by Lori Adams
“She shows none of the talent I came to expect. Her footing is clumsy, her handiwork with the sword mediocre, and her aim slightly askew.”
“Well, hell, remember Halloween night at the mansion? During the game she threw that knife and missed.”
Dante’s hands froze on the ascot and his eyes cut to Vaughn in the mirror’s reflection.
“What?” Vaughn frowned. “I say something funny?”
Dante considered for a moment and then lifted his chin, continuing to arrange the ascot around his neck. “Actually, she would have hit me. If I hadn’t moved.”
Vaughn’s face dropped. He thought back to the night when he had goaded Sophia into throwing the knife. Her temper had gotten the best of her and she’d flung the knife recklessly. Or so he’d thought. It could have been dumb luck that she’d almost hit Dante. More than likely it had been her warrior coming to the surface. So where was it now?
“Okay then, she’s got aim. Even before she trained with her Ascended Master and those damned demon hunters. She destroyed Wolfgang at close range. So what’s her problem?”
Banging on the door interrupted Dante’s answer. It was just as well; he didn’t know why Lovaria had made no progress since destroying Wolfgang. A kill of that magnitude should have spurred things along. The fact that it hadn’t was a concern.
Vaughn shook down his tattoo dagger and cautiously opened the door. Grayson had Santiago and Julian Wexler by the scruff of their necks.
“Let ’em through.” Vaughn stepped back, allowing Grayson to shove them inside. They stumbled against each other and threw irritated glares at the guard. Vaughn slammed the door shut.
“What’s up with that asshole?” Santiago complained as he smoothed out his costume. He wore a black pinstriped suit, red tie, and red spats. His mask, a combination of Marilyn Manson with a kraken’s toothy smile, was pushed up to rest on top of his head until needed.
“He’s got a noble up his ass,” Vaughn said, smirking.
Santiago glanced over Vaughn’s shoulder at Dante in the mirror. Scoffing, he lowered his voice and murmured, “He planning on haunting an opera somewhere?” Dante’s eyes found him in the mirror but he said nothing. The reference escaped him.
“So why are you here?” Vaughn asked, adjusting his cape.
“It’s Wolfgang,” Julian cut in. He was drowning in a black, floor-length cloak with oversized sleeves that hid his hands. Like Santiago, his mask was perched on top of his head for later. It was an exaggerated depiction of Darth Maul, as if he’d lived among the Zulu tribes in Africa: red and black and hideous. Crawling with maggots.
Dante turned from the mirror. He and Vaughn exchanged a quick look. “What about Wolfgang?”
“He’s regenerated,” Julian answered. “Totally rebooted, from what I’ve heard.”
“Nobody’s actually seen him yet,” Santiago added. “Or at least they don’t know if they have. The gossipmongers are saying he’s gone…what’s that critter called?” he asked Julian.
“Chameleon. They say he can change form on a dime.”
“Freaky as shit!” Santiago shuttered. “It’s got me spooked. I never liked that ass face and he knows it. I’ll be staying behind my mask for a while.”
Dante’s mind whirled with the newest complication. The last thing he needed was Wolfgang stepping in and ruining things with Lovaria. Wolfgang would want revenge on Sophia, of course, and Dante would be only too happy to disappoint him. Still, he couldn’t bear the idea of anything ruining their night; marrying Lovaria was all that mattered now.
“No one will mention this to…Sophia, is that understood?” Dante said tightly. He would not have Lovaria terrified of Wolfgang at their wedding. The deplorable nightmare of their living situation was enough of an adjustment; he wouldn’t risk any histrionics.
Dante’s piercing glare left no room for argument. Turning away, he muttered to Vaughn, “I need a way to destroy him, permanently.”
“You’ve got one,” Julian spoke up. He nodded at the dagger Vaughn was spinning nervously across his palm.
“Yeah, they worked like a charm on our old pals at La Croix,” Vaughn said, admiring the shimmering blade. “But we’re talking more of a final-destination kill, if you know what I mean.”
“Exactly. Those blades are coded in dark magic. Programmed to permanently destroy demons.”
