Read Surrender to Darkness Online
Authors: Annette McCleave
Surrender to Darkness (36 page)
Murdoch hammered the trailer door with his fist. “Open the blasted door, Dika, or I swear I’ll rip it clear off its hinges.”
The door opened.
Dika stood in the entrance, her arms folded over her chest. Feet planted and brow furrowed, she presented a remarkably formidable barrier for someone so small. “How many times must I tell you to go away?”
He wrapped an arm about her waist, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and stepped into the trailer. “I’m done with talking. And I’m not going away. Where is the little maggot?”
Setting her down in the kitchen, he scanned the living room. Empty. He flung open the etched-glass door leading to the bedroom. “Is he hiding?”
The bedroom was empty, too. As was the bathroom.
Murdoch returned to the kitchen.
Dika still resembled a feather-ruffled hen. A slender, pixielike hen.
“Where is he?” he asked softly.
She said nothing. But a hint of triumph crooked her lips.
His gaze swung to the far end of the trailer, which was draped ceiling to floor with heavy purple velvet.
Ah, shit.
He crossed to the curtain and swept it aside. A wall of massive gray bricks, darkened with mildew stains and spotted with lichen, greeted him. No archway. No door. Just the solid, impassable three-foot-thick stone of Castle Rakimczyk.
Ah, shit.
He crossed to the curtain and swept it aside. A wall of massive gray bricks, darkened with mildew stains and spotted with lichen, greeted him. No archway. No door. Just the solid, impassable three-foot-thick stone of Castle Rakimczyk.
“Call him out.”
“I can’t.”
He spun to face her. “Bollocks, Dika. I know you can reach him. It’s
your
bloody castle.”
your
bloody castle.”
“I never disturb him while he’s working.”
Working? With the new grimoire? “What’s he working on?”
“I didn’t ask.” She shrugged. “It’s not my business.”
Murdoch shook his head. “You may fool others with that docile, dim-witted charade, Dika, but you don’t fool me. I’ve seen the way he looks at you whenever he’s about to make an important decision. He values your opinion, and that tells me all I need to know.”
She smiled, but said nothing. Just turned to the stove and stirred a big pot of something that smelled heavenly.
“How long has he been in there?” Murdoch asked.
“Since dawn.”
“Well, then,” he said, grabbing a leather armchair and pulling it forward. He flopped onto the seat. “He’s got to come out to eat eventually. I’ll just wait.”
“He hasn’t been very hungry lately.”
Kicking off his boots, Murdoch reclined the La-Z-Boy. “Have no fear. He’ll never resist the smell of your spaghetti sauce. No man can.”
“Hmmm.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose—”
She handed him a bowl of pasta and a fork.
“God love ya, Dika. You’re a saint.”
18
W
hen the slithering hisses and moaning voices woke her for the second night in a row, Emily knew she had to call Uriel.
hen the slithering hisses and moaning voices woke her for the second night in a row, Emily knew she had to call Uriel.
She threw back the covers, slid her feet into a pair of leather-soled slippers, and crammed her Horde ball cap on her head. As she tiptoed down the hall past the baby’s room, she heard her mom crooning to Katie in sync with the slow, rhythmic rumble of the rocking chair.
Man, that baby could drink.
Every two hours. Nonstop.
Emily hugged the railing to avoid the creaky spot on the seventh stair and silently made her way to the front door. Why worry the folks? She grasped the brass door latch and pulled.
But it didn’t open.
She glanced up. A big male hand held it shut. Lachlan. He was pretty damned good at the stealth moves. She should have used her senses.
“Where are you going?” he demanded quietly.
“Up to the tennis courts. I need to talk to Uriel.”
He frowned at her, then glanced up the stairs. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure. The creepy voices in the between are back.”
“The ones that told you about Azazel?”
She nodded.
“You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll come with you.”
Emily peeled his hand away from the door. “Uh, immortal girl, remember? I think you should stay here with Mom and the baby.”
He stiffened.
“Not that there’s anything to worry about,” she added hastily. She did a quick check of the ranch grounds. “No alarm bells are ringing, honest. I just want to figure out what the noises mean.”
“Okay.” His eyes met hers in the gloom. “But if you’re no’ back in a half hour, I’m coming after you.”
“Deal.” She opened the door, stepped onto the porch, then paused. “Don’t tell Mom. She’s a worrywart, and she’ll wait up instead of getting some sleep.”
“Deal.” He closed the door behind her.
The night air was quite cold, and Emily wished she’d brought a sweater. Her cotton pajama set didn’t really cut it. Jogging up the path as fast as her slippers would allow, she pretended the goose bumps on her arms weren’t there. The lights were still on in Stefan’s trailer, which made her curious. But not curious enough to stop.
When she reached the crater at the top of the hill, Uriel was waiting for her. As hotly serene as ever.
“Don’t you have bad guys to catch?” she asked, huffing. No point in even asking how he knew she wanted to talk. Angels made a habit of eavesdropping.
“Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“Yeah,” she acknowledged, still breathless. Man, she was out of shape. Time to take up track and field. “But you’re very conveniently around whenever I need you.”
He smiled. “Michael made you my ward.”
“Your
what
?”
what
?”
“I’m tasked with looking after you.”
“Great,” she said. “I’m your job. How cozy.”
He tossed her an arch glance.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m being too sensitive. Story of my life.” She rubbed her bare arms. “Speaking of being sensitive, I’m hearing those voices again. From the between. And I gotta say, they’re more freaked-out than ever.”
Uriel peeled off his zippered hoodie and handed it to her. “What are they saying?”
Emily wrapped herself in the loose, warm fabric, breathing in the light smell of lemons. “The same. Azazel.”
Uriel was silent, so Emily peeked from the depths of the fleecy cotton. His beautiful face was marred by a frown.
“Is that bad?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps
how
?”
how
?”
He glanced at her. “Are the voice still fearful?”
“Yeah. Totally wetting their pants.”
“What have they to fear if Murdoch killed Azazel?”
Emily stared at him. “You’re saying he’s still alive? That he survived a sword through the heart?”
Grimacing, Uriel shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “I would survive. Any archangel would. Azazel is a fallen angel; therefore it’s possible he did, too.”
“How?”
“I have no true corporeal form. The image I present to you is merely an illusion to make communication more comfortable.”
She scrubbed her face. “So, you can’t die?”
“Oh, yes, I can die,” he said ruefully. “God could smite me. Satan, too. And a demon lord at full strength could take me down.”
“But us puny humans? We can’t harm you?”
“It would be very difficult.”
Emily whipped off the hoodie and flung it at Uriel. “Maybe you should have mentioned that? It would have been nice to know we were facing impossible odds.”
The archangel caught the jacket. “I did warn you not to engage him. And frankly, I had hoped Azazel was lessened by the Great Flood. That he wasn’t himself.”
A memory stirred in Emily’s mind. “What about the Shattered Halo? It leveled
you
. Could it defeat Azazel?”
you
. Could it defeat Azazel?”
“It would definitely weaken him,” Uriel said. “But the spell to leverage the halo is arcane and extremely difficult to wield.”
“You’ve got a piece, though, right? Of Lucifer’s halo? I want it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard. Hand it over.”
“Emily—”
She tipped the bill of her cap up so she could look him squarely in the eye. “Here’s the way I see things. The guy is obviously after Kiyoko’s Veil, which despite the lack of rotting-algae sensation must be capable of crushing mankind into dust. To my way of thinking, if he’s alive, there’s an awfully good chance he’ll take another stab at it. Do you want me to save the world or don’t you? Hand it over.”
Uriel returned her stare, steady. “Do you really think you’re ready to face Azazel?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I’ve got friends.”
He pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened his fingers. In the middle of his palm lay the gleaming fragment of shiny disk that Emily recognized from the battle they’d fought in the Egyptian desert seven months ago. It looked so ordinary, so harmless, so man-made. But she knew what it was capable of. And she knew what an act of faith it was that Uriel was offering it to her.
She took the shard from his hand. It was cool to the touch.
“Godspeed,” the archangel said quietly.
Then he vanished in a blink of light.
Murdoch lost the last of his patience at seven in the morning. Swearing a blue streak, he gave the castle wall a spirited kick that shook some mortar loose but otherwise did no damage. He declined Dika’s very generous offer of fresh-baked bannock bread, but snatched a mug of coffee from her hand with a mutter of thanks as he departed the trailer. It wasn’t her fault Stefan was a bloody git.
When and
if
the wretched mage finally put in an appearance, he was going to strangle him.
if
the wretched mage finally put in an appearance, he was going to strangle him.
Avoiding his fellow Gatherers and the inevitable morning small talk, Murdoch instead opted for a few peaceful hours with his Triumph Thunderbird. This early, the four-car garage was as quiet as a pub on Monday.
After filling a bucket with warm, soapy water and locating a soft chamois cloth, he set about clearing three weeks of accumulated dust off the motorbike. Something about sluicing away the grime, wiping down the steel with measured strokes, and revealing the beauty beneath was soothing. An hour later, the black body gleamed and the chrome handlebars, fork legs, and flared exhaust silencers sparkled.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”
He glanced up.
Kiyoko leaned on the hood of MacGregor’s Audi. For once, she was not wearing a gi. Instead, she had poured herself into a pair of stovepipe navy jeans and a pink short-sleeved tee bearing the words
Pink This!
in white. The black belt was slung saucily around her hips and her dark hair hung loose down her back.
Pink This!
in white. The black belt was slung saucily around her hips and her dark hair hung loose down her back.
He swallowed.
She looked positively edible.
“I’m not hiding,” he said, dropping his eyes to the bike and struggling with all his might to stop the rush of blood to his groin. “I’m having a caveman moment.”
She crossed the cement floor until he could see the toes of her ballet flats. “A caveman moment?”
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