Sinner's Heart th-3

by Zoë Archer

  His soul.

  Bram approached it warily, with Livia trailing behind him. He scowled in disbelief when his eyes grew hot. His soul should have been a cold black slab of rock, or a sickly, viscous lump that oozed acid. But he never anticipated this . . . this lambent beauty.

  Anger scoured him. Didn’t his soul understand that there was no beauty in him? Nothing good? How dare this thing shine like a little sun, insisting through its luminosity that he could be capable of decency and honor?

  He was seized by impulse to grab his soul and throw it to the ground, crush it beneath the heel of his boot.

  Livia neared the table with his soul, face alight with wonder. “This is yours,” she whispered.

  He did not question how she knew. “Yes.”

  An unfamiliar sheen gathered in her eyes as she stared at his soul. “You disputed its existence, but look how it shines.” She turned to him with an unexpected scowl. “Curse you for throwing it away so easily.”

  The soul’s brilliance still felt like an indictment. He took no pleasure in it, only knew the chasm between what he might have been and what he was.

  The stone walls of the vault rattled. They shook with a noise like thunder, and over this came the demon’s screams. They were trying to get inside.

  “Come,” he said, “it’s time to get you from this place.” He tore himself away from his soul, pulling her behind him.

  At last, they reached the door. He pulled on its handle. It refused to move. “Damned thing’s locked.”

  He backed up enough to give himself room, then kicked hard at the door. It rattled, but did not open. Again and again, he slammed his boot against the door. The bloody thing must open—he had to get her free. As he did, he felt the glow of magical energy growing within him, fed by his fury.

  “Yes,” she cried. “I can join our power.” Chanting, she lifted her hands. Between her palms grew a swirling eddy of light. It gained in size, growing larger and larger, until it spun around her, then twisted toward the door.

  The walls began to buckle. Demon shrieks grew louder as their fists pounded against the stone. Soon, they would be inside.

  “Damn it,” Bram shouted at Livia as he continued to kick at the door, “use all the magic we’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I’ve not worked a spell like this before,” she said through clenched teeth. “It takes time.”

  “Which we haven’t got.” The demons would never let her open the door. Bram turned from the door and drew his sword. “Finish what we started. Get yourself through. I’ll hold them off.”

  Livia’s gaze locked with his. He saw she understood that this would be the moment of their parting. She started to reach for him, yet as she did, the spell weakened.

  He moved back. They had touched for the last time. A sharp ache spread through his chest as he turned away to face the demons’ onslaught. They had shattered large fractures in the vault’s wall, and their long, cadaverous arms reached through to rake the air with their claws.

  Bram readied himself for combat. He could never win against these demons. They were death itself. But he could gain Livia time.

  Something gripped his arm, and he spun around in an instinctive attack. It was Livia. He stopped his blade an inch above her throat.

  “Finish the bloody spell and go,” he snarled.

  “I cannot work it on my own,” she fired back. “It needs more of your magic for completion.”

  Cursing, he turned back to the doorway, yet he kept his sword unsheathed. “Tell me what I need to do.”

  “Say with me,” she panted. A string of strange-sounding words curled from her mouth. “It’s the only way I might have a chance of breaking the door open. Both of us, working the spell together.”

  He repeated the words, forcing himself to concentrate. Bloody hard to do when a horde of demons threatened, his every instinct to fight them rather than turn away. But even as he and Livia spoke in unison, the door glowed, and strained on its hinges.

  Reaching for the power within himself, he chanted. Hers was there, as well, in him. Bright as a fire on a winter night. Stronger than ever before.

  With a groan, the door swung open. Fathomless darkness lay beyond. At the same time, the far wall of the vault collapsed. The demons rushed in.

  Immediately, the door began to close, as though the very act of opening was unnatural. Bram leapt forward and braced his free hand on it, still chanting, fighting against its tremendous weight. It wanted to shut, and he struggled to keep it propped open enough for Livia to slide through. His muscles burned at the excruciating strain, but he would release it.

  “Go, damn you,” he shouted when she hesitated, worriedly looking between him and the nearing demons.

