“Yvoire isn't a prison,” Samantha countered in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It's a place of light, of beauty. It just happens to have a very useful and extensive network of tunnels, which ARC have acquired and adapted. Let me show you, Io.”
“That is not my full name,” he said, his mood not yet entirely lifted.
“And yet, I'll continue to use it,” Samantha smirked, hopping onto the pier and tying off the front of the speedboat. “Welcome to the retreat. Welcome home.”
Waiting for Io and her aunt, Samantha walked along the jetty, her steps adjusting to compensate for the soft movement of the wood floating on the water. Quickly the makeup of the small group became clear. Dominating them through sheer size, John Wolverton stepped forward to crush her in a bear hug. “I'm so glad you're safe,” he said, his voice gruff. “When you disappeared from the warehouse we feared the worst.”
“I never really felt in that much danger, Uncle. There was just too much to do.”
Io stepped into the ring of light and John extended his hand. “We've got you to thank for bringing Sammy safely home, I believe.”
Unfamiliar with the custom of shaking hands, Io looked down at John's open palm and copied him, not shaking the proffered hand but holding his own out about two inches away. Taking this as a jest, John grinned and shook Io's hand vigorously.
Understanding now, Io shook back, squeezing as he did so.
John's eyes widened as his face quickly registered pain. Pulling his hand back, he shook it to regain blood flow. “Damn, that's one hell of a handshake you have there, sir.”
“Did I do it wrong?”
Not understanding the source of Io's confusion, John burst out laughing. “Not in the least. I have a rule. Always trust a man with a strong handshake. You, my friend can fly with my Sammy any day.”
“What if I am not a man?”
“We'll get to that,” Samantha said, cutting off John's obvious question. She stepped past her uncle and embraced the ruby-haired Tricia Pelirrojo.
“So good to see you alive and well, darling girl,” the treasury head breathed in her English accent. She stepped back and let loose one of her ever-present smiles, the radiance lighting up the room. “Your mother is upstairs with Director Byron and Director Guyomard.” Her smile faded.
“Something's happened?”
“It's best if we let your mother explain it to you,” Tricia turned, leading the way past the ever-present ARC black-ops and into the elevator.
A brief ride up and Samantha found herself being ushered outside into the gardens of the castle. “Are we not going to the council chambers?”
“Your mother's out there, Samantha, in the cottage at the end of the gardens,” Tricia indicated a small building partly hidden by the many trees that grew around the castle. “When you're ready, bring her back to the council chambers.” Tricia turned away, disappearing into the castle.
Samantha waved to Io, but he was already walking off in a different direction with John. Now alone, she wandered through the gardens, picking her way randomly toward the cottage. She tried to enjoy the gardens she had always loved, but the lead-colored skies and the misty cold threatened to penetrate even her thick parka. She missed the scent of the flowerbeds. She hurried instead to find her mother.
Opening the heavy wooden door with a grunt, she called out, “Mom?”
“In here,” came the reply from the kitchen.
Quickly Samantha shed her coat. The living room had a roaring fire burning in the hearth that leant a flickering glow to the interior of the cottage. “It's hot as hell in here, Mom.”
“I don't like the cold.”
Samantha found her way through to the kitchen where her mother was rolling out pastry. Her hair was tied back to keep it from falling over her face. Her eyes lit up when she set them upon her daughter. “Cookies? They won't be long in the oven. I can make you a coffee while you wait. Want to help cut them?” Eva held up a round cookie cutter.
“Okay … sure, Mom. Isn't it a bit late to start with the mother and daughter routine? We could have made cookies when I was a child.”
Samantha immediately regretted her words, reopening old wounds as she caught the flash of pain in her mother's face.
“Let's get this done and then we can talk,” Eva answered crisply.
The two women finished preparing and baking the batch of cookies in silence and when they were done, Samantha sat opposite her mother. Two steaming mugs of chocolate and a plate of cookies hot from the oven filled the room with the aromas of cinnamon and chocolate—and the awkwardness between them.
