Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (17 page)

“But we don’t have a Keeper,” another complained.

“No shit,” Camille snapped. “But isn’t the whole purpose of the Descendants to help the angels? Isn’t this what you’re bred for?”

The Descendants looked around the table at one another, clearly hoping someone else would speak up. Camille rolled her eyes. “Well, we…um,” started one Descendant with long brown hair and wide-set brown eyes. He looked too young to be on any kind of council, much less the most important one in the world. “We’ve never done anything like this before. Before the war, we were just…”

“Puppets?” Camille offered, her disdain obvious.

“No!” the brown-eyed Descendant argued. “We did stuff. Like…like…military maneuvers! And drills and stuff. Oh! And we had lots of meetings about emergency protocols!”

Camille massaged her temples in an effort to restrain her anger. It wasn’t working. “Look, I get that you’re worthless human beings and you’ve never done anything in your measly lives—”

“Hey! That’s not what I said!”

“—but this is important,” Camille spoke over him. “Lives are depending on you. Sure, they aren’t angel lives. And I really don’t give a shit about the survivors, but you should, since they’re, like, your species or whatever.”

The Descendants stared back at her, their wide, scared eyes reminding her of children. Finally, the same young guy spoke up again. “But we’re not ready. We need a Keeper.”

“And why should we listen to you?” a different Descendant questioned. Camille didn’t know his name either; she hadn’t bothered to learn many. “You’re just a Throne angel who sleeps with humans.”

Camille was on him in a heartbeat. She lifted him into the air and pushed straight back, pinning him with her body against Michaela’s stained glass window. She pressed her knife against the thundering pulse on his neck. His eyes were wild, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. In his terror, wetness spread across the crotch of his jeans. The glass behind him bent, warning creaks and groans sounding as Camille tried to rein in her strength.

“Damn straight I’m a Throne angel. I know seven hundred and twelve ways to kill you in this very position. Some of them are quite tempting. Remember that when you’re walking alone in these halls. When you sleep. When you whack your nasty little dick. I can kill you any way I please. And I only sleep with one human, and he’s not really all that human. You should remember that as well.”

She dropped him to the floor, not caring if he broke bones in his legs, and flew back up to the balcony. She landed by the side door and slipped out. She stalked off before anyone in the meeting hall had recovered. She knew it because she could still hear their trembling breaths as she strode away. The people in the halls backed away from her, giving her as much space as possible to pass. They feared her, and that was good. She would need that fear in the coming days. Originally, when the secret of her and Clark had gotten out, she’d been concerned that the Descendants and Nephilim would soften toward her as most humans did around sexual females. She’d ensured that wouldn’t happen by making her presence known at the meeting.

The notion that she might have gone too far never crossed her mind. To Camille, there was no such thing as too much fear.

As she threaded her way through the compound, crossing what seemed like acres of stone and gilded glass windows, she noticed the lack of morning water rations sitting outside the apartment doors. No wonder people thought there was a water shortage; no one was doing his job. Camille gritted her teeth and walked faster. Clark’s apartment wasn’t in either the Descendants’ or Nephilim’s residence wings. It was off by itself in the original part of the compound, where the stone was ancient and Camille smelled the centuries past.

Finally, she reached his door, which was unlocked, and let herself in. As expected, Zarachiel was bent over the dining room table with Maya sitting on the floor, thumbing through a pile of books that nearly towered over her slight form. Their spines all contained mention of demons or the devil. Since Clark’s capture, they’d spent almost every hour looking for some clue to help his fight against the demon. Both Maya and Zarachiel looked up as Camille came in with a gust of wind in her wake that rattled the piles of books and sent papers fluttering to the floor.

“We have a problem,” she said.

“Another one?” Maya asked. Her overwhelmed doe eyes were really obnoxious, Camille thought.

“What now?”

Camille addressed Zarachiel when she spoke, “The Descendants are imploding, and Ezekiel’s trying to take leadership of the Nephilim. We’re on our own.”

