by R. K. Ryals
I thought of the necklace Monroe had given me, its glow fading as it fell into Hell's portal, and I felt sick.
"It's going to be fine, Blainey," I told myself, smiling slightly when I realized I was chiding myself the same way Marcas would.
I looked up at his back and found him gazing back at me. He left his expression temporarily open, and I read the look easily.
"It's going to be just fine."
Chapter 5
"There are many who would see the Naphil dead, many who would see Marcas become Lucifer's right hand. There are many deceptions. There are greater truths."
~Bezaliel~
"You're joking, right?"
I stared at the carpet with a trepidation I knew was obvious, and even though I truly hated to have Sophia witness a weak moment for me, I also had no intention of getting back on that jacked up piece of fabric. Flying carpets were so much prettier animated. When cartoon characters go "splat," they get right back up, rearrange their features, and keep on trucking. Real people just go "splat."
Sophia came up next to us, and I grimaced. Early morning had dissolved into something resembling midday, and even in daylight, she glowed. And, to make matters worse, it turns out her beauty wasn't limited to the pits of a dark portal-to-Hell pyramid. She was even more gorgeous framed by blue skies and pretty, fluffy little clouds. I swallowed bile as I saw her peruse the carpet in disbelief.
"The Naphil can't fly?" she asked, her eyes avoiding mine as she glanced at the Demon looming over me.
I clenched my now free hands into fists, my knuckles white with the need to punch something. And here I thought only Marcas incited violence.
"Dayton cannot fly and has no intention of learning," I said through gritted teeth as Lucas began to chuckle from behind me.
I threw him a glare and his amusement quickly dissolved into coughs. Pretty boy and his pretty boy giggles were really starting to grate on my nerves. Or maybe I was just peeved about the carpet. Okay, I'll be honest. It was definitely the carpet.
"I thought we were done with this thing. It was supposed to bring us to the ring, and it failed. So can't we just, you know, give it back to Aladdin and be done with it," I insisted as I stared up at Marcas with a look that suggested murder. He raised a brow, his face full of impatience.
"Do you see any other modes of transportation, Blainey?"
I sighed heavily. I hated when he had a point. The dead-blasted rug had delivered us to a pyramid that appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles and miles of desert. I'm assuming it wasn't part of the normal tourist routes. What happened to the well-lit sphinx and its surrounding attractions? A nice mob, cheesy camel rides, and souvenir shops would have been nice right about now. Distracting. But somehow, we'd bypassed those. I shouldn't have flown over the country with my eyes shut. It had been a pretty sight in the pre-dawn hours, but one glance had been daunting enough to ensure a fist-clenching, teeth-grinding, eyes-shut journey to landing.
"Doesn't Egypt have camels?" I murmured as Sophia threw her hands up in exasperation.
"Flying is the least of your troubles, Naphil," she said, her eyes still glued to Marcas. The revulsion in her gaze was obvious. Well, so be it. Let her be disgusted. See if I cared. Flying for her was inbred.
"It's Dayton," I growled. "And cut the bitchiness. That piece of enchanted cloth brought us to you, not the ring. I'm allowed some contempt."
I was overstepping the "one should always be kind to Angels" rule, but the woman was really getting to me. I was hostile, and I knew it was because of my fear, not the Angels. I tended to get sarcastic when I was nervous.
Everyone was suddenly quiet, and I looked up to find both Sophia and Lucas staring at me, their mouths agape. I stared back. Had my remark been that bad?
"Oh, that's got to be worked on," Lucas mumbled as I furrowed my brows in confusion. What?
"First off, I directed the carpet here," Sophia began. "Secondly, it's a rug, Naphil. And thirdly, someone should warn you that Angels do not curse."
So that was their problem! I frowned at her admonishments. Should I point out that my new "oddity" status didn't come with a handbook? Or should I point out that, up to this point, most of my dealings had been with Demons? Cursing was not an issue for them. I let it go and went on the defensive instead.
"Half-Angel," I grumbled as Marcas stepped onto the carpet. He held his hand out, and I stared at it warily.
