Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (34 page)

I shot up. My head was swimming. No, that's wrong. It
has to be. "You feed what to the demons?"

Forneus grinned. "Demons use soul magic. Where do you
think those souls come from? When someone who was once under
contract dies, we extract both their spirit and their soul. As you
know, we direct their spirit to Purgatory, and then either give
their vital energy--or soul--to our Prince or feed it to our
demons. "

"Oz would never do that," I said. It sounded more
like:
Ozud evra do-rat.

March crouched down beside me. "Oz. You've said that
twice now. Is that your little name for Azazel?"

I tried to get a better look at him, but my eyes
rolled to the back of my head.

March rested his chin on his fist. "It doesn't matter
what they want. Demons are useless to us if they don't consume
souls, so we included 'feeding clauses' in contracts. At the time
they were willing to agree to anything so they could release the
ones they loved from Purgatory."

Sharp pain seized my chest--the feeling of my lungs
deflating. "Save?"

Forneus sighed. "God casts the spirits of those who
sin into Purgatory, and tempting an angel to fall is a grave
sin."

March poked my nose. "And they couldn't get them out
without us," he sang.

No. You're joking
. Was this the beginning of
Forneus and Oz's "friendship?" Had Azazel accepted eternal
servitude to save the one he loved from Purgatory? Did he beg the
devil? Did he thank him? How did he feel when he realized that, in
exchange for saving the person who'd tempted him from Purgatory,
he'd be forced to eat human souls? Azazel, who hated all power,
especially his own.

I closed my eyes, forcing back tears. I would not cry
in front of either of these disgusting, decrepit, manipulative
beings. I would not give them anything. I had already given Forneus
too much.

If I'd known--if only you'd told me--I never would
have done this. Never. I can see why you didn't want to, but now I
can't take it back...

The devil tapped my nose a few more times and stood.
"They didn't know how contracts worked, either. Thought they could
get out of them. So funny when they tried." He winked at me, then
snickered. "You remember when you and I thought that too, Forneus,
don't you? Lucifer tricked all of us, that lucky bastard."

Forneus stared at me, saying nothing.

I glared back, wishing the resentment in my eyes
would make him feel something. Anything. I almost couldn't feel the
sick weight on my skin anymore. It was all replaced by my revulsion
for these things.

"Forneus, there is something I don't understand."

The devil blinked, then turned his attention away
from me. "What?"

"There was an angel back there."

"Yes," Forneus replied.

"Lucifer didn't mention that."

"I think he wanted it to be a surprise."

"He knows how much we hate surprises, especially
ones like that," March muttered sagely, licking his fingers. "It
was Camael, wasn't it?"

Forneus paused. "Yes."

"Well, that's interesting."

Forneus said nothing.

"Was Azazel really fighting beside him? Maybe I
could understand if it were another angel, but for a demon to stand
alongside Camael--"

"Azazel, for the most part, does what he pleases,"
Forneus answered. I noticed that he didn't bring up the fact that
Azazel loved me.

"You give him an unprecedented amount of freedom.
Lucifer will not be pleased to hear it."

Forneus looked up and narrowed his eyes. "He is not
Lucifer's pet, he is mine. Whether his actions please our prince or
not is inconsequential."

The purple stranger looked down at me. "We'll see.
You're not telling me something."

Forneus studied at him for a moment. "Since you
know, there's no reason for me to continue chatting with you to
maintain appearances."

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that."

Forneus grinned. "Let's go. Lucifer hates to be kept
waiting."

March snarled. "Fine. Since you didn't help during
the fight, you can carry her."

No
. They couldn't possibly mean they wanted to
hold me again. Wet puke still dripped from the side of my mouth. I
doubted I'd be able to keep it down if one of them picked me
up--no, if one of them dared to touch me.

Forneus' shiny leather toe kicked a rock next to a
pile of my vomit. "No."

March pointed to his stained shirt. "Well, I'm
certainly not going to--"

"I brought her down here. I've touched her enough,"
Forneus interrupted. "Besides, don't you want some credit for
bringing her here?"

