Sealed in Sin (26 page)

What the hell was going on?

“Party’s over, George,” snapped Jude. “Move on.”

Bamal sidled even closer, as if challenging Jude right then and there. Tension coiled in the air like a snake ready to strike.

A sudden and strong gust of wind blew over us, nearly knocking me sideways. A blinding flash of light winked, then snuffed out, revealing Uriel standing a few yards to my left and storming closer. He was not the man I’d met in Jackson Square or the one in George’s vision wearing Victorian clothes. This was Uriel the archangel, the creator of the Dominus Daemonum, in all his full glory.

Dressed in pale gray material that molded to his fine physique, his lean, powerful frame glowed with vibrant luster, very similar to my underlight, though his shone more gold than white. But that wasn’t what had my eyes glued to him. Spread to their full breadth were magnificent golden-tipped white wings. Jude had told me he cast illusion to hide his true form and walk among humans. I had had no idea what that form looked like. No illusion now. Breathless at the sheer power he emanated stalking closer with fire burning in cobalt-blue eyes, I understood the difference between a guardian, like Thomas, who held himself in the background, compared to this archangel who looked nothing short of a bad-ass warrior hunting demon blood. He snapped his huge, powerful wings to his back, having made his grand entrance, stopping two feet before me. When I’d met him before, the only signature I’d sensed was sheer, raw power. While I felt the same signature washing over me, there was something else beneath the layers, a hint of sunshine and fragrant fields. Mesmerized, I’d forgotten all about the demon prince who had all of us ready to fight a minute ago, but that’s who had Uriel’s attention now.

“Step away from her, Bamal.” He was cool and commanding, but the menace beneath his words sent a shiver down my spine.

“What brings you here,
brother
?” asked Bamal with exaggerated disdain.

I wondered at the use of the term brother, before realizing they once were all the same before the Fall.

“Just keeping your ass in line,” replied Uriel with cold finality. “Now. Step away from her.”

To my utter shock, Bamal did, only to move closer to the archangel. I didn’t miss his gaze flicking over Uriel’s glorious wings. Was that envy in his eyes?

Bamal sneered. “I suppose I can deduce without a shadow of a doubt that she is the Vessel you all think will turn the tide of the coming war in your favor.”

Uriel said nothing for long, silent seconds where only a cool breeze made any sound at all as morning light crawled across the moor. The row of demons had their eyes riveted to the archangel, all wearing similar expressions of bitter jealousy. Except for Bellock, whose fists tightened into balls, his face marked with nothing but hatred and malice. He wanted to kill Uriel, clearly, but the blood vow kept everyone in line. No bloodshed today.

“She is the Vessel of Light who will crush you into dust, Bamal,” came the unequivocal response.

Unable to breathe after such a statement, I thought he must be joking. But he wasn’t. No hint of a smile shone on his angular face. Steely determination and the shining mark of truth glinted in his eyes. I waited for some flippant retort from Bamal, but the demon prince clenched his jaw, keeping his mouth shut as he joined the line of his minions.

George stepped out of formation closer to the demon prince. “Share the prophecy, Bamal. No need to hide what is to come into fruition anyway.”

“Not to be cliché, but knowledge is power,” he replied, ignoring the angel-warrior’s presence to the side of us. Well, trying to ignore him.

“We’ll simply find it on our own,” George added.

“No, I’m afraid you won’t. It’s well hidden. Somewhere you’ll never look.”

That could only mean it was in hell, buried deep where none of us could go.

“Now, if that is all, I’m afraid that, as Mr. Delacroix so eloquently phrased it, ‘The party’s over.’ Unless you’d like to surrender the Vessel now and save us all much grief and wasted time.”

“Like hell,” said Jude, heat flaring against my back. His aura of flame rippled in the air, blazing orange light in my peripheral vision.

Bamal laughed. “Always so angry, hunter.”

“Speaking of Jude,” said George, “Damas is targeting him. For any particular reason?”

“Because he’s an ornery pain in the ass,” mumbled Razor.

Gorham chuckled, grinning like a fool at his friend.

“You and Damas have never worked together before,” said George. “Why would it be essential now, after all these centuries, to go after Jude?”

