“Tier?”
“Yes,” he said. “The tier, where were you in that hierarchy?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just answer the question, Armen.”
She snapped her head around to glare at him. “Where I sat doesn’t mean anything here.”
“I’m just trying to figure something out. Don’t cop an attitude.”
“What the hell are you trying to figure out?”
“Who summoned you,” he said. “It might have been my father, Sean, but if he didn’t know your name, he may have known your title.”
She sighed heavily and turned to look at him. “I really don’t want to get into this discussion, Terry.” Her eyes fell upon the approaching houses and the emergency vehicles he couldn’t yet hear.
“Just tell me your title,” he said, growing impatient. “It might be important.”
She peered through the window again, listening carefully, before turning back to him once more. “When I was a demon, I made the lists and had one of my own to cover. I didn’t really have a title other than Captain.” She wasn’t about to tell him her true title. “When I was an angel, my title was Grigori, the eleventh of the twenty chiefs of tens. Happy now?”
Terry’s mouth gaped. “You’re . . . you’re a Watcher, and a chief at that? That’s what got you cast out of Heaven?”
She swallowed the sorrow stuck in her throat. “Yes.”
Terry was taken aback by her revelation, she was certain, but he eventually found his voice again. “So, does that mean you were once male?”
“No, I’ve always been female.”
“But the Grigori took the daughters of man as their wives.”
Stabbing pain pierced her heart, millennia-old wounds still fresh, buried under the sands of time. “Yes, they did, and I took a son of man.” She steeled herself before turning to face him. “Why do you ask these questions?”
He shrugged. “Just trying to find out more about the woman I . . . care about.”
She slapped his arm. “Don’t you dare start spouting that L-word, Terry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a salute as they rounded the corner and onto a street filled with flashing lights and people scurrying about. Inside the car, silence reigned.
“Shit,” he said in a soft voice.
Armen wrinkled her nose in a mock growl when she saw the captain of the Phoenix P.D. standing next to one of the Rural Metro fire trucks.
“Does he not ever sit behind that ginormous fucking desk of his?” The agitation in her voice was unmistakable, but she didn’t care. “Is this even his jurisdiction?”
“Not technically. It isn’t mine, either.” Terry climbed out and headed for the captain. “What’s going on?”
He was worried, which concerned Armen. Oh, Sariel, what have you done now?
“Armstrong,” Captain Brian McNeil greeted in monotone. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t police business for you.”
Terry looked sternly at his boss, his hands balled into fists to keep from shaking. “Of course it’s not. This is my parents’ house.”
His parents? Armen’s eyes widened. Oh no.
“What’s happened? I just talked to my dad.”
Brian looked surprised. “When? We’ve been on the scene ten minutes.”
“We left about fifteen minutes ago, Terry.”
He stared at her a moment, and Armen was pretty sure he was calculating some serious shit in his mind. In fact, she was damn certain of the moment everything clicked because he blinked before turning back to the captain. “Has anyone gone in yet?”
“Shit,” she spat.
Brian ignored her, as usual. “They went in, and they came right back out. This one isn’t like the others.” When Terry frowned, Brian added, “There’s no trigger.”
“Are you sure about that?” Armen asked.
Brian’s left eye twitched; he was obviously irritated by the sound of her voice. “Pretty damn sure, Ms. Leza.” Loathing seeped from every syllable.
Armen grinned slyly. “You just can’t call me doctor, can you?”
Brian turned to face her directly. “Not that I would ever consider you a doctor.”
“Look, you . . . .” Armen wagged a finger at him.
Terry stepped between them. “Enough!” His entire body shook.
Armen felt horrible; she’d argued with Brian just to get one more jab in while Terry’s parents were in danger. “I’m sorry, Terry. Let’s go take a look.” She started toward the house, but Brian stepped in her way.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “I can’t have either one of you going in there.”
Terry pushed Brian aside. “I’m going in,” he said forcefully. “You can fire me later.”
Armen followed closely, giving Brian a smug grin as she passed him. “Terry, really, you probably shouldn’t go in there. Let me go in first and have a look.”
“No,” was his stern reply, as though his stubbornness would assure he found his parents alive and well. “What would you do if it were your parents?”
She arched her brow.
“Never mind.” He stopped at the door. “I have to go in.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Emotional ties.”
“I know,” he said softly, his voice trembling. He gave her a very weak smile.
“If he’s in there . . . .” She drew in a deep breath, choosing her words with care. “I know you have a strong will and a good heart, and that this shit doesn’t affect you like it would most people, even if it is your parents. But if he’s done something really terrible, I’m afraid that even your mind will break. I know him, Terry.”
Terry steadied himself. “Neither one of us can go in alone. It has to be together. Team effort, right?”
Armen nodded reluctantly. She didn’t have much choice but to let him go in with her. She was hardly in a position to stop him.
“You ready?”
“To face him? Never,” she said honestly. “You may recognize his name and say that you know who he is, but do you really know?”
“Enlighten me,” he replied. “Quickly.”
