by Meg Collett
Something bad was happening. Something Clark couldn’t control. Something as far from a dream as possible.
“Say it!” Sophia screamed. “Say you’ll love me. Always.”
“You’re dead!” Clark shouted back.
She slid off the bed, her pale body moving like moonlight across the floor. “But I’m alone, Clark. Please don’t make me be alone.”
“Get away from me!” He cringed back as she reached for him, his back slamming into the bedroom wall. He’d missed the door, and now she blocked it.
“Clark!” Sophia wailed. “What’s wrong with you?”
Something slammed inside the apartment. Clark surged forward, shoving Sophia away and running toward the bedroom door. He made it out as she screamed behind him, but his foot snagged on the ancient rug, sending him crashing face-first into the stone floor. He bit his lip, sending blood dripping down his throat. Sputtering and gasping for air, he crawled away, glancing over his shoulder.
From the darkness of the bedroom door came another deeper, thicker shadow. It laughed a low, building laugh that threaded up Clark’s spine and squeezed. The hairs along his arms stood on end. He knew that laugh.
Lucifer.
If Clark looked close enough, he could see a form inside the bedroom, a shadow tucked into a shadow. It breathed; it was alive. Clark knew it was Lucifer, watching the nightmare come to life for Clark. Lucifer was doing this to him, and he was in the room with Clark. This was real.
The light came on.
Clark blinked into it, shielding his eyes from the glare.
“Clark?”
It was Zarachiel talking. Shivering uncontrollably, Clark glanced up at his friend, who stood in the apartment’s front door with a handful of other Descendants and even a few Nephilim. Camille hovered in the corner of his vision, her blond hair twisted around her face, a sheet wrapped tightly around her naked body. She looked between him and the people in the door, their eyes settling accusingly on her. Their secret was out now.
Clark glanced back at the corner, but Lucifer was gone. The shadows were harmless now.
“What happened?” Liam asked, shoving into the apartment. He quickly drew the same conclusion as everyone else had, his eyes slashing to the Throne angel. “What did you do?”
“Are you serious?” Camille growled. “How dare you!”
“Wait!” Clark said from the floor. Only when everyone turned to look at him did he notice he was naked. He covered himself with a dusty pillow from the couch before he stood up. “Wait. She didn’t do anything. I had a bad dream.”
The expression on his face must have been proof enough because Liam said, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Uh…” Clark couldn’t handle the accuracy of that statement. He didn’t know exactly what he’d seen or felt or heard, but he knew for a fact that it wasn’t a dream. A dream couldn’t be that real. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay,” Liam said hesitantly, his eyes flicking back to Camille quickly before he turned to go. “Meeting in half an hour.”
“Sure thing. Zarachiel, wait!” Clark called when the angel turned to leave. Everyone looked back at him, their eyes roving between him and the angels. “I, uh, need you to look at some…seed.”
Clark cringed at the word choice. The silence in the room stretched out, crossing far into awkward territory. Clark shifted, making the floorboards creak and groan beneath him.
“Sure,” Zarachiel said evenly. He turned to get the front door, effectively ushering everyone else out.
When they were alone in the room, Clark slouched into the ancient couch, sending up dust balls and must into the air. He put his head in his hands.
“What the hell was that?” Camille demanded.
But Clark couldn’t answer. He heard Lucifer’s laugh, and his stomach twisted in fear again. If he was still enough, he could smell the same metallic scent in the air that he’d smelled in Jenna’s room.
“What happened?” Zarachiel asked Camille when it was obvious Clark wasn’t ready to speak yet.
“I don’t know! He woke up and started freaking out. He shoved me and screamed that I was dead.”
Clark felt their eyes on him, knew they were waiting for an explanation, but it was one he couldn’t give. The couch sank down a bit more as Zarachiel took a seat next to him. Camille took the spot on Clark’s other side.
“Clark?” Zarachiel asked cautiously, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m here.”
