Redemption (37 page)

“Now might be a good time for you to teach me how to kill a Demon,” I said bitterly.

He shifted gears before glancing at me. The look he gave me was a hard one. I narrowed my eyes.

“I need a quick lesson, Craig. If you go all Karate Kid on me and start that wax-on-wax-off shit, you will be the first Demon I try to kill,” I warned.

Marcas shook his head. I had to quit using movie analogies. I was pretty sure he didn’t get them.

“You’d only kill yourself with the attempt,” he pointed out. I slumped down in my seat.

“It’d be worth the try."

 Marcas turned onto an empty dark road. I could see a field on my side of the car. A vineyard maybe?

“You have to tear out their hearts and crush it,” Marcas said suddenly.

My head shot in his direction.

“What?”

“To kill a Demon, you have to tear out his heart then destroy it,” Marcas explained. I stared.

“Demons have hearts?” I asked skeptically.

“Not typical ones, but they are built like mortals to a fashion. Demons can be grotesque and some are animal-like, but we all have some form of a heart. In our case, it’s only an organ for survival. Take that away and even we die. Those not Cursed return to Hell and are reborn,” he said. I watched his face. It was calm and unlined.

“How do you do it?” I asked him. His brow furrowed slightly.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Stay so calm, so detached?”

“I’ve been around a long time, Blainey,” he answered. I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, cut the old man crap! The old men I know are more emotional than guys my own age. Especially in the Southern U.S.. This is a Marcas Craig thing,” I said sharply.

The car turned, but I didn’t look out the window to see where we were going. My gaze was locked on his face.

“It’s a Demon thing,” Marcas corrected. “It’s never good to let a Demon know how you feel. It gives them a weakness to prey on. You either learn to shut yourself off or you suffer the consequences.”

“Death?” I asked. Marcas gripped the steering wheel.

“Much worse, Blainey. Death would be so much easier to handle."

I started to say something, but he shook his head. I closed my mouth briefly.

"And Angels? Why can't they die?" I redirected.

 Marcas' hands tightened on the steering wheel. If he didn't ease up, he was going to break the thing.

"They are borne of light. They belong to Heaven. Only God can kill an Angel. When Lucifer fell, the ability to be invincible was taken away. But Demons can't die either. Not really. Most of us are always recycled," Marcas said.

I furrowed my brows in concentration.

"And yet the Angels don't have the upper hand?"

Marcas glanced my way. "You have to remember that Demons are constantly recycled when their bodies are destroyed, new half-Demons are continuously born to mortal women or bred by mortal men with Demon women, and Satan is constantly collecting human souls he forces into the war. Our numbers are always huge. And while Angels cannot die, they can be injured by Demons. And only Demons. And then they need time to heal," Marcas answered.

I processed the new information before opening my mouth again, but Marcas stopped me.

“We’re here," he said.

I looked out the window and gawked. How rich was the man who guarded the artifacts of Solomon? The white stone home we stared at now wasn’t much smaller than the Abbey itself, and the cars parked along the front would make any man or woman who saw them salivate in envy.

“I’m assuming the Swords of Solomon isn’t a full time position for this Alessandro,” I said blandly. Marcas opened the car door and stepped out. I followed suit.

“You’d be surprised. He is the director of the group and there are a lot of private investors dealing in religious artifacts,” he pointed out.

I watched Marcas over the hood of the car. Why had he chosen to come here?

“How do you know him? How does Maria know him?” I asked.

Marcas shut the door and turned to face the house.

“He’s her son,” Marcas explained. He left my first question unanswered. Her son? Maria's son? This made me pause. What
was
Marcas to Maria and Alessandro?

“How do you know Maria?” I asked.

 The question had plagued me since we’d met her. He started walking across the yard, and I followed. I thought for sure he wouldn’t answer but he surprised me.

“She was a young girl when I first met her. She was an earthbound pursuit of mine once. At the time, she was a young widow of nineteen with a two-year-old son,” Marcas answered.

I gawked at him. He had
dated
her? Maria? I shook my head. I stopped walking a moment. Really? Marcas paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Demons have earthly affairs, Blainey. You may do well to dispel yourself of any naïve ideas now. I will never be a saint. Maria was beautiful once. Her soul still is. It shines with a brightness that would attract any Demon."

I stared at him. The curdling of my stomach wasn’t because he’d dated Maria. I wasn’t naïve by any means. No, it was the sudden dawning realization of something much bigger than that. He’d been alive a long, long, long, long time. That meant he’d been with a LOT of women.

“How many women does that put you at?” I asked without meaning to.

My hand flew to my mouth. Had I actually asked him that? Jesus! Marcas started walking again. I hurried to catch up.

“I won’t continue this discussion,” he said flatly.

I didn’t push him. It was a question I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. It didn’t mean I couldn’t ask them in my head. There were many. How long had he been with Maria? I had a hard time picturing the rosary clad woman with a Demon. Was it a rebellious time in her life? Maybe a time when she was angry at God? Could it have been because she was a widow? Had she blamed God for the death of her husband? I suddenly couldn’t wait to meet up with her again. She fascinated me. I looked up at the house.

“Are we just going to walk up to the door?” I asked Marcas with a frown.

If the Swords of Solomon had gotten wind of our situation, they’d be ready to kill on sight, wouldn’t they? They’d have to be aware that Marcas was interested in the ring.

“We are going to talk with Alessandro, yes,” Marcas answered. I stared at him in disbelief.

“Won’t they want us dead?” I asked cautiously. Marcas looked at me.

