Damnation's Door: A Cursed Book (9 page)

I hated Lucifer. Hated him with every fiber of my being. But right then, I hated Michael more.

“Michael.” Sephiel’s voice was hesitant and tired. “Forgive me, but this is not a wise idea. A more thorough plan must be devised before engaging Lucifer openly. We have fought him on such grounds, and we barely escaped with our lives. He has spread his influence further than comprehension. No matter how badly he wishes to reclaim what he believes belongs to him, he is working on another plan. Presenting Dro to him would provide him with the final piece of it.”

The archangel turned to look at Sephiel. “You fear him so, Sephiel?”

“I have always feared him.” The ex-angel didn’t bother to lie. “I have seen what he is capable of, and know he will not be defeated if he gains what he wants. He will have plotted for every conceivable outcome.”

“Not this,” Dro said quietly. We all looked at her. “He can’t be expecting us to give in. He knows we aren’t the type.”

That was directed at me, and it was true as hell, which is probably what terrified me the most.

Dro looked at me with sad, exhausted blue eyes, and I couldn’t see a way of making her change her mind.

“We’re going to face him down sooner or later, Con. We don’t know how else to close the Hell Gate, so if meeting him this way is what we’re supposed to do...” I heard her hesitance. It was tied to her fear. “Then it’s what we have to do. It was inevitable.”

I didn’t want to hear that shit. Nothing was ever written in stone. It couldn’t be.

Except sometimes it was. All it took was a little time...

There were a lot of things I hated. People taunting or trying to hurt my sister. Those who disrespected me or disregarded me. Early morning talk shows and a lack of sleep.

Job hunting beat them all.

After the motel burned, I decided it would be smart to get out of Odessa and try somewhere smaller. Dro had silently agreed. The next stop we made was Midland, which was currently in the middle of a blue collar hiring spree. We looked for jobs that needed more than one person, since I refused to leave Dro’s side for any reason. As we drove and wandered around the city, dropping by the library to print off resumes filled with B.S., we noticed there weren’t a lot of options. Dro was too young and I was too pissy.

“What about here?” Dro asked, pointing at the window of a cafe. There was a chalkboard sign in the window that said, Now Hiring: Full Time Dishwasher and Part Time Barista. I frowned. I had no people skills, so the barista option was out. Which meant I would be going from a badass drug enforcer to an angry-eyed dishwasher.

Then again, this request was the most excited Dro had been about anything all day. She would get the job. She liked people, trusted them to the extent that I taught her to, and she would be able to work with ease knowing I could be out of the back in a flash if need be. How hard was it to wash dishes, anyway? Mom used to heap them on me all the time.

“Sure,” I agreed. “Can’t hurt.”

My little sister gave me a small smile and walked with me into the cafe. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon, so it wasn’t very busy. There were three people working behind the counter, one customer waiting in line for her coffee, and two more sitting in the armchairs reading the newspaper. I glanced at them all quickly. Dro would tell me if something was off about them, and we would get the hell out of here.

But she didn’t say anything, which meant the coast was clear.

A forty-something barista with thick red hair and brown eyes finished helping her customer. Her smile was pleasant and carefree. I wondered if she really was that blissful, or just putting on an act. She turned that smile on us, and it quickly faded.

My hand dropped to my side. I felt the edge of my father’s hatchet under my long T-shirt. I didn’t think I would have to draw it in a public place, but this was Texas. If that happy-go-lucky barista had a double-barrel under the cash register, I didn’t want to be the first one to meet it.

“Can I get you ladies something?” the barista asked, gliding over to the cash desk. Dro matched her smile and walked forward casually. My sister was shy, but she knew how to talk to people instead of threatening them.

“My friend and I saw the sign in the window,” Dro said, pointing to it. “We’d like to apply for the jobs, if they’re still open.”

“Sure, they are,” replied the barista. She looked at me nervously when I walked closer. I was used to people looking at me like I was going to hit them, but I thought I had my disinterested face on instead of my mad face.

“I just need to call my manager,” she said.

I narrowed my eyes. She flinched. “Is there a reason we can’t give you our résumés?”

“Our manager likes to take them personally,” the barista answered a little too quickly. “I’ll be right back.”

She moved to the swinging door that let her into the back. The other baristas glanced at me curiously, then nervously. I looked at Dro.

