Hellsbane 01 - Hellsbane

by Paige Cuccaro

  “Shit. I knew it.” Resignation weighed my shoulders, and I slumped. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Dan turned and rested on his fisted knuckles against the tabletop, his elbows locked. “Half human and half angel?”

  “Yeah. We’re called nephilim. It’s in the Bible. Look it up,” I said, still slouching.

  He straightened. “Yeah. I’ve heard the term. They were described as giants. You don’t look like a giant to me.”

  “Right,” I said, swinging my gaze up to him. “Listen, you said you wanted the truth. You said you knew whatever was going on wasn’t normal. Surprise! You’re right. So here it is. How about giving me and your gut the benefit of the doubt?”

  He sighed, grabbed his chair, and pulled it under him as he sat. “Fine. So which half? Mother or father?”

  I shifted forward, the chain on my cuffs catching on the edge of the table, my hands laid in front of me. “Father. Angels are only male.”

  “So, nephilim are only female?” he asked, and I could swear I heard a tremor of hope in his voice. Did he know?

  “No. Nephilim can be either male or female,” I said, not wanting to meet his gaze. “Most never realize it. They live perfectly normal lives. No one in the family knows. Not even their mother.”

  He scoffed. “How’s that possible?”

  “The Fallen—that’s what they’re called once they choose to defy God and be with a woman—the fallen angel wipes all memory of his existence from the woman’s mind and from anyone close enough to her to remind her.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Right.” I huffed to myself, “Bastards.”

  “So how did you find out?” he asked.

  “My friend Tommy. He was a nephilim, too, but he’d been marked. Uh, called to duty, they say. He was an illorum, fighting to banish the Fallen angels into the abyss, as God had commanded.”

  “How’d he do that? How was he…marked?”

  “The sword,” I said. “It’s real. The blade appears and disappears with my will. When a nephilim picks up an illorum’s sword to do battle, they’re marked. Literally.” I rolled my arm to show him my wrist and the skeleton key scar. “It’s burned into your skin.”

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Yeah, right?” I laughed, though nothing about this conversation was funny. “Anyway, once a nephilim is marked, their angel half and all the powers that come with it are triggered. Y’know, so we’re strong enough, and fast enough, to fight Fallen angels. We’re given our own sword, which is the only thing capable of killing demons and sending the Fallen to the abyss. And it’s kind of why I need it back.”

  “Jeezus,” he said on an exhale. He leaned back, staring wide-eyed at me. “That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah. Another thing. God really doesn’t like the whole name-in-vain thing.”

  Dan snorted. “Okay.”

  I shrugged. “Just a tip.”

  “Wait. Back up. Did you say demons?” he asked, shifting forward in his chair.

  “Yeah. Fallen angels call them up to do their dirty work, like hunting and killing illorum before we can kill the Fallen,” I said. “They also use them as bodyguards and to act as emcee at their religious revivals.”

  “Religious revivals?” I could almost see his mind working. “You mean, Richard Hubert?”

  “Well, no. Hubert is a Fallen angel. Bariel…I mean Bob, is the demon. Hubert’s second in command. And he ain’t the only one,” I said. “In fact, if you and the rest of Pittsburgh’s finest hadn’t stormed in when you did, I’d be sitting here in one of those black body bags. Well, not here…in the morgue, I guess. Right? Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  “So, those people huddled around him on stage were demons?” Dan asked. “I knew there was something weird about them. I could feel it. Y’know?”

  Crap. That’s not what he was feeling from them. “Uh, no. They weren’t demons. Those people were nephilim. Unmarked. Hubert was working to try and trigger their angelic powers without them becoming illorum. He’s got them brainwashed. They’ll do anything for him. He wants to make his own nephilim army.”

  “Why?”

  “To bring down the walls of Heaven and rebuild it under his control here on Earth.” Wow, felt kind of strange to talk crazy out loud—and believe it.

  Dan shook his head and took a deep breath, like he needed to digest the information. “So what was I feeling? It nearly brought me to my knees the second I got close to that stage. I sense it every time I get close to you, too. Only for a second, and then it’s gone.”

