Immortal (9 page)

The hard floor bit into Devina's bony knees as she fell before her beloved and bowed over him.

Even in his immortal death, Jim was looking away from her, his head lolled to the opposite side, his open, sightless eyes trained across the old-fashioned Victorian parlor.

“Jim . . .” she rasped.

As heartbreaking as it was to see him from outside, up close it was even harder. His face still had all its color and his cheek was still warm as she brushed it. He appeared to be merely sleeping—and he was going to stay this way, the sweet bouquet fragrance that wafted around him the only evidence of the passing.

Well, that and all the no-moving.

As her tears began to flow in earnest, clear drops changed to blood-red and fell down her cratered cheeks onto the backs of her hideous hands.

She was so full of grief, not only had she lost the ability to keep her mask of flesh in place, she didn't give a shit that she was without it.

“Jim, don't leave me,” she moaned. But it was too late for that. The law of unintended consequences had come home to roost:
Nigel had killed himself because of Jim. And Colin, in a fit of rage, killed Jim. . . .

She was
so
going to slaughter that fucking archangel. As soon as she had the strength to stand up, she was going to unleash the wrath of ages upon him, flaying his skin from his body, digging his eyes out with her own claws, castrating him with her teeth. And then she was going to get really serious.

“My darling love—”

“Devina!”

The sound of her name above the din of her minions barely registered as she rearranged Jim into a better position, pulling his upper body into her lap, turning his head to face her. Ah, there. Now he was staring at her.

The crystal dagger that had been gripped in his right hand fell to the floor with a clatter and she glanced at the thing. As its silver-covered blade caught a burst of lightning, she heard from over in the corner:

“Devina, we can get him back with your help!”

It was Adrian's voice—and she was more than prepared to ignore it when the scene she'd witnessed from the window flashed before her sunken eyes: Jim sprawled on the floor, the idiot bitch Sissy cradling him like she was in a Nicholas Sparks movie, Adrian across the room making like a throw pillow on the sofa . . . and Colin, the archangel, on his ass, staring at Jim like something unthinkable had just happened.

“Devina! We need to get him back!”

She was beyond uninterested in whatever Ad was screaming at her . . . except that expression on the archangel's face nagged at her. Colin's war-minded nature had long commanded her respect, kind of in the way anyone would get careful when a loaded gun was cocked at their head: You either moved carefully around the damn thing or vital shit started to leak.

That archangel was never one to hesitate in conflict, and never the kind who was surprised when he prevailed in an attack.

So why had he been staring at Jim like that?

“Devina! You stupid cunt!”

Reaching across Jim's heavy chest, she picked the crystal blade up off the carpet and brought it to her nose. One deep breath through the Swiss cheese of her rotted sinuses and she knew a horrific truth.

Colin might have come here to kill Jim, but that was not what had gone down.

Jim's own blood was on the weapon.

He'd taken his own—

“No!” Devina's heart pounded. “You fucking didn't!”

If he'd committed suicide, he'd gone to Purgatory . . . which was the one place, win or lose, she couldn't get to. Jim was gone to her forever if he—

Devina twisted around, her exposed spinal cord cracking like popcorn. “Be gone!” she commanded her servants. “Be gone!”

The swarm of oily black minions disappeared faster than a gasp. And in the wake of their departure, Colin's bracing spell had nothing to push against, so his energy exploded into the room, rattling the windows and creating a gust that blew her Gollum hair back. The archangel's own body was affected, too, his weight tipping forward so that he had to catch himself in a tucked roll that brought him right to her. Naturally, he was on his feet in a defensive stance a split second later.

Across the way, Adrian went into a slump, his body landing badly on the rug, all arms and legs going everywhere. Sissy was the only one of the three who remained exactly where she was, a crystal dagger in her hand, her arm up and ready to stab. The girl's eyes were wide as headlights, though—no doubt from her first fight, and maybe, probably, because of what Devina looked like.

But again, the demon didn't care about appearances. No more than somebody who, having been in a motorcycle accident, gave a shit that ambulance people had to strip them naked to save their leg.

“What did he do?” Devina heard herself ask. Gone was the voice of the seductress, the luscious, affected American pronunciation lost in favor of a sandpaper rasp that had the accent of the ancient.

The three of them were heaving to get breath into their lungs, and just as she was about to scream for one of them to quit the panting-dog bullshit, Adrian cleared his throat.

“He went over to get Nigel back.”

Devina felt her own lid-less eyes get large in their sockets. She'd been hoping there was another explanation. “Not . . . possible.”

“Has happened,” Colin said. “Purgatory.”

“That's not . . .” She didn't bother with the “possible” again. She was holding the evidence in her own hand. “But why . . .”

Adrian said something. Then Colin. But none of that registered against a flush of warmth and love that spread throughout her whole body. “Oh, Jim . . . you're so romantic.”

Of course he'd go over there and risk his eternal existence. It was the only way the pair of them could be reunited: If he could find Nigel and bring him back, then Jim didn't have to go up to Heaven—and the two of them could be together regardless of the war. They could either quit and start enjoying their eternity side by side now. Or they could know the exquisite pain of battle for one last round, have Devina win, and rule Hell as one.

Win-win-win-win.

Instantly, her hideous true self disappeared and the plump young flesh of that model she'd killed back in the eighties sprouted from every atom of her disgusting form, her biddable-beddable-beautiful mask back in place again.

“Oh, Jim,” she whispered. Tears were still flowing, the red
drops falling onto his cheeks, but now she knew nothing but joy. “My love . . . you're doing it for us.”

