Personal Demons (35 page)

The hospital is too cold and too bright and it smells and I hate it. But I can’t leave, even though they already told us Luc isn’t going to make it. I can’t leave him here.

The only thing getting me through this is Gabe. His arms are around me like a cocoon, and he hasn’t let me go, even when they stitched my shoulder.

“I don’t get it,” I say through my tears. “He was human, so why would it matter that Beherit took all things Hell with him? That wasn’t Luc anymore.”

There’s pain in Gabe’s eyes and sympathy on his face. “You changed him physically, but his life force was tethered to Hell. It’s what he was for over seven millennia. There can’t really be a separation. And, in the end, he embraced that side of himself. He called on that infernal power to save you.”

I think about Luc—his heat and how he glowed as he used the last of his power to wrap me in a field—and my heart shrivels into a hard ball. He should have saved himself, not me.

People walk through the hospital waiting room like it’s any other day. Like the world didn’t just end. How can that be? The world should be crashing down all around us.

My shoulder stings where the anesthesia is wearing off, and I can feel the tug of the bandages and stitches, but I wish it was worse. I wish Beherit
had
killed me. Then maybe Luc and I would be together. I bury my face in my hands and I feel Gabe’s arms around me, pulling me to his shoulder. “This can’t be happening. It’s all my fault.”

“I’m so sorry, Frannie.”

“This is
so
not fair. He was good—I know it. He doesn’t belong in Hell.”

“He wasn’t tagged for Hell. There’s no guarantee that’s where he went.”

“But you said Beherit took him back to Hell.”

“No, Frannie. I don’t know that.”

My breath catches. “You mean he could be in Heaven?”

He strokes my hair. “It’s possible. His mortal soul was clean.”

It’s quiet and white and . . . empty. A void. Just like my mind. I’m aware of a body—mine, I guess, but I can’t see or feel it. I can’t see anything. I’m peaceful and I let myself drift. But then I’m being pulled through time and space in a dizzying rush.

King Lucifer.

When I stop and the vertigo settles, I open my eyes, sure I’ll find myself in Pandemonium. But instead I’m at the end of a long white corridor that fades into the distance. In front of me is a pair of swinging wooden doors with a peeling plastic sign taped to it reading
LIMBO
.

Limbo.
Where untagged souls go after death to be sorted.

So, guess that means I’m dead.

The sudden realization that I won’t see Frannie again—touch her—kiss her—hits me hard, rocking me back on my heels. I fight to get air into my lungs, but then I remember that I don’t need to breathe anymore. I’m dead.

But Frannie’s not. She’s safe.

It’s that knowledge that helps clear my head. Frannie’s safe. Without me in the way, she’ll let Gabriel tag her and she’ll be fine. He’ll protect her. This is good. The only way I could ever leave her. She’ll be better off now.

I gather myself and push through the swinging doors into an endless room. The ceiling is low, with humming florescent fixtures, but the walls stretch away into oblivion. In front of me there’s an old wooden desk with various magazines scattered over its dark, nicked surface and a handwritten sign taped to the front. The writing is a sloppy cursive scrawl in heavy black marker and reads,
TAKE A NUMBER AND HAVE A SEAT
. Next to the sign is a plastic red number dispenser. I step up to the dispenser and look beyond the desk. As far as I can see, stretching into infinity, there are rows of black plastic chairs, most of which are occupied by the countless souls waiting to hear their fate. Others mill around aimlessly, wailing and crying about
being dead. All are in shades of gray or beige, some shot through with black, vermillion, or ochre—the middle ground. These are the souls that weren’t tagged before death because they didn’t clearly fall on one side or the other.

I look down at myself for the first time, expecting obsidian black, but instead I find bright white with swirls of sapphire blue and dusk rose.
White?
I gaze in awe for more than a few minutes then collect myself and draw a number from the dispenser. The paper tab tears off, and I look to see a large
ONE
stamped on the green paper in gold leaf. I look up at the lit monitor over the desk. “Now serving number 64,893,394,563,172,289,516,” it declares. I look back at my number.

One.

