by Kyoko M
He walked towards me. “I’m afraid you’re too late for that as well.”
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, placing the knife at my jugular.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Just stop it and listen to me! If you let him live, I’ll become your servant.”
Belial froze. He aimed a suspicious glare at her then. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Michael and I are separated. The Marriage of the Souls is void since we’re no longer together. Let him live and you can have me.”
“Jordan, don’t you dare,” I whispered. “Don’t you dare give him your soul.”
Belial gave me a considerate look and then backed away, twirling the knife in his hand. He walked over to Jordan. I stretched my neck, trying to see them, but I could only catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye.
“Do you really mean that, Jordan? Because I have heard this story before. You once offered yourself to me in exchange for his safety. Why is it that you always seem to sacrifice so much for this man? Is he that important to you?”
She took a deep breath, sounding ashamed. “Yes.”
“Even though he left you? Even though he let a bunch of crooks tie you up and beat you within an inch of your life? Even though he broke your heart into a million pieces?”
“Yes.”
I saw him reach out his hand, cupping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You realize what this would mean, right? If you gave me your soul, I would own you. You would be mine to do with whatever I wish. I could have you anywhere, at any time, as many times as I want, for all eternity. And when you die, you will be at my side in Hell and watch me pillage the world a thousand times over until the universe ends.”
I felt faint vibrations through the back of my chair. She was trembling in her seat. Her voice came out hoarse. “Yes.”
He leaned in close, pressing his lips to her ear. “Then you are a fool, Jordan Amador. Such a love will only continue to cause you agony.”
“I’ll deal with it. Now are you going to accept my offer or not?”
The archdemon straightened up. I prayed as hard as I could—prayed for a miracle, prayed for the strength to break out of this blood spell and prevent my worst enemy from owning my wife’s soul, prayed for time itself to cease because I would never be able to live with myself if she did this to save me.
All at once, Belial chuckled. “Well played, Amador. It seems your plan worked.”
To my absolute shock, he tucked the knife back in its sheath and walked out of the room.
Silence descended until I broke it.
“…the hell just happened?”
A minute later, I heard something ramming the door. Voices yelled for someone to surrender. The metal door caved inward. I squinted through the dark to see several people with guns and SWAT gear hurrying towards us, asking if we were okay.
“We’re alright. Just cut us loose,” Jordan said. They brought a pair of bolt cutters forward and snapped through the chains holding us.
I stood up, stumbling on account of weak knees. Jordan steadied me at first, but I pushed away in favor of asking, “What’s going on?”
“You didn’t answer your phone when the demons attacked, so I called for backup,” she said, rubbing her wrists.
“Since when is backup the cops?”
“My bodyguard’s with SWAT. The bad guys nabbed us before they reached the hotel, but they weren’t far behind. I knew I had to stall Belial long enough for them to find us.”
“Smart,” I admitted, still a bit flabbergasted that she’d been so convincing.
“I know. Now let’s get the hell out of this dump.”
When we got outside, I recognized our surroundings. We were in Harlem, by the looks of things, in one of its many foreclosed buildings. The cops sectioned off this part of the street to keep the media and pedestrians at bay. We were hustled over to an ambulance to be checked out. To our relief, we found Faust waiting, but unfortunately, he was in far worse shape than us.
A magnificent purple bruise had wrapped itself around his left eye. His nose was packed with gauze and blotched dark red. It had definitely been broken. Dried blood clung above his upper lip.
Anger flooded through me in a boiling rush. It was one thing to torture me. I was a warrior. I had been trained for this stuff. Faust was a scholar—a man of papers, books, and intellect. He didn’t deserve that level of violence. The demons would bleed for this.
Jordan touched the archaeologist’s arm, her face crumbling with sympathy. “Faust…”
He held up a hand, offering her a weak smile. “I’m alright. No need to worry.”
“Too late for that,” she said. The EMTs assured her he’d be okay with some rest and then looked us over. Once we were cleared, they gave us some privacy to chat.
“What happened?” Jordan asked.
“He asked me about the coins,” he replied.
I cleared my throat. “I hate to ask, but…did you talk?”
Faust rolled up the sleeve of his dress shirt, exposing a needle mark in his arm. “Didn’t have much of a choice. He dosed me with sodium pentathol after the torture didn’t work. I held out as long as I could, but he got the location of the remaining ten coins before the cops arrived and freed me.”
Jordan and I frowned at each other and then looked back at him. “Wait, Belial was with us when the cops came. Are you saying Moloch personally handled the interrogation?”
He nodded, and then cringed, touching his temple as if the movement hurt.
“Then he’s still in the city,” I said. “If we make tracks now, we might be able to beat him to the coins.”
“Well, you’re the strategist,” Jordan said, crossing her arms. “Should we split up?”
“Not sure,” I said. “We need Faust’s insight to retrieve them, but I can’t go alone with him because as soon as he gets one, I’ll be down for the count. I can protect him, but not up close unless we find something that can shield them from me. I need you.”
A beat. “To grab the coins, I mean. You and Myra.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, eying me. “That’s what I figured. I’ll call her.”
