Hellsbane Hereafter (Entangled Select Otherworld)

by Paige Cuccaro

  “You mean, Abram,” I said, but in my head I was thinking, wha…?

  “I mean Abram and your twelve half brothers.” He said it like it wasn’t a big thing, like the fact that there were at least twelve more children of a fallen archangel was just a random detail the way there’s oxygen in water, spring comes before summer and…oh yeah, there are at least thirteen other potentially super-powerful nephilim waiting in the wings, all of whom are under a fallen archangel’s control. No biggie.

  I swallowed hard and tried to keep my freak-out from affecting my voice. “Why did you want them all under one roof, Jukar? And how am I tangled up in all of this?”

  He sighed, like I was six and asked why the sky was blue. “I suppose it’s time you were given a broader picture. You’re brother, Abram—”

  “Half brother,” I corrected.

  He huffed out a short laugh and pushed to his feet, coming around the end of his desk. “You’re right, half brother.” He paced across the huge office to the pool table and toyed with the balls as he explained. “Like you, Abram is very special. He is the harbinger to the next evolution of the human race.”

  “No.” I kept from laughing out loud. “You’re not serious. Jukar, it won’t work. It’s been tried before. A couple years ago, in fact, by an egotistical Fallen named Rifion. It didn’t end well for him.”

  I’d sent his sorry butt to the abyss.

  My angelic father scoffed at the name. “Rifion was a fool who couldn’t follow simple instructions. He took what little knowledge I shared with him and allowed his eagerness to make a mess of things.”

  “You?” I blinked, my brain shuffling the information, making sense of it. “You told him how to trigger nephilim power without Michael’s sword?”

  Pride shone like a light in his eyes. “I made it possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because evolution—illumination—of a species cannot be rushed. It takes time, careful guidance, and exhaustive planning.”

  “And you’ve got a plan?”

  “I do.” His smile enhanced his unearthly beauty. “And Abram is its culmination. My son is destined to enlighten humanity. Through his testimony he will lead the way to a melding of the species—human and angelic DNA. Because of Abram, mankind will come to accept it as God’s will that there be one species, a perfect blending of his most beloved creation and his most flawless design.”

  “God’s will?”

  He shrugged. “That’s what they’ll believe.”

  “And humanity will believe it because…?”

  “Because Abram will believe it. Humanity will accept it as fact; they will make it so and then quickly grow to desire the power that comes with the blending of our DNA. Father will be unable to refuse the free will choice of his precious humans, and my brothers will no longer be persecuted for choices they were compelled by design to make.”

  “So your grand plan hinges on Abram convincing all of humanity to allow angels to father their children.” I heard how insane it sounded even as the words left my lips. I wanted to laugh at him and the egomaniacal, world-domination mentality of it. I couldn’t.

  “It’s unavoidable. It’s Abram’s destiny.” He sighed, shoving the cue ball so it rolled down the table. “Admittedly destinies are delicate, complicated things interweaving from one person to the next, tangling and unraveling one moment only to tangle again. A decision made by one person could alter the destiny of another, and that change affects another, and so on and so on.”

  “So then Abram’s destiny isn’t set.” I finally crossed the room to the other end of the pool table, catching the cue ball on a bounce. “Someone somewhere in the world could…I don’t know, turn right when they were supposed to turn left, Abram’s destiny changes, and your whole plan goes to hell?”

  He chuckled. “Theoretically. Fortunately, there is only one tangle left undone. One destiny, one person who must turn left.”

  My stomach clenched, and I shoved the white ball, rolling it toward him along the smooth green felt. “Who?”

  “You, of course.” Jukar raised a finger and the cue ball stopped. “Before Abram’s destiny is set, you must embrace yours.”

  I laughed—couldn’t help it. I mean, it was just so crazy. But then this was an angel I was talking to. If things like destiny and fate really existed, it seemed reasonable that angels would be involved. My thoughts drifted to Tommy and his strange, ghostly visit where he’d yammered about destiny and me doing something. But that was just a dream. Right? I swallowed around the nervous knot in my throat, forcing my smile to stay in place. “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s my destiny?”

