Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (14 page)

And then she was gone. Disappeared and transported somewhere else on Earth, or maybe even Hell. Time didn’t exist for an Angel of Death. She could be everywhere at any moment. Eternity was like a level plane of glass that she traveled along.

“Getting reacquainted?” Camille asked with a damning sneer.

“I can’t even handle your issues right now,” Clark said.

Zarachiel and Maya came over then. “What’s happening?” the Archangel asked.

“She’s going to talk to Gabriel. But she thinks it’s possible that Lucifer is alive. She believed me.”

“We all believe you,” Maya added, reaching out to take Clark’s hand, which won her a smoldering glare from Camille. The air between them turned up twenty more degrees. Clark pulled his hand free.

“While Michaela goes around to gossip, we have bigger issues,” Camille said roughly, her feline voice like a growl.

“Like what?”

“Like a whole clutch of angels and demons gathered in an abandoned church barely a mile away.”

Chapter Nine

“G
ive me one good reason why you’re not in your quarters,” Liam growled when Clark burst into his office without knocking.

Camille, Zarachiel, and Maya followed him, spanning out the width of the office. Dylan stood off to the side, having been in the office before Clark entered. It was clear he’d interrupted something between the Keeper and Dylan, and from the look on Dylan’s face, it hadn’t been pleasant.

Clark couldn’t say he felt sorry for the asshole, either.

“There’s a church full of demons and fallen angels hiding out about a mile from here. Is that good enough?” Clark snapped back.

Liam jerked up from his chair, knocking over a glass of water. The liquid spilled out across his papers, blurring the ink and ruining the pages. But he didn’t notice or care. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. There was a demon in my room. It flew away, but Camille followed it to the church. We need to go there. Figure out how many are there, and if we can take them.”

Liam cursed, staring down at the small pond on his desk. Dylan might have been a grade-A douchebag, but he understood a fight when he saw one. He was already checking his weapons, loading extra clips, and strapping them to his body. Clark had nothing but the pair of knives Lucifer had left for him on his father’s grave. They’d been strapped to his thighs ever since. He hoped they wouldn’t need them.

Deciding quickly on a course of action, Liam nodded, making Clark like him even more. “We move fast and quiet out there. Figure out what’s going on and how many we’re up against. Then we come straight back. I don’t want anything going down out there until we have ourselves completely prepared.”

“Do you want to bring Bailey’s squad?” Dylan asked.

“No. Just us. I don’t want too many people moving in those woods and possibly drawing attention to us. We go now. Except you.” Liam pointed at Maya.

“She goes. I don’t trust Ezekiel,” Clark said. “Camille will stay back with her in case something happens.”

“Excuse me?” Camille regarded him like he’d grown two heads.

“You’re the only one that can get her out of there the fastest. With your wings,” Clark said. From the corner of his eye, he saw Zarachiel go still, the angel’s eyes too carefully neutral. But it was the truth. Clark couldn’t risk something happening to Maya. Or Camille.

“Fine. Move out,” Liam said, heading out the door first, his heavy boots nearly silent on the floor.

He had his own guns strapped into a shoulder holster. When Gabriel had taken control of Hell, he’d allocated some of Michaela’s precious wing bones to the Descendants and Nephilim. It was horrible to think that Clark’s knives and likely Liam’s bullets were laced with pieces of his friend’s body, but it was a fact of their world. It was the only way they could kill angels. At least the bad ones. Maybe even some of the good ones that deserved it; Clark’s eyes sidled over to Camille as they hurried from the compound, keeping to the back halls so they didn’t draw attention to themselves. The place was eerily quiet; so quiet, in fact, that it felt as though everyone had vanished, leaving behind the empty estate, like a hulking shipwreck on some lost beach. Clark shivered.

“Watch her closely,” Clark whispered, indicating Maya with a tilt of his chin.

Camille told him what he could do to himself.

“That’s rude,” Clark said. “You’re supposed to be holy.”

“Camille,” Liam interrupted. “Move up here. Lead the way. Quickly.”