"Blainey—"
I cut him off.
"I know, I know . . . ." I said sulkily as I placed my hand in his.
He led me to the middle of the rug before sitting down, and I took my place between his legs, my back against his chest. There was an audible sigh from off the carpet, and I looked up to find Sophia watching us, her face flushed as she took several steps away from our group.
The "backing off" gesture made me a feel a little uncomfortable. Either she was fuming over my inability to fly or fuming over my cozied up position with her ex-lover. Either way, I wasn't enjoying the "girl in the middle" feel. I hated depending on Marcas for something I was obviously supposed to know how to do, and I loathed love triangles.
"You're forgetting about Conor, Blainey," I told myself.
The thought made me scowl. I was not forgetting about Conor. It just simply wasn't an issue. I wasn't with Conor or Marcas, and I didn't see it progressing to the point of choosing with either of them. Love was a complication I couldn't afford.
"Frowning gives you wrinkles," Lucas said suddenly, and I looked up to find him standing at the carpet's edge with a bemused expression. He winked when my eyes met his, and I fought not to smile. There was something about Lucas that just lightened the mood. I rolled my eyes, the gesture both familiar and lonely. I was homesick.
"Where to now?" I asked, shaking off the feeling as Lucas looked over at Sophia. My gaze followed his. There are conditions, she had said inside the pyramid. I guess now was the moment of truth.
"I can't just let you have the ring," she said promptly, her eyes fixed on Marcas.
Couldn't she at least be more original? We'd heard this line in the pyramid. Marcas didn't answer, just waited patiently as if he knew she'd take her time revealing what we all wanted to know. She was building suspense. An Angel who liked a scene. Imagine that. I, personally, thought the glow was enough. Her gaze moved to mine.
"Heaven will not permit a Demon access to the Seal. We have allowed the Swords of Solomon the privilege of guarding Solomon's artifacts for centuries. Until now, they have never needed the Creator's interference. You have changed that."
Sophia paused and looked toward the skies, her face going from annoyed to serene as she brought her eyes back down to ours. The woman could change moods the way some people could shed clothes, quickly and without preamble. And here I thought I was moody.
"I will take you to the ring, but I will place the Seal on the Naphil's finger, and the Naphil will leave with me once unbound."
My mouth dropped open. Excuse me? I was what and she was taking me where? Hell, no! Did I not get a choice?
"I want to go home," I said quickly. I was done with this adventure. I was done with hybrid Demons, Demons, Angels, and fallen Angels. I just wanted my life back.
"And you think you could do that, Naphil?" Sophia asked.
I was really getting tired of the impersonal half-breed reference. I glared at her.
"You're taking a choice away from me that I have every right to make."
Marcas shifted, and I felt the carpet rise just enough to bring us eye level with Lucas, which put us above Sophia. Strangely enough, Sophia wasn't much taller than me. I immediately grabbed for Marcas' jeans. Did he need to raise the carpet now? Seriously? Couldn't he make his point from the ground?
"You can have the ring, Sophia, but the Naphil won't be leaving with you," Marcas warned.
I looked up in surprise. What was he saying?
"You'd let her go knowing the danger she'd face even unbound?" Sophia asked
. "Or worse, you'd let her go knowing your brother has every intention of binding her to him?"
Damon. I had almost forgotten about Damon. Sophia's words spilled over me the same way as a pail full of frigid water would. I sputtered silently then froze, my mind suddenly swept back in time.
"If the damage can be undone, brother, she is yours."
Marcas had spoken those words in Lodeston during a confrontation between himself and his twin. And I had let myself forget it.
I turned abruptly, my face gazing up into Marcas'
"You wouldn't give me to him," I whispered.
It wasn't a question. I had begun trusting him, maybe falsely, and I wasn't about to become unbound from one brother only to be bound to another, especially one whose sanity was questionable. Marcas didn't look at me, his gaze remaining on Sophia. My spirits sank. He wouldn't give me to Damon. Would he?
"The choice would be hers, Sophia," Marcas answered. "Damon will not have her."
