Ange du Mal Page 13

  We walked to the back door. Samael opened it for me. I shuddered as I passed under his arm bone.

  “I thought you were a biologist. Shouldn’t you like corpses?” Samael mused.

  “What? No! Sure, I like dissecting stuff, but walking skeletons are a totally different thing.”

  Samael snickered.

  “It’s not funny, you look like an extra from the Thriller music video.”

  We made our way through winding halls to the front entrance. Samael undid the elaborate locks. Expecting to see a hearse, I was surprised to find a white motorcycle parked by a bush.

  Samael cracked his knuckles and mounted the crotch rocket. I stayed far, far away.

  He patted the seat behind him. “Are you coming?”

  “Are you secretly Ghost Rider?”

  “Nope. It’s just too crowded to travel by hearse. Pallor can become any vehicle I want. I thought we’d ride in style.”

  I shifted in my stilettos. “Motorcycles are dangerous. I don’t want to end up street pizza.”

  Samael snorted. “You’re already riding with Death.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Come on, I have a helmet. You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Somehow he convinced me to ride the deathtrap. We sliced down the streets through parades of demons baring their true colors. Human-spider chimeras crept along the cobblestones, carrying banners. Needle-thin creatures crawled on six legs, towing floats behind them. Ghostly beings drifted above, and throngs of children ran past us, begging for ashes, which they collected in baskets. They ate them with spoons.

  “What are the kids eating? Asbestos?” I said as we paused behind a caravan.

  “They’re granules of dyed sugar candy. It’s like trick-or-treating. The ashes symbolize how sweetness can be found in the most unlikely things.”

  The children dipped their fingers into the candy and drew upside-down crosses on each other’s foreheads.

  “That’s not Satanic at all,” I muttered.

  We arrived at Damien’s. I was whisked into the bar by the werewolf’s drunk relatives, all eager to meet me. The men were stocky and the women short and plump. Italian opera blasted from the radio.

  After too many introductions, Damien bear-hugged me. He lifted me off the floor. “Ah, Shannon, sweetheart, I’m so glad to see you’re well. Come here, come here, Arietta wants to meet you.”

  “I missed you, Damien,” I said.

  Samael poured himself the usual. I wondered how he was going to swallow absinthe without a throat.

  Damien led me to the back room armory. It had been cleared to house a dance floor, bedecked with strobe lights and a stereo system. The youth of Damien’s pack danced to a throbbing beat as a twenty-something in a hoodie DJed. She looked up from the turntable. Her golden eyes crinkled in a smile.

  “Arietta! What is this – this sound?” Damien yelled.

  She took off her headphones. “It’s techno, dad,” the DJ called. “I’ve told you like a million times.” Arietta waved at me. “Hey. You’re Shannon, right? Nice to meet you.” She changed the song on her laptop and came over to us. Her knuckles were tattooed with the letters “DOLCE VITA<3” (a Fellini reference?) and her hair was dreadlocked. Arietta grinned, revealing sharp teeth. “You can leave, dad,” she said.

  Damien chuckled. “If you say so.”

  “So, you go to Hortense?” Arietta said. “Good school. It’s near a ton of nature preserves. I worked with red-cockaded woodpeckers in a park near your college, once. We did controlled burnings to restore their habitat.”

  My eyes lit up. “Really?” I said. “I love birds. So you’re into environmental science?”

  “Heck yeah. Dad says you’re studying biology. What do you want to do?”

  “Well, maybe work in the field. That’s about as much as I know. I’m still exploring my options.” I fixed my wig. “So do controlled burnings really work? How do you contain them?”

  Arietta smiled. “Sure they do. They’re crucial to maintaining the woodpecker’s habitat.”

  “That’s neat. I’ve read about them, but I’ve never actually seen one done.”

  We sunk into a conversation about ecology and bird-watching. The strobe lights flared, illuminating the dancers, and Arietta’s computer played experimental music on shuffle.

  “You’re not what I was expecting,” Arietta said after a while. We lounged on two chairs, nursing margaritas.

  I raised my brows. “Who did you think I’d be?”

  Arietta shrugged. “Someone jaded. Not anyone like me. I mean, you’re the Magdalene. You’re Pandemonium’s hot topic. I thought you’d be older. Corrupt. Just like the rest of Hell.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. “How messed up is this place?” I asked in a low voice.

  Arietta’s eyes darted around, then focused on me. “Look, I love my dad, but he’s the Don of the capital’s underworld. That’s why he’s so tight with Samael. I want to do something different, you know? Not go into the family business. I hate violence.”

  My stomach turned. “Is there any way to escape it? Hell seems so brutal. The kids are eating ashes.”

