Forged in Fire (12 page)

“Instinct, I think,” he said, as if he hadn’t realized he’d done it. Weird.

I climbed under the gray down comforter, lying on my side. So cozy, but a frightening thought frosted my heart in ice.

“What if he summons me again?” I asked almost in a whisper as I snuggled my head into the pillow. The bed didn’t smell like him at all. Just clean, unused.

Jude gave me a closed-mouth smile.

“He won’t be able to. I’m going to chant you into a dreamless sleep. You’ll be safe.”

I nodded and closed my eyes. He switched off the pewter lamp on the side table. I felt one of his hands brush aside my hair, then remain still, covering my temple and forehead. He planted his other hand on my shoulder.

“Will I be able to sift?” I whispered.

“Sifting is a power of the angels. Only they can give this power to other Flamma.”

Eyes still closed, I asked, “But demons can sift too. He…Danté sifted.”

Jude remained quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing softly at my temple. “High demons can sift.”

My mind was already slipping into deep relaxation, but I managed one last question. “How?”

“They were once angels. They are the Fallen. Now, relax and go to sleep, Genevieve.”

Jude whispered words in Latin, lulling me into serenity. I caught some of them—
haven, encircled within, wings of, hearth and home
. The chant was songlike. It reminded me of the Gregorian chant my high school English teacher used to play while we took tests. The words didn’t make sense to enhance a dreamless sleep, but none of this really made sense. All I knew was that whatever he was doing chased away the edge of fear, sadness and confusion. Perhaps I imagined it, but as I slipped further into a quiet oasis of warmth, I felt someone combing my hair with featherlight fingers.

Chapter Twelve

Mary had been right. Professor Bennett’s exam on Milton was a torture device masquerading as an assessment of
Paradise Lost
. After ten short discussions and two multiparagraph essays requiring textual evidence, I thought my brain was going to melt. Bennett was such a sadist. He loved making us sweat, and he was doing a damn fine job of it today.

The exam had already begun when I’d crept in a minute late. Malcolm had given me a sharp, annoyed glance before burrowing back into his test. That was when I remembered I’d promised to call him after the incident in the French Quarter and had failed to keep that promise.
Geez, Genevieve. Can you get any more inconsiderate?

Mary gave me a two-fingered salute as she dropped her test on the pile on Bennett’s desk. Of course, Bennett wasn’t even present. His annoying grad assistant relaxed lazily in the professor’s chair, kicked back with his Converse shoes propped on the desk, flipping through some Marvel comic way too loudly. I stopped contemplating the agony of the test. Instead, I started devising the best way to torment a certain insensitive grad assistant—the rack seemed the best option at the moment, perhaps disembowelment—when Malcolm finally made his way to the front, plopping his exam down and making a hasty exit.

I scribbled my last paragraph, not really caring if I was right or wrong. Somehow, Bennett’s philosophy on angels and demons didn’t matter so much anymore. I knew a hell of a lot more than he did, regardless of what grade he gave me.

I threw my paper on his desk and ran after Malcolm. He had just passed through the double doors opening to the commons area. I sprinted, punching through the door and hurrying across the leaf-littered walkway.

“Malcolm! Wait!”

His shoulders hunched as he stopped, turning slowly. I was panting by the time I caught him.

“Hey.”

Awkward pause. “Hey.”

Damn. He was pissed.

“Listen. I’m sorry I didn’t call this weekend. There was just so much going on.”

You seriously have no idea. Like
so
much going on.

“Sure. I understand.”

But he didn’t.

“I’m sorry if I was rude the other night. I wasn’t ditching you, but I didn’t want my dad to worry.”

When did I become such an amazing liar? We started walking again, making our way to the far end of the commons toward a side street. I glanced down, thankful again to Jude for allowing me (yes, freaking allowing me) to stop by my apartment so I could change before he dropped me off at school. It would be even more awkward having this conversation in an oversize T-shirt that obviously belonged to a large male. I didn’t think I could explain that away so easily. Besides, I needed this high-necked hoodie sweatshirt to hide the ghastly bite mark purpled and tender at the base of my throat.

“No biggie.” Malcolm shrugged. “It would’ve been nice to know what that was all about, though.”

“Yeah. I know I owe you an explanation. It’s kind of complicated.”

Malcolm took hold of my forearm gently and stopped us both. He faced me, speaking low and even. “Try me.”

The expression on his face made my heart hurt. He really liked me, and I wasn’t so sure I couldn’t like him. We’d been friends for nearly two years, and he was fun to hang out with. I mean, this was the kind of guy I needed to date—funny, good-looking, a gentleman, and completely lacking in the dark-secrets-and-rage-issues department. I sighed.

