Читать книгу Sword's Blessing - Kaitlin R. Branch - Страница 5

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“I was out powered! Who could have known that bumbling fool was as much a traitor as Eli?”

“You were aware they were friends, were you not? You could have killed him quickly, but chose to–”

“Shut up, Doll.” Cyrene swiped at the construct before her. The Doll collapsed, and Cyrene spit on the body, her hands shivering in disgust. Her crow lofted over to settle on her shoulder, and she forced her hands to still. It would not do to be so worked up. He would sense it, and take advantage. Cyrene took a breath, stroking the crow’s sleek black feathers as she exhaled, snapping. “I want to talk to management. Now.”

The street went black except for a sinister mote of bright red fire. “Tsk, Cyrene,” called the honey smooth voice as the fire expanded into a middle-aged man in a suit. “Patience lets you live longer.”

The Damned woman whirled on the voice, snarling. He didn’t budge. “Patience has never gotten me anywhere. Give me power.”

“Give you power?” The Lucifer raised an eyebrow and circled around Cyrene with an interested air. “Why should I? I don’t need any trouble after your debacle with Samantha.”

“Because I will bring her down for you.” Cyrene snarled. The crow shifted with her, feathers ruffling and smoothing. “Her and Eli.”

“Why do you care?” The Lucifer snorted. “You never gave a shit about inbetweeners or defectors before. Why now? Why them?”

Cyrene ground her jaw as she pushed her wildly flying hair from her face. She hadn’t bothered fixing it back into the perfect waves since the fight. Her crow fluttered up and back to her shoulder, preening her hair as if in concern, but she hardly noticed. “No one else has beat me. And I created Eli.”

“You actually created Francis as well, come to think of it,” The Lucifer mused. His gaze was on the crow as he spoke. “Don’t you remember? It was…what, the seventeen hundreds? Yes, you were running around mad from killing–”

“Shut up!” She twisted her hands deeper into her hair. Damn it, that voice! It rang too bright, even with the barrier of the crow. “Shut up.”

The crow squawked, trying to bring her back, distract her from the whisper in her mind. It had been given to her to keep her steady, drown out the voice, help her ignore the maddening flutter of wings.

With an easy swagger he slicked back his hair. “Funny how things work. You just keep losing power, don’t you? Power of your allies, power of your servants, power of your souls…”

“Shut up, shut up.”

The Lucifer rolled his eyes. “All right, Cyrene, I’ll throw you a bone. How do you propose I give you power?”

Her anger flared. Perhaps he was the answer to her problem but nothing excused his lording over her weakness! “Don’t be coy,” she shrieked. “I know you can do a direct soul transfer!”

“Why don’t you go out and work for it?” he asked, a smile playing at his lips, blue eyes crinkled into ash-blonde hair.

Cyrene hissed, reaching out and grabbing him by the throat. How dare he? When he knew her, knew her history, her reasons? She yanked him close. “Listen, you tawdry prat,” she growled. “I have lived thousands of years, seen the rise and fall of ten of you simpering Lucifers. I have seen cities build themselves in a night and crumble in a moment. Now the balance is tilting and you are playing with me. Give me the power!”

The Lucifer didn’t make any motion of contrition as Cyrene threw him away, brushing off his coat. “I’ve been in power three hundred years, Cyrene. I am well aware of your age. It doesn’t change anything. To give you power is very dangerous. The souls I can access have been steeped in Hell. They are powerful, violent–”

“Shut up,” she snapped. She needed this. She needed to finish it. He had been maddening since she walked away from the cornfield in Canada. Whatever it took, even if it was her final, sweet death… “I know that and I am demanding anyway. Give them to me.”

“Give them to you?” The Lucifer’s voice dropped. His eyes narrowed. “With only a word? So much power and prestige when you’ve just failed to kill a mortal and a seven thousand?” His lip lifted into a sneer. “I should be punishing you, not rewarding you with an infusion of power.”

“Quiet! Cyrene screeched, gasping as she looked to the side.

The Lucifer knew she wasn’t speaking to him, and it galled her. But she couldn’t control it. She couldn’t suppress the screams, and oh, it hurt. It twisted her mind and pulled at the rope of her soul with hands edged in silver fire. “I will kill them. All of them. I will shred them to pieces and scatter their ashes on the wings of ravens.” Her breath came harsh, and the Lucifer smiled.

“Is that so?” he asked, and beckoned her forward. Trembling, Cyrene came forward. The crow panted on her shoulder, watching the Lucifer with jet black beads. Why was her crow trembling? “Tell me, Cyrene, when did you receive your companion?”