  Crap. Crap on toast. Crappity-crap-crap-crap. I did not want to be the one to tell him this. But what choice did I have?

  “Dan…you’re a nephilim.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. The sensation you keep feeling is like a warning bell, letting you know another of your kind is near. That’s why you feel it around me, and why you felt it today in the ballroom. It’s also why you can’t touch my sword.”

  He blinked at me, his face utterly devoid of expression or emotion. “That’s not possible.” But he knew it was true. I could see it in his eyes.

  “I need my sword,” I said, but there was no sign he’d heard. “Dan, seriously. I need my sword. It’s the only way I can defend myself. Hubert saw the police take it—he’ll know I’m vulnerable.”

  “He won’t get in here.” Dan sounded distracted, not at all believable, like his mind was somewhere else. I think he was in shock.

  “He’s a friggin’ fallen angel. He fought against God and all the angels in Heaven and survived. You think a few measly metal bars are going to keep him out? He’s not above killing to get what he wants. The cops out there, your human friends, they’re in danger. Dan!” I didn’t know if that was true. I knew the Fallen would kill if they were desperate enough, if there’d be no witnesses. Whatever. The possibility was enough.

  Life flickered at the back of Officer Wysocki’s eyes, and they shifted to me. He blinked, pushed his chair back, and stood. “You’re safe here. Relax. I’ll see what’s holding up your transport.”

  I exhaled, loud, frustrated. I’d thought he’d believe me. “You’re going to get those people killed. You’re going to get me killed. Dan. Officer Wysocki. I need my sword.”

  Without looking back he jerked the door open and let it drift behind him, not closing it.

  There was only one person left who could help me, but calling him was like asking someone with their hands tied to scratch your nose. I sighed. What choice did I have?

  “Eli!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Book of the Lost hit the interrogation table with enough weight and force to shake the legs against the linoleum. The chain between my handcuffs rattled.

  “Rifion,” Eli said, standing behind me.

  I leaned forward, scanning the page he’d dropped the book open to. The rows of names were in alphabetical order, and I found Rifion halfway down on the middle row.

  “That’s Hubert?” I glanced up and behind me. “Wait. How’d you figure it out? You didn’t know him when I showed you the website.”

  “You shared your sight with me,” he said, his black brows tightened, ice-blue eyes locked on mine. “How’d you do that?”

  I sniffed a laugh. “You’re asking me?”

  Eli squatted next to me, a hand on the table, the other on the back of my chair. “I’ve been training illorum for thousands of years and never, never has one had the ability to bring an image to my mind. Whispered words, halted sentences, yes. But that’s not what this was. I saw what you saw, as though I were there with you. The vision was crystal clear in my mind. It’s an ability only angels possess.”

  Okay, he was starting to freak me out. Not a good sign when the crazy in your life is scared for you. “There has to be an explanation. It was probably just a fluke. I mean, I thought if you saw his face, his mannerisms, heard him talking, you might recognize him. That’s all that was going through my head: Does El
i know him?”

  He glanced away, considering the possibility, and stood. “Interesting.”

  “Right. That’s what I was thinking. Interesting.” In a totally whacked, abnormal, inhuman kind of way. Exactly the right word. My gaze swung back to the book.

  “Well, now you have his angelic name,” Eli said.

  “Which would be almost as good as not being handcuffed to this table,” I said, rattling my own chain for him to notice.

  Eli reached out and pinched one of the fat silver links. The chain that looped through the cuffs and held me to the table dropped away, the link he’d touched broken. I pushed to my feet, the back of my legs shoving my chair so it screeched against the floor.

  “Cool. Thanks. What about these?” I held up my wrists, tensing the smaller chain of the cuffs between them.

  He reached for it, then stopped. “What will you tell the officer when he returns to collect you?”

  “I don’t have to be here when he comes back,” I said. “They’d never even see me leave.”

  “Don’t they have your name and address by now?”

  “Oh. Right. There’s that.” I dropped back into my chair. “This sucks. I don’t want to go to jail.”