“I can’t tell you exactly, but my dad gambles a bit on the side.” Not completely a lie. He gambles, but not at a casino, just with his buddies on poker night twice a month. “And, there were some guys who thought maybe my dad had cheated, and they were pretty upset about it.”

Well, the guys did accuse dad of cheating like every week, because he always won. They were so upset, they demanded he bring a case of beer if he beat them more than five rounds. I stopped talking, because anything else I might say would be a complete and total fabrication. I made this sort of and-that-was-that shrug of the shoulders, hoping he’d fill in the rest with his imagination.

“So, that guy was like a bodyguard or something, to watch for any sort of retaliation?”

I gave a sharp nod. A breeze caught a stray lock of hair that had fallen from my messy bun. “Something like that.”

Malcolm’s eyes followed the strand whispering across my lips. I tucked it back into place. His winning smile was back where it belonged.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore. I can see it’s personal.”

“Good. Thank you.”

The sudden rumble of a motorcycle engine pulled our eyes across the street. Jude had been so curt and quiet this morning, dropping me off without a word, I’d thought he might give me a reprieve from the babysitting routine. No dice, apparently.

“Are you kidding me?” Malcolm grumbled, not even trying to hide his disgust. “Genevieve, does your dad think there are mobsters who are going to attack you on campus?”

The biting sarcasm was so unlike Malcolm. It didn’t suit him at all.

“He can be really overprotective sometimes. Silly, I know.”

Malcolm glared at the man in denim and leather astride the sleek, black crotch rocket. “You’re not riding on that thing with him, are you?”

I suddenly felt sweat beading along my temples. I’d never had to evade and tap-dance around the truth so much. This charade was becoming exhausting. Finally, I just straight-up lied. “Yeah, Dad wants me to go straight to the dojo.”

“Whatever, Genevieve.”

Malcolm had moved away again, and for some reason, I couldn’t let him stalk off in a fog of bruised male ego.

“Hey!” I caught him by the arm. “Why don’t we go see that movie you were telling me about tonight? I could use a little R and R after that horrific midterm.”

“Really? You want to?”

“Sure I do!”

A bit too enthusiastic, even to my own ears.

“Will your bodyguard have to come?”

“No! Of course not!”
Oh crap. Of course, he will.

I winked and gave him my devilish smile. His brown hair slipped, covering part of one eye, making him look adorable, and I found myself excited about a night out with boyishly charming Malcolm.

“Sweet. Pick you up at six thirty.”

He leaned down and brushed a light kiss on my cheek. Okay. That was a little weird but sort of nice. I decided I needed to see if there could be something between us. Malcolm was perfect boyfriend material. Right?

The motorcycle across the street revved.

“Six thirty,” I repeated, then marched across the street.

I couldn’t see Jude’s eyes behind the helmet screen, but my VS sensed a definite unsettling aura in the air. I caught the helmet he chucked at me when I was a few feet away. I clipped it on and cinched my backpack tightly over both shoulders, then slid into place behind Jude, locking my arms around his waist. He cast that iron-clad armor on to me the moment I made contact with his body and mumbled something under his breath. All I caught was “kid” and “head” or “dead” or something.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He snapped his head sharply to the left. “Nothing.”

Then we went from zero to sixty in a blink. I squeaked and held on tighter. I swear Jude sped even faster. He was getting some sort of sadistic pleasure out of this, I was sure. A cool front had settled in after the rain. My hands were trembling by the time we wound our way through the Quarter. At a red light, Jude took me by the wrists and tucked my hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. His right hand lingered on my wrist within the pocket, his thumb brushing back and forth over the fleshy part of my palm. My heart leapt at the sensation. I dared not imagine this meant more than it did. Clearly, Jude felt some sort of protective responsibility for me and my well-being, though I still had no idea why. On green, his hands slipped back out to the handlebars. I pressed myself to his back, gleaning what warmth I could. Okay, maybe it wasn’t just for the body heat. I couldn’t help myself.

When he pulled into his spot on Dauphine Street and stopped the engine, I was reluctant to move, so nice and warm against him. An odd silence drew out. Perhaps only a few seconds, but it felt long and stuffed with too many thoughts that would remain unsaid. Finally, I lifted off the back. Without a glance in my direction, he marched ahead into the alcove. After making our way through the wrought-iron gate and into the courtyard area, he stopped and pointed to the left.

“I’m sorry. What?”

He wouldn’t speak to me, and I had no idea why. He seemed pissed off. What was it with everybody today? I followed his line of direction to see Goth Barbie sitting Indian style on a small patch of grass near the water fountain I’d heard so often.

