The Holy Dark

by Kyoko M

  “It was my bachelorette party, after all.”

  “Strippers? In Vatican City? Those must have been hard to come by.”

  “No pun intended?”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps. Did you have a good time?”

  “Yeah. I did. I think I almost forgot what fun feels like.”

  “Mm. It happens in this lifestyle. You have to enjoy the little things.”

  I turned around. Belial sat on my bed, his long legs crossed, and crunched into a pear he’d pilfered from the table by the door. A golden drop of juice ran down one side of his chin and he licked it away, watching me with his unnatural eyes. His attire was a great deal lighter than I’d seen it before. No suit jacket. Just a starlight blue dress shirt, black tie, and black slacks. His hair was freshly washed and framed his face in that flawless way it always did.

  I’d worn one of Michael’s cotton shirts to bed—an old black one with a picture of the Tasmanian Devil on it. The sleeves were so large I had to roll it back five times so that I could use my hands. My legs were bare and the demon had noticed them already from the looks of things.

  I crossed my arms, dropping the friendly act. “Something I can help you with?”

  Belial smiled. “Don’t sound so suspicious, my dear. I came to drop off your wedding present.”

  He stood and placed the pear on the nightstand. I didn’t tense as he glided towards me, not stopping until we were only inches apart. Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a business card. Up went my eyebrows.

  “What’s this?”

  “The name and number of my attorney. My personal attorney.”

  “Holy shit,” I muttered without thinking.

  Belial chuckled again, and at close range, it was like getting a full frontal massage by a guy who knew what he was doing. I felt embarrassed afterwards. “I figured your current location meant you were still in trouble with U.S. law enforcement. I have already paid his fee. Contact him after the wedding and he’ll get you sorted out.”

  “Belial, this is…I mean…” I gave up the sentence midway through it because I couldn’t figure out what to say. I had an archdemon’s lawyer on my side. There was no way in hell the legal system stood a chance. I’d get my life back. I couldn’t decide how I felt about the fact that he was the one who ruined it and then fixed it.

  I tried again anyway. I was the stubborn sort. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I am a masochist,” he said, idly toying with a random curl that hung near my neck. “You rejected me. I like pain. I also like seeing you happy, whether it is because of me or not. But preferably because of me.”

  “I still don’t get it,” I whispered. “You’re the worst man I’ve ever met, and yet part of me still kinda likes you.”

  Once more, I was treated to the sight of a real smile from the archdemon. It lit up his eyes, his ivory skin, his sparkling teeth, everything about him. He wasn’t influencing me, either. It was just…him.

  “That admittance will keep me warm on the coldest of nights. Thank you.”

  Sadly, the smile faded a moment later into a pensive look. “However, it is my duty as your former would-be suitor to ask if you truly know what you’re about to do with your husband. True, you are already married legally, but the ceremony is also symbolic on a different level. Are you ready?”

  We’d known each other long enough that I could read between the lines. “Relax. He told me the truth.”

  He tensed. “He did?”

  “Yeah. A while after we got back to the safe house. He told me about the night before the war in Heaven, who you two were to each other back then, all of it.”

  “And you love him still?”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Have you seen my emotional baggage, Bels? I’m not one to judge at this point.”

  He caught my hand and tried to bite my finger, but I laughed and tugged it away. He let out a dramatic sigh. “Good. At least you’re making a somewhat informed decision.”

  “I am. He drives me nuts, but he’s my lobster. My smizmar. My baby daddy.”

  Belial shook his head. “You are an idiot, Jordan Amador.”

  “Thanks. Sorry I’m not your idiot.” The last part came out a little more tenderly than I’d intended.

  He searched my gaze. “Be sorry for nothing. It has still been a most enticing ride either way.”

  He caught my wrist again, but didn’t try to bite me. He kissed the back of my hand with the kind of sweetness that I didn’t deserve. My skin tingled by the time he let go.

  “You shouldn’t make a habit out of kissing married ladies.”

