Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (29 page)

Clark would pay for what he’d done to Lucifer. There was a twisted coil of burning copper wire in his belly that demanded blood and fire, screams and agony. He wanted to break what Clark loved, and then he wanted to destroy Clark himself.

He thought about his vengeance with single-minded madness. And it was certainly madness. For when Lucifer had awoken in that desert, he’d known his new wings—though beautiful and miraculous—were the source of his new, broken form of crazy.

The early morning’s breeze picked up, rattling the limbs above him like loose bones. A smile crept across Lucifer’s face, his eyes narrowing as the rising sun cut a perfect path of light straight up to the Descendants of Enoch’s compound walls. His demons and fallen angels lined the woods on either side of him to await his command. Their tension, their excitement, was evident in the repressed breaths that mingled in with the hissing breeze. If he listened close enough, he thought he heard their hearts beating as one.

Or the singular beat was the pulse of his own growing madness.

Emim and Irin slipped up just then. Though their slender forms were camouflaged by the narrow tree trunks around them, their shadowed, black wings gave them away. Their inky eyes slinked back and forth between each other and Lucifer as they approached with movements exactly in sync with each other.

“My little eels,” Lucifer said quietly when they were close enough to hear, “what do you have for me?”

“A few guards patrol the walls…” Irin whispered.

“…two on the southern side, one on the east wall…” Emim added, his voice slinking over his twin’s.

“The two on this side should be on to the west wall in three minutes,” Irin said.

“And Clark?”

“In the meeting hall…”

“…half-alive from the exorcism.”

Lucifer grinned, not at the twins’ disjointed form of language, but at the thought of Clark’s weakened state. Even if Lucifer’s demon possession idea hadn’t worked, he still liked the notion of driving Clark half-crazy. “I like that,” he whispered.

“What will you have us do…”

“…Master?”

“Do what you do best, my eels.
Destroy
.”

The twins bowed their heads, sharing a sideways glance with each other that barely contained their ecstasy at the task. They slunk into the air, silent and sinuous, their bodies curling just like eels—hence their pet names. Lucifer watched them go, feeling a shudder tumble down his neck that cleared his head of vengeful thoughts enough for him to once again note just how terrifying those two angels really were.

Irin and Emim—once holy Archangels—had the ability to control the elements. They could cause a tsunami. Rip apart the earth with a single quake. Tear the air into shreds with a tornado. They were destroyers. They were the reapers of the earth herself.

Lucifer shook his pounding head, rubbing at his temples to ease the relentless pain that always accompanied these moments of blinding clarity. The flood of emotions—guilt, regret, fear—passed after a moment, taking the headache with them. Once again, he delved back into the blackness of his madness, a laugh bubbling up in his chest.

Funny, he couldn’t exactly recall what he’d just been thinking about the twins—his slick little eels.

A crack of rock, like a split of thunder, filled the air. That was his cue. The twins were in. The destruction had begun. Lucifer lifted two long fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply before stepping into the new dawn’s light. His wings, massive curls of onyx power, unfolded behind him, feathers gleaming. The glory of the strength that fired from the tips of the feathers and deep into the healed bones of his back fueled his crazed hate. The wings were the source of his madness, his disease, but damn if he didn’t love them.

He smoothed a hand down his tailored Marc Jacobs black suit before leaping into the air.

A tower in the compound crumbled and fell to its side. The ground the structure had previously been solidly standing on turned into a sucking hole with great chunks of earth slipping into its maw. In another part of the estate, the roof collapsed beneath a great downward gust of wind. The twins were working fast. They were Lucifer’s very own form of the End of Days. He laughed in delight.

Drawing closer and crossing over the southern wall, where demons were scuttling up and over, their grotesque bodies reflecting the light, Lucifer heard the beginning sounds of screams, flitting up to him like the fluttering of wings.

His very own happily ever after.

Chapter Two

Ten minutes before…

C
lark burped up a plume of smoke that tasted like his guts had been over-cooked. The underside of his skin was itchy and hypersensitive to anything that brushed it—anything being Iris and Maya, who both clung to him like barnacles on a shipwreck.

The Descendants and Nephilim in the meeting hall recovered slowly from their shock as they watched Zarachiel stoking a large fire that burned in the middle of the room. Only when it was at its hottest did he toss the demon’s limbs into the flames, which made the fire turn a brilliant, blinding putrid green for a second. He mumbled to himself as he worked feverishly.

On the other side of the room, Bailey checked the pulses of those who’d been attacked by the demon. Even Clark knew it was futile to feel for a pulse. The floor was like a river of red.
Too much
, Clark thought.
No one could survive that.

“Could you—” Clark coughed, his throat rasping. His mouth felt like someone had shoved a brick down his throat. Instead of trying to talk again, he rattled his restraints. Maya got the idea and quickly started releasing him.

“Hey!” For the first time, the priest came out of the shadows, where he’d been trembling like a coward. “Hey! You can’t do that! He’s a criminal.”

Bailey looked up from where he was crouched beside another body. “We’ll worry about him later.”

The short, round priest straightened up to his full height, ignoring the death around him that he’d caused. “You can’t—”

“Don’t you need to bless these souls or something?” Bailey snapped.

For once, the priest didn’t argue, but he shot a hateful glare in Clark’s direction before reluctantly going to the fallen victims. Clark was too weak to muster the strength to raise his arm and flip off the asshole. Instead, he slumped forward in his chair and watched the remaining official from Washington—the last great reminder of the American government—collect around his fallen members.

One had been an older woman with short, businesslike hair and a prim suit. Now she stretched across the ground, her body facing toward the back of the hall, while her neck and head were twisted completely the other way, staring straight at Clark. Her eyes were milky and faraway, as if she were caught in a great daydream. The other official was bathed in his own blood where the demon had slit his throat. From where Clark sat, he could just make out a patch of graying hair amongst the ocean of blood.

