Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (33 page)

I hugged myself. It was best not to think about
these things. We'd be out of here soon.

Eventually the patches of
Rukah-Hayim
became
scarcer. We began to walk on rock, and our footsteps echoed.

"We're far enough, Forneus. Let's leave now," Azazel
called from the rear.

"Not yet," the devil murmured.

Camael stopped. "Why isn't this far enough?"

Forneus didn't answer.

The angel turned. The gleaming of his skin was more
subdued, like a pearl peeking out from behind a lacy veil. He
frowned and parted his lips, then froze.

"Devi." Camael's voice warbled as he stepped closer,
eyes widening as they locked onto my neck.

No, more precisely my naked neck.

That's right. The familiar, cold weight of the chain
was gone. Camael's fingers traced the place where it would have
been. My heartbeat throbbed as he touched the base of my
throat.

"Why aren't you wearing your necklace?" he asked,
voice strained.

"What? She isn't?" Azazel pushed Forneus aside. In a
moment he was in front of me, eyes fierce and wild. He froze when
he spotted my bare neck. "What the Hell is going on?" He hissed
through clenched teeth.

Camael grabbed my shoulders. His grip was too tight,
almost bruising.

"Um, it's nothing," I said in my most reassuring
tone. "He just said I didn't need it right now."

"Forneus said that?" Camael whispered.

I nodded.

"That makes no sense." Azazel's chest heaved. The
whack-a-mole flames were back. "Nothing like you exists here.
Without that thing, every devil in Hell will feel your
presence--the presence of the unattached soul they've been looking
for--wandering around and..." He glared at something past my
shoulder. "You planned this."

I could hear Forneus swallow. "I'm sorry, old
friend, but I made this promise long before you fell."

"What are you saying?" Azazel yelled, rushing
forward. I heard something explode behind me, and turned just in
time to see Forneus' battered body step away from a crater in the
cave wall.

The devil winced and rolled his shoulders. They
cracked as rock fragments crumbled behind him. "All I'm saying is
that I'll just have to endure a little more of your hatred before
this is done."

He stepped forward, trying to brush Azazel's cheek
with his broken, bloody hand. Azazel punched him into the wall,
breaking his fist and Forneus' throat. The violence was merely
theatrical, though. By the time the demon stepped back, both of
them had already healed.

"Camael, open a portal. We're leaving. Now."

The angel held out his hand. Light collected in the
center of his palm, then scattered into the rock, like fireflies
going out one by one. "I can't."

Azazel whipped around. "What?"

"I can't feel Him," he whispered.

"Neither of you will be able to leave from this part
of the caves," Forneus said.

Azazel grabbed him. "Why?"

Forneus laughed. "Come now, I won't tell you that.
You'll leave if I do."

"I'm not messing around," the demon hissed. His
fingers were already turning into claws. They ripped the front of
Forneus' starched shirt.

"It doesn't matter, now. There are more pressing
issues." The devil smiled. "Ah, you haven't heard them yet, though
Camael has. He's already drawn his sword."

Forneus was right. The angel crouched low, sword in
hand, his aqua, fiery eyes peering unflinchingly into the
darkness.

The devil continued: "Will you change too, Azazel?
You won't be much of a match for them, if you don't."

Azazel looked at the darkness ahead, then back at
me.

Forneus followed his gaze to mine, then smiled. "Or
are you too afraid of what she'll think?"

The demon paused.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, don't think about me. It's
alright..." I trailed off, uncertain whether to call him Oz or
Azazel. It only seemed to worry him more.

"Now!" Camael yelled, readjusting his grip on his
sword.

Azazel crouched on all fours. "Don't look at me,
Devi," he pleaded.

I couldn't look away, even though he'd begged me.
The ink stains on his arms moved, shifting into scales. Green fog
surrounded his body. It grew thicker as he grew larger. Soon, all I
could see of him were his inhuman emerald eyes, glowing through the
mist, looking straight at me.

I involuntarily took a step back.

Camael yelled something and spread his wings. They
shimmered like hope in endless darkness, and I couldn't look
away.

