Sinner's Heart th-3

by Zoë Archer

  Appallingly simple, summoning the Devil now. Merely two words, and he appeared before her, his face contorted with rage.

  Making the Dark One angry was never wise. This wasn’t the moment for wisdom. At the least, she now understood the significance of her actions.

  “I should have slaughtered you,” the Devil spat, “all those years ago. Saved myself an infinite amount of trouble.”

  “That would have been the intelligent thing to do.” Her mouth curled. “You do make some spectacularly poor decisions.”

  “Impudent slut,” John hissed from where he and Bram fought on the other side of the temple.

  Bram’s answering grin was vicious. “One of the many reasons I love her.”

  The Devil smiled icily. “How pleased I am to hear that. It will only heighten your suffering when I paint these walls with her blood.”

  Bram darkened, but before he could speak or act, Livia ran to the altar. She drew the Akkadian blade she held down her bare arms and across her palms, ignoring the answering pain. Crimson welled and dropped in thick splatters upon the stone. She smeared her blood, drawing her fingers through it to inscribe symbols on the altar. Symbols of eternity, and death, and the great immeasurable beyond.

  It came so much easier now. She had learned a great deal, having paid a terrible price. Yet she did not need the Druid priestess, nor the Indian slave. Her own power was enough—fed by Bram’s revelation of his love for her. And she spoke the words, words from the very beginning of time, when a single utterance could call entire worlds into being. No one had taught her these words—she had discovered them herself, delving into the mists of eternity.

  She continued to speak them now, painting the altar with her own blood.

  Heat, unendurable heat, filled the chamber. A thunderous shaking. Livia staggered back as light poured from the wall just beside the altar. A massive door appeared, as though hewn from the rock itself. Images of serpents and horned beasts were carved into the door. There came a dreadful, shattering groan.

  The door opened.

  Hell lay just beyond.

  It was the sound that struck her first. The screams of the damned. Fraught with unrelenting anguish. Souls without hope. It made her want to fling up her hands, cover her ears, yet nothing could block the noise of eternal suffering. The Dark One was inventive in his punishments.

  Beyond the door lay a blighted, smoke-swathed plain, charred and lifeless. Plumes of yellow vapor drifted up from rifts in the ground. The sky was made of fire, and huge creatures swung through the air on leathery wings. And everywhere, everywhere, were the souls of the damned, naked, and bound. Demons presided over them, inflicting such tortures that Livia sickened to see them.

  She turned away from this. Fixed her gaze on Bram. He stared back, and he looked so sternly beautiful she thought her heart might simply crumble away to dust.

  The blue light in his eyes blazed. “Livia—”

  “I love you,” she said, then stepped through the door and into Hell.

  She heard Bram’s shout, but could not turn or stop herself. This must be done, and she could not allow herself to falter.

  The underground temple had been hot, but stepping through the door and into Hell itself, she was assaulted by a conflagration. It was a crushing force that made every breath a punishment, as though inhaling fire. Decay scented the thick air, the smell of untold corpses forever rotting, and she fought to keep from gagging. On this side of the door, the sounds of misery were louder, unhindered, and if the heat and smell did not assault her, the cries and screams surely did. Staying on her feet taxed her to the depths of her soul.

  She faced the door. From this side of the portal, it appeared to be torn right into the air, without a wall to support it. Though smoke and heat filmed her eyes, she could just see Bram and John within the temple. Bram leapt forward, intending to follow her. John blocked his path. The two men launched into furious combat, their blades striking sparks.

  The Devil, with a malicious smile, watched the one-time friends combat each other.

  “The opportunity has arrived,” Livia shouted to the Dark One. “You want to spill my blood? Here it is.” She spread her arms wide.

  When the Devil hesitated, she called, “The greatest evil ever known, afraid of one mortal. How unbearably sad.”

  Snarling, the Dark One plunged through the door. They faced one another on the blasted, charred plain.

