Eve leaned back
to make room for the refreshments. “Will you join us?” she asked the lili.
“I can’t, but
thank you.”
Hank’s gaze
followed his assistant as she retreated. “She’s worried that she’ll die at any
moment. She never relaxes because of it.”
One hundred him
died every day. Eve couldn’t imagine living with that hanging over her head.
“Okay, back to
the layers,” she redirected. “The layer that you and I occupy most of the time
is tricky to navigate for both Jehovah and Sammael. As you know, they don’t
play well together. So when they want to function here with the full range of
movement that mortals have—to touch, to taste, to lust—they need emissaries.”
Understanding
hit her right between the eyes. “Like Jesus Christ.”
“And the
Antichrist. You may feel the hand of God or the claws of Sammael in a
figurative sense or through secondary beings such as demons and
mal‘akhs,
but
you can only feel them literally if they gain access to this earthly layer
through an emissary.”
“So let’s
say—hypothetically—that Satan wanted to give me a gift. Not a power, but an
actual
thing,
like a necklace, he would have to do so through an
emissary?”
Hank wrapped a
hand around his drinking glass, but didn’t pick it up. “Or he would use an
emissary as a gateway to do it himself. If the emissary was strong enough,
perhaps Sammael could even manifest separately and the two could occupy the
same plane at the same time.”
If the
emissary was strong enough...
Eve wondered why
the room didn’t spin. She thought it should, considering how shaky she felt on
the inside. “Is Cain the gateway?”
How else could
Sammael have known that the original Eve would be visiting this layer?
Hank’s gaze
lifted from watching his thumb draw lines in the condensation on his glass.
“Now, you’re starting to ask the right questions.”
***
“Why won’t
anyone give me a straight answer?” Alec rolled his shoulders back, fighting
fatigue when he shouldn’t be tired to begin with. “You’ve kept me cooling my
heels for hours, then you talk in circles. It’s a simple yes-or-no question.”
Uriel handed him
a bottle of chilled water and sat in the wicker chair opposite him. The head of
the Australian firm was shirtless and barefooted. His long, sun-bleached hair
fluttered gently in the ocean breeze coming through the open French doors of
his office. He was considered one of the foremost yacht builders in the world,
but had recently diversified into wine making. The world economy was unhealthy,
curtailing luxury purchases.
“Yes, there are
only seven of us,” the archangel finally answered, after twenty minutes of
evasion. “And yes, it might be by design. Is that better?”
Alec snatched up
the water and downed the contents in a few greedy gulps. His body grew more
feverish by the hour, leaving him with a dry throat and perspiration-damp skin.
“You really
don’t want to fuck with me now,” he growled, returning the empty bottle to the
glass- topped wicker coffee table with a hollow thud.
“I hope, for
your sake, that you do not think we are evenly matched,” Uriel warned. “Or
assume that my easygoing nature gives you an edge.”
Alec took deep,
measured breaths, carefully reining back his temper.
Why can’t I
feel Eve?
He hadn’t been
able to feel her since they’d found the two guards. As the archangel
responsible for Abel, he could sense that his brother wasn’t alarmed, but that
only spurred Alec’s envy. The damned thing inside him was costing him the only
thing that mattered to him anymore.
“Whose design?” he bit out, returning to his
previous question. “Did you and the others practice a little sibling winnowing
to get to a manageable number?”
Uriel’s
brilliant blue gaze narrowed. “You tread dangerous ground with your accusations.”
“How did you
convince Jehovah that seven of you were enough?”
“We have no
control over Jehovah. You know that. As with anything, the pros and cons were
weighed.”
Alec couldn’t
help but wonder if he was experiencing the cons. Despite the cool evening air
gusting in from the balcony, he was sweating. There was no doubt the chaos
within him was escalating. “I’m not.. . well.”
“I can see that,”
the archangel murmured, his casual pose unchanged.
“Did the
others—the archangels who aren’t here anymore—experience similar. . . problems?”
“What problems
are you experiencing?”
“Let me
rephrase,” Alec said tightly. “Have you ever had to put down another archangel
because he was out of control?”
Uriel brushed
his hair back with a rough swipe of his hand. “No. We seven were created as we
are, Cain. You are an aberration. An unknown. Perhaps your once-mortal body is
incapable of handling an archangel’s power.”
“I was
changed,”
he argued. “It felt like I was being ripped apart. The pain was
indescribable.”
Uriel’s mouth
quirked on one side. “I bet. That doesn’t mean you are now one of us. For Abel
to become a
mal‘akh,
he had to die. For Christ to achieve his aims, he
had to die. It is quite possible that your transformation cannot be completed
without shedding every vestige of your former self.”
“If I’m an
aberration, is it possible that Raguel’s still alive and that’s why my
ascension is fucked up?”
The sudden
stillness that gripped the archangel didn’t go unnoticed. “I suppose.”
Well, that
explained why none of them were actively searching for their brother. They
assumed he was dead.
Restless, Alec
stood and prowled. If there could be only seven archangels, he was in an
untenable position. He would first have to ascertain whether or not Raguel was
alive. Then, he would have to decide whether to kill, or be killed.
How badly do
I want this?
The darkness in
him roiled in protest. Power was like a drug, one not easily relinquished.
He moved toward
the window and stood on the threshold, his damp skin chilling in the gentle
gusts of wind.
Uriel’s voice
came soft and coaxing behind him. “What ails you?”
“There’s
something
in
me. It’s angry. Violent. Very strong.”
“Too strong?”
“Not yet.” Alec
looked at the ocean. At night, one beach looked like another. He couldn’t help
but think of nights spent with Eve. The selfish part of him wished he could
share this mess he was in with her. “But I want better control over it.”