“I’m not my brother’s keeper,
Saint
George,” he replied with venom. “And if I knew what he was up to, I’d certainly not tell you.”

“But you do know,” Uriel chimed in. “That thing there is your watchdog for this little rendezvous.” He gave a curt nod to Bellock on the periphery. “We all know he is loyal only to his master, Damas. You must’ve come to an agreement with your brother for some reason, which begs the question why you two would be allies.”

While the demon princes didn’t outright battle against one another, it had been made quite clear to me on a number of occasions that they were highly territorial, typically staying out of one another’s way. Bamal and Damas working together didn’t bode well for the rest of us.

Bamal shrugged. “Perhaps Damas is finally sick of the damn hunter popping in and swinging his sword in all the wrong places.”

“Or all the right ones,” said Jude behind me.

“You seem to know all the answers,” said Bamal with a smirk. “So let’s part now. As friends.”

The prince had a sick sense of humor. But beneath his creepily amiable attitude was a scary-ass monster waiting to crawl out. I had no delusions that what hovered beneath the veneer of beauty was the most frightful and dangerous of beasts. He stepped into the semicircle of high demons and swept a bow.

“Farewell, lovely Katherine.” He glanced my way again. “And you, sweet Vessel. Till we meet again.”

The lot of them snapped out with a whipping crack, flattening a hundred-yard radius of grass to the ground, the hovering mist curling in their wake.

Jude loosened his grip on me. “Well, that was a waste of time. We learned nothing.”

“Untrue,” said Xander. “They definitely have the prophecy and know the timeline of when the war will begin.”

George scratched his chin, rubbing a shadow of scruffy stubble, something I hadn’t seen on him before. “Meaning they know when the showdown between Genevieve and the other Vessel in the prophecy is to take place.”

“But how is that an advantage?” I asked. “We
still
don’t have the prophecy.”

Uriel stepped forward into our circle. I could hardly stop staring, in complete awe of his wings. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Patience,” said Uriel. “At least now we know who to take the prophecy from. We need leverage with a high demon who knows what’s going on.”

“You mean blackmail?” I asked.

“I’d rather call it a persuasive trade,” replied Uriel with a small smile.

In that moment, I had no doubt archangels could be as ruthless as demons when necessary.

“How about Dommiel?” asked Kat, speaking up for the first time.

“No,” he replied. “He won’t know anything. He may be a high demon, but in their ranks, he’s a bottom feeder. He won’t have this kind of intel.”

“Let’s depart from here,” said George, scanning the moor as light kissed the rocks and grass golden. “I’ll need to come up with a plan. We’ll meet soon. Be wary, all of you. The time is near, and we don’t have their advantage of knowing the important players beyond Genevieve. Jude has certainly become a target. It could be because he protects Genevieve, or it might have more significance. There’s no telling who else may become a member of their blacklist.” George gave Uriel a stiff nod. “Thank you for joining us. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

“Things are getting…heated in my realm. Quite a bit of dissension among the ranks, but I am behind all of you.” Sincerity shone in his otherworldly eyes as he met the gaze of each one of us. “Know that you can count on me, no matter what my betters claim is the right course of action.” His gaze glided from George to me. “She holds our hope. The tide that will help us win the war.”

As the hunters started to sift away separately, Uriel glanced from me to Jude, the tiniest line creasing his brow as he studied us as one. “Take care, Vessel. And you as well, Jude.” With a respectful nod, he opened his wings with a snap, bent his legs and rocketed into the morning sky, sifting away two stories up. Summer fields and fresh air blew over me. The power of flight and sifting—now that was some serious transportation power.

“Genevieve,” whispered Jude. “Come here.”

I nodded good-bye to Kat, wishing I had some time to catch up with her. She didn’t even know Jude and I had married. I wondered how she’d feel about it. Hopefully not like George.

I stepped into Jude’s arms, and we slipped back into the Void. Another turbulent sift took us careening past ghostly shapes, blurring and stretching. I squeezed my eyes shut until we popped back onto solid ground. I opened my eyes, still clutching on to Jude’s shoulders. We stood in his living room in the Quarter.

My heart hammered away. I dreaded the answer to the question spilling from my mouth. “Who was Bamal referring to when he said I don’t look like her?”

