A Devil Named Desire (15 page)

“I’m not so sure about that, Gabriel. There’s still the small matter of the Key.” He put down his glass, running his finger along the rim. “Or did Hope neglect to inform you about that little detail?”

Gabriel’s jaw flexed. “How did you get it?” he asked stonily.

“I inherited it, along with all the other treasures Solomon stored in his precious temple. The Eye of Caradoc, the Crystal of Khartoum . . . old King Sol was a bit of a collector, it seems.”

“He wasn’t a collector,” Gabe ground out. “All those items were meant to be kept from the Darkness, not used for its benefit.”

“Oh, the irony,” Sammy stated calmly.

“I’m not going to allow Hope to put the words of power on the Internet,” Gabe said grimly.

“Then she will die, and so will her sister.” He shrugged, noting how his onetime brother’s hand clenched atop the table. “That was the bargain we made.”

“Then unmake it.”

“That would set a very bad precedent,” Sammy returned. “I have my reputation to consider, after all.”

He half expected Gabriel to lunge for his throat at that point, but Gabriel merely glared, forcing Samael to meet his eyes.

“And what about you? You seem awfully calm for someone who’s just been thrown out of Heaven . . . where’s the ranting, the raving, the
angst
?” He took another sip, eyeing his onetime brother narrowly. “Can it be that you actually think Hope might be worth it?”

Gabe was silent for a moment, eyeing him narrowly in return. “My feelings for Hope are none of your business,” he finally said. “As is my relationship to the One. If He chooses to punish me with the loss of my wings, then I accept the punishment.”

“Oho,” Sammy cried, “how noble of you, how strong.” He raised his glass in a sour salute. “Ever the lapdog, aren’t you? Our dear Father can do nothing wrong in your eyes, can he? If you think he’s going to relent because of a show of long-suffering patience on your part, you’d best think again.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?” Gabriel hissed. “This is your fault, all of it. You set these wheels in motion . . . you found her at a moment of weakness, put her in an impossible position, and then deliberately placed her in my path. How
dare
you blame it on the One?”

“You didn’t have to take on the job of saving her soul,” Sammy answered mildly, though inside, he felt a worm of guilt continuing to squirm.

“No, I didn’t, but I did, so you must be very happy.” Gabe looked away, but not before Sammy had seen the pain in his brown eyes, so familiar, and yet so different. “Now tell me where her sister is so we can all live happily ever after, you sorry-ass son of a bitch.”

In all the years they’d known each other, Sammy had never known Gabriel to use anything but the mildest of profanities, and it was this that convinced him that Gabe was telling him the truth about his fall from grace. Why he hadn’t known about it was another matter; his spies rarely let him down.

“Gabe.” He leaned in, keeping his voice low. “I can see you’re upset. I understand how you feel—”

“Do you? I find that hard to believe.” Bitterness and scorn dripped from Gabe’s voice. “You saw Eve in the Garden and you took her, uncaring of the consequences.” He gave a snap of his fingers to emphasize the point. “
I
saw a woman I thought was in need and tried to save her, only to find she was just a tool in my oldest friend’s nasty little bag of tricks. Why did you do it, Samael? I tried to help you, I gave you an opportunity to prove yourself to the One in the hopes He would forgive you—”

“But He didn’t, did He? Instead He just sent you to lord it over me with your goodness and your mercy—”

“He didn’t send me,” Gabe said fiercely. “Every time I’ve come to you I’ve done it of my own free will!”

“More fool you, then,” snapped Sammy bitterly. “What did you expect me to do, Gabriel? You know my faults, you know my nature!”

Their voices had risen. A couple at a nearby table shot them curious glances, as did the waitress who’d brought them their drinks earlier.

“Yes,” Gabe said, in a lower tone. “I know your nature. You’re selfish, and childish, and spiteful, and in all these centuries you’ve never learned how to be otherwise. I pity you.”

Sammy felt the cognac turn to acid in his belly. The glass in his hand shattered, spilling dark brown liquid, like old blood, across the tablecloth.

