Damnation's Door: A Cursed Book

by Amy Braun

  I looked away from the slayers, and saw a few people peeking out of the condos. Survivors making themselves known, curious about the fight, and wondering when they could become part of it.

  No, I thought. No, this isn’t right. This can’t be happening unless…

  I looked at the slayers again, and I knew, without a doubt, what was causing these dark impulses. Why the crowd was moving quickly, why Warrick was chuckling under his breath and walking toward a smiling Jackson with a knife.

  But I didn’t know what it would do to the group storming toward the backs of the slayers. They were the only reason Sephiel stayed in place. We shared one short, terrified glance at each other before he tightened his hands around his swords, and I held my hatchet like a lifeline.

  The angels had arrived.

  Chapter 17

  The first thing I tried to do was warn Warrick, but the moment I opened my mouth was the moment he charged his friend.

  The two of them erupted into a fierce battle that sparked the rest of the observing crowd into action. The people living in the condos raced forward with a short battle cry, clenching their fists or clutching makeshift knives and weapons. I started moving for Warrick, desperate to protect him, but Carver got in front of me.

  He swung a massive combat knife at my throat. I leaned back before it could cut me. Carver kicked my stomach and knocked me back, driving in for the kill. All around me I could hear the crowd shouting and screaming and punching each other. It wasn’t long before I smelled blood. I lost sight of Warrick as Carver lashed out at me.

  He was nearly twice my age, but he was stronger and faster than I expected. I was struggling to keep up, knowing the angels were going to be here any second. I had to get Carver away from me and take the others to safety. I had screwed this up royally, not knowing that I had walked into yet another trap until it snapped closed over me.

  But when I came out of a block and slugged Carver in the jaw, it felt good. I’d wanted to punch the asshole in the face for so long that I didn’t bother holding back my smile. He fought furiously, reversing his knife and aiming it for my ribs. I hooked the blade with the curve of my hatchet and swung it away from my body. The knife flew from his grip and clattered onto the ground.

  Carver growled and punched me in the cheek. Stars exploded in my vision and I swayed on my feet. Carver placed his hands on either side of my head and began to twist.

  I panicked, feeling sharp pain in my neck as it was wrenched to the side. I reacted fast, stomping on his foot and driving my fist into his chin. He released me and I whirled around, slamming a roundhouse kick into his temple.

  Carver dropped to one hand and one knee to catch himself. He spat blood and glared at me furiously. I smiled down on him, welcoming the darkness ebbing off him like a pulse. I breathed it in, craved it even though my soul knew how wrong it was.

  Carver tried to get up too quickly, unprepared when I kicked him in the face. His nose crunched under my boot and he toppled back onto the ground.

  “Didn’t think you’d ever get beat up by a girl, did you Carve?” I laughed.

  His face was furious, and this time I knew he was going to kill me when he stood up.

  Or he would have, if a scream hadn’t cut through the air like a knife.

  It was an ear-piercing wail of agony that rippled through the entire crowd, silencing them just for a moment. We all looked in its direction.

  Elle was in the grip of an angel, her back arched as she stared at the sword shoved clean through her, blood slicking and dripping from the tip protruding out her back. Michael stood in front of her, watching her scream with dead eyes. His wrist twisted violently, and Elle slipped off the blade, dropping into a motionless heap.

  “No!” Carver screamed from in front of me.

  Michael didn’t even seem to hear him. He watched Elle’s body begin to corrode and blacken, as if she had been a demon herself.

  Or if a fragment had been fused with her bloodstream.

  Carver rushed Michael, oblivious to the other angels fending off the humans stupid enough to attack them, though I didn’t see Raphael anywhere.

  Jackson must have escaped Warrick, because he was rushing the archangel with a knife in his hands. I thought for a second that Michael didn’t see him coming, and debated on warning him.

  Then Michael turned and slammed the palm of his free hand into Jackson’s chest. The heavyset man flew back like a tossed ragdoll, landing hard on the unforgiving pavement.

  The rest of the crowd began to disperse, either realizing the angels were unstoppable, or that they were killing people with fragments inside of them. Warrick rushed to help his friend, stopping only when an angel appeared in front of him and pressed the tip of her sword at his chest.

  Carver was running toward one of the fences between two of the condos, so I chased after him. At least until an angel got in my way and pointed a dagger at my throat. Over the stern bastard’s shoulder, I watched Carver vault the fence and disappear from sight.

  “Shit,” I hissed. I glared at the angel. “You have no idea what you let get away, asshole.”

  The angel didn’t respond. I turned around and watched an angel drag Max over by his arm. Sephiel faced two angels, gripping his short swords tightly and looking between them as if deciding who to take on first.

  But we weren’t going to be fighting anyone anytime soon. The angels outnumbered us two to one, and even though they were human now, they were still top-notch warriors. And that wasn’t taking into account that Michael, the leader of the Heavenly Host and strongest of the archangels, could still crush me between his fingers if I pissed him off enough.

