Chapter Nineteen
I unwrapped my black belt, shifted out of my gi and tossed it into the locker, slamming the door shut with a resounding clang. Sitting on the bench, I flatted my boot against the wall of lockers, tying the laces with violent speed.
“Would you like to discuss it?”
I jumped. Just Erik. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed casually, penetrating me with his brotherly stare.
“No,” I replied tightly. I resumed tying the laces up the knee-high boot. “I’m fine.”
“No. You’re not fine.”
I huffed out an angry breath and popped my other boot up against the locker to lace.
“I am. Just got a lot on my mind.”
“I’ve known you for ten years, Genevieve. You’re more than a little upset about something.”
I let the other boot fall and popped up, cinching my ponytail tighter, and hooked my backpack over one shoulder. I stepped toward the door, but he didn’t move.
“My ride will be here any minute. I need to go.”
“What is going on with you?” he asked, demeanor placid and calm as always, making me want to spit nails for some reason.
“Nothing! Why would you think there’s anything going on?” Heat crawled up my neck.
He eyed me carefully, reminding me of someone else who saw too much, the one who had my stomach in knots and my heart in pieces.
“Hmm. Well, seeing as I’ve been covering your classes for weeks, I never see you with your best friend Mindy, who used to be glued to your hip, and your grades are plummeting, I’d say there’s definitely something going on.”
True, he had been covering for me longer than my father knew, long before my lovely holiday to New York. And by lovely, I mean an utter nightmare. And while Mindy’s obsession with Dave did make her more scarce, it helped me out since I spent most every day training or demon hunting. And my grades…
“Wait. How would you know about my grades?”
“Your advisor from the English department called the number listed on your Loyola account. I happened to be at your dad’s and picked up the phone. Since you’d seen her this past summer and mapped out your transcript with intentions to graduate in the spring, she wanted to remind you that it was imperative you completed your courses with passing grades in order to graduate.”
“How the hell did she know I was failing?”
“A Professor Bennett, apparently.”
“That ass.” I scowled, pissed that the odious, egotistical Professor Bennett would interfere. He’d been giving me hell since the moment I stepped into his 17th Century Lit class, especially when I’d challenged him on the existence of angels and demons. “Bet he just loved passing that information along.”
“So you are failing your classes.”
“No.” I huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Just English, but I’ll pull it out with the final exam. No worries.” At least, I hoped so. “Why did my advisor divulge any of that information to you?”
“Because I pretended to be your dad.”
Pulling Erik into a hug, I said, “I love you, you know that?” I swiveled his tall, lean frame to the side and pushed past him.
“Genevieve, come on. I’m worried. Is it some boy that has you all out of whack?”
Some boy. Ha! No, a dark and deadly demon-hunting man.
I stopped and pivoted to face him. The sincere concern in his brown eyes made me pause. I owed him some kind of explanation because he was covering my ass so often, and because he truly did care about me. I reached out and gave his arm a friendly squeeze.
“There is someone, but it’s not entirely him that has my life a little…muddled right now.” Not entirely, but mostly.
The other reason had to do with the Great War approaching, between demon and angel hosts. Somehow, it made everything else insignificant. Dreams I once had faded into nothing with this new reality wiping away everything I might have been. I’d never become a writer for a magazine or a high school English teacher. Mindy and I wouldn’t throw wedding showers and baby showers for each other or live next door and walk our kids to the park together. The life I’d envisioned was gone, vanished that night on my twentieth birthday in the dark alley behind a Goth club. But more than anything, I knew nothing mattered more than the man I loved, the one who probably hated me now. I’d find out soon enough.
I didn’t rest much last night, wrestling with my sheets and trying to find escape in sleep from the living nightmare of Jude’s words echoing in my mind. Words. He said mine meant nothing. Well, his had torn a hole in my heart. And I could blame no one but myself. An idea had been forming for some time in my mind, a path I’d one day take. I hadn’t ever discussed it with Jude, never quite knowing what his intentions were for us. But it seemed now was the time. A new path for both of us. It’s what we do that matters, he’d said.
“Gen? Are you okay?”
