“What did you do to him?” It was Terry who had asked as he still clutched Armen’s body to his chest.
“I sent him back, Knight. Not all that dissimilar from how you do it.” He smiled then and continued toward the little group huddled together.
“But I don’t send them anywhere.”
“Don’t you?” He glanced back at Armen again. “Dear Sister.”
She nodded.
Cries suddenly sounded behind her and she turned, thinking they came from outside, but she ended up facing darkness in the shape of a doorway. “Oh no!”
“Don’t go near it, Armen,” Lucifer said in the ancient language as he neared her body while pointing at her spirit. “We must hurry.”
Jasmine pointed the scepter in his direction. “Stay away from her.”
“Do you want her to live or not?” His voice bellowed through the lobby, echoing off the walls.
Terry stared hard at him, his hand shaking with anger. “How are you going to bring her back?”
Lucifer sighed. “Don’t ask about things you don’t understand.”
“Terry, please . . . .”
Lucifer looked back again. “She’s asking you to allow me to do this.”
Terry looked around. “Why can’t I see her?”
“Because you’re burdened with emotion, dear boy. Now, if you please . . . .”
He watched him cautiously. “If you try anything—”
“Your friend shall kill me, Detective.” Dante’s gun was now pointed at him, and perhaps within his vast array of knowledge, Dante knew exactly how to kill the Devil. Lucifer paused and stared into Terry’s eyes. “And so shall my Father, considering He’d saved her for a reason, which has not yet come to pass.” The sky continued to darken outside as Lucifer knelt next to Armen’s body. He looked at Terry’s leg and smiled. “Trust me?”
“Absolutely not,” Terry replied. Armen lay in his arms between the two of them.
Lucifer shrugged. “Too bad.” He held his hands over Armen’s chest and stomach, moving back and forth in a slow sweep. Then his eyes met Terry’s once more. “Would you die for her?”
“Stop stalling,” Dante commanded.
Lucifer chuckled. “I’m not stalling, Dante. I merely wish to know the man’s feelings for my Sister. She IS my Sister, after all.” His eyes returned to Terry. “Well?”
“Am I not sitting here, staring you in the face?”
Lucifer smirked. “You’re sitting here because you’re sworn to protect the innocent. That has nothing to do with Armen. So when I ask you if you would die for her, I mean, would you truly DIE for her?”
“Yes,” Terry replied.
“Not good enough. Would you place her above all others?”
“Stop fucking around, Luc,” Armen said. Sean looked directly at her and she gasped. Then she felt something pulling on her essence. She looked back at the dark doorway. “Luc, hurry.”
“I need to know, Armen.”
Terry growled. “What the hell are you saying in that language?”
“I’m merely speaking with Armen. Now answer the question. She doesn’t have much time.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You have said it once before, I believe.”
Terry looked him squarely in the eye, his own eyes piercing, shimmering with light. “A thousand times, yes.”
“Much better.” Lucifer grinned and leaned over Armen’s body until his face was within an inch of Terry’s. “I do not ever want to hear the word ‘demon’ said in anger, in reference to my Sister, come from your mouth again.”
“Luc, stop it!” Armen slid backwards a few feet. “Hurry!”
Terry looked at Armen’s face, and he nodded. “It won’t happen again. I already told her that.”
“If it does, you shall see me one last time, Knight of Death,” Lucifer threatened in a low growl, “and you will not enjoy it.”
“Understood,” Terry replied with a nod.
Lucifer waved his hand over Armen, clapped them together, and hopped to his feet. He turned his head to her. “Get your ass back in there.”
The pull on her vanished right before she reached the doorway. “That was too fucking close.”
“Yet you’re still here.” As Armen moved toward her body, he looked at the small group again. “Interesting group, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are.” Terry, whom her brother apparently felt would take good care of her, or Terry would be dead; Jasmine, surprising her with the warrior princess action; Sean, the demon wrangler Samyaza had most regrettably lost; and Dante, the second surprise of the evening. Armen had feared him dead.