“Number one, please report to office number one.” I hear the androgynous, monotone voice clearly in my head, but the monitor doesn’t change. And as I stand here wondering where I’m supposed to find office number 1, a carved wooden door materializes in front of me with a large golden 1 painted on it. I turn the knob and push the door slowly open.

Gathering myself and stepping through it, I find myself in a large, brightly lit room with an immense mahogany desk and a high-backed chair in the middle. The room looks deceptively inviting. The comforting scent of hickory wafts from a cheerful fire burning on the hearth of a large fireplace in the back of the room. Beige leather couches and chairs are scattered between numerous bookshelves. Among the titles strewn across a low mahogany coffee table near me, I see Dante’s
Purgatorio
and can’t help smiling. Michael has done his homework.

His back is turned to me as he hovers just off the ground to
one side of the fireplace, white robes blowing gently in a nonexistent breeze.

Very theatrical.

He turns slowly and smiles, but there’s no warmth in that smile. He tugs on his black goatee and studies me. His dark hair and skin contrast with his pale blue eyes, making them appear to glow and giving him an ominous look—meant to intimidate, no doubt. Michael is known for that.

“Welcome, Lucifer. Apparently the Almighty has put you on the fast track. I would have made you wait.” He gestures to a comfortable-looking leather chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

“No thanks. I prefer to stand.” I’ve been around too long to let my guard down around an archangel. Especially this one. An eternity of passing judgment has given him a God complex.

The whole innocent-until-proven-guilty concept applies to Heaven and Hell as well, and Limbo is under Heaven’s control.
Michael’s
, specifically. You’d think that would work in their favor, but Michael believes in strict quality control, so actually the numbers usually come out to Hell’s advantage.

I take one more step forward. “What’s the deal? Why am I not in Hell?”

“If you’re that eager to burn in the Inferno for all eternity, so be it. I mistakenly thought you might want to discuss alternatives.” He waves his hand dismissively and turns to glide behind his desk.

I swallow my pride, along with the thick lump in the back of my throat. “Wait.” I follow him to the desk and slide into the leather chair. “What alternatives?”

His eyes soften and his expression hints at amusement. “It appears there’s someone in the mortal realm who wants you back. Quite desperately, actually. It’s really quite touching. It also happens that this
someone
has a fair amount of Sway, which apparently extends to the celestial, because Gabriel is having a difficult time saying no.”

My head spins.
Is it possible?
Could Frannie have enough Sway to will me back to life? I’ve never heard of such a thing happening. But I’ve also never heard of a demon becoming human . . .

“From the look on your face, I take it this would be an acceptable alternative?”

I snap out of my musings to find a smile on my face and a tear coursing down my cheek. I wipe both away and look hard at Michael. “Is it possible?”

“It is. But there are conditions. This isn’t a free pass.”

My heart sinks.
A catch
. There’s always a catch. “What conditions?”

“What we know is that Frannie changed you. Her Sway is powerful.” What he doesn’t say, but I read in his eyes, is that by powerful he means dangerous. A mortal with Sway over mortals is one thing. But a mortal with Sway over the infernal and celestial is quite another. He’s scared of her.

As if he read my thoughts, because I’m sure he did, his temper flares. “She wants you now, and she got you by making you mortal.” He spits out the last word as if it tastes bad. “What none of us knows is what will happen when she doesn’t want you anymore. Humans, after all, can be quite fickle.” A self-satisfied smirk settles across his features as he listens in while I ponder that.

I know it was Frannie’s Sway—her love—that changed me, but I’d never stopped to consider what would happen if her feelings changed. If she didn’t want me anymore, would I stay human? Die? Change back into a demon?

“What conditions?” I ask again with a heavy heart. There’s no use putting up a front when he’s in my head.

“Convince her to forgive herself so Gabriel can tag her for Heaven.”

It sounds simple enough, and it’s what I’ve wanted her to do all along, but I don’t miss the look in his eye as he says it. Something vacillating between greed and lust.

“What will happen to her once she’s tagged?”

“That’s not your concern,” he says dismissively with a wave of his hand.