“I don’t need your pity,” he ground out. “Save it for your girlfriend.”

Alarm, quickly banked, flared in Gabriel’s eyes. “She isn’t my girlfriend, and besides, you said she was safe.”

“Do you love her?” he demanded.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Everything
, Sammy thought, and then banished the thought from his mind.

“It isn’t over, Gabriel.” He picked up his napkin, deliberately wiping his fingers clean. “I gave her a job to do, and she’s yet to do it. It’s not my fault if she’s somehow managed to touch your heart in the meantime. Be warned, my friend: there’s a difference between sex and love, and you have yet to learn it.”

“Like you’d know the difference,” Gabriel sneered, his rage plainly overcoming his common sense.

“Oh, I know all about love,” said Samael the Black, Son of Perdition. “And I particularly know what it means to lose it.” He tossed his napkin on the table like a gauntlet. “Soon, you’ll know it, too.”

And then, like the shadows over which he ruled, he faded away before Gabriel could say another word.

G
abe sat there in the booth for some minutes, pondering the conversation.

Do you love her?
Samael had asked, as though love were an option.

Did he care about Hope? Certainly, as he cared for all humankind.

Did he want to protect her? Absolutely, for he was a Guardian; the loss of his wings hadn’t changed that.

It was still unbelievable to him, the idea that he was now earthbound, unable to shed himself of skin, bone, and sinew—unable to rise above this mortal coil and soar, weightless, to places where only wind and silence reigned.

It would’ve been easy to become angry at the loss of his wings, but anger was a luxury he couldn’t allow himself, for it smacked of self-indulgence and self-pity. The One had willed it so, and treated him kindly even in the doing; separation from the heights didn’t mean separation from Heaven itself. The initial shock had worn off during the interminable plane ride to Las Vegas, and while it had been tempting to blame Hope for what happened to cause his current state of powerlessness, he knew there was more than enough blame to go around.

Sammy, first and foremost, for tampering with the life of such a fragile, tragic soul, and using her to strike out at the only friend he’d ever really had. Himself, secondly, for allowing himself to envision—nay, perhaps even long for—a bit of the humanity he’d so long observed and protected. He saw again Hope’s face, lit only by the light from the hallway, lashes like feathers on her cheeks, and knew he had only himself to blame for that kiss; that soul-searing kiss that had stolen the breath from his lungs, and perhaps—just perhaps—his heart along with it.

“Can I get you anything else, handsome?” The young waitress was back, giving him an arch smile above the tray she balanced on her hip. A flicker of surprise touched her overly made-up face as she caught sight of the broken glass and cognac-soaked napkin on Sammy’s side of the table, but she made no comment as she leaned over to clean it up, giving Gabe a clear view of her cleavage, and the line of her hip in her too-short skirt.

“Your friend coming back?” she asked lightly, shooting him a flirtatious glance.

“He’ll be back,” said Gabriel darkly, though he wasn’t referring to the booth or the bar.

The waitress straightened, placing the broken glass and napkin on her tray. “That’s too bad.” She shrugged. “I get off in an hour, and wouldn’t mind a little company.”

He looked at her, knowing objectively that she was pretty—very pretty—and finding himself not the least bit tempted to take her up on her offer. He was human now, but he felt as he always did; detached, finding it slightly sad that such an attractive woman didn’t see her own value, and thought so little of herself that she would offer herself to a stranger.

There was someone else whose company he preferred, and the knowledge slipped into his mind like a shadow, seeking its day in the sun. This gaudy, noisy bar with its tinkle of glass and forced laughter, reeking of cigarettes from the nearby casino, was not where he wanted to be.

He wanted to be with Hope, in a quiet apartment with hardwood floors and buttery yellow walls, the smell of banana pudding in the air, and Sherlock stretched out upon the floor, yellow eyes gleaming.

“Sorry,” he told the waitress, “but I’m with someone.”

The waitress shrugged again, arching a perfectly plucked brow. “Lucky her,” she said, and walked away, swinging her hips.

