Lilith's Amulet Page 5

  “No.”

  “Care to enlighten me?”

  She sucked on her teeth. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “About what?”

  “Two thousand years’ worth of history. Especially since you should know, shouldn't you, angel? Didn’t the divine notice a magic so powerful it blotted out the sun? Or an event so unnatural that it raised a throng of long-dead in that noontime darkness?”

  “Ah,” he said. “The Black Spark.”

  She snorted. “What?”

  “Heaven felt a surge. Power filled the air with a scent…like a rainstorm rolling in on a desert horizon. Was that you?”

  “No, but maybe that made me. I'm the first of Yeshua's five-hundred risen dead.”

  Haniel fell quiet, his expression as impenetrable as a statue. Was it the name, Yeshua, which scared him? Or that she'd been dead? Maybe her age.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “I don't believe you, cherub.”

  “Don't call me that. It's insulting and entirely inaccurate. Even when I was an angel, I wasn't a cherub.”

  “I can imagine you with those big round cheeks, eyes glimmering with laughter, chubby arms, and a fat smile.”

  He glared at her.

  If looked could kill, I'd be dead again.

  She changed the subject. “How did you come to be in Boston?”

  “I became involved in missionary work in Brazil. The work ended, the diocese here needed a chaplain, and so I came to work in the hospital. I didn’t want to be in the heat any longer.”

  She didn’t ask how he fell. She didn't want to reveal that she knew Arachne, and therefore knew who made him the devil he was.

  “I acquired an artifact,” she continued. “Its power has been bound by a powerful spell, and I need the key to unlock it.”

  “And you think I have this key,” he said.

  “Lane knows—knew—things, and he said he’d give me the ‘Sacred’ key, and then you showed up at Lane’s villa.”

  While they spoke, the pressure grew. The spark inside her fired. Her lungs turned stony, scraping hungrily at the bones inside her chest.

  A tombstone ahead had a stone angel bearing a stone sword. Lilith whipped a heavy knot of Becoming at the weapon. It shivered, wiggled free of the statue's grip, and tumbled to the snow. Ashen in color, thick and powerful, it angled toward her. She waited for it—and Haniel—to catch up. The snake twisted around her thigh like a garter.

  Haniel bent over, out of breath, holding his thighs for stability. His trousers were wet from melted snow. Watching him pant and wheeze, she realized she was curious.

  “Missionary work?” she said. “Is that what you want to do with your demon life?”

  He glowered. Maybe he didn't know what he wanted. Maybe he didn't want to tell her. Fine. He was the one demanding conversation. No skin off her back.

  They'd barely gone a mile. This journey would take forever.

  She sucked her teeth. “How's the knee?”

  “Hurts,” he said. “And my feet are freezing.”

  She frowned. If his toes became frostbitten, he'd walk even slower or not at all. She'd have to carry him eventually, and she was not looking forward to it. Unless she carried him in pieces, all chopped up and harvested.

  Again, she hesitated. What if she took the wrong ingredients or misunderstood the spell?

  He stumbled, caught himself, and sighed with exhaustion. They’d almost reached the roadway, but it had nearly taken all night. She’d kill him out of frustration if he continued at this pace.

  Roadways lured traffic down a confined path. Sooner or later, a vehicle would come along.

  Provided anyone in this godforsaken city still lived.

  In fact, she could hear a vehicle now, blocks away, huffing and puffing dirty smoke like it would burst into flames at any moment.

  She turned to Haniel. “Can you drive a car?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She would have thought it obvious. She spun and ran to the roadway, arms outstretched, dragging her magic out into the open. The crisp stalks of dead rose bushes, poles holding flags aloft, wires for old Christmas lighting, sticks and stems; it all quaked under her power.

  Snakes righted themselves, slithering up from holes in the snow or dropping down to skate atop the drifts. They flocked to her like a rolling sea of scales. With every flicker of life transferred to them, the burden on her heart eased. Power undulated from her in waves, and each new life lifted a burden from her chest. She grew lighter—so light she could fly.