“Not necessarily.
I
am their threat. You, on the other hand, will be news to them. They are mortals, Blainey. They won’t be aware of your existence or the fact that we are bound. You are a Naphil seeking refuge among a group who assassinates Demons. The fact that we are being tracked by Demons will help your case,” Marcas said.

 I watched him. I felt like I was being debriefed for an undercover operation.

“I am not an actress,” I complained reasonably. Marcas lifted a brow.

“It’s time you learn to be,” he said before ringing the doorbell. “They already know we’re here. They have enough security to be aware of it."

 I looked at the door.

“And they haven’t captured us?”

“No doubt they are curious as to why a Demon is here with an Angel. They will have a Seer with the same gift as Maria. It is essential that they have men and women who can discern the difference between mortals, Angels, and Demons. I have a past history with an Angel. Maria has made you aware of this. It won’t seem out of place for me to be involved with another,” Marcas answered. I heard footsteps approaching from within.

“Involved?” I whispered.

Marcas put a hand on the small of my back. It made me jump. What was he playing at?

“Just look down and appear scared, Blainey,” he ordered.

 I did as he commanded. I didn’t have to pretend to look frightened. I was terrified. The door swung open. Light illuminated our feet, and I closed my eyes to let go of my night vision.

“Can I help you?” a female voice asked. Her tone was stern and almost cruel. There was no doubt she knew what Marcas was.

“I seek an audience with Alessandro. Tell him it is Marcas. Tell him I require a favor,” Marcas said coolly. The woman grew quiet. The door drew further open.

“I imagine you are aware of our group. I will inform Alessandro of your presence, but you will be guarded until he decides what is to be done with you,” the woman said. I continued to stare at the ground.

“Understood,” he answered before prodding me gently in my back.

I moved forward, looking up only long enough to discover we were in a finely decorated foyer. The floors were a rich wine colored stone covered in handsomely woven rugs. The table and chairs that sat a few feet within the entry were a deep mahogany. It matched the wooden bannister of the double-curved stone staircase further down the two-story entrance hall. It instantly brought to mind
Gone With the Wind
. I could almost imagine an Italian version of Scarlett O’Hara moving elegantly down the stairwell, her hand resting gently along the bannister.

“In here please,” the lady ordered.

The glimpse I got of the woman was an informative one. She was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair pulled up tightly on top of her head. She wore a brown business suit that looked starched to the nines. Her hand pointed us toward a small sitting room off to the side of the foyer. It reminded me of Jane Austen novels where the matrons and their daughters received guests in their parlors. The woman glanced at me, and I looked back down at the floor. We moved into the room and the door closed quickly behind us. I heard a key turn in the lock and more than one pair of feet shuffle outside the door. I felt tempted to ask Marcas how many parlors he’d sat in wooing women, but I refrained. Barely.

“Sit, and look tired,” Marcas ordered.

My hackles rose with his tone, but I obeyed and looked around the room for the most comfortable looking piece of furniture. I spotted a fluffy looking brown suede sofa and moved toward it.

“Am I supposed to be sick too?” I hissed sarcastically as I lowered myself onto the couch and pulled my legs up behind me. I rested my head on my arm. Marcas didn’t answer me. The door knob turned. I feigned sleep. The door opened, but there was silence. I had to fight not to look. Finally, heavy steps sounded inside the room.

“It has been a long time, Demonio,” a male voice said. It was deep and unemotional. He didn’t sound like a son of Maria’s.

“A very long time, Ander,” Marcas said. A loud huff followed the statement.

“Alessandro to you, Demonio. Nothing more.”

“Alessandro,” Marcas consented.

The thudding of shoes made my stomach tense. I kept my face as relaxed as I could.

“What have you brought me, Demonio? What is this?” Alessandro asked.

“I have a feeling you already have some idea,” Marcas answered.

“My Seers have told me that you have brought an Angel. She has the glow.”

“A Naphil,” Marcas corrected. There was a slight hush.

“Impossible,” Alessandro finally said. I wish people would quit saying that. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to exist. It made living somewhat depressing.

“Not so much. I came upon her in the States. She was alone in the dark, and I admit I was prowling for blood. She’s the daughter of a Watcher called Bezaliel and a mortal woman descended purely from Seth,” Marcas stated.

I felt a wave of air against my face, and I knew from the erratic way it brushed my cheeks and the stale odor of cigars, that Alessandro had approached me. I had to fight the urge to squirm.

“Remarkable,” Alessandro breathed. “And she has no flaws?”

“None,” Marcas answered.

“She rests as a mortal does, I see.”

“She is very mortal in her routine. She eats and sleeps as mortals do, but she retains a good deal of Angelic power,” Marcas said. Alessandro seemed to absorb this. I felt like a science project.

“And why have you brought her to me, Demonio? Is she another Sophia? Have you again taken up arms against your own kind?” Alessandro asked.

My nose started to itch. How often would I be compared to Sophia tonight?

“In a fashion,” Marcas answered. “She has indeed caught my interest. We were involved before I realized what she was.”

“Ah, one of your petty affairs. And now you are in love, no? Amazing how you Demons think we humans can be played.”

“She isn’t human.”

“I cannot argue with you there. My Seers would agree she has the blood of an Angel.”

“And she is in danger,” Marcas pointed out.

I felt Alessandro move away. I was fighting to keep my breathing even.

“What kind of danger?”

“There is a small group of Demons even now tracking her,” Marcas warned.

“And you are seeking refuge here?”

“Haven’t I before? The former director has welcomed me in the past," Marcas said. There was no argument.

“I don’t trust you, Demonio. I always felt Roman was a fool to do so. I do not trust you at all,” Alessandro said quietly.