They were outside the compound when Liam spoke. With an easy flick of her wings, Camille lifted over the group’s heads, landing silently in front. She pointed toward the west wall and the foreboding dark woods beyond. Clark didn’t miss the fact that Dylan’s eyes hovered on the angel’s tight ass for a long moment.

“Eyes forward, asshole,” Clark whispered.

“Fu—”

“Shut up, you two,” Liam said, hissing the words over his shoulder with a tight glare.

The gibbous moon cast silver light over the compound’s perimeter. The wall loomed ahead, its stone purple under the night sky. Their steps swished through the taller grass like ghostly whispers. Something fluttered overhead, like wings, bringing everyone to an abrupt stop, their faces to the sky. Camille lifted off the ground to inspect, slipping silently through the reaches of the bare tree limbs and disappearing from view.

Clark felt sick. She kept doing that: disappearing. He really needed to tell her about the dream, though he doubted she would be more careful.

A moment later, she reappeared above their heads. Her white wings, glowing warmly in the night, fanned out to soften her landing beside them. “An owl,” she said quietly. “But keep a lookout for demons.”

She pulled out her own sword to illustrate her point. The metal was dinged and chipped in places; the gleam long worn off. It was nothing like the magnificent swords the Archangels carried. Throne angels weren’t meant to be glorious in battle; they were the front lines, the brutal, ruthless ones. And Camille’s sword was nothing less than its severe intent.

Even though the church was merely a mile from the outer reaches of the compound, they moved slowly and quietly through the woods. The trees were so dense, their dead limbs thick all around them, that the group could barely see a few feet in front of them. The only ones who could—Zarachiel and Camille—kept a sharp eye out, their heads tilting toward every sound.

A group of bats fluttered past above the trees, their inky bodies lost to the sky. Maya reached out and took Clark’s hand. He didn’t spare a glance to confirm it, but he felt her fear in the tremors radiating down from her arm.

They crested a slight ridge, and Clark knew they were close to the church because Camille slowed even more, moving along at a crouch, with her sword tight in both hands and eyes roving across the landscape. With merely a nod between the two angels, Zarachiel fell back to bring up the rear, his own curving machete drawn. Before they reached the lip of the ridge, Camille eased onto her belly, crawling forward with her wings tucked brutally flat against her back. Clark eased onto his knees, his hands sinking into the damp leaves. He lowered himself onto his stomach and smelled the earth thick in his nose. Dirt and sticks stuck to his hands and ruined his good shirt, but he focused on Camille. She looked over her shoulder to the others and pointed forward before drawing the finger across her throat in a slashing motion.

Clark didn’t know exactly what she meant by it, but he got the general concept: be quiet or die.

They fanned out to get better views. Zarachiel and Maya stayed crouched behind them, watching their backs. Clark eased up beside Camille, his eyes going to the gully below.

The abandoned church sat in an overgrown clearing. Its steeple, complete with a cross affixed atop, was knocked askew, as if it had been blasted apart. The roof of the building was caving in at spots; the walls bowed out dangerously beneath the tilted load. The landscaping was badly overgrown, twining along the walls like a green spider web encasing the building. Inside, all was dark, the moon the only light over the clearing. Nothing moved. No one spoke.

Liam tapped Clark’s shoulder, making a fall back gesture. Clark did the same to Camille, who in turn tapped Dylan. They slinked back to Zarachiel’s position. Staying low, Liam pointed to Clark and himself. He signaled Zarachiel and Dylan to go around the ridge to the far side and check things quickly and meet back at the bottom of the ridge. With a quick flick of his fingers, he sent Camille and Maya farther back down the ridge to a presumably safe distance. Everyone disbanded, moving without a word. Camille met Clark’s eyes briefly before she took Maya’s arm and turned her away.

Together, Clark and Liam scuttled back up the ridge’s point on their bellies. From his pocket, Liam pulled out a pair of binoculars. He searched the clearing and the woods around it for a long moment. Finally, with a shake of his head, he tucked the binoculars away and looked at Clark.

