“If you take this away, I’ll stop seeing them, right?”
She didn’t answer. Do not pity him. Yet, she did.
He looked her up and down, attention lingering on her weapons. “Are you their enemy?”
Approaching him, she gripped his head, turning it to examine his temples. He had no scars. “Have you ever been in a coma?”
“No. But I’m having blackouts again lately. Blackouts with weird dreams.”
“Dreams?”
“I saw you when I first arrived in San Francisco. After that, I had a blackout and you were walking by on the street. I touched you and you spoke, but I couldn’t hear you. I’ve never been able to hear you until now.”
“Was there another dream?”
He nodded. “The second time we were in an alley. The third time…” His chin dropped low and he focused on the floor as tears streamed down his face. His arms wrapped around himself. When she was about to order him again, he said, “The third time was at Coit Tower. I held your hand and you hurt me. You flew me up to the top and I…I…” He covered his face. “Why are you asking all this?”
“You bled a lot. I have no food to offer you, but there is a couch in there you can rest on. Can you walk?”
Nathan followed her gesture and nodded.
She offered him her right hand to help him up, but when he reached for her, Jovienne drew back.
For a heartbeat, she couldn’t move. She stared at his hand. Then, all at once, she pulled him to his feet and held on for a moment as if uncertain he was steady. In her palm, she detected only the trembling vibration of goodness. Regardless, her face hardened like a mask. “You go to hospitals a lot?”
“Used to.” He nodded as he shuffled toward the elevator room. “My agent had me visit sick kids. I’m not a healer, but it seemed to comfort some of the parents. If they had parents. Sometimes he sent me to orphanages.”
She followed beside him. “Do you still go?”
“Not as often. It’s selfish, I know, but it’s so depressing to see kids that are dying or without families.”
A few steps passed before she asked, “You blacked out and dreamed while there, with the children, didn’t you?”
Shame marred his features and his forward progress stopped. “A few times.”
“What do you do in those dreams?”
“Those were a long time ago.”
She stepped in front of him and lifted his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Tell me.”
“I turn their heads. I hold my wrist over their ear and something…drips into them.”
“Blood?”
His head shook back and forth in the tiniest jerks. “No.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But their temples open up and something else comes out.”
He seemed a harmless, broken man, but he didn’t comprehend how dangerous he was. He imparted the quintanumin and doomed innocents to join the abhadhim.
He did this to me. All sense of comradery died.
She decided that was a good thing because the new plan forming might require a sacrifice, after all.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ANDREI WAS AWARE of the alarm clock that had been blaring for the last several minutes. He’d set it for seven-thirty and adjusted the tuner to a metal station and cranked the volume. Even so, his tired body was doing an excellent job of ignoring the blasting beats and the screaming that counted as vocals.
The neighbor downstairs pounding the ceiling with a broom handle was harder to ignore.
He rolled and reached for the clock. Fingers fumbled over the buttons, pushing several without effect. Finally, he grabbed the little device and yanked, pulling its cord from the socket.
Slumber was reclaimed.
He awoke hours later still groggy and hungry. He’d used the quintanumin too much last night. After changing his clothes, he descended the stairs to the street and turned to enter the little store. “Hey Raazaq.”
The clerk’s face split into a grin. “Hello, Andy. You going to celebrate de Easter egg wit’ vodka?”
“No.” On aisle three, he picked up three packages of beef jerky and two bottles of water.
“Ah, you have hangover, den?” Raazaq nodded sagely and began ringing up the items. “What do you t’ink abou’ Saint Tim’s? Ees eet de end of de world?”
“Dunno. What happened?”
“You do not know dees? Sheesh. De whole city ees freaking out. Buncha people say a demon broke de big stained glass weendow. Eet grabbed a man doing some bleeding Jesus t’ing and flew away wit’ heem.”
“Bleeding Jesus thing? You mean stigmata?”
