Feel the Flames Page 6

  The presence of our swords didn’t seem to faze him whatsoever. He merely grinned, looking each of us in the eye with a silent confidence. His long, black leather trench coat hung nearly to the ground, his platform combat boots making him much taller than he actually was. His demeanor was relaxed, and he eyed his surroundings, taking in every inch of my studio from the floor to the vaulted, metal ceiling.

  Dorian and I exchanged cautious glances, mentally preparing ourselves for any sudden advancement by our strange guest, but he remained steadfast—unmoved. There didn’t appear to be any interest on his behalf to start a fight. In fact, he didn’t even appear to be armed. The grin on his face remained, but his eyes seemed to hide a secret. It was clear that his contented expression was most definitely a ruse of some kind, but I couldn’t be certain as to what extent.

  I raised my chin in defiance, almost daring this newcomer to make a move.

  “You have an odd way of welcoming a stranger to your door. I mean really…is this any way to treat a visitor?” His voice was hoarse and gravelly, but the fiery redhead spoke eloquently.

  He stared us down a bit longer and again studied his surroundings. Undeterred by our swords, he strolled to my desk and sat down on the stool. He leaned back and rested his elbows on the desk behind him and crossed his legs, the toe of his boot bouncing up and down.

  “Feel free to put those nasty things away. I’m not here to do battle. I’m simply here to talk,” he said.

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” I replied, contempt in my voice. “Who are you?” I tightened the grip on my sword’s hilt, preparing for the worst.

  “Tsk tsk tsk,” he chided. “Is that how you talk to guests? Such rudeness. It’s no wonder your rarely get visitors.”

  “Yeah. That’s the reason.” I had grown impatient with our unexpected caller and was done playing whatever game he was playing. “I don’t think my question is out of line. So, I’ll ask you again. Who are you?”

  “Of course.” He straightened up on the stool and sat tall, his legs still crossed. “My name…is Naberius.”

  “Naberius?” Dorian lowered his sword, his expression one of utter confusion…and shock. He seemed to know something that I didn’t.

  Naberius spread his arms out to his side and bowed his head slightly. “The one and only. You’ve heard of me, then?”

  “Should I have?” I asked with a glare, my sword still raised.

  “Yes,” said Dorian. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  “Who is he?” I asked, elbowing my boyfriend in the side.

  “Yes, yes, my dear boy. Where are your manners?” The stranger stood and took a few steps toward me, forcing me to extend my weapon. He stopped a mere inch from the tip, showing absolutely no fear. “I go by many names, but Naberius is what my friends call me.”

  “What do your enemies call you?” I asked.

  He wagged his finger at me. “Now now. It’s clear that you don’t trust me. I’m sorry. I apologize if we got off on the wrong foot.”

  Dorian cleared his throat.

  “He’s known among the Watchers and the Hybrids as Naberius, the Lord of Cunning. He’s a demon, Skyy. Last I heard, a pretty high ranking one in Hell’s army. There are multiple legions of demons under his command who are willing to do his bidding at a moment’s notice. And he most definitely wouldn’t be here on a social call. I can tell you that.”

  The smile on Naberius’s face grew—he was seemingly pleased that one of us had heard so much about him.

  “You’re a demon?” The tip of my sword rose and found itself a breath away from our visitor’s Adam’s apple. “Tell me why I shouldn’t off you right here?”

  Naberius cocked his head and smirked to one side. He suddenly turned an about-face on one foot and sauntered casually back to the stool where he again sat, crossing his legs.

  “I assure you. I’m not here to fight. But, by all means, kill me if you must.” Naberius looked around before his gaze settled on me. “But I’d hate to see your…happy place littered with my demon blood. It could ruin the ambiance of concrete, tin, and…” Naberius sniffed the air dramatically. “Paint thinner, is it?”

  His eyes squinted as he seemed to take an interest in my sword.

  “I see you’ve located the Speer of Azazel. We heard all about its concealment and its use in the war against the Watchers,” he said. “You were quite famous amongst us for a bit.”