“What was that? I’ve never seen you look like that before.” Camille’s voice was the most comforting he’d ever heard from her. It nearly shocked him out of his stupor when she put a hand on his other shoulder, massaging the tense muscles. He looked up at her, then over to Zarachiel.
“I saw Sophia.” Deep lines formed between Zarachiel’s brows as Clark spoke. He turned to Camille. “She was lying in bed with me, and I felt her, felt her warmth. She spoke to me in her voice. She even smelled like her.”
“It was just a really bad dream?” Camille said, saying the words like a question.
“No. It was more than that.”
“What makes you say that?” Zarachiel questioned next.
“Because I saw him! He was standing right there.” Clark pointed as he spoke; everyone looked at the empty corner. “I heard his laugh, I know it. He was playing a twisted joke on me, and he wanted to watch.”
“Who, Clark?” Zarachiel asked.
“Lucifer.”
Silence filled the room. No one spoke. Clark looked between the two angels, but they were both extremely still. Sitting between them, the fear from earlier was long gone, and he could recall the incident with ease. He knew that was Lucifer’s laugh, he knew it with every fiber in his being.
“You’re certain?” Zarachiel asked.
“Yes! I know it!”
“Okay,” Camille said. “Okay. Okay. Okay…”
Her voice was worried—and rightfully so. The devil was supposed to be dead. They really, really needed him to be dead.
“Did you actually see his body disintegrate in that fire?”
When Clark had been in Hell, he and Lucifer had worked to learn the magic contained on Clark’s arms. During one incident, Clark had started a holy fire that grew out of control. The magic had coursed through him, taking control of him, using him. It had made that fire hotter and hotter, bigger and bigger. The flames had sung to Lucifer, like a siren to a sailor. The fallen angel had stepped into the heat, knowing what it would do to him. Lucifer hadn’t been evil back then; he’d just been an angel who’d landed on the wrong side of fate. He wanted it to end, needed it to. Clark couldn’t keep the fire from Lucifer as he’d walked into his death.
“Most of it,” Clark answered Zarachiel’s question, knowing where the angel was going. “I didn’t think there was any way for him to survive that. The flames were literally tearing him apart. There was nothing left.”
“But did you stick around to make sure?”
Clark shook his head. “By then, the fire was so powerful that it was pulling me in too. The only reason I survived was because Gabriel risked his life to come in and get me. It exploded shortly after. And I blacked out.”
Camille looked around him to Zarachiel. “What does this mean? Can Lucifer contest Gabriel’s reign?”
Clark groaned, sinking his head back down again. He hadn’t even thought of that. “Shit,” he whispered.
“He’s Lucifer. He’s going to do whatever he pleases,” Zarachiel said, the venom unfamiliar in his voice. “But maybe he’s not really alive. Maybe it was just his spirit or something.”
Clark looked up. “Like I’m haunted or some shit?”
“That would be a lot better than him actually being alive,” Camille said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Can you imagine the havoc he could cause? If those rogue fallen angels and demons know their leader is still alive? Lucifer cou
ld start a whole new war. There’s no way we would all survive another.”
Camille’s logic was horrifyingly accurate. “No, I know,” Clark said. “It’s just being haunted by Lucifer isn’t exactly what I had planned for my life.”
Zarachiel’s mouth twitched. “And this is?”
“True.”
“We need to figure out if angels can…uh, haunt people, or whatever. Who would know something like that?”
Clark sighed heavily. They all knew the answer already. “Probably the person who figured out how to kill an angel to begin with.”
“Who’s also the Angel of Death.”
“Michaela,” Clark said heavily. “So who’s going to volunteer to die so that we can get her attention?”
* * *
Clark dodged a well-aimed flick of holy water from the evil priest. The stooped man must have heard about Clark’s episode earlier today because the drop of holy water was more like a hose-down, as if the priest believed Clark needed an exorcism. Either way, the two men glared at each other, damning the other in his own way.
“That man is sadistic,” Clark muttered to Liam when the proceedings were over and the members were shuffling out.
