Christmas. This had always been a time of pure joy for me. The season of love, kindness and generosity of spirit. Yet now…I was filled with none of these feelings. A black mantle enveloped me, smothering all emotions but one—vengeance. Only when every foul creature had paid in blood would I be free of this driving need for revenge.
“How are you holding up?” asked George, breaking into my thoughts.
“Fine.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “You look thin.”
“Do I? I haven’t felt much like gorging on beignets and fried seafood po’boys these days.”
Okay. So my sarcasm was a bit bitchy when he was genuinely concerned, but what a ridiculous question.
I clenched my jaw in frustration. “I’m holding up as best I can. Okay? I’ll be fine as soon as I get Jude home again.”
I recognized the tone of desperation in my voice, but there was no way around it. One thought consumed me. Find Jude. Save Jude. Nothing else mattered. Well, except his child. And I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Whenever fear crept into my mind about where I was going and the danger I’d encounter, my VS would instantly sing to me along our bond, telling me that all would be well, that I must go.
I just needed to keep the world from knowing about the baby. If word got out that the one and only Vessel of Light was carrying the child of the original Dominus Daemonum, I couldn’t imagine the conflicts that would provoke.
“You know there’s no guarantee that we’ll get him back,” he said, his tone soft and sympathetic.
“George—” My voice was a sharpened blade. “Do not for one second start giving me the odds of success. There is no other option. You know that. After what I’ve seen in your head, you should—”
I bit my lip. His penetrating scowl deepened as we strode at a quick clip. I huffed out a breath of white vapor and focused ahead.
“You should know,” I said more quietly. “You should know what it is to need a loved one and to go after him—or her—at all costs.”
He clenched his jaw, striding faster as we stepped into Jackson Square. “Whatever memories of mine you’ve seen, Genevieve, they are for you alone.”
“I know… Trust me. I wish I hadn’t seen them at all.”
George veered to the right, heading up the steps to St. Louis Cathedral.
“We’re meeting an angel in church?” I asked.
“An archangel.”
“A bit cliché, don’t you think?”
“It’s the only place he feels comfortable enough meeting with so many demons infesting this city.”
Holy ground was one of the places demons were still forbidden. Sometimes I marveled at the rules demons were forced to follow—no stepping on holy ground, no possession of a human on holy days. Odd that demons followed any rules at all. But it seemed a force greater than their wicked will controlled them with compulsion. Like the blood oath. I rubbed the palm of my hand that I’d used to form the bond with Dommiel. I wondered if demons would still follow the rules after the war had begun.
“Uriel is afraid of demons?” I asked.
“Not hardly. He just has no time for them.”
We stepped into the vestibule, the silence pressing in around us, except for the muffled sound of singing from inside the sanctuary.
“Busy man, is he? I mean archangel.”
“Indeed.”
I followed George through the double doors into the sanctuary. Beautiful choral music echoed loud and strong. A black-clad priest led a children’s choir in “Carol of the Bells” near the altar. In accompaniment with angelic singing, the surroundings were truly heavenly from the intricate scenes of saints painted on the ceiling to the vibrantly colored panels of stained glass windows depicting parables from the Bible. Latin words had been painted in huge bold letters above the altar:
Ego sum via, veritas et via.
I am the way, the truth and the life. At least here I needn’t worry about a demon sneaking up on me. But after Thomas’s betrayal, I was wary even around angels.
We walked by the statue of Joan of Arc in her gilded armor. Her stalwart stance, chin held high, ready to face evil with weapon in hand, shot a pulse of positive energy through me. She had burned at the stake for what she believed in. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that for me, but if she could confront the wicked with such strength, so could I.
A few old ladies huddled in pews, saying their afternoon prayers. One wore a lace veil atop her head and prayed intently with closed eyes, her rosary beads clicking. I wondered if I spent a little time calling for help from above whether or not my quest would be successful. But then again, I guess I
had
called for help. George steered toward the one who’d answered my call, sitting in the back corner pew, away from prying eyes.
As happened every time I was in the presence of Uriel, my VS zinged to life. I mumbled the cast of illusion to coat myself in a shield where humans couldn’t see my skin glowing like Tinker Bell. There was also the sword strapped to my back. While New Orleans housed the most eccentric of people, openly carrying a weapon was still frowned upon. My cast of illusion could hide what I didn’t want others to see.
George ushered me into the pew first. Uriel’s aura of power pulsed outward in a jolting wave. But I sensed something beyond the constant buzz of archangel potency. It was subtle but there all the same—a signature of summer fields and sunny days. A surprising aura, but also apt somehow.
I slid into the pew next to him, trying to see through his cast of illusion to his magnificent gold-tipped wings. My VS was definitely growing stronger. The first time I’d met him, I didn’t even know he had wings. Now, I could push through his cast and see the outline. Even illusory, they still took my breath away.
“Hello, Genevieve.” His deep voice rolled languidly like water over rocks. The dim lighting shone on his golden locks.
“Hi. You’ve been busy, I was told.”
“I apologize. I know the urgency of your mission. But there were other things too pressing that I couldn’t leave undone.”
“Like?”
His electric-blue gaze flickered to George, then back to me.
I scoffed. “Is it some super-secret angel stuff that doesn’t involve me?”
“No. It definitely involves you. Those in hell aren’t the only ones who sense the stirrings of war.”
“Is that so? I imagine that has started quite the shit storm.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up into a slanted smile. “Yes. You could say that. There are many Flamma of Light who believe you are the Vessel spoken of in the Prophecy of Glastonbury.”
