Chapter 47

47

Jericho

Weaving through the crowd, I stalked the man dressed as a satyr, with his cloven heels and silver horns, his bare chest and back painted white with gold swirls. He carried a wooden staff that clicked along the surface, as he stepped up onto the stone bridge that led to a strip of small cottages. A place where all variety of carnal fantasies were entertained. While I should’ve been thinking about running my blade through his skull, my head wouldn’t relent the images of Farryn in that fucking costume.

I had a sense Virgil would eventually sniff her out in the crowd, the scent of hers like a sweet nectar to a horde of starving hornets. The demon couldn’t have resisted her if he’d tried.

The mayor of Keselshire, dressed in a white wolf headdress, chased a female around the perimeter of a nearby cottage, before swiping her up and disappearing inside with her kicking and screaming in protest.

Virgil opened the door to another cottage and stepped inside. After glancing around at the guests, who stumbled and laughed in drunken oblivion, I strode toward that same cottage. At my knock on the door, Virgil called, in a calm and expectant voice, “Come in.”

I pushed the door open to the shadowy room, still cloaked by my hooded coat, and unsheathed the heavy sword at my hip. A number of ways existed in which a fallen angel could be destroyed, none of them so absolute as one slice of the heavenly metal. It ensured that they faded into the nothingness, instead of returning to the infernal lands.

Blade leading the way, I stepped inside the room.

The flicker of an oil lamp illuminated the space, as Virgil sat in the only chair beside a small bed, a dagger clutched in his hand. “I could’ve sworn you’d forgotten about me after all these years.”

Instead of answering, I stood trying to decide whether to slice the blade across his throat, or stab it into his skull.

“You should know … what happened to you wasn’t on me.” He pointed a finger upward and rolled his eyes. “They wanted it that way. Now, I will take responsibility for some of the torment, but … it was me who let you go. Ask Cassiel. He’ll tell you.”

“Cassiel is dead.”

Rolling his shoulders back, he frowned. “How?”

“His wings were cut. I offered him a merciful end.”

Jaw clenched, he tipped his nose up. “Pentacrux?”

“I’m assuming so, though I was under the impression they went extinct sometime around the seventeenth century.”

“Ah, you know, the most horrible trends always circle back, don’t they?” The hand not holding the dagger curled into a tight fist, as Virgil sat grinding his teeth. “Anyway, if Cassiel were still with us, he’d tell you that I let you go. I could’ve killed you. I wanted to kill you, I’ll admit. But I didn’t.”

“Aren’t you so merciful.”

“I was. Particularly after what he told me about you.”

Everything that spewed from his mouth was nothing more than a distraction. A common tactic used by the Fallen. “Seeing as I can’t decide, would you prefer to have your throat cut, or your skull cleaved?”

Lips stretched wide, he chuckled and pointed a long, silvery painted nail at me. “This is your fault. You didn’t tell me that you were one of them. If you had, I wouldn’t have been so stupid as to … you know …” He shrugged. “But! I didn’t touch her in all those years. I want you to know that. She was beautiful. And tempting. Oh, so tempting.”

“Touch whom?”

An incredulous expression washed over him. “You’re asking me who? The one you nearly gave your soul up for? Hello?” While I continued to puzzle his cryptic words, he frowned.?“You don’t remember? At all? Anything?”

I didn’t respond, only stared.

Head tipped back, he banged his crown against the cottage wall. “Of course they’d wipe out everything except the bit about me torturing you. How convenient that you’d remember your revenge and nothing else.” He tipped his head forward again. “The girl. Your girl. You really don’t remember her.”

“I’m losing interest.”

“How do you think you injured your eye?” Holding up a finger, he shook his head. “Scratch that--it’s an emotional question, I know. Wouldn’t want you to fire off your sword prematurely, so I’ll just tell you. The arrow was aimed at her. I had every intention of shooting the girl after you betrayed me.”

None of what he’d said in the last ten minutes had made any sense. “How exactly did I betray you?”

