Ignited Page 23

  I slow my climb. I know I’m asking a lot of you lately, but may I ask you one more thing? Pay attention to Council’s reactions.

  Alexander slows even more. What do you mean? They don’t have “reactions.” They have no emotions.

  But what if they’re lying?

  I bring us both to a full halt.

  I think they do have emotions—always have. After all, if they never had any emotions, then what started the first Holy War?

  He raises a brow before glancing over his shoulder at their home. If you’re right, MJ . . . everything is going to get ugly.

  We resume walking in silence, preparing our minds for the challenge ahead.

  With less than fifteen steps to go, I ask, Ready?

  He loudly releases his breath. If we get through this, he says, nodding toward the entryway, you also better explain why you’ve hidden your thoughts from them this long.

  I grimace. The last thing I want to be thinking about before meeting the Council is the years I spent fighting the Acquisitioner in secret. But after how badly I handled things with Maddy, I realize I need to start coming clean with the people who matter to me.

  Deal, I say.

  . . .

  The Council steps outside to greet us. Raphael looks the youngest with curly blond hair and hazel eyes. But the harsh edges of his nose, brows, and jawline ensure he’s taken seriously.

  Gabriel’s thick black hair contrasts against the pristine white building behind them. His face is stoic, taking in all with his sharp brown eyes—and giving nothing away in return.

  Michael’s bright blue eyes gaze between us. That same thirst for war from this morning clings to him.

  Alexander falters, slowing his stride. He and most other Protectors meet with the Archangels only on rare occasions. As the leader of the Protectors, I meet with them regularly. I’m used to the brilliance that surrounds them.

  They welcome me with the same handshake from my previous life.

  “Welcome back, Protector MJ,” Michael says. “Welcome, Protector Alexander. I presume you both have come to discuss today’s developments.”

  I try to shut out any panic as I try to decipher what “developments” he knows about from today.

  “It is curious,” Raphael says, arching a brow while staring at me, “that Eight joined us so soon.”

  Relief swells inside me, though I keep my emotions masked. They’re talking about my assignment. Lauren, victim eight, must have arrived, having her file read and judgment passed.

  “Yes,” I say, “the assignment is why we are here. I have a potential suspect for the killer, but I need your help before I search for him.”

  Alexander shuffles from foot to foot behind me. I make a small motion for him to steady, hoping they didn’t catch it.

  Gabriel’s dark eyes narrow speculatively on us.

  “You are aware we cannot step on Mortal Ground,” Michael says. “Not unless the Holy War is confirmed.” The undercurrent of his voice makes it clear the law is still a sore subject for him.

  Before I became a Protector, the Archangels from both sides walked among mortals. They were treated as gods and enjoyed the spoils given to them. Sometimes the spoils included women. The children created—the Nephilim—were all evil and ultimately destroyed. The Archangels were forbidden to visit Mortal Ground, except in the case of the Holy War.

  But at least once a century, Michael and his brothers leave to experience the changes taking place on Mortal Ground. It’s supposed to be a secret mission. But like petulant children still upset over Father showing favoritism to the mortals, the Archangels leave their marks on the mortal world. Each of them has posed for famous works of art. The most recognizable and intact pieces are the Creation of Adam on the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel; Michael is Adam. The statue entitled The Thinker is Gabriel. Raphael is the statue David.

  “I admit,” Michael suddenly says, “we did not expect those pieces to be preserved for so long.”

  I cringe, knowing he just heard everything I thought. I called my leaders petulant children. “Sir, I—”

  “Do not apologize, Protector MJ,” he states. Then he chuckles. “Unlike your mortal companions, I am unaffected when a friend speaks the truth.”

  “Still, it was impolite.”

  “Ah yes, polite,” Raphael says. “One of the many gifts Father gave to mortals.”

  Gabriel scoffs.

  Their tone surprises me, but I don’t comment. It’s not my place to speak of the discontent between Father and the Archangels.

  Alexander glances at me, arching a brow. I know he’s surprised by it too.

  Michael casts sharp looks at his brothers. Their tempers neutralize, becoming impassive once more.

  If I don’t change the subject now, our thoughts will get us in trouble.

  “Please allow me to clarify,” I say, trying to resume our original discussion. “We did not come for your help on Mortal Ground, but rather here.”

  Raphael leans his head to the side, staring at me with interest.

  I take a deep breath, stealing myself to ask an unthinkable question. Please let them agree. They’re my only hope.

  “May we have permission to use Od Libro Aeterna Damnatione?”

  Four beings around me gasp—Alexander included. Incredibly, I don’t react. I’m sure no one has ever asked to look at the Book of Eternal Damnation. It lists every demon found in the twelve Castes. Because demons can’t be reborn, the book spans all the way back to the beginning of man.

  The Archangels compose themselves, but they don’t respond. Experience says they’re communicating amongst each other. If I say anything now, it won’t go in my favor.

  After what feels like ages, Gabriel and Michael step off to the side as Raphael steps toward us.

  “Do you swear your interest in the book lies solely with your assignment?” Raphael asks.

  “I do so swear.”

  Raphael continues to stare at me while the other two fix on Alexander. I can feel Raphael’s intrusion, poking and prodding deeper into my mind.