“I swear,” Liam said, “he aims for my damn eye every time.”
“It’s disgusting. Where the hell does that water come from? Medusa’s twat?”
Liam almost choked on his laugh. His eyes watered from trying to repress it so they wouldn’t draw the attention of the other members, who were quietly talking amongst themselves as they filed out the door. The Nephilim and Ezekiel were notably absent from the meeting. Clark was relieved, but he knew it didn’t bode well.
“You’re mental, man.”
“Speaking of…” Clark trailed off, lifting his brows at the Keeper.
“So it wasn’t just a dream then?” Liam sighed.
“No. It really happened.” Clark took a deep breath. He thought he was done speaking of Lucifer in present terms. Of course, he’d felt bad when he’d killed the angel; it’d been an accident. But now he had seen firsthand that Lucifer was something different, both in the dream with Camille and whatever had happened earlier today. Now he just regretted that he hadn’t intentionally pushed Lucifer into the fire. If he had, then he could’ve pushed harder. “I think it was Lucifer,” he finished.
Liam blinked. To give the Keeper credit, he didn’t laugh outright. He understood Clark’s abilities too well, and he had too much respect for the angels for that. “By Lucifer, you mean…”
“He’s alive. I know it. I feel it.”
“Clark, this is crazy—”
“I know, but listen. I found a burnt black feather on the roof.”
“Zarachiel told me.”
“Can you think of any other crispy-fried fallen angels?”
“Maybe not, but Lucifer didn’t have wings.”
Clark took a deep breath. He hadn’t told anyone this yet, hadn’t even really let himself consider it yet. “He does now,” he said, remembering the massive, terrifying black wings Lucifer had sported in his dream about Camille.
Liam recoiled. With his sharper Nephil senses, Clark caught the first hint of fear from the Keeper, which meant he understood. “How do you know this?”
“A dream I had.”
Liam swore. “You’re saying that he was reborn somehow?”
“That’s a good way to put it. I believe he’s coming after me. I think—no, I know—that he wants the magic.” The marks on Clark’s arms itched viciously. Looking down at them, the ink seemed to swim before his eyes, as if the language was speaking to him. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand across the marks on his left arm, and they quieted beneath his touch.
“Christ, Clark.” Liam ran his broad hand over his face. He was a handsome guy with a square jaw and sharp eyes, but the Keeper’s duty aged young men into old ones with the blink of the eye. Clark already saw a sprinkle of gray along his temples. “This is bad.”
“No shit.”
The silence stretched out while Liam considered Clark’s revelation, the strain evident in his narrowed eyes. “Look, let’s keep this between ourselves for now, okay? I don’t want to freak people out too soon.”
Clark snorted. “They should be freaked out. I’m scared shitless.”
“We can bring in a few Descendants, but I don’t want this reaching the Nephilim. Uh…” Liam paused awkwardly, regarding Clark. “No offense or anything.”
Clark waved off the remark. Honestly, he considered himself more Descendant than Nephil, and that was really saying something, because he’d hated the Descendants all his life. “Why don’t you want to tell the Nephilim?”
“There’s too much tension. You saw Ezekiel. The guy hates you. And we’re walking a fine line here, having us all under one roof. I mean, hell, two years ago we would have shot a Nephil on sight. Now, we are expected to share our resources with them? It’s tough medicine to take, no matter how good Michaela’s intentions were.”
“Why would telling them about Lucifer set them off?”
“It just adds to the tension, makes everyone scared. We can’t afford that now when the Descendants blame the angels for everything and the Nephilim blame the Descendants for not taking Michaela’s side.”
“Good point.” Clark thought for a minute. “Sophia’s sister—I mean, Maya—wants me to get her out of an arranged marriage with Ezekiel. That’s why she came here. I guess I probably shouldn’t bring that up either?”
