The Deepest Well

by Juliette Cross

  Uriel finally lifted his hands from the hunter’s body. For now, he was one of their own ranks against the Flamma of Dark. The new hunter breathed hard, still in shock but less shaken, an expression of relief covering his face as if he had awakened from a long nightmare.

  “Hold still,” said Uriel, leaning over Alexander.

  Wide-eyed, the man remained motionless as Uriel pressed his lips to Alexander’s, a palpable energy swirling in the air as, with a kiss, he passed him the power to sift. When Uriel pulled his mouth from Alexander’s, he fell back onto his haunches, exhaustion overwhelming him as it always did when he made a hunter. He stood, his own chest heaving from the exertion. Alexander’s eyes had fallen closed as he slipped into the deep sleep of making.

  “Jude, take him to Father Abney. As you know, he’ll need a day or longer to recover.”

  Jude obeyed at once, lifting Alexander in his arms. “George, I shall return to Thornton within the hour so we can discuss…so we can see if Damas has her here on earth somewhere.”

  George nodded, still silent.

  With a resounding crack, Jude vanished with Alexander clutched to his chest.

  Ghostly light still shimmered around Uriel, the residue of the making. “Jude did not need to tell me. I know this lady, Katherine, is more than a friend. The grief pouring off your soul is suffocating.”

  George never asked how Uriel could sense the emotions of others. Perhaps it was an archangel’s gift. He didn’t know. He’d never pried before. But he was glad he needn’t explain further.

  “Then you know,” said George, “that I must do everything in my power to get her back. Damas will…corrupt her.” The images of the ways he would corrupt her broke through his mind, stabbing fresh pain straight to his heart.

  “Yes,” agreed Uriel. “He will.”

  “I must go.” George prepared to sift back to Thornton to devise a strategy for their search.

  “George, you are not only my commander. You are my loyal friend. You must consider the possibility that she may be lost.”

  George gazed directly at the archangel who had saved his life and who had become a brother-in-arms. “I cannot consider that possibility. Though you have made me a Flamma of Light, Uriel, my heart is still human. I will never recover if I cannot get her back.”

  Pointing out that Uriel had the heart of an angel, not a human, might have been cruel, for it was the division between the species. Angels were made for power and strength, a shield of invincibility protecting them from the weakness humans suffered. Humans were made for love and beauty; their vulnerability was what made them feel on the deepest level and what could also crush their will to live.

  Seemingly unperturbed, Uriel opened his white, gold-tipped wings a fraction, preparing to depart, his pure gaze steady, his expression calm. “Though I do not love as you do, I can understand the depth of your despair.”

  A pang of regret pierced George for what he’d said. It was bitterness and grief that made him lash out at the archangel, his friend. He knew Uriel was capable of great compassion, as it had been his decision to build an army of hunters on earth while the rest of the heavenly hosts remained aloof, preparing for the Great War. Whenever that might come.

  “I am sorry—”

  “No need.” Uriel cut him off. “And no time. I have an errand of my own, then I’ll help you and Jude in the search. I’ll meet you at Thornton.”

  He lifted off and vanished into the ether. George’s gaze followed him up into the sky. He stared at the canvas of stars, glittering in a dark cosmos, the moon shining bright as if all were right in the world. He glimpsed Katherine in his mind, reaching toward him, screaming his name as Damas snatched her from behind and carried her away, as Hades had spirited Persephone away to the underworld. Unlike in mythology, there was no alliance of gods on Olympus to help him bring her back. And Damas was not so benevolent as Hades to return her for half the year.

  George had promised to protect her. And he’d failed. There were no words to describe the depth of his despair. Like a dark well, it pulled him down, dragging him deeper. If he remained there, he would certainly drown.