I spring out of the chair. “Like hell it’s not.” My hands on his desk, I lean across it, toward him. “She wants a life. If she’s tagged for Hell, she won’t have one. She’ll be King Lucifer’s puppet. Tell me that won’t happen if she’s tagged for Heaven.”

“I can’t say what will happen. It’s not my call.”

My voice shakes as I fight to keep my rage in check. “I don’t believe you.”

He stares at me and shakes his head. “You poor, pathetic boy. Acting like you have any pull here. You
will
do this, or you’ll burn in the Inferno.”

I look back at myself.
White
. I can’t see how it’s possible, but I’m clean. No black. No gray. No red. White. “What sin sends me to the Inferno?”

His smile is amused, but there’s frustration hidden behind the façade. “You’re joking.”

I can’t read his thoughts, but I can read his eyes. He’s bluffing. I keep my voice soft—calm—as I call him on the lie. “You don’t have to send me back to Frannie, but you can’t send me to the Abyss.”

His eyes flare red for just a second before he pounds his fist through the top of the desk. To my ears his voice sounds as indistinct as a thunderclap, but in my head I hear the words within the roar clearly. “Maybe not, but I can make you wish I had!”

Can Heaven be a living Hell? If there’s anyone who could make it that, it would be Michael. But it’s better that it’s
my
living Hell—not Frannie’s. Before looking into Michael’s eyes, I would have thought Frannie being tagged for Heaven was a good option. They generally don’t use their own too roughly, and with Gabriel looking out for her . . .

Now I’m not sure. Frannie’s only chance at a life may be if she stays untagged. Gabriel wouldn’t betray her . . . would he? “Fine. The Abyss it is.”

Shock stretches his eyes wide. Apparently that’s not the answer he expected. In his misplaced confidence, he forgot to spy on my thoughts. “I don’t think you understood me. You’re doing this. I’m giving you a second chance. You should be grateful.”

“I don’t believe in second chances.” I turn and walk out the door. As I slam through it, Michael’s growl trails off, and everything goes quiet and white. I’m drifting again. If this nothingness is Heaven, I may have made the wrong choice. I’m not sure I can just drift for all of eternity.

But then I picture Frannie’s sapphire eyes, and I’m no longer drifting, I’m soaring. I hear Frannie laughing, smell the clove
and currant of her soul, feel her touch as surely as if she were here with me. And then my essence is swirling and blending with hers.

This
is Heaven.

In my dream, Luc and I are dancing under the stars—spinning and laughing like we’re one person, sharing one body. I feel him everywhere, inside and out. His touch feels like Heaven, and I hear myself moan. I want to be this close to him forever—to die right here in his arms.

“Frannie?” Gabe’s voice is soft in my ear. As I open my eyes and they adjust to the harsh lighting, it takes me a second to get my bearings. We’re still in the waiting room at the hospital, and I’m cradled against Gabe’s chest. “Hey, Frannie, wake up,” he says, smoothing a hand over my burned and snarled hair.

It’s the sting in my shoulder and the telltale smell of singed hair that confirms that it wasn’t all just a really bad dream.

“Frannie?” he says again.

“Yeah, I’m awake. Can we just go home? Please?” I say into his chest as I feel tears sting my swollen eyes.

“Hey,” Gabe says, and I feel his finger under my chin, lifting my face to look at him. When I look at his face, he’s smiling, and the pain is gone from his sparkling blue eyes.

“What?” I ask. “What happened?” I look up at a smiling doctor in green hospital scrubs.

“Your friend is out of surgery,” the doctor says. “I truly can’t
explain it, short of a miracle. They resuscitated him in the ambulance, but he was in bad shape when he got here. We lost him for a long time on the operating table, but we were able to get him back. He really shouldn’t have survived . . .”

“So . . . what are you saying?” The desperation in my voice rings clear.

“It looks like he’s going to be fine. We’ll know for sure in the next few hours. Just keep praying.”

My heart explodes into a million pieces and I start to hyperventilate. Tears course down my cheeks as I struggle to breathe, and I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my God. Luc.”