His obsidian gaze held me, the lines tight around his mouth, his broad shoulders straight and stiff in a defensive stance. He closed his eyes for a brief second and inhaled deeply.

“Your mother.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“My…” I couldn’t breathe. Nausea swelled inside me again, but not from the sift. I pulled from his arms and moved to the sofa, sinking onto the cushion and cradling my head in my hands, elbows on my knees.

He sat next to me, splaying his hand across my back, rubbing up and down my spine in a slow rhythm.

“I don’t understand. How would he know my mother?” But I knew the answer before he spoke it. In a way, I always knew.

“She was a Vessel.”

My heart clenched. I choked on a sob, sucking it back in and holding my body rigid, trying not to lose it. Of course she was. How could I not have known?

“When your family moved to New Orleans, into my territory for protection, I’d sensed her presence in the city.”

We’d moved here from Atlanta, not long before my mother lost her mind and killed herself. I was having trouble getting air into my lungs, as if I’d been punched in the gut with such force I was bleeding internally.

Jude continued, his voice low and soft, careful. “But she wasn’t like you, shining in the dark like a beacon. I sensed a fractured Flamma of Light in the city. I even thought it was an injured guardian angel in my territory, unable to seek help for some reason. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find her. As soon as I would catch her trail, something would happen to pull me away.”

“What do you mean?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “At the time, I was distracted by Bamal. He’d come into New Orleans, releasing his mind-altering spawn on tourists in the Quarter, causing mayhem at night. Of course, I didn’t understand then that it was only a diversion. A means to keep me away from finding your mother, while he was seducing her to go with him. When I finally did find her…it was too late. She’d already been corrupted by him, her mind fractured, her will lost.”

“And so she killed herself to escape him.” I wiped a rough hand across my cheek, fighting the wave of emotion threatening to swallow me whole, wanting to be taken away from this hard reality.

I vaguely remembered the move to New Orleans. I was depressed when we left my friends behind, but my mother was sick. Dad promised me things would get better with a fresh start in a new place. He’d bought the building for the dojo and a new house, uprooting us to this foreign city. Mom had already begun acting strangely, disappearing into her studio for hours, way past my bedtime. She’d never ignored me for the sake of her art, not until…Bamal must’ve found her. She hadn’t told my father. He never knew. He just thought she was losing her mind, when in reality, she was being seduced and possessed by the alluring Bamal whenever he wasn’t around. In the end, she sought the only way out—a plunge off the Mississippi River Bridge. I remembered her face in the video captured by an onlooker, a desperate woman holding herself over the brink as if against her will. She hadn’t wanted to jump, but it was the only way out. Someone had shouted,
“It’s not worth it.”
She’d turned to the camera and replied,
“Yes, they are.”

Now I knew what she’d meant. Dad and I. We were worth it to her. We were worth her death. She sacrificed herself to save us, to keep us from being used—killed or tortured—as pawns for Bamal to gain her allegiance. The tears streaked hot down my cheeks, even as I bit my lip and refused to make a sound.

I shifted to face Jude, shooting him an accusing glare. His hand slid away from my back.

“You knew this, and you never told me.”

“At first, I didn’t realize you were her daughter. I didn’t know she had a daughter. The only time I ever saw her was accompanying Bamal, and as I said, by then she was devoted to him. The night I first met you in that alley, it dawned on me that you must be a Vessel. It wasn’t until later when I met you in her art gallery in your house that I realized who you were.”

“So why didn’t you tell me then?”

“If you recall, you were already distraught. I feared what I knew would only drive you to despair.”

“So all this time, you knew I was the daughter of damaged goods, another Vessel who wasn’t strong enough. I wonder if my fate will be hers. Will I follow in her footsteps—”

He gripped my face with both hands, fingers curling into my hairline, forcing me to look at him. “Listen to me. There was no coming back to our side for her, but she did have enough strength to ensure Bamal couldn’t keep her.”

“By killing herself.”

“Yes.” His tone softened. “Like my own mother.”

“And every other Vessel who didn’t slip to the dark.”

“This won’t be your fate. Do you understand me?”

