by Amanda Jones
Sergei turned to face Sam. “I get that, but you’d think after everything I’d have earned a bit of trust.”
Yetarel held his breath as he watched the standoff. It had been such a long time since anyone had managed to get close to any of them they seemed to have forgotten how to behave. If anyone had given them a reason to trust, no matter how hard it was to do, it was Sergei. He’d proven time and again over the last weeks that he had the chops to handle life in their crazy, violent world. He’d also proven his loyalty to those he cared about. It had been a long time since they’d seen someone willing to die to save a friend. It may just be time for all of them to take a chance on someone new.
Sam nodded and clapped Sergei on the back. “Well then, let’s get working on fixing this new disaster.”
Sergei sighed and nodded, turning back to face the group. “I’m not sure how to smoke out a mole, but I might be able to work some kind of locator spell to find your boy.”
Sam frowned. “Do you think you can make it work? You said your magic was a bit off since you turned.”
The two men headed back towards the table. “Yes, but I’ve been trying to use light magic. What if I use dark magic — blood magic? I mean, I’m a vampire-witch. If I can’t use blood magic, who can, right?”
“True that.” Sam pulled out his chair and plopped down.
Suddenly Sergei was center stage as all eyes at the table fixed on him, everyone waiting on his next words with bated breath. Looking slightly uncomfortable, Sergei cleared his throat and went for it.
“There’s an old locator spell that I was taught about years ago. We were generally encouraged to use light magic in my family, but we were taught the dark stuff too so we’d know about both sides of the balance. I’m figuring I’ll have better luck with dark blood magic at this point. If we go down to the portal room, I’ll have enough space to set up.”
Before he could finish, chairs scraped back and fallen angels stood to their feet and moved towards the door at the back of the bar that led down to a stone basement housing the Sheolic Portal. They headed down the stairs that were well-worn by hundreds of demons making daily trips to and from the demon city of Outer-Sheol to the human realm.
As Yetarel made his way down the stairs and into the massive stone room, he was struck once again by the majesty of the space. No matter how many times he saw the gothic ceiling covered in demonic runes, the massive sconces with their pillar candles at regular intervals around the room, and the large rectangular portal with its eerie swirling darkness, he was always struck by how humans were in the dark about this mysterious world in which they existed. Yetarel continued to the portal and passed the rest of the group who huddled in the middle of the room. As he neared the dais, a pulsing red light flickered within the swirling blackness, moving faster and faster with his approach.
Since he’d first seen it, he’d been fascinated by the Portal. There was something both hypnotic and regal about it. The massive stone sentry guards stood in all their glory, swords resting tip-down on the stone floor, and the bejewelled inverted pentagram winking at all who approached. The incessant turmoil inside his mind seemed to dissipate as he stared into the void.
“Calvin! Yetarel! Yo, dude!”
Yetarel turned on a dime towards the sound of the shout. The guys were all staring at him like he should be fitted for a strait jacket.
“What?”
Azazel piped up from the middle of the room. “My man, you’ve been standing there staring at the portal like a mental patient for five minutes.”
“Really?” Yetarel replied with an amazed look.
Sergei rolled his eyes. “All right, enough screwing around. Can you fuckers help me set up here? And can someone text Amir just in case we need a Spirit Walk to some freaky emergency rescue scene.”
“Hello, hello! Did I just hear my name?” Footsteps sounded descending the stone staircase and Amir emerged.
“Well, speak of the Devil.” Sam stepped forward to clap Amir on the back. “Nice to see you again, my friend.”
“Likewise!” Amir smiled and made the rounds of fist bumping and man-hugs. “I just got here. Theo gave me the heads-up that there was some kind of cabal going on in the basement. So, what are we up to here?”
“Well, I’m about to try my hand at some blood magic.” Sergei passed his eyes around the group. “So, which one of you has a Swiss Army on them I can borrow?”
In a split second, all five guys had whipped out an impressive array of cutlery. Sergei’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead to his hairline. “Ok, I think we’re good.” Shaking his head he reached out and grabbed the butterfly knife Azazel had on offer. “Very nice.” Sergei said as he inspected the mother of pearl handle and well-polished blade.
