Sweet Peril (10 page)

As I waited outside the Damascus airport for Kope to get through customs, I reached up to make sure the hijab was staying in place around my head. Patti had purchased the pretty black head scarf with ivory flowers, and together we learned how to wrap it and tuck it into the collar of my shirt so that only my face showed.

I held my bag close, relieved that it’d made it through the customs search. I dared not travel without the hilt, which was currently nestled in the middle of a big bag of individually wrapped candies. We’d even taped candies all around it, and
superglued the bag so it looked unopened. What a humiliating disguise for such a powerful artifact.

Like the Atlanta airport, this one was bustling with people—some wearing turbans and robes, others wearing chic, designer clothes. Auras were a mix of oranges and grays, a flourish of travel anxieties. The scent of spicy foods carried along the air combined with fuel exhaust. Unfamiliar Arabic writing hung on banners up and down the walkway.

Kope would be in charge of changing money for us the next morning. When I knew he was safely through customs, I hailed a cab.

We’d chosen a middle-of-the-road hotel near the old city, within walking distance of where Duke Sonellion and his daughter Zania lived. Once in my room, I dropped my bag and slumped deliriously on the bed. I took a moment to run my fingers over its plush red headboard and golden comforter before stretching my supernatural hearing to the other corner of the hotel where Kope had been sent. I knew he would be listening for me with his extended hearing as well.

“Kope?”

“I am here,” came the quiet rumble of his voice.

“What time should we leave in the morning?”

“Let us meet at nine thirty in the hotel courtyard.”

“Okay, I’ll see y—Oh crap!” I pressed a hand over my mouth and fell back on the bed, banging my head against the wooden edge of the headboard. A demon had soared into the room and now hovered in my face. A prick of fear stabbed my chest. The spirit was dark and eerie with frightening feline features. I kept my mouth shut and breathed hard through my nose.

Appearing too afraid could make me seem guilty, so I jutted out my chin and met his beady eyes. “What do you want?”

Staring at it, waiting for some sort of attack or haunting message, I realized it looked familiar. All I could think was that we’d been caught before we’d even started the mission. The spirit’s mouth lifted at the corners, revealing pointy teeth, but if it was attempting a rabid snarl, something was off. This was more like . . . a really unpracticed smile. I recognized it now—Azael—an ally. I hadn’t seen it in six months.

“I will alert Belial that you have arrived safely.”
Just as quickly as his scratchy message seeped into my mind, he was gone, flying swiftly through the wall into the heart of the hotel.

I shuddered. Couldn’t Dad somehow teach them to knock? Anything less jarring than dive-bombing toward my face unexpectedly.

I sat back up, remembering that the conversation with Kope had been severed during my momentary freak-out. When I nudged my senses around the space of his room and called to him, there was no response. I sent my hearing to the hall and found him outside my door. I leaped off the bed and let him in. His wide eyes made a quick inspection of the room before raking me up and down.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It was one of my father’s allies making sure we made it safely.”

“
That
is an ally of Belial?!” He pointed at the wall.

“You saw it?”

“I did. Did you not recognize it?” Kope asked with uncharacteristic awe in his voice.

“Not at first . . .” I touched a finger to the back of my head and winced.

We stared at each other, standing close, neither of us daring to say the demon’s name or title out loud:
Lucifer’s personal messenger
.

By all accounts, Azael was deeper in hell’s pocket than any other demon, and yet my father trusted him. Kope and I stood there a moment longer, joined in fear but also trusting that Dad knew what he was doing. He’d better, or we were all in trouble.

In a movement of slow affection, Kope lifted his hand to cup my shoulder. His palm was so hot that I almost flinched. He removed the hand and his brow tightened as he shuffled a step back.

“I am sorry,” he said, dropping his eyes.

Huh? “For what?”

“I should not touch you when we are alone like this.”

His breaths seemed to shallow out.

“We’re friends, Kope. Friends comfort each other.” I really wished he wouldn’t make a big deal out of little things. It made me feel bad.

Fatigue tightened the skin around his eyes. “Sleep well, Anna.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. He took a moment to listen at the door before slipping into the corridor. I could still feel the heavy heat of his hand on my shoulder as I climbed into bed.