  His elegant human façade flaked away, revealing the twisted, monstrous face beneath. Pieces of his disguise still remained, so that his visage was a patchwork of man and monster. One half of his mouth was full of jagged fangs, the other still had the graceful curve of a courtier’s lips. Rotted flesh appeared beside smooth skin. But his eyes, white and burning, those were the same.

  He stared at her with those blazing diamond eyes. “A valuable lesson you’ve taught me, Valeria Livia Corva. Never again will I allow any mortal to attain so much power. Their nuisance far outweighs their usefulness.”

  Through the portal, she saw Bram and John, locked in battle, their blades crashing together in a torrent of flame.

  “As though you’ve a say in the matter.” She circled him, all the while silently, frantically working to build a spell. Taken from Vulcan’s forge. The incantation formed links, hammered with the force of her will. She prayed she lasted long enough to complete the spell. “When you’ve no true power of your own. All you can do is ride upon the backs of others, like a child being carried through the marketplace, his legs too short and weak to hold himself.”

  Bellowing in rage, the Dark One swept his arm into the air. Burning rocks tore up from the ground and flung themselves at her. Livia could not build her forging spell and also shield herself from the attack. All she could do was crouch down, covering her head with her arms, as red hot stones showered down on her.

  Pain blanketed her in searing profusion. Her gown offered no protection, and she caught the smell of burning silk and flesh—both her own.

  The bombardment finally stopped. Raising her head, she saw angry, blistering burns all over her body. If she thought she might survive this, she’d be permanently scarred. But she knew she wouldn’t survive.

  Rising up, she glanced toward Bram and saw him continuing to fight toward her. Seeing him, she found a small pocket of unused magic within herself, as the rest worked to shape a chain of power. With a shout, she pulled fire from the sky. Tongues of flame spun down and engulfed the Dark One, covering him with flames.

  The conflagration solidified, as though frozen, and shattered apart. The Devil laughed as he shed the effects of her spell like a man dusting snow off his shoulders.

  “This is my kingdom.” He chuckled. “You may as well try to drown a shark.”

  He flicked his fingers. Knotted vines emerged from the ground and snaked up her legs, pinning her in place. Before she could attempt another spell, the vines wrapped around her chest and arms, binding her. She hissed in pain as the vines dug into the burns covering her body, then lost her breath as the vines tightened, squeezing her like bands of iron.

  The Dark One ambled toward her. He shook his head. “All of that knowledge, the years of study. None of it served you.”

  Livia fought for consciousness. She needed to remain alive long enough to complete her spell. “Able to . . . command you like . . . a dog.”

  When the Devil snarled, more of his human disguise peeled away, revealing further his hideous face. “Had you paid greater attention in your studies, you would have learned that no one defeats me. It cannot be achieved.”

  “Done it . . . three times.”

  “Temporary impediments.” With one clawed hand and one human hand, he tore at the remaining pieces of mortal flesh clinging to his visage. A monster stood before her. “Too much evil exists in the world. The ground is fertile. So long as mankind persists, so do I. Even in your own heart, I’m there. In your greed, your pride. I am always part of you. Part of every mortal. And I will never. Be. Vanquished.�
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  With each of these final words, the vines around her tightened. Her vision dimmed and she felt something crack. No! If only she had a little more time. The spell was nearly finished.

  The living cage around her abruptly loosened, and she fell to the ground. Body screaming with effort, she looked up, and nearly wept.

  Bram was here. He’d blindsided the Dark One and thrust his sword through the Devil’s shoulder. It had been enough to break off the attacking vines.

  He’d never looked more glorious, more deadly. The Dark One turned, and the sword tore from his putrid flesh. He slashed with his claws, and Bram used his blade to parry. Bram’s sword gleamed bright in the thick waves of heat. The Devil struggled to hold him back, flinging wave after wave of burning debris and conjured blades.

  John stood on the other side of the portal, watching, clearly torn between staying in the mortal realm and going to the assistance of his master.

