?” She tries to mock him, tries to laugh, but there’s no sharpness to the blade. “My car’s going back to Portland. If you want a ride there, it’s yours—as long as you keep your fingers off my radio. If you’re heading somewhere else . . .”
Thwack!
A heavy thud comes from above, echoing around the basement. Marco twists toward the metal staircase. A powdery white cloud tumbles down the stairs—flour by the smell of it. He and Liv curse in unison as two Tasmanian Devils emerge from the fog.
“Jinx,” Kaylee says, stumbling down the last two steps. “You two have potty mouths, but you both owe me Cokes. And I could use some caffeine, so I’m cashing in soon.”
“Kaylee?” Marco asks. “What happened to your face?”
Her left cheek and eye are a mess. Even in the dank basement light, he can see she’s swollen and bruised.
“Damien,” she says, working her jaw. “He’s got quite a backhand. In fact, I think I’m going to sit for a sec. I’m still kind of . . .” She draws circles in the air with her pointer fingers.
“What are you doing here?” Liv asks.
“Yeah, sorry.” Kaylee lowers herself carefully onto the bottom stair. “I really was trying to give you two a minute. At least, it sounded like you could use a minute.” She rolls her neck and exhales. Loud. Shaky. “You asked me something, right? Oh yeah. What am I doing here? Easy. I’m here to rescue you.” She puts both fists on her hips, wincing at the movement. “Shazam!”I’m not sure cowpD;
Liv wrinkles her face. “Shazam?”
“Captain Marvel,” Marco says.
“Two points to the tall, lanky one,” Kaylee says, looking around. “Gah, this place is awful. And kind of mysterious.” Her eyes light up. “It’s like something out of The Goonies. You think?”
“Maybe,” Marco says, a reluctant smile pulling at his face. “I guess.”
“Sloth’s not tied up down here, is he? Hey, you guys!”
Marco glances sideways at Liv, but she’s sliding her other shoe into place. “Kay, do you have a car?”
“Yeah. Slugger’s parked just past the bridge.”
“Well, look at that,” Marco says. “I guess I do have a ride.”
“And with a Goonie, no less,” Liv says, straightening up. “How did you find us, Kaylee?”
“Some supernatural freaky stuff, that’s how.” She twists her arm, trying to get a good look at her elbow.
Liv cocks her head, clears her throat. Kaylee’s eyes move from Liv to Marco and back again.
“You want details. Okay, well, some pages from Ali’s journal showed up in that chest of Canaan’s. Okay, not his real chest, you understand, but that black shiny thing at the foot of his bed, you know? You don’t know. Okay. Don’t tell Elle I said that. It’s hard to keep track of what everyone knows and, well, doesn’t know. Anyway, we found these pages somewhere, and on one of these pages Ali had sketched a lighthouse. Bellwether. And then we found Liv’s cell number on one of the other pages—”
“From Ali’s journal?” Marco asks, turning to Liv. “You knew Ali?”
“How could I?” But Liv’s response is too fast, too quipped, and Marco remembers.
“Your arm,” he says. “Ali sketched your arm.”
“Yeah, that’s what Elle said too,” Kaylee says, removing her slippers, shaking out the dirt.
“You knew Ali.” Marco’s not asking now. He knows. His brain shifts into rewind. “She saw your arm, before Javan healed the scars. She drew it.”
“What are these scars everyone keeps talking about?” Kay asks.
But Marco’s locked away with Liv. It’s just the two of them, his dead girlfriend, and three jagged scars.
“I don’t know what I’m not sure cowpD;you’re talking about, Marco. If she sketched my arm, she did it without my knowing. I never met Ali.”
He almost believes her. He considers arguing, demanding the truth, but thus far that hasn’t worked with Liv. He lifts her arm again. “But these scars weren’t here before. When did Javan . . . heal them?”
She rolls her neck, kneading the muscles with her other hand. “Javan didn’t heal these. The scars on my legs, yes. As a reward for . . . good behavior, he made those disappear. But these? These disappeared when he did.”
