Falling (The Falling Angels Saga) (16 page)

“It’s not a mistake,” I said. My words, once filled with rage, came out a whimper, and even I couldn’t help but notice the weakness of my protest. Thoughts of his stinging kisses invaded my consciousness.

“Then allow your hatred to cool.” He was staring deep into my eyes.

I snorted out a breath. “Okay,” I said in a clipped tone, and I pulled away from him. “I’ll allow it to cool. Then what?” I moved farther into the room, stopping near the mint green refrigerator, refusing to return his gaze.

“Promise me!”

“I promise I will let the hatred that you deserve for fooling me in such a dastardly way to cool,” I said, keeping my voice hard as stone. I again got up the nerve to look into his eyes. “I hope you’re ready for the truth.”

“I’m ready for it. I already
know
the truth.”

“Fine,” I said. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s almost time for me to leave.”

He smiled. Despite his hideous looks, it was a warm smile. “Be safe, my sweet.”

I hit him with a penetrating gaze. “None of that kind of talk in front of Guy, okay?”

He laughed. “You sound like Al Pacino.”

I’d forgotten I was in disguise.

“Did you hear what I said?” I kept my tone firm.

He continued smiling. He’d won a victory of sorts and was relishing in it. “I’ll try, but we’ll have to tell him some time.”

I started to say:
tell him what? That Orthon is a crazy demon boy who’s fallen in love with me and thinks I love him back, but I don’t!
Instead I said: “We’ll see.”

As I headed up the hall back to the living room, I realized Orthon was right. I had to tell Guy about him. I had to tell Guy how he felt about me even though his feelings weren’t returned.

If I made it back from Dagenhart Castle alive, that is.

I realized as I walked that if I made it back from the conclave alive, I’d be heading from the frying pan into a piping hot mess of angel/demon stew.
Perfect … Just … perfect!

*

It was still bright out when we arrived at the castle, the setting sun filling the sky with an orange hue that made it appear as though a fire were brewing in the distance. Dagenhart had wasted little time in making the castle his own. New, gleaming iron gates featuring the Dagenhart “D” drawn with a squiggly curlicue had replaced the old gates. The roadway up to the house, once a narrow footpath, had been widened to accommodate cars.

The gates were swung open and Guy’s Mustang followed a stream of cars and limousines through. The scrub brush that had once lined the road had been replaced by flowering pink and white oleander. When the new shrubbery had a chance to grow tall, the path to the castle would be quite beautiful. I looked up the road to the castle. It hadn’t changed. It was still an ominous presence atop the hill.

A valet greeted us as we pulled into the wide driveway, handing Harrison a numbered ticket. Another valet held the passenger door open for me. “Just follow the lighted path, gentlemen,” he said.
Gentlemen.
I shot a quick glance at Harrison, along with a secret smile.

More cars were coming up the hill behind us. Up ahead, a line of people waiting to get into the conclave spilled down the flagstone steps leading into the castle.

“Remember, I’ll do the talking,” Harrison said as we got in line.

“Got it.”

I’d been to my share of Satanist events over the past few months. The people who attended them always amazed me. There was nothing odd or satanic about them. That’s what was so amazing. They all seemed so normal. More than normal, they seemed like nice people. I spied an elderly couple in line ahead of us. They were well-dressed, he in a light blue summer blazer, and she in a beige pants suit with black flats. They were both smiling as they waited patiently to enter the house. The man clutched the woman’s liver-spotted hand, keeping it by his side as if they were youngsters on a first date.

“I hope this standing isn’t too much for you, love,” he said.

“I’m fine, dear. I’m happy I came,” she replied. Her voice was weak, coming through a phlegmy chest.

“As am I,” he said, his voice overflowing with love. “I’ll find a seat for you as soon as we get inside, love.”

They seemed nice, normal, and in love. I wondered what had turned them toward Satan.

“This should be super fun,” I heard a young female voice behind me say. I turned. There were three girls a few guests behind us in line. They couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. There was mischief in all their eyes.

“Don’t laugh if I go into a trance and start speaking in tongues,” the shortest girl said. She had dark hair, full lips, and was brimming with the confidence that often accompanies privileged girls. Her friends burst into laughter at her remark.

