Sealed in Sin (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

We sifted into an alley in London near George’s place. Jude had already told me that because of his thick wards circling the full perimeter of the block, no one but George could sift directly inside the building. We had to be careful because many demons knew where the leader of the Dominus Daemonum lived, and often waited for the chance to ambush him.

Holding my hand and casting an iron-clad shield of illusion around me, Jude led me out of the shadows onto a well-lit street. From the scrubbed-clean walk to the manicured shrubs to the tall white stone buildings, I knew we stood in the middle of money. I could practically smell crisp, green bills on the chilly breeze. Or, actually, multicolored pound notes.

“Whoa. Where does George live exactly?”

“Chelsea. Riverside.”

“Looks like the salary for sainthood pays well.”

“When you’ve lived as long as we have, you manage to collect valuable things.”

“I’ll say.”

We walked up a stoop of stairs into a pristine, white-marble foyer. I marveled at the glittering fixtures before stepping into the elevator.

“So this is where George lives? Somehow, I imagined a sprawling estate like
Downton Abbey
or something.”

Jude smirked. “He has one of those as well.”

“Daaamn.”

The elevator dinged on the top floor, the doors sliding open to a tall and wide foyer with a sharp-edged, modern chandelier beaming warm light from above. Jude approached and opened the only door in the reception area.

“He owns the whole floor?”

Jude nodded as if it were nothing and ushered me in before him.

“I want to be a saint,” I mumbled under my breath.

When we stepped into the spacious living room, or actually one of the living rooms in this seven-thousand-square-foot penthouse, as I would soon discover, I froze in sheer admiration. A smooth, fine wood floor shining like satin extended the entire room in a parquet zigzag pattern. One entire wall to the left was a wine rack from top to bottom, behind the black grand piano. The room dipped from there, stretching a wide expanse that could’ve swallowed my entire apartment. A fire crackled in an elevated fireplace, framed by the shiniest black stone I’d ever seen. I had no idea what it even was. Beyond the tufted gray carpet squaring off a set of three white sofas and more sleek furnishings stood a wall of glass. Beyond that, lights of high-rise buildings of London glittered on a wide river.

“Is that—” I pointed, unable to make my brain work for a second. I’d honestly never seen or stepped into something so extravagant in all my life.

Jude’s finger came under my chin and closed my mouth. I hadn’t realized I was literally gaping. “The Thames. Yes.”

I’d always wanted to visit London. I had no idea I’d be seeing the city with such a magnificent view.

“Do you like this kind of place?” Jude snapped me from my reverie. “I’ll buy you one if you want.”

I scoffed and snorted at the same time. Not very ladylike, but the shock of his offer made my body malfunction. Jude had this kind of money? Yet he lived much more modestly than George. Sure, the kind of home Jude owned in the French Quarter was pricey, but nothing like this. Apparently, Jude had the means to live in posh style, but he chose not to. Somehow that made my heart squeeze into a warm ball and love him more.

“You’d buy me a place like this?”

He lifted one shoulder in a modest shrug. “If you like.”

We hadn’t discussed our living arrangements now that we were husband and wife. Funny, but that conversation never even crossed our minds. I suppose we had been in such a hurry to tie the damn knot and jump into bed, the where and when of living together never ventured into our thoughts. We’d been practically doing so anyway, but I wanted to make it official and move in with him. Sadly, Mindy would feel like I abandoned her for a mere boyfriend, something she’d never do. And my dad, well, he wouldn’t be happy at all with cohabitation. Too old-fashioned. But telling them the truth, that we were legally husband and wife, would send them both into orbit. I couldn’t explain my reasons behind marrying Jude now as opposed to the traditional lengthy engagement, followed by a white wedding with all the pomp and circumstance.

“No,” I replied with a small smile. “Thank you. To be honest, I’d be afraid to touch anything.” I glanced down at my boots and behind me, fearful I’d left a dirty trail. Jude and I had been living like wild gypsies on the Island of Arran. I stepped closer to him. “I’d rather live in our cottage anyway.” Where no one could find us.

He cupped my cheek, fingers lightly combing into the edge of my hairline, thumb brushing my cheekbone. His gaze—deep, dark, and promising pleasure—trailed over my face, resting on my lips before lifting to my eyes again. “Me too.”