She started, automatically raising her hand to pet the Damned bird, gritting her teeth for a moment before she answered. The bird did not steady, shifting leg to leg and out from under her fingers. “Four hundred years ago. Just after the gunpowder plot in England.”

“Ah, near the end of my predecessor.” The Lucifer nodded.

The crow shifted its beak in Cyrene's hair as if trying to move beneath it, breathing hot on her ear. Her muscles seized as she saw the Lucifer’s gaze on her sanity, her foundation, her crow.

The Lucifer sighed. “He had the right idea, anyway, but it’s time for something new.”

In a blink, Cyrene realized what the Lucifer meant to do, and dodged, but too late. He snatched the Damned bird off of Cyrene’s shoulder. She reached out, but the Lucifer batted her hand aside. The crow screeched, claws scrabbling, wings shifting beneath his grip. Cyrene began screaming. No, not the bird, not her companion, not her solace and lucidity! He would come back, he would…

The Lucifer spoke in a firm, steady tone, and her heart dropped from her chest. “Truly, Cyrene, I am sorry about this.”

Without waiting for her protest, the Lucifer placed his free hand over the crow’s eyes, pressed down, and twisted. The bird’s desperate squawks were cut off by the savage crack of its neck, and he dropped the black-feathered animal to the ground.

She felt as if she’d been shoved from the top of a mountain and into a vat of boiling oil. Her stomach fell out, and she grabbed at her chest, even as the last embers of her companion faded. The hell hound had smoldered longer than her crow, and her mind unraveled far faster than Francis’ had. Wings flickered in and out of her vision, touches on her back, smiles from silver eyes, then screams and blackness. Cyrene fell to her knees.

“No!” She lunged for the animal’s corpse, sobbing even as it faded. “No, no, no!”

The Lucifer kicked her back. “It was no longer doing its job,” he sneered. “Get a hold of yourself, woman.”

“How can I?” She panted, raising her hands to paw at her shoulder, her neck. The crow had been there, just a moment ago, its black wings protecting her from white, black eyes counteracting silver. No, no, gone! Gone! In grasping for the comfort of her companion, she opened scratches over her cheeks, neck, shoulders, but hardly felt them, whirling on the Lucifer. “You stole my last recourse!”

“I told you,” he said. “You needed punishment and you have received it. I am not beyond pity. Perhaps you can yet be of use.”

She was still panting, pulling at her hair, mingling it with the blood and sweat on her brow. Sweet smiles. Honeyed wine. Silver eyes. “He’s there…” she croaked. “Oh God, he wasn’t there a moment ago!”

“Well,” the Lucifer said, and stepped up, offering his hand. “Let’s see if we can’t drown him out with some more souls, hmm? How many were you thinking?”

She stared at him uncomprehending for a moment. Souls? He still offered? Yes. Souls. Gasping in effort, she clawed her way to sit up, then kneel, then stand, ignoring his hand. “My companion was the price for these souls?” she asked.

The Lucifer laughed. “Your companion held you back,” he said. “The sanity it granted, the reprieve. The last Lucifer wanted you tethered to its scaly leg. I want you unfettered.”

She stared, swaying in place for a moment, and finally licked her lips, nodding. “How many can you give me?” she rasped. “How many?”

“Thirty thousand.”

Was it worth it? Were thirty thousand souls worth the quiet her crow had granted her, the companionship, the understanding? She held back a sob and hardened her heart. The price had already been paid. If she backed down now…but to become such a monster? No, my love, something in her chuckled. Not like this. This will do nothing. She grit her teeth and ignored the voice. “Fine.”

The Lucifer loosened his cufflinks, drawing off his jacket. “Are you sure you can handle so many, Cyrene? It’s more than twice your current number.”

Sweet smiles. Silver eyes. Gentle eyes, then cruel. Cyrene heaved for breath and stepped forward, leaning into him, her voice deadly soft. “The angel Samael couldn’t break me.” She tugged at his shirt, and the buttons gave way. She ran her nails down his chest as he spread his arms with a satisfied smirk. She would not fall. Not to him. “You are nothing.”

* * * *

“Armand! Oh Armand, it’s so good to see you again.”

Armand opened his arms automatically to the dusky-skinned woman. “Giselle. You too. It’s been too long.” And it was all his fault. He was shocked they granted him leave to see her again at all.

Giselle fell into his embrace, ringing her arms around his neck and nuzzling his shoulder. “They talked about it, Armand.” She shivered. “The Fore said only your conduct in Chicago convinced them we could be together again.”

Armand held her tighter, stroking her hair. “I guess we’ve always known you were better at this Angel business than I.”

