“Enough of this. If I wanted you all dead I wouldn’t have spent centuries ignoring you. I would’ve hunted you individually to better my odds, not kidnap a woman, trap an angel, and enter a house full of UnHallowed.”
Swords lowered, but didn’t vanish.
“What do you want, Malphas?” Daghony spoke.
“Finally, someone has the sense to ask,” Malphas muttered and approached the table strewn with maps across the cherry wood surface. He walked right between Zed and Rimmon.
“He wants the Cruor. It’s obvious,” Zed snapped.
“Actually he doesn’t,” Amaya chimed in and suffered all of their skepticism.
“She’s right. I don’t want it. She can keep it. You can keep it. I don’t give two fucks. As long as it’s not opened. It must stay closed.” Malphas snatched a map up and studied it.
“Is that fear I hear in your voice, Demoni Lord?” said in glee from Riél.
“Only an idiot would have no fear.” He looked up from the map. “Do you really want more than one of me free?”
No words were necessary.
“I like this world the way it is—the freedom, the women, and the money. Real power is here, not in Hell, and I plan to keep it that way. Time is wasting.” Malphas snatched up a map.
“We are not working with you,” Zed growled into Malphas’s ear.
Daghony grabbed Zed and shifted him two feet away from Malphas. “Yeah, we are.”
Zed rounded on Daghony, the tip of his sword raised, aimed. “Why? We don’t need him.” His lips peeled back in a snarl.
“We do.” Bane went to the opposite side of the table. None of the tension left the room. They still had their weapons, but they were listening. Amaya slipped into the space between Riél and Daghony.
Malphas tapped the maps. “By the look of this, your plan is a good one, but you don’t understand the mind of a Spaun as I do. They have nesting tendencies, they work better as a unit than a solo entity. That’s why I always paired them. A few showed leadership qualities that I never encouraged for obvious reasons.”
“Afraid of a coup d’état?” Amaya smirked.
“Precisely.” Malphas gave her a smile, one that reached his dead eyes, warming them, making him slightly less repulsive.
“Get to the point,” Bane snapped on her left, voice low, aggressive.
Malphas’s cold, knowing, dead glare returned when his gaze shifted to Bane. “The point is all the places you’ve already checked, need to be checked again.”
“Why?” she asked, attempting to divert the building animosity in the room, not just between Bane and Malphas. She glanced at the UnHallowed and could see their aggression, like heat radiating off sunbaked asphalt. Shit.
“Spaun walk in the sunlight, but they are first children of the dark and as such, they seek what comforts them, as all creatures do.” All warm and glowy eyed, Malphas’s gaze settled on her again. “It’s not good enough to check the houses, you have to check the foundations.”
A string of curses ricocheted around the room. Malphas continued, “All of my properties have well-developed foundations, much like this house. Seems the UnHallowed and Spaun have much in common.” He paused for effect, baiting the water. She was proud of her UnHallowed when none took a nibble.
Wait! When did they become my UnHallowed?
“The penthouses are the exception. I built blackout rooms to accommodate the Spaun. I wanted them happy and well-adjusted.”
“Great. Back to square one, retracing our fucking steps,” Gadreel grumbled.
“But that’s not all of it. We haven’t spoken about your dummy holdings. The ones off the books,” Bane said.
“And the ones under your aliases,” Rimmon added. He leveled a steady gaze on Malphas. Both dealt with corporate America with spectacular financial gain. “And while we’re on the topic, does the Spaun have any aliases and money of his own? Property of his own?”
Malphas shook his head. “My Spaun are forbidden property and have money appropriate to their station in my employment, but all are taken care of. I allowed none to wallow in poverty. Not good for morale.”
“You answered everything but the question about your aliases,” Bane noted.
Everyone waited, not one moved one centimeter. Malphas arched a single brow and dipped his head a fraction in acknowledgment of being one-upped. “I will divulge all, if, the known locations prove fruitless.”
“Fuck no—” Rimmon protested.
“—We ain’t going nowhere—” Gadreel added.
“—Spill now or—” Ioath started.