  But he couldn’t give in. Katherine needed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The crushing pain in George’s chest threatened to cripple him into a heap where he stood on a London wharf at sunset the following day. His heartache was so intense, his nerves quivered with anticipation, the need for action, even after a full day of searching the globe. Every den of Damas’s had been searched, from Europe to Asia to his domain in the far reaches of the West Indies. No sign of him. Or her.

  A bell tower tolled. He glanced over his shoulder at Big Ben chiming the hour like a death knell. Six times. The stillness here, the water gurgling by, the pink-orange light as the day ended felt like the curtain drawing to end his life. He wished it were. Then he wouldn’t have to face his unforgivable failure, the Sisyphus-sized burden of what he had let happen to Katherine.

  He must accept the fact that she was truly taken to the underworld. Out of his reach.

  Jude stepped forward, his waistcoat dusty from the day’s journey alongside his friend. “She’s lost, George. Best to let her go. Forget.”

  Uriel, exuding power and strength despite his own weariness from the event with Alexander last night and the long day of traveling, stepped forward. He chuckled low, his silver-tipped cane tapping along the wooden pier as he joined them. Having changed his warrior raiment for full evening attire, he looked the part of an aristocratic gentleman about to launch into a night on the London scene. The sun glinted behind him, casting his silhouette in pure gold.

  “Something humorous?” asked Jude, his tone grave.

  “You.” Uriel gestured toward him with his cane. “You would advise him to let her go.”

  Jude shrugged. “She is lost to us now. There is no way to get her back.”

  “He would as soon cut out his own heart,” said the archangel, stepping in front of the sun’s light, his shadowed face shining clearly. Though he cast illusion to hide his wings, George could still see their outline shimmering in the fading light. Remarkable power radiated from him, even though George knew it was diminished from his day’s work.

  “And this is humorous to you why?” Jude’s expression darkened, his shoulders stiff, posture tight.

  “Because, my friend, one day you will willingly fall into darkness for a woman.” The angel’s eyes glinted an unnatural green, holding secrets untold. “Without a thought, without a care, you will leap into death’s arms and give up your very soul. Because you deem her life worth more than yours, you will not allow her to become lost. You will never simply ‘let her go’.”

  Jude blanched white under the archangel’s premonition, seeing it for the truth it would become. He swallowed hard, cleft chin tipping up in defiance. George wondered when that woman would arrive in Jude’s life, and if the pain of being separated from her would gouge Jude as deeply as the opening chasm in his own breast, widening with every second of the day.

  Uriel turned his gaze on George. “What do you say? Do we let her go?”

  A surge of fresh pain swelled within his bosom. “Never.”

  The hunter and archangel kept silent for a moment, understanding there would be no convincing him of any other course but to find her, to save her. No matter what the cost. Jude spoke first.

  “There is no way for us to enter his lair.”

  Uriel tilted his head toward the city. “Perhaps there is. There is the portal of mirrors in every demon prince’s fortress.”

  “That means nothing,” said Jude. “Flamma of Light cannot enter the house of a demon prince in the underworld.”

  “The only reason is because the wards are too strong,” said Uriel. “We can’t enter Damas’s lair, but if we could find one of his brothers…”

  “What? You think one of the pr
inces plans to invite us down to the underworld into his home? Come on in, gentlemen. I know you’ve imprisoned hundreds of demons in Hell, but not a problem. Have a whisky.” Jude gave a mocking laugh. “That’s not going to happen.”

  A ray of hope shot George through the heart. “Wait. I see what he means. Leverage. The demons like to bargain. We need something to leverage, and we could get in.”

  Jude scratched his jaw, two days’ growth making him look more ruffian than gentleman. “Money and gold won’t interest them. What, then?”

  “We need to capture one of the demon princes,” said George evenly. “Use him as leverage. As a trade.” George couldn’t even say her name aloud. Too painful. But all three present knew who he meant to trade.

  Jude scoffed. “Brotherly love? They care little for each other. Afraid that won’t do it, my friend.”