  Livia ducked under his arms, edging through the door. He felt the pressure suddenly lessen. Looking down, he saw her hands gripping the door, pushing against it to keep it open. She hadn’t run on to safety, to the realm of the living. She stayed behind for him.

  “Leave,” he growled. The demons were almost on them.

  “Not without you.” She wrapped one hand around his wrist, and with unexpected strength, pulled.

  He tumbled through the doorway. It scraped against him as it began to swing closed. A demon’s claw raked his shoulder. The door slammed shut.

  And then, abruptly, he was swallowed by complete darkness.

  Livia’s scream abruptly stopped. Her throat felt raw. Her throat felt.

  The floor was hard beneath her legs where she knelt. She was aware of the weight of her body, a mass of bones and muscles and solidity. Staring down at her hands, she saw they were opaque, and when she pressed them to the floor, she felt its dust and the grain of the wooden floorboards, the bite from miniscule pieces of glass.

  Immortal Hecate, I’m alive. But how?

  Her gaze flew to Bram. He lay upon the ground, his eyes open and sightless. Blood pooled upon the floor. His face was waxen and pale.

  Across the room sprawled the body of the geminus. She barely glanced at it. All her attention was fixed on Bram.

  Reaching out with a trembling hand, Livia placed her palm upon his chest. She gasped at the touch, but the gasp broke apart and turned jagged when she felt his stillness. He had brought her back—at the cost of his own life.

  She could not marvel at her corporality, not when he lay dead on the floor of this crumbling building. She could only feel the renewal of sorrow. It was like the world being made then suddenly destroyed a moment later, the ember of life crushed out by an indifferent creator. She stood on a barren plain of loss, a howling nothingness on every side.

  Something moved beneath her palm.

  She snatched her hand back, then, tentatively, lay it down on his chest once more. There. Another pulse. Stronger this time.

  Her breath caught as she felt his heart. Beating.

  He suddenly arched up, gasping.

  Livia stumbled back, falling onto her behind, as she stared at him.

  He sat upright. His eyes widened as he saw the blood all around, his hands moving over his chest. He pulled at his shirt to uncover his skin. No wound pierced his heart. As color returned to his cheeks, he looked at her.

  “You’re . . .” His voice was hoarse. “. . . Here.”

  “As are you.” Words, real words, came from her mouth. Everything was astounding, from the feel of her heartbeat to Bram, alive, gazing at her.

  Slowly, they reached toward each other. Their hands paused as bright orbs of light streamed from the partially-open chamber door. Power permeated the chamber, imbuing it with tangible life and potential.

  “Souls,” Bram said, wondering. “From the vault. They must have fled with us.”

  She saw herself, in a vast stone-walled room, and the gleaming souls within. Including Bram’s soul.

  Other souls swirled around the room, yet her gaze went to Bram’s immediately. It shined brighter than the others—not a pristine light, not pure, but replete with strength, and edged. It and the oth
er souls spun through the chamber, borne upon the wave of magic she must have created within the realm of the dead.

  The other souls veered out of the room, flying through the shattered windows and beyond, into freedom. They streaked away, seeking their owners. Watching the souls wing free, the space within herself became expansive, weightless. Some of the Dark One’s wickedness had been undone, her own misdeeds set right.

  Bram’s soul remained. It circled the chamber as though wary.

  Movements stiff, Bram got to his feet. She did the same, dimly aware that she stood for the first time in over a thousand years on solid legs, her own strength keeping her upright.

  Both she and Bram watched, unspeaking, as his soul neared. He eyed it guardedly.

  “It doesn’t want me,” he said, bleak.

  “You belong together,” she answered.

  He raised his chin, the line of his jaw hard as he stared at it. Belligerent, challenging. “Stay or go,” he said. “Make your choice.”

  Livia held her breath as the soul hovered at a distance, as if deliberating. Aware of time at last, she felt another thousand years pass as both she and Bram waited for the soul to make a decision.

  Her breath left her as the soul began to drift forward. She chanced a look at Bram—his eyes briefly closed, his only admission of relief, then opened again.