“We should leave,” I whispered.

Dro turned her head. “Why, what’s wrong?”

I shifted to look at her, stopping when something else caught my eye. One of the men reading the paper was looking at me. He was talking on a cell phone but I couldn’t hear the words he said. I was looking at the mirror, my gaze trailing down to the page reflecting in it.

And the picture of my face on it. Reading backward wasn’t a talent of mine, but I understood the word “WANTED” well enough.

I grabbed my sister’s arm and started dragging her toward the door, which was a huge mistake when the police car pulled up on the side of the curb.

The cops were out of their car almost immediately. Their guns came out even quicker.

“Let the hostage go!” one shouted. He was a middle-aged man with cold dark eyes and a hard frown.

“Get on the ground and put your hands on your head!” his partner ordered. She was a Hispanic woman a few years older than me, but she had the same hard eyes and frown as her friend.

“Wait, I’m not a hostage!” Dro pleaded, holding up her hands. “She’s my sister!”

“Step away from her!”

I didn’t know if they were referring to my sister or to me, but I wasn’t about to risk Dro’s life. I raised my hands and backed away from her.

My sister was horrified when the female cop marched forward. I went down to my knees slowly, until she stepped on the back of them and shoved me onto the ground. She put her knee on my back and pushed my face into the concrete with her free hand. Cold metal circled my wrists tightly and clicked shut.

“Connie! Connie!” Dro cried. “Please, you have to let me go with her! She’s my sister!”

I didn’t know what the male cop told her because the female cop gripped the handcuffs and jerked me to my feet. She was a lot stronger than she looked.

Dro tried to catch my eyes over the broad shoulders of the cop holding her back. She looked desperate and scared. I returned her stare with grief
.

I’m sorry, little sister.
I couldn’t have run. If I had, I might have been shot and Dro would have watched me die. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to see me while I was in prison. We’d never be able to afford a lawyer. We had no money for bail. Whatever I was being arrested for, I was most definitely guilty.

I could have just condemned her to another kind of loneliness.

The cop slapped her hand on top of my head and pushed me into the backseat, slamming the door closed. I looked out of it as the cops talked to my sister. My back was rigid and my mind wired as I watched Dro shout at them. She didn’t get angry often– as in only once when she wanted to leave the Blood Thorns– but when she did, she made an impression.

The cops were trying to calm her down but she kept shouting. Then they gave up, and the male officer took out a set of handcuffs and put them on my little sister.

I blinked, unable to believe what I was seeing. Sure, I knew that one day I would probably be arrested. It’s a given when you’re a dangerous criminal. But Dro? Innocent, sweet, loving Dro who stepped over ants instead of on them, who hated to lie, cheat, and steal? Who knew right from wrong even when she had blind loyalty to me?

Never thought I’d see the day. Yet sure enough, she was placed in the backseat beside me. I stared at her, eyes wide with surprise. My sister managed to look guilty and defiant at the same time.

“This seemed like a good idea earlier,” she said.

I laughed. It was such a Dro thing to say. That was the last laugh we got in before we were driven to the police station...

Chapter 8

After Michael left, it was back to silence. This time it felt more self-induced than forced, even though the angels holding swords to my neck and Dro’s still hovered incessantly.

No, this time we didn’t have anything to say. Nobody wanted Dro to give in to Lucifer, least of all me, but if we couldn’t escape, what could the rest of us do but sit back and watch her give herself up in a plan that would likely mean she was killed in the crossfire?

Even if things went his way, Michael would never let Dro live. All he could see was the daughter of Lucifer. If she weren’t supposed to exist, he would make sure that she didn’t.

As I tried to force my brain to come up with a scenario that wouldn’t end with us skewered, I sat slumped in my chair. The cut under my chin was still throbbing dully, and I knew it would scar. The wound on the back of my neck wasn’t as bad, but it wasn’t letting me forget about it, either.

When the door at the top of the stairs opened, my heart leaped. I was sure it was time, that Michael was ready to take my sister to the creature that wanted to use her and destroy every ounce of goodness in her.

No,
I thought with an aching heart.
No, it’s too soon. This isn’t supposed to happen. It’s not supposed to be this way.

Fuck that the angels behind me had swords. I was getting out of these binds. Nobody was taking Dro. I wasn’t letting her go without a fight.

Just as I began to twist my wrists, I heard an angel giving commands.