Marco shivers. “And now Damien’s brought them back.” He didn’t know his hatred for Damien could burn any hotter, but it does. Tonight, it does.
“From one taskmaster to the next,” Liv says. “It’s like you said, I’m all but branded.”
“But you can break free of this,” he says, grabbing her shoulders, turning her toward him. “Like Jake said. There has to be a way.”
“Maybe if I kill Henry,” she says, her voice flat, her eyes like flint. “Maybe that’ll make me better.”
Her words sting; a lemon squeezed into a heart that’s been cut open and laid bare. Is that all he’s been doing? Trying to feel better?
“Look to your own chains, Houdini, before you cough up the key to mine.” She turns to walk away, but Marco grabs her elbow. She jerks free and slips into the darkness beneath the staircase.
Marco can feel the tears burning his eyes, the sob tearing at the back of his throat. He coughs to clear it away, but all it does is settle a little lower, in his chest. Next to the hole Ali left.
Kaylee pushes herself off the bottom stair and steps toward Marco. She wraps her arms around his middle and squeezes. “I’m sorry, Marco Mysterioso,” she whispers.
He clears his throat again, harder this time. “Here, let me look at your face.”
Marco moves her onto the stairs, under the single bulb where he can see everything a little better.
“I finally got hold of Canaan,” Kay says while he pokes and prods at her cheek.
“Did you tell him about Damien?”
“Ouch. Yeah. He’s on his way.”
“Here?” Liv asks, stepping out from beneath the stairs, her shirt straightened, her hair pulled into a low knot.
“I think this is just a bad bruise, Kay. And a lot of swelling. You’re lucky he didn’t break your eye socket.”
“Canaan’s coming here?” Liv tries again.
“Oh no, not here,” Kaylee says. “He’s on his way to Danakil.”
Marco pulls back. “As in the Danakil Depression?”
“If by ‘depression’ you mean desert, then yes. That’s where Damien’s taking them. To the desert to meet Satan. Terrifying, right?” But she doesn’t look terrified. She looks . . . exhilarated. “All righty, Marco, if you’d like a ride, you’re
more than welcome. Liv, you can drive yourself home. No offense, but until we know we can trust you, you’ll have to stay out of Stratus.”
Liv snorts. “Oh, sweetie. You don’t have that kind of power.”
“No, but I do.” Helene appears in the center of their little circle. Kaylee jumps, Liv squeals, and even Marco gasps at her sudden appearance.
“You too?” Liv asks. “Use a door or something next time. Climb a stair.”
Helene’s wearing a long, pale dress that reminds Marco of a toga. Her auburn hair is braided and twisted into a circlet atop her head. But he sees so much more than her appearance when he looks at her.
“You broke me out of jail,” he says.
“You’re fighting the doubt.” Her eyes are bright, her smile wide. “That’s good.”
“But why?” He can’t comprehend it. “I was accused of murder. Why free me?”
“Providence. Those things are God’s call, not mine.”
Providence. The word that won’t die. It crashes through Marco’s mind like a rhinoceros, wreaking havoc, turning everything over.
Helene shifts her gaze to Liv. “I’ll be staying with you for a while.”
Liv shakes out her shoulders, her carefully maintained composure all but gone. “You wanna drag your claws down my arm too? Mark me? Stake a claim? You’re a little late for that.”
“No claws,” Helene says, her eyes tender. “Just me. Shielding you.”
Liv huffs. “Any way I can talk you out of that?”
“Sorry,” Helene says, sarcasm notably absent from her tone. “You don’t have that kind of power.”
Liv bristles. “Well, just . . . just stay invisible, all right?” She stomps past Marco and Kaylee, her shoes ringing against the stairs.
Marco watches her go, and then Helene steps toward him.
“Be wise,” she says. “Be brave.” With a nod, she turns away.