Azazel shrugged. “It’s important to have pride in one’s weapons…plus, it’s pretty.”
With chuckles and murmurs of assent all around him, Sergei took a deep breath and sliced into his palm. As the blood dripped onto the stone floor he began to work the dark magic that would hopefully lead them to their missing friend. “Advocatis diaboli, corruptus in extremis, veritas diaboli manet in aeternum. Devil’s advocate, corrupt in the extreme, Devil’s truth remain eternally.”
The air around them began to feel heavy as the blood magic started to take hold. Sergei motioned to the group around him. “If you can all take position around me in a circle and open your veins as I have.”
One by one the fallen drew out their blades and carried out Sergei’s instructions. As the ruby droplets hit the floor, an electric hum filled the room.
“Repeat the incantation with me.”
As a unit they began. “Advocatis diaboli, corruptus in extremis, veritas diaboli manet in aeternum.” As they repeated the chant, a flickering blue light shot between the small pools of crimson at their feet, growing stronger and brighter as the magic took hold. Sergei looked down and smiled. It was working; the blood spell had created a luminescent pentagram with each man standing at a point in the star. He reached down to twist the family crested ring off his finger. It had been passed down from father to son for generations, a tether for each man’s magical abilities. Bending down, Sergei placed the ring crest-down in the centre of the blood pool at his feet. As the ring touched the blood the air was sucked out of the center of the pentagram turning the space into a vacuum. Feeling grateful he had no need for oxygen he stepped outside the pentagram. Mist began to appear out of nowhere, filling the space Sergei had left. As it thickened, tiny sparks of multi-colored lights flickered inside, slowly coalescing into an image that grew sharper and sharper.
“Holy shit!” Sam breathed.
“Isn’t that…?” Yetarel chimed in.
“Yup.”
There, in the center of the pentagram, was a semi-translucent Leila. The last time they’d seen the beautiful angel she’d been a vision of sunlight and joy. Her pristine robes had swirled around her as she’d moved with the speed and grace the Deity had imbued her with on the battlefield. Now she appeared half-prone, her blond ringlets in disarray, a ghostly pallor had overtaken her face, her blue eyes full of sadness and despair.
“I thought she had died in the battle.” Yetarel shook his head. “Where the hell is she?”
As they watched, small dark shadows began to swirl around her, growing closer and closer as though they were magnetically attracted to the angel in their midst. Leila quickly turned her head to look over her shoulder, as her expression once again became visible, fear had overtaken her sadness. She stretched out a pale, shaking hand to wipe an errant tear that had begun to track its way down her cheek. “He’s coming.” She whispered in a hollow, hopeless voice just as her image flickered and faded out.
“Well, I think we know exactly where the hell she is…literally.” Sam said, shaking his head. The last time they’d seen her was during the battle with Satan at Halja castle. “It looks like she never left. If I’m not mistaken those were trapped souls flying around her.”
“
Ok, so it looks like our mission has expanded to include rescuing Leila from the pit of souls.” Yetarel said with authority as he turned to face Sergei. “But why did we see her? Wasn’t this spell meant to locate B?”
“This is what I was talking about when I was telling you about dark magic.” Sergei sighed. “It’s more powerful on a basic level, but much harder to control. The spell was cast to locate someone who has been lost so, in theory, it worked. We did lose Leila…I’m going to have to try again for B.”
“Looks like you’re going to have to find a way to brush up on your light magic after all. Michael and the other archangels will want to know about Leila ASAP.” Sam threw in as the group restarted the incantation to evoke their lost friend.
Before long, B’s image materialized in the center of the pentagram. He was sitting on a bed looking down at his balled up fists. There was a large white bandage wrapped around his throat. Moments later his image faded from view just as Leila’s had.
The group let out a collective sigh of relief.
“Thank The Deity!” Yetarel glanced up at the Heavens. “He looks a bit worse for the wear, but at least he’s alive.”
