Finch nodded. “And Jadrac’s people have already spread the word to Kimaris’. They’re already promising them retaliation against the killer if they join up with his crew.”
Iblis took another shrimp from the chilled glass and dipped it in the sauce. He thought about his next move as he bit into the flesh. Though he’d made a deal with Cross and it was something he didn’t take lightly, he also knew he needed to hold the tenuous grip of power he’d managed to scrape together.
“You’re telling me I have to give them a similar promise if they’re going to join our side.”
Rashad nodded. “That’s about the size of it, sir. We managed to absorb some of Kimaris’ crew, but if enough of them decide to go with Jadrac, we still won’t really be ahead.”
“Has anyone specifically named Cross yet?” asked Iblis.
Rashad shook his head. “Nothing we’ve heard. But at this point, it’s just a matter of time.”
Iblis heard the familiar ring of the bell, indicating someone had entered the restaurant, but he ignored it and refilled his glass to take another drink of the snake wine. “Any word from inside Lust?”
“None, sir,” said Finch. “Asmodeus’ old crew isn’t talking. They still pretend it’s business as usual.”
Iblis thought on what his next move should be. He contemplated sending Luther after Jadrac. Though it might be a waste of time, if word had already spread far enough. His thoughts were interrupted by the presence of a tall, bald man in charcoal-colored slacks and vest. The black shirt he wore underneath was open at the collar and the sleeves were rolled up.
“I’d like a word,” he said.
Finch stood and put his hand up to block the newcomer. “Sorry, but this is a private booth.”
The bald man’s lips curved downward. He swung out his arm and something emerged from his wrist—something bright, like fire. To most, it would have been too fast for the eye to see. But Iblis’ enhanced senses saw it quite clearly—it was hellfire in the shape of a blade. And the next thing Iblis knew, Finch’s head fell to the ground, followed by his body.
Rashad stood next, his eyes burning bright yellow. He tried to throw a punch, but the bald man grabbed his fist and twisted. The sound of cracking bones filled the air, but Rashad didn’t scream. The bald man raised his other arm and brought the edge of his hand down hard on Rashad’s forearm. Another crack and the broken bone pierced through Rashad’s flesh.
The bald man placed his hand flat against Rashad’s forehead. Hellfire gathered around his hand and a blade formed of the stuff pierced Rashad’s skull, going all the way through the other end. He retracted the blade and allowed Rashad’s body to slump to the ground.
Iblis remained calm even as other patrons screamed and fled the restaurant. In the commotion, Iblis saw the café’s owner step onto the floor and look at the sight with horror. But Iblis held up his hand, a gesture for the owner to relax. And if the man knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t bother trying to call the police.
Whoever this mysterious demon was, he certainly commanded attention. And Iblis definitely wanted to know more about him. He refilled his drink and then took a second glass to pour another. The demon stared at Iblis, his eyes burning bright yellow, and Iblis just slid the drink closer to him.
“Care to join me?”
The demon nodded and sat at the booth. He raised the glass, holding it up to the light and examining the liquid inside. After a sniff of curiosity, he drained the glass in a single gulp. Iblis just watched and sipped his drink.
“My compliments,” said Iblis, glancing down at the bodies. “Finch and Rashad were two of my best.”
“Then your best isn’t very impressive.”
“They do fine against the ordinary threats, but you certainly don’t seem to fall into that category, do you?” asked Iblis. “I saw what you did. That was hellfire. Not many have that ability. Which means you’re one of the Fallen.”
“I prefer the term ‘liberated.’”
“Fair enough.” Iblis set his glass down and lit a cigarette. “Do you have a name, or should I make one up for you?”
“Belial.”
The lit cigarette fell from Iblis’ lips and landed in his drink, the embers quickly extinguished with a sizzle. He took a moment to regain his composure, and when he did, he picked up the bottle, removed the cork, and took a swig of the rượu rắn.