  “To protect him.”

  I held out my hands. “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

  “No. You must become his protector.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I’m glad you asked. I’ll show you.” Before my brain could register his words he stood in front of me. His big hand landed heavily on my shoulder. The faint sound of wings rustling brushed past my ears, and the office vanished.

  My gaze shifted to the smooth sandstone wall suddenly behind him, the glow of torchlight casting a warm, yellow haze on the reddish stone. A doorway had been carved out of the wall, and steps led to another to my right. I stumbled back, my attention jumping from the detailed columns and headers over the doorways to the chisel marks left on the steps where the surrounding stone had been cut away centuries before.

  The cavernous room, not only overly large but cave-like with decorative beams; smooth, flat walls; and a large, tiled floor carved into the existing stone, lay steeped in darkness, despite the two torches secured to iron fittings on the wall. Darkness hadn’t just filled the room but had penetrated into the very stone, and the insistent flames of the torches seemed to only brush at the stain of it. Every second, the blackness pushed back against the flickering light, and the sense that the blackness would inevitably win smothered me.

  “Where are we?”

  “Petra. Or what was once Petra. In Jordan.” Jukar winked and turned to jog up the steps beside me. “We are deep within the ancient city, within the belly of the mountain, far beyond where mortal man can now reach.”

  “Jordan?” I stared at his back, watching him disappear into the darkness. I hadn’t felt us move. We’d traveled faster than I’d ever traveled before, through time and space, through air and solid rock, and I hadn’t felt a thing.

  “Come, Emma. We have work to do.” Jukar’s voice echoed from the darkness, like talking deep inside a well, making it sound as though he were everywhere and nowhere at once.

  I headed up the steps, my sneakers crunching the fine layer of sand that blanketed everything. Just inside the doorway, a faint glow lifted the darkness. I couldn’t see the source of the light, but it glimmered off the walls, illuminating a path through the maze of doorways and rooms.

  Thick sand covered the floors deeper within the ruins, and random stones lay scattered, hidden in the darkness until stumbled over or kicked. Pain jarred up from one stubbed toe and then another. Finally I took the hint and slowed my pace, shuffling my feet to keep from tripping.

  “Jukar?” I called, checking I was still heading in the right direction.

  “In here,” he said, and I followed the echo through a final, softly lit doorway.

  Two steps in, I laid eyes on the strange, penetrating light source. It wasn’t a torch like I’d thought.

  At the center of the otherwise-empty room, a huge, black pot hung suspended over a crackling flame. Like something out of Macbeth, the caldron was big enough to hold a small child, and all that was missing were the three witches reciting dark, lyrical poetry.

  I stepped closer, grimacing, the stink of brimstone burning my nose. “What’s for dinner?”

  Jukar glanced up at me but didn’t answer, and his attention shifted back to the boiling caldron. With a small shock I realized the light I’d been following wasn’t from the flames beneath the pot, not completely; it ema
nated from the liquid inside.

  At least I thought it was liquid. I moved closer, but it was hard to see through the cloud of steam rolling along the top of whatever rested in the pot. Gray mist filled the caldron to the rim, billowing over the edge, spilling down the sides, only to fade away along the sandy floor.

  Beneath the steam, motion ripples flowed over a surface that wasn’t there. The pot seemed empty except for a steady glow of white light with no discernable source. Whatever the pot contained was translucent, like the mist floating on top. I could make out the bottom of the caldron, but not clearly, like looking through frosted glass. Without thinking, I stirred my fingers through the thick mist and felt the silky coating cling to my skin. I knew this feeling, this mist. But it couldn’t be…

  “What is this?”

  “Your future.” He drew his sword, the angelic metal blazing in the heavy darkness. “Give me your sword.”

  “Um, no.”

  His gaze flicked to mine, and he held out his hand. “Emma Jane. Give me your sword.”

  “Oh. My sword? No.”

  He sighed. “This isn’t a game, girl. Your brother needs you to fulfill your destiny.”