Raazaq stepped back and laughed. “Everyone else ask ‘Demon?’ but you, you say ‘Bleeding Jesus t’ing?’” He shook his head and came forward to bag the items. “Steegmata. Yes, t’at ees de word dey use on de news. T’at ees some sheet, no? People use de phones to video. I see dem. Dark. Blurry.” He leaned over the counter and lowered his voice some. “I t’ink de old priest fake eet all, put drugs een his communion wine and dey all hallucinate.”
Andrei stared at Raazaq hard, thinking.
Raazaq mistook his expression for offense and frowned. “Hey Andy, dey all say eet happen after dey drink de wine and eat de wafer. I figure eet help de old man get de new roof he been begging for.” He put the bag on the counter. “T’at will be six-eighty.”
“MY SON?” FATHER Everly prompted.
Sitting in the dark confines of this box, Andrei imagined his words filtered through the mesh between them and God would make the sound that met the priest’s ears…right. Even so, Andrei questioned what he was about to do, and poked at the buttonhole on his leather duster.
He had asked questions of the few people at the church willing to discuss what had happened. They described Jovienne perfectly. Except for the wings.
Father Everly deserved to know who had destroyed his window. And why. He repeated in his head the words he planned to say, but he couldn’t hold onto them. His thoughts kept drifting back to his worry for her.
Jovienne stole a stigmatic in ecstasy from a church on Easter. Why? He couldn’t guess at her purpose, but taking that particular hostage wasn’t any kind of good. He blurted, “I know the demon that broke through your window this morning, Father. I raised her.”
“My son, I haven’t got time for this nonsense.”
JOVIENNE LEANED IN the elevator doorway. Her guest slept on the old couch where she’d told him to rest. He’d dozed off after tossing and turning for a long time. His slumber was as fitful as her own. When she couldn’t stand watching him anymore, she left the doorway and opened the armory wardrobe.
Staring at her reflection in the steel of the shield, the image was warped and twisted, and upside down. “Exactly how I feel,” she mumbled. She’d terrified people, children included, at a church. She’d destroyed church property, taken a hostage and for what? Nothing. The Sanctus Spiritus had fled. It had to be sentient and therefore knew the danger of returning as long as Nathan remained her captive.
Should she let him go and follow him?
The attempt to focus on reforming her plan stalled when she stroked the hilt of the golden sword with her gloved hand. Touching it made her want to unsheathe it. She gripped the hilt, slowly disengaging the curved length to view the naked blade in the daylight. Hedonistic warmth coursed through her.
“Hello, Jovienne.”
She slammed the weapon back into the sheath and released it as she spun around. Nathan stood in the doorway, one arm draped up along the frame, but he wasn’t himself.
Araxiel had returned.
He seemed older than real-Nathan and, with the bloody sweater absent, it showed how the demon enhanced his appearance. Diffused light touched his bare skin—not as pale as before—and accentuated the contours of a surprisingly muscular chest with poetic allure. “You. Didn’t. Kill. Him.”
“That’s obvious.”
He stepped forward. “Why not?”
; “You’re in there. Not the Sanctus Spiritus.”
“That’s obvious.” He mocked her, but the words were delicious when falling from his lips. He leaned close, as if to kiss her. “Your target, your enemy, was in there. Yet instead of taking the action you agreed to, you wasted your opportunity. How many chances do you think you’re going to get? I have to ask, why did you bring him here?” His suspicion wasn’t hidden.
Jovienne backed up a step. “You didn’t tell me he’s your host, too. That made killing him seem like a bad idea.”
“Never pass judgment on my orders.”
“Orders?”
“You’re thinking too damn much and not doing what you agreed to do.” He closed the distance.
She backpedaled again. “I didn’t know you were both in there!”
“It doesn’t change one goddamn thing.” He pursued her another step.
“Killing him won’t kill you?” She evaded him again.
