A Devil Named Desire (13 page)

“You speak in riddles,” Sammy snapped.

“All the better for you to understand me, O Golden One. We speak the same language, you and I. Here beneath, I sing my endless refrains as a reminder of what could have been, what might have been, but in the world above, I am a trickster, dragging men and women alike to their doom.” She tilted her sleek, wet head, observing him dispassionately. “Unlike you, however, I am content with my fate, for it is all I’ve ever known.”

“You are most fortunate,” murmured Sammy, and turned away. Like a match, his anger had flared, then burned away, leaving him spent. “Most fortunate.”

“I
’m very sorry, my darling, but if your pet’s to stay in the room with us while I teach you to read, he must have a bath first.” Pandora wrinkled her pretty nose at the imp and waved a hand before her face, rings glittering on her fingers.

“He’s not my pet,” Cain said. “He’s my friend, and his name is Tesla.”

“He could be named Terrydiddle Farquart for all I care,” she replied calmly, “but if he’s to remain, he must be clean.”

They were in the temple library, a huge room with floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with books of every description. One wall held niches stacked with scrolls, some of them already crumbling to dust.

Tesla, who was sitting on the floor, openly gawking at Pandora’s plump prettiness, looked to Cain and asked, “What’s a
bath
?”

“It’s when you get all wet,” his friend replied, “except you have to use soap.”

“What’s
soap
?”

Exasperated, Pandora rolled her eyes. “Heathens, the pair of you.” She looked at the imp again, giving a delicate sniff. “What have you been rolling in?”

Tesla, taking his cue from Cain, answered without a shred of self-consciousness. “Brimstone and ashes, my lady.”

“Well”—a pair of perfectly tweezed eyebrows rose—“at least it has some manners.”

“Tesla’s not an
it
,” Cain replied, showing a bit of exasperation himself. “He’s a fire imp.”

“He’s a
dirty
fire imp,” she returned placidly. “And you could use a bath yourself.”

“Ugh.”

“Ugh, indeed,” said Sammy, strolling in. “I don’t know which of you is dirtier.”

“Tesla is,” Cain answered promptly.

The imp, who a moment before had been quite talkative, seemed to have nothing whatsoever to say for himself. He eyed Sammy with trepidation, clearly uncomfortable in his master’s presence.

“You’ve frightened the poor creature to death, you bad boy,” Pandora said to Sammy playfully. “Just look how he quivers.”

Not bothering to look, Sammy addressed himself to Cain. “Where are your shoes?”

Cain, glancing down at his bare—and very dirty—feet, shrugged. “Tesla doesn’t wear shoes.”

Narrowing his eyes at his son, the Great Shaitan replied. “You are
not
an imp, and
you
do. Those were two-hundred-dollar Nikes, and the third pair you’ve lost this week . . . where did you leave them?”

Pandora gave a light trill of laughter. “Since when have you cared about money, my most dreadfully handsome lord?”

Sammy gave her an annoyed look. “It’s not about the money. It’s about the principle.”

“What’s
money
?” Tesla could be heard to whisper, but Cain shook his head, obviously having no idea.

“Go and bathe,” Sammy told his son sternly, “and take that troublesome creature with you. Don’t come back until you’re clean,
and
wearing shoes.”

Cain, ever-resilient, gave a fatalistic sigh. “Come on, Tesla. I’ll introduce you to the water sprites . . . they’re almost as pretty as Aunt Pandy.”

Pandora laughed and clapped her hands. “Bravo, young prince! Flattery is a skill that will always serve you well. How charming that I need not teach it to you.” To Sammy, she remarked, “The boy is a natural, just like his father.”

Throwing himself into a chair at Pandora’s side, Sammy watched as boy and imp scampered from the room. “Of course he is. He has more tricks up his sleeve at nine than I did at nine thousand.”

“Pooh,” she replied, “you couldn’t possibly be a day over eight.”

“Cain’s not the only one who’s full of flattery today.” He eyed his lover speculatively, his conversation with the Nereid having made him wary. “Tell me, my dear, why are you being so accommodating lately? It’s hardly like you to put yourself out on anyone’s behalf.”

“True,” Pandora answered, not bothering to deny it. The bracelets on her wrist tinkled as she laid down the book she’d been holding. “I’m an indolent creature at the best of times, but one gets bored with one’s own company after a while.” Coiling a lock of hair around a beautifully manicured finger, she gave him a provocative smile. “You, my darling Devil, are never boring.”