“—Get gutted—” Zed finished for Ioath.
“—You don’t get off that easy—” Amaya warned.
Bane shut the argument down with a single, “Fine. Enough talk. We need to get moving.” Even so, low level grumbling ensued and hot glares were directed at Bane.
Amaya wasn’t pleased, but she was impressed with his wrangling of the volatile parties, and didn’t challenge his order. “All right. Where to first?”
“Rimmon and Ioath, head for London. Zed and Gadreel, go to New York. Both teams will retrace the steps of Ioath and Gadreel. Gideon and Tahariél will check out the holdings in South America.”
“Start in Brazil,” Malphas suggested.
Everyone eyed the Demoni Lord, and Amaya spoke up. “Could be a trap, but Malphas has as much to lose as we do.” She earned a chuckle from him.
“I would never betray you, Amaya. You have my word.” His voice was a deep rumble.
The word of a Demoni Lord, how much did that weigh on earth vs in Hell? “I feel so special.”
Bane turned to Gideon and Riél. “Brazil isn’t going to come to you. Get going.”
Both threw hostile gazes at Malphas.
“I don’t trust him,” Riél said.
“I’m not leaving his side until he’s fulfilled his promise to free Dina,” Gideon spat.
Malphas shrugged and had the nerve to roll his eyes. He pulled out a chair and sat, even crossed his legs like a gentleman. “Time is wasting.”
No one could argue that point. She hiked a thumb at Malphas. “His ass is on the line as much as ours and there’s too much ground to cover.”
Both folded their arms and didn’t budge.
Amaya threw her hands up. “All right. Where are we heading?” She looked at Bane for the answer.
“Africa.” Malphas beat Bane to the punch. “Tanzania, to be exact.” He rattled off some coordinates to Bane, who nodded and took her hand.
“A biracial female with wings and two giant white guys, we’re going to stand out.” She noted.
“I’ll take care of it,” Bane said.
Amaya figured he meant to wipe clean the memory of anyone unlucky enough to see them.
“Why there?” Everyone else headed to major cities.
“I own a ranch there. Haven’t been in ages. It’s the type of place Taige could retreat to, hoping I’d forget I owned it,” Malphas said.
Bane and Gadreel went back to the map while Malphas strolled forward and stopped next to her, a bit too close for her comfort. “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous,” he murmured, yet still drew everyone’s attention. When an evil asshole was present, that tended to happen. “Wouldn’t you care to freshen up before we travel?” He touched the edge of her sleeve and then coasted a finger down her arm.
Disturbed, Amaya pulled away and glanced at her ripped and stained clothing. She shouldn’t be embarrassed, but damn it, she was. Even though she’d kicked ass and had her ass kicked, she was a woman who prided herself on her hygiene and appearing somewhat put together.
“Umm. Yeah. I’ll just be a second.” She turned for the stairs but whipped back around to catch Bane in Malphas’s face.
“You don’t touch her. You don’t fucking look at her,” he hissed with his blades at the Demoni Lord’s throat.
Chapter Eight
The viscous liquid in the metal smelting pot glinted silvery in the moonlight. U
nearthly in its surreal glow. Mercurial summed it best, though much lighter in weight than that metallic substance and more divine. In fact, the grace floated just above the iron surface of the pot, even though it took the shape of the structure. It made Taige wonder if iron had an effect on celestial beings the same way it affected demons and UnHallowed.
Angelic grace, the blood of the Celestial Order. A doorway to Heaven—rumored. A gateway to Hell—undeniable. He opened a pocket knife and dipped it into the liquid. The essence clung with the tenacity of Gorilla glue. Pleased, he scraped every precious drop of essence off the blade. The quantity he possessed was culled from the killing field on the slopes of Kilimanjaro and rested in the cool smelting pot next to the Cruor.
“You have done well, Aiden.” Taige murmured to his first disciple.
“Do you think it’s enough? It has to be enough. There has to be at least the grace of thirty, maybe forty angels in that vat. Enough to open the portal, don’tcha think?” He rambled quietly, repeating the same question over and over again. The obsessive-compulsive disorder inherited from his proximity to humans was about to get him beheaded.