“That’s not true...” She pulled back, looking him over. “What happened there, Armand? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Giselle.” Stroking her cheek, he smiled. Her eyes were so beautiful, hazel-green against the candlelit oak of her skin. How he had missed them. “One of the Damned went mad and started tearing up the riverfront. We lost two but managed to force a retreat.” He smiled tightly. “I tricked her back into her own portal and once she realized what we were doing, she lit off.”

“I’m glad they found you capable,” Giselle murmured, peering at him with a faint smile. “I still don’t understand why they broke us up.”

Armand’s heart jumped into his throat. They hadn’t told her? They hadn’t explained? “What did they tell you?” he asked, steadying his shaking hand.

She took his hand and kissed the fingertips. “You’d disobeyed a direct order for my sake in Rome and they thought you needed time to sort out your priorities.”

Armand wasn’t sure whether to relax or tense. They hadn’t told her what he’d done, what he’d said. Was that good or bad? He swallowed. Both? Neither? He let out a breath. “Yeah, they said something similar to me.” And they had. Just not quite for the reason she thought. “We’ll just show ‘em what’s what this time around. Do you know what our assignment is?”

“No,” Giselle said, and hugged him once more. “Our meeting is in two minutes.” She hugged him again, sighing. “Being apart is awful, isn’t it?”

“Utterly.” He kissed her mahogany hair, wrapping his wings around her form and chuckled. “It’s been what? Two years?”

“Close enough, yes.” She splayed her fingers across his chest, stretching her wings and brushing them against his.

“I’m so sorry, Giselle…if I’d kept my head…”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Shut up, Armand. I don’t know why they expected anything else from you.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Besides, I would have done the same.”

“Would you?” he asked softly, examining the dark tendrils of hair in his fingers, recalling the look of haughty disgust the Fore had given him when he made his case. The slow countdown of ways in which he was inadequate and unworthy of her and the greatness of the curse which kept them apart.

“Without a second thought.” She pulled away, smiling. “It’s about time.”

Armand nodded and kissed her forehead. This time, he wouldn’t screw it up. But he wasn’t going to let her come to any harm either. He’d die before that happened.

* * * *

“You are young, but we believe a bonded pair is better for this task than any of our single agents. We don’t know the extent of the problem, or if, in fact, these two will be a problem. They have not made trouble for any of our agents, and they have defied the Damned.”

Giselle folded her arms, staring at the picture–a side view of a man with dark hair and eyes, deep brown skin. A paler woman with mouse brown hair, arm in arm with the man. Samantha Parker and Eli Tawson. An Inbetweener who had defeated a greater Damned and turned away another, and the Damned who was, apparently, her lover. “Why are we watching them?”

The Fore handed her a file. A little strange how he almost seemed to ignore Armand’s presence. Maybe he was still cross with her partner. “As you may be aware, the balance has been off lately. Limited communication with the Damned office reveals they sense it too. They gave us the impression they knew what the problem was, but in six months it hasn’t righted itself. In fact, it’s grown steadily worse.” He tapped the file. “Turn to page six. Our Ibetweener contacts tell us Miss Parker was born under a prophecy to ‘right the balance’.”

“Seems a bit straight forward for prophecy.” Armand finally piped up.

“Quite right, Armand.” The Fore finally glanced over, only for a moment. Giselle found herself a touch offended. They were a pair, why was the Fore only addressing her? “This particular Inbetweener is rather bad at subtlety. She owns a voodoo shop on Bourbon Street.”

“Oh.” Giselle muttered. “That one.”

“I take it you’ve heard of her?”

“Said something about me being ‘fit for the cause’ at our introduction.” Giselle said, shaking her dark waves back. What the woman had said next still stung, but she made sure her face was calm. They always said her emotions, while admirable, were a hindrance to her work.

“She then turned around and told me I wasn’t quite ready.” Armand finished, rolling his eyes.

“Did she say which cause?” the Fore asked, narrowing ice blue eyes.

“No,” they said together.

The Fore sighed, addressing Giselle again. “You shouldn’t discount her. She has a reputation for a reason.”

“Yes, sir.” Armand cut in again. This time, the Fore didn’t even look over. “Just seemed strange, since we were already working for a cause.”

“I see.” The Fore eyed the pair before him with steely eyes. “Well, you’ve your orders. Find Samantha and Eli, follow them, assess the threat.”

“Do we report once we’ve found them?” Giselle asked.

“Just follow them until…” the Fore paused, and then shook his head. “For two weeks. Get a feel for their motives and goals. Then report back.”