Relief washed over me, and I looked back at Sophia. It was like watching a ping pong match without the ball. The ball was my emotions, and I was just waiting for one of them to score.
What came next was unexpected, a weapon from Sophia's theatrical arsenal. There was a sudden "whoosh" and I watched in utter amazement as something white suddenly unfurled from Sophia's back, her dress fluttering around her softly as the largest, most amazing pair of wings I'd ever seen unfolded around her. They were not what I would have expected from an Angel. Like the movies, they were white and glowing, and I could almost make out individual feathers beyond the light, but these wings were broken down into six parts and extended from her head down to her feet. Did she use them all to fly?
Sophia lifted off the ground slowly, and my question was answered. The larger middle two wings fanned lightly then paused as she hovered just before us. The smaller two wings that stretched behind her head remained still as did the largest two bottom wings. If she had been inclined to do so, she could have wrapped her entire body as if she were a butterfly waiting to emerge from a cocoon. I was in awe.
"I'm guessing she's one of the winged Angels," I mumbled, my voice hoarse. Whether she meant them to be or not, the wings were intimidating.
"She's a Seraph," Lucas answered, and I turned to find him hovering above us, wings also sprouting from his back.
"Jesus!" I exclaimed.
Lucas shook his head at my irreverent word choice, but I was too shocked to care. Two winged Angels. I counted six wings on Lucas as well, but his were muted, almost grayish¸ dull. Was this because he had fallen?
"Why six wings?" I asked faintly, the emotional wordy ping pong match between Marcas and Sophia forgotten. Lucas smiled softly.
"Seraphim use their bottom and top wings to cover their faces and body while before God. It is a matter of respect."
I stared openly at his extra . . .um, appendages. The feathers were more noticeable in his, the muted glow allowing me to see just how fine each wing was, the intricate structures both complicated and simple. Not unlike a bird, but somehow different. Six wings. He was a Seraph as well then? A fallen Seraph?
"You would fight your own brother for the Naphil?" Sophia asked, her words high, and I turned back toward her. Apparently she and Marcas hadn't been distracted by the air show. Sophia pointed at me.
"After knowing her maybe a week?" she added, her skepticism obvious. Her words were harsh and made the awe I was experiencing over the twelve wings surrounding me vanish. In its place, a feeling of foolishness settled in.
"After knowing her maybe a week?"
She was right. Marcas and I hadn't known each other long at all, and yet I found I trusted him? After spending years making fun of Monroe's action-romance film obsession, I was becoming a "damsel in distress" statistic.
"How can the dude suddenly love the woman and want to climb in bed with her after 24 to 48 measly hours?" I'd asked Monroe once. She'd laughed it off. Said something about danger increasing the hormones. I had rolled my eyes at her reply, but I was now realizing something I'd failed to notice before. Peril was powerful. The danger and trouble combined had forced me to trust Marcas. It had turned simple days into years. One hour felt like an eternity mainly because I didn't know if it'd be my last. Fear forged bonds quickly, like welding together two pieces of metal, and I had allowed it to strengthen the bond the Demon and I already shared through blood.
But, wait, here's the kicker. I didn't regret it. He had been honest with me when others had lied. And, though I still expected him to fail me, I expected it less with him than I did the other creatures I had met. Aside from Conor and Monroe, I didn't trust easily.
"I wouldn't fight my brother over the girl. I'd fight him because of his plans," Marcas said, dragging me out of my own thoughts as I fought to focus on the argument at hand.
"And yet you promised him the girl," Sophia pointed out.
My eyes narrowed. She knew this? Of course she did. God was all-knowing, and she had been sent by Him.
"Demons don't make promises," Marcas answered. Sophia's eyes shined, and I stared wide-eyed at the brightness. Was she fighting tears?
"You do," she replied.
"Not this time."
"Because of the girl?"
"Because she deserves a choice. Because I don't believe Heaven has any intention of protecting her," Marcas said. If my eyes could have gotten any wider, they would have.
"He has a point, Sophia," Lucas interjected. "Heaven has no real designs on the girl, only the ring."