“Stop it!” the tallest one said. All three struggled to stifle their laughter as the private joke played on their faces.

These girls aren’t Satanists,
I thought as I stole a glance at them trying and failing to quell their laughter.

“They have no idea this is not a joke,” whispered Harrison as we inched our way up the steps. “They’re not Satanists,” he said, putting words to what I had been thinking. “They probably won’t get in, and it’s a good thing for them.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked. I wasn’t concerned for them. Harrison’s voice had turned serious, and I was suddenly concerned for myself.

“There are demons present,” he whispered, his eyes darting about secretively. “My senses are tellin’ me there are several of them, some of them quite powerful.”

“I thought the house was cloaked in magic.”

“It probably is. These demons have been allowed past the magic shield because they are more than likely Dagenhart’s guests.”

Tendrils of fear began snaking their way into my stomach. “Oh,” I said softly. Dagenhart was indeed a powerful Satanist if he counted demons among his friends. Harrison squeezed my arm and shot me a brief, disarming smile.

We moved into the house and down the three marble steps that led into a wide foyer. A receiving table lay just ahead of us where a security person in a dark suit with a crisp, white shirt was checking invitations.

“You have the invitation?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Right here.” Harrison patted his breast pocket. A part of me was hoping he’d say no. “Uh-oh.”

“What, uh-oh?”

“It seems they switched invitations on us, love. The ones people are showing to the man are on yellow parchment paper. Ours is on white card stock.”

My heart began to beat a little faster. “Well… maybe they issued two different invites.”

“I don’t think so,” Harrison replied in a low tone. His eyes were darting around the room. “I think they switched invitations hopin’ ta catch us. Or maybe the person who gave our invite ta Monsieur Perez was another spy. You see that couple over yonder?”

There was a handsome young couple just beyond the check-in table, standing by the entrance to the ballroom room. They were both holding champagne glasses and laughing.

“Uh-huh,” I replied, dry mouthed.

“They’re the bouncers.”

“How can you tell?”

“The man is talkin’ into his lapel. They’re probably on the lookout for ya.”

I looked back at them and could see they were both scanning the line while pretending to chat. Every few moments the man whispered into his lapel. We were next in line. My heart beat faster.

The tendrils of fear gripped my belly in a death-grip. “We should go!” I said urgently. Harrison grabbed me by the arm before I could move and squeezed hard.

“No. We get outta line now, they’ll be bouncers and demons all over us.”

“Then what do we do?” The fear in my belly had crept into my voice. My stomach was one giant knot. I thought of my disguise and how proud I’d been that it had fooled all my friends. Who knew we’d be done in by the invitation?

“All we can do now, darlin’, is take our chances. Like I said, ya leave the talkin’ ta me.” That wasn’t going to be a problem, since I knew if I opened my mouth nothing but gobbledygook would come spilling out.

“Good evening,” said the man at the table. We stepped up.

“I need to see your invitation,” said the man. He was a no-nonsense type, forty or fifty years old, with a hard line for a mouth.

“That ya do,” said Harrison with a chuckle. He secretly stuffed our bogus invitation in his inside his jacket pocket, as he patted his pockets pretending to search.

I took a quick glance over at the bouncer couple. They were both staring at us with questioning eyes.

“I’m sure it’s right here,” said Harrison. He pulled out a white business card. “Ah. Here ya go.”

The man peered at the business card. His eyes turned deadly serious. “No sir, this isn’t it. This is a—”

“Sir!” snapped Harrison, drawing the man’s attention to his face. The man looked up into his eyes. “I’m sure if you look again, you’ll see that that
is
the invitation, sir.” Harrison’s voice was filled with agitation.

I held my breath. The young man in the couple was eyeballing us and talking into his lapel. I began searching around for an escape route.

“You’re right, sir,” said the man at the table. “Sorry about that. This is exactly what I need. Go right in.”

I looked at the man. He was smiling at Harrison. There was a hazy look in his eyes.

“Thank ya,” said Harrison, taking back the business card.

We walked past the couple standing by the entryway and smiled at them. They nodded at us and went back to chatting. I could feel perspiration running down my sides.

