by Amanda Jones
“You guys did this,” B said, moving Mara to his side and tucking her under his arm. “You saved us. Thank you.”
Sam slid Nyx off his shoulder and set her down on the grass. “Thank you, guys. But how did you know?”
Bellerophon gave a small, sad smile and stepped towards Mara. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly.
“What was me?” Mara asked in confusion.
“It was your prayer that led me here, your selfless love and caring for your friends.” Bellerophon reached out and touched her arm, sending a frisson of white light into her body. “You saved them.”
B leaned down and kissed her wild hair gently. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“I hate to ruin the moment,” Michael said. “But I need to know if any of you have had word of Leila? Was she mentioned at all by Nyx or Keir?”
Sam shook his head. “Not a thing from Nyx, but you can ask her yourself if she ever wakes up.”
“Oh, yes, she will wake.” Bellerophon looked down at her unconscious form. “The light magic I wove broke through the dark magic that was holding you both captive, and it cleansed evil from the home. Nyx is pure evil, a being with no soul; her darkness cannot be ended by my magic, only temporarily disabled.”
Sam nodded. “Good. When we wove a spell to locate B, we managed to connect with Leila somehow. She must still be alive…perhaps in Halja.”
Michael and Bellerophon shared a relieved look. “Excellent. This is the first news we’ve heard of her since the battle. We will need to hear about this magic later.”
“What about the others?” Mara asked worriedly.
Bellerophon shook his head. “Keir is gone. I believe he was called back to his master.”
“You saw him?” B asked with a pained expression.
“I…yes.” Bellerophon turned away.
“I’m sorry,” B said quietly.
Bellerophon simply nodded as he struggled with the grief of losing his son for the second time in so many weeks.
“Did anyone see the shape shifter?” B glanced over at Sam. “He shot me with one of those darts so I don’t know where he went.”
Sam shook his head. “I didn’t get a look at him.”
“If he was in the house, he was incinerated,” Michael said, taking over the question answering so Bellerophon could compose himself. “If he got out, he could look like anybody by now.”
“Damn,” Sam said, bending forward and grabbing Nyx’s body back up again. “So we may have a runaway shape shifter. I know there’s at least one dead body in the library we’ll need to clean up.”
B raised his hand like a school boy. “There’s also the vampire I beheaded in the master bedroom.”
Sam turned to high-five him. “Nice work!”
Michael shook his head. “There will be no clean-up required. The magic has removed the presence of evil. The bodies would have disintegrated with the white light.”
Mara gazed up wistfully at the beautiful historical home. “Good. It would have been a shame for such a beautiful house to be permanently tainted by all of this. It will make a lovely home for someone someday and at least now it’s full of light.” She smiled and turned to Sam with a pointed look. “We should probably do something with her before she wakes up, right?”
Sam nodded to Mara before she turned away to talk to Sergei. B caught Sergei’s eye and gave him a meaningful look and a conspiratorial wink. After Nyx was taken care of, he was going to need Sergei’s help with a special project.
Chapter Thirty Six
Keir
Keir’s head pounded. He had no idea what had happened. One moment he was fighting that angel, and the next he was here…wherever here was, with a splitting headache. He knew he was standing, or rather that he was suspended upright. He could feel the shackles around his wrists, and the pull of his weight on the muscles and tendons of his upper arms. He kept his eyes closed and just hung there, unsure if he was ready to open them and discover his whereabouts. A door opened and a familiar scent wafted into the space…sulfur. Keir felt a small smile turn up the corners of his lips. He was home.
The light sound of rubber-soled running shoes headed in his direction, followed by the thud of a chair being set down. He heard someone settle himself into the seat. There was a soft click and a whirring noise from across the room, and the sounds of Wham!’s hit “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” streamed through the air.
“Rise and shine, sleepy head.”
Keir cracked open his eyes and looked upon his master. Satan sat there calmly, a benign smile on his deceptively-innocent face. He’d always been amused by human’s depictions of Satan as a big, red-horned devil with a forked tail and cloven hooves. The Prince of Darkness was far less intimidating to look at, which made him that much more dangerous. That innocent smile with the straight white teeth and dimples, his nondescript, sandy brown hair, and the casual jeans and tee combo didn’t come anywhere near the typical idea of evil incarnate.
“So, it seems we have some things to discuss,” Satan said, clasping his hands in his lap like a good schoolboy.
Keir swallowed hard. “I failed you, Master.” He averted his eyes, looking down at the floor. “I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was fighting an angel, the next I was here.”
“I’m well aware of the particulars. I summoned you back using the vial you had in your pocket.” Satan waved a bored hand. “What I’m concerned about is the problem we appear to be having with your vessel.”
Keir raised his eyes. “The vessel is damaged. A piece of the original owner remains.”
“Yes, it appears so.” Satan stood and began to pace around his private office.
“Despite the vessel, I was able to infect one of the fallen,” Keir said quietly.
Satan looked over at him. “Yes, and that is the reason you’re being spared a session of torture with yours truly.”