“Define ‘permanently,’ ” Dante said. It was common knowledge that demons would regenerate after being killed. No one but Halo warriors or archangels could inflict the permanent death kill. Never in the history of Hell had a demon managed a permanent kill on another demon. Sending them to the Nether Region to slowly fade was the closest they came. Demon Knights could be devoured by their own internal demons and left to wither away, but neither of those options were the quick and sure death that a human suffered.
“Permanent, as in total crash. No recovery. No genius bar appointment to save his ass.”
“Plain English!” Dante barked, causing Julian to flinch.
“Sorry. I mean, those daggers will completely annihilate a demon and render the body useless. Unlike the usual route where a demon is expelled in vapor and the body left in ash, a demon killed with those daggers will essentially implode. The demon will return to particles of dark chaos, unable to inhabit another body. And the old body will shrivel into ash.”
“That’s not what happened at La Croix,” Dante pointed out in an unconvinced tone. All this dark magic and modern manipulation was beyond his comprehension. “I severed the hands of Marquis Naberius. Vaughn cut Chax in half. Neither one imploded, as you say.”
“Yeah, that’s the catch. You have to make a direct hit on the heart to bring one down immediately. But those others? I assure you, they were permanently killed. It just took a few minutes longer.”
“You would have us believe that the marquis and Chax are gone? Forever?” Dante asked, pleasantly surprised. Julian nodded.
“And I know, as sure as I’m standing here, that those daggers will permanently kill Wolfgang, too.”
“If you can find him,” Santiago reminded them.
“If Wolfgang still houses the Demon of Impatience, I will find him,” Dante said bitterly.
“We will find him,” Vaughn corrected. “And then who knows? Maybe I’ll take out another bastard or two. Whoever’s stupid enough to piss me off.”
“Sure wish you guys could’ve tried the daggers on an angel when you were topside.” Julian scratched his forearm with envy. He still lacked the guts to imbed one in himself, not that he could surface to try them out. “I been dying to know the effects on spiritual entities from the upper realms. Can’t upgrade till I know what bugs I’m dealing with.”
“If luck is on my side,” Dante said as he returned to the mirror and smoothed back his hair, “there will be no killing at all. It is my wedding and I want everything to be perfect.”
“Speaking of perfect,” Julian murmured as Lovaria entered the room. Dante spun around to a stunning vision of whites, creams, and golds.
She was a glorious bride, a true vision that took Dante’s breath away. For a moment, he was forced to acknowledge that she was even more beautiful than his original Lovaria, the bright blue-green eyes replacing the rich brown of the Cappelletti heritage. Smooth pale skin, so soft beneath his touch, instead of familiar olive tones. She carried herself with the dignity of a woman with confidence, although Dante detected a slight fear behind her eyes, a tremble within her timid smile.
“Come,” he said, holding out his hands and grinning with pleasure. Lovaria moved with a faint rustling sound of silk taffeta. The pale golden skirt, layered with blond tulle, was wide but without the oversized hoop beneath it. Bustled in two elegant layers at the back, the petticoats added a slight flare that accentuated the silk bodice around her narrow waist. Her arms remained bare but for the tiny puffed sleeves at the shoulder points. More blond tulle was gathered across the top of the creamy bodice and framed the white swell of her breasts.<
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“Mia bella signora,” Dante murmured. He kissed the backs of her hands and then twirled her around with his fingertips, delighting in the sound of her playful giggles. With her hair swept back in a loose braid, the wisps around her face tickled her cheeks. When she came to a stop, she was breathless and blushing under Dante’s salacious grin. As though there was no one else in the room, they gazed into each other’s eyes, into the love of their past.
Overcome with emotions, Dante clasped her hands tightly and blinked back tears. “We have lost so much, cara mia. So much love. So much time. All will be rectified tonight, yes?”
“Yes, Dante. All will be as it should have been.”
After a long moment of silence, Vaughn heaved an exaggerated sigh to mark his impatience. “Speaking of lost time, we’d better get moving. Most of the boats are probably gone by now.” He viciously spun the dagger in his palm until it left green streaks in the air. Dante noted black blood dripping from the back of Vaughn’s other hand; his demon had gotten the better of him.
“We should hurry,” Dante told Lovaria. “Choose a mask for me and then gather yours. We must leave now.”