“Well, children, I’d love to say it’s been fun, but I must be going.”
“She’s not alive,” Terry said.
Lucifer smirked. “She will be, whenever she decides to get back inside her damn body.” He glared at her. Then he ducked to the side. The silver ball flew past his head and he stood straight again. “And this is the thanks I get for saving your life, Princess.” He leaned forward. “We’re even now. Until we meet again, dearest Sister.” He bowed, looked up, and smiled. “Dante.”
Dante nodded once, and Lucifer disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.
“Crap, I missed,” Armen said hoarsely.
Terry looked down at her. “Damn, you’ve got an arm on you for someone who was mostly dead.”
“I didn’t want him trying to take your dad with him.” She attempted a smile and only halfway pulled it off. “Sorry if I hit you.”
Terry chuckled, until she moved and bumped his leg. “OW!”
“Sorry again,” she said. “Why didn’t you let him fix it?”
Terry just shook his head. “Should I have trusted the Devil?”
She smiled at him and placed her hand on his face. “When it comes to me, yes, and you are a part of me.”
“What’s going to happen to Samyaza?”
“He’ll torture him. Poor guy.”
“You’re awfully forgiving of a man who killed you,” Terry said.
“He didn’t mean to. If I wasn’t human, that would have been a light slap on the cheek, much like our little fights used to be. You wouldn’t even believe the havoc we caused in Heaven and in Hell when we’d fight.”
The shuffle of feet made its way to Armen’s ears, and they both looked up to find a small elderly man standing next to Sean. They conversed briefly in hushed tones, and then the man looked over to Terry and Armen. His vibrant blue eyes sparkled and focused on Terry’s broken leg. Then he looked outside, and sorrow filled his eyes.
Smoke filled the red skies as buildings burned. People ran through the streets, chased by hounds of Hell, harpies, and the like. Armageddon had begun and her death only seemed a coincidence, not prophecy.
Armen didn’t really believe in coincidences.
The old man spoke quietly with Sean again, drawing their attention, and when they looked back outside, a rising sun had replaced the burning sky.
Terry looked back again to find the man gone. “Where’d he go?”
Sean smiled. “Home.”
Armen swallowed the lump in her throat after realizing who the man was. “Father,” she whispered, and Terry pulled her close. “Why didn’t He talk to me?”
Sean stepped closer to them. “He will, dear, when you’re ready to hear Him.”
Dante holstered his gun and started for the front doors.
“Where are you going?” Terry asked.
He stopped and turned to them. “Home. Facing three powerful demons and then the damn Devil is about all I can handle for one night.”
Terry moved suddenly and was shocked to discover no pain. “Holy shit, my leg’s not broken. I hadn’t even realized . . . .” He slid it beneath himself, and moved to stand, bringing Armen with him. “Home sounds really good right now, but I think I need a drink first.”
“So does sleep,” Armen suggested. “A lot of sleep.”
“Agreed. And a
drink.”
“Okay, I got it. You need a drink.” Armen looked back at Jasmine. “You okay?”
Jasmine stared at her wide-eyed. “You all are crazy! But thanks for the save.” She blew a stray curl away from her eyes.
Armen smiled at her. “Go home and rest, Jazzy. Everything will be fine tomorrow.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“Or you could join us for a drink.”
“Bars are closed.”
“Pretty sure the one across the street is open,” Dante shouted from the doors.
Jasmine finally shrugged. “Why the hell not? This is all a dream, right?”
“Sure,” Armen said. “If that’s what you want it to be.” Who was she to destroy the woman’s fantasy?
A disheveled-looking Brian stepped through the doors, passing Dante as he walked out. “Where’s everyone going? What happened?”
“We’ll explain it at the bar,” Terry said, pointing at the doors.
He met Terry’s eyes and shook his head. “I don’t even want a report on this fire and brimstone shit.”
“Good, I don’t feel like writing it,” Terry replied. “Join us?”
