Good Intentions 3: Personal Demons (22 page)

He came in with a high swing. Rachel met it with her blade and finally had his timing right. She planted her foot in his crotch before he could spin out of the way, sending him staggering back with a groan. “All fights are dirty, shitheel,” she snapped.

Sammael stepped back again, holding up his empty left hand as he said, “Well, actually—”

Rachel’s burning sword cut through his hand between his middle and ring fingers. “No mansplaining!” she shouted.

The follow-up kick to his jaw sent Sammael stumbling away. He turned into his backward momentum, wanting to put more distance between himself and Rachel, but found Julia in his path. Though he sidestepped in time to save himself from her blade, she still caught part of his wing as he passed, searing his black feathers and further complicating his hopes of escape. Sammael spun again, swinging wildly. Like Julia, he only managed a glancing blow, but his blade found her chest where hers had struck only his wing. Grievously wounded, Julia screamed and fell out of the fight.

He spun around again near the edge of the rooftop, meeting Rachel’s next attack with a parry and riposte. “Two more of you here—yes,” Sammael seethed. Jon and Marvin returned to the fight. Their foe glanced down at the parking lot below, where mortals still rushed around in a panic and angels tried to guide them out of danger and prevent tragic accidents. That wouldn’t last much longer. The mortals would get themselves sorted, the angels would return to the fight, and Sammael would have little hope of escape. He needed to get out. Now.

Rachel’s blade came in again. Sammael stepped into her swing, both blades meeting low near their crossguards. Though taller and broader than Rachel, size hardly meant any advantage at all between angels. She was stronger than any of the guardians. He felt that strength as she pushed him back. Yet while Rachel was invested with the power of dominion, Sammael still enjoyed all the might of his grand origins. He shoved her back with a growl, giving himself exactly half a breath of space to do what he needed.

As Marvin and Jon closed in, Sammael brought his sword down hard on the concrete. The icy blade shattered with a thunderous crash no mortal could hear and an explosion of frozen shards only angels could see.

The blast sent all three of Sammael’s foes off their feet. Rachel tumbled until she landed on her face, nearly going over the edge of the rooftop at its corner. Her whole body hurt from head to toe. Above and beyond that pain, she felt the sting of shrapnel at points all across her limbs, stomach, chest, and even her face.

Grunting, Rachel picked her head up off the concrete to find her opponent. He knelt on the rooftop, breathing heavily, holding only the grip of a shattered blade that would doubtlessly reform in time. She doubted the explosion had hurt him, but such a move required the expenditure of great power. He was already hurt, too. Marvin, Jon, and the others might be out of the fight, but she could still hold him here.

She took in a deep breath and pushed herself to her hands and knees. She could suck it up. She couldn’t give up now.

“Alex!” someone shouted amid gunfire and a roaring engine down below.

Rachel looked over the side. She saw Molly and Onyx on the sidewalk. That young woman from the meeting shot at a retreating pickup. The shimmering aftereffects of magic lingered near the witches. She didn’t see Alex.

For the first time tonight, fear gripped her heart—real fear, not the alarm of finding Sammael here or concern for her friends. Rachel looked back to her enemy in time to see him leap into the air, flying away as fast as he could while his opponents were all down.

He was wounded. Hurt specifically in one wing. She could give chase, alone, but…

Rachel slipped over the side of the rooftop. She didn’t bother to slow her descent with her wings, coming down in front of Molly and Onyx with all the sudden force anyone else would gain after falling twelve stories.

She didn’t consciously decide whether or not to let them see her. She only thought about it when the witches jumped back in surprise. The angel rose from a crouch meant to absorb the impact of her landing. She focused entirely on the lingering magic in front of her.

“Holy shit!” Molly blurted. “Where did—oh my god, are you okay?”