I tried. I turned my head towards the dragon, but a
growl from Azazel's dark corner made me freeze. I rubbed the goose
bumps on my arms and glanced back at the angel. Why was it God's
light instead of Oz's power that soothed me? Did I, too, have a
curse--to covet, as much as I hated, this haunting beauty that had
condemned me? And why did Azazel want to hide that part of himself
from me?

Actually, I knew the answer to that last question.
It was because I recoiled every time I saw him--the real him. He
must have thought I--

I never finished my thought. Hundreds of twisted,
gray faces stormed the entrance.

They looked like the embodiment of pain--like they
were born in it, existed in it, and died in it. Sharp bones stuck
out of their skulls, pulling their skin so tight that it sometimes
broke. Their mouths were attached to their nose and cheeks, and
some didn't have lips at all. Either way, they couldn't completely
shut. Rows of small, spiky teeth poked through their puffy gums.
Each time they moved their jaws, they were lacerated by their
teeth. Their expressions were so twisted it was impossible to tell
if they were in pain or not. Black saliva, or blood, or a
combination of both, dripped out of the sides of their mouths and
steamed when it hit the ground.

Camael and the dragon shared a glance, then ran
forward. Camael's body reverted back into Heavenly light.

The creatures from Hell never stopped. The ones
behind pushed the ones in front onto Camael's sword. Their impaled
bodies caught fire, but those behind kept rushing forward with
beady, black, unchanging eyes. The fire spread through the
crowd.

A wail echoed through the cave. And another. I
brought my shaking hand to my parted lips. That had come from me,
not the repulsive creatures. The only sound they made was the
pitter-patter of their feet, and the clicking of their jaws as they
bit down on Camael and Azazel's bodies.

The dragon exhaled fire. The bodies curled, then
turned to charcoal. Soon his scales were covered in dust.

I inhaled ash. Soot caked onto my skin. The air was
too heavy. The dragon's green light had been snuffed out. All I
could see was the angel.

None of those creatures were able to get past him:
patient Camael, who had walked me through my math homework; gentle
Camael, who stood watch in the closet each night; beautiful Camael,
who I couldn't stop looking at, regardless of how much it made me
ache.

His face remained unchanged as his blade sank into
each creature. Azazel bellowed and flailed, trying to shake off the
residue of death from his skin. The dragon's movements were
desperate, almost ugly. The angel was precise and fluid, as if he
were dancing.

Camael kept going in a manner as selfless and
methodical as the creatures he fought. The blood that soaked his
limbs, the teeth marks in his otherwise flawless skin, the dark
clouds of incinerated carrion that cloaked his body--it meant
nothing. I realized, at that moment, that he truly had been made
for war--that his only purpose was to bring death to those that
opposed God's will.

Three more creatures awaited us at the front of the
cave: a jackal with neon yellow eyes, a black bull, and a purple
stranger, as elegant and cold as Forneus.

The jackal laughed as the plume of dust reached
them. The bull leaped, black horns gleaming, as he rushed straight
into Camael's sword.

It went right through the center of his body, though
the bull didn't care. His hooves crushed the twisted beings. The
sound of splintering bones echoed through the chamber. White flames
emerged from Camael's skin, until he seemed to be made of Heavenly
fire. Still, the bull pushed forward, until he'd successfully
slammed Camael against the wall.

The jackal circled the dragon, laughing. Then, he
crouched in the middle of the twisted creatures, and jumped with
them at the dragon's throat. The dragon howled as a circle of
yellow flame encased his neck. The twisted creatures ate at it, and
the yellow seeped into his wounds. The dragon threw himself against
the wall, smashing the jackal at his side. He left a crater in the
side of the wall, and the black rocks from the ceiling above
cascaded over all of them.

I screamed and darted forward.

If I'd been thinking, I wouldn't have done that.
There wasn't much a human girl like me could do against those
supernatural beings--I mean, just one of those deformed, toothy,
lumpy things could have taken me out. But none of that mattered.
Azazel was in pain, and I had to save him, even if it meant
removing rocks from the pile on top of him one by one.

Something latched onto my shirt, stopping me. "Let's
leave now, Forneus."