  Eli reached for the book, slamming the cover closed before gathering the enormous thing to his chest. “No one was hurt. I can’t imagine Rifion will press charges. He wouldn’t want the unfavorable attention. You’ll be released soon.”

  “You’re leaving?” I said, and couldn’t help the little girl quiver in my voice. “But I’m…I’m defenseless here. I don’t have my sword and my hands are cuffed. If Rifion comes—”

  “He won’t. He’s got too much at stake to risk exposing what he is to humans. It’s not worth it. Now, I must go. I’ve interfered more than I should. A request has been made for the book. I have to pass it along,” he said. “I’ve kept it longer than I should have already.”

  “Right.” Geez, I was going to be his damnation if I wasn’t more careful. “I’m sorry. Thanks for everything. I got it from here.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Oh. Wait,” I said. “There’s something else. Tommy was right. He knew there was something weird about the nephilim he met, the ones working with Rifion. They’ve had their powers triggered. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but they aren’t illorum. They aren’t marked. They’re like a blank slate, no direction, no rules. How is that fair?”

  Something about Eli altered slightly. He seemed taller suddenly, more powerful. His beautiful face turned hard, calculating. “How many?”

  “Oh, uh…I don’t know, maybe ten or twelve who actually had some power. But there were a bunch more who were working toward it. Like forty, fifty, maybe more.”

  “You have to find them, the ones already brought into their power. They’ll have to be marked, or…” He seemed to stop and think, but then shook his head. “They must be marked.”

  “How?”

  “Your sword,” he said. “Let them touch the hilt. It should do the rest.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “The illorum sword calls a nephilim to duty, as well as triggers their powers,” he said. “These nephilim have already come into their power. It may be too late to imprint their desire to serve.”

  “Whoa, imprint their desire? That’s sounds disturbingly close to brainwashing.” I tried to catch Eli’s eye, tried to read his reaction. He wouldn’t look at me. “Have I been brainwashed?”

  His gaze snapped to mine. He looked pissed. “Absolutely not. Free will is paramount. When will you stop questioning—”

  “Right. Right,” I said to stop his rant. “My bad. Though, I gotta tell you, I don’t really feel like I’ve got a choice here. Either fight or be killed.”

  “The threats to your life stem from demons and the Fallen who control them. Not us,” he said. “The desire to seek and destroy the Fallen is natural to nephilim. The sword simply…enhances the instinct. Humans tend to have selfish priorities. I’m not confident that, faced with the temptation of unearthly power, an unmarked nephilim would choose to use it for the greater good.”

  Yeah. He was probably right about that. Powers like mine could come in wicked handy in Vegas. I shrugged. “Like you said, the demons will take care of it. Fight or be killed. We just need to warn them.”

  “Not necessarily.” Eli turned away, not meeting my eyes again. I watched him in profile, the Book of the Lost clutched to his chest. “It’s the enhanced desire to kill Fallen that the demons sense. Unmarked nephilim are just as easily swayed as normal humans, and therefore, likely little threat.”

  “So the demons won’t bother them?” I said, my mouth gaping. “What a jip.” The demons trying to hack off my head every other second were totally the worst part of being an illorum. Not fair these guys got to opt out.

  His gaze slid to mine, one brow higher than the other. “It is your enhanced desire that has given you the will to make amends for your father’s sins—to make amends for what you are. That desire alone keeps the wrath of God and Heaven from your door.”

  I swallowed, my throat tight. “Wrath of God?”

  Eli dipped his chin. “Indeed. The only thing that stays God’s hand against the other nephilim, those who have not been marked, not called to duty, is the fact they live as normal humans, their angelic powers dormant.”

  “And now we’ve got a bunch running around, testing out their powers, with no mark,” I said. “And a Fallen who’s rounding them up and signing them onto his team. Crap. They’re bound to piss off the Big Guy. That ain’t good.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “You must find and mark them. I know how you feel about bringing others into this…life, but the deed is already done. If you don’t act to rectify this, God and His angels will.”