God, this was such a poignant moment, she thought, bending down and sealing his warm lips with her own. And how fucking great that it was happening in front of Sissy.

She glanced up and smiled at the virgin. “To think he would risk so much just to be with me. Love is so inspiring.” Then she focused on Colin and ditched the Barbara Cartland moment. “So you're saying he needs help getting back with Nigel in tow?”

“No.” The archangel's oddly colored eyes narrowed. “I do not believe he can get back a'tall.”

“Excuse me?”

“No one passes from Purgatory without the permission of the Creator. You know that. Whether or not he can find Nigel is the least of his concerns.”

Cue a dose of cold, hard panic. Which was absolutely, totally not relieved by the silence that followed.

After a long moment, she glanced at Adrian. “You have something of mine.”

“Do I.”

“A book,” she muttered grimly. “Your friend Eddie took it from me—by the way, how
is
he doing? Still hoping for some kind of an Easter miracle? A risen-from-the-dead deal for him?”

The goddamn angel gave her nothing. Not even a facial tic. “Easter's long over. And what book are you talking about?
Our Bodies, Ourselves
, maybe? No . . . in your case, probably a
Walking Dead
comic, right.”

“Fuck you, Adrian.”

“We tried that a couple of days ago, and it didn't work for me, did it.”

The memory of her on her knees, trying to suck off his limp dick, made her snarl. “Maybe you've just lost your edge.”

“More likely your appeal is up in smoke. But we digress. What book are you talking about.”

The way he arched a brow was such disrespect. And she almost went at him with her bare hands, but she didn't want to disturb her lover—

“I have the book.”

As Sissy spoke up, everyone looked at her. And Adrian started cursing. “Sissy, shut the fuck up—”

The demon smiled. “Yes, you know the one. Don't you.”

As the demon and Sissy locked eyes, Adrian dragged himself off the floor, his body aching like he'd gotten a hot-stone massage using a tire iron. “Sissy,” he hissed. “Do not—”

But he couldn't get across to her fast enough.

Sissy went over and picked up the ancient tome from where it had fallen, righting its pages and reclosing its cover from having been blown open.

“So this is yours,” she said.

Devina's black eyes sparkled as she stared up from her Mary Magdalene-with-the-dead-Christ routine on the floor: With Jim's head in her lap and his body splayed out, she had arranged herself with portrait-like precision—but he could give a shit about her Agnolo Bronzino moment.

“Sit down here,” Devina purred, indicating the floor beside her.

“Sissy,” he snapped. “Don't go over there.”

“There's nothing in here about Purgatory.” Sissy didn't look in Devina's direction and didn't make a move toward her. Thank fuck. “Nothing.”

“You've been reading my work?” the demon asked.

“No one else knows Latin.”

“It's not written in Latin.”

Sissy shot a glare over. “Fine, whatever, I've been able to make it out, okay.”

“Interesting.” Devina leaned down and whispered something in Jim's ear. Then laughed as if she and the dead guy had shared a private joke. “And as for Purgatory, I haven't been there, so of course I didn't write anything about the place.”

Man, Adrian was thinking seriously of throwing himself out the nearest window. And he got sick at the reminder that Sissy had had that thing in her hands for how long today?

“You wrote all that,” he muttered.

“Yes.” The demon frowned. “And I seriously did not appreciate Eddie stealing it from me. He thought he could use it to get you back. Didn't work then, did it.”

But Eddie had ended up saving him in the end. Still, “If that's true,” he said, “why do you need it now?”

Colin spoke up, his English accent clipped. “Because she's going to try to create a portal. Aren't you.”

Devina shrugged. “You were the ones suggesting we work together. Do you have another solution in mind?”

“Shit,” Adrian breathed.

“What's a portal?” Sissy looked over at Ad. Stared at Colin. “Well?”

When no one spoke up, Adrian did his best to pace around the parlor. It was like trying to motivate a Model T with a broken axle, but staying still wasn't an option. And he wasn't the only one getting serious, either. Colin had braced his head in his hands, and even Devina had dropped the petting act with Jim; the demon was as motionless as a statue, staring off into space like she was doing long division in her head.

Or maybe calculating the very good odds that this was going to fuck all of them in the ass.

As nobody else was going to answer the question, Adrian figured, What the hell. “There are two portals that we are allowed to use—and both were brought into existence by the Creator. One leads to Heaven, the other to Hell. They're how we go back and forth—how she gets down and back.” He stopped and faced the fireplace even though there was no flame in it. No logs to watch as they were consumed. No heat to warm his cold hands and feet. “For us to try to make one? For our own purposes? It's a violation of the laws of the universe.”

Devina shrugged. “What's the Creator going to do to us?”

“Not sure I want to find out,” Ad bit out. “Not sure we got a choice.”

“This could indeed get us into serious trouble,” Colin tacked on. Then he looked at Ad. “It's on a magnitude of the stunt you pulled that got you punished.”

“Which one.” Adrian shrugged. “And I don't know why you're giving me the hairy eyeball. I don't have that kind of power—that shit is going to need to be between you and her.”

Colin glanced at the demon and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. And yup, she looked equally disenchanted.

At least they were taking the risks seriously.

Devina nodded over at Sissy. “Open to page three hundred forty-one and a half.”

Sissy flipped pages back and forth. “Okay.”

“What does it say?”

“Which passage?”

“Start from the top.”

Sissy opened her mouth and started reading . . . but fuck all if Ad could understand what she was saying. The words were gibberish—and not any kind of Latin he recognized. Hell, he'd even been around when the guys in togas and sandals had been
doing their jam, and whatever was coming from between her lips? Not it.