“About a quarter-century ago, you came to me, asking for a way out of Nightshade. We made a deal. You provide souls, I provide a means of escape.” His hands waved impatiently as he spoke. “A way back to the earthly realm. I helped you go AWOL after the heavens banished you to Nightshade. And I delivered. That’s a very important part to remember, because it seems that you’ve forgotten that I personally escorted you back. It wasn’t until you failed to uphold your end of the deal that I learned what occupied your time. A girl. The girl. Such a pretty little thing, you used to stalk her like a lion on a baby gazelle. I couldn’t figure out your fascination, at first. Why you would’ve made a deal with me, risked the consequences, to pursue a mere child.” He sneered, picking at one of his fingernails. “Didn’t seem to be your thing, but hey, everyone has their kink.”

Stare locked on him, I watched carefully. Could’ve killed him right then and ended all the noise, but he’d admittedly piqued my curiosity.

“Didn’t take long before I came to understand who she was to you. The lion wasn’t just stalking his next meal. He intended to feast on the carrion he’d already ravaged once before.” At what must have been a look of sheer absurdity on my face, he grinned. “Your soulmate. How utterly nauseating. But to me? The perfect pawn. I just didn’t know you had something bigger on your side at the time. The Sentinels. Who would’ve thought you carried angels’ blood and demons’?” Waving his hand dismissively, he shook his head. “But I digress. Back to the story. So, I sought her out, yada, yada, yada.” Again, he waved his hand impatiently. “You came to her rescue, as I anticipated. You weren’t even within arm’s reach of her, and yet, the arrow I’d aimed at her pierced your eye instead.”

“You’re a horrible shot, then.”

“Hardly. What’s even more unusual is that I felt the compelling urge to walk away from her. To let her live. Why?” Tapping his temple, he shook his head, while I attempted to process what the hell he was saying. For a distraction, he’d certainly made it elaborate.? “It’s a question I pondered long after that encounter. I could’ve gone back while you were subsequently imprisoned here in Nightshade. Swiped her up and stole her from her father. But I didn’t. And now, she has returned to you.”

“Who?”

“The girl. Your beloved twin flame. And she is as lovely as I remember.”

Still watchful and wary, I flexed my fingers around the hilt of the heavy sword in my hand, a movement which seemed to catch his eye.

Groaning, he slouched further in his chair and rubbed a hand down his face. “Any other time, I’d find your lack of memory both amusing and opportunistic. Given the circumstances, it’s rather irritating and inconvenient.”

“Who is the girl”

“There was a time she went by another name, but these days, she goes by Farryn.”

My muscles steeled at the sound of her name.

I trusted the Fallen about as much as I trusted Lucifer himself, but a part of me was admittedly intrigued. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a whole lot of time to entertain his theories.

“That’s an interesting story. But story time is over.”

I lurched toward him, but halted mid-step, frowning when he placed his own dagger at his throat. No self-absorbed fallen angel would be so inclined to take his own life. Color me surprised.

“Remember her.”

“Why do you care?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t give a good goddamn about your boring romance with a human girl. It’s the prophecy that interests me. The blood moon.”

“A fairytale.”

“Is it? Did you forget that, too? How you destroyed an entire city and all its people for her?”

“I destroyed the Pentacrux. For what they did to me. The same reason I intend to destroy you.”

“She will die. On the night of the blood moon. And just as before, you will take vengeance on those responsible. The Pentacrux. And from my own place in hell, I will rejoice in the splendor of watching them burn for what they took from me.”

“What did they take?”

The tears in his eyes belied a snort of laughter. “Everything,” he hissed through yellow crooked teeth, before slicing the blade across his throat. Black, tarry blood oozed from the wound, and he slapped a hand over it, choking for breath. “Remember. Her,” he rasped.

The blade fell from his hand, as he gripped his throat with both palms and slumped further into his chair. Gasping and choking, he seized and twitched in the most dramatic spectacle of death I’d ever witnessed.