  He grinned. “Forgive me.”

  “Never. But maybe I hate you a little less.”

  He bowed. “What more could a demon ask for? I look forward to destroying you and ruling mankind.”

  “And I look forward to kicking your fine ass back down into the Pit.”

  “Goodbye, my pet.”

  “Goodbye, my pest.”

  “How’s it look?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jordan. This is the twelfth time you asked me that.”

  I scowled at Lauren’s reflection in the full-length mirror in front of me as I adjusted the teardrop diamond earring hanging from my right lobe. “Hey, remember that whole ‘I’m a Seer and demons are always trying to whack me’ thing?”

  She rolled her eyes, hands on her curvy hips, wrinkling the lavender silk of her maid-of-honor dress just the slightest bit. “I’m pretty sure they have better things to do than crash your wedding, you drama queen.”

  “You’re not paranoid enough.”

  “You’ve got a surplus. I’m covered. They’ve checked the perimeter a thousand times. Don’t stress about it.” She walked up behind me, her slender fingers smoothing out the fabric along my waist. After a moment, she smiled and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, leaning in until her cheek was pressed along mine.

  “You’re perfect. I’m so proud of you, Jor. You deserve to be happy, so just shut up and be happy, okay?”

  I touched her wrist, savoring the contact. “You always know just what to say. I should be marrying you instead.”

  She cackled and kissed my cheek in that sisterly way of hers. “Shut up, you dork. Now where’d you put your bouquet?”

  “I think it’s on the dresser.”

  She untangled herself from me to retrieve it while I took a deep breath and repeated the same mantra inside my head that I’d learned from therapy. You are in control. You’ve got this. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  I snorted as that last thought crossed my mind, tugging the hem of my wedding dress higher to look at my feet. They were nothing fancy—just two-and-a-half inch sandal heels with cross straps—but I was way too used to my Reeboks to feel comfortable in them. I once threatened to wear sweats to my wedding and Lauren almost pushed me out of my hotel window. I didn’t like the heels she picked, but we both chose the same dress so it balanced out.

  The top had pretty lace patterns that went from the tops of my shoulders to meet the fabric at the edges of the bodice, leaving my neck and throat bare except for a diamond necklace Gabriel had been kind enough to lend me. We chose it to help hide the scar over my heart. The bodice was sweetheart-style—close-fitting from chest to waist to knees—to emphasize my admittedly small bustline. The skirt spread out to the floor, hiding my knobby knees from sight and only giving one a peek at my feet. I wished I could get away with slippers, but I had to admit the ensemble worked.

  My hair was pinned up in a French bun, decorated with a couple of clear jewels that matched my earrings and necklace. Thankfully, my makeup was pretty light as well: mascara, some foundation, a pinch of blush, and lilac eye-shadow. No lipstick since I was about to suck face with my husband, but I had applied lip-liner and a thin layer of gloss just to look prettier.

  I was adjusting the hilariously expensive tennis bracelet my father got me as a pre-wedding gift when Lauren returned with my bouquet of whit
e roses. “You ready for this?”

  I turned and looped my arm in hers. “Let’s do it.”

  We walked down the short flight of stairs leading to the main cathedral where I could already hear the faint murmur of the guests chatting with each other while they waited. The huge double doors were closed and my palms started sweating at the thought of opening them only to see an empty pulpit. I knew better, but old insecurities were hard to kick, even with months of therapy.

  The fluttering in my belly slowed when I spotted Gabriel in his best tuxedo waiting for me by the doors, adjusting his cufflinks until I walked into his vision. He smiled and the last bits of my fear melted away.

  “Oh, Jordan, my darling,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You look splendid. Beautiful. Breathtaking.”

  I shook my head. “You silver-tongued devil, you. Save it for the toast at the reception.”

  He chuckled and drew me into him for a hug, kissing my forehead. “Very well. Shall we?”

  “Yes, we shall.”