She leaned forward. “He’s an angel of death, only he doesn’t just write and erase in a book for eternity.”
Terry’s eyes widened. “That’s real?”
She pulled her head back. “Considering your father’s professions, you should know this shit. Look, he is not just an angel of death; he’s the Morning Star’s angel of death. It’s entirely different.”
His brow creased as he stared at the welcome mat on the front stoop. “The death befits the sins?”
“To a certain degree, the punishment is fitting,” she replied. “Your life dictates your death, and if they want you, you can’t stop it, even if you’ve tried to turn your life around. Contrary to what some religions like to believe, there are some things that you just can’t come back from. The more evil there is within the human soul, the darker the army they will build. Those people we’ve found so far? They tried to find God, were born-again. I know the pregnant woman did.”
“So you’re saying finding God won’t help you?”
“What I’m saying is that if you don’t find God through the correct process, it won’t work. You can’t just walk into any church and be reborn.”
His brow pinched in concentration. “Then why my parents? My father was a Catholic priest.”
Armen could tell he didn’t really want to know the answer, but it was likely he already did. “What does your father do?”
“Demon wrangler,” he replied softly, lowering his head.
“And how many has he sent back?” She touched his arm again.
“Dozens, maybe hundreds, even thousands. I don’t know,” he said, unsure of anything now.
“Something’s going on, Terry,” she said, touching his arm. “This isn’t just payback
from demon-boy to you. It’s a game—a big game—like chess, and if you don’t know how to play it, you’ll die.”
“A game of what, Armageddon?”
Armen shook her head. “Not fire and brimstone like it says in the Bible. Not Judgment Day, as you all like to call it. It won’t be like that.”
“Then what will it be?”
“Hell on Earth,” she replied, but still pondered whether she should tell him more. That was the simplest explanation she could give.
“If you ask me, it’s already Hell when I have kids killing each other and rapists and murderers out on the streets.”
Armen unintentionally let out a short laugh. “You think that’s bad? I’ve seen Hell, Terry. That’s just the icing on the cake.”
“Beautiful.” He looked at the front door again, which stood ajar. “How do we send him back?”
“Did your father ever teach you anything?”
“Some,” he replied, looking down at his hands. “But I’m no demon wrangler. They have training for that.”
Armen smiled. “Oh, I think it’s inherited, sweetie.”
Terry’s eyes brightened a little as he gave her a small grin.
“Let’s do this.” She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He held onto her arm as if his life depended on it. “Don’t let me do anything stupid.”
“Of course not,” she replied, and reached over to cover his hand with hers.
“Should I know more?” He was likely worried that even after everything his father had taught him, it wouldn’t be enough. And it was entirely possible that it wasn’t.
She turned to look back at him. “You’re not ready yet.”
“Why did I know you were going to say that?” He stepped up next to her. “I mean, you couldn’t just lie to me or something?”
“You know me entirely too well, and what would be the point of lying?” she replied. “At least you’re trying to keep your humor, though.”
“I think it’s the only thing that’ll help me here”—he clutched her shoulder—“besides you, because right now I want to tear through this house to find them.”
“Oh, you can’t do that. Then I wouldn’t have anyone to hit on me all the damn time.” She stopped talking then; there wasn’t anything good to say in this situation, and she couldn’t fully comprehend how Terry felt at the moment. Her Father could never die and she would never be in this position, but for one fleeting moment, she held concern for Him. If Armageddon had truly begun, could her Father survive it? Could the man these humans called God die?
“I know. We’ll find them.”
Armen smiled because she didn’t have to say those possibly false words “everything’s going to be okay.” She hoped they were true.
The house was eerily still. Corners were oddly dark despite the time of day. She proceeded cautiously through the foyer, looking into the dining room on her left, and then into the living room on her right, where a large cross hung on the wall. Neither room had been disturbed. She stared at the cross a moment, contemplating whether He would hear her if she prayed. She decided against it. Why would He answer her prayers? They hadn’t spoken in so long. She drew in a long concentrated breath and picked up Sariel’s scent, and she immediately blew the breath back out, trying to rid the noxious smell from her nose.
“You okay?”
Armen nodded. “Can you smell him?”
Terry took in a breath and instantly wrinkled his nose. “That’s him?”
“Yeah, disgusting, isn’t it?” She focused on the kitchen and the stairs. Apprehension ran through her when she looked at the stairs. “I think we need to go up.”
“You think he’s up there?”
Armen nodded again. Fewer words were best.
“Wait.” He took off through the living room and around a corner. Armen tensed, wondering just what in the hell he was doing, and how dare he run off on her like that! He came back with a Bible in one hand and a golden cylinder in the other.
Armen eyed the Bible, though the other item caught her attention. “Are you serious? That’s not going to help.”
“Says you,” Terry whispered.
Her eyes moved to the cylinder. “What’s that for?” It looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d seen it before. Certainly not the day she died.
Terry looked down at it. “I’ve seen my dad use it. It’s a weapon. Has special powers or something.”
She put a hand on her hip. “This isn’t some sort of magic show, Terry.”