  Which was a likely scenario.

  Michael looked at Jackson, who was starting to get to his feet. Warrick tried to step around the angel to his friend, but Jackson snarled angrily. Warrick froze in place. He looked stunned, and distraught.

  “You have a fragment inside of you,” Michael said.

  Jackson turned to look at him. “How’d you know, goose?”

  Michael didn’t flinch at the insult, but some of the other angels scowled.

  “I sensed it in you as I sensed it in her,” he said, nudging the pile of ash with the tip of his shoe.

  I looked down at the remains of Elle Carver. I’d gotten along with her worse than I had with Rorikel. I don’t know what it was about me that set her off, but it was insignificant now. I thought about her scream, the horrific way she’d died with Michael crushing her heart. I knew how the fragment would have affected her, that she must have given into it to spare herself pain. I couldn’t say I blamed her.

  “It was a gift from Lucifer,” Jackson said. I looked up and saw the wicked smile on his face. There was no trace of the kind, gentle man I had met only weeks earlier.

  “Lucifer does not give gifts,” Michael corrected. “He causes pain and chaos through elaborate deceits. You are a victim of one such deception.”

  Jackson was shaking his head. “No,” he told the archangel. “It hurt at first, but then he took away the pain and gave us a purpose. He made us stronger, and gave us a chance to fulfill his plan.” He met my eyes, and smiled coldly. “It’s coming together exactly the way he wants it to.”

  I forced myself not to be disturbed by what he said. “What was your plan?” I asked.

  Jackson grinned. “Start trouble in places you knew. Send you a sign. Make you one of us. Then take away the one thing you love most.”

  My mask slipped for a fraction of a second. It was the only opening Jackson needed to taunt me.

  “Did you really think she’d stay with you? After everything she’s done, after fighting her nature for so long, she gave in to what she really was. I saw it happen with my own eyes. Your sister stood in front of Lucifer and begged– begged– to be at his side. All she asked for in return was that you and your band of misfits live.”

  It took every ounce of my strength to keep the mask on my face. Inside, I was crumbling. Betrayal chipped away at my
heart, each piece splintering inside of me like broken glass. I tried to tell myself that Jackson was lying. The Dro I knew and loved would never give up. She would never quit. She was drawing Lucifer away from me to take a shot at him herself.

  I can’t fight this anymore, Connie.

  The moment my hand slipped from hers, I should have known that I was doing irreparable damage. Dro needed me to anchor her, to let her know that she would still be loved no matter what horrible things she had done.

  And I took my hand away from hers.

  I stood there and stared at Jackson, inches away from the edge. I didn’t dare speak. I didn’t trust whatever would come out of my mouth.

  Thankfully, Michael was eager to talk.

  “Why did Lucifer choose you?”

  Jackson sneered at him. “You jealous, goose?”

  Michael’s followers bristled at the remark. Even Sephiel shot Jackson a dirty look. But the archangel didn’t even blink.

  He narrowed his eyes, and Jackson suddenly grimaced. Michael must have been digging into his mind, going straight for the truth instead of bothering to ask more questions. When Jackson hissed sharply, Warrick tried to run to help him. Two angels grabbed his arms and pulled him back. He glowered at them, but they refused to let him go.

  After about a minute, Michael relaxed. Jackson nearly collapsed.

  “Your plan was to deceive Lucifer,” Michael said. “You believed that infiltrating the ranks of the Antichrist’s inner circle would provide you with a method of defeating him. So you and the other humans got close. You warned them it was becoming too dangerous, but they did not heed you. Then one day you got too close. Two humans obeying Lucifer’s orders tricked you and placed the fragment inside of you. At first you fought the pain, but then it became unbearable, and you succumbed to it. You were instructed to disperse around the city and draw sinners to their deaths. You became the device of his corruption, spreading it like a disease while targeting this group.”

  I forgot my heartache momentarily. The old Jackson said the slayers had come here around the time the Heaven Gate was burned. That was more than enough time to infiltrate the Blood Thorns, think they were earning their trust, then have it turned on them to become puppets. Meeting Elle a few days ago no longer seemed like a coincidence. Did she have a fragment inside her then? Did she give a signal to have the demons appear and attack us? Did they have any idea what would happen to me, or was that a plan to be played fast and loose?

  It didn’t matter. From the look on Jackson’s face, it was all true.

  Michael took a step closer to the demon slayer. “Your soul is being tainted, Jackson Argyle. But it can be saved.” Michael lifted his huge silver broadsword, still stained with Elle’s blood. Warrick rushed for his friend again, but two more angels hurried over and grabbed his arms. He shook them and tried to break free, but they were too strong. I took a step forward, but the angel carefully poked me in the neck with his dagger.

  Jackson looked at the massive, bloody sword in the archangel’s hand. “I think we have different definitions of being saved.”