  She leapt.

  But she’d been running too fast and wasn’t accustomed to feeling so light and feathery. She nearly overshot her target. Her heel came down on the far side of the truck bed. She slipped and fell on her ass. Wham. The truck swerved and flung her hard inside the truck bed. Her face cracked on metal, splitting her new skin.

  Is every automobile in Boston determined to destroy my face?

  She levered herself up to her elbows and bled onto the truck panel.

  Tires squealed. Snap, snip, snip. The jabs of death struck more tenderly on her empty heart. Everything she had was out there, right now, rushing into battle with her.

  And the truck ran over her babies. Snip-snip.

  A snarl rolled from her chest.

  Lilith ground her feet against the tailgate and sprung to the window. At the last moment, she covered her bleeding face with her arms and broke through the glass, which felt like nothing more than a brittle veil. The driver cringed like a turtle trying to pop into its shell, and she grabbed it before it could turn and look at her.

  She bit its neck, and the shower of glass left sharp pebbles on her tongue. Blood flooded her mouth, spurting in frantic thrusts of its heart. Her anger subsided enough to reveal the full aggression of her hunger, which was worse. She latched onto the man with all her might, breaking his arm. The wan, metallic taste lingered even after she’d swallowed the last of his blood. She gave up ravaging his neck with her katana-sharp fangs.

  Heat coated her throat, swept into her veins, and rolled to her toes.

  Zip-zaps of electricity coursed through every fiber of her being.

  Ah, yes. So good. She wanted so much more.

  The truck stalled when the human's feet danced in death-throes.

  She pulled herself into the cab, anchored by her grip on his collar and the set of her teeth. Serpents spilled over her back and arms, following her into the vehicle. One tracked over her hand, crossing into the red, wet human remains. Blood smeared on its white-scaled underbelly. A guttural sound keened from her throat, over her sated tongue, through the swamp of dirty flesh and blood flavors.

  Sulfur. Like someone lit a match.

  Something pawed at her hand, toddler-sized, unseen. It shoved as if she was hogging a toy. Was it Five-horn?

  Lilith released the corpse.

  A vague, materializing hand tossed her white snake away. The minion appeared transparent but solid enough to make sounds: a whump, a bump, a rattle. Vicious type of animal. Five-horn latched onto her arm and thrust his face against the messy corpse.

  Lilith’s jaw dropped. The sycophant fed on her kill as if it had the right!

  And its skin was soft like well-worn leather. Warm. More than warm, hot. Hotter than it had the right to be, considering it belonged on another plane.

  She enjoyed every detail: the bump above his bottom where a two-inch tail sprouted, barbs down his spine, warts on his paws. He smelled like ozone, burning leaves, and a volcano.

  Five-horn ate on the scraps, and more details appeared: the rough ivory of his short horns, wisps of coarse hair like vellum on his shoulders, black claws.

  She reached for the tip of his closest horn, which was no longer than her thumb. His teeth gnawed through the meat, grating as he struck bone.

  His flesh grew hotter. Incendiary.

  Maybe I shouldn't let him eat anymore.

  Or maybe
she should, so he'd solidify enough for her to taste his blood.

  “Get out of there!” Haniel shouted.

  Lilith bristled, but he wasn't yelling at her. Five-horn scampered away from the body and smashed against the door, unable to operate the handle. He gave up and leapt at her. She ducked and he vaulted through the broken window, escaping into the night.

  She laughed. “What a mischievous thing.”

  “Don't encourage him.” Haniel glared. “And don't feed him.”

  She offered no promises.

  “Why did you do this?” He said, “This guy wasn't doing anything to you. You don't have to kill anyone. He would have passed us by.”

  “And then he’d be gone, and we wouldn't have a vehicle.”

  Haniel gaped. “You killed him for his truck?”

  “Look around, angel-face. Boston is done for. He's not the first human to die because he has something someone else wants. Now, get in and drive.”

  He didn't get in. His hand squeezed the doorframe like he'd fall. Or maybe he was angry. “Don't kill people unless I say so.”

