Falling (The Falling Angels Saga) (29 page)

I was nervous. Of course I was nervous. I was about to come face-to-face with the most powerful man I’d met since Armando—a man who’d placed a price on my head. Yet despite my nerves, I refused to break stride as the creature led me into the large main room. A sofa, coffee table, and a few armchairs were set dead center. They were the only furnishings in the cavernous room, adding to the creepiness of the occasion.

“Sit there,” the demon barked as he led me to the sofa. “The master will be with you right away,” he added with a smile that was supposed to be gracious, yet his ragged teeth made it anything but. He gave his version of a gentlemanly bow, then scurried off through the alcove like a rat down his hole.

I didn’t sit. I couldn’t. Sitting would feel like a defenseless position, and I wanted to be standing when Dagenhart came in. I decided to appreciate the art on the castle walls.

As I moved back across the room, I could hear sounds, faint growls and animal-like groans coming from deeper in the house.
Demons
, I thought. Dagenhart’s demons were watching me and weren’t pleased that I hadn’t followed orders.

I continued across, recalling how much my mother would have enjoyed Dagenhart’s art collection. I planned to look at the paintings as a diversion, yet thoughts of Suze reminded me of what Dagenhart was doing to her to get to me. I was reminded of all the upheaval he’d planned to cause in our lives. Without warning, something tickled inside my belly, something warm and welcome. Anger. There was just the hint of it, like a splash of pepper in a stew, yet with the oncoming anger, I could feel my nerves settling as the fear began melting away.

I decided to use the touch of anger to my advantage. I moved to the large melting-clock painting because it would have been my mother’s favorite. She’d been wild for Dali when I was in middle school. We had several Dali prints on our living room walls at the time.

I stopped in front of the oversized painting and gaped at it, using it as fuel, stoking the tinder in my belly, fighting off the encroaching fear.
How dare you go after my mother!
I thought.

After a while, I heard footsteps coming toward me from the alcove. The footsteps were slow and deliberate, meant to intimidate me.

How dare you attempt to intimidate me!

The anger in my belly billowed up into my chest while creeping down into my legs. It was as if warm and delicious chocolate was being poured over me. It felt good. I knew I had to keep it under control. It was one thing to use my anger to shake off the fear, but if I allowed it to spin out of control, I could destroy all I had been working towards.

Dagenhart entered the room. I didn’t turn. I continued admiring the painting, continued powering up. The footsteps stopped.

“Miss Barnett,” a female voice called from across the room near the alcove. “It’s been a while.”

With a bellyful of controlled fury, I turned. A beautiful, raven-haired woman was standing by the sofa. “Where’s Dagenhart?” I demanded, my eyes scanning the room. I was surprised to see a woman there, but I wasn’t thrown. I took a deep breath, sucking back the anger. The woman was wearing a slinky black gown that offset the dazzling red of her lipstick and nail polish—the perfect villainess.

“He’s here. But the business you came for is between us,” she said in a thick Spanish accent.

Her words surprised me even more than her presence. “Who are you?” I narrowed my eyes, staring a little harder. Her pale skin and piercing eyes seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps I’d seen her in the crowd at the conclave. “Who are you?” I repeated louder.

The beautiful woman laughed lightly. “Have I changed that much? To get the hierarchy correct, let’s just call me Dagenhart’s
master
. Okay?”

It had never occurred to me that when Dagenhart had referred to his master he could have been speaking of anyone but Armando—Satan.

And then it came to me.

“Señora Marisol.” The name came out in a breath. It was a name from before, a name I thought I’d never say again. The old crone Satan had rewarded by transforming her into a beautiful vixen was now standing before me.

“You recognize me. Good. Now come over here and let’s get down to business.” Her voice had gone as hard as the look in her eyes.

“I prefer to talk over here,” I said, and turned my back to her, once again facing the painting.
Bitch!

“I see you’ve gained some backbone during my absence. That won’t help.”

I continued standing with my back to Señora Marisol. I didn’t respond. I was busy redirecting my anger from Dagenhart to her.
How dare she think she can just waltz back into my life and boss me around!