“Thank you,” Marco says, his words rushed, afraid she’ll go before he can say them. “For what you did, breaking me out. You gave me a chance to make things right. To tell my story. If you hadn’t come . . .”
“I was the Father’s hands and feet, Marco. Nothing more.” She’s so small, so like Ali. Same delicate face, same tiny hands. “He wanted your story told. He gave you that chance. I just unlocked the door.”
She did a lot more than that. He knows she did, and he has questions, so many of them, but with a wink at Kaylee, Helene disappears.
“I’m not a fan of the whole vanishing thing,” Kaylee says. “It’s very I Dream of Jeannie.”
“It’s the reappearing part that freaks me out.”
“Yeah. That too.” Kaylee rubs her jaw, looks around. “There’s no way we’re going to beat that exit, but are you ready?”
“Yeah. Let me just . . .” Marco stoops to gather up his belongings still strewn across the floor. His bag, a T-sadies her frie
14
Brielle
It’s a long time before either of us says a word. I’ve deflated. The need to talk, to make sure Jake knew how I felt about him, had grown in the hours he was gone. Not just gone—taken. It sat in my chest like an ever-expanding balloon pressing the words from my mouth, forcing my fears into the open air. Now, crammed against one another, shoved against Damien’s body, my words have been sucked away by the reality burning in Jake’s eyes.
We’re going to see the Prince.
Celestial heat presses against Damien’s inner wings, warming one side of my body, while the other, the side pressed against his chest, burns with an icy chill.
The ocean shines below us, so bright, so blue it’s hard to believe dark waters lie beneath its waves. Fathoms and fathoms of it. Eventually land replaces water, but whether it’s hours or minutes that pass, I couldn’t say. Jake and I both drift in and out of consciousness. The violent stains of his assaulted body fill the space between us, and when I close my eyes, the red flames seep through my eyelids. I don’t dream, and for that I’m grateful. The flames are terrifying enough.
Are we flying over the States? Are we flying across the Atlantic? Are there other avenues open to the angelic that mortals are unaware of? These questions pass through my mind like a train that blunders right through its scheduled stop. I don’t know and I don’t really care. Not enough to sort out the answers. Soon enough we’ll be standing before the Prince. And while there are so many things I don’t know, I’m fairly certain about one.
“He’ll separate us,” I shout over the flapping of wings.
Jake tries to answer, but the fiery red stains pulsing all over his body flare, and he clamps his mouth and eyes shut. The colors lighting his face dim, and he squeezes my hand tighter in response.
His strength is waning, but he doesn’t have to answer now. Months ago he told me the way evil would most likely use two souls bound like ours. The Prince will separate us. Divide us. He’ll tear us apart and use our bond against us. I never thought love could be used as a weapon. But in the hand of Darkness, I suppose most anything can.
Jake’s eyes flutter open and he shifts, pressing his shoulder into Damien. I must give him a strange look because he attempts to smile. “Gigantic ice pack.”
“I wish I could fix you,” I say.
“I wish you could too.”& the otherow entirely
Damien snaps his wings wide, tilting to the right on currents of celestial air. Wind snakes by, but it’s quieter without the beating of wings to contend with.
“When I said ‘I love you,’ you didn’t say it back,” I say.
A hint of Jake’s crooked smile emerges. “You didn’t give me a chance.”
“You do. I mean, I know you do. Your eyes say it every day, but you’ve never said it out loud. I just . . .”
Damien chuckles. Not in our heads. No, he’s much more brash about it. He opens his mouth and a demented sort of cackle ripples through the air. A braying donkey. A laughing hyena.
He’s listening.
Of course he’s listening.
Jake’s smile disappears and he presses his face closer, violence coloring him red. He’s hurting, but he opens his mouth to speak.
It’s wrong. So, so wrong. I don’t want to share this moment with anyone. Certainly not with Damien—a monster who’s actually killed me, who’s stolen and beaten the guy I want to spend every one of my days with.
I press my lips to Jake’s, the words caught somewhere between us.