  Only a few feet separated Bram from his soul. In a moment, they would be united after so long apart.

  She staggered as the house suddenly quaked, and Bram braced his legs wide to absorb the shock waves. They both glanced around, alarmed, looking for the source of the tremor.

  A man appeared in the chamber. The Dark One.

  Before she or Bram could move, the Devil reached out. He snatched Bram’s soul from the air. As if he were stealing an apple.

  His long white fingers gripped the soul, and he brought it against his chest, cradling his prize. He drawled, “This is mine.”

  Nausea rolled through her to see the Dark One touching Bram’s soul.

  “Return it,” Livia spat.

  Bram raised his sword, his face dark with fury. “Thieving bastard.”

  The Dark One lifted his brows. “To the contrary, we made a fair exchange. It is you who undermines the terms of our agreement.” He made a sound of disapproval. “And look,” he continued, glancing toward the body of the geminus, “you’ve gone and cost me one of my best servants. Quite ungentlemanly.”

  Indeed, he looked a gentleman. He wore a suit of embroidered silver satin, expertly tailored to his lean form, and in his hand he carried an ivory-tipped ebony walking stick. He was ageless, his skin unlined, yet his pulled back hair shone a pure white that did not come from powder. His eyes were as glass, the pupils vivid black dots in the middle of colorless irises. He might have been a handsome man of fashion but for the color of his hair and eyes—and the unmitigated malevolence pouring off of him in poisoned waves.

  “This isn’t gentlemanly, either,” said Bram, and he lunged with his sword at the Dark One.

  The Devil merely waved his hand, and the sword in Bram’s grip transformed into a snake. Instead of stabbing the Dark One, the serpent reared back, hissing. Bram threw the snake across the chamber before it could strike him. It coiled in the corner.

  “Don’t need a blade to make you hurt,” Bram growled. In a blur of movement, he darted forward, fists swinging.

  The Dark One merely waved his hand again, and Bram flew backward, slamming into the wall. Chunks of plaster rained down as he groaned and slid to the ground, conscious but dazed.

  Red-limned fury boiled through Livia. She sensed her magic within her, whole now. Yet difficult to wield—this physical body of hers felt ungainly after the lightness of being a phantom.

  She imagined the shapes of ancient symbols, simplest writing from the earliest time of desert and flood. With them called forth the most powerful spell she knew, a killing curse. Burning power poured through her, singeing her within—she had forgotten how visceral magic could be. It fed her rage. With a snarl, she flung the spell at the Dark One, and it shot from her hands like lightning.

  Smirking, the Devil simply flicked his fingers, and the spell turned to a clot of harmless black flies. They flitted away into the dust of the house.

  “Truly, Valeria Livia Corva,” he sniffed, “have you learned nothing from our long association? None of your magic, nor your flimsy mortal weapons, can harm me.”

  Livia only glared at him as she hurried to Bram’s side. He was already rising to his feet, despite the hard blow he’d been given. Still, he looked a little unsteady, and she wrapped her arm around his waist, supporting him as he stood.

  Despite the Dark One’s presence, she yet marveled at the feel of Bram, at her own solidity and the heat and sensation of his body.

  “You’ve cost me a great many souls,” the Devil continued. He held up Bram’s soul, admiring it the way one would a prized bauble. “This one I shall keep.” He turned his pale, cold gaze on Bram. “The promise you held—all wasted.”

  “If I get to slice that smirk off your face,” Bram answered, “then nothing’s wasted.”

  The Dark One pressed his lips together into a white line. “Your mistake is a costly one. There shall be no safety. No peace. Killing you will be merely the commencement of your suffering.”

  He did not snap his fingers nor wave his hand. The Devil simply disappeared like a candle winking out. Yet he left behind a miasma of evil, choking the air with its malevolence. Livia’s stomach roiled from it—and she started at the unfamiliar sensation.

  Rage followed on its heels. “If I could rip him into bloody scraps, I’d do it.”

  Bram laughed humorlessly. “Damned once more.”

  “We’ll get it back,” she said, heated.

  “Love, I never thought to get my soul back at all.”

