His manners were like something out of a fairy-tale book, yet at the same time, I knew he was no Prince Charming. The power vibrating off him was more akin to that of a potent and dangerous villain.
“Of course.” I gestured toward the bedroom. “Thank you. He’s in here.”
With a regal bow of the head, he swept into the next room, the tips of his wings brushing the floor. I followed with Kat and George behind me.
Uriel walked around to the head of the bed and placed his broad hand on Jude’s forehead. “Has he stirred at all?”
“No,” I replied. “Not yet.” Dread sank like an iron anchor in the pit of my stomach.
Head down in concentration, Uriel’s skin beneath a gray sweater and black slacks began to glow, filling the room with a golden hue. A responding light, tinted toward the color of flames, emitted from Jude’s scarred skin. A vibration shook the room. The comb on the nightstand rattled to the edge until it fell off onto the wooden floor. Jude’s chest rose, his neck arched, and his mouth opened in a soundless sigh before he lowered back into his lifeless state once again.
The aura of light and rippling Flamma power diffused until it dissipated altogether. I found myself breathing faster and having no idea why. The sheer intensity of the energy in the room vibrated through my chest, zinging my underlight to a supernova glow.
Uriel removed his hand and turned to us, his handsome face fixed in an expression of indifference.
“Well?” I asked. “How is he?”
He rubbed the pads of his fingers and thumbs together in a slow movement, his brow quirking in concentration. “He isn’t dead inside.”
My gut clenched. The idea that there was nothing left of Jude to bring back sent a chill down my spine.
“But?” George prompted him to continue, for the angel’s gaze fell back to Jude.
“I sense him within, but he is weak. Some of his Flamma power has died altogether.”
“What! How can that be possible?”
Uriel’s eyes transformed to a stormy midnight blue. Some sort of aftereffect of his power, perhaps? His mouth tightened to a line as he turned his gaze back to the still form of Jude, his profile a perfect silhouette of masculine beauty. “Think of the body as a generator. The body isn’t the source of the power. The mind, the heart, the soul is. The body keeps the power charged and primed for use.”
I tucked my hands into my hoodie pockets to keep from fidgeting nervously. “So when the body is weakened, the power stops flowing.”
“Exactly.” Uriel turned away from Jude, rolling his shoulders, then lifting his wings before tightening them once more to his back.
“You made him. Can’t you give him his power back? Maybe that’s all he needs to wake up.”
“No,” said George, stepping up next to me. “He’s fragile, Genevieve. The power of making could crush what will to live he has left.”
“Precisely,” agreed Uriel. “And also he—”
The sharp pause created palpable tension I could’ve cut with my katana.
“And he what?” I asked, stepping forward and gripping a foot post of the antique bed.
Uriel cleared his throat, wiping his expression clean of any anxiety, making me think I’d probably just imagined it. “The truth is, Jude’s soul is alive and well. But he’s burrowed himself so deep within his own mind, I’m not sure he will ever come up to the surface. I’m not sure he even wants to.”
“No,” I whispered, afraid to admit the possibility even to myself.
Uriel’s midnight gaze fell on me. “And you must prepare yourself for the reality that he may not come back to us at all.”
I wanted to punch him in the face, scream till my throat bled, cry till there was nothing left of me that was sane or coherent. If Jude never came back, I’d be lost. Alone. Kat stared in silent grief, as did George, neither wanting to admit defeat.
Rather than do any of those fury-filled things trembling through my frame, I moved around Uriel and placed my hand on Jude’s head. No response.
“He will come back,” I said.
“If he does,” Uriel rumbled softly, more for me than anyone else in the room “it is up to you to bring him back.”
“I know.”
After a stifling, uncomfortable moment, George shifted toward the next room. “Why don’t we come in here and discuss the other matter?”
I glanced up. What other matter?
We filed into the cozy den. Mira had made her way back from the outdoors and perched on her favorite chair back, gazing out at the whirling snow.