“Still, I would never have taken you for a teacher.” He glanced around the room, gesturing toward the books. “Or a nursemaid.”

She gave a mock shudder. “Perish the thought. Have you seen what nursing can do to one’s figure?”

Not in a playful mood, Sammy gave her a sour look.

“All right, all right . . . no need to glower. If you must know, I needed a challenge.”

“Did you now?” Sammy knew he was being petty, but couldn’t help himself. “I believe the last time you took on a challenge, you failed.”

She looked at him archly. “How so?”

“The golden casket containing all the world’s ills, my dear. When it was given into your safekeeping, you were told not to open it, but you did.”

“Oh, that.” She shrugged, causing her ample breasts to rise and fall. “Curiosity has always been my downfall, darling, as you know quite well. If I hadn’t been forbidden to open that box, it would’ve remained forever closed. It’s not as though I knew I’d be releasing nasty things like disease, or war, or famine into the world, now was it?”

“Some would argue that ignorance is no excuse.” Sammy looked away, remembering his own mistake, and what it had cost him.

“Yes.” Pandora reached out, placing a plump hand over his. “It’s something we share in common, isn’t it? We’re both blamed for releasing evil into the world.”

The Great Shaitan said nothing, but neither did he move his hand.

She squeezed his fingers. “Take heart, my darling Dark One. I closed the box before
everything
escaped, you know.”

“Is that so?” he asked idly, not really caring. “What was left?”

“Hope, my dear,” she said, patting his hand. “Hope.”

He shot her an irritable glance, not in the mood for puzzles. “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

Pandora leaned back, releasing his hand. “It means we all have secrets, Samael, sometimes secrets we hide even from ourselves.” She smoothed a hand over her hair. “The universe doesn’t care what we seek to hide; it will have what it wills, and occasionally what it wills is in our own best interest. We all hope, in our heart of hearts, that the universe will one day take pity on us, and do as it wills.”

Chapter Thirteen

G
abriel spent a sleepless night, but it hardly mattered, for he didn’t need sleep. When light began to creep around the curtains in Hope’s living room, he opened them, watching the city turn ever paler shades of gray.

Why was he so drawn to her? Why this need to protect her?
She’d known what she was doing when she made her unholy bargain with the Devil, just as she’d known what she was doing last night when she tried to seduce him.

Never before had he been tempted. Never.

Lifting his hand, he held it out from his body, the sun a glowing ball behind it. Blood coursed through his veins, a different form of energy from what he was used to when in angelic form. Blood, breath; the pulsing engines that drove the world of the flesh. Mankind had been created in the One’s own image; was it wrong for an angel to take pleasure in it?

“Guide me, my Father,” he murmured. “I need to be strong, but I’ve never before felt so weak.”

Light bloomed at the corner of his vision, a much brighter light than the sun outside the window. Gabe turned his head to see a corner of Hope’s living room become slowly eclipsed by a pulsating, amorphous ball of pure energy that grew, and grew, until the walls surrounding him disappeared entirely, leaving him bathed in Light, warmed through and through by knowledge of its source.

Gabriel closed his eyes, basking in it, soul soaring as the Light took everything he had, and returned it tenfold.

“Gabriel, my son.” A Voice, full of love and compassion, came from the Light. “It is through weakness that strength is most often forged.”

“Most High.” Gabriel inclined his head in a gesture of deepest respect, fully aware of the honor paid him, encased in human flesh as he was. The One did not often leave the heavens, leaving that for his army of angels.

“You are troubled,” said the Voice, “but there is no need.”

“I don’t understand.” Surely he wasn’t meant to feel this burning need to press his lips against another’s, to feel her skin beneath his fingertips, her breath upon his cheek? “The woman in the other room. She . . .” He found himself ashamed to say the words aloud, yet forced himself to do so, for there was nothing he knew that the One already didn’t. “She tempts me.”

“Yes,” the Voice agreed, with a tinge of sorrow, “for you’ve wandered too long among my flawed, imperfect children, and become almost as flawed as they.”

Gabe’s heart began to pound. “I but seek to do as you would have me do, and protect the mortals from the Darkness.”

“The Darkness is always among them,” the Voice answered, “like a wolf among the sheep.”

Deep within, Gabriel trembled.

“We’ve come to a time of parting, my son.” The regret in the Voice was unmistakable.