At nine thirty I stood waiting for Kope in the hotel’s quaint courtyard strung with vines. The warm air held a lively buzz. The closest comparison I could manage was the feeling I had had at the Native American reservation in New Mexico.
Our surroundings housed a sense of mystery and history too ancient to comprehend. We were standing in the oldest known city in the world that was still functional and occupied. As old as Babylon, which had long since fallen.

I spied Kope coming toward me, looking suave in black slacks and a crisp, gray button-down shirt with the top button open. He slipped something in my hand as he passed me: money, with a small knife wrapped inside. I shook my head and pushed the knife back into his hand.

“I don’t want to be armed when I meet her,” I whispered.

He pressed his lips together like he didn’t agree, but eventually tucked the knife in his pocket and handed me a small wrapped object.

“Hummus on flatbread,” he explained before setting off.

Yum. I ate as I followed, keeping space between us. The main streets were roughly paved, but worn and crumbling in places, which added to the old-world appeal. I made my way into the souk, a bustling open-air market with the sun shining down on it. Children ran rampant, playing and hollering. Shopkeepers called out in exuberant voices and used grand hand gestures as they haggled over prices. Unlike in many crowded cities, the auras in the souk were pleasant.

Outside the busy market, I stood on a major corner, marveling at the sight of ancient buildings and a Roman-era wall that marked the old city portion of town. My skin prickled with awe. Paul the Apostle had been on the same ground where I now stood. The light weight of the hilt against my ankle was a reminder of his guardian angel, Leilaf. Being here brought it all to life.

Zania lived down a narrow, cobbled road with dry paths between the two-story luxury houses. I looked up at the balconies with beautiful ironwork jutting out over the walkway. Doors and windows were made of dark oiled wood. As I neared the very last house on the left, my stomach tightened. I stopped next door to it and shot my hearing into Zania’s house, scouring each room, but finding nothing. I knocked on the door, peeking over my shoulder at Kope who was several houses back, seeming inconspicuous as he bent to tie his shoelaces.

After several minutes of no answer, I walked around the corner to the side of Zania’s house, which was next to some sort of store. It must have been closed because there was nobody in sight down the narrow alley. Maybe Zania was out shopping at one of the souks. I absently looked into one of her windows, wondering how long we should wait for her to come home. A shadow passed my reflection in the glass, and I was wrenched backward from behind, feeling a distinct, cold sting at my throat. Other than an involuntary gasp of shock and my galloping heart rate, I didn’t move or make a sound.

A fierce female voice said something to me in Arabic, and she tightened her grip around my shoulders.
Nice to meet you, too, Zania
. I knew how to fight my way out of this hold, but I wanted to be peaceful with her. I wished I could look at her, but she had me facing the cement wall.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, trying not to move my jaw. “No Arabic.”

“Who sent you?” she demanded in thick English. The sharp point jabbed harder and I winced as I felt it cut into my flesh.

“I’m not—”

A scuffle of sound cut me off, and her arms were gone. A metallic ping rang out as her knife hit the stone pavement. I spun around to see Kope holding a tall, thin young woman—one arm around her midsection, pinning her arms at her side, and the other over her mouth. A black head scarf with red flowers had slid back during the fray and her dark hair fell around her face. She struggled against him, but he held tight. I put my palms up and looked into her round, deep-brown eyes. She appeared to be in pain, and I cast a worried glance at Kope.

“I am not hurting her,” he assured me. “She is afraid.”

Petrified
was more like it.

“Zania,” I said, “please don’t be scared of us. I’m Anna, and this is Kopano. We’re not going to hurt you. We came to talk to you because we know Sonellion is gone, and he has no idea we’re here. You’re safe with us. I have important things to tell you. Will you be calm if Kopano lets you go?”

Her response was an obvious no as Kope let out a small holler and jerked his hand away from her teeth. He still held her tight, even as she let out a string of vicious words in Arabic, ending with “Go to hell!” in English. This was going to be harder than I thought. I bent down and picked up the knife.