“It's good to see you,” Eva began.
“And you, Mom. Look, I've got to ask. Is this the point where you dress me down without the rest of your colleagues present, or are you just preparing me for some kind of formal inquisition?”
Eva took a sip of the chocolate, indicating Samantha should do the same. The drink was delicious. A slight tang of orange mixed with vanilla lingered in her mouth.
Eva closed her eyes, taking a few slow breaths. “Sammy, there's no other way to put this. I screwed up. I'm sorry.”
How was this not about my own conduct? Samantha wondered. Confused, she replied, “How have you screwed up? You're not the one who has been all over the world, breaking protocols at will.”
“Oh, I've been breaking them. Just not in the way you think. Since before you were born, in fact from the very second your father sent me back to that beach in Jamaica, I've been trying to find a way back to Hell. When Swanson offered me a chance to head up the Technological Research division of ARC, I saw it as nothing more than a way to further my plans. They had tech that we had recovered from Hell, and reverse-engineering…”
Eva sighed, pausing. “Well,” she went on, “in truth, we've advanced our understanding of materials, of power and engineering by decades. The culmination of all this was the sky sling and the satellite we put in orbit. I had a team working to use Hell's own technology to open a portal, using my blood, and that of yours and your sisters. Sammy, it was supposed to open on Hunter's Ridge. I was supposed to see your father again. I can't bear to be apart from him any longer. I'm no better than my predecessor.”
“So what happens now, Mom?”
Eva shrugged. “Not a lot of this is a surprise to me. I met Porter Rockwell. He doesn't like you very much. I got the feeling he was quite proud of turning John Myhill away from the ARC cause, from my goals. John knew the satellite inside out, and he had the help of a demon. In my selfishness, I handed Aeon Fall the capability to touch what nobody should touch. Sammy, I nearly ended the world.”
“So what is all this? Punishment?”
Eva took one of the cookies, breaking it in two, passing half across. “I think they want me where they can keep an eye on me, but don't feel up to placing me in a dungeon. Swanson and Gila are my closest friends. I don't blame them for being angry. I've become another Benedict.”
“Benedict Garias? Mom, everybody knows his history. The guy was a monster. He worked with the demon Rosier, turned that Larter woman into a predator. You're nothing like him.”
Eva stared into her mug. “I've placed my own daughters at risk to further my ambitions. I've nearly destroyed the world to get back to my husband and you know what, Sammy? I felt the effort was worth it.”
“Was?”
Eva sipped her drink. “Yes. I've come to my senses but not before a lot of damage was done. They'll throw the book at me, if they have any brains. Look around the world, at the weather damage, at the countless dead.”
“You think Dad would approve? You behaving like this? If he was standing here now, do you think he would want you to continue down such a path of self-flagellation? There's already a kingdom of loathing out there. Most of humanity suffers because of what happened the last time you were in Hell.”
“We rescued Nina,” Eva protested. “We sealed off the gateway to a realm of nightmare.”
“That's not all you did. I'm going to
do something now I should have done a long time ago.” You'd better have your ears on, Pop, she thought.
Samantha stood. “Come with me.”
Leading her mother outside, Samantha chose a spot of cleared ground where once there had been a kitchen garden. Kneeling, she carved the glyphs that would summon her father.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?” Eva sounded worried. “I've seen those markings before.”
“It's fine. I'm fine, and what you're seeing was requested of me. Now stand back.” Samantha sliced across the palm of her hand, an act she hoped, like always she would never repeat.
“Sammy!” Eva shrieked.
“It doesn't hurt, Mom. If you'd taken any notice of what I could do growing up, you would know that.” Blood flowed from the cut, dripping as she held her hand directly into the central pattern.
The glyphs began to move, the portal began to glow, while Samantha held on to her mother to prevent her from bolting.
“This is forbidden,” Eva hissed.