“No!” Gabriel denied it, standing tall before whom he served. “I am your true and faithful servant! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Love is never wrong, my child.”

“I don’t love her,” he protested. “No more than I love all mankind.”

“It is not your love for a mortal woman that weakens you, but your love for your brother Samael.”

Struck dumb by these words, Gabriel remained silent.

“Your hopes for his redemption have left you vulnerable. Samael knows this, even if you do not, and he has set the wheels of fate in motion. You are but a pawn in his game, but now you must play it, or we risk losing all.”

Confused, Gabriel shook his head.

“Mankind was created in my image, as were you. Within each man dwells a divine spark, and within each of my angels dwells a spark of humanity. Your humanity—your heart—has been touched, and your physical being has responded.”

Gabe opened his mouth, but had no words, for he was unable to deny his body’s response to Hope’s kiss, her touch.

“The line between earthly and divine, for you—O Gabriel, Son of Mercy, Servant of Truth—has now become blurred. You will remain here, my servant in flesh only, and follow this experience where it may lead you.”

There was a buzzing in his head, a tingle between his shoulder blades.

“You are still my instrument,” stated the One, “who will now be honed on the sharp edge of humanity, your feet on the Earth and your head no longer in the clouds. Follow your heart, but leave your wings with me, my son.”

The weight of the pronouncement brought Gabe to his knees. “No, I—”

“Fear not,” said the One, “for I am with you always.” The Light began to fade. Gabe, unable to help himself, cried out for it to stay, but it was gone, leaving him feeling heavier and—despite the One’s final words—more alone than ever before in his long, long life.

“Gabriel?”

Hope stood in the doorway, a look of fear on her face. When she saw him on his knees, the look was replaced by one of concern. She rushed toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Her sharp intake of breath told him he’d hurt her, but her pain could be nothing compared to his. Because of her, with her wide green eyes and her heart full of pain, he’d lost everything. Burying his face in his hands, he fought the urge to weep, to rail, to cry out again to the One who’d always been there for him. Never before had he felt the beat of his heart so strongly, heard the breath in his lungs leave his mouth in such gasps. His body felt so heavy now, all of his strength gone. Behind closed eyelids, mind spinning, he saw the Darkness rushing toward him, and this time, he had no defense. It washed over him like a flood, and then there was nothing.

W
hen Gabriel slumped to the floor, Hope cried out, horrified. Despite his order not to touch him, she fell to her knees beside him, both hands on his back. He was limp, unconscious, his head lolling on the carpet as she struggled to turn him over.

“Gabriel! Gabe, please . . .” Panicky, she laid an ear against his chest, and felt his heartbeat, steady and strong, beneath her cheek. His mouth was slightly open, and she felt his breath, warm against her fingers. Relief flooded her, but she was unsure of what to do, so for a moment she just stayed with her head against his chest, closing her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

He stirred, moving his head, his hand coming up to rest itself on her hair. Tears came to her eyes, unbidden, and she bit her lip to keep them from falling, not wanting the moment to end. Somehow, someway, in the middle of this nightmare she called a life, she’d fallen in love with the one man she could never have. But for now—for just this moment—she could remain still, and pretend that he loved her back.

Gabe stirred again, his body tensing beneath her, and the moment was gone. “What happened?” He pushed her away, and she tried not to let on how it hurt. “What are you doing?”

She sat back on her haunches, still biting her lip. “You passed out,” she told him, meeting his confused gaze. “I was just checking to see if your heart was still beating.”

A spasm of pain crossed his face.

“Are you all right?” she asked, alarmed. “Where does it hurt?”

He shook his head, looking away. “Nowhere,” he said, “and everywhere.” Rolling away from her, he put a hand on the floor and pushed himself into a sitting position, then rose to his feet. He moved stiffly, like an old man, and Hope could barely restrain herself from helping him as she rose, too.

“What happened?” she asked. “Can I get you anything? What do you want me to do?”

He looked at her, golden brown eyes clouded. “I want you to leave me alone,” he answered hoarsely, and moved to the couch, where he sat.

Tears threatened again, but Hope was damned if she was going to let them fall. “Too bad,” she told him flatly. “I’m not going anywhere, except to the kitchen to make us both some coffee.”

And because she couldn’t think of anything else to do, that’s just what she did. Once there, she went through the familiar motions she made every day: filling the coffeepot with water, measuring the coffee, getting two mugs from the cabinet instead of one. Her hands shook, but she ignored their shaking, opening a can of food for Sherlock as he meowed his morning hunger in his usual way, getting him clean water, using the time to compose herself. By the time the coffee finished brewing, and Sherlock had emptied his bowl, she was almost able to pretend that everything was normal.