Sergei’s disappointment was palpable. “Sorry, guys. I was hoping there would be some indication of where he was.” He stepped forward and removed the ring from the center of the pentagram. As soon as the connection was severed the air in the room returned to normal, the magic dissipating.
“Hey man, if it weren’t for you we’d have no idea if he was dead or alive.” Sam glanced around the group. “But now we need to come up with a new game plan. Brainstorming time, guys.”
As the men grouped together in the center of the Portal room discussing their next steps, an unnoticed observer crept down the stairs to watch from the shadows. Her eyes glittered like cut diamonds as she pushed her fall of snow-white hair back behind her ear. She melted toward the stairs, turning slowly to make her way back up to the tavern above, her jet-black wings tucked tightly into her body.
Chapter Twelve
Keir
Had it been physically possible for smoke to come out of his ears then that would have been the time for it. Keir sat behind the elaborately-carved Victorian, mahogany desk staring across the study at Nyx passed out on the daybed across the room. Her long, blond hair was matted with streaks of her blackened demonic blood; a large stain had bloomed over her heart where the charmed weapon had been buried. Keir had tracked the GPS on Nyx’s phone to a filthy alley where he’d found her lying in a pool of her own blood, a blade stuck in her chest. He’d yanked the blade free allowing her to regenerate, and had brought her back here to his new lair.
Keir ran his hand angrily through the strip of his Mohawk. It really sucked when you couldn’t enjoy a library full of expensive antiques. Despite his busy killing schedule, Keir had hoped to maintain an enjoyment of the finer things in life. There was no way in Sheol he was going to allow himself to be beaten by his intended prey. It was time to kick this thing up a notch. Reaching forward, Keir snatched up the antique silver bowl that had been resting on the desk in front of him. Shoving back his chair, he strode across the room to visit the gothic home’s former occupant.
Strung up by his ankles to a ceiling hook that was previously used for hanging plants, the older gentleman who owned this home for the past forty years was being bled into two buckets that sat below his dangling arms on plastic sheeting. For the hundredth time, Keir thanked Satan that he’d watched a lot of Dexter episodes. That man knew how to properly sheet a room in plastic. That show was essentially like reading “Serial Killing for Dummies.” Keir had managed to get the guy killed and bled without damaging the priceless Aubusson rug. Score! Satan would be so proud.
Bending down, Keir dipped his bowl into the collected blood. Pulling the bowl back out, Keir ran his finger around the rim to collect the drip that was about to make its way over the lip. His heart raced in anticipation as he raised his finger to his lips. Snaking out his tongue, he lapped up the blood as it began to make its way down his finger. Keir shivered in ecstasy as he swallowed it down. There was nothing better than human blood to calm the savage beast. Sighing in contentment as his latest hit made its way into his system, Keir crossed back over to the desk and set the bowl down. Reaching over, he grabbed two large black pillar candles with Satanic runes carved around the base. Drawing deep, he used magic to light the candles, snapping his fingers just as the wicks jumped to life. Keir sat back down and began the incantation to contact Satan. He’d had to do some quick thinking before making this call into the head office. Demons who failed to complete their assignments didn’t tend to live long after they’d disappointed the boss. He had not managed to kill Bataryal outright, but he’d developed a more-than-satisfactory backup plan that, if properly executed, would get all of the fallen out of hiding and into his clutches. It was almost enough to make him break out in the stereotypical evil laugh.
“In nomine diaboli, corruptus in extremis, veritas diaboli manet in aeternum.”
As the incantation came to an end, the candles flared, the wax bubbled and dripped, transforming into blood as it ran down the sides of the candles to pool on the polished mahogany. The contents of the silver bowl swirled counter clockwise creating a whirlpool out of the viscous red liquid. Keir smiled as the spell took effect. Hell telecomm — long distance was free for the user, but payment was a bitch for the sucker that got bled.
A deep resonant voice emanated from the bowl. “Keir, my son, how fares your quest?”
Keir’s eyebrow crawled up his forehead. “Hello, Sire. Thank you for taking my call.”