“Ha! Finally.” I nudged George with my elbow. He remained silent. “Flamma on our side are listening. It’s a freaking miracle.”
Uriel raised a hand to still my excitement. “Even so, the war will not end on the night of the Blood Moon. It will begin that night.”
After much deciphering between Kat, George and me, as well as through consultations with other hunters, we had deduced the “red sky” mentioned in the prophecy referred to a total lunar eclipse. It just so happened that astronomers had begun announcing that we were due to have a total lunar eclipse, the kind often called the Blood Moon or the Hunter’s Moon, on December thirty-first.
New Year’s Eve. The marking of a new year and a new world.
“And while you will play a vital role as a weapon of Light, the war will be unfathomable in its devastation to this earth.”
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, thinking of my father, of my best friend Mindy, of her mother. I would protect them any way I could when the time came. But I feared the future all the same.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said George. “How could agents of good allow death and destruction to come to this world?”
I nodded in agreement and said, “Why should humanity suffer? They aren’t part of this war.”
“Oh, but they are,” said Uriel. “They will choose one side or another and play their part.”
“But what of the innocent who are killed? It’s not their fault.”
“Every war suffers the death of innocents,” replied Uriel, his tenor dropping lower as he gazed on the altar. “Civilian casualties are an ugly reality.”
I followed his gaze and watched the lovely young faces of the children now singing a soft rendition of “Silent Night”. What would happen to them?
By instinct, I placed my palm over my abdomen, until I caught Uriel’s keen gaze follow my movement. I pulled my hand away quickly. The archangel’s mouth lifted in a knowing smile. I straightened and cleared my throat.
“I’m sure George has apprised you of where I plan to go.”
He sobered at once, schooling his features into grave planes. “You seek Jude in Erebus. And you need my assistance.”
“Yes.”
He tipped his godlike face forward, dipping his chin in acquiescence. “I will grant it.”
George arched a brow at my surprised reaction.
“Wait. You don’t plan to try to talk me out of it?” I asked, baffled.
“Of course not. I trust you know your path. If I can help you, I will.”
Speechless because I’d planned on having to persuade him through a lengthy and bitter debate, I shifted in the pew to face him more easily.
“I have a way to find Lethe—”
“How?” interjected George.
Uriel waved him off. “That is not our concern.”
“Of course it is,” George said vehemently, the charm and wit gone. He held on to the pew behind me with a white-knuckled grip. “What if she—”
“George,” the archangel said with remarkable patience, “we know that she will use every precaution to journey there and back safely.”
“But—”
“Stop.” Uriel raised a firm hand in the air. Though he spoke forcefully, his expression showed only understanding and sympathy. “Sometimes you must trust blindly. Give her the unconditional loyalty she deserves. We’ve discussed this before, my friend.”
Suddenly, this conversation wasn’t just about me anymore. George’s chiseled jaw softened as he lowered his gaze in resignation. “You’re right. Go on, Genevieve.”
Hesitantly, I turned back to Uriel. “I’m sure George has already told you Jude was taken by Lethe. I need to know what to expect on the other side. I need to know if there’s a way to escape the loss of memory.”
I refused to believe Jude could forget me entirely, but I couldn’t focus on that right now. I needed to take every precaution of getting in and out of there with my memory intact. After all, what if I actually did make it inside Lethe, only to forget why I’d gone there in the first place? The thought filled me with dread.
“In ancient times, a sentinel of Light began telling the myth of the Rivers of the Underworld.”
“But they weren’t entirely myth,” I corrected.
“Exactly. The soul collectors are like rivers running into the same deep ocean.”
“An ocean of souls?” I swallowed, but my mouth was bone-dry.
“Erebus is, in fact, the abyss where all souls meet who have been consumed by one of the five soul eaters.”
A streak of cold lightning shot through my veins. If this was true, then Danté would be in that abyss. So would countless other hate-filled souls seeking someone to spend their wrath upon.
“So I don’t need to find Lethe?”
“I still think it best to take her as your portal. Erebus is so vast that it’s believed souls linger near their portal entrance. We can follow the logic that Jude would be nearby. But there is another matter.”
George leaned forward beside me, listening intently.
“The Veil of Lethe.” Uriel leaned one arm along the back of the pew in front of us, bracing himself as he spoke. “That’s what you must worry about.”
“Something tells me I don’t want to know about her veil.”
“You already do,” he said with a sad smile. “The Veil of Lethe is what a soul passes through to get to the other side. It is what erases all memory from anyone crossing over.”
“And is there a way around it?”
He shook his head. “If you are seeking Jude, you must take the same path he did. There is no other way into Erebus through the portal of Lethe except to pass through the Veil.”
I sighed and sat back in the pew, watching the choirboys disperse from the stage area. A grandmother led her grandson down the aisle. And though he looked around eleven years old, he held her hand openly with pride. A mother spoke with the priest, both of them smiling as the mother gestured toward her son. I wondered if he was a sentinel like Father Clementine, who’d married Jude and me in Sussex. Was this smiling priest a protector of this place? These people?
“There must be a way,” I mumbled, more to myself.
“There is.”
My attention snapped back to Uriel. “Tell me.”
“There is an elixir. One that is precious and not of this world,” he continued, “but I will have to do some desperate bargaining to acquire even a drop.”
“Do it. Beg, borrow, steal. Oh, wait… That might not be your style. But I’ll offer eternal favors to whoever to get that stuff.”
Uriel glanced toward the altar, where the crowd had dissipated and the priest was gathering sheet music from the stands. “Let’s stretch our legs into the vestibule, shall we?” he suggested with a wave toward the door.