Taige drew on a reserve of patience he could ill afford to lose and said, “This concentration of grace in one location could open anything. However, the Cruor isn’t just anything. If only we could be certain an archangel was amongst the dead.” The last drop of an archangel’s blood had closed the Cruor. The last drop had to be what opened it.
They’d held up in the factory since retrieving the portal. It had to be guarded, protected at all costs. Taige trusted no one as much as he trusted himself. Days of inaction hadn’t been easy. Patience is a war fought on many fronts, not a single battle. Patience had given him what he wanted—so far. Action was now required.
“Even if we do not have enough, the amount of grace you collected has to count for something. Perhaps we will get lucky.” Taige gave Aiden a microscopic smile, attempting to spin the situation.
Deep murmurs sounded behind Taige. He pivoted and faced the gathering of one hundred Darklings, fifty Spaun, and Hazk—horned creatures with centipede legs that fed on skin. It could strip a human of their outer layer in less than a minute as it poisoned the host so nothing else could feed, leaving the victim to die painfully. There were even two Div-Es in the group. Friends to both former guardians of Satan, Taige and the Div-E spent a few millennia hunting humans in the early days, before they were captured and sent to Hell. They traded subtle nods in recognition and respect.
He’d invited the crowd to witness his triumph, to spread the word of his victory; and hopefully not gossip about his defeat.
He should have paid more attention to Malphas’s rally the troop speeches. Right now, the ground beneath his feet was far from steady. Any one of the demons facing him could challenge his leadership. Fragile is the head that wears the crown. Not the exact Shakespearean quote, though still apt.
The thing about leadership was that one had to lead. Not from the sidelines, but at the head of the pack, and from a position of strength. Or be culled. He’d risked too much for that occurrence. This was where he wanted to be from the moment he breathed sulfur-free air. This was where he would stay.
“Brethren,” Taige shouted, and the room silenced. “Why are we all here?”
“For the Cruor,” one of them replied.
Taige nodded. “The Portal to Hell has brought us together for one purpose. That purpose is balance. For too long the Celestial Order has ruled. Now the angels have been removed like a pebble struck by a tidal wave.” He made a point of making eye contact with the crowd as all cheered. “For too long we have floundered when our masters abandoned us.”
“If that’s the case, why open it?
The unexpected interruption came from a single Reaper whose voice blew through Taige, leaving icicles inside his chest. He fought the instinctive shudder and searched the gathering for his formidable ally.
“We have the momentum, for the first time. Why give it up to Demoni Lords no one has seen in a thousand millennia.” Swathed in black mist, the Reaper was easy to miss in the sea of Darklings.
The fact was Taige didn’t disagree. As self-serving as he pretended not to be, he couldn’t deny the Reaper’s question because it resonated with himself the second Aiden approached with his proposition. And he had yet to make a decision.
The crowd parted and the Reaper moved through them with the speed of a shark cutting through a pack of seals. Murmurs of approval and dissent followed in his wake. He wasn’t one of them, however, the approvals outweighed the opposition.
Just what Taige didn’t want, opposition lining up behind someone he wasn’t sure was an ally. He studied the crowd, played the odds, and cast his lot. “Our Lords would be free. Regardless of the length of time, my loyalty has remained. Our new allies need to understand our devotion. We want their freedom. So, freedom is what they shall have.” For the moment.
The Reaper swept passed him and seemed to float to the office space at the rear of the building. Aiden hadn’t the time to replace the broken furniture and missing glass panes from the glass wall facing the work area, or clean the puddles of brackish water making the floor a lake. It would have to do for a private conversation, out of sight of Taige’s burgeoning army.
Grave power oozed from the being. Wispy shadows curled around its seven-foot frame, making the being beneath indescribable. One Reaper looked like the next Reaper. Their numbers were unknown, their strength legendary. It was rumored one Reaper could easily slay ten Spaun and a thousand Darklings. Taige wasn’t so sure. None remembered witnessing Reapers in any battle. What was myth and what was fact? With so much on the line, Taige needed to know.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” the Reaper said as a greeting. “How long do you think our meetings will last when Malphas and the UnHallowed hunt us down? How long do we have before the Celestial Army regroups from their loss? The answer is—not long enough.” His words cut through the bullshit before Taige could sling it.