He sat there a moment more, absorbing what he’d just learned about himself.
You are still my instrument
, the One had stated.
Follow your heart, but leave your wings with me.

Was it possible? Was he allowed to now follow the yearnings of his beating, racing, all-too-human heart?

She’ll die
, Samael had said, and Gabriel knew that to be truth, whether Hope met the terms of his bargain or not, for she was mortal.

But now, so was he, and he would be foolish to waste the time they had left, whether it be two weeks, two years, or two decades.

He rose from the table, resolved to do everything in his power to make sure she lived as long as possible, even if he had no clear idea—as yet—how to make it so.

Chapter Fifteen

H
ope paced the floor of her hotel room, waiting anxiously for Gabe. This was all her fault, all of it, and he’d been stripped of his wings because of her. Yet he’d still come here to Vegas with her to find Charity, and he was still protecting her, even though he’d lost his powers.

What would the Devil do to him?

Bowing her head, Hope sat down on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes, searching for strength. It wasn’t fair to expect Gabe to save her every time she turned around. He wasn’t a knight on a white horse, and she wasn’t a damsel in distress. She was an idiot who’d gotten herself into some deep shit, and he was an angel whose heart was too big for his own good. He was downstairs squaring off with Satan himself, while she was locked in a hotel room, tilting at shadows, many of them in her own mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key card in the door. She stood up just as the doorknob turned and the door opened, stopping short with a
thunk
as the swing lock engaged.

“Hope?” It was Gabe’s voice. “Let me in.”

She peeked through the keyhole again, just to be sure it was he before doing as he asked. He met her eyes briefly, then brushed past her into the room. His face looked drawn, his movements quick and tense.

“What happened?” she asked. “What did he say?”

He went straight to the window. “We should keep the curtains closed,” he said tersely, but took a moment himself to stare out at the sky, and the crowded, urban landscape below.

Her heart sank, for the message he conveyed by what he
hadn’t
said wasn’t good. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair, the muscles in his back and shoulders clearly delineated through the navy cotton tee he wore. Broad shoulders, lean hips, faded Levi’s. He could’ve stepped from the pages of a magazine advertising men’s casual wear, complete with the brooding look that models seemed to aspire to.

She sighed, knowing herself both helpless and hopeless when it came to brooding, brown-haired angels. “Gabriel, tell me what happened.”

He drew the curtains shut, enclosing the room in dimness. “Not yet,” he told her. “Do you have the
Ars Goetia
?”

“In my bag.”

“Give it to me.”

Hope did as he asked, fingers shaking. Once she turned over the book, she pretty much sealed her own death warrant, but there was no longer any thought of her doing otherwise; she owed him that much, and more.

Gabe, still by the window, lifted his hands, gripping the small book, and began to speak. His voice, rich and deep, sent chills down her spine.

“Powers of the kingdom, be beneath my left foot, and within my right hand. Glory and eternity touch my shoulders, and guide me in the paths of victory. Mercy and justice be the equilibrium and splendor of my life. Understanding and wisdom give unto me the triumph.”

There was more, spoken in a language Hope didn’t understand, the cadence and beauty of the words leaving her dazzled.

“Be that which Thou art, and that which thou willest to be. Ishim, assist me. Cherubim, be my strength. Elohim, be my brethren. Malachim, protect me, Seraphim, purify me. Chachmalim, enlighten me. Alleluia, alleluia, amen.”

In the darkened room, Gabe’s outline seemed to glow, faintly, light seeming to dance along the edges of the book. Scarcely daring to breathe, Hope waited until the light faded, and Gabriel lowered his hands.

“Wow,” she breathed. “What was that?”

With a sigh, Gabe moved to her side, drawing her down to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “It’s a simple preparation spell,” he said. “I need you to be brave, now, very brave.”

A chill went down her spine. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find out where your sister is, but I doubt you’re going to like the way I’m going to do it.”

She looked down at the book, and her heart sank. “But . . . why—” Her lips were dry, and she licked them. “Why this way?”