A SWAT officer came up to Jordan, still in full gear with a helmet and goggles, so I couldn’t quite see his face. “My apologies. It took longer than I predicted to find you.”
“Any sign of Belial or Moloch?” she asked.
“No. They fled the scene right before we moved in.”
“Typical.”
I held up my hands. “Wait, who are you?”
The guy gave a start. “Forgive me, Commander. I thought you’d recognize me.”
He took off the goggles and the helmet. I met the brown eyes of a man no more than his early twenties with a mop of shocking red hair and freckles to match. He wasn’t even six feet tall, but his hands and feet were large and his frame was gangly even underneath the SWAT armor. I nearly bowled over when I recognized him.
“Avriel?”
The lanky redhead gave me a timid grin. Couldn’t blame the kid. He wasn’t exactly on my list of favorites thanks to the Leviathan debacle. “Yes, sir. Gabriel thought Jordan would feel more comfortable with someone she knew.”
“How did you…what happened after you went to Judgment?”
His expression sobered. “Father was far more forgiving than I deserve. He decided that while I was misguided, my heart was in the right place. Therefore, He sentenced me to seven hundred years of servitude as a human being—a hundred for every life I took. If by the end of my sentence I have proven my valor, my angelhood will be restored.”
He was right. That was awful lenient for someone who had murdered six Seers, an innocent bystander, and then attempted to kill the woman standing in front of him. He had been trying to prevent one of the Seers from awakening the Leviathan, but it was still a serious set of crimes. He was lucky not to be damned.
“I see,” I said after a moment. “Your timing could use some improvement.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Jordan said, glaring at me. “You did your best.”
It never failed to confuse me how she’d forgiven him so easily. Then again, that too was part of Jordan’s personality.
“We need to get out of here before Moloch finds out Belial didn’t kill us,” I said. “He might send someone else, and there are a lot of innocent bystanders around.”
“Agreed,” Avriel said. “What is the plan, then?”
“Track down the coins before Moloch and Belial get to them.”
I jabbed a thumb at the archaeologist. “Give Faust a hand. You’re coming with us, rookie.”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
Jordan grinned—a dazzling, dangerous one she reserved only for when she was eager to fight or chasing down bad guys. “Welcome to the team, kiddo.”
She gave Avriel a quick kiss on the cheek and he flushed pink, making his freckles stand out. I shook my head and followed my wife towards the police officers waiting for us.
CHAPTER NINE
JORDAN
“Uh, Faust?”
“Yes?”
“Was this place like this when you left it?”
“No.”
“Huh. I thought not.”
The closest Judas coin to Harlem turned out to be in a graveyard just outside of Brooklyn. I’d been in my fair share of cemeteries, being a Seer and all, so the general creepiness wasn’t the problem.
The fact that it was occupied was the problem.
When we drove up to the cemetery, we discovered that there was somewhat of a sleepover going on. We could see a gaggle of tents on the grassy knoll at the center of the graveyard, currently populated by twenty-somethings. Sleeping bags were unfurled and resting next to shallow open graves. I caught bits of music floating through the air—“Monster Mash” by the sounds of it. I deeply regretted the fact that Halloween was only a week away.
“At least forty people by my count,” Michael said, his brow furrowed. “Not going to be easy getting anything out of there if the demons are on their way. We’ve got to clear this place out.”
“How?” I asked, brandishing a hand at the crowd. “Walk up to a bunch of drunk coeds and tell them some demons are about to show up and dice them into pieces? Hell, they’d probably film it and post it on Youtube.”
Avriel stood closest to the fence surrounding the hallowed grounds, scanning it as well. “If we move quickly, we may be able to avoid a confrontation altogether.”
He faced Michael. “Your orders, sir?”
Michael sighed. “I’m not your Commander anymore. You can just call me by my name.”
“Yes, sir. Er, Michael.”
The archangel set his shoulders. “Stay here with Faust and keep an eye out. Jordan and I will go in. If things go south, we’ll bail and head for the next coin.”
He fixed the redhead with a steady stare. “Faust is your responsibility, Avriel. I mean that. Watch your back.”
Avriel tilted his head, almost in a bow. “Yes, Michael. I shall.”
Michael leaned the shovels he carried against one shoulder and yanked open the creaking iron gate. We both stepped into the cemetery.
It was a cool autumn night and the moon was shrouded with wispy grey clouds. I could see why they’d chosen this spot for their little get-together. It was secluded from the general noise and bustle of the city. Half-naked trees dotted the outskirts of the graves. The partygoers set the main part of camp around the base of an enormous statue depicting the Virgin Mary as an angel, her graying arms open, as if welcoming them. Eek. My skin felt like it was going to crawl off my bones and hide in my Reeboks.
“Faust said the coin’s in an unmarked grave on the east side,” Michael said in a low voice as we drew closer to the people. “Not going to be all that easy with so many witnesses.”
“Half of them are wasted, and by the smell of things, baked. Maybe it won’t be too hard to make up an excuse to exhume the coffin.”