“Shouldn’t the Descendants have measures in place for something like this? I’m sure Keepers have been killed suddenly in the past,” Maya said.

Camille didn’t speak, so Zarachiel answered Maya’s question. “They do. But apparently Liam hadn’t singled out one person yet to mentor, like Isaac did with Liam before he died.”

“And now too many people are fighting for the king’s throne?” Maya asked. “Typical.”

“Actually,” Camille said with a smirk, “No one wants the spot. They’re fighting
not
to have it put on them. I would say that’s ‘typical’ of this human race.”

“Why do you hate humans so much? Isn’t that why this war started in this first place?” Maya stood from the floor, squaring off against Camille.

“I hate them because they are cowards,” Camille said with a snarl, advancing a step on Maya. “Because no one wants to fight.”

“Maybe the time for fighting is over.” Maya set her hands on her narrow hips.

“Maybe it’s time you—”

“Okay, you two,” Zarachiel said and cleared his throat. “Let’s focus on the issue at hand.”

“I’m going to get some coffee.” Camille left the room and glided into the kitchen. Z had left the pot on the stove for her, knowing she would want some. He was a good angel, possibly her favorite Archangel, but she would never tell him that. She poured a cup, careful to keep the thick sludge of grinds out of her mug.

“Why is she so hateful?” Camille heard Maya ask. “I don’t even know why she’s down here helping us if she hates this world so much.”

Zarachiel tactfully chose not to reply, Camille noted as she walked back to the dining room. She sat her coffee on the table and took a seat. It was the first time she’d sat down in hours. She hadn’t slept since Clark was arrested. “One thing you should know,
Mia
, is that angels have really powerful hearing. You should be a little more careful when you talk about me.”

“It’s
Maya
, actually. And I knew you could hear. I’m not afraid of you.” The slight Nephil lifted her chin in defiance, but the gesture looked ridiculous on her. She was a doll, a plaything. She should be safely sequestered at a convent hidden in the hills of France, or in some Amish farmhouse with her herd of babies, like a good Nephil.

“Sure you’re not,” Camille said, rolling her eyes. She turned in her chair to face Zarachiel, effectively blocking Maya. The only reason Camille tolerated the Nephil’s presence was because she knew Clark would want someone to look after her. Heavens knew she couldn’t do it herself. “What have you found?” she asked Zarachiel.

“Not much,” he said, looking back to the papers spread out before him. “The literature on the demon caste system is minimal at best. But we know the basics. Demons are created, not born, through a ritual using Lucifer’s spit and dust from Hell’s pits. The rituals vary based on the desired caste of the new demon. Lower born demons, like the one we saw in Clark’s room after Wyatt’s death, can be created easily and quickly, and they are meant to be servants and menial laborers. On the other hand, high-born demons take more skill and precision to create. The ritual is more involved and uses more energy from the creator. Clark is possessed by a higher born demon, which means its hold and control over Clark is stronger. It’ll be harder to get rid of the creature from Clark’s body—and even harder to kill it.”

“Do you know how that’s done?”

“Maya has found plenty of information on exorcisms, but it’s mostly rubbish. There’s no calling the demon forth and demanding he leave the person or whatever. It’s much more involved and very dangerous for the one possessed. The demon is a part of Clark now. Before the war, when we encountered demons, we just tore it apart and then bound it to the earth. It’s the only way we’ve ever done it.”

“What if it had already possessed a person?” Maya asked.

“If it was already in a person, it was the Descendants’ concern. They would know a lot more about an actual exorcism than I would as an angel.” Zarachiel shrugged, the motion awkward with his slumping shoulders and twisted back.

“I’ve fought hordes of demons over the years,” Camille said, thinking back to her past as a Throne soldier. The war between holy and fallen had lasted since Lucifer was first cast out of Heaven. The battles had spanned eternity, and she’d encountered many kinds of demons and fallen angels on the front lines. She had the scars to prove it. “But we never bothered with binding them. We just slashed and burned.”