  “I think it will.” Uriel edged forward, tapping his chin in a uniquely human fashion. He was the only archangel George knew who devoted any time to saving humans, much less mingling with them and mimicking their characteristics and fashion. “You’re thinking of the prophecy, aren’t you, George?”

  He nodded. “Though we have only half the prophecy, what we do know is that two demon princes play a large part. But none of them knows which one the prophecy refers to. They protect one another, not for any sort of brotherly affection, but to protect the outcome of the prophecy. The Flamma of Dark have as much chance at holding the reins as the Light do when the Great War begins.”

  They hadn’t spoken of the Great War between the heavenly and demonic hosts, the war that would be waged for dominion over earth, in quite a long time. The truth was none of them longed for the day to arrive. But it would, nevertheless. Half the prophecy had been lost or stolen by one of the underworld. They still knew enough to realize that all seven princes must be alive when the prophecy came to fruition.

  “George is right.”

  “Great,” said Jude with a roll of the eyes. “And where do you plan on finding a demon prince? Calliban has gone deep underground. We could try Vladek, but his stronghold in Russia is impenetrable. Trust me, I’ve tried to get in.”

  George stepped forward, suddenly excited. “Bamal.”

  “Bamal. I haven’t seen him since the Crusades,” said Uriel.

  “But he has resurfaced, or at least I believe he has. There’s been trouble in the New World. My newest hunter, Dorian, has seen signs of demonic activity around the city of New Orleans.”

  Jude rubbed his day-old beard. “New Orleans? That place is a cesspool. Gambling, drinking, whoring, you name it.”

  “Precisely how demons prefer to spend their time. The new territory is a shiny toy, the perfect bait to lure a demon prince to the surface.” George couldn’t help the excitement from leaking into his voice. Bamal was in New Orleans. He was sure of it.

  “Catching a demon prince is the most difficult thing to do,” said Jude. “Will you help, Uriel?”

  “Of course.” He didn’t hesitate, nodding in agreement. “But first, I must rest. After making Alexander, I need a day at the very least.”

  A twinge of regret worried George’s mind about his descendant, Alexander Godfrey. All he’d wanted to do in coming to London was save the young man from Damas’s clutches. Because of his fiery temper, George had risked Katherine’s life as well as Alexander’s. Impetuosity had gotten his love stolen from him and turned his last remaining kin into a hunter. Damas had won. The line of George Draconis was broken for good. Alexander would not have a family of his own to love, cherish and watch over as he grew old.

  He couldn’t dwell on that now. What was done was done.

  “Fine, then,” said George. “We meet at Thornton at dawn.”

  With a stiff nod, George sifted away, unable to even look at the glorious day shining down on the world. He had to escape.

  Once in his bedchamber, he locked it and headed straight for the carafe of brandy on the sideboard. He needed to numb the helpless feeling crawling around in his gut like a poisonous serpent. He knocked back a glass, relishing the burn down his throat.

  Damas would twist Katherine’s mind, then use her body. Often. He gulped down a second glass. A third. The pain wouldn’t ease. He was responsible. Damas had latched on to her from the moment George escorted Katherine onto the dance floor at the Weathersby ball. How could he have been so foolish? To let her fall into the hands of the most cunning, the most deceptive of them all? Fury lanced his body from the inside out.

  He spun on his heel and launched the glass at the fireplace, shattering it into a thousand shards. Pieces scattered onto the floor, drawing his eye down. Something lay on the carpet at the end of the bed. He leaned onto one knee and lifted it. A white hair ribbon. The one he’d pulled from Katherine’s braid before he’d loved her well into the night. He’d wanted to see her golden hair in all its glory. And so he had. He pressed the ribbon to his mouth, inhaling her honey-flower scent. Crumbling to both knees, he clenched the small, silken fabric in his hand. And wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Falling, falling, falling. Swept away in the arms of Damas, Katherine was taken farther and farther from the world she knew, from George—her friend and protector, her love. Gray shapes blurred past them in the Void. Her slippers fell from her feet. The darkness swallowed her as she fell deeper and deeper into an abyss from which she feared she would never rise again. If she did, she would never be the same. She wasn’t a fool. Damas hated George. And he wanted her. She knew what that meant. But where was he taking her?