“Am I supposed to…?”

Before I could finish my question, Jude was already gone. He sifted out in an electric snap.

“Rude much?”

I walked toward her. Her hair was the same as the other night, braided in a long golden rope down her back. Her nightclothes gone, now she wore stretchy black pants and a red long-sleeved knit top. She seemed to be in deep meditation as I approached, but gave me a brilliant smile when I stood only a foot from her.

“Hi, Genevieve. I’m Kat. Please have a seat.”

She gestured to the small grassy space before her. Her voice was soft but husky.

I took a seat, mirroring her position. To my great dismay, she was even more beautiful up close. Creamy-pale skin with a dusting of light freckles across her nose and cheeks. Dark eyes, the same forbidding shade as Jude’s. However, instead of flecks of gold, the inky color of her irises was broken only by small slivers of moss green. A burning churned in my stomach.

“I’m Genevieve, but I guess you already know that.”

She smiled. “Jude asked me to come, to train you in what I know of the Vessel.”

I’m sure I frowned. Though watered down, her accent sounded faintly British. “I thought Jude would train me.”

She laughed, a full throaty sound. “Well, he doesn’t have, shall we say, what it takes to train the gifts of a Vessel. One needs a softer temperament to find that peaceful place.”

She smiled a secretive smile. The burning increased. How long had she known Jude? And in what capacity? Friend? Lover?

“So, what do we do?”

“Shall we start with questions? I’m sure you have quite a few.”

Questions? Are you kidding me? Like a billion.

“Wow, um, where should I start?”

I was actually flustered as I gathered my thoughts together.

“How did I become a Vessel? I mean, why me?”

“That I do not know, I’m afraid. We all have our roles to play in this world and the next. This is yours.”

Strike one.

“Okay. How many Vessels are there in the world?”

“At present, I am certain there are a minimum of six, maybe more.”

“Where do they live? Are most in the US or in Europe or where?”

“Actually, none of them live here on earth.”

“Excuse me?”

“They live in their demons’ realm, actually, not here. The only time they surface is when possessed by their demon host. Now their demons reign over territories here. For instance, though I still don’t know his identity, I know that one high demon rules in New York, where I work.”

“As a Dominus Daemonum.”

“Yes.” She smiled again. “There are others in distant lands. You can bet that wherever there is disorder, chaos and war, a high demon probably rules there with a Vessel, if he has one.”

“But, I still don’t understand what it is a Vessel actually does. Why am I here? Other than being the target of every demon in the world, that is.”

“When a Vessel is fully awakened and has come into all of her power,” she started in a quiet voice, “she can use her gifts to destroy evil. Her visions of Sight can warn Flamma of Light. Her abilities as an empath can influence and manipulate the feelings and actions of others, including those of demons. Even more, she can banish demons to the farthest corners of hell.”

I gasped. “Like you? Like demon hunters?”

She nodded. “Yes, but without some of the drawbacks of our position.”

“Drawbacks such as?”

She flipped her braid and straightened her posture, her expression solemn. “The evil we fight can weigh us down over time.” She glanced away, obviously uncomfortable. “A Vessel would feel none of that.”

“But, Kat, how does this help demons?”

Her gaze shifted back to me. “If you are corrupted by evil, all those gifts would become the gifts of darkness, to do terrible things.”

A shudder shook me to the bone as something finally dawned on me.

“So, none of the Vessels are actually free of a demon host, as you say. They are all owned and possessed by a high demon?”

She nodded.

“Has any Vessel you’ve ever known been able to live free of a demon host?” My voice sounded low and choked with fear.

“None that lived.”

I blinked hard and gazed at the fountain on our left. I’d never actually seen the figures poised in white stone above the trickling water. Eros and Psyche locked in a passionate embrace. He held her voluptuous nude form, partially horizontal, from behind—his right hand caressing her face that fell back to gaze up at him, his left wrapped around her rib cage and gently cupped her breast. Her arms encircled his head as he dipped low to gaze on her beauty, his wings lifted high as if he would take flight with her at any moment. I jumped when Kat put her hand over mine in my lap.

“Don’t worry, Genevieve. I never knew any of these other Vessels. I don’t think they had anyone to train them, to help them, before they were captured. Some survived and fought for several years, but eventually, they succumbed to the darkness or to death.” I couldn’t breathe, wondering how in the world I would survive. “But Jude tells me there is inner strength in you, and—” Her full lips tightened into a line.

“And what? What is it?”

She glanced up at the balcony overlooking the courtyard as if searching for the owner’s stalwart form.

“He doesn’t want me saying too much, but I think you have a right to know because I’m sure I’m right.”

“Right about what?”