  “What does my sword have to do with it?”

  “You’re to be Abram’s protector.” He opened his palm wider. “It’s a big job. That childish sword of yours isn’t up to the task. Not by half.”

  I glanced at his hand, and he wiggled his fingers, coaxing me. My sword connected me to Michael, to the good guys. It wasn’t the same as when I’d first gotten it. My choices—sleeping with Eli, standing against God’s warriors to protect him, working with Jukar—had damaged the illorum bond. Then Jukar had taken it a step further, disconnecting me from the compulsion inherent in illorum swords that unleashed some superpower inside me. I still wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done to me, but my powers had increased afterward, and my connection to Michael and the others had dulled.

  Now he wanted to do more. Would it make it better or worse? Did it matter? As far as I knew, what was done couldn’t be undone, like trying to un-ring a bell.

  “Give me your sword, or taste the sharp end of mine,” he said flatly. “One way or another you will fulfill your part in this. Your unscathed body is not essential to my needs.”

  I blinked at that and clenched my teeth. I was harder to kill now, thanks to him, which only meant I could survive a lot of horrible things. I didn’t want to think about it. I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Just tell me what you’re going to do. You can torture me all you want, but if you want my sword without a fight, you need to tell me what the plan is.”

  “The plan?” He dropped his hand and grumbled to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose then looked me square in the eyes. “The plan is to make you strong enough to survive whatever comes. You are my daughter, Emma. Sue me if I want to keep you alive. Now please, give me your sword.”

  He held out his hand, and I pulled the hilt from the sheath at the small of my back, shoring my grip.

  “Call the blade.” He moved closer.

  I glowered at him. “Why?”

  “Emma.”

  My belly tightened. Jukar was my father, but he was still a fallen angel. Everything in me screamed that the Fallen couldn’t be trusted, they were evil, selfish, so concerned with their own wants and needs that they risked condemning their children to a life of brutal battles and heart-wrenching loss. No matter what he said, how he filled his eyes with fatherly love, I couldn’t trust him.

  I knew this, but there was something in his voice, something about this place that was muddying my brain. The darkness pressed around me, thick and smothering, so I couldn’t fully fill my lungs. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “You’re going to die here,” someone whispered in my left ear.

  I jumped, double gipping my sword, calling the blade on instinct. “Who said that? Who else is in here?”

  “No one.” There was a touch of concern in Jukar’s voice. “We’re deep within the mountain. The stillness will play havoc with your mind. Ignore it.”

  “Traitor. Murderer.” The voice filled my right ear, warm breath tickling my cheek.

  I spun, sword up, but no one was there. “Who said that, dammit?”

  Jukar stared at me, his brows drawn tight. Beside him the caldron shimmered with the strange, ghostly light, steam rolling across the top.

  “Destroyer.” The voice rushed toward me, filling my mind, the mist blanketing the top of the pot, rippling with the disembodied breath.

  The voice came from the caldron? I took a careful step closer, then another, lifting my chin, straining to see deeper into the big pot. I drew closer, sensing the danger but unable to resist. Tendrils of mist rolled over the edge, ghosting out toward me, like hands, drawing me in. Closer. Closer.

  “Run!”

  The voice screamed through my head, raddling my bones. I jumped, my muscles snapped tight just as Jukar’s iron grip latched around my wrist, my hand still gripping tight to the hilt of my drawn sword. I gasped and jerked back on reflex. “Hey.” It was useless. “Let go. What’re you doing?”

  “Helping you realize your full potential.” He raised his sword, pressing its point to the soft flesh at the inside of my elbow. “This will hurt a bit.”

  With one quick slice, he slit my arm from elbow to wrist, splitting my flesh straight down the center of my illorum mark. Pain exploded through my veins, tearing a scream from my lungs. White bone flashed within the deep wound, blood gushing, spilling into the caldron. Each drop splashed and sizzled on impact.

  I squirmed, pulling against his hold, my blood streaming faster the more I fought. Within minutes my head spun, and the darkness hovering at the corners of the room pressed in on me so I could hardly breathe. I was going to faint; my knees already trembled from the effort to free myself.