“Belial,” he repeated the demon’s name. “As in the Belial?”
“The very same.” The archdemon snatched the bottle from Iblis and drank from it himself. “And I hear you’re Iblis.”
Iblis nodded and took a fresh cigarette. It shook in his hand as he tried to light it. “So, you’ve heard of me?”
Belial nodded. “I’ve been sent here for a reason.”
“By whom?” asked Iblis, though he already knew the answer. Belial was loyal to only one being in the entire universe. If he was here on Earth, it was because only one could command him to leave Hell.
“The Morningstar,” said Belial. “A powerful demon’s escaped from Hell, and I’ve been sent to bring her back.”
“Does she have a name?” asked Iblis.
“Lilith.”
Iblis took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled. He followed it with another swig of the bottle. When he set the bottle back on the table, all he could say was, “Fuck me…”
“I was instructed to speak with you,” said Belial. “Told you could help me.”
“Me? How am I supposed to help you? I didn’t know Lilith was topside until you just told me.”
“Because she is working with the cambion.”
Iblis sighed. Luther Cross was supposed to be his ace in the hole. Now he’d just learned that Luther had turned on him, was working with Lilith. Probably to eliminate any potential competition. And suddenly, it was made clear to Iblis why things had been quiet from Lust. Lilith was in charge now. Asmodeus’ crew would have trusted his former queen more than any other demon.
“I understand you can reach out to him?” asked Belial.
“I thought I could. But if he’s now working against me, I’m not so sure he’ll be responsive to my call.”
“You should try,” said Belial.
“And what do I get out of it?” asked Iblis.
“You want control over Asmodeus’ territory. If you help me drag Lilith back to the pit, the Morningstar himself will give you his support.”
Iblis’ eyes widened. Lucifer hadn’t intervened like that in centuries. For him to endorse Iblis wouldn’t only mean everyone would fall in line, but it would also give him power over the other supernatural forces in Chicago. Even someone as powerful as Odysseus Black would think twice before trying to mess with him.
“And Cross?” asked Iblis. “Seems he betrayed me. Do I have permission to kill him?”
“Cross is not to be harmed,” said Belial. “The Morningstar believes he could still prove useful.”
Iblis certainly didn’t like the idea of letting Luther get away with his betrayal. But it was a small price to pay in order to gain control over Chicago.
Celeste looked out the tinted window of the car at the empty tarmac of the Lansing Municipal Airport. Luther and Lilith had stolen hers, so the Sons of Solomon had been kind enough to give her a new one. It was an SUV, so Hem certainly seemed more comfortable behind the wheel than he did in the town car.
“Do you know anything about this guy?” asked Wayne, looking back at her from the passenger seat.
“Only that he’s one of the best the Sons of Solomon have ever had,” said Celeste. “I’ve heard stories about him. He may be human, but he’s someone who could definitely hold his own against Luther.”
“I hope you’re right.” Wayne looked at his watch. “Shouldn’t the plane be here by now?”
“Relax, it’s circling overhead,” said Celeste, staring up as best she could through the window. “I can hear the engine.”
They waited until a small, private plane touched d
own on the tarmac and rolled to a stop. Celeste put on her sunglasses and wrapped a scarf around her head to protect her from the morning rays, followed by pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. She got out of the car first and both Wayne and Hem followed her lead.
The three of them approached the plane just as the staircase was lowered. A man stepped out, wearing a brown trench coat and dressed in a shirt and slacks, a red tie loose around his open collar. He looked to be in his fifties or so, with his blond hair starting to turn gray and the lines on his face indicating his age. A lit cigarette was held between his lips as he descended the staircase and walked over to his welcoming party.
“So, my understanding is you’re the ones I’m working with on this job,” he said.
“We are. I’m—”
“Celeste King, vampire. Hem, yeti. And Wayne Cooper, human police detective,” said the man. “Have I got it correct?”
“Perfect,” said Hem.