  He pulled the veil perched carefully on my head down over my face and Lauren nodded to the ushers, whispering for her daughter Lily to get ready to spread her basket full of flower petals. The gigantic doors parted and golden light cascaded over our small wedding party—Lily up front, Lauren after her, then me and Gabriel picking up the rear.

  The cathedral was one of the traditional kinds with the high stained glass windows and wooden pews with thick cushions. The thirty-or-so guests we’d invited immediately stood as the music poured in from the speakers. I was an unusual girl, and so the normal wedding march wouldn’t do. Instead, I had them play “The Gambler” by Fun.

  Lily sprinkled white and yellow rose petals as she took the lead, beaming the whole way with childish glee. We made our way up the long aisle to the front where Raphael stood next to my husband.

  Michael shone like a star going supernova, not because of his aura—though I could feel it humming through the air like the music serenading us—but because he was smiling so fondly at me as I walked towards him that I could feel it. For the longest time, my mind concocted all kinds of excuses for why it would be easier to leave him out of fear, but the way he looked at me told me I’d been a fool. He smiled at me as if I were the sun after an icy winter or a river after years of drought. And I knew without a doubt that the smile on my face reflected his perfectly.

  We reached the front row of pews and I could see the final arrangements. The seats nearest to the pulpit had two empty spots with a photo of my mother and a photo of Andrew Bethsaida perched on them. My father Lewis stood next to the photo of my mother, his dark eyes glistening with pride. Mrs. Lebeau was next to him, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Avriel and Faust were on the opposite side, grinning and elbowing each other over some sort of inside joke. Myra and her son pulled faces that made me giggle as I reached my spot.

  Gabriel kissed my hand and took his spot at the front pew as everyone was seated for the beginning of the ceremony. The pastor began his opening prayer, but I didn’t hear half of it because I was too busy thanking God for the archangel standing in front of me. I was so used to Michael in all his usual scruffy glory with his longish hair and t-shirts and flannel and jeans that seeing him with his hair slicked back and in a fancy tuxedo made me realize how much I was marrying out of my league. And how much I couldn’t wait until this wedding was over so I could rip that fancy suit to shreds and do all sorts of unholy things to him.

  My dirty thoughts receded enough for me to hear the pastor announce that we’d written our own vows and it was my turn to start. I hadn’t written mine down because there was no need. It was written on my bones, on every inch of me like my own skin. I didn’t have to rehearse a thing.

  I handed my bouquet to Lauren, clasping my hands in front of me to keep from fidgeting like she’d taught me at the rehearsal. “I almost wish I could count the ways that I love you, but we don’t have that kind of time and also this dress is killing me.”

  I paused to let him and the guests laugh. “Michael, you are extraordinary on every imaginable level. Not only because you’re this kind, mature, patient, sweet man, but because you are all of those things and you still chose to marry a cynical little girl from New Jersey with a whole host of psychological baggage. Society always makes these grand assumptions that it’s always the girl who chooses the guy and that he is the lucky one, but I think that’s not true for us, and it never will be. You made me feel so at home with you that it was never a decision to become yours—it was an inevitability. No one else makes me feel so powerful, capable, confident, and certain of myself except you. I will never stop loving you. I will do everything in my power to make you as happy as you have made me, for better or for worse. I love you. Siempre.”

  Michael took my hands, rubbing his thumbs along the back of them. “Wow. How the hell am I supposed to follow that?”

  “You can’t curse in a church, man,” one of Michael’s band mates called out, and we all laughed.

  “Right, right, my fault,” he admonished, nodding to the pastor before turning back to me. “Jordan, you’re always going on about how wonderful I’ve been and yet you’ve never stopped to consider that I’ve only been this way because of you. You are more than a cynical little girl from New Jersey. You are strength, beauty, intelligence, and passion. You are modest. You are complicated. You are honest. You are everything that has been missing inside me since the day I was born. Loving you is an honor. A privilege. And for all the bad times we’ve been through, I cannot imagine my life without you in it. I told you once that I would love you until the stars turn cold and the mountains crumble into the sea and the universe unravels into the abyss. That is just as true now as it was then. I love you always, mi corazon.”