Now that we were closer, I could see someone had brought out a whole stereo system complete with a DJ, who was currently dressed up like Herman Munster. Well, at least people my age knew about the classics. Witches, wizards, warlocks, Frankenstein monsters, Draculas, and werewolves abounded, but there were also some superheroes mixed in. The Avengers and The Dark Knight Rises had broken box office records this year, after all.
“Monster Mash” had faded out and an offbeat tune replaced it—“It’s a B Movie” from The Brave Little Toaster. I caught sight of the banner hanging over the largest tent where the food and drinks were served. Some sort of campus club for the occult. Well, of course.
A rather stacked blonde in a Stephanie Brown Batgirl costume wandered past, giving me a bored once over. Her hazel eyes locked on Michael and she lowered the red plastic cup in her hand enough to send him a friendly smile.
“Hi. I’m Christy.”
“Hey,” Michael said, trying to sidestep her, but she stayed directly in front of him. He seemed to notice her inebriated state and didn’t brush her aside, instead deciding to be polite. “Sorry, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“We?” She arched an eyebrow at me, which was still visible even through the black mask adorning her face. I resisted the urge to glance self-consciously down at my ensemble—my trademark oversized grey duster, a black t-shirt with the Hellboy insignia in silver on it, blue jeans, tennis shoes, and my mother’s rosary dangling from my neck.
Christy returned her eyes to Michael. “You can do better, sweetheart.”
I made a noise that was a combination of a snort and a laugh. (A snaugh? A lort? Someone should coin that term.) I wasn’t surprised. Michael was a knockout whereas I was a six on my best day. She couldn’t offend me because I was entirely used to being insulted by tactless hot girls who wanted to get in his pants.
Michael flashed me a quick look, reading my amused expression. He then offered Batgirl—excuse me, Christy—a catty smirk. “No comment. Excuse us.”
He pushed past her without another word. She sipped her drink, muttering, “your loss” as I walked by. Wow. There was a reason I quit drinking.
“That was subtle,” I murmured out of one side of my mouth, hustling to keep up with his long legs as we passed the food tent. I spied chocolate chip cookies shaped like spiders with black frosting on top. My stomach growled. I lightly punched my midsection in revolt. No sweets until after the mission.
“Alcohol is not your friend,” Michael said, ducking to keep his head from smacking the branch of a tree.
“Not what I meant.”
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Pardon?”
I scowled. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“Are we really having this conversation right now?”
“You started it.”
Michael glared. “Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Do you want me to bury you alive, woman?”
“Ha. Try it and die, pretty boy.”
He let out a growl of frustration as he stepped around a gravestone. “Remind me why I agreed to work with you again?”
“My charming personality,” I snapped. “That and you like my legs.”
He snorted. “Modesty. I admire that in a woman.”
“Hey, at least I’m honest.”
Michael stopped dead in his tracks. I collided with him and then stepped back, rubbing my nose. He turned, half his face cast in shadow, the other half in pale starlight.
“Is that a fact?”
I stood my ground. “Yes.”
He stepped close, lowering the shovels. “So then you have no problem admitting what happened in that hotel room earlier tonight?”
My mouth went dry. I swallowed to wet it, resisting the urge to lick my lips and buy myself more time to think up a response. “What about it?”
“What do you think would’ve happened if Faust hadn’t b
een there?”
“Why does that matter?”
He searched my eyes. “You know why.”
I crossed my arms. “Fine. I’ll answer that if you’ll answer this: if you’re so pissed off at me, why are you still wearing your wedding ring?”
Anger clouded his features. Something mercurial and dangerous swam through those green eyes. Sure, he was mad at me, and he had a right to be, but there was something else going on with him. Michael had never been a guarded man. It hurt to know I was responsible for most of his new attitude.
He pushed one of the shovels into my hands, nearly knocking me over with the force. “Come on. The coin’s not far from here.”
I sucked in a quick breath to steady myself and followed him. “Whatever you say, Commander.”
Michael held out one hand as we reached the east wing of the cemetery, eyes closed, breathing slow. He pivoted towards my right, extending a long finger.
“There. I can sense it. Second grave over.”
We walked over the damp grass to find a relatively fresh mound of dirt over an unmarked grave. Faust told us he made sure not to hide the coins anywhere with literary significance or any links to his life. He simply spun a globe around and picked a city, then randomly picked a place. This particular coin he hid in the casket of an old homeless man whose burial happened to be going on when he wandered past. The reason he hadn’t simply just dropped the whole lot of them at the bottom of the ocean is that they were still historical treasures. He couldn’t bear to see them disappear forever, even knowing what he did about them.
Just as the tip of my shovel hit the dirt, I heard a male voice behind me. “Hey. What’re you guys doin’?”
I whirled around to see a dark-haired guy with a bottle of Jack Daniels dangling from his hand, the other tucked in the pocket of a tight black leather jacket. His hair was quaffed and stiff with gel, his blue jeans were tight enough that I knew he wasn’t wearing underwear, and he had some killer biker boots. He was dressed up as the Fonz, oddly enough. Maybe he was the black sheep of the occult fan club.
I fumbled for a response. “Oh, just wanted to try to be authentic, y’know? Nothing like a fresh grave on a night like this.”