“It’s the quickest,” he told her gravely, “and we’re running out of time.”

Her heart sank to her toes. “He’s still holding me to the bargain, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Gabe answered, not bothering to sugarcoat the facts. “If you want to find your sister, we need to do it now.”

His hand, big and warm, was on her elbow. Slowly it slipped down to encircle her wrist, his fingers grazing gently over the bandage, his palm coming to rest atop her hand, which he squeezed, as though imparting his strength.

She felt it, that strength, and met his eyes, even though she didn’t want to. “Trust me,” he told her gently, “and don’t be afraid. I won’t let it hurt you.”

It.

The word conjured up a vivid reminder of the day she’d awakened in a strange bed, Sammy Divine’s unholy familiar looming over his shoulder, red eyes gleaming.

“It will most likely be a Vulturi, and it will do its best to frighten you into leaving the circle of protection I’m about to cast,” he said gravely. “There’s no telling what it will say, or what it will do, but you must—at all costs—remain still and silent, here upon the bed. Do you understand?”

Hope began to shake, terrified at the thought of coming face-to-face, yet again, with a demon. “What if it doesn’t know where Charity is?” she cried, not happy with the turn of events. “What if it won’t tell you?”

“It will tell me,” Gabe said grimly, “and it will know, because
he
knows.”

“But you’re not an angel anymore.” She hated the cowardly urge to argue, but couldn’t seem to help herself. “What if you can’t control it?”

Gabe looked down. “Hope, sweetheart . . .”

Her heart stuttered at the endearment, and she nearly missed the significance of what he said next.

“I wrote the book on controlling demons,” he murmured, and held up the
Ars Goetia
.

“You—”

He nodded. “It was intended for good, a way to keep the forces of Darkness in their place, subject to and beneath the heel of the One. Solomon used it to force the most rebellious of demons, the ones who openly rebelled against the One, to build a temple to His Glory.” He bowed his head, running his thumb over the soft leather. “The words were originally inscribed on stone tablets, of course—I don’t know how they came to be transcribed into book form. They were never meant for eyes other than Solomon’s, but somehow they survived, all these years, in the care of him whom they’d been used against.”

“Sammy Divine,” she said faintly. “The Devil.”

“Samael the Fallen,” he corrected heavily. “Now forever known as Samael the Black.”

He straightened, giving her hand another squeeze. “I’ll tell you all about it once this is over, but now I must begin, before the preparation spell wears off.” The air of heaviness about him lifted, as though he’d removed a cloak. “You’ll do as I say, and remain here on the bed?”

Numbly she nodded, not wanting to let go of his hand.

Unexpectedly he smiled, teeth gleaming white in the dimness. “You’re braver than you think, Hope. Don’t forget that.”

Then, giving her hand a final squeeze, he rose from the bed. “Move into the middle,” he told her, “and stay there.”

Going to the window, he opened the curtains a mere crack, allowing a beam of light into the room. It fell across the foot of the bed, neatly cutting the room in half: he on one side, she on the other.

Without speaking, Hope reached behind her and grabbed a pillow, clasping it tightly to her stomach as she scootched backward to sit cross-legged on the bed.

Gabe still held the book, which he brought up to hold between both palms. He bent his head and closed his eyes.

There was a silence, which Hope didn’t dare interrupt.

Then he began to speak, in a language that made no sense to her, but was nonetheless beautiful. An unexpected peace filled her, and though she wished she could understand what he was saying, it didn’t matter, because she could see him, and she could hear him, and those things—suddenly—became the two most important things in her world. Everything else—her missing sister, her depression, her suicide attempt, and her subsequent deal with the Devil—it all faded away in the knowledge that Gabriel was here, with her, and as long as he was, everything was as it should be.

“Obey ye, obey ye, the names of the Creator, and come forth in all ways gentle and peaceable, and do in all things as I shall command you.”

She understood him now, and didn’t know whether it was because he was speaking English or because she could just finally, truly
hear
him.