While Señora Marisol’s return had surprised me, when I thought about it, it made sense. She’d been Armando’s housekeeper, his right hand, the closest mortal to him—if she
was
mortal.

“Do you want to talk or don’t you?” I said with my back still to her. Then I turned and treated her to a radiant but chilling smile.

The first time I’d seen Guy in the math lab, I tried flashing a sexy smile. I’d practiced the smile in the mirror dozens of times and still wound up failing miserably. I’d never practiced my current smile, yet I could tell from Señora Marisol’s reaction it was having the desired effect.

“You surprise me,” she said, her tone shifting. She started toward me.

“How so?”

“I’d heard you were a smart girl. Yet I find this display of defiance childish and immature.” She arrived at my side and, without warning, slapped me hard across the face.

My head rocketed back, the pain searing into my left cheek as if I’d been branded. There was wetness on my check, and I realized she’d cut me with her ring, drawing blood.

As my hand instinctively went up to my cheek, the percolating anger jumped out of me. It was as if the anger were its own person and had been waiting for this opportunity to escape the confines of my body. It seemed to breathe as it leaped forward and punched her in the chest, throwing her across the room as if she were a rag doll.

Señora Marisol slid backwards across the floor, her high heels squeaking loudly as they scraped across the hardwood, leaving a huge, jagged skid mark. She slammed into the far wall, just below the large Magritte, with a loud thud that ricocheted through the spacious house. Her eyes gaped at me in surprise.

Loud shrieks and growls detonated from every corner of the castle. It was as if I were at the zoo at feeding time.
Oh, crap
, I thought.
Demons
.

The little demon who had escorted me in came racing back into the room. His horrible eyes bounced from me to Señora Marisol, slumped against the wall. “You will pay!” he shrieked at me and then ran to her aid.

More demons arrived in the large room, some emerging from the alcove, while others emerged from nooks and crannies, appearing in the room as if by magic. They came in many shapes and sizes, all of them horrible to look at, all of them angry. They advanced on me.

“Stay back,” I warned. My voice was trembling as I measured the distance from where I stood to the front door. I’d never make it. I held my hands above my head in a Halloween monster’s pose and twisted my face. “I’m warning you!” I called, my voice shaking. It was a bluff. There was no way I could use my abilities. Paralyzing fear was already creeping into my bones.

I shouldn’t have used the power to calm my nerves. I came to the castle to make a deal, and now the power had again chosen its own time and place to act out, leaving me in a nasty predicament.

It was too late for regret. The demons had ignored my threats and continued toward me.

“Stop!” I called out as the first demon reached me. It was a skeletal creature with a pair of what had once been angel wings, but the wings were now blackened with decay. They hung from his back like wings on a poorly made Halloween costume.

I will chew your soul and spit it out.
These words discharged in my mind as the demon used telepathy to communicate with me. I held my hand out in front of myself, palm forward and shook it at him. “I’m warning you!” A bolt of lightning leaped from my palm hitting the advancing demon in the face.
Ahhh!
came the demon’s cry, erupting in my mind. He shrank back in fear.

But others were still coming.

The demon wasn’t the only one who was surprised by what I’d done. I was scared to death, and yet I’d actually been able to carry out the threat. But even if I could do it again, it was a losing proposition. There were far too many of them.

I ran.

I didn’t know if I could escape—probably not. It was an impulse. Yet as I ran, a wall of wind preceded me, knocking demons out of the way as if they were made of cardboard. I proceeded through the gauntlet of toppled demons, out of the large room and through the foyer. Miraculously, I was able to reach the front door.

“If you leave this house, your friends and family will suffer for your actions!”

My hand was on the doorknob when Señora Marisol’s words reached me. I pulled the door open and stepped across the threshold. As I stepped out into the night, I recalled the look on Suze’s face at the thought of losing our home. I recalled the dream I’d had about Aunt Jaz and what her passing would do to Maudrina. And with these thoughts, all my desire for escape fell away.

If you leave this house, your friends and family will suffer for your actions!

Demon hands were on me now, dragging me back inside. As much as I wanted to escape, I didn’t fight it. I couldn’t. I’d already caused enough damage.
No more,
I thought.