Liam sank to one of the chairs lining the edge of the gigantic meeting table. He had to be desperate for comfort because they were hell on the ass. His head dropped, sagging between his shoulders. For the first time, Clark realized how skinny the man had become. His broad shoulders and height camouflaged it some, but it couldn’t hide the way his shoulder blades jutted out sharply.
“I miss your dad,” he said, his throat thick. His obvious emotion touched Clark. He knew his father and Liam had been good friends for a long time. “I miss him every damned day. And I miss before the war, when things made sense. When the angels were good, and we were just pretending to offer them protection. That was nice; we put on a good show. But this is miserable.” Liam cursed.
“How bad do you think things really are with the Nephilim?”
“Shit, Clark. Those guys are supposed to be your thing. I’m barely holding on with the Descendants. You know, they didn’t take pleasantly to me running off with Isaac in Charleston. They felt like I lied to them, that I didn’t trust them.”
“We didn’t trust them.”
“Exactly, but that’s not something you tell them to their faces. There’s just too much shit up in the air. Everyone is paranoid. No one trusts one another. I feel like I’m sitting on a bomb with your Nephilim under the same roof.”
“They’re not mine.”
“It’s in your blood, Clark. You can’t deny that. You belong with them.”
“I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”
“Your dad would be proud of you.”
Liam’s words surprised Clark; he hadn’t been expecting something so heartfelt. He also didn’t expect how nice it would be to hear the words, even if they weren’t true. Isaac St. James had been a natural leader, and he never would have accepted Clark’s inadequacies at the task.
Clark sagged into a seat next to Liam and braced his elbows against the table. “I shouldn’t be their leader. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“You need to talk to Ezekiel. Smooth things over.”
“So I guess that means I can’t tell him the wedding is off.”
“Hell no.”
“So what am I going to say to Maya?” Clark asked, thinking about Sophia’s temper and stubbornness. If her sister had even a morsel of that, he was screwed.
“Tell her to suck it up. We’re all making sacrifices. At least she’s alive.” Seeing Clark cringe, Liam hastily added, “Man, I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to say.”
“Don’t worry about
it. I just wish we could help her somehow. She came a long way.”
“I think we’ve all come a long way. I know it feels like I’ve run across the U.S. and back.”
“What about Lucifer? We need to be on top of this.”
“We didn’t search the grounds very well because we thought the attack came from within. Maybe you and Zarachiel could dig around a bit tonight while everyone is asleep. If this is Lucifer—”
“It is.”
Liam rolled his eyes. “Then we need more proof. More than just a feather and a hunch—”
“Isn’t it obvious he wants these?” Clark held up his arms to show the marks. “Why do we need more proof?”
“I get that, Clark,” Liam said calmly. “But when we bring this to the others, we have to be careful. Fear doesn’t work in times like these. We need to show them that the situation is under control, that we can handle this. Only then will they not panic. But this has to be settled fast. The government officials are going to be here in a few days. We need their support and help to unite the people again. It’s the only hope we have if Lucifer really is organizing a fallen retaliation.”
“I can’t believe this all started yesterday,” Clark said, feeling the weight of exhaustion like a descending anchor, pulling him to the depths of a deep, dark sea.
“Me neither,” Liam said. “But I’ll put someone else on your farming duty. They can distract the Nephilim with work. I want you and Zarachiel to get to the bottom of this. I want you to do it fast.”
“I didn’t read enough Hardy Boys for this shit, man,” Clark said, rising from his seat. He felt a new kind of pressure now. More than just leading the Nephilim or finding Jenna’s murderer. Now that Lucifer was involved, Clark felt like he had before, with Michaela, when the world was hanging in the balance. It wasn’t a fun feeling.
“Yeah, well, you’re Clark St. James. Figure it out.”
“Right,” Clark said with a snort as he turned to go.
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?” Clark asked, wondering at the hollow tone in Liam’s voice.
“Look, this isn’t me saying this, okay? In my opinion, I don’t give a flying shit. But I’ve heard things since this morning. And I think given everything that’s happening, you should know.”