“Wow. That’s such a surprise,” Maya deadpanned.

Camille turned and glared over her shoulder. “Watch it, Nephil.”

“Or what?”

“Do you think the priest who blesses the Descendants’ meetings would help us with an exorcism?” Zarachiel asked, speaking over Camille and Maya.

Camille sighed, settling back in her chair. She wiped under her eyes to clean up any wayward kohl. Once, the dark eyeliner had been used to keep the sunlight out of her eyes as she fought, but wearing it now had become a habit. Most Throne angels had a hard time separating a battle from reality. Camille was no exception. To her, everything was a war, something she had to win in order to survive.

“Clark didn’t have many Descendant friends besides Liam, and the priest is definitely not one of them. But I’m sure we could make him help us,” she said.

“That’s a fantastic idea! Let’s torture and force someone to help us! That way, we won’t know if he’s helping Clark or killing him just to get back at us. Great plan, Camille.”

Camille stood, scraping back the chair on the old hardwood, and rounded on Maya. She was about to smash in her pretty doll face when Zarachiel put his hand on Camille’s shoulder. It was a testament to how much she liked him that she didn’t rip it off.

“I get that everyone is stressed out, but we’re in this together,” Zarachiel said. “We all want Clark back. Let’s just focus on that and put our differences aside.”

“I will, so long as she doesn’t endanger him,” Maya said.

Camille raised her brows at Maya, her mouth cocking into a derisive sneer. “You don’t even know him.”

“I do,” Maya said, clenching her jaw. “I know him well enough to want what is best for him. He helped me, so I’m going to help him.”

“We appreciate it, Maya,” Zarachiel said, smiling softly at her. “Now, who else would know how to do an exorcism besides the old priest?”

“There’s an entire mini monastery or whatever inside the compound,” Camille said. She rapped her fingers on the table in thought. “Some of the Descendants take a vow and become monks. Surely one of them is trained in exorcisms. If not, there has to be some books in there that would talk about it.”

Zarachiel nodded along in agreement. He took a seat at the table, Camille and Maya following suit. “Good idea.”

“There would be a few chosen monks who would have learned about it,” Maya said. “That’s how we did it in my convent. Of course, we weren’t trained in anything as sensational as exorcisms, but if the acts are practiced a lot by the Descendants, there should be a few who would be versed in it.”

“Do you think you could get inside there since you have a similar background? To feel things out and maybe look at their books?” Zarachiel asked, sitting up straighter now that a plan was coming together.

“It’s very possible that they would let me.”

“Good. Let’s get on that as soon as possible,” Zarachiel said.

“We’re forgetting one big thing here,” Camille said.

“What?”

“We still have to get Clark out.”

“You mean break him out of prison?” Maya asked, horrified.

Zarachiel sighed, running his hands through his shaggy brown hair. “She’s right. If we have to do this exorcism on Clark ourselves, it’s the only way. Camille, I’m assuming you’ll be in charge of that, given your background.”

“You can bet your ass on it.”

Chapter Three

C
lark was having the dream again. Or the vision. Or the nightmare.

The one where Camille hung above his head, her wings pinned to the cave wall with bone swords, her lifeblood dripping into shallow pools of death. The one where Lucifer mocked him and laughed, telling Clark over and over again that he couldn’t save her. The one where Clark was slowly becoming convinced that Camille was going to die.

He’d had the dream a lot since being in the dungeon. Maybe it was being underground, like he was in the cave. Maybe it was the demon causing a great unrest inside of him. Maybe it was simply that the time in the dream was drawing closer, and Clark could do nothing to stop it.

Clark was thinking on this as he dreamed, ignoring Lucifer’s simpering face, when the cave went white, like a sheet had been draped over everything and only Clark had emerged from the underside. Blinking in confusion, he looked around. From a great distance away, someone was walking toward him. Whoever it was had a massive set of dark wings looming over his broad shoulders.