Gabe opened his arms wide, keeping his eyes closed as he spoke. “By the holy words written in this book, and by the other holy names that are written only in the Book of Life, I conjure you to come before me promptly and without malice. By the One whose virtues and potencies rule over all, who dwelleth in the Heavens and moves upon the wings of the wind, who commanded the universe to be created, I conjure you, O evil and rebellious spirit, abiding in the Abyss of Darkness, to come forth.”

A bad smell reached Hope’s noise, growing stronger and stronger until she wanted to gag. She buried her mouth and nose in the pillow, and stayed quiet.

“Come, by the name of the One who formed the vault of the heavens and laid the foundation of the Earth beneath, I command you come, so that you may execute and accomplish my demands with all mildness and courtesy.”

A figure was taking shape in a far corner, the point in the room that was farthest from the beam of light from the window.

Hope watched, unable to turn away, as it became a face: a twisted, misshapen face the color of moldy bread, with two holes for nostrils, and protruding teeth that were filled with—judging by the smell—rotting flesh.

“Who summons me?” the face rasped, the stench of its breath making her want to vomit.

Gabriel’s eyes opened, though he didn’t move.

“Gabriel, Bringer of Light, Servant of Truth,” he replied, in a voice that rang with conviction. “
I
summon you, demon, and you will do as I say.”

The Vulturi laughed, a sound that made Hope’s flesh crawl. “You and who else, stripling? Where’s a flaming Sword of Righteousness when you need it, eh?”

In a flash, the face of the Vulturi zoomed toward Hope where she sat on the bed, growing so large it nearly blotted out her vision. She bit the pillow, closing her eyes, feeling its hot breath on her hair, mentally screaming her terror though her throat was locked tight.

“Back,” said Gabriel, never raising his voice. “Get back, you piece of filth, or I shall burn you where you stand. The Light obeys me, and you cannot stand against it.”

There was a sound like air leaving a balloon, rude and vulgar, but even with her eyes closed, Hope could feel the demon recede to its corner.

“What do you want?” it hissed grudgingly. “I have work to do among the damned.”

“Where is Charity Henderson?” Gabriel’s voice was closer now, letting Hope know that he’d moved to stand at the foot of the bed. She almost opened her eyes, but decided it was wiser not to. “Where is this woman’s sister?”

The demon laughed, sending tendrils of terror down her spine. She squeezed her lids shut even tighter, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

“The same place her parents are,” the Vulturi rasped. “Burned to a crisp, just like her mommy and daddy.”

The words struck Hope with the force of a blow—she cried out, unable to help herself.

“Mmmmm . . .” crooned the demon, “the smell of their flesh as it roasted was sweet, so sweet. A few moments more and the flames would’ve had you, too, my little precious.”

“Leave her alone,” Gabe said sharply. “Pay attention to
me
, as I command you.”

“Shouldn’t have been playing with Daddy’s lighter, now should you?” the demon went on maliciously. “Didn’t you take a fire safety course in school just the week before? Why yes, I believe you did.”

Hope tried not to listen, but it was hard, so hard . . .

“Silence!” ordered Gabriel, in a voice so terrible even Hope flinched.

A growl came from the corner, low and vicious.

“Where is Charity Henderson?” Gabriel repeated. “Tell me, by the name given to Moses as he stood before the burning bush, by the name of the eternal and everlasting One.”

“Charity is dead . . . haven’t you heard?” the Vulturi rasped with a chuckle, but Gabriel would have none of it.

“Liar,” he shouted. “I command you to tell me the truth! In the name of the One, I command you!”

Another hiss, like that of someone in pain.

“She lives,” said the demon slowly, “if you can call it living.”

“Where?”

There was a silence, while the smell in the room grew to a level that left Hope gasping, despite the pillow.

“4218 South Third Street,” said the demon, ending on a screech that made her ears hurt. “May you meet death there, Lightbringer.” It made another noise, like the howling of a thousand voices, lost and hungry. “We’ll be waiting for you when you do.”