  She stared at him, and her throat tightened. “If the Dark One hadn’t already done so, I’d curse you a thousand times.” The urge to strike out was so strong, she clenched her hands into fists.

  He raised his brows. “You’ve an odd way to show gratitude.”

  “Gratitude!” She stalked to him. “How am I to feel grateful to you for killing yourself? With my own eyes I watched your blood pool on the floor, I saw the life leave your body.” Her voice was a rough rasp. “And there was nothing, not one accursed thing, I could do to help.”

  His gaze darkened. “I’d never willingly pain you. I wish it hadn’t been so, but there it is.”

  “So insouciant about your own death. Knowing that you were to face eternal suffering. Why? Why would do such a thing?”

  Quietly he said, “You know why.”

  Her breath left her in a hiss. A shock to feel her eyes heat.

  “In war, there were so many I couldn’t save,” he said. “Even my death couldn’t have helped them. Yet I had a chance to save you, and, by hell’s fire, I had to take it.”

  “I’ll not allow you to make such a sacrifice again.”

  A corner of his mouth turned up. “Allow? Last I noted, my will was my own.”

  “And almost suffered everlasting agony as a result.”

  “No—you kept that from happening. Were it not for you, at this moment some demon would be ripping out my entrails. You risked your own eternity for me. So, enough of your rebuke.”

  “Swear that you will not take such a chance again,” she insisted.

  “Like hell. I’ll do it over and over if I have to. And you’d do the same.”

  She could not deny it. Gods, he knew her too well. A terrifying, humbling feeling. “We cannot linger here.” She looked at the snake in the corner. Its jet eyes watching her and Bram, it uncoiled and slithered into a gap in the baseboard. “The Dark One’s power is flawed. He needs others to complete his work. Either he will send demons, or tell John where we are, and finish the job.”

  “A shame my father only kept one mistress.” Despite the nonchalance of his words, Bram’s voice was tight with pain as he rubb
ed the back of his head. “Running out of places to take shelter.” He looked down at her, and his eyes blazed vivid blue. “My God, look at you.” His fingers stroked along her throat, lingering on the flutter of her pulse. “I can touch you. Wherever I want. As long as I want.”

  She fought to keep her eyes open, but it was a struggle. She wanted nothing more than to sink into his touch, into this new realm of sensation. Yet—“We must leave,” she said, regretful. “Time runs away from us, and we’re in poor condition to fight.”

  He took his hand away, though his movement was reluctant. “There’s a warehouse not far from here, in Wapping. It belongs to Leo. Should be empty.”

  “Does John know of it?”

  “Unlikely. He had little concern for Leo’s financial endeavors. And I only know of it because Leo tricked me into going. Said there’d be some female company to meet us, yet there wasn’t anything but a shipment of India cotton he wanted to gloat over. I left right away. Found it dull as church.”

  Of course he did. “Can you walk?”

  He straightened, testing the strength of his legs. “Enough to get to the stable out back.”

  “Let us hence,” she said. The corporeal weight of her body felt heavy, and her magic dimmed with her exhaustion. Each moment they tarried in this house meant John or some other demonic creature could be drawing closer, and with them, bringing a fight that neither she nor Bram could win. Not now.

  Together, his arm around her shoulders and hers clasped around his waist, they made their way back through the house. They did not get far out of the chamber and into the corridor before he halted their progress.

  “Careful,” he said, “there’s broken glass all over the floor.” He frowned at the empty windows. “The Devil’s doing, I’d gather.”

  “Mine.” When he glanced down at her questioningly, she explained, “Your . . . death. Distressed me.” Even speaking of it now, when he was beside her and clearly not dead, felt like a fresh wound.

  His arm still around her shoulders, Bram turned her to face him. His face seemed carved from stone, harsh and beautiful. The heat of his gaze scorched her, alight with hunger. She had seen his face many times, of course, in memory and in truth. Yet now she gazed upon him with mortal eyes, from within a mortal body, and the difference was potent, both drugging and quickening. She could feel the waves of need coming from him, and the answering demands of her own body.