“She was the secretary of state,” the official mumbled, standing over the woman. “There’s no one left to take the presidency. We’re alone. There’s nothing left. No one is safe.”

“We can handle this. We’ll take care of the country,” Bailey said.

“What country?” the official yelled. “This place and those refugees are all that’s left! This,” he said, sweeping his arms wide, “is the United States now!”

“We’re trained—” Bailey started.

“You can’t even keep the people in this room safe! I’m done. I want out of here.”

“Listen,” Bailey said calmly. “You should return to your room. We’ll bring up some soup and water. Get some rest. We’ll talk about this later.”

Clark looked away from their conversation. He didn’t care how the Descendants planned to rebuild the country; that concern had diminished after seeing Jenna’s murder exploited by the Descendants for fear and control. He shifted in his chair, glancing around for the most important thing he cared about right then.

Camille was the most important thing. Before the exorcism had started, when he’d been sitting in this chair waiting to be burned, he’d finally understood that he loved her. She wasn’t Sophia. And she certainly wasn’t Michaela. She was an angel and maybe it was wrong, but he did love her. And all along, she’d loved him too. They needed to talk. They needed to figure things out.

“Where’s Camille?” he asked when he didn’t see her tall form and bright blond hair. She would have been right beside him if she was in the room, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else she would be.

For the first time since he started, Zarachiel looked up from where he was hanging burnt bones around the room. “I think she stepped outside for some fresh air.”

“Can you help me go out there?” Clark asked Iris and Maya.

“Sure.” Together, they helped him to his feet. His muscles felt sore and stiff, like he’d run for miles. Each step sent waves up pain through his body, twisting his stomach with nausea and making his vision slant.

Outside the meeting hall, the compound was quiet. The new day was still too early for breakfast, and everyone was fast asleep, completely unaware of what had happened right under their noses. Morning light streamed through the multiple windows of the front entry. The giant door leading outside was slightly ajar, and Maya and Iris eased it the rest of the way open before guiding Clark through. He squinted out into the morning light and looked around for Camille.

“She’s not out here,” Clark said after a moment.

“I’m sure she’s here somewhere.” Iris rubbed his back to console him.

“Camille!” Clark called, his voice ringing back to his ears, empty and unheard.

“Maybe she went back to your apartment?” Maya offered.

“Why would she go there?”

“She could be flying to clear her head,” Iris said.

“No.” None of that was right, Clark thought. A horrible, sinking dread filled his body, his heart. “Something is wrong.”

“How do you know?” Maya asked. “She could—”

“She would be with me!” Clark shouted, making Maya flinch.

He stepped away from them, staggering slightly, but managing to stay on his feet. The air was cold and full of snapping static electricity. He scanned the wall in front of him, searching deep into the shadows. He didn’t see any guards. Something whipped over his head, slicing through the bright air.

Wings.

Clark ducked on instinct, turning toward the front door and shoving Iris and Maya back inside. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see a writhing mass scale the top of the wall and fall to the ground inside the compound. He didn’t need another glance to confirm the rigid distortions of the demons’ backs or the glint of their scales.

He slammed the front door shut and started shoving every bolt and lock into place. “Attack,” he shouted. “Attack!”

“Clark?” Bailey called, coming out of the meeting room just off to the side of the main doors.

“Lucifer is here! Demons outside. Angels in the air. Alert everyone!”

“Dammit,” Bailey hissed. He rushed to the wall where a fire alarm was positioned. The alarms in the compound worked on a backup generator that would turn on when the sirens were triggered. But instead of flipping the fire alarm lever, Bailey lifted the entire system and revealed a keypad on the back. His fingers flew across the buttons, punching in a series of numbers. When he was finished, an ear-splitting wail crackled to life from the dusty speakers placed throughout the compound.

The siren was so deafening that Clark had to cover his ears. He turned to Iris and Maya. “Go to the Nephilim. Get them secured inside the east wing. Lock everything down, even the windows. Block all the fireplaces! Go!”

“What about you?” Iris shouted over the screeching.

Behind them, the front door rattled. Demons laughed on the other side, the noise unmistakable to Clark. He shivered. Movement caught his eye on the ground. Beneath the lip of the door, the creatures stuck their fingers inside, wiggling them back and forth, scraping their long claws on the stone.

“I’m going outside to look for Camille!” Clark yelled back.

Maya was shaking her head before he even finished. “No, Clark! You can’t go out there!”

“I can’t just leave her out there!”

“Be safe,” Iris said directly to Clark, her tone commanding and forcing his frantic attention on her. “Find her and come straight back inside.”

“I will.”

Still feeling lightheaded but knowing what he had to do, Clark turned to the door and placed his palm on the wood. From the other side, the wood gave beneath the press of the demons. He whispered the words for holy fire, and the power in his arms surged through him like a long-lost friend. His fingertips itched as the magic seeped out and into the wood. The door pulsed beneath his hand and started to vibrate. More and more flames sparked to life across the surface and burned bright, blindingly white. When it was hot enough, Clark stepped back and watched as the door seethed with magic, destroying anything that touched it.

The demons’ laughter morphed into howls of pain.

When Clark looked over his shoulder, Iris and Maya were gone. The entry was empty, but the screaming sirens filled every inch of space. Taking a deep breath, he focused only on finding Camille. He had to. Ignoring the flames, Clark kicked open the weakened door, splintering the wood like it had been shot by a cannon. A carpet of demons lay roasted on the compound’s sweeping front porch, and Clark didn’t bother finding a way around. He stepped on them, crunching their disgusting bodies into the ground, and walked over them like they were nothing but a shaky bridge.