Voices from the next room, sharp and stilted, interrupted both our wayward thoughts.

“Come on,” said Jude, stepping ahead of me through an open archway into yet a smaller den area. And by smaller, I meant it was bigger than my dad’s dojo.

Yet another palatial room fit for a king, I skimmed the furnishings, taking more notice of Kat and George standing at the glass wall overlooking the Thames. Apparently, the glass wall extended the length of the entire flat on the riverside. George seemed to be arguing or bickering about something, gesturing with his hand in a frustrated stance. Kat’s body was ramrod straight, her arms crossed, her back a tight line. She faced the river in silence while George whispered angry words at her side.

Jude flicked me a look, then sighed. Whatever was going on between these two, they needed to fix it. Perhaps a night in bed together might do the trick. Jude cleared his throat to make our presence known. George and Kat both turned at once.

“There you are.” George stepped toward us into a semicircle of charcoal gray sofas made of a shiny material I was too afraid to dirty. Still, this place matched George. He’d always been dressed impeccably, exuding the air of highborn gentleman to the nth degree. Even now, he strode toward us in perfectly tailored black pants and a starched white shirt that fit his physique to a tantalizing T. “Where the bloody hell have you two been?”

Kat followed George, wearing her demon-hunting gear of black leather and tight-fitting top, platinum hair in a sleek tail. “Yeah. Gen, I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. What’s going on?”

Taken aback that we’d truly made them nervous, I almost felt guilty. Almost. I hadn’t noticed Kat’s missed calls and texts until right before we left. I’d buried my phone in my clothes in the top dresser drawer at the cottage, not wanting to know what was going on beyond the stone walls of our hideaway.

“Sorry,” I said, glancing warily at Jude. He hadn’t mentioned that we’d gotten married. I knew he hadn’t told them. “We were—”

“We were following some leads,” interrupted Jude. “Trying to find the prophecy abroad. Cell service can be unpredictable when sifting outside the US.”

I wondered why we he didn’t want to tell them, but kept my mouth shut anyway. A later conversation.

George eyed us both suspiciously. “Did you find anything?”

Jude gave a tight shake of his head. “Afraid not.”

“Wherever you were on this secretive prophecy hunt, you apparently missed international news.” He paused, observing us, apparently trying to riddle out what he was missing.

“Are you going to tell us?” snapped Jude. “Or just stare at us all night.”

“Sit,” said George. Kat swished by him and planted herself on a square, white leather chair. I had a feeling George’s nasty attitude had more to do with the tension between him and Kat than our disappearance.

I sat daintily on the edge of his sofa, which was remarkably more comfortable than it looked. Real money could buy svelte, stiff-looking furniture that felt like butter under your bum. Jude made a noise in his throat. I glanced sideways to find him smirking at me. He always seemed to know what I was thinking.

“Shut up,” I said before he could make any snarky remarks.

George picked up a remote and clicked on a truck-size, ultrathin plasma television, scrolled through several news recordings, then clicked the third one.

A British news anchor sat stiffly, grim-faced, speaking directly into the camera. “We do have firsthand footage from a tourist’s video camera found near the scene. Unfortunately, the owner and all those within a half-mile radius of the scene were unable to give us an eyewitness account of this tragedy. This footage contains scenes which some viewers may find disturbing.”

The amateur video bounced as the owner tried to hold it steady amongst a screaming crowd. The focus of the footage was a woman shrouded from head to foot in a black burka, only her eyes peering out. She stood in front of a large intricately designed iron base of some kind that looked vaguely familiar. “Wait. Is that the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yes. They’re standing beneath it,” said George. “Keep watching.”

The camera panned out from the woman, bringing into view several French policeman wearing their Robocop-looking SWAT team gear and shouting, “
Arretez! Arretez!
”

The woman raised both arms straight out from her body in a cross position. That was when I realized she held a device in her hand attached to a wire snaking down to what looked like a rolling ice chest. More vehement yelling from the French officers. I had no idea what they were saying, but they had handguns aimed and were inching closer, preparing to take her down if she didn’t release the detonator. People fled in a panic behind the woman.

“
Mon Dieu…mon Dieu
,” said the owner of the video, his voice scratchy as the footage jostled away from the scene, up, down, up, down, panning from the underside of the Tower, shooting straight upward, crossing the mall where tourists fled in all directions, including a man running with his curly haired toddler crying in his arms, then vibrant blue sky then back to the tower from farther away. Then…

Boom!