As we entered the large ballroom, I heard Harrison audibly heave a heavy sigh.

“Angel eyes?” I asked, as the death-grip on my stomach loosened.

“Yes. I gave him my best shot, and it almost didn’t work. I could feel the cloak of magic pushin’ against me.”

I glanced back over to the entryway. The three girls were now at the table. The couple was looking at them warily, the man again talking into his lapel. We were forgotten.

“But it did work.” I said and squeezed his hand. “We’re in.”

“No more squeezin’ me hand. I don’t want anyone gettin’ the wrong impression.” Harrison pulled his hand away and stuffed it in his pocket. I erupted in soft, relief-filled laughter.

We moved further into the large room. The last time I was at the castle, the room had been lit by candlelight. This time, the setting sun streamed in through large windows, creating deep pools of subdued light on the hardwood floors. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings would light the room once the sun had gone down.

White-coated waiters wove their way through the sparse crowd carrying trays laden with delicious-looking appetizers. I grabbed a few mini-goat-cheese pizza squares from a silver tray and gobbled them down.

Harrison shot a distasteful glance in my direction. “I’m starving,” I said.

“Nothin’ like a good scare ta stimulate the appetite,” he teased.

“I was hungry before I got scared,” I replied. “Although I have to admit, the tension of almost being discovered heightened my hunger.” I moved to another waiter and snatched up a napkin full of mini meatballs with toothpicks stuck in them. “Yum,” I said, biting into a meatball. Harrison shook his head.

“Another napkin, sir?” asked the waiter.

“Excellent idea,” I replied in my new man voice. He handed me a few cocktail napkins before moving away.

“Leave it to Satanists ta throw a bitchin’ party,” Harrison continued to tease. Now that both our nerves were under control, he was once again playing the role of big brother, hoping to keep me at ease.

The room filled up quickly. Soft classical music was piped in through hidden speakers, creating an atmosphere of elegance. The entire time guests were arriving, I continued to graze on appetizers. Once I’d had my fill, we moved about, observing the crowd. Sinister types chatted amiably with people that could have been my next door neighbors. I again realized it was impossible to tell evil just by looking at a person.

Harrison nudged me. “Dagenhart’ll probably address the crowd from over yonder.” A dark wooden podium with a microphone was not far from where we were standing. An oversized painting hung high on the wall behind the podium. The painting was covered by a heavy maroon drape with goldenrod fringe.

“What do you suppose that is?”

“A portrait of Dagenhart, most likely. Satanists love self-portraits. Or maybe it’s even Satan himself,” replied Harrison.

I cringed at the idea of seeing a large portrait of Armando looming over us. I recalled him in my dreams, telling me we’d be together soon.

“Let’s get closer to the podium,” I said. As we began moving through the crowd, Harrison again squeezed my arm. I looked into his eyes. They were blazing. “What is it?” I whispered.

I followed his eyes to a man elegantly draped in a well-tailored vested suit. He wouldn’t have seemed unusual if he hadn’t had the face of a dog. He had a long beagle-like snout with a black nose that twitched as he observed the crowd. He reminded me of one of the creatures from Mick Turner’s shop, yet I knew instinctively this was no mask. This was no man. His slanted pupils left no doubt that he was a demon. I again looked at Harrison, whose hand had moved to his waist where he kept his light sword hidden.

“I can’t believe he’s right out here in the open,” I said.

“Dagenhart is showin’ off his power by flauntin’ his demonic guests.”

Harrison’s eyes darted around the room, picking out several hideous-looking creatures in the crowd.

“Wow,” I said.

“That Dagenhart is one powerful Satanist. I’ve not seen a man with so much influence in the demonic community.”

Just then I thought of something Aunt Jaz had said:

Someone out there possesses some powerful dark magic, and he may have you ladies in his sights.

Many of the guests were impressed by the presence of demons. They chatted with them, excitement dancing in their eyes. A few asked the demons to pose for photos as if they were movie stars. The three young girls we’d seen earlier had managed to get in and were now alternately snapping shots, posing with a long-haired woman who had salmon-colored skin. They were laughing and posturing as if they were taking photos with a theme-park character.