  “Your death will have meaning, “Michael promised. “You shall eliminate a piece of Lucifer’s Key. You shall help in closing the Hell Gate and saving your race.”

  “You can’t be serious about this,” I burst.

  Michael snapped his head at me and glared murderously. “The fragment has diluted into his bloodstream. There is no retrieving it now.”

  “You don’t know that,” I insisted. “I had a fragment inside of me. It was taken out, and turned to ash, and I’m still standing here.”

  “You lie.”

  “No, Commander Michael,” Sephiel backed me up. “Constance speaks the truth. I saw it with my own eyes.” He looked at Jackson. “It was… unpleasant for her, yet she managed to survive.”

  “Because she must have resisted the lure of the fragment,” Michael reasoned. “That is impressive, but it is too late for this man.”

  Michael raised his sword to Jackson’s chest. Warrick lunged again, and was pulled back harder than before. The angels shoved him down until he was on his knees and the sword was against his throat.

  “Please,” my lover called, “there has to be another way!”

  Michael didn’t look at Warrick. He was completely focused on Jackson.

  “There isn’t.”

  It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment Jackson was standing in front of Michael, unable to escape the circle of angels. The next moment, the tip of a sword was poking through Jackson’s back. Warrick screamed from pain and rage. Michael ignored him, holding Jackson in place with his free hand on his shoulder. The demon slayer’s eyes bulged. He looked down at the sword lodged in his torso, like he was trying to understand how it got there. His face mirrored Elle’s, and I felt a horrible twist in my stomach.

  “You have done your kind a great service,” Michael told the man dying on his blade. “I regret we could not have saved you sooner.”

  Michael stepped back and pulled the sword out of Jackson’s body. The big demon slayer collapsed off it, landing on the ground in a heap. His hands went to the enormous gash in his chest. Blood began to seep through his fingers. He blinked, and tilted his head toward Warrick.

  His friend struggled and fought the angels, who were having a difficult time holding him down. Eventually they gave up on niceties and punched him in the stomach. Warrick grunted from the hit and dropped to his knees again. Another hit to his face kept him dazed.

  “Sorry, John,” Jackson slurred. His skin began to crack.

  Warrick lifted his head. His eyes glistened as he watched his best friend decay. In mere seconds, all that was left of Jackson Argyle was a pile of black ash with dots of red. Warrick lost all of his fight, hanging his head to hide his sorrow.

  “Two Keys have been destroyed,” Michael announced, sliding the bloody sword into the scabbard on his back. “Three, if I am to believe you, Sephiel. Which I am not inclined to do.” His eyes shifted to all of us, to Sephiel’s shocked expression, to Max’s nervous glances, to my steel-eyed rage, to Warrick’s obvious grief.

  “You shall return with us to draw out Lucifer’s spawn. This time you shall not escape, as Raphael is no longer able to take pity on you.”

  Sephiel stared at his former leader curiously. Then he paled, and his eyes widened with horror.

  “You… You killed him?” This was the first time I ever heard Sephiel stutter.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed furiously. I wondered if it was a shield for his sorrow.

  “No, Sephiel. You killed him. When you let the Heaven Gate be destroyed, you killed us all.”

  Chapter 18

  The angels led us through the streets as if they’d lived on them all their lives. I should have been impressed at their navigation, but the entire group had collapsed in some way. Max was as terrified as I’d ever seen him. Sephiel was trapped in a stunned silence. Warrick was lost in mourning.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about what Jackson said about my sister. That she gave herself up to Lucifer because she couldn’t fight what she was anymore. I didn’t want to believe it, but death and destruction had followed Dro ever since she was a child. It wasn’t the first time she had taken a risk to save my life…

  I had to threaten Matt before he let me out of his truck. I gave him the usual spiel– that I would kill him and everyone he loves if he told anyone who I was, who I was looking for, and where he’d dropped me off. I had no intention of acting on any of my threats, but he didn’t need to know that.

  Dro had taken refuge in a dilapidated motel in Stanton. It was one of those places that you only had to look at once to know the beds would vibrate if you had a quarter to spare.

  The woman behind the counter of the front desk looked like a cross between a librarian and a drag queen. She wore thick, square glasses, a blindingly neon pink sweater, chunky gold jewelry, and had painted her eyelids baby blue. She glanced up at me from her gossip magazine, scrunching up her
lips and causing her cheap lipstick to crack.

  “Looking for a room?” she asked without interest.

  “No,” I replied. “Looking for a person. A teenage girl with white hair.”

  The woman scowled and tossed her hair to the side, showing off its cheap blonde streaks in a motion that she was twenty years too old for. She ignored me and went back to her magazine.

  “Ever consider that the people who come here are looking for privacy?” she commented in a bland tone.

  I matched it when I answered, “Ever consider I’ll smash your face into the desk if you keep ignoring me?”