Bored, I rammed my sword into his skull, and his body stiffened before going completely slack in the chair. He burst into flames, his flesh charring and crackling on the chair that failed to catch fire, and after another minute, the only evidence left was the black pile of ash on the cushion and his blade still lying on the floor.

Exiting the cottage, I scanned the few party guests who had begun to cross back over the bridge to the main dome, where the crowd had gathered around the tables. I kept to the outskirts, the shadows, and, on passing, heard a vaguely familiar voice that carried over hushed whispers.

“My dear friends, thank you for attending this year’s Hallow Harvest Fest. I encourage you to partake in drink and merriment! Servants will be providing refreshments all throughout the night, along with something very special. A bit of a passion project of mine, if you will.” A husky man in an elaborate gold robe and a thorny crown of twigs and leaves stood in the center of the dome, clutching a golden staff. He held up what appeared to be a silver-colored pill. “My gift to you. I call it Rapture.”

A costumed man standing closest to me chuckled, saying he’d given some to his date earlier in the evening. When the second man standing beside him asked where she was, he hiked a thumb over his shoulder toward the cottages where sexual favors were exchanged. “Corrupting the poor bastards who followed her into that cottage. Damn near everyone’s drink is spiked with the stuff.”

Both men chuckled, and it was then I searched the crowd for the spot where I’d left Farryn before heading off after Virgil.

She was gone.

Groaning, I strode toward the corner of the dome where I’d last seen her, and found an opening, a path into the dark woods beyond. Hand brushing the hilt of my sword, I stepped into the woods, listening. At the sound of distant voices, I stalked toward a small, thatch-roofed stone hovel, situated away from the festivities, where a gas lamp flickered, illuminating shadows on the walls inside. The windows held no glass, so I could hear the voices carry on the air.

“Your skin is like silk. So smooth. So soft. Give yourself to me, and I will offer you protection.”

Lip curled in disgust at the voice I recognized as belonging to Tartys, I slammed my fist against the door, sending it swinging wide open.

In the center of the room, Farryn stood with her arm outstretched toward the deformed Intortui, who’d frozen in place, eyes wide. She snapped back her limb and jumped backward, nearly tripping over her own feet.

“Mister Van Croix …” The Intortui rubbed his crooked fingers together, seemingly nervous with my presence. “I was just … watching over your guest, while you took care of business. You did take care of business, correct?”

Farryn snapped her gaze back to Tartys. “You knew what he came to do? You were in on this, too?”

He tipped his chin up with the kind of pride I could’ve knocked clear off his shoulders. “Of course. Who do you think got him entry into the party? Was me. Me alone. And I believe there was supposed to be an exchange, of sorts.”

“That you would even entertain the thought of enslaving what belongs to me is enough to make me laugh.” I raised the sword into the air and slid my finger along the shiny steel surface. “If I weren’t imagining a blade across your throat right now.” I lurched forward, and before the deformed man could react, I propped my sword beneath his chin. “In fact, why endeavor to imagine what could easily become reality.”

“Careful now, Jericho. You wouldn’t want to incite unnecessary tensions.” The hiss of his crooked teeth reminded me of a snake.

I reached out for Farryn before she could turn away and guided her face toward me, finding her pupils dilated. “I’m afraid you’ve already set that into motion, my friend. For every action, there’s a consequence. I’m merely balancing the scale.”

“I’m fine,” she said, slapping my hand away, which set her off balance, nearly toppling her to the floor. “What exchange is he talking about?”

“A night with you.” Again, I pressed the blade into his throat, drawing a small streak of blood there.

“I retract what I said. The girl is yours. I would never trounce on your property. My apologies for suggesting such a ludicrous thing. But I will remind you, Mister Van Croix, that you promised her to me.”

“She was never a promise to you.” I watched his pulse hammer against the steel and studied the obvious fear in his eyes.

“My apologies, if I misunderstood the arrangement.”

“It’s not me who requires an apology.”