“Would anyone like coffee?”
“I would,” said Kat.
George and Uriel, standing near the hearth, shook their heads. After pouring and handing Kat a sugared-and-creamed cup of coffee, I brought my own and settled in the old, comfy chair Jude used to occupy.
“This is about the necklace, I presume.” I took a sip of the warm coffee. “What did you discover?”
Uriel reached into his pocket and pulled from it my opal pendant. He handed it over to me. The stone was remarkably cooler than usual. Perhaps from the weather? I doubted that. My VS hummed, approving of the change in the object.
“You removed the dark essence?”
“Yes,” said Uriel. He paced closer, a grave expression in place. “I also identified whose essence I believe was residing there.”
I straightened and perched on the edge of the chair. “Well?”
“Yeah. Come on, stop stalling,” said Kat, sounding more like herself than the mournful woman who’d walked in here a while ago.
“Just as every Flamma carries an aura and emits a signature that is all his or her own, so does the spawn of every Flamma.”
“I know this already,” I snapped, my nerves threadbare. “I mean, I’m sorry. Please…go on.”
Uriel arched a dark blond brow at me but didn’t chastise me for my impatience. “It appears that Damas has paid you a visit while you were unaware.”
“Damas!” screeched Kat, tipping her coffee over and sloshing half of it onto the floor. “Oh shit.” She stood up. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, setting my own down, grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping the floor.
“I’ll do it,” she said, trembling, eyes darting.
She needed something to do to hide her anxiety at the mention of his name. And I knew all too well why.
“Why would Damas inject his essence into the opal after it was lost in the Void? That makes no sense. There’s no guarantee I’d ever get it back. Did he use Jude to try to get to me or something?”
The idea sent a primal fear shivering up my spine. Had Damas set his sights on me and I had no idea?
With his back to the fireplace, Uriel stood, feet set apart in a stance that exuded both strength and calm. Hands clasped in front of him, he said, “I’m not sure if you understand, Genevieve.” He never said my name. This was serious. He had my full attention. “Damas put the essence there before it was taken into the Void.”
I flinched. “What? But that’s impossible.”
“No. It’s certain.”
“When? How? I’ve never met him. And when would he have gotten the chance?”
“Where did you keep it?” asked George.
“At my apartment, which is cast in serious wards by Jude.”
“Did you ever leave it somewhere outside the wards?” asked Uriel.
“No. Never. It was either in my apartment or around my neck.”
“Genevieve, this is important.” I’d seen charming George, battle George, and worried George, but this was entirely new. The expression of fear he tried to suppress made my heartbeat slam a bit harder inside my rib cage. “I want you to take some time and write down everywhere you went with the necklace, what happened in those events, and who you came in contact with.”
I nodded, my throat thick with a new horror, that Damas had found a way into my life without me ever noticing. They all called him the prince of deception. And th
e cleverest of them all. About that I now had no doubt. An adversary I’d never laid eyes on, and yet he’d managed to taint my prized possession with his evil.
Kat folded the kitchen napkin and set it on the coffee table, recoiling back into herself. I hated that the mere mention of Damas shut her down. But I also understood why.
“More importantly,” said Uriel, taking a step away from the fireplace toward the door, “strengthen yourself for the eclipse. The Blood Moon will rise in a mere ten days. I understand you will remain here and tend to Jude. This is the best course, as you are well protected at this cottage. I will cast my own wards to ensure your safety.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling humbled by his generosity and kindness, especially after spending so much energy being angry at the absent archangel at the beginning of our trials.
“Right. Let’s let Genevieve have a little peace, then, shall we?” said Kat, leading the way to the door. Kat hugged me in silence and slipped out into the blistering cold behind Uriel.
George turned, his hand on the edge of the door. “Glad to see you made it back safe and sound.”
“Thank you.”
He quirked a brow. “How did you get back, by the way?”
I smiled, having already come up with an easy explanation. “Mira has many gifts.”