"Fine," March whispered. He bent over me and shut
his eyes. Slowly, he brought his lips down to my collarbone, and
inhaled. "You are...exquisite. It's been so long since we've taken
one of the Nephilim. Our Prince has waited for thousands of years
for someone like you."

This time, I projectile vomited in his face. It was
about 95% involuntary.

Forneus handed March a white handkerchief. The devil
wiped off the offensive residue and threw it to the ground. "I
suggest you try not to do that when you meet him," he enunciated
sharply, then picked me up. "Now, let's go to Lucifer."

Chapter 18

It felt like we'd been walking forever. March's shirt
was still damp from my puke, so in the back of my mind I knew it
couldn't have been that long. Still, that did little to ease the
pounding in my temples, or the burning in my lungs whenever I took
a breath.

Finally, I felt his chest rumble. "Almost there."

I rolled my head to the side, ignoring the tightness
of my sore neck. An iron gate covered in overgrown rose bushes
stood before us. It was the first object I'd seen in Hell. All
around it, and everywhere else, was endless, thick mist.

"Can she walk now?" March asked Forneus, not me.

Forneus retrieved a tarnished silver key from his
pocket. "Probably," he muttered, fiddling with the lock.

March set me down. I weaved back and forth twice
before grabbing his shoulder.

"Miss me, sweetheart?" His violet tinted teeth
gleamed at me.

I wanted to say something equally sarcastic and
diminutive, but my mind was too fuzzy. I slurred, then blew air
through my lips like a whinnying horse.

March laughed, then turned to touch a rose. Their
stems were black as the iron gate, and their petals red as human
blood. He pinched one of the stems, breaking it off. Little thorns
embedded themselves in his palm and fingers, and a similarly black,
thick liquid oozed down his wrist.

"A gift for a princess," he murmured reverently.

I took it without thinking.
Stupid Devi. You
should never trust anyone who calls you a princess. Never. What if
it had been coated in poison?
But it wasn't. The petals were
soft. I brought them to the tip of my nose, and inhaled an almost
cloying scent reminiscent of the perfume my mother used to wear on
Christmas and her birthday when I was a little girl.

I almost dropped it. How could such a subtle,
personal fragrance exist in a place like this? Before I could wrap
my mind around the questions, the rose began to fade. I held it
tighter, risking the sharp prick of its thorns in my skin, but I
felt nothing. It was gone, and the only trace that it had ever even
existed were a few thick, black smears on my hands--the blood March
had shed when the thorns cut him.

"You've come at a good time," March whispered. "Our
illusions become less potent each day."

"Enough," Forneus hissed. The door squealed as he
kicked it open. "There's no need to tell her things like that."

March raised his brows.

Forneus grit his teeth, grabbed my arm, and dragged
me through the gate.

It took less than a second for us to step through.
Such a seemingly insignificant amount of time, yet I knew the
moment it happened because everything changed. The heavy, damp mist
was gone. It still hurt to breathe, though the air filling my lungs
merely made them ache instead of ripping me apart. Warmth caressed
the bridge of my nose. I took a step forward, this time without
wobbling, and opened my eyes. Immediately I squinted, waiting for
them to adjust to the light.

Yes, light--the brilliant, comforting light in the
center of Hell. I was about to ask how it could exist and why
everything outside the gates was so dark, but one look at my
surroundings silenced me.

The three of us stood in the middle of a courtyard. A
mosaic maze lay beneath my 2-year-old sneakers. Directly in front
stood a Gothic palace--or at least I assumed it was. It looked like
someone had thrown together a hundred Notre Dames. Angular steeples
shot into the sky, and on the stone carved walls were ornate
depictions of angels falling, human evisceration, and bestial men
fornicating.

I shivered. Those carefully executed grotesque scenes
looked so out of place amongst the manicured almond, fig, and apple
trees. Around the palace was a moat and hedge maze, reminiscent of
that one in
The Shining
an axe-wielding Jack Nicholson
chased his kid into.

"Don't dawdle," Forneus muttered.

March put his hand on the small of my back, ushering
me across the lawn. We passed six fountains on our way to the red
doors. They featured cherubs splashing in the water, or Venuses
sprouting out of seashells with strategically placed hair.