I tasted bitterness on my lips, for the lost Vessels before me, for every woman subjugated in an eternal hell with a demon prince. A dagger pierced my heart, over and over. The pain of it all made me sick. I hated the demons, hated them with such intensity my VS burned under my skin, wanting some kind of release.

Jude continued as I stewed in helplessness. “You were so new to our world when we first met. I didn’t want to overwhelm you with a past you couldn’t change. I know how that feels, and it was a burden that could wait.”

I stood and moved out of his reach. “I’ll be the judge of what I can and can’t handle. I’m not a fucking child, Jude.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He stood beside me.

“And you couldn’t save her.” I regretted the words, even as they slipped unbidden from my lips. Pain creased his brow, but it was nothing compared to mine with the fresh knowledge that I’d been furious with my mother most my life for abandoning me, when the truth was that she’d saved me.

“No,” said Jude. “I couldn’t. Which is why when I realized who you were, that the Vessel I’d failed to save—the second one—had a daughter with the same gift, I had to protect her…you. I refused to allow the same thing to happen. Again,” he said, voice husky and rough with emotion.

I walked over to the balcony window, arms crossed, staring down at the shards of the fountain still in a crumbling pile in the courtyard. Psyche and Eros lay there in two pieces, their eternal embrace shattered by the evil spawn who’d attacked us the other night. A sinking sensation crept through me like a black omen looming closer, and there was nothing I could do about it.

“I need to go home,” I said, sounding robotic and distant, even to myself.

Jude stood behind me. “You are home.”

I spun, wanting to lash out at him for keeping this from me, from hiding this from me, from… Hell, he was only trying to protect me. Wasn’t he? “You married me without telling me this.”

He didn’t nod or speak or agree in any way. Unrepentant silence was his only reply. He didn’t tell me because he feared I wouldn’t forgive him for not saving her. While I couldn’t blame him for my mother’s suicide, I did blame him for harboring this secret.

“You should’ve told me,” I whispered, my throat thick and dry.

“I know.”

“I need to go to my father’s, to my parent’s house.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you—”

“No, Jude,” I cut him off. “I need to be alone.” I needed time among my mother’s things, her last home, to come to grips with this new reality that her insanity wasn’t mental illness but a debilitating possession by a demon prince. For the third time today, my stomach threatened to empty its contents.

He’d cast my father’s home in a web of protection. There was no reason he could protest me going there. He remained rigid as stone, unmoving, pain chiseled on every line of his face. “I see.”

“I just…”

“I understand. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to come home.” He brushed his thumb across my cheekbone, a sadness seeping into his eyes that made me want to comfort him, though I was the one who needed comforting. Before I fell back into his arms, my stubborn will refusing to let me forgive him so easily, I sifted, yearning to get away—from him, from demons, from everything that had turned my world upside down, from the world that had taken my mother, from a reality that meant to undo me altogether.

I’d sifted home, finding Mindy gone. She wasn’t expecting me for two more days. Probably still shacking up at Dave’s. After packing an overnight bag, I locked the door behind me and climbed into my sleek coupe that had been sitting idle for entirely too long.

Rolling down the windows, I veered toward River Road, taking a roundabout route, zooming at unsafe speeds, cold wind cutting across my face, stinging my eyes and cheeks. The hurt felt good. After I’d finally let some of my pain blow away with the wind, I pulled into Dad’s driveway and parked behind Erik’s silver sedan. Good. I needed the normalcy of my dad and my pseudo-brother. I needed to escape from the nightmare called my life for a while.

Hiking the bag over my shoulder, I entered through the kitchen, finding Dad sitting in the middle of a string of white Christmas lights on the living room floor and Erik digging through a bin of colored lights. They both looked up as I walked in.

“There’s my girl! I thought you’d forgotten. You didn’t return my text.”

His text? Hell, I didn’t even know where my phone was. Actually, I did. Still on the mantel in the cabin at the Isle of Arran, which felt like worlds away, not oceans. Before I took three steps, it hit me that it was the first Saturday in December.

“Of course I didn’t forget, Dad.” I pasted a smile on my face I didn’t feel.

Erik shot me a you’re-such-a-liar expression.

“Hey, Erik. You joining us again this year?”

“Looks that way.”