  “Us?” I asked.

  “My cohorts in Hell. We were all quite fascinated with everything that happened in the Badlands. Turns out you are a Watcher, yourself. Must have come as quite a shock, yeah? I find you…intriguing, Miss Skyy. You are a conundrum, indeed.” Naberius smiled balefully.

  It gave me an uneasy feeling to know that Hell was aware of who I was, let alone the topic of conversation among demons. But he had piqued my curiosity. He’d yet to make a move, so I finally lowered my sword but didn’t place it in its scabbard hanging from my waist. It hung at my side, still gripped tightly in my hand, ready to wield in sudden battle if the time came.

  “Now, I understand that you have been inquiring about the Seal of Solomon. Yes?” The red-haired demon looked at us inquiringly, his blackened eyebrows raised high. It was clear he already knew the answer, but Dorian and I kept quiet, saying nothing in response.

  “You see, I hear things. The word on the street is that the pretty one here with the gray wings had a vision about a ring—Solomon’s ring.” He swept the room with a quick glance, his gaze settling on the painting with the symbols. “Ah. The evidence to which I’m speaking. You know, your artwork is quite extraordinary. Exquisite, actually.”

  He stood and immediately found his way to my easel where the painting in question sat. His fingers reached out and traced the symbols around the canvas.

  “Get your hands off,” I barked.

  The demon pulled back his hand and gracefully twirled to face us.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It truly is beautifully done. You’ve captured the seal perfectly, almost as if you were there in the time of Solomon…as if you’d seen it in person. And the name of God is written there, albeit scrambled about the symbol. Can you see it?”

  My mind drafted back to the day I’d first met Dorian and his sister. Unbeknownst to me, I had painted the word fallen all over the canvas in the ancient language of the angels. To me, they looked like nothing but squiggles, but Lillith, never one to hold back her opinion, was less than understanding about me not being able to read those squiggles. However, the more time I spent with other Hybrids, the more my ability developed eventually allowing me to read ancient languages like the others. Which made me wonder…why hadn’t I been able to read the symbols on this latest painting—or Dorian either, for that matter. It didn’t make sense.

  “It’s not in the language of angels,” I said to myself, the sudden epiphany coming as a shock.

  “No. It’s not,” Naberius replied. “God’s name can only be written in His language, and His language alone. There’s really no other way it could be. It cannot be spoken. It cannot be read. It can only be written, and only God himself and a chosen few know what that name is. My master is one of those few.”

  “Your master?” Dorian asked. “The devil himself, I presume?”

  Naberius set his sights on my companion. There seemed to be a kind of eerie recognition in his eyes when he looked at Dorian, his smile growing wider.

  “Dorian, is it? It’s wonderful to finally meet the boy who helped defeat the Hybrids of Og, the army of Azazel. The boy who survived a hundred and twenty years, died, and came back with wings to live out an immortal existence with the girl he loves. It’s sweet, don’t you think, Skyy?” Naberius brushed a few red strands from his face. “He came back for you. That would make one hell of a story, don’t you think? Better than any of the books in that small trailer of yours. A love story for the ages, one could say.”

  I allowed his words to sink in. A sick feeling came over me.
>
  “You’ve been in my trailer.”

  Rather than respond, Naberius simply smiled and winked in my direction.

  “What do you want?” I asked. “Why are you here exactly? I’m fairly certain it wasn’t to critique my artwork.”

  “I would like to negotiate a deal,” he said. Naberius turned back around and studied my painting, crossing his arms across his chest. “For my master.”

  “What sort of deal?” Dorian asked warily.

  “We’d like the two of you to help us locate the Seal of Solomon.”

  Before I could stop myself, I let out a throaty snort followed by a quiet chuckle.

  “I—I’m sorry. You want us to help you find a ring that reportedly controls demons…including you.” I glanced over at Dorian, directing my question at him. “Do I have the word stupid written on my forehead?”

