“Satan committed atrocities in this place for centuries,” Samael said. “It’s no wonder his acts of torture and depravity left a mark.”
There was only one thing we needed to know. “Can they hurt us?”
“Yes,” Samael said. “If they wish to, they can. They’ll draw on our energy to do so.”
“Can we hurt them?”
Samael shook his head. “We can’t hurt them, because we don’t exist on the same plane as they do, but they’re able to slip onto ours and do harm.”
“Then we barrel our way through,” Azazel said. “We all heal fast. We’ll evade as much as possible.”
But I had a better idea. “Or we provide a diversion and draw them away from the corridor.”
“No,” Azazel said.
“You haven’t even heard my idea, yet.”
“I don’t need to hear it to know it will involve you playing decoy.”
“Look, I might be able to communicate with them if I lower my shields.”
“Hell, no,” Mal said. “Those things are pain. You do not want to feel that.”
I met Mal’s gaze levelly. “I can handle it. It’s a good plan. I can circle back and join you guys.”
He arched a brow. “And what makes you think you’ll get them to follow you? You can sense other’s emotions, but you can’t make them feel things… Not like I can.”
“Fine. Then we both play decoy.”
Azazel didn’t look happy and was about to protest when Samael cut him off. “It’s a good plan.” His expression was thoughtful. “But it’s also dangerous. I won’t put you in unnecessary danger, blossom.”
But I was determined. “We can do this. You focus on getting to Lilith. Mal and I will lead the specters away from the corridor to buy you time.”
I could tell neither male was happy with this idea, but it was a solid plan that would get us to Lilith fast and with minimal damage.
Samael nodded curtly, and Azazel’s jaw clenched.
“Be careful,” he bit out. “Mal…”
“I got this,” Mal said. He looked down at me. “We got this. Where’s the corridor?”
“I’ll show you,” Keon said.
We followed him into the fortress.
The obsidian steps leading up to the second floor were dark and ominous before us.
Samael, Keon, and Azazel crouched in the shadows out of view.
Mal reached for my hand. “You ready?”
I nodded and slipped my palm into his.
We ascended together and my skin began to prickle with awareness of an otherworldly presence.
I’d worked with ghosts most of my adult life, and I’d never felt anything like this. Despair, hatred, and hunger. It rivaled the malignant. It rivaled the depravity that resided in The Eye. Sorrow, pain, and emptiness clawed at my chest until it was a hollow vacuum of nothingness.
Thing was, I hadn’t dropped my shields. How strong would these emotions be if I did?
We reached the top of the staircase, took a right like Keon had instructed, and the awful crawling sensation that had bloomed to life across my skin intensified.
“Do you feel that?” Mal whispered.
“Yeah.”
The stationary drapes began to billow and laughter filled the corridor ahead of us. My gaze locked on the red door.
Keon was certain Lilith was behind it.
What if he was wrong?
No time to worry about that now, because visages materialized out of thin air—horrific mask-like faces contorted in representations of mirth. My stomach cramped and nausea rolled up my throat. Each visage grew a skeletal, emaciated body. Skin hung off bone, and muscle and ligaments were visible through horrific wounds.
Satan had done this.
“Join us,” several voices said in unison. “Be us.”
Yeah, no thanks.
“You’re lonely,” Mal said. “You hunger for something, and you don’t know what that is.”
“Yessss.”
“I can show you.” Mal squeezed my hand. “Get ready to run,” he whispered.
The specters went still as if mesmerized.
Mal was doing his thing and planting a suggestion in their minds.
Their heads fell back, and a collective moan rose into the air.
Mal tugged me back a step. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
The specters’ heads snapped forward, and they surged toward us.
We turned and ran.
Azazel
Fee and Mal run down the staircase and take a left into the maze that’s the first floor. Every instinct demands I go after her and protect her, but I remind myself of her resilience and determination. She is perfectly capable, and she’s not alone.
Mal will have her back.
They’ll be fine.
Samael slips from the shadows and I see my struggle echoed on his face. He loves her, even though he barely knows her. How can that be? He shakes his head slightly and heads for the steps
I catch Keon’s yellow gaze in the gloom as it tears itself from the corridor Fee has run down. His hands are fisted as if he’s holding himself back.
He loves her.
The thought is a searing conviction that shatters me, and instead of rage or indignation, pity twists my heart.
He catches me watching him, and his lip curls in derision as the mask of the assassin falls back into place.
A façade.
A cloak.
Damn the fool.
Damn him for feeling what he feels.
We take the steps two at a time. The corridor is deserted, silent, and empty, and the red door screams at us to open it.
Samael presses his palm to the painted wood and closes his eyes. A shuddering sigh rattles his chest.
“Please be here,” he says.
Then he pushes open the door and power stings my skin. I draw a sharp breath, but Samael passes over the threshold as if he feels nothing.
Keon makes a strangled sound as he steps closer to the door. He backs up a little before forcing himself to advance. He feels the abrasive energy too. Could this be what’s kept the specters out of this room? But my thoughts take a back seat as I enter the room properly and see my mother for the first time in weeks.
At least I think the figure curled up on the floor is her. She’s in a beautifully crafted cage with fleur de lis decal. But it’s the silver runes etched into the metal that grip me.
“Demon trap,” Samael says. “The bastard.” He crouches by the cage. “Lilith, my love. Can you hear me?”
The figure in the cage slowly raises her head, long dark hair falling like a waterfall to frame her pale, elfin face.
She’s too pale, and her eyes are dark smudges in her face, dazed and confused.
“No more…” She whispers. “Mammon, no more.” She hugs her arms to her, and I see the red angry welts for the first time.
“What is that?”
Samael growls low in his chest. “The lash of Dante, the only weapon that can leave a scar on an original fallen. It belonged to Satan. Mammon said he destroyed it.”
But he didn’t. He kept it, and he used it on my mother.
“Lilith… Mother… We’re here to get you out.”
Lilith looks my way with a frown.