“Will I be receiving a new vessel?” Keir asked hopefully.
“Not a chance in…well…hell,” Satan said with a laugh. “The face you’re wearing is the one you need to keep. Keir is a blind spot for the fallen and their heavenly supporters. Brother…son — that body gives me leverage.”
“So, how do I rid myself of the remnants of Keir?” he asked.
“I put some thought into that while you were getting your beauty sleep.” Satan resumed his pacing. “The power of angelic light magic was enough to shut you down and allow that kernel of goodness out to play…I plan on darkening that tiny sliver of soul that’s left until it shrivels up and dies.”
Keir breathed a sigh of relief. “I will finally be free of the voices.”
“You’ll be spending some quality time with my friend, War,” Satan said with a sick smile.
“The Horseman.” Keir breathed.
“Yes,” Satan said. “Once upon a time he was a very good person. Now he’s quite warped. I can guarantee you that he’ll have no trouble blackening that sliver of soul just as he did his own.” Satan pointed to a shelf across the room as he yanked on a bell pull.
Four clear crystal containers sat in a row; each contained an amorphous black substance that floated freely within. The souls of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse — War, Death, Pestilence, and Famine. All were legends of the Netherworld, their cruelty and darkness the stuff of demonic bedtime stories.
The clicking of hooves sounded coming down the hall towards the open doorway of Satan’s private office. Halja was a large castle, but only a select few were allowed access to Satan’s inner sanctum. One of those special few now appeared in the doorway. The butler was always well turned out, his tuxedo was pressed to perfection, his neck scarf was sufficiently natty, and he wore a very stylish pair of breeches.
He spoke in a crisp, upper-crust tone, “Sir, War will be here shortly. I have made arrangements for your next appointment in the dungeons. The tools you requested have been polished and laid out as per your request. Your preferred apron has been cleaned and pressed and is ready fo
r your use. Please ring me if you require assistance cleaning any entrails after you’ve completed your business.”
Satan nodded. “Thank you, Jeeves. Make arrangements for a meeting with the mole I have planted with the fallen. My sister Nyx needs to be located.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler said, before bleating briefly.
His inadvertent slip clearly bothering him, the satyr frowned at himself in annoyance, his furry face looking like a stuffed animal. With a sharp nod, he turned on his hooves and marched out into the hallway, his horns barely clearing the doorway, his tail swishing behind him.
“Well, I’m off to my next appointment. Do have fun with War; he’s quite an artist really if you take the time to appreciate his work.” Satan headed towards the doorway. “Toodles.” He wiggled his fingers at Keir and blew him a kiss.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Bataryal
Mara smiled up at B and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Okay, I’m finally going to take that shower now.”
B reached out and caressed Mara’s cheek lightly with the back of his hand. “You are an amazing woman. You know that, right?”
“Duh,” she said, rolling her eyes and then giving him a saucy wink. “Now go talk to your friend while I use Sergei’s shower. I need to wash the kidnap off me.”
B watched her walk naked into the ensuite bathroom, his mind making all sorts of wonderful plans for them the second she got out of that shower. He was never going to get enough of that woman. Shaking his head, B made his way out of Sergei’s bedroom into the living room. He and Mara had come back to Sergei’s after their adventure to clean up and get some rest. When they’d arrived, Al and Bill had made a quiet exit, heading out to join the others on their mission to hide Nyx.
Yetarel was still sitting in that chair, staring out the window. He’d been so lost in his own head that he hadn’t seemed to notice the comings and goings around him. The black veins on his arm were still painfully visible against his mocha skin, but the infection appeared to have halted its progress. B sighed. He knew what it felt like to be locked into the worst parts of one’s memories. He walked over and leaned his butt up against the windowsill directly in front of his friend. This was a conversation that needed to be had, and there was no way he was letting Yetarel out of it this time, for B’s good and for Yetarel’s.
“It wasn’t your fault,” B said quietly as he looked down at Yetarel.
His friend had no reaction; he just stared straight through B’s chest as though he didn’t exist.
B tried again. “I don’t blame you for anything that happened. It was the demon blood, I’ve always known that. It wasn’t you.”
Yetarel remained silent, not moving a muscle.
“Look, I know we agreed to leave it all behind us after we were rescued from captivity, but I think we were wrong.” B took a deep breath. “The longer we’ve kept this secret, the more it’s eaten away at us.”
Not a muscle twitched, Yetarel continued to sit there, frozen.
B’s heart ached for the pain he knew his friend was concealing. “Even if you’re not going to talk to me, I need to say some things to you. So here I go.” With a deep, steadying breath, B went for it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save us back then. I know now that it wasn’t my fault, but I’ve always felt that I should have been able to do more.” He paused and looked down at his motionless friend. “I’ve spent centuries feeling weak, like less of a man because of what happened. I’ve whored and drugged myself to oblivion, but no self-medicating in the universe will fix what happened to us.”
