Heaven and Hellsbane (24 page)

Then softer, so that only I could hear, he whispered, “But behold how earnestly
I
esteem thee. My gift to you, my powerful child. Let it be an eternal reminder of my love.”

He kissed the back of my head and a warm squirm of heat wiggled down the back of my neck and into my chest. My heart beat and the heat he’d sent into me exploded with a surge of blood, sending the sizzling sensation through every vein in my body. I sucked a quick breath and clenched my teeth. I didn’t know what he’d done, but I knew I hadn’t given my permission for him to do it.

Fred’s pale eyes met mine. “He must be ended.”

“Yeah? Well that’s my job,” I said and spun, Jukar’s angelic blade firm in my grasp.

An illorum’s sword has the power to send a Fallen to the abyss. A magister’s sword will send an angel back to start, but I had no idea what kind of power was still juicing inside the Fallen’s sword. And before I could find out, it was jerked from my grip and my loving father’s iron-hard slap sent me sailing backward off the patio.

I crashed onto the hard, unforgiving stadium seats—one cracking me straight across my back, punching the air from my lungs. My head snapped back, smacking against the next seat down, and stars burst behind my eyes as I slumped between the rows—scraping my neck and legs, bruising my elbows.

I’d landed somewhere near Fred—I’d seen him race past me toward Jukar a split second before I hit the seats. But the world was going dark, and pain ate at every part of my body. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. But as my vision tunneled, and the world receded into the misty haze, a flash lit the overhang and the sound of blades clashing echoed in the growing distance. I strained to look, but I already knew.

The angels were fighting. The war had begun. There was no turning back now.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Em, wake up! Get out of there!”

I opened my eyes, blinking against the constant drum of rain, expecting to see Dan. I was sure it was his voice I’d heard but it was a soaking-wet, demon Pirates fan I saw standing over me.

“Crap.”

Thunder rumbled the ground and a crack of lighting lit the sky, just as the beer-bellied, Mack truck of a demon reached down and fisted the collar of my blouse. He lifted me up from between the seat, so high the toes of my boots barely scraped against the floor.

His grip squeezed my collar around my neck—cutting off air. I couldn’t breathe. Panic, pain, and reflex had me squirming like a worm on a hook—my feet flaring out, landing solid blows to his thighs, and one hard boot toe jabbing his gut. But the ape wouldn’t let me go.

I smacked at his hairy tree-trunk arm, scratching like a girl, but it was all I had. I drew blood, but the demon just raised his sword, preparing to skewer me through the gut.

Shit
.

“Emma!” Dan jumped over the seats further back behind the demon. With my sword in one hand and his gun in the other he came charging full tilt toward us, yelling, “Arrrrggg…”

The demon didn’t even glance his way, as if the bellowing cop wasn’t worth his notice. Déjà vu blinked through my brain. At the exact instant I realized I was going to be okay, it dawned on me that Dan wouldn’t be.

Even as my body screamed for air and the pressure in my head made it feel like I might pop my top like a champagne cork, I shook my head at Dan, trying to yell at him to stop. But I couldn’t croak out a sound.

Just as I had ignored Tommy more than a year ago when he tried to stop me from using his sword, Dan ignored me. He was closing in fast, but he was still too far away. Training brought up the cop’s gun, and he shot the big demon in the back twice. The guy grimaced, his body jerking with each impact, actions stalling.

It was all the time Dan needed to close the distance. His arm stretched wide, swinging my sword with all his might and slicing the blade cleanly through the demon’s fat neck. I dropped in a free-fall with the demon’s headless body, black goo spouting from the stump of his neck.

Air finally burned through my open throat, stinging all the way down my chest. Coughs tore apart my lungs, but I managed to scoot backward, barely avoiding the gush of black goo as the demon’s body melted into a smoldering pile of stink.

Dan had saved my life and I looked up at him holding his wrist. I coughed again, my throat raw. “You idiot.”

His brow creased, eyes snapping to me. “You’re welcome.”

“And you’re marked,” I said, swallowing around the pain. “What were you thinking?”

“That you were about to be killed. What did you want me to do?”

“Let me die,” I said. And I meant it. Kenny’s and Abby’s sweet little faces flashed through my head and with them, a healthy stab of guilt.

“You knew that wasn’t gonna happen,” Dan hissed, peeking under his hand at his wrist. “Did it hurt this much when you were marked?”

“Yes.” I pushed to my feet and shoved my sodden bangs back from my eyes. “Does it really hurt that bad?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Should’ve kept your hands off my sword,” I said. “Suck it up. You’re in this for real now.”

“I’m ready.”