Brian looked around the lobby. “To hell with it, I think I will.”
They stepped outside, surveying the destruction caused by the very brief apocalypse. Considering how much damage there was, Armen was glad it only lasted a short time. She followed the others across the street, toward the still-standing sports bar—imagine that—but she stopped just shy of going inside. The hairs on her arms stood on end and a tingle ran up her spine. Something was off. When she glanced down the street, her eyes rested on a tall blond male leaning against a light pole. His long hair whipped around lightly in the still-present breeze, and his black leather trench coat flapped against the light currents.
It was not one she recognized.
He smiled at her and licked his ice cream, never once taking his eyes off her.
She feigned a smile, but wondered who he was because he certainly seemed to know her with the way he looked at her.
He pointed up and to his right before licking the ice cream again.
Armen looked up, following his direction, and saw a small disturbance in the southern sky. She shifted her eyesight, and realized it was a shooting star, though not your normal shooting star. This one had a glowing vibrant orange tail. When she returned her eyes to him, his aura stunned her as it swirled in light and dark.
“What the hell?” She started walking toward him. “Who are you?” Someone grabbed her arm and she spun around to find Terry, switching her eyesight back to normal.
“Hey, who are you talking to?”
Armen looked down the street again and the man was gone. “Apparently no one.”
“Then come inside,” he said with a long stroke down her arm that brought her skin to life.
She agreed and followed him into the sports bar, taking one last look down the street before she stepped through the door, feeling a little rattled. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen any shooting stars recently, but they weren’t generally good, especially when they had a tail like that one on them. It made her wonder who had just joined the Fallen.
Armen sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the John Constable landscape painting hanging on the wall in her room, still in Terry’s house. She’d stared at it before, but never really looked at its detail. What captivated her so about the portrait, she had no idea. Perhaps it was the solitude of the piece with its English countryside, a little cottage with smoke rising from the chimney, and the trees, so lush and full of life.
As she continued to stare at the picture, leaves from the trees’ branches moved, slowly swaying in a non-existent breeze. Armen sat up straight and leaned forward. She focused her eyes so she could see in a more ethereal plane and noticed something else not seen by normal human eyes. A little man who appeared to be lit from within, or perhaps surrounded by an incandescent aura, walked along the narrow path, the glow suggesting something divine. Armen jumped from the bed and stood before the painting. She touched the protective glass Terry had placed over it, and the little man turned to face her. He was so small that she couldn’t make out any details. His tiny hands rose up in the air and the colors of the portrait brightened to the point that Armen had to squint. When the colors died down again, the landscape had changed. The little man now stood before Mt. Hermon, the summit where she, Sariel, and the others had descended to take the daughters of man—or son, in her case—at the bidding of Samyaza. She frowned; she didn’t need reminding of what had happened. The little man held up a hand, seeming to know her thoughts. She lifted a brow and tilted her head, and she could barely see the smile that graced the man’s lips. The landscape changed once more, diving into the depths of Hell as flame and embers rose to the top of the portrait. She looked for the little man within the fire and finally found the man at the top of the picture, standing on a ledge that the fire couldn’t seem to reach, on the edge of the Darkness. She frowned again and the little man looked at her, still smiling as she was next shown the day she became flesh.
“Sacrifice,” she whispered, and the little man nodded, but the smile faded. He stood over her fallen demon body and the image grew enough for her to see the tear that fell down the man’s cheek while lifting her from the cold ground.
A tear fell down Armen’s cheek and she pressed her hand against the glass in an attempt to touch the man’s face. “Father.” The word nearly caught in her throat and she croaked it out in a whisper.
He rested a hand against the wound in her abdomen and a brilliant light shone beneath it before her flesh began its change. Armen never knew how it had happened; only that she awoke in her new human flesh in a Catholic hospital.
“Why?” she asked when He laid her on the hospital bed.