  Bram countered the Dark One’s deadly attacks, but he couldn’t block them all. He bore each wound with grim endurance. Fury tightened his face, an anger she had never seen. Even the rage he had felt when fighting in the war, witnessing the wanton death and ruin—that was nothing compared to the wrath he showed now.

  For all his strength and skill, his opponent was powerful, and he took wounds over his face and body. Yet he never relented, continuing his attack, sweeping and stabbing with his blade even as blood dripped from his face, his hands.

  As she lay sprawled across the smoldering ground, Livia gathered the last of her magic. She hammered together the final link in the chain. With the last piece completed, the chain glowed to life, becoming visible. It coiled beside her, heavy and solid, forged from the strength of the blacksmith god. Thick shackles the width of an ankle were attached at each end of the chain.

  She focused all her power, and the chain rose up like a serpent. Muttering a Gallaecian incantation, she guided the chain toward the Dark One. But her intended target kept moving, avoiding Bram’s attacks. She hadn’t the strength to chase the Devil, and the chain began to lower closer to the ground.

  Bram saw her struggle, and renewed his assault. He backed the Dark One toward her.

  Too occupied by Bram’s assault, the Devil did not notice the binding until it was too late. She fastened the shackle around his ankle.

  Screaming in anger, the Devil clawed at the fetter. Yet she had done her work well, and the binding would not come off.

  John hovered, hesitating, at the portal. He moved to cross the portal to help the Dark One.

  As the Dark One struggled, Bram crouched beside her. Concern dug deep lines into his face as he carefully gathered her up. Her wounds must have been terrible, for as Bram gazed at her, his eyes took on a wet sheen.

  “Tell me what I can do to help,” he said, hoarse.

  She had reached the limit of her strength. “Take the other manacle. Fasten it to my ankle.”

  His brows drew down in a sharp scowl. “Binding you to him.”

  “Has to be. Need a mortal to bind him. Keep him imprisoned. In Hell.”

  “Then I’ll do it.” He reached for the shackle.

  “No.” She struggled to stop him, yet her arms refused to move.

  “I goddamn love you, Livia,” he snarled. “So don’t tell me to trap you here in Hell. It won’t happen.”

  “Someone has to anchor him.” The effort it took to speak made her dizzy. “Cannot let it be you.”

  For a moment, he only frowned at her. Then his eyes narrowed, his expression turning shrewd.

  “What—?”

  He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then gently laid her down. She levered herself up, watching him as he stood and cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Know why the other Hellraisers turned against you, John?” he called toward the portal. “Because you were never one of us. Not truly. We pitied you. No one else would have you. Skulking around Whitehall like a beggar. An outcast.”

  John remained at the doorway, though he still did not cross the threshold. “The four of you were privileged to have my company!”

  Bram gave an ugly laugh. “Tell yourself whatever lies you require. But the truth persists. Without the Hellraisers, you would have been another forgettable man, scrounging for crumbs of recognition. Forgotten. Hell,” he sneered, “you always had to pay for your quim. No woman would willingly spread her legs for you. Only your coin could make them endure your rutting.”

  With a jackal’s snarl, John plunged through the portal, sword upraised. Bram stood ready for the attack. Their swords clashed, the sound ringing over the screams of the damned. Bram’s fury seemed renewed as he attacked. He and John fought, their bodies blurring with speed, the combat furious. Their fight circled the Dark One, who continued to tear at the shackle binding him.

  Bram lunged and knocked away John’s blade. Yet John continued to fight, grappling for control of Bram’s sword. They each planted their feet in the ground, pushing against each other.

  Bram held John steady, and threw her a glance. Now.

  Shaking, exhausted and riddled with pain, Livia pushed herself up, onto her knees. She mustered the dim filaments of her strength. Wrapped her magic around the other shackle, and sent it straight to John.

  It snapped around his ankle. Binding him.

  Like the Dark One, he screamed and pulled at the binding. It would not open.

  Livia felt herself topple. Before she hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her up. She did not care how much it hurt, all that mattered was being held by Bram, feeling the solidity of his chest and pound of his heart against her cheek.