I snapped back to find Erik gazing at me with a worried frown. “Fine. Listen, thanks for covering for me. You’re an angel.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.” I spun toward the lobby, feeling for the first time since the disaster last night that I actually would be fine. If Jude would agree to my plan.
I jogged out of the dojo, smelling sand and seashore. Kat leaned against the building, waiting for me. Her brow quirked.
“Well now. Someone is in good spirits.”
I hadn’t realized I was grinning to myself. “I will be.”
“Interesting. Well, they’re waiting for us. Shall we?”
I reached out my hand, knowing we had a meeting with George and Jude. I’d received a short and not remotely sweet text from Jude this morning, informing me that Kat would pick me up at the dojo, meaning he hadn’t told them that I could sift there on my own. My stomach churned; he avoided the topic simply because it wasn’t just an exchange of power I’d accepted from Thomas. It was a betrayal.
Kat snapped us off the street and into Jude’s courtyard. Jude stood with his back to us near the broken fountain. He stiffened. I didn’t notice George at first, bent on one knee observing something close to the ground. George swiped something with his finger and brought it to his nose.
“I can’t be sure,” he said to Jude.
We walked closer.
“Sure about what?” asked Kat.
“The maker of the fury,” said George, whose naturally jovial, charming demeanor had been replaced by this more austere, grave man, reminding me of the one standing on a wharf in 19th century London, engulfed by a chasm of grief.
“Who do you think it could be?” asked Kat in a near-whisper.
Holding her gaze with an intensity that made my heart trip a little faster, he said evenly, “Damas.”
I couldn’t imagine her committing a murder so foul she must pay this penance of hunting and expelling demons, allowing their evil to rub off on her own soul. But Jude never lied to me.
George finally broke his gaze from Kat, walking around the fountain to stand next to Jude. “But there are traces that remind me of Bamal and even of Calliban.”
“Calliban? Who’s he?” I asked, stepping forward. Jude leaned away from me, and my heart shrank a little more. I tried to focus on George to get my mind off the conversation I needed to have with Jude, terrified of his reaction, of more rejection.
“He is one of the seven princes, my dear.” A memory popped to mind, when I was in Danté’s lair for the last time. I’d dressed behind a screen with an intricate tapestry of seven dragons—three roaring, two sleeping, and two breathing fire. The seven princes of the underworld. I also remembered the room where Danté had cornered me. There were six doorways leading to his brothers’ lairs from that room. The memory made my pulse pick up speed.
“I know of three.” I focused on George, feeling Jude’s eyes on me, but unable to face him. “Can you tell me about the others?”
“Right,” said George, growing more pensive. “You know of Danté, Damas and Bamal, of course. They all go by multiple names, but let’s stick with their most popular to keep things simple. Calliban rules in the Middle East. He controls a vast territory with a Vessel at his side he’s possessed for nearly a millennium.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think of the poor woman in his power. I couldn’t imagine how many atrocities of genocide and hatred that had been committed using the Vessel’s power to influence others.
“Then there’s Vadek, who rules in Russia. He’s more solitary, never even attempted to possess a Vessel, but he controls
thousands
of pesky demon minions. He’s done a bloody marvelous job in maintaining a miserable existence in his part of the world for I’d say, oh, forever. And the last two are Rook and Simian who keep no domains on earth, preferring the lovely atmosphere of their realms in hell.”
I sat on the edge of the fountain, dropping my backpack at my feet. “So Rook and Simian don’t cause trouble up here?”
Jude scoffed, finally joining the conversation. “Don’t count on it. They prefer not to leave their lairs, but they do enough damage commanding others from the underworld. Rook has created the most angel hunters of all the princes.”
“Like Bellock?” I asked.
“No,” replied Jude, grinding his teeth together. “That piece of shit was made by Damas.”
I held Jude’s gaze, doing my damndest to keep my breathing calm. “So if Bellock was the one at the abbey that night, then Damas is the one targeting you?”
“Targeting Jude? Wait, what the hell have I been left out of?” snapped Kat, propping a hand on one hip.
“It seems Genevieve has come to the same conclusion you have,” said George, nudging Jude, who remained stoic and withdrawn. Not a shocker.