By the time the creatures pulled me back into the main room, Señora Marisol had regained her composure and was waiting by the sofa. “Bring her to me,” she barked.

Coarse hands yanked me across the room. Some of the demons had claws that tore through my sweater and dug into my skin. Streams of steaming blood flowed down my arms and torso.

“Leave us alone,” Señora Marisol commanded.

Reluctantly, the demons released me and retreated back into their nooks and crannies, back through the alcove. In moments we were once again alone.

“Sit,” Señora Marisol barked. By now all the fight had gone out of me. I sat, and she moved in and hovered over me. “Why did you come here?”

“I came to make a deal,” I replied.

“That display did not look like someone predisposed to make a deal,” she said in an accusing tone.

“You blindsided me with the slap, and then the power just… took over.” My eyes went wide with terror as I thought of all that would happen to the people I loved if she didn’t believe me.

Señora Marisol eyed me for a long moment, and I could tell she was considering my words. “I, too, lost control. The slap was ill advised. My apologies,” she said as a calmness began settling over her.

“Sure,” I said, not knowing how else to respond.

“You do realize Satan has you at a disadvantage?” she said. “It’s obvious you cannot beat him. Why do you think he’d be willing to make a deal with you?”

“Because I’m ready to give him what he wants,” I said, with all the conviction I could muster.

She eyed me a thoughtful moment, then nodded. “Continue.”

“I want him to call off Dagenhart and the Satanists,” I said. “I want Dagenhart to drop the lawsuit against my mother. And I want Satan’s promise that my mother, my friends, and Aunt Jaz will never be harmed. Ever! If he promises that, I will marry him.”

She laughed. It was dark laughter that echoed off the high ceiling and walls. “You have some nerve. You’re in no position to bargain, and yet you bargain.”

As unnerved as I felt, I continued on. “That’s my offer. Either take it, or he waits and sees how much more of his punishment I can handle.”

She again stared at me for a long moment. “I will take your offer to Satan. I warn you, if this is a stall tactic, it will not work. If you change your mind, the horrors he will bestow upon your friends and family will last a lifetime.”

“I won’t change my mind. If he agrees to the terms, he wins. I’m his,” I said, nodding my head for effect.

There was no smile on her lips, but I could see one in her eyes. It was a smile of victory. “I’m glad you’ve come around. HE will be pleased.”

“Good. I’m glad. What bride doesn’t want to please her husband-to-be?”

She didn’t know how to take my snide remark. “I still don’t trust you. You’re a fighter. I see you as the kind of girl who would fight to the end, but HE told me you would succumb. Perhaps he is right, and I am wrong. A week from Saturday. We’ll be in touch.” She looked toward the alcove. “Zanti, come and fetch the young lady a cab,” she called.

“Wait! What happens a week from Saturday?”

“The wedding, of course. If he agrees, your wedding will take place a week from Saturday.”

The little demon entered from the alcove.

“Wait. I came to tell you I agreed to become Satan’s bride. I need time. Umm, I need to pick out my wedding dress.”

“You’ll have an entire week.”

“I need more time than that.”

“Satan does not plan long engagements, dear,” she said with a chuckle. “A week from Saturday,” she added with finality. “If you change your mind, someone very close to you will die.”

Moments later, Zanti escorted me from the house. The night air, once warm and honey-like, had turned cold. There was a large black sedan waiting at the foot of the flagstone steps. Zanti ambled down the steps and pulled open the rear passenger door.

As I was about to climb in, Zanti whispered: “I was hoping to be the one who devoured your soul.”

“Excuse me?”

A smile so evil it chilled me to my bones came across his lips. “Don’t look so surprised. Who among us wouldn’t want to be master instead of servant? I hope you change your mind about the wedding. I came
this
close to having you all to myself.” The little demon sighed, shoved me into the car, and slammed shut the door.

The car lurched forward and started down the hill. A smoky partition separated me from the driver. I leaned forward and tried peering through the partition but couldn’t get a good look at him… or her… or it. I was pretty sure whatever was driving wasn’t human. But whatever it was seemed to know the way home, so I sat back and allowed myself a moment to breathe.