“No. You’re not,” I said, and then a horn sounded, drawing our attention to the infield below and the giant, cloven-hoofed, red devil blowing a rallying call with a huge ram’s horn.

Bariel stood next to him on the pitcher’s mound—his silky jacket drenched, molding to his chest and fluttering against the matching slacks at his knees. The rain poured in buckets, plastering his short hair to his head and battering against his face. But he stood tall, the black sword in his hand shining like glass. Four gibborim stood guard around them—all men, all big enough to be first-round draft picks by the NFL.

The guards stiffened abruptly, their attention shifting to third base and the man who’d just dropped from the black sky high above.

“Did you see that?” Dan asked. “Was that a body?”

“They all are,” I said and watched as another body dropped from the boiling clouds, and then another, and another. Every few seconds a body fell all over the stadium and every one of them landed on their feet.

“They’re angels,” I said. One after another stood, gleaming sword in hand, and took up the fight. “Seraphim.”

Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating battles everywhere I looked. Thunder shook the glass of the luxury boxes behind us as fallen angels seemed to appear out of thin air all around. For every Fallen that raced into the fray, another seraph dropped from the sky to meet him.

Dan flinched, looking at his mark as though it’d bitten him. “What the hell is that?”

My wrist tingled, heat itching over my mark, but nothing like I’d felt in the past. “Your mark burns when a fallen angel is near. At least it’s supposed to.”

“It does,” a voice said from behind us. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Dan and I both turned to see a dark-haired fallen angel, his wide grin more crazed than gleeful, though he was stunning nonetheless. He swung his sword, aiming for my neck before I could get past the fact that my mark had barely warned me he was there.

I was unarmed and outwitted. I stumbled back, helpless, giving Dan barely enough room to lunge between us and block the strike. The impact was hard, the sound of the blades colliding like a gunshot. Dan staggered, struggling to keep from slipping in the slick puddles all around us.

He’d saved me again, but I knew our deaths were only seconds away…and then a seraph dropped from the sky. He landed beside the dark-haired Fallen, his shining sword a blur of motion, forcing the Fallen to turn from us and fight for his life.

I grabbed Dan’s wrist and ran as fast as my power allowed. I felt him stumble at first to keep up, but he was a smart man, a quick learner, and he knew what powers to expect. I needed a second to get my brain back in the game. And I needed my sword. I wasn’t thinking—dodging demons fighting magisters, zigzagging around battling illorum and gibborim, and avoiding Fallen and seraphim as much as possible.

Everywhere I turned, blood splattered and black goo oozed. People were screaming, men and women wailed in pain—enduring the agony of a severed leg or the piercing stab wound from the enemy’s blade. I didn’t know who was winning or who was dying—nephilim or demon, seraph or Fallen. I couldn’t stop to see. I had to find a place where Dan would be safe and I could reclaim my sword.

Finally, we took refuge higher up in the stadium next to the Keystone Corner Club, ducking low behind a railing topped with potted plants. I panted, more from the rush of adrenaline than exertion, reaching for my sword. “Stay here.”

He tucked it close, tightening his grip. “I’m not going to ride out this fight behind some plants. You stay here. I’m keeping the sword.”

“There’ll be no need for that, Daniel.”

Faster than Dan could track even with his newly awakened illorum powers, I snagged my sword from his hand and spun, preparing to fight.

The magister flinched but held his ground. He wasn’t as tall as Eli or Fred, but he had the same unearthly beauty. Light, flawless skin, long fingers, big palms, and wise, pale blue eyes. They were darker than Eli’s, at least darker than they were before the fall, which meant he’d been on earth, hanging around humans, for a long time. The weird thing about that was that he looked so young.

He smiled, emphasizing the adorable dimples in his cheeks. “I’m older than I look, Emma Jane. Much older.” He looked past me to Dan. “Welcome to the fold, Daniel. I’ve been waiting for you to join us.”

“Yeah. Sure. And you are?”

“The name’s Humastrav.”

“
Gesundheit
,” I said.

He laughed and it creased the corners of his twinkling eyes behind his glasses. “You are funny. I like that.” Then he looked back to Dan. “You can call me Ham. I’m your magister. I’ll be your teacher and guide.” He glanced out over the stadium teeming with battles. “I hope you’re a fast learner.”

“I can fight,” Dan said. “Just give me a sword.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” The angel held out his hands, palms up and a long silver sword, exactly like mine, appeared. The blade was nearly three feet long, its hilt wrapped in soft brown leather with a plain teardrop pommel on the end. On the blade below the hilt were the same crossed keys as the ones on our marks. The only difference was the name carved across the guard. Mine read
hellsbane
, whereas Dan’s read
wysocki
.

