Waltzing into Damnation Page 3

  He grins at the dagger as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen. “Call me Andras.”

  “Take a step back, Andras. I am not comfortable with you so close to me.”

  He stays.

  “Please give me some room, or I’ll leave.”

  He moves one foot back and then the other, ever so slowly.

  I sheath my dagger under my cloak but keep my hand at the ready beside it. “What are you proposing to help me with?”

  “I suppose the only situation that would have you sneaking into my quarters well past a decent hour . . . especially for a married woman.”

  My shoulders stiffen at his words, and I grip a handful of my dress, just to tether me. “What do you know about my situation?”

  “I know why you wore a high collar in the summer heat. I also know that the man who whispers that he will murder you every night at the crack of your door plans to follow through with his threats.”

  “That’s. . .” I squeeze my hand into a fist to stop myself from pulling out my dagger again, my nails biting into my palm. “I will not continue this conversation in darkness; move so I may see your face.”

  “You speak to me as one of your servants, but I am not.”

  “Please, Karlsson… Andras.”

  He shifts slightly, a step to the left and a pivot, but enough so that candlelight flickers across his strong features. He always reminds me of the birds that follow him around, intelligent, watchful, plotting.

  I pull the cloak back away from my face. “Am I here because you want a sum for your silence?”

  “I want what I said, to help you.” He leans toward me, just the slightest bit.

  Determined to not move away, I lift my chin so I can look him straight in his glowing green eyes. “How would you help me?”

  There’s a flash of white teeth, but the smile vanishes the moment I see it. “I could kill him for you if you asked me to.”

  “No.”

  “Ah, so you enjoy his visits?”

  “I would spit on his grave, but I will not go to Hell for such a man.”

  He snorts out a laugh. “There is a man you would go to Hell for?”

  “I would go to Hell for a man I love, but never for a man I despise.”

  Andras stares at me for a long time, his eyes embers burning in the darkness. “You speak the truth.” He sounds surprised. “Though I do not think you know of what you speak.”

  I turn away, fixing my gaze on the lit candle. “What is your interest in my situation? What is it to you if he follows through with his threats?”

  “It was of passing interest before you came tonight, but now the situation will be my obsession until it comes to its end.”

  “All my life, I have been for men’s entertainment—barmaid, prize, wife. I suppose it is only right that my death should be a play for your amusement.”

  “I will help you, Lady Elena,” he says as if there’s something he can actually do to help me.

  “By murdering him on my word? Murder or ordering it has the price of my immortal soul. I think not.” I turn away.

  His hand grabs my forearm, fingers squeezing.

  Shocked, I unsheathe my dagger again and hold it up to the candlelight. “Do not touch me. You are too familiar, Karlsson.”

  His hand does not release me as his eyes glow in the dim. “Never let him in.”

  The image of the candlelit room winks out, and suddenly I’m myself, standing in my room in the purple Victorian. I press my back against the stretch of wall next to the door as a soft, barely audible, scraping sound rattles in the deadbolt lock. Someone is trying to break in. Holding my breath, I lift a heavy glass paperweight.

  The knob slowly turns, and the door creaks open. Light reflects off a gun.

  I wake with a searing pain and gape at Räum’s demon mark on my arm.

  Chapter Three

  Three Days Before

  Gasping, I sit up in my bed, eyes still on my demon mark.

  “Oh my God!” I whisper.

  It shouldn’t happen. I shouldn’t have prophetic dreams when I’m on consecrated ground. I throw my covers off.

  “No. No.” The dreams of Elena happen once in a while, but I have not had a dream that made my demon mark burn since I was on a plane ride back from Leijonskjöld Slott.

  The second dream interrupted the first, like it broke into my first dream. If it was a prophetic dream, a person with a gun is coming for me, and someone desecrated the hallowed ground.

  My breaths coming fast, I rush for the paperweight on the shelf. The moment I grab it, papers blow off my desk to fly around the living room in the thrall of the desk fan.

  Running to the side of the door, I look at the knob. Nothing. And then the knob turns. When the knob sticks and doesn’t open, it slowly turns back to its regular position. There’s a barely audible scratching sound in the deadbolt lock.