“Listen to me, Zania, please. I know you feel threatened, so I’m going to put this knife back into your hand and Kopano is going to release you. I want you to have the means to protect yourself. But I am unarmed. I promise you. We only want to talk. We’re like you. We have no loyalties to the Dukes.” In truth, I carried the hilt as a weapon, but it could
only be wielded against demons.

Zania breathed heavily through her nose as I slowly took the step forward and slipped the knife into her hand. An awful thought crossed my mind and I squeezed my hand over her fist.

“Do
not
try to hurt Kopano when he lets you go, or you and I are going to have a problem. He’s a good man.”

“There is no such thing as a good man,” she snarled.

“Yes, there is. And you’ll see for yourself if you give him a chance.”

“Tell this good man of yours to release me with my back to the street.”

“Okay, but don’t run away.” I let my desperation for her cooperation show as I stayed close for a few more seconds. I took my hand off hers and stepped back, nodding at Kope. He turned her and let her go, stepping swiftly back, next to me. Zania spun and faced us in a slight crouch, eyes skittering as if expecting our malicious intent to come out now. Her head scarf was dangling like a hood, and she ripped it from her neck, throwing it to the ground. She looked like a warrior princess. Kope cleared his throat.

“Perhaps my presence is a hindrance.”

Good point. She definitely had issues with males. I nodded my agreement, still watching Zania, but her eyes were on him. He took a careful step forward and she jutted the knife out.

“I must pass you, Zania,” he said in a silky, deep voice. “I will keep to the wall.”

They sidestepped along their own wall with few precious feet of separation, eyeing each other. She followed his every
move until he passed her and was out of sight. Keeping her back to the wall, she turned her head toward me.

“I am no fool. I know he stays near.”

“Yes, you’re right. He’s my friend and he wants me to be safe. But he won’t interfere now unless you hurt me.”

Speaking of that, I lifted my hand to the spot under my chin. It was still wet and sensitive but healing fast. Adrenaline kept me from feeling anything. I looked down at the spots of blood on my shirt. That was probably going to get me some unwanted attention during the walk back to the hotel.

“I might need to borrow a shirt,” I said, chancing a small smile. “Should we talk here, or do you want to go somewhere else?”

Her breathing had finally slowed, but she still watched me warily.

“You may come inside, but not him.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Thank you.”

She waved me forward with the knife to walk in front of her. When I got around the corner, Kope was nowhere to be seen.

“Go in,” she told me. The door was unlocked, so I pushed it open. Inside she quickly closed the door and locked it behind us before peering out a side window and motioning me into a parlor. I took in the array of color and design. Everything from the multicolored Persian rug and gold drapes to the handcrafted woodwork of the furniture. Taking a seat in an ornate chair, I ran my fingers over the thick maroon and yellow tasseled cushion, then the mosaic tabletop next to me. I looked up to see Zania watching me from across the room, knife still in
hand. For the first time I noticed the dark band of addiction, running under her black badge, as if it would squeeze the life from her.

“Will you sit with me?” I asked.

Without answering, she moved gracefully to a wooden case and lifted the lid, revealing a beverage bar. She poured a shot of something dark-amber colored and drank it, the knife coming dangerously close to her eye. She poured a second glass and looked at me. My insides were tight enough to snap.

“Do you want one?” she asked.

Yes. I paused two beats. “N-no, thank you.”

“No?”

Just one! I didn’t know what to do. I was already jittery, but I really wanted that drink. As if sensing my internal struggle, she smiled as she sipped the second shot.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Maybe—”

Zania straightened up and made a faraway face. “He whistled. Why did he whistle? Is he signaling someone?”

“Who? Kope?” Oh . . . I slouched a little. I was officially the only Neph I knew who didn’t regularly use their extended hearing to listen out. “No, he’s whistling to me. To tell me not to drink.”

My insides unraveled the slightest bit. Kope wouldn’t whistle for no reason. If he was telling me not to drink, then it was a good idea for me to listen. I suppose two girls with a weakness for drink and a bottle of liquor wasn’t the safest combination. I had a job to do and a limited amount of time to do it.