Dan holstered his gun and shifted my sword to his other hand. He reached for the weapon made to fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. I could see the satisfaction lift the features of his face as he felt the weight of his sword, the perfect balance, the rightness of it.

“If it were up to me, we’d spend the next few weeks training,” Ham said.

“Hell no.” Dan stepped forward. “I’m here to fight. I…I have to.”

The boyish magister smiled and pushed up his glasses. “I know. It’s part of being an illorum. I’ll stay by your side, though. Watch your back. It’ll be good to finally kick some Fallen ass after all these years with our hands tied by the truce.”

I understood what he meant—that urge, the near compulsion to fight the demons and their fallen masters. I’d felt it from the start, every day from the moment I was marked. So why didn’t I feel it now?

I wanted to fight. I wanted to defend what I knew was right, but I no longer felt that there was no other choice. I didn’t feel like I
had
to fight. What was wrong with me? I turned my wrist, finally looking at the damage my actions had done to my mark.

The sword wasn’t broken…not completely, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The fine line that had etched across the blade of my mark was darker now, thicker, but the blade was still in one piece—cracked, not broken. I wasn’t gibborim. But I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I feared I might be.

I’d come so close. I’d been so willing to give up everything to be with Eli again. I still wanted him, my heart still ached at the thought of never seeing him again. But he’d hate it if he knew how close I’d come to betraying my fellow illorum, to betraying the seraphim, to betraying myself.

Eli loved me for who I was, for what I stood and fought for. He loved me for being true to myself. Compromising my beliefs might help me find him again, but what good would that do if it changed who I was? Even if he could find a way to still love me, how could I love myself?

It was over. Truly over. There was no way to get him back without trading a piece of myself, a piece of my soul…and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.

“I was trying to get to that horn when I sensed you had taken up the sword.” Ham pointed at the devil dude on the pitcher’s mound. We all watched as he raised the ram’s horn to his red lips again and blew.

The sound echoed off the stadium seats and seemed to bounce off the thick blanket of clouds overhead, ringing through my brain. Yeah, I wanted that horn too…at least I wanted to go to it.
Weird
.

“What are they doing?” Dan asked, gesturing to the two people—a man in his early fifties and a girl about my age—who slipped between the gibborim guards to the pitcher’s mound where Bariel waited.

The demon held out his hands to the man first, a black sword across his upturned palms. The older man took the sword, and the moment he did, another just like it appeared in the demon’s hands. He was too far away for me to see for sure, but I thought I saw his body tense. He grabbed the inside of his wrist.

Bariel offered the new sword to the girl in the same fashion and she reached for it, plucking it quickly from his hands. Her reaction was almost an instant replay of the man’s, and for a moment the two stood staring at the fresh marks on their skin.

The pair took off immediately—faster than they’d come, faster than humans could ever move. They raced in different directions through the fray of battles, each finding a fresh opponent.

“They’re turning nephilim. Making them gibborim,” I said. “That’s Jukar’s sword—a piece of his spirit. Just like our swords are a piece of Michael’s.”

“Exactly,” Ham agreed. “The horn is a battle cry, compelling all Fallen and demons, and apparently gibborim, too, to come fight.”

Suddenly, the urge to answer the sound of that horn sickened me. Was the damage I’d done to myself deeper than my mark showed? I pushed the thought from my mind, not liking the queasy feeling it left in my stomach.

“More importantly,” Ham continued, “it calls to the unmarked. And not just the ones Rifion toyed with, but all nephilim—even the people whose power is still dormant. Dan was lucky to have made his choice before the first call was sent out.”

“Lucky. Right,” I said. But there were more people coming—lines of them trickled down through the stadium seats, finding their way to the field. Some of them were half-dressed, one woman was dragging an empty stroller. They moved like zombies—entranced children following the pied piper. “Why don’t you head them off? Start handing out illorum swords before they get down there to Bariel?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Ham said. “A person must choose by his or her actions to become a warrior of God. Besides, these people are already lost to us. That damned horn has them spellbound. We have to get that horn before the call grows any wider.”

“Let’s do—” Before I could finish the sentence, a Fallen appeared in front of us, and a demon popped in a half second later—like a dog following his master.

I blinked, my mind seeing their swords, watching as they pivoted to engage Dan and me, but my reaction was just half a click behind. By the time I raised my blade, Dan had already swung his sword. The demon blocked easily, but Dan’s eagerness for his head had the squirrely fiend on the defense soon enough.

The fallen angel’s blade was mine as it sliced in a wide, blurring arch. I blocked, and shoved him back, mounting a quick flurry of blows that had the angel rethinking his choice of opponents. He’d underestimated me, but he knew better now, and yet I still felt like walking away was an option.