by R. K. Ryals
"Are you always this charming, Craig?" I asked, my voice light. I could almost "feel" him smile as he stepped back.
"Never, Blainey."
I could believe that. I looked down at the floor, at my bare toes peeking up at me from beneath the dress, and I smiled. This part I could do alone. Concentrating, I focused on an image I'd seen once in a children's book, and my hands began to glow. It was easier this time, and the result of my magical meditation was a pair of perfect faux glass slippers. I looked over my shoulder at Marcas.
"If I have to dress like a princess, why not pretend to be Cinderella."
I didn't wait to see his reaction, just slipped on the shoes and headed back to the vanity. My hair had dried and was curling around my shoulders. There was no point in putting it up. My hair wouldn't behave. I stopped in front of the mirror and stared.
This girl wasn't me.
"Tonight's not about being you. Everyone will be wearing a false face. Trust no one," Marcas said. My "open book" face was working against me again.
I didn't look his way, just continued to stare at the figure in the mirror, at the elegant redhead clothed in silver. There was minor bead work on the top of the dress and around the waist while the skirt billowed out to the floor in a cascade of sparkles. "She shines before me like the dawn, and she consoles me like the night."
I placed my hand over my stomach. Sometimes my predicament didn't seem all that serious. Other times, it overwhelmed me. I was a hybrid Angel in Hell, playing games with beings that excelled at being deceptive. I closed my eyes.
"Is it night here?" I asked.
"It's always night in Hell, Blainey."
I opened my eyes. What must it have been like to be raised in darkness, to be raised in a world where sin and evil dominated? It was no wonder Marcas fell in love with an Angel. Sophia was the antithesis of everything dark.
"You're overanalyzing again."
I opened my eyes and turned toward the Demon, my dress moving with me. The material was light and it fit me like a second skin. As different as it made me feel, the dress made me appreciate what I had come to realize after the kiss, after shutting myself in the bathroom. I wasn't afraid of who I was anymore. It was liberating.
"And you don't overanalyze?" I asked Marcas, my eyes on his.
Marcas lifted a brow, and I actually chuckled. Of course, he overanalyzed. It was a fault we shared. I moved toward him just as a scratching noise filled the room. I paused.
"The Hounds. It's time," Marcas said as he stepped back, retreating into a corner of the room, and I watched in amazement as he placed a palm against the marble wall, using his power to create an entrance he literally dissolved into. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.
The door burst open, and I turned to find Ember standing there, his four legs spread apart, his eyes shining yellow, saliva dripping from his mouth. One look, and the Hellhound snarled, his gaze piercing.
"What is this?" Ember asked.
I knew the dress surprised him, the glow now emanating from my skin a distraction. I moved toward the door, enjoying the swish of my skirts against my legs as I approached the opening.
"This is an Angel waiting to go to a reception."
Chapter 11
Moving up in Hell is based on one thing: power. No one expected a half-breed Demon to be powerful. No one expected this same hybrid to rebel.
~Bezaliel~
I stared at the iron staircase and froze. It was one thing ascending the thing while in boots and jeans; it was another descending it in a dress and fake glass slippers. There was no way in Hell. Haha! No pun intended. It didn't help that there was a ballroom full of creatures below, ranging from the grotesque type of monsters we'd fought in Italy to beautiful men and women outfitted in dresses and attire as ornate as mine. Marcas wasn't kidding. I would have been more than a little under-dressed.
"Just climb down," a voice protested, and I turned to find Sophia behind me. Her expression was grim, her mouth turned down. But it didn't stop me from being awed by her appearance.
If I glowed, she was luminance personified. And, of course, the gown she wore was as white as snow, the skirts full and dotted with diamonds. It took my own confidence down a few pegs. I started to say a few choice words in my head.
"Watch what you think," Lucas warned from the hallway, and I watched as he sauntered up from behind Sophia.
