Forsaken_Cursed Angel Watchtower 12

by Gilbert, L. B.

  “No. They’re not a danger themselves. Objects aren’t subject to the Firehorse curse.”

  “I know that,” she scoffed. “But didn’t you say last night that these things poison the air around them?”

  “Don’t worry. The wards I’ve placed on these walls should be enough to hold the corruption these cause at bay—long enough for us to go through them anyway.”

  She headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. “So I guess I meet you back here tonight?”

  He nodded. “Come whenever you are free. I’ll inform Marcus you’re to be granted access at any time.”

  “Bet he’ll love that.”

  “He’ll deal with it,” Ash replied, walking her out. They parted ways downstairs, where Marcus was waiting with the location of their information.

  Ash flew out to meet the drunk, who at eight in the morning was still inebriated—at least when he first arrived. Serge sobered rapidly when he realized who had come calling.

  “T-t-they went that way,” the drunk told him, pointing to the left where the block ended abruptly in a pile of rubble.

  Ash squinted at the derelict buildings in the distance. “What’s over there? Anything still standing?”

  “Just the old apartment building. Not sturdy to live in so people don’t,” he said, clutching a half-empty bottle to his chest.

  Annoyed his people weren’t more productive, Ash dismissed him, heading out in the direction of the building on his own.

  Despite the relative prosperity of this district, this particular corner was an island of neglect and ruin. Ash climbed up the first-floor stairs of the derelict building, wondering how many pockets of devastation were left in the city.

  Too many. That was damn certain.

  The upper levels were empty save for the occasional rat. He was about to give up the report of prisoners as a drunkard’s fantasy when he went down to the basement.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he saw signs of recent movement. The dust in the room had tracks running throughout with footprints in multiple sizes. And there were voices. They were distant, coming from somewhere below his feet.

  Don’t kill anyone. Not right away. If the jailers were down there, he’d capture and interrogate them. And whoever was calling the shots would pay.

  Ash had left his sword behind in his Belleville room, but he had his dagger. Not that he needed it. For this, his fists would do. He was looking forward to it.

  The volume of voices rose as he opened the door to the sub-basement. He couldn’t see anything past the threshold. There was a massive curtain blocking the way.

  Furious, Ash rushed forward, tossing the fabric aside with one hand, holding his knife ready with the other. But there was no one there.

  The sound of steel clanging boomed in his ears, covering the voices momentarily.

  What the hell? He was inside a pentagram, demonic runes written at every point. There was a little box in the center. The voices were coming from it.

  “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to learn the engineers have finally succeeded in their efforts to repair the radio tower,” a voice said.

  Titouan appeared from behind a pillar with Kline at his side.

  Ash lunged, his wings spreading to close the distance between them in a jump. He was caught short, hitting an unseen barrier with a crash that made his skin pop and sizzle.

  Bordelle. He was trapped.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he stormed. “Release me!”

  Klein and Titouan clapped their hands over their ears. But whatever they had drawn on the floor muted his true voice. To his ears, it had full angelic resonance, but the two men weren’t falling to the floor, bleeding from their eyes.

  When he closed his mouth, they tentatively took their hands off their ears, skirting the edge of the pentagram to get as far from him as possible. This was demon craft—an angel trap.

  He’d seen one before. They were unbreakable from the inside.

  “How are you doing this?” His eyes narrowed on their sallow faces.

  Klein beamed. “We’ve been watching you for a long time. We knew all those demon volumes you stashed all over the city would come in handy someday.”

  His mouth dropped open. The little thieves. “How dare you spy on me.” Ash spat on the ground. It hit the barrier with a shower of sparks. “And how dare you use this filth to trap me. What the hell are you trying to accomplish?”

  Titouan gave him a short bow. “In a word, freedom.”

  Ash laughed outright. “I think not. You don’t know the meaning of the word. What you want is to rule this city in my stead… How the hell do you think to accomplish that with the Firehorse curse unbroken?”

  “Well—” Titouan began.

  “Oh, shut up,” Ash said, cutting him off. “You didn’t think of this on your own,” he sneered, looking past them. “I know you’re here, Mazarin. Show yourself!”

  The last councilman slipped from behind the cover of the pillar.

  Ash shook his head. “Of course this irresponsible and idiotic scheme could only come from your own twisted head.”

  Mazarin folded his plump hands primly in front of him. “For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry it has come to this. But it’s my genuine belief you no longer have Bastille’s best interests at heart.”

  Unbelievable. “I have given everything for this city.”

  Mazarin feigned surprise. “So the new lover you’ve taken hasn’t distracted you at all? Good to know… Nevertheless, we’ve decided you must go.”

  He paused, wiping a sweaty hand on his shirtfront. “It really would have been better if you just let things go on as they had. We were really the best leaders this town could have had. Nobody knows it better than we do.” He picked imaginary lift off his sleeve. “But our removal is moot now. Once the people know you’re dead, they’ll welcome us back. We’re familiar. They know us. Even those who don’t like us will take comfort in our words.”

  Ash lowered his chin, glaring at them. “This trap can’t kill me.”