  Dorian smirked and shook his head no.

  “Okay, good. For a moment there, I thought maybe I did.” I didn’t even bother trying to hide the sarcasm from my voice. I marched toward Naberius and placed myself between him and my painting, forcing him to take a few steps back. “Why would you even think we’d be willing to help you?”

  “I believe it could be…mutually beneficial.”

  “For whom? You and your master?”

  “Yes. He does wish to acquire it. However, he merely wants it so that no one else can use it. On us. I take it to Hell, and it’s never seen again. You have my word.”

  “And what’s the word of a demon worth these days?”

  “Pretty much nothing, if you ask me,” said Dorian, intercepting our conversation. “What makes you think we could trust you? Or any of your kind for that matter?”

  Naberius’ expression didn’t change. He continued to look at us with smug delight, allowing our jabs to roll right off him.

  “I don’t believe you’re seeing the big picture,” Naberius began. “We no longer dabble or involve ourselves in the mortal world like we once did. There’s no need. Humans are doing a fine job at destroying themselves, disseminating hatred and immorality. Frankly, we just sit back and enjoy the show. And mankind no longer needs a ring to perform ritualistic exorcisms. Therefore, it doesn’t benefit you in any way…unless of course, your kind plans on using it to control demons yourself?” He raised his eyebrows, awaiting a response.

  I chuckled loudly.

  “I wouldn’t need a ring to control you. If I needed something, I’d just kick your ass,” I said.

  “Then you wouldn’t require the ring,” he replied, smiling coyly. “So, what do you think? Have we a deal?”

  I paused and looked him in the eye. “While your offer is tempting and incredibly rational, I’m going to say no for the following reasons: I don’t like you, I don’t trust you, and you’re a demon. Come to think of it, there’s another reason. I don’t like your face. And your shoes are ridiculous. Where did you pick up that ensemble? The seventies? However, I will say this for you. You do have great hair. What kind of conditioner do you use?” Dorian shot me a confused glance. I shrugged in response. “What? I was curious.”

  Naberius never flinched, his smile remaining across his lips.

  “Perhaps I’ve caught you at a bad time. Think it over. We can discuss it more at length when we see one another again. And may I say…I am thrilled to see that you’re up and about, my dear boy,” said Naberius, focusing his attention on Dorian. “I’d no idea that you had come back…with wings. How magnificent for you.”

  I eyed our guest suspiciously. Naberius’s fascination with Dorian made me uncomfortable, so I could only imagine how Dorian felt. Our guest remained still and didn’t blink, studying my boyfriend’s wings with a kind of vile curiosity.

  Dorian stared back with a look I hadn’t seen before. It was distant and removed, as if his mind had suddenly gone somewhere else. I tried to reach him telepathically, but his thoughts were cut off and he didn’t respond. With one quick move, I elbowed him in the side snapping him out of his trance-like state. His dirty look in my direction was met with a dirty look of my own.

  “Well, I must be off. It was so good to make your acquaintances. Until next time.” Naberius bowed his head and headed for the door.

  “You don’t need to worry about a next time. We’re not changing our minds,” I called out after him.

  Naberius glanced back at us over his shoulder and winked.

  And with that, he stepped outside and closed the door gently behind him.

  But there was something likeable about him…and yet…repulsive. His charisma was intriguing, if not off-putting. But it made sense. At the root of all evil was basic temptation. And temptation should be, at the very least, tempting. And I could easily see how Naberius would be tempting to somebody weaker than me.

  Dorian and I were left to stand in silence, contemplating what had just occurred.

  I cleared my throat.

  “So, that was interesting,” I said.

  “You could say that,” Dorian replied. “Do you think that’s his natural hair color?”

  “Heck if I know. Nothing about him is natural. His entire personality seems to be fabricated to entice the willing. And, is it me, or is he extremely likeable?”

  Dorian nodded his head.

  “Dammit. That sucks. Well…he’s smooth. I’ll give him that,” I said, glancing back toward the door.