He held his ground and sighed with exasperation. “Of course it would if I stayed inside the dying body. But there were lots of fucking people to choose from in the church, unlike our present surroundings. I think I’d feel better if I… scolded you.” His voice dropped so that scolding sounded like bliss. “Come,” he gestured. “Come to me.”
Jovienne planted her feet.
Annoyance flashed across his face and he moved in. Though she blocked him, he wasn’t fighting. He simply seized her in his arms. His lips smoldered against her cheek as she turned away from his kiss.
“Kiss me, Jovienne,” he breathed into her ear.
“No.”
“We never sealed our deal.” He whispered low and every syllable resonated in her ear, echoing and vibrating through her body. “You owe me.”
“Let go.” She shoved at his chest, but he held her firm and laughed in her ear.
“You’ve no blessed blade to save you this time.”
When his hot breath blew over her ear, the darkblood dropped low inside her. Sweat beaded on her brow. What her body wanted and what her mind wanted were two vastly different things.
“Jovienne.” His fingers rubbed under her chin. Then, he grabbed her around the back of her neck and held her while he kissed her hard. “You must be punished.” He placed her right hand on his ready groin. “I think I know just how.”
She closed her hand and squeezed. Not in a good way.
Likewise, he squeezed her jaw and held her less than an inch from his beautiful, furious face. “I don’t think you want to play that way, my beauty.”
Her left hand began working the glove off. The way he held her, she had to speak through clenched teeth. “Sex is not a part of our deal. It is not a reward. It is not a punishment.” With the glove halfway off, she pressed her palm against the lapel dagger and drew blessed energy from the blade swabbed with holy water. She pulled that energy into her right hand and let him feel the threat of it in his groin. “I’m not playing.”
He sneered, but released her.
Holding him still, the threat thrumming constant in her palm, she said, “Take the sword and get out.”
“No.” He laughed. “You accepted Lucifer’s sword. I told you accepting it meant accepting the task. Do what you want to me,” he thrust his groin closer, daring her to unleash the power, “but this isn’t over.”
“The spirit isn’t going to come back to him now. It knows.”
“That’s your problem to solve now.” He laughed harder than before. “If you fuck this up Lucifer’s going to be so pissed. If you don’t, Yahweh is. Fuck! I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”
Her shoulders slumped and she released him.
Araxiel backed away, grinning. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Is it all you hoped it’d be?”
NATHAN AWOKE. HE was cold and his crotch hurt. Remembering the ‘dream,’ he understood now that it was more than a dream. She was real and she was here. And he’d tried to force himself on her.
Heat colored his cheeks.
This was humiliating. At least with the bleeding, he’d never attacked anyone.
He lifted his sweater from the floor and put it on. He stood, but wooziness put him back on the couch. He listened to the sound of the rain falling through the roof and pattering on the floor before he tried again. This time, the room didn’t spin as much. He walked through the doorway and jerked, startled by her silent presence on the other side. “You scared me.”
“It won’t be the last time.” The angel removed a golden scimitar from its peg inside the giant wardrobe and belted it at her waist. She shut the steel door with a clang. She already wore a sword and several daggers along her belt. A pouch tied around her thigh held a half-dozen shorter knives.
He watched her, but she gave him no expression to read. His feet shifted. “I know it happened again.”
She said nothing.
He wrung his hands. “I hate that. It’s not me.” His face felt like he was under a broiler. “You know that, right? I would never…never try to…you know. I just wouldn’t. You know that, right?”
“I know.” She didn’t look at him. “Come with me.”
He followed her down a set of cement steps. He hadn’t realized they were on the second floor of a warehouse. This first floor was darker. Emptier and mustier. Everything about it made his skin crawl.
“Sit down. There. And stay down.”
“Why?”
“Dusk falls soon. Things are going to get ugly.”
He sat on the cement where she pointed. She circled him several times. The area was growing even darker and her silent pacing wore on his nerves. “You like him better, don’t you?”
“What?” The angel stopped pacing.
“You know. Him. You like him better than me.”
Her expression soured, but he still thought her beautiful.