  I lift the paperweight above my head, watching the doorknob, knowing the door is about to open.

  The knob slowly revolves, and the door shifts forward. The gun comes into view, clutched in a masculine-looking hand.

  A man steps forward, gaze fixed on the tornado of paper blowing around my room. I immediately recognize him from yesterday—Beefcake, the man who called me the devil’s whore on the roof.

  With all of my strength, I bring the paperweight down directly onto the man’s head. Even though my muscles have atrophied in my imprisonment, my blow hits true and hard on the side of his forehead. He yelps as he falls away from me. His hands go to his head, and the gun flies off into the room.

  “Raven?” Linnie yells, voice hoarse, from in the apartment. “Holy shit!”

  “He came in with a gun… where is it?” Dashing back, I scramble to grab the gun off the ground and then spin back to face the guy.

  He slumps dazedly on the ground, beside the body of another Leijonskjöld guard.

  Though I haven’t held anything close to a gun in a year and I wasn’t that good of a shot even then, I aim the gun into the guy’s face. All around I hear people calling out and shouting, and by the time I step through my door and into the room outside, it’s crowded with soldiers.

  “Holy shit,” Linnie repeats in a whisper.

  The tangy smell of blood fills the air, but I’m not sure from where.

  Everyone is staring at us, and though many of them are armed, no one raises a weapon.

  “Raven! What are you doing?” Albert shouts as he steps into the doorway, standing over the two fallen guards.

  “Protecting herself from one of your guards who broke into our room with a gun!” Linnie yells, managing a decent volume for how hoarse her voice is.

  “Samuel, report,” Albert barks.

  Beefcake looks up, blood trickling down his forehead. He doesn’t quite look at us as he says, “They just came out and attacked us. I think Joshua might be dead.”

  I look down to the man beside him and into bulging, lifeless, sky-blue eyes. I could see no obvious wound on the man’s body, but I suspect from the blood in his eyes and the position of his body, strangulation. Obviously, Beefcake murdered his fellow guard, and now we were no longer standing on consecrated ground. Murder desecrated holy ground, letting the demons in.

  “Secure them into their room. Harold, Timothy, Brom, run for the priests.”

  Taking a step back, I ask, “You believe him and not us?” I do look at Albert then, seeing a new sort of exhaustion in his eyes. “Use your brain, Albert.”

  “Drop the gun, Raven.” Albert steps toward me.

  Linnie gestures out wildly. “Are you serious? His story doesn’t make any sense. You really think we broke out of the door and got the drop on two of your soldiers?”

  Albert and all his men step in toward us, a dark hardness in their expressions.

  “Drop the gun!” Albert bellows.

  “I’m… no.” I raise the gun, pointing it to my own temple.

  Everyone freezes.

  “Raven…” Lin
nie whispers, sounding as shocked as the rest of the room looks.

  The idea occurred to me in that split second. As horrendous as the loaded gun barrel touching my temple feels, from their reactions, I know it’s the right choice.

  I hook my free arm through Linnie’s. When her arm shakes against mine, I squeeze her to me. “I don’t want to shoot myself, but I will if I have to.”

  Albert puts his hands up like he’s surrendering, but he doesn’t move out of my way. “Raven, think about what you’re doing—”

  “I am, Albert. You all need to move out of our way… now.”

  “We won’t. Obviously—”

  “You want to know what’s obvious? It’s obvious Linnie and I couldn’t take down two of your soldiers with a paperweight and our bare hands. It’s obvious the only way I could get Beefcake’s gun is if he had it drawn… and last, it’s obvious you are going to get us killed very, very soon, and they’re going to be bad deaths. Now, I’m leaving before the trap this guy set, springs, either by taking a bullet or by walking out. You have ten seconds to decide.”

  A tense silence follows my words, but no one moves for several seconds. I start counting down.

  “Four one thousand, three one thousand, two—”

  A high, girlish laughter pierces through the silence.

  “It’s too late…” I realize.