  “Yeah, well he’s known for being smooth. Charming, even. But he’s sneaky as hell. Cunning bastard. You can bet if he’s dishing out a deal or a compromise, he’s got something up his sleeve.”

  “I can only imagine what he would do if he got his hands on that ring.”

  “No telling. But there has to be a specific reason.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Then, let’s ask. We need to talk to someone who knows more about that ring than we do.”

  “Like Oscar?” I asked.

  Dorian shook his head and raised an eyebrow.

  “No. Like someone who was there when Solomon had possession of the seal…knows what it can do firsthand.”

  I sighed.

  “I’d really rather not,” I said.

  “I thought you wanted answers.”

  “Answers about why he hid his identity from us, yes. Answers about why he couldn’t have saved Sean…or even Lillith. But it’s still all too raw, and I’m not sure I’m even ready to ask the questions.”

  “Then skip the questions and go straight to what do you know about the seal?”

  I tried to put on my best stubborn face and stared him in the eye, but it didn’t work. Dorian leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose.

  “Fine,” I said. “But I don’t even know how to call him.”

  “Same way we talk to the other Hybrids. Just open up your mind and reach out.” Dorian shrugged. “That’s how I contact Arna.”

  I let out a heavy sigh and followed Dorian’s instructions. With my eyes shut tight, I cleared my mind. It wasn’t an easy task for me to master. Thoughts were a constant jumble, my brain juggling the past, the future, and the present at all hours of the day. But I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing my mind to go blank.

  My father’s face came into focus, and I concentrated on it, calling to him telepathically. I stood there silently, not moving a muscle as I continued to reach out to him mentally. There was a part of me that hoped he wouldn’t respond. No one knew that he was my father, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with him face-to-face, yet. But I also knew there were bigger things to deal with and that my daddy issues would need to wait.

  Moments passed in utter silence, the only sounds coming from the winds picking up outside. The scraping of branches against the outer walls coincided with the wails of the wind itself creating a strange, off-key tune that was accentuated by dirt and debris smacking into the building in random beats and rhythms.

  The knock on the door startled me. I stumbled back with a start, my eyes suddenly springing open. Dorian and I exchanged
glances before he quickly made his way to the door, placing his hand on the doorknob.

  I remained silent but nodded at him to let our visitor in.

  He opened the door, allowing it to swing open.

  I adjusted my eyes as the daylight created a heavenly glow around the visitor.

  Sam.

  Chapter 7

  He stood in the doorway in the body of Sam, a young Native American boy we befriended before discovering his true identity, Raphael…the angel. And my father. He’d left my life as quickly as he’d entered it—swooped in, helped me defeat Azazel, and disappeared before I could ask him what I needed to know about everything. Me, my life, my mother—everything.

  No one knew he was my father. I’d kept that bit of news to myself. I knew if word got out that I was Raphael’s daughter, awful things would happen. And then dear old Dad would need to come to the rescue. I didn’t want to put him in that position, and I certainly didn’t want to put myself in that position, either.

  Sam stepped inside. He stood stoically before us and said nothing. I hadn’t expected to see the human version of him standing at my door. Actually, I hadn’t expected to see the “Sam” version again ever. I had fully anticipated seeing Raphael suddenly appear out of thin air inside my studio. Instead, I’d gotten a knock at the door by a teenager.

  “Hi…Sam?” I wasn’t sure what to say or how to even address the boy standing in front of me. I couldn’t call him Dad. After all, I was the only one who knew my father’s real identity.

  Sam smirked, finally showing a bit of emotion.

  “Skyy. It is good to see you again,” he said.

  “Why do you look like...” I paused to gather my thoughts, not wanting to insult him. “Why did you come in this form? As Sam?” I asked, pointing at him.

  “I thought you liked Sam.”

  “I did. I—I do. It’s just that I know he’s not real.”

  “Sam is just as real as I am. We are the same. The only difference is he is the version I choose to portray in this world.”