“Good, then let’s get started—we don’t have any time to waste. Not if this is as serious as Thomas indicated.” He started walking past them towards the car.
“If you don’t mind, I’ve got a question,” said Wayne. “Just who are you anyway?”
The man turned around and removed the cigarette from his mouth to exhale. “My name’s Alistair Carraway. I’m the closest thing Luther Cross has to a father. And if he’s gone dark side, then I’m also the one who’s going to put him down.”
26
After speaking with Pyriel, I decided it best to go home instead of returning to Lilith’s. Gabriel thought Raziel was missing, Pyriel acted like everything was normal. That didn’t sit well with me. But I’d have to back-burner that for now. Lilith had plans to use the Abraxas Stone, and I had to bone up on my knowledge about it, for whatever good it could do.
As soon as I opened the door to my condo, I could sense something wasn’t right. I drew the revolver from my holster and checked to see it was loaded. Slowly, I inched through the door and into the foyer. A powerful presence was in here. Not demon or angel or monster—it was human. And familiar.
I walked past the hallway and over to the living room, raising the gun up. The couch and recliner were unoccupied, facing the TV set in silence. No one in the dining room or kitchen, either. But then I picked up the scent of cigarette smoke.
I walked through the apartment and found myself facing the door to my study. I reached a hand out and slowly turned the knob, positioning the gun to fire as I did. Once the door was open, I pushed it in and raised the gun.
A man sat in my chair. He spun around and gave me an annoyed stare as a cigarette dangled from his lips. With a cocked eyebrow, he asked, “Is that any way to great an old friend?”
“Alistair,” I said, maintaining my aim. “How’d you get in?”
He scoffed. “You learned all your tricks from me, lad. Think I don’t know a way around ’em?”
“The hell are you doing here?”
“Same thing I did all those years ago in an old, abandoned church in Indiana,” said Alistair. “Saving your ass.”
“I don’t need anyone to save me.”
“Is that so?” he asked. “So, you hooked up with the first fallen human and stole the Abraxas Stone from the Sons of Solomon for what? Kicks? A practical joke of some kind?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, see, it’s really not.” Alistair rose from the chair and circled around the desk. Once he came around, he leaned against it, half-sitting on the surface. “There’s right and there’s wrong. Working with demons to steal powerful artifacts from one of the only organizations that can keep their power contained is the very opposite of complicated. It’s simply wrong.”
“Funny, didn’t the Sons also say that when you saved me?”
Alistair didn’t respond, just smoked in silence.
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “You’re nothing impressive, Alistair. Just a washed-up old mage who’s trying to convince himself he’s still relevant. A puppet of the So—”
Before I could finish my sentence, a strong, concentrated blast of magical energy struck me square in the chest. I was thrown back through the door to my study, crashing against the corridor wall before I fell to the ground.
I looked up and saw Alistair stepping closer, blue magic still coalescing in the palm of his hand. I hated to admit it, but it seemed like the old man had barely lost a step since the last time. When I tried to get up, he fired another blast that knocked me right back down again.
“Not so fast,” he said. “I’d like to have a word with you, son.”
“I’m not your son,” I growled.
“Maybe not, but I’m the only one in your life who ever gave a damn about you back when you were nothing but a sniveling little brat with red eyes. Your mother was dead, and I’ll go out on a limb and say your father didn’t have your best interests at heart.”
“And you did?” I asked. “Turning me into a weapon for a group of self-righteous fanatics who like to dress up in robes?”
“Stop exaggerating. Giving you a purpose in life isn’t the same thing as turning you into a weapon. And besides, what do you think Lilith is doing? You believe she’s interested in your winning personality? She’s using you, too.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Alistair raised his hand and an invisible force lifted my body off the ground. With another wave of his hand, Alistair threw me into the living room. I hit the coffee table, the glass breaking on impact.
First Thomas and now this. I’d had my fill of old bastards using magic to throw me around. I felt the anger building in me and I focused it, trying to shape it like I had before into hellfire. Alistair would be in for a huge surprise in a minute.
