Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (25 page)

Carefully, Camille stepped around the room, her unblinking stare roaming over the hacked-apart pews and the fluttering hymnal pages. Dried flowers still in their vase dropped their fragile petals to the ground as she passed. A threadbare chair, like a throne, sat off to the side of the faded shadow of the cross. She took a seat, the wood creaking beneath her weight.

“You’ll never measure up to her,” Camille said, her hands curling around the thin, splintered armrests. She settled back in the chair and smelled Lucifer: his scent like sorrow and the dead flowers beside her. She reached over and plucked a wayward petal. “To Michaela. To Sophia. You’ll forever be lost in the shadow of a memory and a ghost. How does that feel,
Cami
?”

Camille looked up, following the line of vision Lucifer would’ve seen when he’d sat here. A loose floorboard poked up from the horizon of the floor, it’s wood thick and strong. Not rotten. Not cracked. Merely lifted, as if something was beneath it.

“It feels like I want to die,” she answered herself. “Like Michaela was the only angel perfect enough for him, and Sophia was the only girl he could ever love.”

She rose from the chair and walked over the loosened floorboard. The floor moaned its complaint up to her as she crouched down, her pale fingers slipping under the board’s lip. She didn’t need to pull hard; it came up easily. Camille shifted her wings over her back so the feathers refracted the moon’s light into the gap. The corner of a piece of paper poked out of the shadows, the scent of sorrow wafting up to Camille.

“What’s left for you then?” she asked the paper before reaching inside and gripping the corner. The space was narrow, only wide enough for the width of her hand. Carefully, she eased the page out, holding it delicately between her fingers.

On a page torn from a Bible, above the words written in Revelations, was a single sentence.

I’m coming for you.

From the smell alone, Camille knew Lucifer had written the simple, damning sentence. But the words curved drastically, the cursive all dangerous twists and turns. The hand who had written it must have belonged to someone half-crazed, maddened by the words. The ink was thick and purposeful, nothing left to the imagination. Camille put the page back inside the gap and lowered the board. She put her fingertips beneath her nose and inhaled.

Sorrow. And death. Sorrow and death and fire.

Maybe the words had been written for Clark, but Camille’s arm hairs stood on end as if the letter was truly meant for her.

* * *

Clark cradled his head in his hands. The dungeon was dark, not even a torch had been spared for him. He sat in corner of his cell, backed against the wall, his eyes darting through the shadows, like he needed to confirm their depth, their lifelessness.

The demon roamed inside him, scratching about Clark’s mind in search of the magic. He felt its frustrated hiss at times, and it gave him the only flicker of joy he’d had in days. That he’d kept the demon away from acquiring the knowledge of his marks was a sign that he could still do something right.

On cue, his jaw and neck burned from the holy water. That had made the demon really angry, and as badly as it hurt, Clark had been satisfied because he knew it hurt the demon more. These days, it was the little things that mattered.

Like seeing his mom.

That had actually mattered a lot. He wished she were here now. He would’ve liked to hold her hand, maybe feel her fingers running through his hair like she used to do when he was a little boy. She might have told him something sanguine and comforting to get him through the night. That would have helped a lot, Clark thought.

Clark scratched the underside of his nose. The dampness had settled into his lungs, giving him a rattle as he breathed. His nose was raw, his throat sore. He was more likely to die of a cold than hanging if the Descendants’ council took too long to convict him.

No, he wouldn’t hang. Camille and Zarachiel would free him first. They’d just been biding their time, hoping the humans would figure this out on their own. They didn’t want to cause a stir, but they would if they had to. Clark could have tried to break out using his magic if he wasn’t afraid of the demon catching a glimpse.

He’d spent long hours thinking about abolishing the demon using the Watchers’ secrets on his arms. But once again, Clark was too afraid. What if he failed? But what if he succeeded? What if the magic came to him and worked so well that the demon saw everything and understood it all? Clark couldn’t risk that.

I will get it eventually
. The demon’s voice crept through Clark’s mind.

Suck my stinking balls
, Clark thought back.

The demon laughed, the sound bouncing around Clark’s skull until he winced.

Footsteps slipped down the dungeon stairs, torchlight shattering the darkness. The light spilled into his cell and blinded him. Someone walked over with quiet steps and steady breathing.

“Who is that?” Clark asked, blinking quickly to clear his vision.

“It’s Bailey.”

Surprised, Clark paused with his mouth hanging slightly open. He straightened off the slab and crossed his cell in one long stride. Bailey didn’t back away as Clark pressed himself against the bars, his hand wrapping around the frigid metal.

“What’s going on?” Clark asked.

“The council found you guilty,” Bailey said. “You’ll hang tomorrow at sundown.”

The air in Clark’s lungs whooshed out of his mouth in one great, unwilling gulp. He took a long moment to recover. “That was fast. So what are you going to do about it? You know I’m innocent.”

“I had to be sure, Clark. You know that. When I saw your face today after they put up that horrible picture of Jenna, I knew you hadn’t done it. I just…well, nothing makes sense these days. I had to be certain. Anyway, they’re going to let the priest try an exorcism on you in the morning before you’re hanged. I can break you out then.”

Clark sighed. “Thanks, Bailey. But I need this exorcism. Gabriel said it was the best way.”

“You talked to Gabriel?”

“Yeah.”

Bailey nodded. “That’s good. I don’t know how to clear you of this, Clark. There’s too much evidence.”

“You mean there’s too much fear.”

“Yes,” Bailey said, his eyes sad, like he too was disappointed with the Descendants. “Were you with Camille the night of Jenna’s murder?”

Clark stepped back from the bars, letting his face fall into the shadows. “What does it matter now? I won’t let them ruin her too.”