“What happened?” Rachel asked. She didn’t need to put Molly’s question to the witches. She could see they were both worried, but unhurt. Other answers came to her as she looked at the pair of women, too. Fleeting images and truths always accompanied the visage of any mortal, though never with complete clarity and usually without much context. She could read their health and matters of the heart as easily as she saw faces or clothes. That didn’t tell the whole story. “He got hit with a spell?” Rachel asked. “You don’t know what kind?”

Onyx shook her head. “I’ve never seen it. The guy who cast it came out of nowhere and then disappeared as soon as Alex was gone.” She looked down at the spot where the two men had both disappeared. “He didn’t…there’s nothing left here. Nothing left of him at all!”

“He’s not dead,” said Rachel, looking around at their surroundings. “If he was dead, I’d feel it. I think. I’d have to feel
something
. We’re bound by magic.”

“And you can’t see him through clairvoyance like you used to, right?” asked Onyx. “Like when we first met?”

“No. My role changed. We’re not connected like that anymore.”

“Hey,” said another voice. Rachel looked up to see the dark-haired young woman with the gun approach warily. “Who is—who the hell is she?” Sierra asked, turning her wide eyes to the two witches.

“Not the time, Sierra,” grunted Rachel. “Molly, I smell demon bullshit here. It’s faint, but it’s there. The blonde woman, Evelyn, was she part of all this?”

“Yeah,” answered Molly. “They summoned up some demons inside. I think she helped that happen. She worked with the guy who did it or empowered him somehow.”

“She did,” Rachel confirmed, seeing the scene in her mind as Molly spoke. “That sort of shit isn’t possible without help. Not on that scale. Not without preparation. She was channeling power into their summoner. It gave her people on the other side something to home in on, too. And she could’ve had a hand in whatever happened to Alex.”

“How do you know who I am?” Sierra murmured, blinking in shock. Everyone ignored her.

“Oh shit,” Onyx realized. “What if I didn’t spot Aaron until he appeared because he wasn’t there in the first place? What if he teleported?” She looked from Molly to Rachel and explained, “Normally that doesn’t really work on mortals. It worked on you that one time ‘cause you aren’t fully part of this world. That was a summoning, not a teleportation. You don’t work like the rest of us. Magic works differently on…wait!” Onyx reached into her frock coat, pulling out a small flask from an interior pocket. “I’ve got an idea.” She opened the flask and tipped the lid over on her fingertips, wetting them as she murmured words in Greek.

Molly let her work. “It shouldn’t have worked on Alex, either,” she thought out loud. “He had a nail. He kept a nail in his pocket to protect from magic, remember? Even a spell like that should’ve been disrupted or something.”

“How?” Rachel asked. “What would happen?”

“I don’t know. It throws things off, but it doesn’t block magic completely. Like practicing on a gymnastics mat. It’ll blunt the fall, but you’re still gonna feel it when you land.”

“Hey, he isn’t layin’ half here and half somewhere else,” Sierra pointed out, gesturing to the empty grass. “Wherever he is, they got all or nothin’ of him.”

The two women looked at Sierra with wide eyes and disturbed faces. “Ugh!” Molly grunted as the angel said, “Thanks for that image!”

“Rachel, look at me,” said Onyx. “Hold still and close your eyes.” She reached up with her flask and her fingers, pouring the water out again and brushing it against the angel’s eyelids. “Think about Alex. Like you said, you can’t see him like you used to, but you’re still bound. Think about that connection and then open your eyes.”

The angel following instructions. She thought more about feelings and sensations than images. Given her duties, she didn’t spend as much time with either of her lovers as she wanted, yet she could always feel Alex out there. It came to her mostly through sensations of pleasure, as intended by the perverse architect of the ritual binding them together. The ritual hadn’t been built with love in mind, though, let alone designed for a benevolent soul like Alex. Love and understanding soon led Rachel to enjoy every minute of that bond...which, she realized as she opened her eyes, she could now
see
.

A shimmering thread of light enveloped her, similar to the faint glow of magic at the point of Alex’s disappearance. She looked at the threads wrapped around her, and followed the trail, but it led only a few feet ahead of her before the threads sank straight into the ground. “Oh, shit,” she breathed. Rachel ran a few steps to one side and saw how the direction of the threads hardly changed. She felt something different, too: the pull of distance. Great distance.