  Again, she didn't make any promises. He doesn’t think he can order me around, does he?

  If the look on his face was anything to judge by, yes. Yes, he did.

  “Get in,” she said.

  Haniel grumbled, “I'm surrounded by infantile demons, and I think you may be the worst one.”

  She chuckled and scooted across the seat, brushing off glass and blood.

  Haniel didn't get in. He admitted, “I can't drive.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don't know how.” He glared. “Why can't you?”

  “I never learned either.”

  They stared blankly at each other. Two powerful creatures, equally clueless on how to operate a truck. A twinkle lit his eye, and she erupted in gut-grabbing laughter. Her chest was light, empty, and relieved after her rush of creation.

  “We'll figure it out.” She kicked the driver's corpse out of the way.

  Haniel slid into the driver's seat. “Maybe now you'll admit you shouldn't have killed him.”

  Not likely.

  He closed the door and stared at the controls.

  She pointed at the keys. “Turn that.”

  “I know that much.”

  “And maybe push that,” she directed.

  “Do you want to drive? No? Then let me do it.” He muttered, “Backseat driver.”

  Her scaly brood, some of which had fallen from her body during the collision, continued to swarm into the truck through the broken window. Other newly-made serpents trailed into the scene, rolling over the dead man, smearing blood on the window and across Haniel's jacket.

  The ex-angel swept off the snakes that traversed over him but soon gave up, ground his teeth, and focused on the vehicle.

  She pushed a button on the console. Nothing happened. Frowning, she jabbed another one. Noise erupted, blaring out of both sides of the truck, filling the air with a percussive sound and guttural voice. Lilith cringed and covered her ears. Haniel pushed the button again, and silence fell.

  “Don't touch anything,” he snarled.

  She sneered, but her eardrums throbbed, so she crossed her arms and didn’t play with any more buttons. The blood she'd taken eased her temper and filled her with new strength. It was a shame she didn't eat as often as she used to. She remembered the bacchanal days when she and Arachne bathed in blood night after night. Full to the brim.

  Now she abstained too regularly, drying up like the desert landscapes she preferred. How could she fight heaven with empty veins? Given the adversary she'd soon face, more blood should be on the menu. Not enough to keep her drunk or addle her wits, but enough to fill the void in her body when the spark had been used up.

  She was so lost in thought she didn't notice Haniel had made the truck move until he jerked to a stop. “Which way?”

  She started, looked around.

  “Don't you know?” he said, impatient.

  “Pardon you, brat. Of course I know the way.” She didn't remember how far she'd run while in pursuit of the demonic entity. “Lane's villa is near the statue of the horse and the bell, but toward the dawn's side of the park.”

  “The dawn's side?” He blinked. “You mean east?”

  She pointed. “Go that way.”

  He looked. “That's north.”

  She crossed her arms. “We have some materials to collect first.”

  “No, we don't,” he growled. “Take me to the estate where Maggie died, or I'll drive this truck into the harbor.”

  “Do you even know where the harbor is? And that won't hurt anyone but yourself, idiot.”

  “So help me, vampire—”

  “Take me north. I can lead you to the road that goes east.”

  They left the body by the side of the road. For all his complaints of killing, Haniel didn't look back. She did.

  Red eyes glowed in the night, illuminating the bright scales of a few errant serpents. Viscera spread throughout the cemetery, and more red eyes materialized. It was like she'd taught the imps to eat flesh. Like spawn learning hunting habits from their mother. Good. Maybe if she continued to feed them, she'd earn their loyalty. Even if she didn't, they'd be fattened like piglets—visible and made manifest—ready to harvest when she needed them.

  Chapter 7

  Lilith and Haniel traversed the city with only one detour, which Lilith pretended was part of the route and not a navigational flaw on her part. Haniel acknowledged it with an eye roll.

  She said, “Your eyeballs belong to a prepubescent girl.”

  He glared.

  The truck sputtered, seized, and lurched to a dead stop.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “Ran out of fuel.”