Clark met his glance.

And saw it over Liam’s shoulder.

The demon was higher born than the one in Clark’s bedroom. Its body was disturbingly thin, with bones pressing against its scaly skin that glinted iridescent in the silver moon’s light. Clark surged to his feet, his eyes never leaving the creature. But it didn’t advance; instead, it remained in the shadows of a tree, crouched as if it was waiting. Its eyes, blacker than the darkness around it, remained fixed on Clark, never blinking. It didn’t even glance at Liam when the Keeper rose up beside Clark. It was so still that it could’ve been a shadow except for its odd, jutting angles from its elongated limbs that were folded up tightly in a crouch.

Its waiting unsettled Clark more than if it had outwardly attacked them. Something felt wrong about it. Something wasn’t right. Clark hissed in understanding and spun around.

“Good to see you again, Clark,” Lucifer said, advancing through the trees.

He moved with a silent grace, his lean body gliding over the ground. He was exactly as he’d been in Clark’s dream: harsher, crazed, and missing something vital inside him that had once made the fallen angel somewhat likable, as crazy as that sounded. Lucifer smiled, the motion stretching his pale, waxy skin. He didn’t look well, Clark realized.

“Can’t say the same,” Clark answered. He glanced back at the demon in time to see it move forward a few paces. He touched Liam’s arm, jerking his chin toward the creature. Understanding, Liam fixed his eyes on the demon and didn’t move.

“I see you’ve met my little pet,” Lucifer said. “It’s proved quite useful for getting into tight spaces, like chimneys, for example. I have more of them. Of course, they aren’t here right now, since your little bitch found us earlier. Is she around?” Lucifer asked, turning his gaze to the ridge bottom.

“No.” Clark felt a tiny flicker of relief that Lucifer hadn’t found the girls yet. He hoped they’d heard the conversation atop the ridge and flown away.

“Too bad,” Lucifer said with a regretful cluck of his tongue. “She’s a beautiful creature. Powerful. Lethal. I’d quite like to add her to my collection.”

He didn’t talk like the old Lucifer, Clark noted. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, unable to keep the question at bay.

Lucifer’s horizontal smile deepened into the creases of his cheeks, making it look infinitely eviler. He leaned against a nearby tree and tucked his hands into the pockets of his pressed black slacks. The angel had always dressed sharply, Clark would give him that. The cut of his white shirt was perfectly tailored, tucking around his trim form. Clark couldn’t see his new wings, but he knew they were back there, folded out of view.

“That’s a good question because I don’t rightly know. Nothing good, I can tell you that. I remember wandering in a vast desert, lost and aimless. It was sweltering. Every step felt like death, but I couldn’t stop walking. I was starving, losing myself to a madness that only can be born from an endless nothing.” Lucifer pulled himself out of his reverie, where he’d lost himself to the memory, it seemed. He turned his sharp gaze to Clark. “I thought about you lot. All the time, actually. About your power.” His eyes drifted to Clark’s arms. “And about the fact that you’d killed me. Sentenced me to this.”

“I didn’t mean to kill you,” Clark said.

The demon moved another step closer, flanking them from behind. There was nowhere to run. Clark doubted they could corner and kill Lucifer easily without backup, which left luck or mercy to save them. Lucifer seemed scant on the mercy end, so Clark started searching his brain, focusing his thoughts on the markings across his arms, calling forth the power. Sometimes it came to him, easy to read as anything, like when Ezekiel had challenged him earlier. Sometimes, like now, it was just a jumble of symbols, incomprehensible when Clark needed it the most.

So. Freaking. Typical.

Lucifer made a snorting sound in the back of his throat, his eyes glinting with anger. His smile fell away as he leaned forward, his manner turning dangerously serious. “You set that fire on me, commanded it to devour me. You rendered me helpless against it with your power, but I fought with everything I had. I tried to pull away from it. And when it sucked me in and tore me apart cell by cell, I thought about you again. And how you had taken everything from me. Everything I loved and cherished.”