“Hast thou been able to execute the requisite….oh, fuck this.” The voice continued in a normal teenage timbre. “Did you get rid of the first of our little problems, or am I going to need to wear your ass as a hat?”
Keir took a deep breath and carefully formulated his reply. “Satan, Sire, I’ve had to make a few changes to my original plan.”
“Oh, for the love of all unholy fuck! Did I make a mistake freeing your soul from the abyss? Did I not find Keir, the perfect vessel, to house you? Do I need to return you to the black abyss I had Thanatos drag you out of? Second chances don’t come often — or ever — when you let me down! Why shouldn’t I haul your sorry ass back to Halja immediately, slave?”
“Like I said, Sire, I have a new plan to rid you of the fallen that should be more expedient than picking them off one at a time.”
“And what is this amazing new plan that has you feeling so confident when you were unable to rid me of one of the pesky rodents at your last encounter?”
Keir swallowed a lump in his throat. “Our contact on the inside has informed me that Bataryal is currently staying at a demon club in the city, the fallen are desperate to find him, but have no clue of his whereabouts. I’ve made contact with a shape shifter. He should be arriving soon so we can lay the groundwork for phase two of the operation…kidnap and ransom.”
“K&R. Interesting work, but I’m not interested in money and you know it.”
“I’m aware of that which is why I’m only going to use the ruse to draw the rest of them out to a single location…where I’ll have a special surprise in store for the whole group.”
“Fine, fine.” Satan’s voice grew dismissive and bored. “I’ll give you another chance with this little project of yours, but do not fail me again. And make use of my sister, she has some very special skills…flaying and the like. I didn’t send her to the human realm to spend her days shopping and getting her hair done.”
Keir’s eyes flickered over to Nyx’s prone form. “Yes, I’ll make sure she’s put to good use, Sire.”
“Fantastic. Now fuck off and get things taken care of.”
With that, the whirlpool slowed and eventually stopped. Keir took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There was no way he was going to let his soul get stuffed back down into that maddening black pit of despair. He’d spent centuries languishing there, slowly losing hope that he would e
ver be recalled to action. Thanatos — the skeletal keeper of the void — was a master sadist, giving souls brief glimpses of hope and snatching it away. Now he was out, Keir’s body was a strong vessel, and he wasn’t going to fuck things up again.
As he tried to calm himself he felt the fluttering in his head start up again. Like a bird flapping its wings against the bars of its cage, Keir twitched as the whispering started up again. He leapt to his feet, the heavy wooden chair clattering to the floor behind him. The voices got louder and louder; he felt like he had a hive of bees buzzing around in there. He had to make it stop! He clutched his head, covering his ears, his eyes squeezed as tightly shut as possible. Stumbling around the room, Keir ran headlong into a wall. The pain overtook the infuriating sounds bouncing around inside his skull. The relief was short-lived, so he reared back and slammed his head into the wall over and over. He could feel the plaster from the walls cracking from the impact, dust raining down on his head, but silencing the voices was such a sweet relief he couldn’t stop.
The wall finally gave way and Keir withdrew, a trail of blood running down his forehead and rounding his eye like a bloody teardrop. The intermittent pounding noise continued unabated. Either he was truly going mad, or he’d managed to beat himself senseless. He shook his head violently, but the banging only increased. He was tempted to find another wall to finish off the job; unconsciousness would be a blessed thing right about now. As he cast his eyes around the room looking for a new implement of self-torture, the pounding turned to ringing.
Cursing colorfully, he made his way through the lavish library and into the ornate hallway where he threw open the heavy oak door with a flourish. Standing on the marble stoop, shrouded in the darkness of the broken porch light was the answer to his little angel problem. The shape shifter. The creature had arrived au naturel, and Keir marvelled at the horrifying beauty of its construction. Every shape shifter came from humble origins as a witch; they gained their ultimate position of pure evil within the demonic world after committing a heinous act guaranteed to elicit a gift of satanic power. Upon acceptance into the secretive world of the shape shifter, the witch morphs into their new form. They were neither male, nor female, fully covered with tiny black scales that glimmered as though moist. Their eyes were a swirling kaleidoscope of every color imaginable.