“Some might say bearing two daughters to Satan is forbidden,” Samantha countered, “but look how that turned out.”
The spinning portal glowed white and with a shudder a form began to coalesce. Samantha could feel him before she could see him. She watched her mother's face, now white with fear.
“They'll never forgive you for…” Eva's words trailed off as the misty form became more solid, the features more defined. Around them the breeze stilled. Birds slowed in the sky above. “Madden?”
Samantha watched as black-shirted and ponytailed, Madden Scott, Hell's master, beheld his mortal bride. He grinned.
Despite herself, Eva grinned back. “Sammy, what is this trickery?” Eva asked.
Although Madden's lips formed words, he spoke directly into Samantha's mind: This is no trickery. Hey gorgeous.
Tears poured down Eva's face; Samantha could see her mother was hearing the same words.
Eva turned to her. “Samantha, how long have you been doing this?”
All of her life. Eva, it's time to stop seeking me, love. I'm here, watching over you, missing you and yet praying you don't do something stupid enough to end up down here. Let me tell you, your card has a good chance of being marked long term after this last event. The bill always comes due.
“But it's not fair. I didn't ask to fall in love with you, or to lose you.” Eva dropped to her knees, looking up at the shade of her husband. “You're my hero, Madden. I only want to be with you.”
Not this way you don't. Remember, sacrifice is the key.
“But I've sacrificed everything to find a way—”
The image of Madden grew redder. No, Eva. Self-sacrifice. Not using others for gain. Benedict Garias. Remember Benedict Garias. His purgatory will last forever. He will sit in the Elysian Fields for eternity. Don't follow him down that path. Find a better way, my love. Seek redemption. Help my brother find a way home. That will go a long way to restoring the natural order. I love you, Eva. We will meet again. Let it be on our own terms. Do what your heart tells you.
The image of Madden wavered. For a second he held his hand out. Eva reached, her own hand brushing through air where there was no substance. With a smile, Madden faded into the grey mist, only a lingering trace of the red surrounding him remained.
Eva remained on her knees, watching the empty space where her husband had been, as if he would reappear. After a moment she collapsed, her head in her lap, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably.
Samantha knelt, putting her arm awkwardly about her mother. The contact felt alien.
“What have I done, Sammy?”
“You've wandered off the beaten track, Mom. We both have. You just needed to find your way back. That way starts now. They need your help. They need our help.”
Helping her mother stand, Samantha brushed the tears from her face.
“He said he had a brother,” Eva said. “He had no brother. Sammy, who did you bring here?”
“An angel.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“An angel? Samantha, You've brought an angel to Chateau d'Yvoire?”
When Samantha had said the words 'An Angel', she had no idea what response to expect. Shock? Disbelief? Certainly not intrigue. She steadied her mother as she struggled to understand. “Yes. Your satellite shot him out of the sky. You need to help him now.”
“What can I do?”
“You can get cleaned up, then come to Council and listen to his story. Once you've heard Io speak you'll know what to do.”
Eva took hold of Samantha's shoulders with muddy hands. “It's only been a couple of days, yet the girl I knew has become a woman. I'll need to hear your story too.”
“You will, Mom. Just tidy yourself up first.” She pushed her mother's hair back from her face and smiled. “I'll walk you in and grab my jacket.”
Back outside, donned in her warm outerwear, Samantha wandered across the walled garden between the cottage and the castle. The heavy mist made everything damp, soaking through her shoes, chilling her to the bone.
“Was that who I believe it was?” Io said from beneath the cover of a vine-draped portico.
“My mom?”
“No Samantha. You summoned Satan.”
Samantha laughed. “You make it all sound so matter-of-fact, Io. Not even a hint of righteous indignation? Of Holy Rage?”
“Against an image?” he shrugged. “Not a lot I could do if he were there beside you. Without the Phaethon stone I have strength, but not much more. I know now how you distracted Karael. You performed another summoning, did you not?”