  “Chauncey?” Linnie says, looking around frantically.

  “Albert Tapper, what are you all looking at? Who’s hiding in your basement? I wonder. Little birdies, come out, come out, wherever you are.” Chauncey’s voice pierces through the room.

  We don’t move.

  “Fine. I’ll come in. Move, boys…” Her voice turns lisping, halfway to a snake’s hiss.

  Albert yells something in Swedish, and surprisingly, the soldiers back up, making a loose ring around the room, all their guns raised and tracking Chauncey.

  A familiar woman skips into the center of the group. The moment I see her, chills run through my entire body. The demon that inhabits the body of the girl I used to know had not changed much in the year since I last saw her…it. The only glaring difference is her leather-bondage-strap bodysuit that leaves little to the imagination. Her perfect blonde ringlets frame a face that had long since looked human. Red glowing eyes fill with laughter as the ring of soldiers step in, their guns aiming at different parts of her body.

  Her lips spread to reveal a mouthful of shark teeth. “Look at this, Raven Smith, again considering taking her own life. And are you planning on taking out your sister too? That would be so entertaining. Good job, boys. I am not sure I could do so well myself.”

  Albert inhales deeply and begins to shout, “Do—”

  Chauncey stops him with a raised hand and a whisper, “Wait, Albert, look closely.” She points at me. “Lookie.”

  At my feet, the guard Albert had called Samuel raises his hands, aiming another gun directly at my head.

  “Samuel!”

  “I am sorry, Albert. I don’t have a choice. Raven Smith needs to come with me.” The man’s gaze fixes on the gun pointed at my temple.

  Well, there’s no point in making their jobs easier for them. I lower my gun.

  Scooting just slightly, I try to push Linnie behind me, but her feet root to the spot and won’t move.

  After a second, most of the guns turn to aim at Samuel, then some change their course back to Chauncey.

  Albert speaks rapid Swedish with his voice lowered. He mutters the name ‘Beth’ several times. Aside from the name, I pick out the odd phrase: your duty, go to Hell, your family.

  Samuel’s gun shakes in his hand, but his aim only moves to my chest. He says something I can’t understand.

  “Don’t do it,” Linnie whispers. “Don’t do it.”

  Chauncey cuts in, her voice harsh. “Do it.”

  Samuel turns to Albert. “I’m sorry, friend—” There’s a flash of movement, then a splash of blood erupts from the side of Samuel’s head. His body crumples forward, hitting my feet.

  Linnie screams, and I gasp as his limp form falls in through the door. Linnie presses herself into the wall, taking me with her.

  “Oh, shit,” she whispers.

  Laughter peals out of Chauncey. Behind where she stands, overcome with amusement, Nicholas steps up, pointing a space-age looking rifle directly at the back of her head. His lips purse as he aims.

  I don’t want to look, but I can’t look away as his finger shifts over the trigger.

  Chauncey spins, almost quicker than my eyes can see, and grabs the rifle. She yanks it, sending Nicholas toppling forward. With a smooth glide, she spins the gun and aims it right back at Nicholas.

  I don’t think, I run. Though it defies all logic, I manage past the soldiers and straight at Chauncey, putting my body directly in the path of her rifle. I grab the front of the gun so it points only at me.

  “How very typical of you. Are you so determined to die?” Chauncey asks through a sharp-toothed smile.

  “If you so much as scratch me, you’ll disintegrate into the ashes of Hell.” I tighten my grip around the rifle.

  “Move, Raven.” Albert’s voice comes quiet from directly beside me.

  I take a step forward until the rifle barrel presses into my chest, then I take another step.

  “Raven…” Linnie hisses as she rushes up beside me.

  “Stop, Raven. Get back here right now!” Albert bellows again.

  When I take yet another step forward, Chauncey doesn’t give way, so the rifle digs into my chest.

  “Is this fun for you? It’s fun for me…” Her grin spreads wide across her face.

  “Here’s your big chance, demon.”

  She sighs, and her fangs recede into normal stumpy teeth. “Sadly, the orders have changed, and you’re wanted alive.”