  They finally righted on solid ground with a splintering crack into the night sky. Wait. There was no sky. No stars. No moon above. Only an endless canopy of black, as deep and dark as a monstrous nightmare. A building rose out of the gloom ahead. An unnatural haze of deep purple illuminated the formidable fortress.

  Damas whispered from behind her, still gripping her waist, “Your new home, my lady.”

  Beyond a tall wrought-iron gate, a castle rose out of indigo mist, its knifelike spires stabbing upward into the abyss. Tall, pointed windows glowed with white light. She couldn’t imagine what creatures lived there. Damas took her hand and tried to tug her along the dark path. Frozen in terror and shock, she wouldn’t budge.

  “You can either come with me or stay out here.” His voice remained soft and calm, but an edge of promise that he would indeed leave her here to fend for herself sparked a new panic.

  She twisted around to look behind her. A great forest of lifeless trees stretched into the far distance until she could see no more. Pairs of red eyes blinked in those woods. She sensed the gazes of foul creatures watching them.

  He tugged her hand again. This time, she went. The ground was hard and cold beneath her bare feet. She stumbled on a protruding rock when they reached a gate.

  “Oh, my lady. I apologize.” He looked down at her feet before sweeping her up into his arms, cradling her against him. “I didn’t realize you’d lost your shoes on the trip down.” He actually smiled at her. She wondered if he was mad. How could a villain smile at his captive?

  She said nothing, trying to reason through her fear that this was real and tangible, trying to keep her head in this otherworldly place. As they drew closer to the castle doors, Katherine discovered something she had not expected. The arched doors with intricate carvings and stained glass windows depicting…angels—magnificent in flight—were beautiful. From afar, this place was a foreboding and impenetrable fortress with thick walls and tall battlements. Up close, it was a work of art. She wondered what it might look like in the daylight. A glance upward told her no daylight ever reached this place.

  “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “My home. Now your home.”

  He was a demon prince. There was only one place he would truly call home.

  “Hell?” she asked, voice quivering.

  “I realize th
at term may strike fear into you, as it would most God-fearing humans. However, it has never been such for me. Here, you will be my queen—worshipped and adored.”

  “By whom? Other demons and beasts of the underworld?” She could not restrain the contempt from her voice.

  He gripped her tighter to his chest, drawing her gaze to his face—pale even where there was no light.

  “By me, my lady.”

  His clear blue-green eyes set in a perfectly beautiful face were a mockery of what he was. What she thought he was. Her pulse skittered faster.

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not your lady.”

  His gaze fell to her lips, lingered, then trailed back up. His mouth quirked on one side as if he would say something. He didn’t, but marched on.

  The door opened as they stepped closer. A servant—humanlike but not quite—closed the door behind them and latched it tight when they entered. The unearthly servant was dressed in butler’s livery, but his face was pasty gray, the skin sagging, the eye sockets sunk into his head, gaze glowing an unnatural yellow. If this creature had once been human, he had not been so for a very long time.

  “Benjamin, my lady requires a hot bath. Will you see that Laurie draws one immediately in my bedchamber?”

  Benjamin gave a bow, turned toward the wall and literally walked into it, disappearing into the gray-washed stone. Katherine gawked at the spot where the demonic creature with a very human name had vanished through a solid wall.

  “Let me go.” Katherine struggled in his arms till he put her down. She backed away a few steps. “I’m not taking a bath in your bedchamber. Are you mad? You think I will give myself freely to you?”

  He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Do not worry. I will give you the privacy you require.” He stepped closer, his fine Grecian face calm and serene. “But you will give yourself to me. Freely.”