  Titouan grinned. “That’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t have it. If it works as described—and apparently it does—then you’ll be bound here for all eternity.”

  Incredulous, Ash couldn’t help asking. “And just how do you think to disappear me—the warden of Bastille? Do you really think no one will come looking for me?”

  “Oh, we know they will,” Mazarin replied. “But they’ll never find you. Once we leave this room, the explosions we set will level the upper stories, burying you down here forever.”

  The man shrugged rounded shoulders. “You’re going to be an unfortunate victim of the curse. You’ve said it yourself in public often enough. Even you aren’t immune.”

  Mazarin looked at the other two, gesturing them to follow him. They stepped over the curtain and were at the door before he turned to look back.

  “It’s really too bad you can’t starve,” he said with a tsk. “I don’t imagine this will be a pleasant place to spend eternity.”

  The door shut behind them.

  Unbelievable. Ash banged his fists against his forehead, berating himself for his stupidity. I need to get out of here.

  Still furious, he began to test the trap. He moved with lightning speed, testing the perimeter of the trap with his hands and blade.

  The seconds slipped by, rushing away like water, but there was no opening, no weakness for him to exploit. Ash began to count, estimating how much longer it would take for the out-of-shape politicians to safely exit the building.

  The explosions went off between ten and eleven.

  24

  Ash made the mistake of breathing before the dust from the rubble settled. Coughing reflexively, he bent over, wiping the grit from his eyes. Once it cleared, he swore and stood, taking stock of his predicament.

  Damn it. The conspirator’s explosion had been well-planned. His prison was undisturbed by the building’s collapse. No debris disturbed the lines of the pentagram and su
rrounding runes. The area near the door was impassable. He could have dug himself out with enough effort, but whatever infernal spell was powering the angelic trap had created a protected pocket.

  If only the council had managed to mess this up like they did everything else. Why did they have to start doing things correctly now?

  Furious, he went to kick the radio before checking himself. He picked it up with a rough, choked-off laugh. How long had he been pining for this damn technology to make a comeback? Now look at me, he thought, setting it back on the floor. Innovation had come back with a vengeance, only to bite him in the ass.

  This was his fault. He should have expected those bastards to pull a stunt like this. But what was really killing him was something Mazarin had said.

  How had he known about Kara? Did he know who and what she was?

  Gossip was free entertainment. People would have seen him talking to her at the factory fire and made assumptions. Would Mazarin have thrown out the term lover like that unless he was certain?

  Politicians lie for a living. The fat little toad had to be bluffing.

  Unless those spies had been trained on his apartment…or worse. What if Ash had been set up?

  Marcus was the only one who’d known about him and Kara. He was also the one who’d given Ash the information about this supposed prison.

  No, it wasn’t possible. His aide would never knowingly betray him. Ash knew the man didn’t trust Kara yet, but he and Marcus had worked side by side for the better part of two decades. His loyalty was unassailable.

  He could have been tricked into revealing something. Someone had obviously fed him false information about the prisoners. Those three must have been planning this for some time.

  As long as they don’t know the truth about Kara, he thought, clenching his fists. His breath shortened.

  Stop it. Angels did not panic. And it didn’t matter if they knew about his relationship with Kara. As long as they didn’t know about her blood, she would be all right.

  Thank God I didn’t tell Marcus anything. Paranoia sometimes pays.

  And Kara could take care of herself. She’d kept herself and dozens of others alive in the most inhospitable environment on earth. She could probably take on the council singlehandedly.

  She certainly wouldn’t have fallen into a trap like this. He ground his teeth, cursing his own stupidity.

  Refusing to accept there was no way out, he began to test the barrier again. He went over it systematically, even leaping above him in case there was a weakness over his head.

  The only thing he got for his trouble was scorched feathers. Hours later, his knuckles and elbows scraped and bloody, he finally gave up. Ash sat in the middle of the pentagram, racking his brain for a solution.

  No matter what Mazarin said, people wouldn’t accept he had died in the building’s collapse. Marcus would look for him. Once she knew he was gone, Kara would, too.

  I hope.

  He sat back on the floor with the radio, attempting to figure out how to make the primitive device a two-way box. But try as he might, he couldn’t make sense of the intricate bundle of wire and transistors. Ash was a warrior, not a creator. Invention wasn’t an angel gift.

  Time stretched as he waited and waited. Marcus would be looking for him. No, he won’t. Not yet. Mazarin would have come up with a way to distract him. Kara was his best shot.

  If only the engineers had figured out how to recreate cell phones instead of the damn radio. Or if Kara was another angel. Then she’d be able to sense his distress and come after him.

  Maybe she’ll hear him, anyway.

  His connection with Kara was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Was it totally beyond the realm of reason that she might hear him if he called?

  We just made love this morning. Not to put too fine a point on it, there was still a piece of him with her and vice versa.

  Crouching back down, Ash sat in lotus position, making a concerted effort to clear his mind. He focused on her image, drawing the lines of her face until they burned brightly in his mind. He drew on his feelings, balling them up deep inside until he let them out, calling her name silently.