  I let go one of his hands enough to dab at my streaming eyes. “Sorry. Allergies.”

  A rich laugh rippled out of him. The pastor gestured towards Raphael, who stepped forward. “The rings, if you please.”

  He offered Michael the little velvet box holding both our rings in it. Michael took out mine and met my eyes, his voice quiet yet strong.

  “I, Michael Alexander O’Brien, take you, Jordan Amador, to be my wife. Your love is my anchor. Your trust is my strength. I will give you all my love from now until eternity ends. You make my life complete. Te amo.”

  He slipped the silver band onto my finger. I took his ring from the box.

  “I, Jordan Amador, take you, Michael Alexander O’Brien, to be my husband. Your love is my anchor. Your trust is my strength. I will give you all my love from now until eternity ends. You make my life complete. Te amo.”

  I slid the ring onto his finger. The pastor picked up where he’d left off. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  No sooner than Michael lifted the veil away, I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to me, kissing him with voracious hunger. He melted seamlessly into it, wrapping his arms around me, encircling me in warmth. The crowd burst into applause. We kissed all through their clapping, only brought back to reality by the pastor clearing his throat. I knew I had a stupid, dreamy grin on my face by the time Michael pulled away from my lips, and I couldn’t have cared less.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien.”

  Applause rang out a second time and then faded, allowing me to hear the song on our way out—“Cosmic Love” by Florence + the Machine—but it wasn’t like I could focus on anything other than the archangel at my side. He leaned down as we walked enough to whisper in my ear. “See? Aren’t you glad we did this?”

  I patted his arm. “No. I’m just glad nothing exploded.”

  He grinned and winked at me.

  “Well, there’s still the reception.”

  EPILOGUE

  Five years later…

  JORDAN

  “Oy! Would you get down here and eat before your food gets cold?”

  “Keep your shirt on! I’m co
ming!”

  Footsteps pattered down the staircase. Seconds later, a scowling willowy girl with waist-length honey-brown hair appeared. She wore a black-and-green striped shirt, a jean skirt with a purposely frayed hem, and black combat boots. It bore mentioning that her outfit was toned down from what I caught her trying to sneak out wearing sometimes.

  I stood at the stove finishing the scalloped potatoes as she scooted past me and headed for the kitchen table. She plopped down, mumbled a quick grace, and swiped a piece of bacon off my plate for good measure. I rolled my eyes and dusted the potatoes with seasoning salt. I flipped them over and then turned the stove off.

  “Want some ‘tates?”

  “Nope,” Allison said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “I’m fine.”

  I watched with mild amusement as the food vanished within mere seconds. It was like feeding time at the zoo with her. She ate like I was going to take it away from her. Oh, well. At least she liked my cooking.

  I spooned some potatoes onto my own plate, returned the pan to the stove, and sat down. I said grace and ate the remaining piece of bacon on my plate. After swallowing, I tilted my face towards the stairs yet again. “Bring your bony butt down here and eat, Michael!”

  “Yes, dear!” he replied in a semi-mocking tone. Three smartasses in one household. I had no clue how we were going to survive in the long run.

  Allison wrinkled her nose. “Bony? I just learned way more about him than I wanted to know.”

  I waggled my eyebrows. “He’s still got it where it counts.”

  “Aww, Jordan, that is gross.”

  I adopted an innocent look. “I was talking about his personality. Don’t blame me if your mind was in the gutter, young lady.”

  “Gutter?” Michael appeared with his red-and-black striped tie loose around his neck. He’d gone for the slick, intimidating look today—black button up shirt and matching slacks and suit jacket. He hung the jacket on the back of his chair before pouring himself some coffee and casting a suspicious frown between us. “What about the gutter? Why are you anywhere near it? I thought we discussed the fact that you don’t get to date until you’re thirty-five.”