“I don’t sense the stone here, so I’m assuming—brain trust that you are—you left it alone with her,” he said.
“It’s none of your concern, old man.”
“Actually, it is. Kind of my job to keep nasty demons from getting their hands on powerful artifacts and upsetting a delicate balance.” Alistair came over and knelt down beside me. He held his hand out over my chest and said, “Revelare.”
His hand glowed red and energy flowed from his fingers into my body. I could feel his magic working through me, though I didn’t know the purpose of this spell. The word meant “reveal,” usually used to see through illusions. What purpose could Alistair have for using that spell now?
The old warlock stared at my face. He was stoic at first, but his lips slowly parted as his eyes opened wider. A silent gasp and he stood, taking a step back from me. Alistair saw something in my face that frightened him.
I couldn’t worry about that. Now it was time to move forward. My body grew hot under my skin and I directed that heat to my hand. While Alistair was distracted by whatever it was he saw, I unleashed a blast of hellfire right into his chest. Alistair fell back, rolling across the floor.
I stood, holding up my hands and using them to shape the hellfire. First shape it took was a whip. I lashed out, wrapping it around Alistair’s neck, and then I pulled him to his feet. With another tug, he came flying towards me. I took hold of his tie and stared into his blue eyes, seeing the reflected crimson glow of my own eyes.
“Hellfire…” he muttered. “What in damnation’s gotten into you, lad?”
“More like what’s come out.” I threw him into the dining room and he hit the table, rolling off the edge.
I approached the table and grabbed it with both hands, flipping it onto its side. I kicked away the chairs that stood between Alistair and myself. He was on his hands and knees, and I could smell the mixture of blood and magic. Never a good sign.
When I pulled Alistair up by grabbing the collar of his coat, I saw what it was he was working on. There was a half-drawn sigil in blood on the floor with a crimson-stained pocket knife beside it. I grabbed his wrist with my free hand and saw a cut across his palm, still dripping.
“So, you were gonna try a blood spell on me, hu
h?”
I smeared the incomplete sigil with my shoe and dragged him to the balcony doors, which I kicked open. I pushed him against the edge of the balcony, glaring at him in the face and ready to let him fall to his death.
“This what you want to be, Luther?” asked Alistair. “Working for a demon, ready to kill the closest thing you’ve ever had to a father? If this is how you choose to live your life, then maybe I’m better off dead. Would hate to see what low you sink to next.”
My head was swimming with rage, but try as I might, I couldn’t make that final push. I wanted to. Nothing would have made me happier in that moment than to finally throw this smug bastard over the edge so he couldn’t bother anyone anymore.
But something held me back. It wasn’t compassion, wasn’t shame—nothing like that. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be explained. All I knew was that in that moment, I couldn’t take that final step. My entire body was frozen and refused to obey that one command. Felt like my body was the spinning beach ball of death on a Mac.
Something compelled me to look past Alistair at the skyline, so I did. And just like in my dreams, a dark shade of crimson fell over the sky and clouds. I could smell the smoke and feel the heat of the flames as fires consumed the skyscrapers. Demons terrorized humans with impunity.
What was I looking at? Why did this vision keep coming to me over and over again?
“You see it…” muttered Alistair. “Don’t you?”
I glared at him. “You sonnuva bitch—you did this to me!”
Alistair shook his head. “I didn’t do anything, son. You’re seeing the same thing I saw. A vision of the future if you continue down this path.”
“Since when do I get visions?”
“Since when did you give in to the darkness?” he asked.
A shot rang out and I felt a piercing pain in my shoulder. I looked down and saw a hole in my leather jacket. I slowly turned and faced the new arrival, almost wanting to laugh as I laid eyes on him.
“Set Carraway down nice and easy, Luther,” said Wayne. “Then we can talk terms.”
Devil's Shadow (Luther Cross Book 3) Page 17