  Quicker than I could react, he released my wrist, snagging my sword out of my hand as I stumbled back. Like a game of tug of war when the rope breaks, I couldn’t recover, couldn’t catch my balance, before I landed flat on my ass. I managed to tuck my arm against me, though, keeping sand from dusting the wound.

  Jukar remained focused, lifting his sword, my sword still gripped in his other hand. He held his angelic blade out over the roiling mist, then exhaled, face grim, determined.

  Then he swung my sword. Weight shifting, muscles rolling, exploiting every ounce of his strength, he chopped the blade of my sword down on his wrist. It sliced through flesh and bone like tissue paper, severing his hand from his arm. His gleaming angelic sword dropped into the pot, his big hand still gripping its hilt. The archangel didn’t even make a sound, and neither did his sword.

  There was no splash, no slosh of liquid, but the sizzle rose to a loud crescendo, like water in boiling oil. The sound echoed in the big room.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Without answering, he threw my sword into the pot right after.

  “No.” I jumped to my feet, lurching forward to the edge of the caldron. I thought maybe I could grab it before it sank too deep. But there was nothing there, despite the deafening sound of sizzling oil crackling through the air again.

  I glared at him across the giant pot. “Dammit, Jukar, I never agreed to let you destroy my sword.”

  He lifted the stub of his arm, staring at the thick spill of mist pouring from the wound. He was bleeding, or as near as angels could bleed. It was his spirit, his essence escaping his body, mixing perfectly with the cloud of steam bubbling up from the caldron.

  But even as he stared, his hand reformed from the stub, and his sword manifested in his newly grown palm. An angel’s sword is as much a part of him as his hand, and Jukar had dropped those pieces of himself into the pot. It didn’t matter. As long as he lived, he could heal any wound, rejuvenate any limb, even his sword.

  I stared back at the familiar cloud bubbling over the edges of the pot. “What’s in there?”

  “Your new sword.”
He reached for me, snagging my wounded arm again, jerking me around to tuck my body in against him, my back to his chest. “It will hurt less if you don’t fight.”

  The long gash on my arm gaped open, the angel-made wound healing slower. He pushed against me, his large frame forcing me forward, bending me over as he shoved my wounded arm into the caldron to the elbow.

  Like acid, whatever that pot contained burned into my open flesh. A scream stuck in my throat as I watched my veins bulge, the contents of the pot traveling up my arm. The pain of it ate through me, searing under my skin, racing straight to my heart. Like napalm, the strange brew exploded inside me, shredding my muscles, infecting every fiber of my being down to my soul.

  I writhed against the powerful angel, pulling back, fighting him. It wasn’t enough. He held me firm. Like a living thing, the thick, silky mist swarmed higher, climbing up my arm, slipping over my shoulder, circling my neck, and swirling into my mouth with each ragged, tear-filled breath.

  The scent of fresh baked cookies, apple blossoms, and everything joyous and uplifting filled my mouth, but under it, like breathing in perfume, lay a falseness that made it wrong. Coughing, spitting the chemical taste of it from my tongue, I tried not to swallow the mist down, but nothing I did worked.

  It coated the insides of my cheeks, pushing into me, forcing itself down my throat. I gasped, my need for air overriding my will to resist. My lungs expanded, and I could almost feel the mist pushing against the walls of my chest, infusing my blood, coursing to the ends of my body.

  It was in me. Completely. The caldron stood empty, and Jukar finally let me go.

  I staggered back, dry heaves wrenching my stomach. God, I wanted to puke, wanted to scrub the slippery sensation off my tongue. With my hands on my knees, I spit until there wasn’t any spit left. I couldn’t get it out.

  “What the fuck did you do to me?” I panted, my heart a fiery ache beneath my ribs.

  “Made you better than you were.” He reached for me, but I flinched away. “Stand tall, Emma. You are the ideal. You are what the world will desire. The perfect blending of human and angelic DNA. There is nothing on this Earth like you. Call your sword.”