“You may both take leave,” he said.

I stopped struggling. It wasn’t Michael. This angel had a deeper voice, almost like a crooning jazz singer. I lifted my head and looked past Dro.

It was the mocha-skinned angel who had shadowed Michael earlier. I got a good look at him again, seeing how he virtually mirrored Michael’s mannerisms and posture. He clearly had an idol, and he wanted us to know he was proud of it.

Sephiel tensed a little as the angel drew closer. That was the biggest warning I could have asked for.

The angel stopped in front of us, giving each member of our group a harsh once over. He scrutinized Sephiel, Dro, and me the longest. He was still glaring at me when he spoke.

“Leave us,” he told the other angels.

His voice had a deep, baritone quality that soothed me as much as it unnerved me.

“Sir, are you certain?” the angel behind me asked.

The tall angel lifted his eyes from my face to the angel behind me. The sword at the back of my neck twitched.

“They pose no threat to me. Leave us.”

There weren’t any questions after that. Both angels standing guard behind Dro and me stepped back and started walking up the steps. The angel between us stood completely still, looking from one of us to the other even when the door was closed beyond him.

“Let me guess,” I said, when the silence became too long, “Michael wanted us tenderized before the real torture started?”

The angel looked at me, enjoying my humor about as much as the rest of my group did.

“Michael does not know I am here,” answered the angel.

“I hope that isn’t supposed to make us feel better.”

He stared, reaching inside his long white coat. “Perhaps this will.”

The angel pulled out a slender golden tube inscribed with words I couldn’t read. A
movens caeli,
the tool the Heavenly Host would use to transport a large amount of soldiers to anywhere they wanted. The same tool our old friend/enemy Rorikel had given us so we could escape the battle at the Heaven Gate.

Why was he showing it to us?

The angel turned his back to me to look at Sephiel. “Is it truly your mission to destroy the Hell Gate?”

Sephiel looked directly into his eyes, as if there was nowhere else to look. “Yes, Raphael. It is.”

Raphael.
As in the archangel, one of the most powerful of Michael’s generals.
Shit.

But if he was on Michael’s side, what was he doing down here with the
movens caeli
, and why was he asking about our goal?

Raphael dropped his head to his chest. “He does not understand,” he whispered so low I barely heard him. “He does not understand that the rest of us continue to lose our powers. Our soldiers have martial skill and nothing more. We cannot combat Lucifer as Michael expects. Some of us no longer want to.”

This time he turned so he could look at all of us. “Some of us have seen past our rage to accept the truth. We cannot return to Heaven through any gate but Saint Peter’s. And though we could seek vengeance for that,” he directed this to Dro, “it would achieve nothing. Our only hope remains to sever the connection of the Hell Gate, and force Lucifer back into his domain.”

My heart skipped a beat. “How do we stop him?” I asked in a rush.

I was hoping for a quick, simple answer that would involve me stabbing Lucifer, but from the heavy look Raphael gave me, it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“When he Fell and was locked in Hell, the archangels operated under the belief that he would never be able to return to Earth. We never imagined he would use blood magic to create demons, or that he would gain human followers with enough strength to summon him.”

I grimaced, remembering how powerful Isabel, the witch who brought Lucifer from Hell and murdered my father, had been. I recalled how Mateo had been eager and willing to sell his soul to have his dreams turn into reality– a successful, untouchable reign over the crime world, and complete devotion and love from me.

All he had to do was give up my sister.

Neither Isabel’s nor Mateo’s plans had gone in their favor.

“Tell me he can’t give humans his powers,” I gritted out.

“No,” Raphael answered, offering me at least one consolation. “To manipulate humans and grant them gifts while they are on Earth takes a great deal of power, and it is rarely done. In Hell, Lucifer and his demons are invincible. Anything that bears his blood there cannot be killed. But since Lucifer does not control the mortal realm, his powers are slightly weaker, and his creations can be destroyed. When the Hell Gate was opened, Michael sent some scouts to assess the potency of its power.” Raphael’s jaw was set tight. “The last survivor informed us that Lucifer spent those first few months binding his essence to the Hell Gate, drawing on the power that leaked from Hell into Earth. It strengthens his abilities here, as well as the strength of his demons.