  “Damage control,” I said. “Save the world and stuff.”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed, grumbled to myself. “Well, let’s hope they left a forwarding address, ’cause I’m a little tied up at the moment.” I waved my cuffed hands at him.

  “I’ll return shortly,” he said. “I know a few lawyers. We’ll have you out in no time.”

  Seriously? How mundane. “Right. Thanks,” I said, but he’d vanished before I finished.

  I’d no sooner adjusted my brain to the fact and settled in for my wait than the metal door to my interrogation room swung open.

  A uniformed officer poked his head around the door. “Emma Jane Hellsbane?”

  “Yes,” I said, figuring my ride to the county lockup had finally arrived. Oh, joy.

  He leaned back, disappearing for a second behind the door. “Yeah. She’s in here.”

  A moment later the mark on my inner wrist blazed with pain, the sensation searing up my arm like a red-hot branding iron pressed to my flesh. The spiritualist Richard Hubert, a.k.a. the fallen angel Rifion, strode through the door. On his heels followed two uniformed officers. They were both demons—I could smell the rotten eggs like the stench was pumping through the AC, filling the room. My stomach gurgled in protest.

  I was on my feet, my back hitting the far wall, before I realized I’d even moved. “How’d you get in here?”

  My heart slammed in my chest like a jackhammer. My throat closed, and I had to tell myself to breathe. With my hands cuffed, no sword, and the bad guys walking right past the people who were supposed to protect me, I figured I was pretty well screwed.

  “Calm yourself,” Rifion said. “I’m not here to kill you. I’ve come to escort you to your new home.” He motioned toward me with both hands, and the two demon police officers advanced on me.

  “Hold up. Wait,” I said, hands raised, wrists chained together. It worked. They stopped. “My new home?”

  “I’ve decided you are too valuable to remain unprotected.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Panic could easily cause one of my brothers to act foolishly and order your disposal. I’ll ensure such a tragedy does not occur.”

  “You’re going to pro
tect me?” I said, gesturing between us. “That’s rich.”

  Rifion tilted his head to the side and rolled his shoulders as though my take on things were immaterial.

  “Right,” I said. “Well, as much as I appreciate the protective dad routine, I think I’ll keep the status quo. You know, where I’m an illorum and you’re a fallen angel and I use my neato-bandito sword to send your rapist ass to the abyss, where you belong.”

  “Your sword. Yes.” He made a show of scanning the room. “Where is your sword, Emma Jane? And how will you wield it when you can’t even find the strength to free yourself from human bonds?” He tsked. “Really.”

  I thought about that for a second. I hadn’t even tried to break the cuffs. I was still thinking like a human. My hands in front of me, I took a breath and yanked. The metal dug into the backs of my wrist, but the small chain between them snapped.

  Cool. “Ouch.”

  “Mighty warrior,” he scoffed, then threw a nod to the two cop demons awaiting his command. “Collect her.”

  “Wait,” I said, the wheels of my brain spinning for escape possibilities. Only one thing came to mind. “Help! Police! Somebody help!”

  The demons hesitated and for an instant, Rifion’s attention split between me and the door, looking to see if anyone would come. That was all I needed.

  Trapped in that little room with two armed demons and a powerful fallen angel, my maneuverability was limited. If I could get away, even make it to the larger room, find witnesses, my life expectancy would improve dramatically.

  I focused my will, remembering the route Dan had taken when he led me through the station. On the other side of the door was a large room, a few desks, tables along the walls, a TV mounted in the corner. He’d nodded to a plainclothes cop as we passed, a detective. The room was their office.

  My vision narrowed, the world around me blurred, and an instant later, I stood next to the center cluster of desks right outside the small interrogation room. The place was empty. Shoot.

  And someone did.

  Bullets whizzed past my ear. I jumped behind a five-foot-long wall of metal file cabinets just as a screech of bullets drilled the desks beside me. After a courage-sealing deep breath, I peeked around the end to see the two demon cops, guns drawn, shoulders braced against either side of the doorjamb. Lucky for me, these demons couldn’t aim well.