Dad stood, untangling his ankle from a nest of lights, stepping carefully over the mess, then pulled me into a tight hug. “I know school’s got you crazy with exams, but I didn’t think it would keep you from our Christmas tradition.”

Tucking my head into the crook beneath his chin, I hugged him with all my might. Dad and I had a standing date every first Saturday of December to decorate the house and the tree for Christmas.

“You’re a bit early. I haven’t pulled the tree down from the attic yet.”

“I just missed you,” I mumbled into his sweater.

“I missed you too, sweetie.” He rocked me back and forth in that gentle way dads did. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just upset about that terrorist bombing.”

“I know, baby,” he said, hugging me closer. “I remember when we went there together. So terrible what’s happening out there.”

More terrible than he could possibly understand. “Enough of all that,” I said, pulling from his arms and surveying the three large bins labeled ornaments. “Why don’t you get the tree, and I’ll get all of us some hot cocoa.”

“That’s a plan.”

Dad grinned like a schoolboy and rocketed up the stairs toward the attic. Erik snickered and went back to his duty of checking bulbs on the colored lights. I didn’t know anyone who had more Christmas spirit than my dad. He still insisted that Santa Claus was real and set out gifts on Christmas Eve, pretending they were from Santa. I didn’t mind. Reality could suck the life right out of a person. Especially lately. What was wrong with living a fantasy every once in a while?

I popped three mugs of water in the microwave. By the time I’d stirred in the cocoa mix and mini-marshmallows, the distinct sound of holiday music filled the house, coming from the living room. Bing Crosby crooned about roasted chestnuts on an open fire as I balanced the three mugs in my arms and carried them back into the living room. Dad had found and donned his Santa hat as he assembled our nine-foot faux fir Christmas tree with Erik’s help.

My heart lightened, a genuine smile creasing my face. My heart still ached, but seeing my fun-loving dad diving into the ornaments box to pull out a pink ceramic ballerina with my name painted on it somehow made all the bad things go away. Life really was about the little things, wasn’t it? The small joys that could soothe away the big bad heartbreaks.

Dad and Erik took their mugs. Dad sipped a big gulp, cocoa and marshmallow foam lining his upper lip. “Delicious.” I giggled as he set the mug down. “Why don’t you put up the knickknacks while Erik and I get these lights on first. We’ll save the ornaments for last.”

“Sure, Dad.” We did the same thing every year, and every year, he explained the process. I can’t quite remember when the tradition went from a father-daughter tradition to a father-daughter-adopted-son tradition. I didn’t mind. Erik never spoke of his family up north, always veering away from the subject when it came up. When Erik’s parents died a few years back in a car accident, Dad swept him into our family, insisting he consider himself part of our own.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with displaying snow globes, greenery, the five-foot Saints nutcracker, as well as the hanging stockings, glass balls and ornaments. By the time we’d finished off a second round of hot cocoa and eaten takeout greasy burgers and fries, we were pooped. Well, I was. Dad couldn’t help but to string the lights around the back patio while I watched the two of them and drank an Abita Amber. “I’ll get to the front of the house tomorrow. How do these new icicle lights look?”

“They look great, Dad.” Erik looked totally beat, but he would never let my dad work alone. “I’m sure you and Erik could handle the front today, too.”

“Yeah? It’s not dark yet. What do you say, Erik?”

“Sure.”

Erik rolled his eyes at me, holding the string of lights behind Dad as he hooked them in place on the cornice. He took the string and pretended to strangle himself.

I laughed and took another swig. I watched them diligently make their way around the corner where I couldn’t see them anymore.

An owl called from the wooded area lining the back of our house. The afternoon sun peeked through the near-naked trees, a beam lighting the footpath leading to my mother’s old studio. We’d relegated it to a shed a few years after she died. Well, that’s not entirely true. Dad had sectioned off a portion where she used to work, leaving her easel, stool and unused canvases where she’d left them. I hadn’t been inside in about three years, not since I’d left home and gone to college. But now, a yearning compelled me down that path.

I left the bottle on the deck railing and crossed the yard to the patchy dirt leading through a line of thick oaks and elms. An eerie tingle raised goose bumps on my arms. My VS didn’t signal danger, but I was cautious nonetheless.