Black Night

The demon in charge, the one speaking with the angel, looked a lot like my half brother. He so resembled Antares that I had to do a double take to make sure that it wasn’t him. The leader was about nine feet tall, with red skin, oversized bat wings and gleaming black horns jutting from the top of his forehead. He had a strange sigil, almost like an ampersand with the bottom curl cut off, branded on his face.

The sight of that sigil gave me a flash of memory. Antares tossing me down the stairs, telling me that he would be honored above all others when he brought my heart to his master. He showed me the same sigil on his hand, the sign of Focalor. Focalor was one of Azazel’s enemies, but he could not openly declare war against Azazel because that would be tantamount to declaring open war on Lucifer. Was this creature Focalor, or another one of his toadies like Antares?

I crept carefully toward the angel and the demon, who were deep in conversation, in order to hear what they said. Unfortunately, I was doomed to disappointment. They seemed to be speaking some kind of language that involved a lot of grunting and gesturing. The demon was annoyed with the angel, and as they talked his face grew thunderous. The band of demons behind him moved restlessly as their leader became more fractious. I still could not see the face of the angel, but his body language was unyielding. There would obviously be no negotiations with him.

I studied the demons, looking for a familiar face. The only other demons that I had ever seen had been with Antares, and if I saw one of them in this group, then at least I would have some kind of lead to follow. Tracking down Antares wasn’t too hard. He showed up at my house every chance he got.

I moved a little closer, hoping to at least see the face of the angel dealing with a demon as if it were his equal. This was a big no-no in the courts of the fallen. There was a pretty strict caste system there, with the Grigori—the first fallen—at the top, then other angels, then demons, who acted almost as servants to the castes above.

Certain crossbreeds were tolerated at higher levels—like me, because I was pretty much descended from fallen royalty—but others like Gabriel ranked below the lowest demons. Within the general groups there were even stricter breakdowns of hierarchy, which had a lot to do with how much power you had, who was in your entourage, who your parents were, or all of the above. It was pretty extraordinary to see an angel treating a demon this way.

I drifted over the sand as the discussion grew more animated. Because of the position of the party I had to approach the angel almost directly from behind. As I drew within a few feet of him, he suddenly stopped speaking and turned around.

His eyes widened, green eyes filled with malice.

Samiel.

It was as if he saw me floating there when no one else could. I heard a voice in my head say, “Enemy.”

He reached for me, his fist uncurling to tear out my heart, just like his father had done.

“No,” I whispered, and my body filled with terror. How could he see me? How did he know that I was there?

“Madeline!”

Gabriel’s voice. Gabriel. I had to get away. I shot upward, away from Samiel’s clawing fingers, up the side of the cliff, back into the cave. Samiel came right behind me, a relentless machine, wanting only one thing—vengeance for the deaths of his mother and father.

I turned around and around in the cave, realizing I’d fallen into a trap. Now I would be torn to pieces by demons.

“Maddy!”

Samiel bore down on me, his face unyielding, his eyes furious.

“Enemy.”

“Maddy!” A gravelly voice, one that I knew very well.

“Madeline!” Gabriel calling from the oubliette.

“Enemy.”

Enemy, enemy, enemy.

“Maddy!” Beezle shouted, and he sounded so angry with me, and I woke up.

Beezle crouched at my shoulder, looking scared and annoyed. I shifted onto my elbows and realized the bedsheets were soaked in sweat.

“You were having a nightmare. It was keeping me awake,” Beezle said. “What were you dreaming about? You kept screaming ‘enemy’ over and over again.”

I sat up farther and rubbed my face with my hands. “It wasn’t a dream, I don’t think.”

Beezle held up his hands. “Oh, no. No more visions. Remember the last time you had visions? You were possessed by Evangeline and tricked into the nephilims’ prison.”

“Well, that turned out okay,” I said, annoyed. “I did defeat Ramuell in the end.”

“And lost some of your humanity in the process,” Beezle reminded me.

I put my hand over my chest to the place where my heartstone pulsed in place of my human heart. It felt warm there, like the sun. Samiel had wanted to tear out my heart, just like Ramuell had. I shuddered and threw the blankets off, nearly tossing Beezle across the room in the process. He scowled at me as he fluttered above the bed.

“All right, let’s hear it,” Beezle said. “Tell me about this latest complication.”

I told Beezle about the vision—Gabriel in the pit, Samiel and the demon. He looked troubled.

“It sounds like they might be arranging a trade for Gabriel,” Beezle said.

“That’s what I thought, too. The only question is, which of them took him in the first place and which of them wants him badly enough to trade?”

“Actually, there’s a more serious problem here. If a representative of Focalor is dealing for Gabriel, that’s tantamount to declaring war on Azazel’s court. Gabriel is Azazel’s servant and he’s your bodyguard. Even though he’s a half-breed, everyone in the courts knows of his importance to Azazel. And if Focalor is making such a bold move, that means he is prepared for the consequences.”