I looked up. The purple stranger that'd stood
between the jackal and the bull looked down his aristocratic nose
at me. His upper lip curled.

Forneus wiped his hands off on his slacks. "Whenever
you're ready."

The purple being reached into his pocket and threw a
purple, powdered substance--ground up
Rukah-Hayim
--at the
cave's floor. It immediately started glowing.

I really didn't like this guy touching me. I didn't
like his pretty face, waxy hands, or the fact that he smelled
exactly like Forneus. Anything that smelled like Forneus couldn't
be good. So I balled up my fist and clocked him in the jaw.

I screamed and doubled over. It felt like I'd just
hit cement.

The devil grabbed my hair with his free hand and
yanked down. "Don't keep us waiting," he told Forneus, before
jumping with me into the glowing purple circle on the floor.

***

We'd stopped falling. Maybe. The wind no longer
rushed past my face as we plummeted in a violet vortex towards
God-knows-what. But there was still something wrong. Pressure
rained down on every inch of my skin. My head was spinning. The air
was--the air...

I'd stopped screaming. Probably. But my throat was
still raw, and every time I inhaled it felt like fire was rushing
through my core, swallowing up my insides. There was something
wrong with the air. It felt like I was in the middle of a bed of
thorns. Needles were embedding themselves under my skin.

No, that wasn't right. My arms were still soft and
pink. I couldn't see anything wrong with them. And my vision was
clear, or at least I couldn't see any sign of ash. Is it all in my
head?

I looked up at two purple eyes, sparkling like
polished amethyst.

"Forneus?"

"What?" The voice above bellowed. "I'm not Forneus.
Wait, you got me mixed up with him?"

I squinted up at his face. Alright, other than the
purple features and flawless white skin, he really didn't look much
like Forneus. His eyes were bigger and much further apart. His lips
were fuller--pouty, I'd describe them--and his nose was longer and
straighter.

The stranger carried me, all sweaty and grimy and
dressed in my gym clothes, like a princess. Unfortunately, when his
hands reflexively curled at his anger from me mistaking him for
Forneus, they dug into the side of my chest and my upper
thighs.

I'm very ticklish, so I started kicking. He gripped
harder.
Oh, please stop
, I tried to say, but I couldn't stop
laughing, or flailing like that little, possessed girl in
The
Exorcist
.

"What's wrong with it?" He yelled, struggling to
keep his hold on me.

"She's not used to the air, Marchosias," a slick,
cool voice replied. I recognized it immediately. Forneus.

For some reason, the March guy thought the correct
response to that was to hold me tighter.

It wasn't.

I knew wiggling around wasn't smart, but I couldn't
help it. Those damn pasty fingers just felt so silly. I buckled,
and the nausea I'd successfully swallowed during our descent reared
its ugly head. I swayed back and forth, knocking my head into his
chest, and vomited all over the front of his shirt.

"What the Hell?" March screamed, dropping me on the
very hard, very rocky ground.

It hurt. A lot. And yet, the rocky cushion that held
my battered back still felt better than the air. "What's wrong with
his place?" I croaked, ignoring the ringing in my ears and trying
to focus my blurry vision on what I thought was Forneus.

The cool, familiar voice answered: "You're in Hell.
Did you think it would be pleasant?"

Hell? This was hell? It was rocky, and...Well, at
the moment I couldn't see much else. "My throat," I rasped.

Forneus brushed sweaty strands of hair from my face.
"It is especially unpleasant for you since you don't have a spirit.
The other souls in this place are trying to tear you apart already,
and make you one of them."

I gasped. "Other souls?"

I told you, Devi, that spirits can only create
illusions. If you want to make something lasting, you must use a
soul."

My stomach turned again.

"Everything--from the ground you lie on to the air
you breathe--is made of human souls."

March took an exaggeratedly deep breath. "Our Prince
made and maintains this 'Paradise' for us. We give half of the
souls we collect to him so he can repair and create new structures
in Hell, and we keep the other half to feed to our demons. The
spirits, as you seem to know, are sent to Purgatory to feed the
Rukah-Hayim
."