He glanced back inside. “Hmm. Good to know.”
I’d decided not to tell him or anyone else of the pact I’d made with Acheron, because there was nothing that could be done to change it. I’d made the bargain, and I planned to see it through.
He reached over and brushed a peck on my cheek. “If anyone can bring him back, Genevieve darling, it’s you.”
I smiled, swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in my throat. Then they were gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Over the next two days, while the gale howled and snow poured down on our little cottage, I cleaned the place from top to bottom, trying to keep myself busy. I cleared the living space and moved through the kata my father had first taught me when I was a mere five years old. The rhythm and focus required to perform the movements with sharp precision kept me from going mad in those moments when I wanted to scream my frustration to the world.
I’d sent texts to both Mindy and to Dad, assuring them that I was settling in my dorm room and life was amazing in London. What a joke. I’d become the queen of liars since all this began on my twentieth birthday, hiding the world of angels and demons to protect those I loved from the terrifying reality. A reality I knew we couldn’t ignore forever.
Mindy had demanded pictures, so one morning I’d had to bundle up tight and sift to Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circle and Buckingham Palace to pose in recognizable places and ask strangers to shoot the pictures with my phone. After I sent those pics to both Mindy and Dad, they texted that they were happy I was having such a wonderful time. I tried not to cry.
The outing had taken me all of an hour, but I was in anxiety-ridden agony the entire time. What if Jude had woken up and needed me? I’d forced Mira to stand watch and let me know if anything happened. When I’d returned, she’d remained fixed in the bedroom, dozing near the fire. And Jude remained unchanged.
It was late afternoon of the second day as I finished up an hour of exercise routines and was heading for the shower when a piercing jolt pounded me in place. My underlight snapped on in a millisecond. I was being summoned by Dommiel, his signature screaming through my senses.
“Mira!”
She flapped into the living area from the bedroom and perched on her favorite chair as I sat and slipped on the boots I’d just taken off.
“Go find Kat and bring her to me immediately. I don’t care what she’s doing. She needs to meet me in New Orleans, and then you come back here and watch over Jude. This is very important. Do you understand?”
I think my bird rolled her orange eyes at me before she sifted away. The fact that I had a snarky bird didn’t surprise me. After all, she was mine. I strapped on my back harness for my katana and slipped another dagger into my boot sheath. Leaving Jude for any reason was like a stab to the chest, but the call zinging down my spine was unavoidable. The blood bond was stronger than I’d imagined.
I ran out of the cottage beyond the wards, still wondering how Mira managed to defy this barrier, and sifted onto the street corner of Toulouse, one block down from The Dungeon. The drunken crowd of a Friday night whooped and hollered down Bourbon Street, but this club appeared abandoned. No demon bouncer waited at the door. Just before I stepped into the darkened corridor, an electric snap sounded on my right, and someone grabbed my shoulder. I spun and deflected the arm to find Kat beside me and Mira on her shoulder.
“Whoa, chickadee! What the hell is going on? Mira swooped in while I was in conference with Dorian, grabbed me by the shoulder and brought me here. He’s going to be all pissy with me leaving like that.”
“Why? Is he your keeper?”
“Hardly. He just hates missing any action. So why am I here? And why are you not with Jude?”
“Mira. Go back home. Watch over Jude.”
With a click of her beak, telling me in her own way she thought I was being a bitch, she sifted away.
“Dommiel needs me. And something is definitely wrong.”
Crowds strolled the well-lit strip of Bourbon Street a block down the road, but here, all was dark and empty. It was as if even the tourists detected something not quite right in this direction. Kat and I stared down the corridor, where nothing and no one moved.
“Well, it’s certainly odd not to hear their screeching nails-on-chalkboard music,” Kat said, whipping out a thin twelve-inch rapier. “Let’s go.”