His eyes shifted toward Farryn, the flinch exposing his disgust for having to apologize to a lowly female.

“This blade grows heavier with every passing minute,” I taunted. “Who knows when I’ll tire of holding it.”

“My apologies.”

Farryn gave a sheepish smile, as if he deserved so much humility. “It’s fine--”

“You can do better than that. Address her with the kind of respect you’d show your own mother, or I will send you to the nothingness.”

“My apologies. Ma’am.” At the lift of the blade, he cleared his throat. “My lady,” he added, glaring back at me.

“There. Was that so hard?” I lowered the blade from his throat. In the next breath, the whoosh of steel sliced through the air, and that glaring expression fell to the floor with the Intortui’s decapitated head.

Farryn grew more unsteady, the swaying more pronounced, and the pallor of her face told me she might just pass out. “Y … y… you killed him.”

“I’d say so.” I wiped the Intortui’s blood on the shirt of his headless body, and held the weapon up, twisting it around to admire the gleam. Not a breath later, his body burst into flames, and she jumped backward on a squeal, straight into my chest. “Impressive weapon, this sword.”

“But … he did as you asked. He apologized.”

“Would you like to know what thoughts went through his head as he did so?”

“You decapitated him … for … for … thoughts?” She pushed off me, still unsteady on her feet.

“For imagining you strung up naked and at his mercy. Yes, I decapitated him for that.”

“Did you not tell me earlier you imagined the same thing?”

“I did. I suppose the difference is that I held the sword. He didn’t.”

Certain she was about to keel over, I tucked the sword back into its scabbard and swiped her legs out from underneath her, scooping her up into my arms. Part of me wanted to ignore how perfect she felt against me. The other part of me couldn’t.

“I don’t need you to carry me,” she growled, squirming. A valiant effort, but useless, nonetheless.

As I re-entered the party, I kept my head low on passing a crowd of men, in the event one of them might recognize me. On hearing Mister Barchiel call out to someone, one of the men nearby, and seeing him hobble toward us, I set Farryn down and pressed her against a nearby tree. The men were a mere few feet from where we stood, and as she opened her mouth to protest, I capped her argument with my palm, muffling her voice. Seemed the drug had begun to turn her somewhat belligerent, and she squirmed against me, as I turned my head to eavesdrop. The feel of her body against mine made for a painfully effective distraction.

“I trust you’ve all had the opportunity to witness the efficacy of this product,” Mr. Barchiel said with an air of pride in his voice. “I suspect it will revolutionize the business of corruption and debauchery.”

The men laughed in unison, a few of them offering up their glass in a toast.

“You’re a genius, Mister Barchiel. Absolutely brilliant,” one of them exclaimed.

“It’s not genius, nor brilliance, but fate, my dear friend. For the souls of nonbelievers are destined to perish in the fire.”

At that, I froze, focusing on the words that were familiar to me. Words I’d heard a long time ago.

In my preoccupation, my hand slipped from Farryn’s mouth.

“Let me go!” Her scream damn near echoed, and in my frustration, I pressed my lips to her mouth to silence her.

“Sounds like someone could use a second dose.” Another of the men from their group laughed, but his voice faded for the rush of blood and adrenaline that hammered through me, as I dipped my tongue past her lips. Completely consumed by the woman who tasted like sweet berries and sunshine. A flavor that had become foreign to me, in this place of eternal overcast, but something about her kiss felt familiar, deliciously ambrosial.

Eyes closed, I fell into memories of a girl. The one I’d dreamed about. My curiosity heightened, and as she lifted her hand to push me away, I snatched up her wrist and held her pinned, reveling in her taste.

The fight in her fizzled, and she melted against me, her fingers curling into my jacket. When I pulled away from her, the look in her eyes, a cross between fear and wonder, held me captivated a moment longer, before I realized the crowd of men had dispersed.

As if she and I were the only two left.

I wordlessly lifted her into my arms and carried her through the dome, past the two stags checking the guestlist, and out into the night.