Maybe it was his fallen Angel status, but he seemed more lenient with his dress code. It wasn't all white for Lucas. No, he sported a pair of khaki pants and an open Navy blazer over a white dress shirt. It suited him.
"Can't you two just choose to stay out of my head?" I asked, my tone surly. I'd had enough intrusion on my personal affairs.
Sophia snorted, which I found distressingly graceful even if it wasn't a feminine thing to do. If anyone could make a snort sound elegant, it would be Sophia, the Angel who made a Demon turn against Hell. Rah-rah for her.
"It'd be easier if you didn't project so much, Naphil. You don't just think thoughts, you yell them," Sophia said as she brushed past me.
I stared at her back. I was projecting? Really? Did that mean . . .oh, God, . . . my thoughts about the kiss . . . .
"Are as plain as day, Naphil," Sophia interrupted.
I felt sick. No one should be able to read thoughts like those.
"Think of your thoughts as an heirloom locked within a safe. Blocking is merely locking away what you don't want others to see," Lucas said as he moved next to me.
We both watched as Sophia descended the stairs. The Hounds snarled from behind us, but neither Lucas nor I moved.
"Like the light I use to see in the dark?" I asked. Lucas shrugged.
"Somewhat. I'm surprised you were able to do that so quickly. Either Marcas is a better teacher than I'd like to give him credit for, or you are more in tune with your powers than even you realize."
I looked up at Lucas.
"I think I've always been in tune, but Marcas . . . I don't know."
I left the rest of the sentence unsaid, but I know he read the thoughts in my head, the images I still had of Marcas teaching me how to defend myself in Italy, of the time I used too much power and wrapped us in a light show that gave the Demon nothing but pain. And yet, he had continued to teach, gritting his teeth as he helped me pull the light back in.
"You give him too much credit," Lucas said.
"Do I?"
The question was a sarcastic one. I had been left to my own devices, and even if I did forgive my father, he had sent Lucas too late. It was Marcas who had kept me alive. If Lucas wanted me to hate the Demon, he was most definitely too late. I worked on blocking. I was tired of Lucas knowing so much about me. I tried imagining the safe, but it kept popping open.
Blocking was harder than seeing in the dark. It was harder even than producing a new pair of clothes. Lucas placed a hand on my shoulder, and I fought not to shake him off.
"I gave you an image, Dayton. But it was my image. To block, you need to protect your thoughts with a method you feel comfortable with. If it isn't a safe, make it a brick wall. If it isn't a brick wall, make it something different," he explained.
I thought about that, about the many ways I'd want to protect what meant most to me. It was like writing in my diary. If I wanted to protect something that personal at the Abbey, where would I have hidden it?
The Abbey's old herb garden suddenly filled my thoughts. It was both my sanctuary and my Hell. I had spent a lot of time there writing and thinking. It was where my mother lost her life. It was often the place where I discovered my life through my journal entries. And in the corner of the crumbling garden wall, I kept a tin box full of dumdums and keepsakes. I went with the box.
In my mind, I took the tin box and transformed it into a chest with a lock only I had the key for, placing thoughts I didn't want known within it before burying it under the crumbling wall. A burden was lifted from my shoulders, and I could feel sweat along my hairline. Locking away
the thoughts hadn't been easy.
"It takes practice," Lucas said. "It's not a natural thing remembering to lock things away, but it gets easier with time. People expect their thoughts to be their own without needing to hide them. You will falter more than not, but at least now you've learned how."
I brushed Lucas' hand from my shoulder. He was right, now I knew. And every time I used my power, I surprised myself. It was always easier than it should be, taking very little instruction. What did that say about me? What kind of power did I have? Something Marcas said in Italy came back to me, "Your power responds to you differently than it would to an Angel or a Demon. It not only lets you use it, it almost becomes an ambient being that will protect you at all costs."
Lucas grunted from next to me. I hadn't locked away that thought, and I didn't care if he saw it.