  “Whose orders? I don’t believe you.”

  She leans in over the gun and whispers, “If you come with me, he’ll give you what you want.”

  “You don’t know what I want—”

  She shrugs. “How about Andras trapped in Hell for a thousand years and Stephen Tapper released and healed? All you need to do is come with me.”

  “And go where?”

  “To Hell.” She grins.

  “I don’t believe you, demon.” That’s what I say, but I’m having a hard time finding the wiggle room in her statement. Demons can’t lie, but they can bend the truth like a pretzel. There had to be room for a lie in there. I took another step forward until the rifle digs in so hard, I was sure it would break my skin. “And if you so much as breathe, you’ll scratch me.”

  “Take it.” Chauncey releases the gun, holding up her hands.

  The rifle tumbles heavily into my fingers.

  “Find me when you’re ready.” She shrugs her shoulders, shooting a grin at me. Spinning, she barrels over three soldiers, running quickly out of the open front door.

  Several gunshots echo through the room, and a pistol aims over my shoulder. An ear-splitting crack sounds way too close to my ear.

  Several holes rip through Chauncey’s back, spraying blood, and then more follow. She doesn’t even break stride as she runs down the street and out of sight.

  Chapter Four

  Three Days Before

  “Come on, Linnie.” I heft up the space-age rifle that miraculously dropped into my arms. And now I have two guns I barely know how to use. Tucking the rifle under my arm the best I can, I gesture for Linnie to go ahead, then follow her toward the open door.

  The cold wood flooring nips at my bare feet as we cross the entrance hall in the space between soldiers.

  “Raven, stop!” Albert yells from behind me.

  “Nope, I’m done,” I say. I don’t run, don’t even dodge as soldiers sprint ahead of us to get in our way. As much as I regret leaving the Bible and notes behind, I just have to do it.

  When the soldier at the door moves to grab Linnie, she jumps back.

  “Don’t touch me!” she yells, h
er hands batting wildly toward his outstretched hands.

  I aim the handgun back at my head. “We’re leaving.”

  The tall, blond soldier stops short, hand still outstretched.

  “Where are you going to go?” Nicholas says from somewhere behind us. “There are soulbound surrounding Arcata on all sides. All of them will be heading straight here to kill you.”

  He must not have heard what Chauncey said to me. Does what she said mean the soul bound weren’t supposed to kill me anymore? Believing that seems like a pretty big risk.

  I don’t answer Nicholas, just whisper to my sister, “Keep going.”

  Albert yells in Swedish, and Nicholas joins him, but Linnie is already out the door, and I’m stepping out behind her. With the space-age rifle under one arm and the handgun held to my head, I walk out of the house that has been my prison for five months. Gooseflesh prickles up my legs as I step through the open doorway, dressed in my skull and crossbones sleep shorts.

  Linnie crosses her arms over her unicorn-patterned tank top. She wears even less than me, and it’s unfortunately blue and pink, which stands out in the dark. Her gaze snags on something high above us, across the street. Her hand lifts. “I see her--”

  “Don’t point. Try not to look,” I whisper. But even though I say it to her, as we descend the porch steps, my gaze sweeps over the rooftops. I don’t see her at first, and then there’s a quick flash of movement as a large, lithe body pounces from a flat rooftop to the ridgeline of a tile roof.

  Morning mist drapes over the homeless hovels cluttering the street. We take the path through our yard of dead grass and jog onto the grime-coated sidewalk. It takes seconds for marching feet to resound behind us, likely on the stairs already. At the street, plastic bags and cans crunch under our bare feet.

  “Please, please don’t trip,” Linnie says, keeping her gaze away from me like she can’t bear to look.

  A priest chants in the side yard, his habit and face both worn and dirty. He walks down the property line, praying a murmur into the deadly quiet morning.

  Where are the demons? Where are the soulbound? This doesn’t make any sense. If there’s a plot to kidnap me, or more likely kill me, Chauncey wouldn’t just depend on one Leijonskjöld soldier. For her, this is half-hearted. Where’s the cavalry? Or did she actually think I’d just hand myself over?