  “Heh. The ashes actually taste good.” She took a slow sip of her margarita. “It’s the way it’s been done for centuries. The same seven archdemons have ruled Hell for millennia. There’s no upward mobility, unless you turn to the black market, and no way to enact real change.” She swirled the ice in her cup. “A lot of immortals leave for Earth, just like me, to start fresh. It’s funny. We left our first homes, thinking Pandemonium would be better. But it’s not. I was born here, but I sure as hell won’t stay.” Arietta checked her watch. “Crap. We’re late.”

  “For what?”

  “The ceremony. Okay, everyone, party’s over!” Arietta yelled at her pack. She unplugged the stereo system and flicked on the lights. “Come on. You don’t want to miss it. It’s about the only cool thing here.”

  I followed Arietta out onto the street, not sure what to expect. But all I had to do was look to the sky.

  The morning star glowed, surrounded by six points of light, each pulsing a color of the rainbow. The center was a burning blue. Each star thrummed a different tone, like tuning forks, humming at different frequencies as they wove around each other. The morning star waltzed in figure-eights.

  “What are they?” I said.

  “The archdemons. They’re opening a mass portal to Earth. It takes their combined powers to keep it open. Unlike you, they can’t open portals permanently.”

  So Samael was up there. I wondered if he was too drunk to fly, hence the figure-eights. “I mean, it’s pretty, but what’s the point?”

  Arietta didn’t look away from the display. “So the Claimed can go home. On All Hallow’s Eve, the human spirits of Hell are allowed to visit Earth, just for the night.”

  The ground shook. Suddenly, the stars exploded like fireworks, and a vortex the size of the moon opened in the great maw of space. Hosts of spirits rose above the roofs, streaming like wind through the portal. Their bodies shimmered like dragonfly wings. It was a Jacob’s ladder of angels, or in this case, the damned.

  The ghostly train went on, until finally, the last soul slipped into the sky. Then the stars coalesced, and they fell, like fiery brands, back to Hell.

  I thought of the lost souls. Were they happy? Sad? A bit of both? What would it be like, to walk the Earth, long after they’d departed? Would they regret the choices they’d made?

  The blue star plummeted, crashing like lightning to the street. From it rose Samael, his wings outstretched, eye sockets aflame. A slow clap came from the crowd.

  Samael’s gaze locked on me. He glided to my side.

  Arietta backed away.

  “My favorite time of the year,” he said quietly. “All the souls’ hopes - I can taste them. Their dreams. Their longing.” He hung his scythe from his back. “What did you think?”

&nb
sp; I crossed my arms over my chest to guard against the cold. “That it was beautiful, but that you’re a creep. What do you mean you taste souls?”

  He straightened the neck of his robe. “Every soul is unique. Some are like brandy, others wine. Each person is different on the senses.”

  I curled my lip. “So you’re like a soul sommelier? That’s freaky.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Ha, what does mine taste like?”

  He paused. “Nothing.”

  I scrutinized him. “But the first time we met, you said it was, and I quote, ‘delectable.’ I thought you were checking me out, but apparently not.” I chafed my arms to warm them. “And don’t tell me I taste like apples or I’ll punch you in the ribcage.”

  Samael grinded his teeth.

  “Fine, don’t tell me,” I said. “Just brood. Don’t mind me!”

  “You taste like absinthe.”

  My guts coiled. “You’re kidding me.”

  He looked away.

  Anger broiled in my stomach. “You can’t say that, Sam. It’s not fair!”

  “None of this is fair.” He ground his teeth. “Not to you. Not to me. I need a bloody drink.”

  I bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood.

  He stalked to the empty bar.

  “So that’s it?” I said. “You’re going to throw a pity party for one and ignore the teenager you let get sexually assaulted? Wow! What a gentleman. Definitely fitting for the ruler of this crapper of a city!”

  “I never claimed to be a saint.”

  I stormed over to the Reaper. I looked up into his eye sockets and exploded: “Stop drinking! Stop moping. And by God, stop thinking of her.”

  “Don’t invoke my Father! Only Michael gets to play that card,” Samael growled. He pushed past me and raided the liquor cabinet. He went straight for the absinthe and emptied it. The liquid soaked his jaw bone, dripping down to the floor. He smashed the bottle on the ground and grinded the shards with his boot.

  Samael’s robe came undone, slipping from his shoulders to reveal cracked ribs. I flinched.

  He laughed wildly. “You can’t even look at me, can you? I disgust you.”

  “No, it’s not that-”

  He draped himself over the bar. “Don’t lie.”

  I bunched my hands into fists. “Fine, you’re right! You look like a nightmare, is that what you want to hear? I’d rather drown in a bathtub of spiders than spend another minute looking at you. Feel better now?”

  He started on another bottle. “Now you’re being honest.”

  “God, you have the emotional maturity of toddler. And while we’re at it? You have horrible taste in clothes. Oh, and your piercings are stupid. Also smoking is bad for you. God, I wish I’d never met you.”