"What is it about that Demon that attracts you Angels so much?" Lucas asked.
I grinned because I needed to; grinned because I found the almost hurt tone he used amusing. Lucas wasn't the kind to be intimidated.
"Oh well, you know what they say about bad boys . . ."
"Get moving!" Ember howled from behind us. The Hounds were tired of waiting.
I glanced at the closest Hellhound and saw the way its yellow eyes searched mine, the way its hair stood up on its back and knew Lilith must be near. Their patience was long if their mistress wasn't present, but if she was close at hand. . . .
"Move it!"
I looked toward the stairs. There was no way I could go down them without falling. The steps were too close together, there was no bannister, and the straight shot upward was easier to traverse than going down. Even Sophia had floated as she descended. Lucas moved around me.
"I could help you," he said.
I shook my head.
"You're a stubborn one, Dayton. If you won't let me help you, then you need to learn to fly."
I knew Lucas was right, but the height thing was one fear I still hadn't overcome. I was getting better at controlling my anxiety as long as someone I trusted was controlling my fall or my ascension. And, as much as I longed to trust Lucas, I still didn't.
Lucas' light blue eyes darkened, and I saw him gazing at something over my shoulder. I didn't have to look to know what it was. I could "feel" him.
"Go, Luke," Marcas ordered, and the Angel scowled before turning to descend the stairs.
I glanced over my shoulder and almost gasped. Boy, could the Demon clean up! I almost laughed with the absurdity, not at the way he was dressed but at Lilith's obvious fascination with ornamentation and Marcas' need to defy her. While all of the men below were adorned in tuxedos, both Lucas and Marcas strove to be different. Marcas was decked out, not in the same khaki and blazer as the fallen Angel but in a pair of black slacks with a button up black shirt, untucked, with the first couple of buttons left undone. It left some of his neck and chest exposed. I raised a brow.
"Now who's goading Lilith?"
Marcas' lip quirked up, but he didn't speak, just moved behind me to place an arm around my waist. My whole body went numb. At this point, I should be used to his proximity, but after the kiss, I was just thrown off by it.
"I told you before you didn't have to ask," he whispered before we rose from the floor, hovering just above it as we moved toward the stairs and descended in the same graceful way I'd seen Sophia do. It gave me another reason to envy her. How much more powerful would I look if I had just tried doing it on my own?
"It's better we enter together. We are bound, both Heaven and Hell are watching us, we are feared, and we are different. To enter separately would be folly," Marcas whispered into my ear. I swear the man could read my mind even if he said he couldn't.
Our feet touched the ballroom floor below, and I blushed as I realized the room was silent, all eyes on our intimate descent. There were sparkles everywhere, the room brighter now than it had been before. The flames on the candles were higher, the chandeliers more radiant, and the ball gowns were full of jewels. The effect was eerie, the red floors casting a hue over the multitude of colors.
The Demon women all wore varying shades of black and red. Only Sophia and I were adorned in opposing colors. I was glad I wasn't wearing white. With the way the floor reflected its red tint, Sophia appeared to be wearing pink.
A sudden clapping noise had everyone in the room turning toward the antechamber full of shadows.
"You have a knack for entrances, son," Lilith said as she swept into the room.
It seems entrances ran in the family. To say Lilith was spectacular was an understatement. To say she was intimidating was an insult. She was something beyond both those descriptions.
She wasn't just clothed, she was festooned in a red ball gown that hugged her figure to the waist, the rest of the skirt billowing out to the floor and left open in the front to reveal a layer of black taffeta covered in rubies. Her hair was a halo of black curls with small glittering jewels twinkling throughout. Compared to Lilith, everyone was underdressed. Add that to the entourage of Hellhounds and Demons surrounding her, and she didn't just get attention, she captured it.
The crowd was silent, watching every move the Demon queen made as she sauntered toward Marcas and I, her head held high, her eyes black. I wanted desperately to shrink into the ebony marble walls, but I stood defiantly instead.