My knees buckled as I climbed the steps. Those doors
were at least thirty feet high.

I can't do this. They're really taking me to meet the
devil. The devil.

"Uh, guys.." I stammered.

"Don't embarrass yourself, Devi," Forneus sighed as
he leaned against the door.

It was dark in there. Maybe it was just a pit, and
they were going to drop me in.

My head whipped around. I couldn't leave the grounds
because I couldn't even walk outside the iron gates. But I could
lose them in the hedge maze. Maybe. I didn't know my way around,
but they might not either.
Yeah right
. Or I could jump in
the fountain. I could be mistaken for a Venus on a good day, if I
didn't smell like bile, and I grew six inches, and increased a few
cup sizes and...oh Hell.

I had to find some way to stall--to either give Oz
and the angel enough time to find me, or find some way to escape
myself.

"Camael," I whispered, voice shaking.

"That won't work here," Forneus said. Then, more
softly: "And I suggest you not advertise the fact you have a
guardian angel."

My pulse spiked. Was he helping me?

"Come on," March called from behind as he pushed me
through the doors.

I stumbled onto a glass floor. In it, I saw my
yellow-cheeked, sunken-eyed reflection. Alright, there was no way I
could have passed for Venus. At least I knew that escape plan was
never an option. And then, I realized that the ceiling was
reflected in the mirror, too.

On one side were angels, mythological creatures,
cherubs and humans painted in a Rococo style. They played, laughed,
and stumbled into suggestive situations. The other half of the
ceiling was completely different: children hid inside rib cages,
monstrous forms rose from the ground, demonic creatures dug out
their victim's intestines and wore them as necklaces. It was
painted in the same frivolous style.

Whoever made this has a seriously twisted sense of
humor
.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Forneus' lips
twitch as he took in my shocked expression.

Guess I'm right.

March coughed. He stood next to a black door on the
left, beneath a silver unicorn head mounted like a deer between two
silver wings.

"Forneus, is that real?"

"The unicorn?" He laughed. "No, Devi. It's just a
statue."

I rubbed my arms and nodded. Forneus stepped behind
me, quietly herding me to where March stood.

"We should wipe her face off before we present her,"
March muttered, opening up his jacket.

"Lucifer won't care," Forneus responded. "Let's get
this over with."

March's bony fingers wrapped around the silver
handle. "Very well. After you."

A wall of sweet, violet smoke greeted us. I stepped
through the doorway and right onto someone's hand.

I jumped. "Sorry, I didn't mean--I mean, I didn't
see--"

The man draped his wrist over his chest--his naked
chest. In fact, he didn't wear anything at all, and he didn't even
seem to notice that I'd stepped on him. His purple eyes were almost
swallowed by his dilated pupils. He gazed up blankly, watching the
smoke circle above his head. Black ooze dripped from the corner of
his open mouth.

Oh my God. He bit through his tongue, and he didn't
even notice...

Something grabbed my arm. "Keep moving."

Instinctively, my hand wrapped around Forneus'. For
support, I told myself, and boy did I need it.

The floor breathed. Hundreds of thin, naked rib cages
languidly moving up and down. Devils were piled up on top of each
other, their limbs intertwined, their long, purple hair stuck to
their sweaty, skeletal faces. And those eyes--haunted, unseeing,
ecstatic--burning like violet fireflies in the smoke.

Most were curled up in a fetal position between one
of the many Malabar Hookahs. They moved only to pass one of the
hoses to the next devil, or to place the mouthpiece between their
lips to inhale, deeply, the smoke from the
Rukah-Hayim
.

That was definitely what they were smoking. I
remembered the pungent scent and heady purple smoke. I remembered
that feeling of falling. I pinched myself to stop the contact high
and held my breath. Yeah, like that will work. Still, I kept doing
it. I really didn't want to strip, curl up beside them on the
floor, and lose myself in their drugged dreams.

Were they all imagining their own dream worlds, like
Forneus had done with me in his private room? Was that why their
glazed expressions seemed happy? Had I looked like that when I was
with Forneus in his ideal field?