“Why haven’t you used your powers against us?”

“I can’t let the demon see it.”

Bailey nodded, his eyes far away, lost in thought. “I’m sorry about this, Clark. But I’ll make it right. I promise.” His light gray eyes met Clark’s. “I really thought you were guilty in the beginning. Otherwise it wouldn’t have come to this.”

With that, Bailey left, his departing footfalls just as quiet as when he’d entered. Clark went back to his bed of rock and scooted into the corner. The light was gone, and things looked darker than before. He knew it was just taking his eyes a moment to adjust, but Clark felt like the shadows were breathing, watching him cower like a lost puppy.

You can’t get rid of me
, the demon spoke,
without showing me your magic
.

I don’t care if you know as long as you’re dead.

Do you know how hard it is to kill a demon? You would have to bind me first, and that means that a part of me would always be inside you.

“I can live with that,” Clark snapped, not realizing he’d spoken aloud.

The demon laughed.
Because you’re faring so well now? Look at you, shivering in the corner like a broken bird. Where’s your Michaela now? When you need her the most? You always had her back, but now you’re all alone with no one to save you.

I don’t need Michaela
, Clark thought, gritting his teeth. The demon didn’t need to be psychic to know Clark’s deepest resentment right then. They shared a body; the demon didn’t have to go too far to know that Clark hated Michaela slightly for not being there when he needed her.
I can kick your ass all on my own.

And if killing me kills you? What then?

A chill swept through the cell. Clark didn’t bother to hide how his teeth chattered. He wrapped his arms around his middle, shivering like the demon had said. He felt weak and hopeless, but he still managed a sideways sneer.

Then we both go down in a blaze of glory.

Chapter Eight

C
amille stayed out most of the night. She circled the compound in ever-widening arcs, her eyes scanning the woods constantly for any sign of Lucifer or his demons. She knew the likelihood of finding anything was low, but she flew to wear herself out, to burn comparisons between herself and Michaela out of her mind.

As if that was something she could just ignore.

When Camille arrived back at the compound, she saw an armored SUV pulling up the drive as she was readying to land by the front door. Its engine was practically silent, the windows tinted a solid black that reflected the waning moon’s scant light. The gravel popped and pinged beneath the massive tires as the vehicle eased along. From some unseen signal, the front door of the compound opened and the Descendant council members spilled out to greet the guests. Bailey and his squad fanned out around the council members, their uniforms neatly tucked and pressed. They were armed to the teeth, Camille noted.

Not in the mood to talk, Camille diverted around to the side, landing beside one of the kitchen’s doors. She thought it was slightly odd that the government officials would arrive in the dead of night, but humans were a paranoid bunch. In truth, she really had no interest in the officials’ visit. How the humans rebuilt this world wasn’t any of her concern.

Car doors opened and closed, the hushed greetings between important men tickled past her ears. She rolled her eyes and went inside. Her flight had worked—she felt a weariness deep in her bones, the muscles in her back were tight with lactic acid. Maybe if she actually went to bed tonight, she would sleep. She hadn’t had a restful night since Clark was arrested. And even before, she didn’t really sleep well unless he was in the bed with her.

She kept that fact to herself.

Inside the compound, the halls were quiet. Even the morning fires hadn’t been started yet for breakfast. Camille wondered what exactly their meals would look like after the riot. Since the officials were here, she assumed things would appear like normal, even if it meant they had to use more of the remaining rations than they should. To her, it was just a desperate attempt to look good in the face of a government that didn’t exist anymore.

She made her way down a darkened hall, embers sizzling in some of the torches as she passed. At the last second, she turned and headed for the dungeon’s stairs, not bothering to hide her descent.

When she stepped onto the lower level, she looked up, her sharp vision slicing through the darkness. She stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Narrowing her eyes, she approached Clark’s cell.

The door was open.

He was gone. And the air smelled of
demon
.

A scuffling noise came from above her head. She tilted her ear upward and listened. Someone was sneaking about, and they were moving away from the dungeon. She looked back at the empty cell, remembered the officials’ arrival, and had a horrible sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Without wasting another second, Camille raced back up the steps, skipping a few with each stride. She skidded up onto the main floor and looked around. The compound’s entry looked nothing like it did the day of the riot; windows were repaired and new paintings hung from the walls, strategically placed to cover any damage. Old rugs from storage had been pulled out, beaten free of dust, and slapped down on the floor. Like nothing had happened, Camille thought, even though her nose still caught the faintest whiff of smoke.

Her eyes skittered across the grand entry toward the meeting hall, where the doors were tightly closed. Finally, she caught a glimpse of pink hair before the demon disappeared around the corner of the main stairs. In the back of her mind, Camille registered the quiet sounds of muffled voices and footsteps on the second floor.

Taking to her wings, Camille jumped into the air and over the railing of the stairs. She landed on the demon with a quiet grace, hooking her arm around its neck and keeping her legs pressed against its back. “What are you doing?” she hissed into its ear. But she knew it wasn’t Clark hearing her.

Remember
, she told herself,
this is a demon you’re dealing with. Not Clark.

Instead of answering, the demon elbowed her in the ribs with enough force to leave her gasping. The creature lurched forward and sharply doubled over at the waist. Still reeling from the blow to her ribs, Camille lost her grip. Flipping cleanly through the air, she landed in a crouched position, facing the demon. Its eyes were completely black, its expression slack and emotionless as it came after her.

It was a horrible thought, but Camille felt like this was the first time she’d understood her and Clark’s relationship. This is what she did: she fought. She didn’t love someone. Staring down the demon as it tried to beat the hell out of her made sense. Killing was easier than loving.