"I see you still have no sense of propriety when it comes to dress," Lilith lectured as she drew near.
Marcas didn't reply and Lilith didn't give him time to. Instead, she turned to me, her eyes raking my figure in a way that made my insides tremble. If that's even possible.
"But it seems you had time to dress your pet. Appealingly, at that."
It was a barb I knew I had to ignore, and I gritted my teeth against the insult as Lilith turned away from us and gestured at the room, her smile both charming and damning.
"Welcome all!"
It was all she said, but the room exploded into applause followed quickly by a flow of music from a Demonic orchestra so haunting, it made me want to cry. There was nothing beautiful about the chords. Only sadness. And then the tempo changed, and it was angry. Demons moved onto the dance floor, circling in eerie patterns I'd never seen before. And the music changed again, passionate and menacing.
"You know your role tonight, son?" Lilith asked from beside us, and I felt Marcas' hand fall away from my waist as he turned to his mother.
"You know my decision."
Lilith didn't take his words well. She sprouted claws, moving to her son before running the wicked edge of each nail down his cheek. She didn't press hard enough to leave a wound, but I felt the sensation along my own face, and I shivered. Marcas never even flinched.
"You know the consequences," she hissed.
"Those I can bear. You made a promise. The reception and then we go," he countered.
Lilith moved closer to her son, her face now only an inch away from his.
"You will accept."
"Not tonight."
Lilith snarled, her once pretty face transforming into a monstrous one. She smiled sweetly and moved away, melting into the crowd. Marcas and I didn't move, just stood together and observed the strangely chaotic, melancholy dance transpiring around us. Sophia and Lucas watched from across the room. They looked ready for a fight.
"You really think she's going to let us go?" I asked.
Marcas' hand found my waist again.
"Honestly, Blainey?
I looked up at him.
"Honestly."
"She'll let us go, but not easily. She'll have something planned."
It was the answer I expected. The music played on, and we stood there so long my feet began to hurt. I had no intention of dancing. The moves actually frightened me, the music so depressing I was afraid I'd go into a strange trance I couldn't escape. This world was crazy. It was a ridiculous mix of bizarre, so much so it almost made me forget what life outside of Hell was like. I felt disconnected, strange. Maybe this is what death felt like
. It had me wondering what it felt like in Heaven. But mostly, it made me think about death, and I whispered Emily Dickinson, my thoughts occupied with twirling two-toned colors.
"Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality."
Marcas' hand tightened on my waist.
"Why poetry, Blainey? Your age, your world above, it doesn't promote that."
I shook my head.
"It's who I am."
It was all I said. I loved words. They gave meaning to life, explained feelings many couldn't express otherwise. It was a release. And if it was strange for me to like literature and poetry, then I rather liked being strange.
"Attention!" a voice growled, and the multitude of guests stopped moving.
It was like watching a music box whose spring had broken, the whole crowd freezing in the middle of an intricate dance to face the front of the room. There stood Brim, his teeth bared, his head bowed to the black-haired Demon queen. Lilith had the stage.
"The festivities tonight have been in honor of my son. All of you are aware that he has been raised for great things. Tonight, I place before him his birthright," Lilith announced, her skirts rustling as she moved through the center of the room. She stared brazenly at every guest she passed.
"Tonight, I offer him a place among the Elite. It is an offer given to him by the Dark Lord himself."
Lilith's gaze moved to Marcas', and he stepped forward. I wasn't sure if it was to place himself between his mother and me or because he knew the outcome of Lilith's next statement.
"Son," Lilith announced. "Tonight, you will sit on the right hand of Satan himself."
The whole room exploded into applause with the exception of two Angels and a Naphil. I stood astounded. Was Marcas' rank in Hell that high?
I reached out and grabbed Marcas' hand without meaning to, unconsciously begging him not to even consider his mother's request. He grasped my fingers in his.