  This time, I feed him my suspicions of a demon named Damien, suggesting he may be the killer. Alexander often says there’s no such thing as coincidence. If it’s true, then Damien is connected to my assignment.

  “Did you come by this name from your psychic?” Raphael asks, arching a brow.

  Panic flares inside me, but I snuff it out as quickly as I can.

  “I admit,” Michael says, “the news was rather interesting when Protector Gary mentioned your psychic, considering you had not spoken of working with one when we met.”

  “Yes, the name Damien did come from the psychic, but her abilities are new and unpredictable,” I reply, trying to remain calm. “The visions are not clear, which is why I am here, asking to look at the book. I hope this lead will enable us to prevent the death of girl nine.”

  Silence follows, then I feel them poking into my mind, deeper than they have ever before.

  I project as much safe information as I can. No matter what, I cannot buckle under the strain. My mission is too important.

  After what feels like ages, they release me.

  “I grant you permission,” Raphael says. “Prepare yourself, though. The book is not for the faint of heart.”

  He turns and motions for us to enter. As I walk by them, I feel the weight of their suspicions like chains around my neck.

  The interior of the Basilica Trascendentium is split into three parts. To the right and left, archways lead into other rooms. I count eight on each side. The main area, though, is wide open, stretching the length of the building. Toward the back, sitting on a round stone table, is book larger than any I have ever seen.

  Alexander and I walk toward it. Somehow, even though sunlight flows in from every angle, the book and table are shaded. It’s as if an unseen force is blocking the light.

  Alexander’s stride slows, and he glances around.

  Are you sure about this, MJ? he asks.

>   I don’t answer. Instead I keep moving forward, hoping it will bring me a step closer to finding answers.

  I stop in front of the table. A ring of soot circles the book. A sour smell of rot and decay clings to the air. In such a place, the effect is staggering.

  The cover is thick and black. After a deep breath, I unlock two leather straps and open it. I expected the pages to be frail, but they’re as stiff as the day the book was made.

  Ancient Latin is scrawled across golden pages. Name after name after name.

  Immediately, I feel crushed, as if this massive book were being dropped right upon me. There will be millions of Damiens. I won’t find him. It’s hopeless.

  I’m going to fail. I’m going to fail this mission. I’m going to fail her, just as I have failed everyone. She will die, and I will lose her forever. That will be my curse, to spend eternity alone with the knowledge that I couldn’t protect her.

  Suddenly I realize what I’ve done. I’ve let my thoughts free.

  I whip around, preparing for the Archangels’ wrath. But they are gone.

  “Are you okay?” Alexander whispers, placing a hand on my shoulder. His brown eyes search mine.

  I swallow and nod. “I’m fine.”

  Without another word, we dive in. We sit and begin searching for the name Damien—or any variation of it, just to be safe—among the seven highest classifications of demon Castes. We rule out the lower five Castes, seeing as they aren’t powerful enough to kill someone—whether with their own abilities or by third party.

  The passing of time is irrelevant. I have no idea of how long it is before Alexander shuts the book, slouches back in his chair, and exhales.

  “That’s quite a list.”

  I lean back and sigh. Even ruling out the lower Castes, we still found over three hundred thousand Damiens or variants.

  I am going to fail her.

  Chapter Forty

  Maddy

  The masked demon silently watches me from her spot on the love seat as I stand in front of the blank TV. As her legs continue to swing back and forth, I drift back through my week, looking to discover how and why I ended up inside Lauren.

  It wasn’t my first vision of a death. Elizabeth showed me the vision of MJ’s death. That vision was much different, though. I was inside Lifa, but it was nothing like being inside Lauren—dying with her.

  Before Elizabeth pushed me into the fountain—her Time Keeper—she talked about my dreams . . . that they’re “broken.” She was so scared about that.

  The memories resurface, repeating Elizabeth’s words about the broken dreams: If you aren’t linked to them anymore, that means your mind is open to any one of us who knows about you. Someone else could use it to show you things, as I have. They can use it to make you do things or to find you.

  Hearing my thoughts, the masked demon eyes me.

  “Where’s Elizabeth?” I ask. “We need her.”

  She shakes her head as if I’ve answered something incorrectly. “That is not the point to focus on.”

  “Yes, it is. She controls the dreams. She can fix them. I thought something happened to her after she helped me at Justin’s house, but then she pushed one of MJ’s team members when we were at school today. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “That was not her.”

  I blink. “Then who was it?”

  “Someone invested in your future. I cannot tell you more than that.” Before I can even speak, she continues, “Your first assumption was closest to the truth: Elizabeth has not been heard from since helping you at the demon’s house.”

  My heart stills. Another person I care about is missing.

  “She knew the risks of helping you,” the masked demon replies.

  “What does that mean? Is she in danger?”

  “She is dead, Maddy.” I can sense a wry smile behind the mask. “She can handle whatever is being done to her.”

  “But what is being done to her? Who’s doing it to her? Where’s Damien? He wouldn’t allow her to get—”

  “Stop,” she says, rising and coming over to me. She places her hands on my arms. Her essence rushes in, breaking up my worries.