  Nothing. At least, he didn’t feel an answering echo like he did communicating with his brothers and sisters.

  Try again.

  The longest twenty minutes of his life later, the silence was still unbroken.

  “Putain,” he said aloud. He banged his breastplate, wondering if the barrier was muting his connection like it did his voice. What was he going to do?

  Enlightenment didn’t come with a blaze of light from above the way it did in old cartoons. It was the stinging of his mangled knuckles over his heart…where he’d slipped the demon king’s scroll and the vial of Kara’s blood.

  Ash had a way to strengthen his call, right in a bottle nestled against his heart. Except…it meant answering the question he’d been dreading.

  It’s time. Putting it off had been a foolish attempt to bury his head in the sand.

  Loosening his breastplate, he reached inside for the vial, leaving the scroll where it was.

  There was blood on his hand, but he didn’t want to do this on his skin. Ash drew his knife, slicing his thumb. He let a large drop accrue on the tip of the blade, staring at it for several heartbeats.

  Just do it. Neck corded with tension, he loosened the stopper and tilted the bottle, letting the blood fall onto the flat side of his knife. It landed next to his.

  The drop of blood was the darkest possible red, a variant so dark it was almost black. Lips tight, he straightened the knife until the two drops ran together.

  The telltale sizzle was small, but it was there. Ash rocked on his heels, taking a shaky breath.

  You knew this. This was what he had expected ever since she revealed what her blood could do. Her ability to read the runes in the devil tower had confirmed it.

  Yes, Kara was a witch, that much had been obvious for some time. But she wasn’t some run-of-the-mill practitioner. Though unschooled in the craft, her gift was stronger than any he’d ever seen. Which made sense, of course—she had demon blood running through her veins.

  25

  Angel and demon blood didn’t mix, not without an explosive reaction. The mix of his and Kara’s blood sizzled and burned, but it had died without blowing up in his face.

  Which means Kara isn’t a full demon. She wasn’t even half. But the taint was there.

  That wasn’t even the worst part. If he was right, then Kara’s family had been founded by Amducious himself.

  The king had been on earth before the Collision. He’d been part of the sect that warred with Heaven during Lucifer’s rebellion. According to rumor, he had raped a beautiful human woman who’d crossed his path. The child that resulted had been born with uncanny abilities, a rare demon-born witch.

  Like so many events from that time, the details of the child’s life were murky. All Ash knew for certain was his history full of murder and iniquity—and that he’d gone on to have several children. Their family name had never been known to his kind.

  He knew it now. It was Delavordo.

  He’d believed every witch from that line to be dead—mostly at the hands of his people. They had made it their mission to wipe out those abominations for centuries.

  But Kara wasn’t evil. Ash knew it in his bones. No matter what her provenance, her actions were what defined her. Kara was a savior. Nothing would change that—not even a demonic heritage.

  Nevertheless, this knowledge was a game changer. So many things now made sense. Now he knew why Kara was so intricately tied to the curse. Her ancestor had been the one to cast it. And she was Ash’s best hope for ending it.

  Focus on the now. He still needed to get out of here, and he had the means to do it.

  There was just one problem. Angels were supposed to be pure of mind and body. That was why sex with humans was forbidden. As transgressions went, it was forgivable. Probably. The hard liners in Heaven would d
isagree.

  This spell he was about to cast was another situation entirely. To complete it, he would need to take the blood into his body. Using a human’s would have been one thing. Doing this with demon blood would contaminate him, putting him that much farther from Heaven.

  It always comes down to this, he thought, fiddling with the vial to swirl the dark ruby liquid around. Nothing was stronger than blood magic. That was what Raphael always told him. Of course, his old commander hadn’t mentioned things like this angelic trap.

  Ash had discovered these when he was in the field. He’d found his squadron brother Lucien imprisoned in one near the end of the first holy war.

  Lucien had been emaciated and nearly demented. Once in Heaven, he’d recovered…eventually. But that angel had been a celibate warrior dedicated to defeating evil. Unlike Ash, Lucien had nothing to lose. That wasn’t Ash anymore. All this time on earth had changed him. If something happened to Kara or his city while he was stuck in here, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  He couldn’t think about that anymore. That way lay madness. This angel trap could keep him bound, but it wouldn’t stop his call.

  Just keep telling yourself that. With a sigh, he picked up his blade again. Cutting deeper, he used the flowing blood to draw a sigil on the floor. His fingers swept in a semicircle, forming a crescent before moving his fingers out in rapid strokes.

  Once he was done, he kept his bloody fingers in the center of the sigil he’d drawn, maintaining contact. Using his free hand, he opened the vial and lifted it to his lips.

  Should he drink it all or save some for a second attempt? All, he decided. Saving some for a second attempt would be pointless. He had one shot at this.

  What was it pre-Collision humans had said when taking a shot? “Bottoms up.”

  Tipping the vial up, he drank the contents in one gulp. The taste of iron and cinnamon exploded in his mouth. Overwhelmed, he swallowed quickly, running his tongue over his lips to ensure it was all down. The aftertaste of bitter ochre lingered.