“Perhaps the
ascension freed a.. .
repressed
part of your personality?”
“Do you believe
everything you hear?”
The wicker creaked as the archangel rose to
his feet. Although his approach was silent, Alec sensed Uriel coming. The rush
of power he felt around a single archangel was of equal force to the rush he
felt when entering a firm.
“Depends on who is doing the talking,” Uriel
murmured.
Did Jehovah know
the truth behind the rumors?
Alec’s heart
rate kicked up in response to his panic. Something was overriding the
safeguards of his mark and the unexpected physical response caused a slight
disorientation.
His hand rubbed
at his chest through his thin cotton T-shirt. “Who did the talking to you?”
“Does it matter?
The point is that perhaps the problem is in your blood.” There was a length of
silence, then Uriel touched his shoulder. “You should direct your questions to
Jehovah.”
“And fall my
first challenge as an archangel?” Alec scoffed. “No way.”
“You think this
is a test?”
“Isn’t
everything? My entire life has been a trial.” He faced Uriel. “That isn’t a
complaint, just a fact.”
“I understand.
We all face trials, saints and sinners alike. I wish I could help you with this
one.”
Alec’s brow
arched. “Are you sure you can’t? You haven’t offered me much of anything.”
Uriel smiled,
but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. “The best advice I can give you is to
look elsewhere. You speak of anger and violence inside you, yet you do not approach
the one of us known for those traits? Why?”
“Michael?”
“Commander of
the Lord’s army. Who knows darkness better than he? He has defeated Sammael
himself.”
Alec stepped
farther outside. Uriel followed. Together, they stood at the railing and watched
the moonlight shimmer over the water.
“You fear him,”
the archangel noted, still looking forward. “You should. But if anyone can help
you, it would be him.”
“Thank you.”
“Do not thank me
yet, Cain.” Uriel glanced at him. “If you become a danger, I will hunt you
myself.”
Inside Alec, the
thrill of prospective battle quickened his blood.
Uriel’s gaze
hardened. “I smell it on you. Perhaps you should go, before I decide not to let
you.”
Cursing
inwardly, Alec shifted away.
Reed was
preoccupied with his thoughts. So much so that it took him a moment to register
that the beer he’d ordered was sitting in front of him. The waitress who’d
brought it was waiting patiently.
“I’m sorry,” he
murmured. “I missed what you said.”
“Would you like
anything else?” The pretty brunette smiled wide. Her name tag said she was
“Sara,” which was an unfortunate moniker but not her fault.
“No. I’m good,
thanks.” He picked up the bottle, ignoring the frozen glass beside it. For
mortals, it was perhaps a bit early in the day for booze. For a
mal’akh,
it
wasn’t any different from drinking sparkling water.
“I’ll check on you in a few minutes,” she
said. “But if you need anything in the meantime, just gimme a wave.”
“Got it.”
Sara winked before
sashaying back into the restaurant. The invitation to flirt with her was clear
and brought Reed some amusement, but he hadn’t the time to indulge in such
games now. There was far too much at stake.
Alone again,
Reed appreciated his status as sole occupant of the House of Blues patio. Music
drifted from the interior—of sufficient volume to identify the songs, but not
so loud as to impede conversation. Despite the sluggish economy, foot traffic
through Downtown Disney was steady. A mixture of trolling teenagers and tourist
families window-shopped, ate, and commingled with a large proliferation of
Infernals. The mortals had no clue, their open and happy faces betraying their
ignorance of the danger. What would they say if they knew the vendor hawking
caricature drawings was an incubus? Or that the woman filling popcorn buckets
was a
djinn?
“Abel?”
Turning his head
with studious nonchalance, Reed watched as Chaney and Asmodeus approached. The
new Alpha was dressed in casual Dockers pants and an oversized polo shirt. His
companion, one of the seven kings of Hell, was dressed similarly to Reed—
Armani suit, pristinely pressed shirt, and gleaming leather dress shoes. The
glamour he wore was impressive. He’d chosen a muscular build and angular
features to hide the multiheaded monstrosity he was in reality.
As the demons
came around the short metal patio fence and joined him, Reed remained seated.
He drank his beer and watched the pedestrians pass.
“Raguel is
alive,” Asmodeus said without preamble. “Presently enjoying the hospitality of
the second level of Hell.”
The level that
Asmodeus ruled. Of course. The demon must have pleased Sammael in some way to
be given such an honor.
“Even better
than I expected,” Reed returned. “We both have access to what the other wants.”
He watched both
Infemals through his sunglasses. Neither met his gaze. The Alpha turned his
head to people watch and Asmodeus peered into the doorway of the restaurant,
making eye contact with Sara.
The two demons
ordered food and drink. Reed asked for a second round. When they were settled,
Asmodeus pushed up his sunglasses and revealed laser-bright red irises.
“I want more,”
the demon king said smoothly.
Reed picked at
the edge of the beer bottle label, but kept his eyes on his companions. “Do you?”
“I don’t see how
it benefits me to share a bounty with a lower-level demon. I get a better boon
from having Raguel under my watch.”
“Ah . . . I see.”
“You’re not
surprised,” Chaney noted.
“Of course he’s
not.” Asmodeus laughed. “He knows me well enough.”
“I was hoping
you would insist,” Reed said easily. “I want more, too. I want the priest.”
“Done. We don’t
have any need for him, beyond getting our hands on Cain’s woman.”
Fingers tensing,
Reed drawled, “Right.”
The waitress
returned with the drinks, promising to be right out with the food. Reed
couldn’t even imagine eating at this point, and suspected their order was a
ruse to appear more in control than they were.