  He was a thunderhead. The werewolves stayed outside, leaving us in the dark of the room.

  I stood in silence, waiting.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked finally.

  “Nothing,” he said. In the shadows, I saw him tremble. He inhaled sharply, skull buried in his hands.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No...”

  “Are you sure?”

  He sobbed.

  I put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Sam…?”

  He looked up, gaze stony. “You have her eyes. It’s like being haunted.”

  I was taken aback. “Bullcrap. You’re the one haunting me.”

  “Funny, isn’t it? That most ghosts are alive.”

  I frowned. “You really loved her, didn’t you?”

  He pressed his index fingers together. “Do you know how hard it is, being around you? You look like her. You smell like her. The same hair, the same freckles, the same mole at the corner of your nose. I ignored it at first, chalked it up to coincidence. When you’ve existed for eons, all humans look the same. But you’re her doppelganger. Even your voice is the same.” He pressed his palms against his chin. “I hate it.”

  I bent a straw. “It’s not my fault.”

  “I know. This happened because of my selfishness. You should never have been born.”

  There was a knock at the door. Damien entered, grim-faced. “The angels are here. It’s not good.”

  Samael shoved his chair away from the bar. “What? How did they get to Hell?”

  Damien glanced over his shoulder. “Well, the funny thing is, it looks like they’ve got an ascendant.”

  Chapter 11

  Samael flew out of the room. I followed him, hair raised on the back of my neck. Another ascendant? But who?

  Outside, the werewolves had cleared, allowing a host of angels to occupy the street. I was overwhelmed by their glory, armor-clad with blazing halos.

  Michael stood at the front, his flaming sword drawn. In the shadow of his wing was a man with tousled brown hair and amber eyes.

  He leaned on a golden petersword, dressed in chinos and a blue button-down. He looked like a catalogue model. Huh?

  I guessed he was the ascendant. He looked familiar. Almost like a Ken doll. But I’d never seen him before, except maybe in a men’s fashion magazine.

  The ascendant looked kind of like an asshole, but had a bit of cute cowlick that reminded me of Baxter’s. I really wanted to touch it.

  Samael stopped short. I bumped into his pointy hipbone. “You found him,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Michael smiled slightly. “It was only a matter of time.”

  Gabriel, decked in a silver chest plate, sheathed her saber. “We don’t want any trouble. Give us the Magdalene, and we’ll let you leave in peace.”

  “Over my broken bones,” Samael said. He pushed me behind him.

  “You’re so predictable,” Michael said. “Shannon was never yours. Eve’s soul is Father’s creation. Relinquish her, and we won’t burn Pandemonium to the ground.”

  “I don’t belong to anyone, I’m an independent woman. Like that Shania Twain song! Or was it Kelly Clarkson? Whatever.” I flipped Michael the bird over Samael’s shoulder.

  Michael’s temple throbbed.

  “We’re on your side, Shannon,” Gabriel said, with the patience of a saint. “All the demons will do is hurt you. They know no other way.”

  “Don’t listen,” Samael said. “Angels are liars through and through. Do I have to dice you to bits, Michael, or can we settle this like adults?”

  “I’m not here to negotiate, wyrm,” Michael said. “I’m here for her.”

  I drew back. “That’s too bad. Because I’m not going with you.”

  The ascendant turned to Michael. “That’s her, right? She’s really short. Shorter than I imagined.” He had a British accent.

  I blushed. “Well excuse me for being upwardly challenged.”

  The man pushed back his cowlick and gave me a lopsided grin. “No offense. You’re fit. I just thought you’d be blonde, with more fig leaves. Like the paintings.”

  The blood drained from my face. “Adam?”

  The ascendant laughed. “I was him, I guess? My name’s Henry.”

  “But… but how?” I stuttered.

  Henry shrugged. “The same way as you. We ate something nasty, then got stuck in Limbo for a few eons. Good thing I don’t remember it. That would’ve been bollocks. There probably aren’t any Nandos there. Where would I get my chicken fix?”

  Samael sighed. “It’s true. That’s your loverboy,” he said. “You’re twin souls, like Michael and me. When I made you immortal, it affected Adam’s soul. He’s a prick. Ignore him.”

  “Well aren’t you a nutter,” Henry said. “I’ve never met you. But according to what I’ve heard, you’re the prick. Not me.”

  Samael’s eye-hollows flashed blue. “Did you bring the sheep-molester here to irritate me?”

  “Oi! I’m not Welsh,” Henry said. “What the heck is your problem?”

  “You, mate,” Samael said, mocking. “As I remember, you were quite fond of animals. Giving them names and fondling them.”

  Henry flushed re
d.

  “Samael,” Gabriel said. “Jealousy isn’t flattering. Your grudge against Adam was old a millennia ago.”

  “Jealous of the inventor of bestiality?” Samael said. “Right.”