While Lovaria hurried into the next chamber, Isatou moved from the shadows where she had been watching them. She wore the sheer pink gossamer gown of a woodland fairy, floor length, and tight around the stiff corset that accentuated her ample curves. Two fragile wings at her back fluttered when she walked.
She nervously gripped the imp mask in her hands, her eyes flicking to Lovaria, who was busy selecting Dante’s mask with the mascherari’s help. Taking her chance, she hurried to Dante.
“I only want to see you happy,” she whispered urgently. Dante pulled his eyes from admiring his future wife and looked down at his old friend. She was frightened and skittish.
“What is it?” he asked, amused by her odd behavior.
“I…am sorry this night took so long to happen. I am so sorry that I failed you and…” She choked up and couldn’t go on. Dante patted her kindly on the shoulder.
“I know, Isa, you have told me countless times before. But it was not your fault. We were both betrayed by Diavolessa. And she has paid for centuries for that betrayal.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Lovaria asked. She stood in the doorway with the masks in hand. Her sharp eyes honed in on the witch’s face, and Dante’s hand on her shoulder.
Vaughn moved quickly then, taking Isatou by the arm and pulling her against his chest. He swung his arm around her neck, holding her in place while he kissed her with sudden passion. In the opposite hand, the tip of his dagger bored into the side of his leg. It was his demon rising, at least that’s what he wanted them to think. He suspected that Isatou was on the verge of confessing some crime against Dante, as well as her love for him. Vaughn knew it would spoil the evening and possibly end with Dante’s dagger in her chest. He couldn’t let that happen, not after Julian’s detailed description of the permanent death. Whatever Isatou was made from, Vaughn realized he couldn’t bear to see a body like hers destroyed.
When he finally lifted his mouth, he gazed into her wide, frightened eyes, searching for some connection. But they were strange eyes, with those damned tattoos that shifted like tumblers in a lock. They shifted now because she had always feared his demon. A submission that annoyed him. Isatou was a beauty with a body to be used. As a witch, he’d expect a more powerful personality, a darker curiosity outside her own dark talents. Unlike Bailey, she had little curiosity, no intriguing layers that made him crave to learn more. Unlike Bailey, she would never bring him to the brink of madness with his own blades. He would take Isatou later, to satisfy his lust, but he knew she was a poor substitute, too unlike Bailey.
“Some things are best left unsaid,” he whispered tenderly, as though they were words to make love by. And then, after a pause, he burst out laughing and released her, making it seem like a joke. “See there, Dante, you’re not the only horny bastard around here!”
“Idiota!” Dante laughed, easing the awkward tension in the room. He turned his back on them and faced Lovaria and the mask she had chosen for him. It was an eye mask, very rococo yet masculine, in black matte finish and with glossy flames rising from the eyes. The flames shimmered with tiny diamond chips and, according to Lovaria, perfectly accentuated his beautiful green eyes, as well as the heat he radiated. Dante found it charming that she would think so, and quickly tied the silk tethers around the back of his head. Then he helped Lovaria with her mask.
The sparkling gold columbina eye mask fit perfectly to her face. With the glittering crown and delicate blond tulle that hung at the back of her head and matched her dress, she looked every bit a bride.
Dante smiled proudly and offered his arm. They walked to the door while Vaughn slipped on his bauta mask and tricornered hat. Julian and Santiago pulled their masks down over their faces and waited by the door. Dante called his thanks to the timid mascherari, who bowed at the waist with his hands clasped in front of him, happy to have served them. Then the mask maker paused as though something had caught his attention. Slowly, he straightened his back, his face void of expression. He boldly lifted his head high, tilted it ever so slightly, and tuned his ear to better hear something far off in the distance; something the others had failed to hear. Then his eyes widened in recognition. His mouth opened and he quickly made the sign of the cross in front of himself.
Vaughn stalked across the room, his black cape flapping at his side. He clapped the slave aggressively on the shoulder. “Yeah, thanks for all your help,” he said, and then plunged his dagger into the mascherari’s chest. Giacomo’s head flew back, his face frozen in horror. Isatou gasped. Vaughn held the old man in place and watched while the body began to smoke and eventually turn dark gray. Like cracks in a sidewalk, the body split apart and crumbled into ash.
Vaughn stepped back to avoid getting ashes on his costume. He sheathed his dagger inside his forearm and then brushed his hands clean.