“Do not lecture me, soul snatcher,” Taige spat the name all Reapers despised. “This is my army, not yours. Though I welcome your presence and those that follow you.” Having Reapers on his side practically guaranteed a win. He needed them in his corner, but also at his command.
“By freeing the other lords, attention shifts from us to them.” He narrowed his gaze on the Reaper. “We would no longer be the biggest threat, not when there are five Demoni Lords roaming the earth—enslaving humans, wreaking havoc. Releasing the Lords, letting the three factions—Lords, UnHallowed, and the Celestial Order—destroy one another, that is how we survive. That is how we thrive. And eventually, conquer.” That’s what he had believed when he began this coup. With the Celestial Order off the playing field, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Did he truly need the Lords? Look what he had accomplished so far without their interference.
“I didn’t expect you to accept the invitation, Reaper.” Taige had left the missive in the first place they’d met years ago, a place they both returned to year after year. New Orleans, Lower 9th Ward. So much destruction. So much death. Reapers so thick in numbers, they blotted the sun when the storm had ended. For once, Darklings, fearful of the night filled with the agents of death, kept to their hidey-holes, while only the bravest Spaun took the streets. Taige was among that handful.
They’d met on opposite sides of the road. Between them, three Spaun devoured a soul as it separated from a body. A forbidden act. Until a soul ascended, they were off limits from all predators, unless expressly invited in before death. The Reaper swept in and killed two Spaun with a single swipe of his blade. The last Spaun ran toward Taige for aid or refuge, maybe both. His journey ended with a sharp blade buried in his gut.
“I have surprised myself with my attendance.” The Reaper floated over an orangish puddle.
“Your presence suggests I have your support.”
“If you didn’t have my support, an army of Reapers would’ve cleansed this gathering.
None would have been left alive.”
Cleansing demons weren’t on the list of duties performed by Reapers, but Taige left that discussion for another time. “Then why question me?”
“You have been a slave too long. Questioning does not mean I don’t support your plan to pit the three factions against each other. Questioning means I have a brain and follow no one blindly. That is not my nature.”
But it is, thought Taige. Reapers did one thing—collect souls, and nothing else. Even with the vacuum left by Sammiél’s fall from grace, the Reapers continued on, their mission unchanged by the events around them. They were the constant in the mathematical equation pitting the Celestial Order, the UnHallowed, and Demoni Lords. The variables being Spaun, Darklings, and that hybrid Halfling. Reapers followed orders with a fervent, cultish zeal.
Instead of challenging the Reaper’s statement, Taige nodded. He needed that fervor on his side. But most importantly, he needed loyalty. “So you are dedicated to the cause?”
“I am here, am I not?”
“Then reveal yourself. I refuse to partner with smoke and ash.” The form wavered and Taige tensed for the big reveal. Who or what exactly hid underneath that swirling mist?
“Can you truly open the Cruor?” The Reaper’s voice had deepened to gravel.
“Of course.” Now wasn’t the time to be shy.
“Then do it. I want to see it with my own eyes. Open the Cruor and there will be no secrets between us, partner.”
“Taige. Taige. Taige. Taige.” His army chanted until his name echoed in the vast factory. Delighted by the unexpected adoration—and stalling for time—he returned to his position in front of the throng with his arms flung wide, basking in the adulation. Adulation created by Aiden. How had he achieved this? Taige looked at his subordinate who clapped with all the fanaticism of a politician praising his own words.
“Taige! Taige! Taige!” His name combined with the chirps and grunts, whistles and snarls crammed every nook of the factory and reverberated in his hollow chest cavity.
“To the Cruor,” Aiden yelled, breaking Taige’s moment, redirecting attention to the silver disc lying across a low pedestal beneath the smelting pot.
Only You (UnHallowed Series Book 3) Page 5