“Lucifer cannot be killed while the Hell Gate powers him. He is far too powerful with it. Even Michael is not strong enough to stop him, though he refuses to see as such. However, if the Hell Gate is closed, Lucifer and all the demons he has tied to him with blood magic will be forced to return to the Pit from whence they came.”

I frowned. “He can’t do anything convenient, like die?”

Raphael’s grin was weak and mirthless. “Unfortunately, no. While demons continue to escape Hell at alarming rates, many remain behind the Gate. As long as they live, so does Lucifer. Yet, considering how much energy it is taking for him to hold the Gate open, closing it will be a grievous blow. Akin to him losing an arm. Such a loss of power would force him back into Hell to recuperate, and with the angels locked in Heaven or losing their powers on Earth, he would not be able to create another hybrid and repeat his ritual. He would remain in Hell until the End of Days.”

That sounded both perfect
and
amazing, especially the part about Lucifer never being able to re-emerge from Hell again and metaphorically losing an arm (I enjoyed that imagine a little too much, to be honest), but a bolt of panic rushed through my brain. If we shut the Hell Gate, did that mean Dro would be taken too? No matter how many times I tried to tell myself otherwise, she had a blood tie to Lucifer. If closing the Hell Gate stripped away a piece of her as closing the Heaven Gate had, would she survive?

Before I could ask that vital question, Raphael continued with information overload.

“You have heard of these sprees of violence and debauchery,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was hard to miss it when the streets were painted with blood.

“They are being caused superficially.”

I was so stunned that I was sure I’d misheard him.

“What?” Warrick asked in my stead.

“To sustain his hold on it, Lucifer has a Key to Hell,” Raphael explained. “The Gate is this place,” he waved a hand in the air, indicating the crumbling city above us rather than the stuffy cellar we were held in.

The Hell Gate was an entire place, just as the Heaven Gate had been. Somehow, I didn’t think that we’d be able to burn the city down to erase it from the earth. Even if we could, I didn’t think I would be able to. Unlike the Heaven Gate, Ciudad Juárez
was teeming with people. I was capable of some pretty awful things if I was pushed, but razing an entire city of people wasn’t one of them. Even if doing so meant I would protect the rest of the world from Lucifer and his madness.

Raphael started walking behind Sephiel. He put the
movens caeli
in the ex-angel’s lap, then began unbinding his wrists from the chair.

“We began obtaining information on Lucifer’s plan upon our arrival,” Raphael went on. “Through… unseemly methods, we discovered that Lucifer has shattered a physical Key, likely made from his own blood, since each fragment contains a piece of the Hell Gate’s power. Destroying all the fragments, and therefore the Key, shall weaken Lucifer and force him back into Hell, locking the door behind him.”

For once, I was glad that angels had to resort to torture to get their answers. They had gotten more information than I ever expected them to get.

“How does this connect to the murder sprees?” I asked.

Raphael had set Sephiel free from the chair and was moving onto Max.

“The fragments must be activated by a soul. Lucifer does not have one, and this kind of dark magic requires the corruption of a powerful spiritual force. They are placed inside a living carrier to keep the Gate open. The fragment causes uncontrollable behavior. The closer the carrier is to sinners, the more violent they become. This in turn amplifies the violence to those who do not carry a fragment.”

“So it’s a symbiotic relationship,” Warrick simplified, rising to his feet and rubbing his wrists when Raphael released him. “One of them feeds the other.”

“Precisely. It is a magic that consumes its host entirely. Its effect is far more dangerous, and I fear we cannot obtain the Key without being corrupted ourselves.”

“So will it corrupt you if you touch it?” I asked when Raphael moved behind me and began untying me from the chair. I was stiff, not trusting him to be so close to me, but I focused on getting more information rather than how many different ways I could punch him.

“I am not sure,” he answered. “No one has ever successfully removed a fragment from a living specimen. I am under the assumption that the carrier would need to be incapacitated to ensure the fragment’s removal.”

Meaning that killing these carriers was probably the best way of getting a fragment out. It was certainly the easiest way.

“You certainly have a lot of information about this,” I said warily, shooting up from my chair so I could face Raphael.

He loomed over me, but there was no aggression in his eyes. He seemed tired, his shoulders slumped way lower than they’d been when he first came downstairs.

“To obtain it, we were forced to do things. Things that Michael commanded us to do, but they have not eased our minds. They were... unpleasant.”