“Last night,” I said, holding Kat’s attention, “the fury stood right in front of me, but it didn’t try to harm me at all. As a matter of fact, it made a point to skirt around me and go for Jude.”
“Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” said Kat. “Furies tend to take out the biggest threat first.”
“But that’s not all,” added George. “The night at the abbey. They knew we’d be there, and Bellock seemed to be waiting, going directly for Jude.”
“What about the titan there that night?” I asked. “Could you pick up a signature on it? Do you know who made it?”
“Well, I’d have to say Damas is the most likely culprit, with Bellock being his creature and having created dragon spawn before.” Kat and Jude nodded. I refrained from rolling my eyes. Yeah,
everyone
knew about dragon spawn. It might as well be on Wikipedia. “But there’s no telling who sent all of the lower demons who happened to be there.”
“But there’s someone who might know.” All eyes swiveled to me.
“Who?” asked Kat.
“Dommiel. If he was the one who sent us to Bleed, then he should know something, don’t you think?”
Jude shrugged with one shoulder. “Possibly. I can pay him a visit and see what he knows.”
“Not necessary.” I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the paperback
The Captain’s Captive
, which I’d planned to finally finish between classes.
“Fascinating reading,” piped in George. “Is that what they’re teaching these days in college?”
“Oh! You read it?” Kat clapped her hands together. “Wasn’t it wonderful? I totally loved Captain Sparr.”
“And what was his role?” George actually took the book from my hands. “Ah, the kidnapping pirate. Yes, certainly a gentleman.”
“He didn’t kidnap her. He rescued her.”
“That’s not what the back cover says.”
“Guys!” I shouted, snatching my book back. “You can quibble about the pirate captain’s motives later. I have an easier way to reach Dommiel quickly and get our answers.”
I opened the book to the middle, where a thin black plume was pressed between the pages. Before anyone could question me further, I blew on the feather. Three seconds later, Dommiel popped into the courtyard before us. He was shirtless in jeans, revealing a network of tattoos—skulls, weapons, tigers, dragons, a battle scene of some kind—twisting in all directions and covering his torso and arms. A silver hook shone in the midday sun on the end of his amputated arm.
“Captain Hook, I presume?” queried George.
Kat made an exasperated sound with her mouth and rolled her eyes.
Dommiel’s eyes widened with fear, having the audience of Jude and George, not just me and Kat as before. He raised one palm and his hooked arm. “Look, I didn’t do anything.” His eyes were on Jude.
“Calm down,” commanded Jude. “We just have a simple question.”
Simple. There’s no such thing in our world.
Dommiel eyed Jude skeptically. “Which is?”
I stepped closer and stopped next to Jude, who didn’t move away from me this time. “Who is Bleed working for?”
Dommiel’s brow scrunched into a frown. “What do you mean? He works for me.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “He has loyalty to someone else. Someone outside your domain.”
Dommiel started to protest again, when Jude reached for the knife in his boot.
“Okay! Okay! Just relax. No need to go into Batman mode on me.” I stifled a laugh, trying to imagine Dommiel hanging out at The Dungeon, watching episodes of The Dark Knight. “Bleed does favors for me, but he works for someone else. A prince.” His eyes darted from Jude’s face to his hands, making sure he didn’t reach for his weapon.
“Which one?” Jude’s voice rolled deep, almost a growl.
“Damas.” The high demon’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “But that’s all I know. I don’t know anything about what Bleed does for him.”
Jude considered him for a moment. Dommiel withered under Jude’s all-seeing gaze, the one I hated to have turned on me from time to time.
“He’s telling the truth,” said Jude.
Dommiel let out a breath of air. “Good. Can I go now? Am I dismissed?” Some of his snarky swagger leaked back into his up-tilted chin and casual stance.
Jude waved his hand. The demon sifted out with a whiplike crack.
“So, Damas is the one targeting you,” I said.
“Possibly,” admitted Jude. “Our bad blood goes back”—his gaze drifted from me to George—“a hell of a long way.”
“So then it must be him,” I said.
“Or the princes are working together,” said George. “But if that’s the case, then we need to be concerned.”