Orange flames, then white light; the camera spun from its owner, flipping end over end, then finally nothing.

“Oh my God.” I hadn’t realized I held my hand against my chest, gripping my shirt in a tight fist. “Do they know which group did it?”

“It wasn’t terrorists.” George clicked the remote, starting the clip back at the beginning where the video was zoomed in on the woman from chest up.

“What do you mean it wasn’t terrorists?” I asked, baffled. “It’s a suicide bomber, obviously from one of the fanatical groups. This poor woman must’ve been forced to do this heinous thing, though I’ve rarely heard of a female suicide bomber. They’re using risky tactics, but—”

“She wasn’t a terrorist,” George said again, allowing the video to move in slow motion till he caught the image he wanted and paused.

“Demons.” Jude had gone completely stiff next to me. His aura of flame radiated in the air as so often happened when his demon-hunter senses heightened.

His jaw clenched, his muscular shoulders bunched and tight, he stared fiercely at the television screen. Tension swirled around him.

“She’s a Vessel,” said George, moving close to the screen and pointing at her crystal-blue eyes, the only thing visible through a rectangle cut in the black cloth.

Realization and disbelief swept over me. A Vessel. Someone like me, caught in the snare of a demon prince, doing this foul deed, killing innocent people. Yes, her eyes were blue, but the pupils were blood red, a chilling combination, dehumanizing her into a creature of the Dark.

“How do you know she’s a Vessel?” I asked, voice cracking, though I knew it to be true already.

“I’ve seen her before,” said Kat, finally speaking up. “She’s Bamal’s Vessel. I’ve never been able to get a proper photograph because he guards her so well. And he only comes out when he’s in possession of her. The red tint to her pupils shows he’s in there.”

“But he just killed her,” I protested, my hands shaking in my lap.

“No. He’d never do such a thing. A Vessel is a valuable commodity,” continued George. “He sifts out a millisecond before the explosion. I’ve watched it several times. It’s almost simultaneous. Chances are his Vessel may have received some injuries, but she’s gone before the full explosion hits.”

So this was why a Vessel was so important. A demon prince could sift anywhere while in possession of her and sift out safely, even if her body received collateral damage. He could target places on sacred ground and cause destruction there too, if he wanted. I wondered how many times this had happened before. Jude had once told me that when a demon prince twists a Vessel, makes her fall from grace, from Light to Dark—just as the princes had fallen once—this was when they could do serious damage. By themselves, demons can influence mankind, spreading greed, hatred, lust and all manners of evil to corrupt human souls to their cause. But a Vessel is born with innate powers—premonition and persuasion on a monumental scale when she has fully awakened. I was just starting to experience the power of influence, like when I called Simon’s soul from within his own body, buried so deep by the demon that the man had stopped existing anymore. But Jude had said I wasn’t fully awakened. When I was, my power would be immense.

In the past, high demons captured their Vessel before she crossed this bridge to full awakening. Once she crossed this point, a demon’s influence would be inconsequential, unable to seduce her toward the Dark, like a fly consistently ramming itself into a pane of glass. At least, this is believed to be true. The fact of the matter is that no Vessel had ever made it to full awakening, always falling to the lure of her demon seducer or opting out with suicide. When the high demon strikes and takes full possession of a Vessel with his essence and evil influence, he warps her to want only him, making her his slave. And then her powers for good evaporate like mist through one’s fingers. She becomes his tool for ultimate evil, able to walk and even sift anywhere and do his bidding, no matter how foul or wicked a deed. Like the one that just happened on this screen.

I’d once asked Jude why a demon prince with a Vessel hadn’t yet destroyed the Vatican or something. He’d told me that it’s the most highly protected place on earth by Flamma of Light. While most cities only have one or two Dominus Daemonum protecting them, the Vatican holds thirty resident hunters. Angels actually make appearances now and again, while they usually keep out of the fray on earth. The Vatican is protected for more reasons than because it’s a holy city. There are sacred artifacts there the Flamma of Light don’t want in the hands of the fallen. The fact that it’s so well protected is why it’s still a mystery that Bamal found his way into the vaults to see and presumably take photographs of the part of the prophecy we did have.