I led the way, following the blood-bond beacon flashing its SOS like a potion of dread pouring through my veins. Our boots echoed in the narrow corridor. When we stepped through the wide entrance beyond the courtyard, a wave of sulfur smashed into us, the residual burn-off when demons were expelled back to hell.
“Damn,” whispered Kat. “Some serious demon activity.”
I hardly noticed the smell anymore when dealing with a demon or two, but this had been more than one. Seeing as none of Dommiel’s faithful red-eyed followers greeted us, I could guess who’d been cast out. But by whom? And why?
Two dead bodies lay on the floor, either human hosts who’d been carrying lower demons or humans serving Dommiel. A girl sniveled in wide-eyed terror under a bar-top table. Kat and I stood perfectly still, listening with weapons in hand. My VS hummed, casting the dark room with a luminescent glow. Just as I took one step toward a stairwell, an ear-splitting bellow penetrated the walls.
Kat and I instantly looked at each other.
“His office,” I said.
We raced through the club and leapt an overturned table to the hallway toward Dommiel’s office. The door hung off its hinges, two dead demon hosts on the floor at the entrance. Pale light fell into the corridor, a supernatural aura reeking with malevolent power. Whoever or whatever was in there was no lower demon. He was of the highest order. A prince, I was sure of it. All my instincts coalesced into this one thought, my VS rippling through my frame like an electric waterfall, preparing me for battle.
I glanced at Kat—her face contorting with flashes of fear—before I nudged her with my sword arm. “Now.”
“No, Gen!”
I was already hurdling over the thugs in the doorway, unable to process why she might want me to stop as I launched into the room. A tall, skinny, red-eyed demon met me with a punch to the chest. I knew him, the one who’d gotten away that day we chased Bleed and his gangly ugly-ass crony. I sensed Kat at my back grappling with another demon. With two swings of my blade, I impaled the skinny one, his face registering he was a goner a split second before I incinerated him into ash.
Spinning, I found myself facing two situations that jarred me into frozen shock. One was Kat on her knees, facing me, with Bleed’s hand fisted in her hair and his blade at her throat, a maniacal grin creasing his fac
e. I’d never seen Kat bested by anyone. Ever. The second was the gruesome scene of Dommiel staked to his office wall behind the desk, crucifixion style, pinned through his wrists and ankles. One of his eye sockets was empty, dark blood dripping down his face. His call for help still resonated in my veins, a plea to save him, free him. But the most puzzling and horrifying thing of all that had me motionless and silent was the man who stood in front of Dommiel—a dagger poised in his hand to cut out the demon’s second eye.
Only now did his signature reach my senses above the miasma of sulfur and black blood scenting the air—white winter and deep woods. His mask of serenity and compassion had fallen away, revealing his angelic perfection in an uglier, ruddier light.
“Thomas?”
Kat groaned—a deep, heartrending sound—before she choked and coughed.
“What’s happening to her!”
I lurched toward Kat—bewildered and terrified. None of this made sense. Bleed pressed his blade just under her chin. A droplet of red slid down the column of her white throat.
“Drop your weapon, Vessel,” demanded Bleed.
“Thomas, what’s going on? That’s Kat, my friend. Tell him to let her go.”
“Drop the sword, Genevieve,” he said, his own blade still fisted in his white-knuckled grip.
“You’re working for the demons?” I asked, unable to comprehend how far his betrayal had gone, how far he’d fallen.
Bleed cackled and shook his head as if chastising a child, his purple hair sliding over his shoulders like silk.
Thomas smiled, his signature filling the room with cold dominance. “No, sweetheart. I’m not working for the demons.”
The condescending blade of his voice cut me. Horrorstruck and hyperventilating, Kat riveted her attention on Thomas. Something was so terribly off.
“Kat—” I started forward but Bleed stopped me again by tightening his grip on my friend.
“Drop your sword,” said Thomas, his words rolling deep and guttural, like chains on rock.
I dropped it to the floor, my VS burning through my body. A warning, fire bright.
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