  She reached for the door handle and grumbled, “Whatever. You suck at driving anyway,” and they walked.

  Her humor faded at the sight of Lane’s home, which had burned to the ground. Of the villa, only the vaguest skeletal remains survived a fire which had obviously been left to burn itself out. The orchard was laid to waste.

  By memory, she oriented herself toward the front of the mansion, but the doors were gone, along with the walls, treasures, and vampires. Stairwells remained, some rising up to missing floors while others sank down into a dungeon.

  Lane himself was gone. Forever.

  A giant snake curved around her waist and poked its snout into her armpit. She left the vehicle, petting the snake for comfort.

  The smell made her grateful that she didn't need to breathe unless she was doing something laborious. Chemical smoke and overcooked meat built a smog she hadn't had to endure in a long time.

  Her heart ached. Lane was dead, destroyed by his daughters. The three Fates conspired against him, but only two had been needed to do the job.

  Lane must have known. He had the foresight, a hint of prophecy in his gifted blood. He must have foreseen his daughters would betray him, so why hadn't he done anything? Even when their treacherous hands grabbed him and dragged him into flame, he hadn’t fought. He’d laughed.

  Lilith hated him for it. He’d been an icon of their people, a patron of the old ways and the Old Law (which she didn’t give a rat’s ass about), and maybe, a friend.

  Okay, he was definitely a friend. Possibly more. Or could have been.

  Lane was one of the eldest. He’d been turned by the true source’s blood, not raised after death as she was. They’d met late in that first century of afterlife, but now he wouldn’t ever speak to her again. And worse, he didn’t die in the manner everyone expected. He hadn’t been killed by his lifelong enemy and lover, Arachne.

  Arachne probably didn't even know he was dead yet.

  “God damn him,” Lilith mumbled.

  Haniel must have thought she was talking about Maggie’s friend, the one who started the fire, because he said, “That stupid human runt brought Maggie here to die. For what? His stupid crusade?”

  But Lilith
didn't give two shits about the humans. They were tools in someone else’s plot. Sure, she’d kill the ‘runt’ if she saw him, but she had bigger concerns.

  She walked into the ruins and tested the floor. She was heavier than her size indicated, especially with two hundred pounds of serpent flesh encircling her waist, but the floor held. Creaked a little. Wet ash squelched around her shoe.

  Lane’s art was gone: his collection, everything. His messy office and its debris, the treasures from his persistent pursuit of history and trinkets. Some had melted. A few statues remained, broken figures cracked from the heat or crushed by the falling structure.

  Snakes navigated the wreckage, shuffling bits and pieces. She bent and picked up something shiny. It was a gold coin, half-melted.

  “So many bones,” Haniel said, his voice like briars.

  “Any of them could be hers,” she replied.

  He scowled, and his hands turned into fists. Blinks of red appeared by his knees. Five-horn, fattened on a carcass, glared at her.

  “Maybe these are hers?” Lilith bent at a suitably shaped female skeleton. The bones settled neatly in the ash, picturesque enough to be hustled off to a memorial site.

  The sooner he puts this idea to rest, the sooner we can get on with it.

  “No,” he growled. “She would have been in the basement. That’s what Fate said.”

  Lilith clamped her mouth shut. She’d wanted to avoid the basement. Would serve him right if the ceiling came down on them.

  They stepped over bits of bodies she’d never hope or care to identify. Along the way, she gathered trinkets. Not because she wanted any of the treasure, but because they were Lane’s.

  She walked deeper into the once-mansion. Without walls, it stretched vast and empty, itself much like a charred corpse. She sank ankle-deep in the ash of body, blood, and invaluable muck.

  Lane’s legacy, his treasures, his life…all gone. He’d died at the hands of his daughters whom he’d lifted to positions of devastating power. His fate proved that the worst betrayals come from those closest to the heart. It was the reason why Lilith didn’t bother making real friends who might later become enemies and why, when her daughter had left for another life, Lilith had let her go.