Except it wasn’t, because she had a hostile angel on her couch and a broken living room window, caused by a demon who’d been out to get her.

“Here you go,” she said, carrying both mugs into the living room. “Do you take milk, or sugar?”

Gabriel sat where she’d left him, a blank expression on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, staring at nothing. He didn’t move until Sherlock, refusing to be ignored, leapt into his lap, purring loudly.

“Take this,” she ordered, finding his stillness unnerving. “You look like you need it.”

With one hand on the cat, he reached out and took the mug, a faraway look still in his eyes.

“Drink.”

Almost like an automaton, he did as she said, and took a sip, swallowing with a grimace.

“It’s not
that
bad,” she said defensively, referring to the coffee.

“No. It’s far, far worse.”

Worried, she perched on the edge of the couch next to him. “Tell me what happened.”

He shook his head, allowing Sherlock to make himself comfortable in his lap. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Not if you don’t tell me, I won’t,” she answered tartly. The pressure of the last few days was definitely getting to her, because she found herself jealous of her own damn cat.

Gabe sighed, stroking the cat’s fur, over and over. “I can no longer protect you,” he said, in a hollow voice. “Everything’s changed.”

A cold knot of fear formed in her stomach, but strangely enough, it seemed to be on Gabe’s behalf, not her own. “Gabriel,” she said softly, “look at me. Tell me what’s happened.”

Finally he turned his head to look at her. For a moment he said nothing, merely searching her eyes for something she couldn’t see, then letting them rove over her face, her hair, finally settling on her hands, cradling the coffee cup. “I’m no longer who I was,” he told her hoarsely, “and I have no idea who I’ll become.”

The pain on his face made her want to reach out and give him comfort, but she didn’t dare. “What are you saying?”

“I’m no longer an angel.” His eyes hardened. “I’m now human, just like you.”

Dumbstruck, she leaned back, unsure of what to say. A part of her was horrified, and a part of her—the secret, incredibly selfish part—was glad, for if he was no longer an angel, it meant he was no longer out of her reach.

It also meant that she was in deep shit again, demon-wise.

“How is that even
possible
?”

The look he gave her was a bit scornful, and it was then she realized that he was truly, deeply angry at her. “You, of all people, can ask me this?”

Flushing, she looked away. “Are you . . .” She licked her lips, not really wanting to know the answer to the question she was about to ask. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

There was a silence, broken only by the low rumble of Sherlock’s purr. The stupid cat seemed oblivious to the tension in the room.

“No,” Gabriel answered, so low she could barely hear him. “It’s mine.”

Her heart nearly broke at the pain in his voice, but he’d already made it clear he wanted neither her sympathy nor her pity. “It . . .” She hesitated. “It was only a kiss . . . surely God wouldn’t punish you this harshly for something so simple?”

Except it hadn’t been simple, not for her. It had been earth-shattering, devastating, life-changing.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It doesn’t matter why He did it. It’s not up to me to question the ways of the One. He deemed it so, and so it is.”

The One.
The One who’d never been there for her, and who’d now turned His back on yet another who didn’t deserve it.

“There must be a way to fix it,” she said staunchly, gripping her cup so tightly it hurt. “There has to be.”

He shook his head, staring mutely down at the cat.

“So you’re giving up?” She hated seeing him this way, couldn’t even imagine what he must be going through: to have had the universe at his fingertips, and then have it snatched from his grasp. All those years, doing all that good, for countless people just like her, only to be cast off, with no purpose. It wasn’t fair.

Looking at his bowed head, the silken hair she ached to touch, she couldn’t help but think his posture was so innately, intrinsically
wrong
. And then suddenly, instinctively, she knew the only way to reach him. “You promised to protect me, but now you’re just going to walk away with your tail between your legs?”

His head came up, a gathering frown between his brows.

“I guess all that talk about me being safe with you was just that . . . talk.”

The frown turned into a glare. “I no longer have the ability to keep you safe.”

She forced herself to get angry, hoping to make him that way, too. “Why, because you’re just a puny mortal now, like me? Better not tell that to the army, or the navy, or a police officer on the street! Unlike you, they put themselves out there to serve and protect, and they don’t need a pair of angel wings to do it!”