“Was that necessary?” Dante asked. He had hoped to avoid any killings, even those of slaves and commoners.
Vaughn’s voice was loud with an ominous echo behind the gesso mask. “I needed to see the effect these weapons had on a slave. Nothing special to kill a lost soul, but now there is no one—outside the five of us—who knows that we can permanently kill demons. Right, Julian? The Order doesn’t know?”
“Right!” Julian said with forced confidence. It was the only answer that would keep him from joining the mask maker.
“Very good, then,” Dante announced. “Now let’s get to the ball so that I may wed my beautiful bride.”
Chapter 23
Danse Macabre
“This is all I could find,” Degan says, dumping a pile of strange paraphernalia onto the floor. Rama and I have been skulking in the shadows of some vacant chamber, fearing for our lives for the past few minutes. With all the gruesome and frightening things I’ve seen in Hell so far, being left alone was the worst. The constant rumble of partygoers passing along the corridors has made us both jumpy. The occasional distant shriek of terror from torture or some painful death doesn’t help either.
I flinch and draw my dagger when the door is flung open. Seeing that it’s Degan, I put up my weapon and hurry to shut the door behind him.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask, my voice low and shaky. Since Rama and I are both wearing long black coats, we’re perfectly concealed, and I don’t see the point of changing clothes.
“It is if you want to get into the ball,” Degan says, sifting through the pile. “They won’t even let you on a boat dressed like that.”
“What boat?” Rama asks. He’s not liking this any more than I am. I’ve wanted to reassure him that we can trust Degan completely, but I’ve been having my own doubts since he left us alone for so long.
Degan yanks off his leather jacket and pulls on a diamond-patterned smock. “Oh, didn’t I mention that we get to the ball by way of canals? There are only so many boats available so we
’ve got to hurry. No boat, no ball.” He continues transforming himself into something resembling a court jester, while Rama and I begin to pick through our options. It doesn’t look promising for me. There is no ball gown, only a long black skirt, a long-sleeved white shirt, and a floor-length black and gold brocade coat with gold velvet trim and large bulky cuffs. To accessorize, there are tall, black gothic-looking boots that lace up the front. Rama spots a pair of sandals and releases a whimper of love noises. He is quick to yank off his annoying boots and coat, and replace them with the sandals and something resembling a toga.
I lay out the remaining pieces next to the masks that Degan has managed to steal. I can see where he is going with the court jester costume, so I toss over the black-and-white-diamond mask. Rama will need the black eye mask decorated with two silver Pegasuses mounted above each eyehole. Very Romanesque. That leaves me with the strange-looking one. A black and gold eye mask, it appears ancient and well worn. A bit faded in places and fashioned together with tiny, muted gold gears and chains and bits of mechanical moving devices. The leftover parts of a pocket watch, I suppose. The delicate gold chain loops from the nosepiece, over to the tiny gears on the side of the mask, and then dangles several inches down with a gold key at the end.
I can see that I have little to work with, and even less time. Drawing my dagger, I hastily cut the long black skirt into a mini. No way will I risk tripping over the hem or losing access to my weapons. Turning my back for privacy, I strip off my black coat and brown vest, and pull on the white shirt. Quickly go the buttons and then I slip the vest back on. It’s snug against the white shirt and adds a sharp color contrast. I use the black shoelaces from the ridiculously tall and obscenely chunky boots that I won’t be wearing to crisscross through the vest, adding a bit of costume decor. Once that’s done, I carefully maneuver the miniskirt past my short black boots, up my legs, and over my weapons. It covers my shorts but leaves the crossbow pistols on my thighs and the hip dagger exposed. The only option is to use the heavy brocade coat as a dress of sorts. It’s certainly long enough and the back has an open slit that allows the side panels to hide my weapons but keep them within easy reach, which is my main concern. The lapels are trimmed with a wide band of black velvet, but I’m able to raise the collar and hide a portion of my face. There is a leftover leather belt so I cinch it tightly around my waist, making the coat flare and appear more like a dress. One last thing: I take out the tiny bottle with the Apoctastasis parchment and shake it into my hand. Then I carefully tuck it inside the black glove so that it comes to rest in my right palm. Easy access when I’m ready to recite the spell.