  He sprinted toward the portal. The Dark One screamed as he saw them running. More fire poured from the Devil’s hands. Bram dodged this attack, and kept his body between her and the flames.

  Then they were on the other side, back in the underground temple, the coolness of the air a fresh torment.

  “The door,” she whispered. It needed to be closed for the binding to work, yet she had no strength left. Even breathing cost too much. She turned her head to see John running toward the portal. If he made it back to the realm of the living, her spell would be rendered useless, John and the Dark One free to wreak devastation.

  A whip of fire lashed out. It snapped past her and Bram, flicking through the gateway to Hell. The whip pushed John back, keeping him on the other side of the portal.

  Livia stirred and looked over Bram’s shoulder. The Hellraisers all stood within the underground chamber. Each of them were battered, their faces and clothes covered in grime and blood. Yet they were all there. Zora wielded her lash of fire, using it to prevent John from crossing back. The whip carved patterns of light as it snapped, and Zora bared her teeth with the effort.

  Anne stepped forward, raising her hands. A powerful, chill wind blasted through the chamber. The tempest roared toward the open portal. It gathered around the door itself and began to push the heavy stone shut. Whit and Leo pushed on the door, aiding Anne’s wind.

  John and the Dark One both stared with wide, disbelieving eyes as the door swung closed. Horror blanched John’s face—and understanding. He stretched out, reaching for the door. But not in time. Just before the door shut, a look of utter despair crossed his face. He had lost.

  The chamber shook as the door slammed shut.

  “Must be . . . bolted,” Livia gasped. She held out her hands to Anne and Zora.

  The women hurried forward and clasped her hands. Drawing on Anne’s cold, Livia employed it to create metal, which she forged using Zora’s fire. She shaped the magic into a substantial lock, which appeared hovering in the middle of the chamber. The Dark One’s new prison. This she fastened to the door’s bolt. It made a heavy clang as the tumblers slid into place.

  Like dissipating smoke, the door vanished. The lock remained, and fell to the ground, but it and the chamber itself dissolved soundlessly. A scent of dry stone filled the air as the ruined temple also evaporated. Until everyone st
ood at the very edge of St. George’s Fields once more.

  Chapter 18

  The giant rift in the ground had closed. Heaps of demon bodies lay across the field, yet already they rotted. Within hours, they would likely be nothing more than stains upon the grass.

  Bram didn’t care. All that mattered was the woman in his arms. Her breathing was too shallow, her skin too pale. Burns covered her, angry and red.

  “A physician,” he snapped, laying her down gently upon a patch of clean grass. “A surgeon. Fetch someone. Now.”

  He did not see the exchanged glances between the others.

  “There isn’t time,” Whit said, and Bram hated the pity in his friend’s voice.

  “Then I’ll doctor her.” He tore off his coat and wadded it beneath her head. Glowering up at Anne and Zora, he snarled, “Tear your petticoats. I need to bind her wounds. Stop looking at me like that, damn it, and get to work.”

  He poured through all he knew of field surgery. One could pull out a bullet, sew up a wound, and hope the injured soldier survived. But this . . . Horrible burns, and her breath rattled, as though a broken rib had punctured a lung. What could he do to help? He was no damned sawbones with an Edinburgh education. At best, all he knew was how to keep someone alive long enough to reach a surgeon. Yet even he knew she wouldn’t last that long.

  He started when someone lightly touched his shoulder. Zora.

  “There may be a way.”

  “Anything.”

  Zora knelt beside Livia. She motioned for Anne to sit at Livia’s head.

  “And us?” asked Leo.

  “Hope.” She turned to Bram. “Once I was poisoned by demons, and verged on death. Livia used her power to help Whit heal me. Partially. They gave me strength enough to see the job done, myself.”

  He clung to her offer of tenuous optimism. “What do we do?”

  A rueful shrug from Zora. “Let our instinct direct us. Lend her back the power she gave us, that she may find the rest of the way herself.”