"And you know this how, Luke? She will be an asset to us. We would not leave her unprotected."
"But she would also be a cause for war. You would not risk that," Marcas interrupted. Sophia's eyes shuttered.
"War is unavoidable now, Marc. Our goal is to keep it to the air."
"That's impossible and you know it."
Lucas flew closer to the carpet.
"Let me make this choice easier for you both. The Naphil will go with me. I will take her to her father."
Marcas turned to Lucas, his eyes tinted red.
"You prefer God, Luke."
"And you fault me for that, Marcas? Who I prefer is null and void. As a fallen, I have made choices that force me into neutrality. The Naphil's place is among us. Neutral to both sides. You know as well as I she will be safest there. The danger lies in her choosing one side over another."
Lucas had a point, and I knew it. Marcas obviously did as well because he turned toward Sophia, the red fading from his gaze. She didn't look happy, but she did look somewhat pacified. Lucas flew to her side.
"Let's agree to the first part of your plan. You unbind Marcas and the girl. From there, we can be open to discussion. But staying here is only increasing her danger. And ours," Lucas consoled. Sophia closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before nodding.
"Follow me," she commanded, her middle wings beating as she took flight.
I felt my stomach drop. Not again! The carpet moved, and I groaned, my nails digging into Marcas' jeans. He cursed from behind me, but I was too nauseated to feel any pleasure at causing him discomfort. Besides, I desired less and less the need to make him feel pain.
His hands suddenly covered mine on his jeans, and I froze as he lifted my hands into his. My grip was crushing.
"Let's give my legs a break," he muttered as the carpet sped after Sophia.
I shivered, my thoughts momentarily distracted by the new problems I now faced. Sophia wanted to protect the ring, Lucas wanted to take me to my father, Marcas wanted unbound, and I just wanted to go home. But what home? Damon ruled the Abbey now.
Something fell over my shoulders, and I looked up to discover Marcas' leather jacket. It's sudden, magical reappearance made me realize just how chilly I was, inside and out. Despite the rising temperature, I was shaking. The wind caused by our flight was only part of the problem. The slide inside the pyramid had shredded a good deal of my shirt, leaving gaping holes everywhere, mostly around my stomach and back. I
stared down at the rips, at the dried blood on my skin. I was still sore, adrenaline having dulled the worst of the pain before, but the aches were ebbing. Remotely, I knew my light and Marcas' power was healing us both. But I still had no desire to look in a mirror. On the bright side, Marcas didn't look much better than me, his shirt gaping in places, his skin lined with healing injuries. But he seemed unaffected by the wind. I pulled the jacket tighter around me and sought distraction.
"I thought fallen Angels became Demons?" I asked Marcas as I watched Lucas fly between us and Sophia. He seemed content flying first in front of us, and then behind. Maybe he was scouting the area? Who knew?
"Fallen Angels become Demons when they swear allegiance to Lucifer. Others become Demons when they commit crimes against God or humans. Otherwise, they are considered an Exile or neutral," Marcas answered.
I was leaning against Marcas' chest, and I yawned as the jacket and his warmth began to infiltrate my body. The sun beat down on us and, although I expected to sweat, I found the position I was in comfortable. Something told me Marcas was regulating my temperature. I fought the weariness and struggled to stay alert. When was the last time I had eaten or slept? Did it matter? Was the bond making me need less of both?
"What is considered a crime against God?" I asked instead, my attention still diverted by the flying Lucas. His flying pattern was making me dizzy.
Marcas dropped my hands. My body was so weary and my mind so preoccupied, he didn't have to worry about me gripping his legs.
"It's complicated, Blainey. But the most serious crime is allying oneself with a Demon or the Devil. It's enough to bring an Angel to Judgement. Punishment follows."
Allying oneself with a Demon? I caught a glance of Sophia's glow in the distance, and I tensed. Allying oneself with a Demon . . . .
"Sophia," I whispered.
I leaned further back against Marcas, and looked up at his chin. He was watching the sky ahead of us.