Nathan dropped his head down. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t me.”
Again, she circled him like a shark. He felt like prey. Bait. Chum. The way she fondled her weapons didn’t allay his fear, either. “You’re going to kill me. Aren’t you?” He focused on the floor.
She kept walking and said nothing.
I’ll take that as a yes.
It surprised him that the only following thought was: I hope it doesn’t hurt.
The abrupt sensation of someone driving spikes through his palms and his feet told him the sun had slid below the horizon.
This pain had occurred irregularly since he arrived in San Francisco, but this was more intense than ever. He scrubbed his fists over his head. It usually felt itchy and numb, but now it stung like real thorns were piercing his scalp and burrowing along his skull. A searing pain stabbed into his side and he cried out, curling into a ball.
The dark angel drew her sword and straddled him. He feared this was it and shut his eyes tight, but when no other pain joined these, he peeked and found her standing over him like a protector.
But she had not brought him here for his safety. As she stared down at him, at his weakness and uncontrolled fear, he could see the loathing in her eyes.
Terrible voices, gritty and hoarse, rang outside.
“What is that?” he cried.
He got his answer when, across the way, a loading dock door jerked up enough for a burnt witch to wriggle underneath. The dark angel stepped away and put the tip of her silver sword to the cement. She drew a large circle around them and returned to stand over him.
Another burnt witch followed the first, then another and another. They kept coming. “Oh, no! No!” Nathan cried. Their gritty chant organized as they neared. “I’ve never seen so many at once!” Nathan scooted back and clung to her leg and begged, “Fly us away from here!”
“Bring the spirit into you and I’ll seal the circle.”
“I can’t! We have to go! Please!”
“We’re doing this, Nathan. One way or another.”
He believed that she hated him, that she had no reason to pity him or heed his plea, but still he begged. “Not lik
e this, don’t give me to them. I don’t want to die like that. Don’t let them take me!” He screamed at the witches. “Go away!”
A dozen of the rotten bodies, now only yards away, snarled at him, their jaws ripping wide. Nathan squealed and scooted behind the dark angel’s legs.
The dark angel said, “Ahi!”
TWENTY-NINE
FATHER, PLEASE. I’M serious. There is a world right in front of your eyes, but you don’t see it. You can’t. You wouldn’t want to.” Andrei sighed. “From your pulpit you give people the means to resist the evil that is out there…but some of us are tasked with fighting it.” He put his head in his hands, aware of how insane he sounded. “I’ve lost her and I don’t know how to fix it. Why would she take him? Why him?”
There was a long moment of silence from the other side of the screen. Then, Father Everly said softly, “Kidnapping is usually followed by ransom demands.”
Andrei shot to his feet. It all made sense. He knew what she was doing and he knew exactly where she’d be: the very place where she’d stopped being mortal. “Thank you, Father.” He burst from the confessional, sprinting across the church and out into the rain.
A CINDER REACHED out as flames burst up from the cement where she’d marked the circle. Fire engulfed its half-fleshed hand. It recoiled, and used the other rotten limb to rip the burning one from its socket. The severed limb was discarded and the cinder fell to its knees as if to worship. Behind it, the entering melee gathered, edging her circle and filling the space. They also fell to their knees and their chant, “Jo, Jo, Jo,” created a thick rhythm with the drums that had called them to rise.
That was when Jovienne realized what they expected to happen. They weren’t going to perform a summoning. She was.
Lucifer had sent them to bear witness.
But how was she supposed to summon the Sanctus Spiritus?
Would they depart afterward if she was successful in calling the Holy Spirit? Or would they add another layer of menace meant to ensure her actions? The drums blasted on, antagonizing her.
Jovienne formed a small inner circle barely six inches in diameter with blessed daggers. Using the lion-headed dagger, she poured a circle of holy water over the daggers, capped it, and turned to Nathan. “I need to cut you.” It took effort not to shout over the drums even though she knew she was the only one who heard them.
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