“Armen, my father uses this when he’s hunting demons. It’s a weapon.”
“I don’t remember seeing that.”
“That’s because he didn’t have it with him then.” Terry looked up, worry stretching across his face.
“He went hunting without his weapon?”
“No, he was hunted. Were you there or not?”
“I showed up in the middle of it.” She kept her voice low.
“Well, I’ve seen him use this and it does hurt them.” He moved toward the stairs.
“Not arguing that; just concerned that you’re not prepared for this because you’re bringing a book and a tin can to a demon fight.” She proceeded to move up the stairs, dread weighing heavy on her as she climbed the first few steps.
“Ye of little faith,” he said, outstretching a hand toward the stairs, signaling for her to pass him.
“Books don’t kill demons.”
“I think we should stop talking,” Terry suggested, and pushed past her once they’d reached the top.
“Why? He already knows we’re here.”
He spun around. “He does?”
“Of course he does. You don’t think he’d go to all this trouble and not expect us, do you? If that were the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”
Terry looked down the hall. “Master bedroom?”
“Jackpot.”
He looked at her. “That’s just plain eerie.”
“Not half as eerie as what you’re about to see,” she said and winced. “Sorry.”
“You’re keeping me grounded, so I’ll let it pass,” he replied. “Otherwise, I’d be running in there like a damn fool and getting myself killed.”
“We can’t have that.” She walked past him toward the Master bedroom doors. “Take a deep breath, Terry. I’m not entirely sure what he’s done.”
“A large part of me does not want to go in there to discover my dead parents.”
She sensed him directly behind her. It made her feel safe. What lay in front of her was another feeling altogether. “We don’t know they’re dead. Don’t think the worst.”
“Considering what I’ve seen these last few months, I can’t help it.”
Armen stopped and turned to the side. “I think you’ve seen a hell of a lot more than you’re letting on.”
“Maybe I have.”
She frowned. “That’s why you’re not freaking out, isn’t it? I mean, if I had parents and they were in there and I’d never seen this shit before, I’d already be dead.”
“If you’re trying to help, stop. It’s not working.” His eyes fell to his hand that held the Bible as he raised it. “Look at me; I’m shaking like a leaf.”
“Try to remain calm, if you can,” she said and laid her hand over his. “We need to get out of this.”
“Let’s pray that this isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You and I need to have a longer talk.”
“If we make it out of this mess, you bet’cha.” He attempted a smile, but failed.
Armen turned back to the doors. A red glow surrounded the edges, and a low hum beat against them. Chills ran through her, making her shiver. “Hell, it’s him that makes me so damn cold.”
“I’d think he would have the opposite effect.”
“Oh, I wish. I miss the warmth.” She flinched at how that sounded. “Damn it.”
“It’s okay, Armen. I know what you meant.”
&
nbsp; She shifted her weight to her good leg and raised the cane, pushing the doors open. A soft moan seeped into the hall. A crack like a whip sounded, and movement at the corner of her eye. Armen screamed.
“Terry, no!” Armen immediately raised her arm to stop Terry from entering the room. “I know you really want to go in there, but don’t forget that he can mimic sounds, and I don’t think you’re in the frame of mind to distinguish between his voice and theirs, which I believe is the reason we’re here.” He nodded slowly, acknowledging her silent query regarding the call from his dad. The last thing she needed right now was for Terry to attempt some heroic deed and get himself tortured or killed.
Terry growled softly, but stood back and waited for her to examine the room. “I hate it when you’re right. Sometimes.”
“Stay put.” She slipped inside and around the corner. “And don’t shoot me.”
He snorted.
The room’s décor held the repulsion of Ancient Religion with accents of Medieval Torture, like a black sunrise. Blood, deep red in the otherworldly glow, splattered the bedspread and walls. Tattered bits of cloth lay strewn about the floor and furniture, some stuck to the walls, blood serving as the adhesive. Terry’s mother lay on her side, her face hidden in the curve of her tortured body; his father Sean lay on his back, deep gashes scoring his face and arms. Both were tied down with a rope that quivered and moved. When Sean shifted, the rope slithered and tightened its bonds, making him groan. Life still breathed from him, but just barely.
She felt eyes on her from the shadows the red glow didn’t reach. Sariel.
“Armen. You know I hate it when I can’t see you. Seriously, you’re making me nervous.” Terry.
“Stay put. You’re not ready for this.”
“That doesn’t help!”
Sean’s eyes opened and fixed on her, just like when she had appeared before him that fateful evening she became flesh. The phone receiver lay near him, still on but emitting only dead air. Had Sean called the authorities and Terry, or had it been Sariel? Sariel would never have created a disturbance great enough to attract the neighbor’s attention. Sean’s eyes suddenly flicked to her right. She turned too late.
Sariel flew out from the shadows, knocked her cane to the floor, and gripped her arm in a hold she’d never escape. A short-lived scream burst from her mouth. Though she struggled against him, as was her instinct, in human form she was no match for the demon. He twisted her around until he had her arms locked down and held her against him, immobilized.
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 7