“Aw for
fuck’s sake
,” Rachel fumed. “You gotta be shitting me!”

“What?” asked Onyx. “Did it work? Do you know where he is?”

“I’ve got an idea, but I’ve gotta go. Now!”

Molly, Onyx, and Sierra watched Rachel shoot straight up into the air, carried halfway up the height of the hotel by a single jump and then the rest of the way with one beat of her wings. They barely heard her voice as she shouted, “Marvin! You’re in charge!” and threw her flaming sword onto the rooftop.

Her wings beat again as she changed direction, flying off into the night. She faded from sight even faster than distance would have suggested. In the space of a single breath, she was gone.

* * *

Escape from the second floor proved easy enough. Most people were still out for the night. The path was largely clear. Then they came to the casino floor and found pandemonium.

People ran this way and that. A packed showroom emptied out right in front of the stairwell, blocking the path for several seconds. It took no time to realize this was more than an evacuation for a fire alarm. Something well and beyond a blaring siren had everyone scared.

“Folks! Folks, I need you to head this way,” said an usher in a tuxedo shirt and bowtie as they tried to wait out the rush.

“We’ll move out,” Wade assured him. “We gotta go across the floor first.”

“Sir, I can’t let anyone go anywhere but
out
right now,” the usher pressed.

“Wade,” Lorelei spoke up. “Allow me.” She stood behind him and Drew, leaning on Jason’s shoulder with Taylor close by in case she needed more support. She’d made it all the way to the stairs before accepting that she’d need help to walk, but here she could muster the strength for a few steps on her own.

“M-Miss, are you hurt?” the usher stammered. Even under the pressure of his duties and whatever fears he now carried, he had to do a double-take. Underneath the borrowed coat over her shoulders, her dress was in tatters. Her legs were covered in soot.

“I’ll be fine if you’ll
let us pass
,” she said, reaching out to grip his arm. Her eyes stared into his. She managed a slight smile. “Please.”

“Miss, there’s word of a shooter in the casino and a fire, too. This isn’t a drill. You want me to come with you?”

“No. We’ll be fine. See to your responsibilities, please. Thank you.” She looked back to her friends. Jason stepped up to offer his shoulder again while Taylor took her other side once more. Drew and Wade returned to the lead.

“I still don’t understand how people buckle for you like that,” said Jason.

“Tricks of desire and persuasion,” Lorelei explained. “If it makes you feel any better, mortal minds become resistant to such influence with repeated exposure. It is not unlike building an immunity to drugs or disease. The mind grows harder to twist over time, not easier.”

“Crazy,” Jason replied. They paused as Drew and Wade cleared a couple of bewildered drunks from the bar out of their path. “Wait. Have you ever messed with our heads?”

“Only a little,” she admitted. “You’re stronger for it.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

Wade picked up his pace, trotting ahead and ready to pull his weapon again as he looked out over a last bank of slot machines. Then he motioned for the others to catch up. “There ain’t nobody blockin’ the ballroom like before,” he said. “Just the rope line.”

“Is that a good sign or bad?” asked Drew.

“Bad,” said Lorelei. “I smell the scent of the Pit.”

The fire alarm cut out as she spoke, though other sirens continued to wail farther back along the floor. Drew tilted his head curiously. “Why’d they only shut off part of it?”

“I dunno, but I don’t hear nothin’ from up there,” said Wade, nodding toward the ballroom.

“The true masters of this place are in that direction,” noted Lorelei. “They need not obey the same rules as the workers and guests. My friends, this may still—”

“We’re going in with you,” said Taylor. “Unless you plan on twisting everyone’s will here?”

She shook her head. “I do not. Thank you. Let’s go.”

Once again, Wade took the lead as they approached the open ballroom doors. Rather than fighting, they heard voices ranging from fright to anger inside. Someone wailed with grief. Others shouted for help.