“Io,” Samantha pleaded, “I had to do something. Karael was winning. He was killing you.”
“Perhaps that was for the best.” His words had no emotion. “Too much death in my name already.”
“I don't believe that. Anybody who has been wronged deserves a chance to be set right. Anyone who has aggrieved another should be given a shot at redemption.”
Io smiled. “I think you're too good for this world.”
Samantha grabbed his arm. “Come on, let's go tell our story and see what they have to say.”
* * *
The entire ARC Council, both the six sitting members, always required by the ARC statutes, and the six non-sitting members, who had the freedom to execute their roles wherever they saw fit, were seated and ready to hear Io's story, with only Eva's chair yet to be filled. They gathered around the ever-present oval table, the original that was rescued from the tidal wave disaster before Samantha was born. The Council were arranged around Swanson Guyomard, with only one seat empty, that of her mother's. Others were gathered around the room. Charlotte Benson spoke in hushed tones with Jim, and the helicopter pilot Carrot close behind where her aunt Clare now sat. Other groups of people, special ops or scientists of some description, stood across the room from the door. More than a few heads were turned toward Io.
“Word's spread,” he said.
“Not surprising,” Samantha agreed. “Outside of the Guyomards, it seems the Scott family are those making the biggest waves around here.”
As if to emphasise the point, Eva came in after them, slamming the door and striding across the room, sparing a glance and a nod for her half-sister. She stood in front of her chair and began to speak.
“I know all of this is my fault. I fought for the sky sling project from its very inception with no other goal than to find a way to enter Hell and re-join Madden. There, I have confessed. I'm not going to apologise because quite frankly, words are no compensation to any of you, or to the countless numbers made homeless, childless, lifeless by the weather that resulted from the satellite being fired.
“Do I have regrets? More than it's possible to atone for in a lifetime, but I have to start somewhere. My sector knew what they were building, to a point. Only a handful of us knew the true goal, and that was my responsibility and mine alone.
“John Myhill was one of those who knew the truth, but this was
all my doing.” She slowly sat. “Do with me what you will. I'll accept all consequences.”
“What's changed, Eva?”
Samantha eyed Mohammed El Rafi, one of her mother's oldest friends, head of Grail, the artefact research division, who spoke up.
“Why are you saying this now,” he continued, “after days of silence?”
“She has had a visitation,” Io spoke up.
Samantha watched Mohammed turn first to regard Io, and then study her as well.
“Dear Visitor … young Samantha's guest, please, introduce yourself.”
Io stepped forward. “My name is Ioviel, First among Powers, Heaven's guardians. I am an angel.”
The pronouncement caused a stir, especially between Mohammed, the elderly Gaspard Antroobus, and Alexander Steadman, son of the previous ARC curator and head of biblical interpretation.
“An angel?” Steadman repeated, half up from his chair.
“Powers?” Jeanette Gibson asked. The longtime media face of ARC turned to her colleagues. “Does that make any sense?”
“Angels have ranks, not unlike the demons,” Steadman replied. “According to medieval texts the highest circle consists of Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels and Angels, in that order.”
“The author was not wrong,” Io agreed.
Again, Samantha watched as all eyes trained on Io.
“But,” he went on, “not entirely correct. Your list sounds as though the rankings are listed in an order of importance. All are angels. The rankings are more names of service than a rank of ascension. My mission as a Power is to protect heaven. Seraphim and Cherubim serve Him directly at the heart of Heaven. We do not mix.”
“And Archangels?” Steadman asked, his face animated. “Are they Heaven's fiercest warriors?”
“They are foremost among the army. Great captains, all. Not always the fiercest, but the most canny.” He turned to Samantha. “Unlike Karael.”
“Who is Karael?” Swanson asked. “The one who appeared at Dubrovnik?”
“He's Heaven's pitbull,” Samantha explained. “Released to hunt down and despatch the fallen.”
Thornfalcon (The ARC Legacy Book 1) Page 21