  “Calm down. You are our priority—Elizabeth knows that. Once you are safe, she will be also. Finding her now would not solve anything. It would only put you at a greater risk. Right now, you need to stop wasting time and figure out why you had a vision of this girl’s death.”

  Her essence splits and rushes into my mind. Within seconds, Elizabeth’s words loop again: your mind is open to any one of us who knows about you . . .

  The masked demon releases me. As the words fade, my mouth slowly falls open.

  That’s why I had the vision of Lauren dying when I didn’t with the other victims. Now that Elizabeth’s Time Keeper is broken, the demon is somehow sending my soul into his victims.

  He knows about me.

  I look into the masked demon’s red eyes, searching for answers.

  “For nearly seventeen years, the killer could only speculate about your existence. It was not certain you were even alive. But by succeeding in sending your soul into girl eight today, the killer now knows, without a doubt, you are alive. The killer can connect with your soul. It does not know your true identity or physical whereabouts.” She pauses. “Yet.”

  “Does this mean I’ll have visions of the others’ deaths if the demon isn’t stopped?”

  The masked demon doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. At the moment, the killer believes you may be one of these remaining girls on the target list. Regardless, with access to your soul, the killer is sending you into each victim. You are meant to suffer—and possibly die—with each target.”

  I can’t go through that. Not again and again as each girl dies in my place. I don’t care if I might somehow survive these visions. I just . . . can’t face that again.

  The masked demon shakes her head to correct me once more. “The visions are dangerous, yes. But what is more important is that with this connection to your soul, sooner or later the killer will find you. It is critical, therefore, that you understand why the killer is after you.”

  I’m a bit numb as she maneuvers me back to the couch. Then she turns on the TV and fast-forwards to my conversation with Duane in the guest room. Without any explanation, she presses play, and I relive it all again.

  As I watch, she sits in the love seat beside the couch, again swinging her feet over the edge.

  Although it’s still strange to see my life from the outside, and although what Duane tells me is still terrible, it’s somewhat easier to take it all in now. This time, I can really focus because I’m not overwhelmed with shock. I lean in toward the screen.

  Once the scene is finished, she turns the TV off again. Again without a word, she looks over at me. She’s waiting for me to say something. To realize something. I can see only her eyes from behind the mask, but they’re dim, almost haunted.

  I flop back on the couch in frustration. “What am I missing?” I ask.

  She links her fingers over her stomach. “Seattle to Atlanta is a long distance for a baby to travel on its own.”

  Someone—mortal or otherwise—obviously brought me to Atlanta. All Duane said was that the others “found” me. Duane didn’t know me until I showed up outside my parents’ door in Atlanta, so one of the others must have brought me there. It had to be someone who wanted to help me. Someone who cared for me enough to take me across the states.

  “Elizabeth,” I say, voicing my thoughts. “She found me beside the car. She said she was about to cross over but was pulled back for some reason. She found me and must have followed as the rescue team brought me to the hospital. And then she must have moved me after the hospital caught fire.”

  Although I can’t see her face, I get the sense the masked demon is smiling.

  Questions pour out of my mouth all at once. “Is Elizabeth one of the ‘others’ Duane mentioned? Are they working together? What about Damien? She told me she brought Damien to me. A
nd your master”—I nod toward the huge desk—“you said he’s helping me too, right?”

  Looking at the stone desk, suddenly I wonder about Damien. I know he’s a demon and a powerful one. He could have demons working for him, such as the masked demon. Elizabeth, at least, believes he is trying to help me. Could Damien be her master?

  I know she can hear my thoughts, but she doesn’t reply. “Can I meet him, your master?” I ask out loud.

  The masked demon stiffens. Her eyes flash to the door. Mine follow, expecting it to open. It doesn’t.

  “No. My master is next in line for the throne. He cannot get involved, which is why he charged me with watching over you.”

  It can’t be Damien, then. Damien was trying to leave Hell, not take it over.

  Sadness curls around me. I didn’t realize it until just now, but I wanted it to be Damien. I wanted to believe he was helping me. If not for me, then for Elizabeth.

  “Listen,” she says, “you are doing well piecing things together. But you still have more to uncover.”

  I release my breath in a huff. More? What more could there possibly be?

  “Something very important,” she stresses.

  I stand and pace by the TV, replaying in my mind everything Duane told me, searching for something left unsaid. The conversation begins to mix as if in a blender. The words spin round and round, but a few points stick out.

  My mother’s car accident. The twelve girls’ parents dying the same day. And sacrifices.

  “Are you sure it was an accident?” the masked demon asks, listening to my thoughts.

  My gaze flashes to her. I’m unable to speak. Unable to think. It can’t be true.

  “The killer knew your parents,” she says.

  She stands and slowly moves toward me. Her eyes are distant. Even more haunted. Pained. She blinks.

  “The killer caused your mother’s death.”

  No.

  My mother is not only dead but murdered.

  I sway, and she places her hand on my shoulder to steady me. Her essence rushes in, filling my broken heart.

  “Many beings are forbidden from taking a life themselves,” she says, “so they use other means. The killer must have compelled the other driver to crash into your mother.”