Yetarel abruptly got to his feet. He walked across the room, his eyes downcast, to a mirror hanging on the wall. He stood there for a moment in silence before slowly raising his eyes to look at his reflection.
“None of what happened to either of us was our fault. We need to stop blaming ourselves.” B walked over to stand beside his friend, gazing at both of their reflections in the mirror. “If we don’t stop torturing ourselves, we’ll never be able to move on with our lives. We never really got out — we’ve spent centuries stuck in a prison of our own making.”
B laid his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder, only to have it shaken off abruptly.
“You’re wrong,” Yetarel whispered, continuing to stare himself in the eye through the mirror.
“What?” B asked.
“I can still see it.”
B frowned. “See what?”
Yetarel raised his arm to touch the glass, but dropped his hand back down before his fingers could connect. “The monster. I still see it every time I look in the mirror.” His eyes flicked up to connect with B’s through the glass. “They chose to infect me with demon blood, not you. They had me carry out torture on you, not the other way around.” Yetarel gazed down at the blackened veins snaking their way up his arm. “And now, I’ve been infected again.”
“But that’s not your fault,” B said emphatically, shaking his head. “You didn’t ask for any of this; it’s something that happened to you.”
Yetarel turned away from the mirror to face his friend. “Look. I’m glad you’re all better now, that you’ve found someone who understands you and loves you, but that’s just not in the cards for me.”
“I’m not all better, never will be,” B said with a small smile. “I’m getting my head around the past a bit, but it’s going to be a long road…”
“There’s hope for you. There isn’t any for me.” Yetarel shook his head. “There’s something in me that the demons can all see. Something evil. That’s why they keep infecting me…I’m shattered somehow.”
“That’s crazy! There’s nothing evil about you.”
“Look, I’m happy for you, dude, and I know you don’t see things the way I do, but it is what it is.” Yetarel spun on his heel and headed for the door. “I need some air…alone.” He twisted the handle and yanked the door open angrily, stepping through and slamming it shut behind him.
B stood there staring at the empty space his friend had occupied. He’d always known that Yetarel had blamed himself for the torture he’d meted out to B during their captivity. Despite being infected by demon blood, at the mercy of their captors, Yetarel…like B…seemed to have held onto the notion that he was somehow at fault for not being able to overcome their situation to save them both. Until this moment, B hadn’t known that Yetarel felt that he was evil, that there was something inside of him that made the demons choose to infect him.
“Are you okay?” Mara’s soft voice was a balm to his ears.
B turned towards her as she made her way across the living room. She’d dressed and was rubbing her beautiful ginger hair dry with a towel.
“I’ll be okay.” B reached to hug her as she reached him. “I’m just not sure Yetarel will be.”
B breathed in the clean scent of the shampoo she’d used on her hair. The feel of Mara in his arms made him relax almost immediately.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mara asked, looking up at him through her lashes.
He leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I’m not sure there’s anything anybody can do to help him right now.” B sighed. “I know exactly where his head is. I’ve been there. I spent my life numbing myself with salvia to avoid dealing with those thoughts.”
“I still can’t believe you managed to crawl halfway across town with broken hands and feet, detoxing to get back to us,” Mara said, hugging him a little bit harder.
“That whole experience was almost cleansing in a way...hell of a way to kick the habits though. It did make me see things more clearly; I was ready to deal with my situation for what it really was.” B cupped Mara’s cheek. “There won’t be too much we can do for Yetarel until he’s in the right head space. All I can do is be there for him when he needs me.”
Mara smiled up at him. “You be there for him. I’ll be there for you…always.”
B leaned down and touched his lips lightly to hers. It was nothing more than a whisper of
skin on skin, but the electric attraction between them immediately took hold. Mara leaned into him, sliding one hand up his chest and around the back of his neck to play with the hair at the base of his skull. B’s skin tingled; his nerve endings were dancing as he swept Mara up off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed with abandon as he carried her back to Sergei’s bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Samael
Sam stood staring down at Nyx’s unconscious body. She’d been laid out on the floor of an angelic safe house; it was her turn to be a prisoner. For the millionth time, he thought about what a shame it was that all that beauty was wasted on a woman so deeply evil. Despite everything she represented, Sam was having a hard time hating her. It was twisted, he knew, but on some strange level he enjoyed sparring with her. Sam shook his head. He must be losing his mind; the stress of the past few days was finally catching up to him.
Casting his eyes around the room, Sam took in the small army that had gathered to witness Nyx’s imprisonment. Al and Bill were standing together in the corner watching a hockey game on a smart phone. Sergei was in the middle of a deep conversation with Michael and Bellerophon, presumably getting their caging spell straight. Amir had arrived a short while ago. He was wandering around the room, checking out the various angelic runes drawn on the walls to ward off evil. Unless one was invited into this space by an angel there was no way past those magically-imbued symbols. Much like the barrier spell Keir had used back at the mansion, the runes created an invisible wall of magic that would keep Nyx in, but would also keep uninvited guests out.
“Time to get her chained up?” Sam asked the two heavenly angels.