I returned to the outcropping, lowering my spear and waiting, sweat springing up on my forehead as the soul-bond pulsed inside me.
One by one, the Dragon’s writhing heads dropped, the snake-like necks going limp. Rocks squealed against each other as the reptilian corpse went slack and began to sink into the chasm. I stepped to the edge and looked over.
The wound in his chest was leaking. Gouts of blood sprayed over his scales, but the flow was eventually stemmed by something thicker.
The darkness that oozed from the wound was thick as tar. It moved like liquid at first, dripping down his pale chest, but then it moved.
A hand formed from the darkness, reaching up to grip the scales of the corpse. It was followed by a featureless head, a second hand… Satan’s essence, abandoning his body like so much trash.
It crawled upwards, over scales and through his blood, and found the chasm wall.
I stepped back as the thing scaled to the top, dragging its oozing body behind itself. Tarry fingers dragged it through the ashes, leaving a broad clear swathe behind it as he sniffed out his new body.
As he passed, he glanced at me, showing only faint impressions of eye sockets in that face. The soul-bond squeezed me tighter, growing hot as coals.
The essence climbed over the demon’s corpse, blindly peering at it, and began to pour into its mouth. The dead demon’s limbs jittered and shook as Satan filled it, fingers cracking as he stretched his new extremities.
Finally, the last of Satan’s essence pushed itself inside. Smears of fresh, glistening blood covered the body.
He blinked. Once, twice. Wiping away the ashes that had built up on its open eyes.
Then he sat up and smiled. And the pain consumed me, wiping away everything I was.
18
Melisande
I woke up with a gasp, clutching my mouth and chest.
It’d felt so real. The dream had been vivid, like I’d been standing right there in Lucifer’s body, watching as Satan crawled out of the dragon and possessed the dead body lying in front of us.
It’d felt too real.
I lowered my hands, assuring myself that the inky black figure crawling over the ground wasn’t here in my bed, about to climb into my mouth and possess me.
But there was light in my room, dancing faintly off the walls, illuminating the still-sleeping forms of Belial and Tascius on either side of me. I looked down at the cross Lucifer had inscribed on my chest.
The thin strand of the Chain that linked me to him was glowing, brighter than I’ve seen it since the vision the Chain had granted me. It sparked gold, twisting through midair from my chest and reaching through the wall.
I touched the illuminated strand until it went out, fading once again into a barely visible strand of luminescence.
I was suddenly, completely sure that I hadn’t just had a nightmare. That dream had been real. The connection between Lucifer and myself was too strong to break, with or without soul-bonds… and I’d just watched through his eyes as I slept.
They were still alive. Vyra was as well as she could possibly be, and Lucifer was doing what he could to protect her.
But Satan had left his body. And unless I missed my guess, Satan in a human form would be infinitely more dangerous than being trapped in the massive form he’d previously possessed. He’d be able to fight back as quickly as I could, possibly even better than me if Lucifer managed to procure him a whole, healthy body while he was under his father’s command.
I needed Azazel. He needed to know this, and he’d know what to do.
I slid out from under the covers and sneaked down the bed, trying not to wake my men. It was still hours before dawn, the sky a deep navy, but Azazel almost never slept.
I pushed aside my curtains and jumped out into the night air. My wing still ached from the day before, but it was mostly healed. I’d be able to make it to Blackchapel without plummeting out of the sky like a stone.
Still, I fed it a little healing magic as I soared over the Upper Circles, letting the cool night air wash away the memory of blood and ashes. He’d thought of that place as Irkalla… and all I could think of was the map that the High Priestess of the succubus guild had shown me, the dark stain on the wall that had sent shivers up my spine.
Maybe it’d been a premonition of things to come. Wherever Irkalla was, that was where I needed to be.
The floating stones of Blackchapel came into view as I flew over the Fields of Asphodel, ignoring the shades below. The windows of the cathedral were dim, but I touched down on the courtyard and shoved the doors open without any of the Grigori barring my path.
The cathedral wasn’t empty, though. I stopped in my tracks, staring at the hideous sight in front of me.
Druzila and Typhon were here, but they weren’t standing guard imperiously, looking down their noses at me.
They’d been mounted as examples in the middle of the cathedral, upside-down on enormous X-shaped crosses of dark wood, dark chains binding their ankles and wrists. Their scythes hung before both of them, the blades carefully placed just over the pulses beating in their throats.
As I watched, Druzila struggled to take a breath, her face nearly plum from the blood pooled in her head. But the deeper the breath she took, the tighter the blade pressed into her throat.
A thin line of blood trickled over her neck and over her ear. She gave up and exhaled, taking tiny sips of breath instead.
This was their punishment for failing to follow Azazel’s orders. He’d told them to guard me.
Instead, Typhon had fallen asleep, and Druzila had taken the opportunity to air her petty little concerns when all of Dis was at stake.
I knew all of my men were capable of cruelty. It was one of the reasons I trusted them, oddly enough; they were cold enough to do what had to be done… but sometimes I wondered how far they might be capable of going if they didn’t rein themselves in.
I had no room in my heart to feel pity for either of these Grigori, though. They’d stood back when Dis needed all the hands it could get.
Druzila moaned as I walked past, but I didn’t look up. As a Watcher, she knew when Azazel gave an order, he meant it.
Typhon’s faint wheezing breaths followed me down the hall, but the parlor was empty except for a shade. I checked Vyra’s rooms, the dining room, both balconies, but with the exception of the odd bat-like Grigori I came across, most of whom took pains to avoid crossing paths with me, there was no sign of Azazel whatsoever.
I stopped on the balcony where Lucifer had gone flying with me. I felt Azazel here; his emotions were close, the mate mark warm. I closed my eyes and tugged at the bond between us, but he was concentrating hard, his mind a million miles away.
“Looking for the Lord Watcher?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the unexpected voice and spun around. Myriam stood in front of me, her red hair vivid even under the dark sky. Her strings of Fate were nowhere to be seen.
“Do you know where he is?” I asked, trying not to sound desperate, but the dream of Lucifer, and Satan crawling from his dragon’s body, were still so bright and real in my mind.
Myriam gave me a faint smile and pointed upwards.
I followed the gesture but saw nothing of note. Just the high battlements of the rest of Blackchapel.
“His library,” she said. “At the peak of Blackchapel.”