“Tell me later,” I say. “When we’re back in Stratus.”
“Deal,” he says, peering at me with half-open eyes. His lips are moist, shimmering like sunset waves. I lean in once more, but Damien wraps his charred outer wings tight against us and we fall into a dive.
Our faces connect, my lip splitting against his tooth. Jake presses the hand of his good arm to my chest, lifting me from his face and steadying me against Damien’s inner wing. But the pressure is intense. Damien’s wings continue to tighten, and Jake’s arm bends. He can’t hold me at a distance any longer. The strength in his arm gives out and our faces press together, my lips settling into the soft curve of his cheek, my eyes pushed tightly against his forehead.
And then I hear music. It comes in bursts and fades, but I swear I hear it. It’s caught in the wind, but it’s there. A voice. Loud, robust. I force my eyes open and tip my chin up, but black feathers are the only thing I see.
“Canaan,” Jake says, his voice muffled, his mouth moving against my lips. “It’s Canaan.”
Jake’s arms tighten around my waist, and my skin tingles with the hope his name brings.
Canaan!
If he’s here, that means Kaylee was able to call for help. If he’s here, she must be safe. Or as safe as Kaylee ever is. But when Damien rights us and his outer wings part like gothic curtains torn asund& this owpD;er, I am wholly unprepared for what I see.
We’re still strapped to him, a crusty-feeling platform beneath our feet. Dark forces—several hundred of them—surround us, swords drawn, wings at attention. Ugly, v
icious sneers on every face. Some stare at us, salivating. Others hiss at Canaan, who stands opposite us.
Jake was right. He’s here, his mouth wide open, song pouring forth. His body bears the marks of countless demonic swords, the icy wounds hissing and smoking on his celestially hot skin. Amidst a field of lime and yellow patches of brittle-looking earth, he stands. As we watch, he’s forced to his knees. Tendrils of worship spiral from his chest and mouth. So bright, so fiery orange it’s nearly lost in the Creamsicle sky. On either side of him, a demon holds each arm.
But I’ve never seen demons like this. They’re huge. Bigger than Canaan. Bigger than Damien. Their chests are strapped with breastplates that cover the entire abdomen, chest, and shoulders. Interlocking dragon wings have been hammered into them. Each one’s head is covered in a distinct kind of helmet, shaped to protect the demon’s deformed skull. Their legs are also strapped with armor, like scales wrapping them from hip to ankle, leaving only their massive arms bare.
With talons sharpened to a point, they stretch Canaan’s arms wide. Another armored demon hovers above, shredding his wings, flaying white feather from bone. Canaan’s muscled body shudders at the abuse as down freckles the sky.
Blood and gore included, this has to be the most violent thing I’ve ever witnessed. I scream, my throat stinging with the effort. Jake’s voice fuses with mine, angry tears ripping down his face.
But as horrific as the sight is, our cries are lost in Canaan’s song. So loud. So strong. So vibrant.
Damien opens his inner wings, and we tumble to our knees.
“Canaan,” I whisper, looking around.
But the Celestial’s gone now. The demonic army is gone. One look behind me and I see Damien is gone. Our Shield, bloodied and broken, has been shrouded by the terrestrial veil. To any other human, it would seem Jake and I are alone in this wretched place, but we’re not so deceived. We’re not alone, and that fact is chilling even in the sweltering heat.
I stare gape-mouthed at Danakil. Like a torture chamber, a spiked ball and chain, a cat-o’-nine-tails, its cruelty couldn’t be more apparent.
The ground bites at my bare legs, at my hands. I expected sand. I expected dirt. But Danakil is unlike any desert I’ve seen in any photograph. Jake and I kneel on a knotty platform, similar to the one Canaan stood on just moments ago. I say a prayer for him and another. Next to me Jake’s words are indecipherable, but I know he’s praying as well. I wrap my arm around his waist, trying to keep the weight off his shoulder. Trying to do anything to make this easier for him. But everything here hurts.
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