He waved a hand and showed her the image of an infant girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, a male holding her and rocking her slowly, with joy and sorrow emanating through the image.
Her thoughts returned to Terry.
“What is he, Father?”
He turned to her and smiled brightly, and then He pointed directly to her.
“Who, me?”
He shook His head.
“Like me?”
He nodded.
“But how? He has human parents.”
He only smiled, and the landscape changed again. She now saw Terry’s mother, Lucille, as the others welcomed her into the Light, and then into Heaven. He nodded to her once more as she watched. She knew this one to mean approval. Lucille turned around and waved to her, and wings unfolded behind her. Lucille was an angel.
“Of course.” Armen closed her eyes briefly and opened them to find a new landscape. Ashtoreth’s face appeared before her and she jumped back from the portrait. The demon suddenly disappeared and Armen was staring at Him once again.
“Really, must you be so dramatic?” she said, and received a disapproving look. “Don’t look at me like that.”
He threw His head back in silent laughter, and she sighed.
“What’s the point of all this?”
He placed His hand over the center of His chest and beamed.
“You love me, I get it. I saw it in the book.”
He waved a finger at her and shook His head.
“I don’t get it?”
He shook His head again and pointed toward the bedroom door.
“Yeah, Terry loves me, I know.”
He smiled and pointed at her, then at the door.
“Do I love him?”
He nodded.
Armen let out a deep sigh and turned to sit on the bed again. “I do. But I’m afraid, Father, after what happened the last time.”
He nodded once, His features still not clear, and changed the landscape. The picture filled with sand and soon, a stick drew coarse lines through the grains. You are human now. It is entirely different.
“You’re kidding me,” she said and stood to go to the picture again
. Water washed the words away and He was soon writing more. She had to giggle at this method of communication, but then, He couldn’t actually speak to her right now. She’d closed her mind to His voice long ago.
Three simple words formed in the sand. Go to him.
“Really? I can?” She soon saw His face again. It filled the entire frame. She’d nearly forgotten what He looked like, it had been so long, and it was nothing like the small elderly man they’d encountered after Lucifer left. His hair was salt and pepper gray, and His vibrant blue eyes, reflective of hers, gleamed at her with tiny crow’s feet around the edges. He didn’t look as old as humans portrayed Him. He was a handsome man with not-so-pale flesh. He looked like He’d been on that beach for some time. It wouldn’t surprise her. He loved the beach. His lips curved into a smile surrounded by a moustache and goatee, also salt and pepper gray. In fact, Lucifer was the spitting image of their Father. She stepped closer to the portrait and touched the glass above his cheek, and her mind opened.
“Go, Armen,” He whispered. “You have my blessing.”
“May I . . . see my Mother?”
His eyes welled with tears before He changed the image.
She stepped back in awe of the image before her. As Luc was the spitting image of their Father, she apparently was the twin of their Mother.
“I love you, my Daughter.”
Armen leaned her head against the portrait and tears fell when she closed her eyes. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered in reply.
When she opened her eyes again, the Constable portrait had returned. She turned to face the bed, looking at the black dress Terry had bought. Her mouth curved at its corners, and she slipped out of the robe and held the dress up. It had been a hellish three weeks, cleaning up the aftermath brought forth by an Armageddon they weren’t certain how to stop but seemed contained for the time being. She’d buried herself in research on the message left by those who had tried to kill her, but had yet to turn up anything. McNeil promoted Terry to Sergeant after the unfortunate discovery that his superior had died at the hands of a nasty zombie-like puppet. She hadn’t found out who controlled it, but it didn’t matter now because the demons, minions, and their ilk were all back in Gehenna where they belonged—for now. Dante had been promoted to Detective, making him a very happy man, and Jasmine still twitched occasionally whenever she was surprised by an unexpected sound. It made Armen sad to see Jazzy like that, and she was the one who suggested Dr. Whitewolf speak with her. Dr. Whitewolf worked with her daily. The doc just had an uncanny knack for dealing with it.
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 28