Vengeance: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 3 (29 page)

“Madeline.” Hellion’s voice wound around me, a slow and sensual caress.

I kept going, shaking my head and holding up a hand to acknowledge that I’d heard him.
 

“We’ll have to finish this discussion sometime soon,” he called out.

“My calendar’s suddenly full,” I said so quietly he shouldn’t have heard me. But he did.

“Then clear it.”
 

This time when I held my hand up, I flipped him off.

He laughed, the sound threaded with exhaustion. “We’ll survive this, Niteclif.”

“I’m counting on it.” Fierce words as I wiped a tear from my cheek.
 

I stumbled, nearly going to my knees as understanding plowed into me with gross intent to cause harm. It was entirely possible that the justice I was to deliver was for Hellion, not Micah. The Nephilim had been the vehicle that brought this to my door, but Hellion’s fate was in the proverbial driver’s seat, and it had been all along. I’d just been too engrossed with my own drama to see it.
 

Losing Hellion wasn’t an option, but I also didn’t know exactly how to stop it. It didn’t matter, though. He’d made his decision, and I’d just made mine.
 

He wasn’t going down.
 

Shadows crept across the grounds and through the low windows of the manor house as the sun set. The slow drizzle hadn’t let up from earlier, lending time a sense of neutral ambivalence—it neither pushed forward to get things moving, nor did it drag its feet to afford us more daylight. It was a weird afternoon on a grand scale.

Hellion hadn’t been back to the house as far as I knew. That was fine. I wasn’t ready to see him anyway. Instead, I sought Micah out and hauled him into the library. His bronze eyes were cool as I began to pace and pepper him with questions about Agares. When his answers devolved to single words interspersed with grunts, I stopped. “Do you have a problem, Micah? Because I really am trying to do this for your benefit.”

A slow, sinful smile curled his lips. “If you want to do something for my benefit, shut the door on your way over here.”

“Not this again.” My grumbled reply was heartfelt and multidimensional, painted with undertones of anger and frustration. “Do you not get it? I’m with Hellion.
Hellion
. I don’t want anyone else.”

Micah stood as if his puppet master had pulled his strings—one fluid movement that was as graceful as it was unnatural. “You’ve been perfectly clear. But it’s you who needs to get on board the comprehension train.” I started for the door as Micah’s next words slammed into me. “You need to understand that until your child is born, this is far from over.”

Micah faced the fire, refusing to look at me as I turned. “You’ve got my attention.”
 

He looked over at me and arched a brow. “Your conception can be terminated, your misconception cleared up, even.” He chortled at his little joke, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning one shoulder against the nearest bookcase.
 

“You’re point?” My hand itched to knock the smirk off his face.

“Quite simple, really. The world rests on your child’s shoulders.” He cocked his head to the side like a bird eyeing a treat. “Whether you will it to be different or not, this is the path divined for you.”

My stomach flipped in a series of one-eighties, rolling like a stunt car down a wet road. “Then divine another one. You can do that, can’t you? Give me a different path by carving out a new trail?”

“Don’t sound so hopeful.” His soft voice was backed by a roll of thunder—the heavens’ remorse, maybe. “I cannot entirely change what’s in your path any more than you can avoid it altogether. Some things, my beloved, are simply preordained. Others still have to be taken on blind faith.” He reached out and stroked my hair, his eyes warming.

I stepped out of range. “Seems like everyone wants a piece of me, from gods to angels to demons, and there’s just not enough to go around. Everyone’s talking about finding faith and…” An idea was born in that moment, full of bravado and more than a little wild hope. If faith could be a solution for my predicament, why couldn’t I use it to my advantage in other ways, namely my situation with Agares and the mysterious Asmodeus?

“I think I figured it out,”
I whispered, backing away from the Nephilim.
 

His eyes narrowed. “Maddy?”

I stopped nearer the door. “How many fallen angels are in Ireland—Dublin in particular?”

“We don’t gather, as you know, but I know of at least two here. The first is Zerachiel, and the second is Gagiel. They’ve been here for ages. Why?”

“You might want to reach out to them. I’m willing to bet Agares is going to move on one or the other tonight.” When he paled and started to shake his head, I interrupted. “Do it or don’t. It’s on your shoulders. You’re too insulated here, too protected to be an easy take for Agares and his men. Those two Nephilim have no idea what’s coming.”
 

“Where are you going?” he called after me as I skipped down the stairs.

“It’s about time we started utilizing our resources, Micah.” Hand resting on the banister, I glanced back at him. “I’m about to resolve my issues of faith. Either that or blow it all to Hell. Tell Hellion I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The Bugatti Vitesse prowled the dark country lanes, the purr of its engine an auditory balm to my soul. I’d opened it up right out of the garage, rocketing down the driveway with the tachometer redlining through the gears. Truth? This car made half the shit with the supernatural world worth it. The other half? Hell, there wasn’t enough money in the world to make it even
entertaining
.
 

No one had followed me from the house. Either they didn’t know I’d left or they’d known but been too tied up in preparing for what they thought would be coming for them. If Micah delivered the message I’d left with him, no one would worry about me. Much. Okay, they’d worry like mad, but I knew I was right about this. Agares wasn’t going to hit Hellion’s house tonight. He was going to try and draw him out, away from his sanctuary and seat of power. No way would I have brought my magus along tonight. It would have been like chumming the waters for the biggest bad out there. I knew what lurked, and I was way too close to chumming as it was.
 

My cell chirped with a new text message. Digging around in my messenger bag, I found it and tapped in the screen password.
 

Get your ass back here. ~H
 

That settled the question of whether or not they knew I was gone.

I didn’t want to tell Hellion what I’d surmised about my real role in this. I also didn’t want to fight with Hellion over the choice I’d made, but that didn’t mean I was going to capitulate to his wishes that I clear everything through him and, when all else failed, hide behind his heroic self. This whole thing was a part of my job as Niteclif. Micah had seen to that. Besides, if I was right about this, not only would I be able to sort this whole thing out, I’d be coming home with an arsenal Agares couldn’t defend himself against. Probably. Maybe. Crap, I hoped so.

Thumbing the phone off, I dumped it back in my bag. The “Find Me” feature was handy unless you really, really didn’t want to be found. Of course, driving the Vitesse was a sure-fire way to draw unwanted attention, but I’d take care of that too.

Cresting a hill some time later, Dublin lay sprawled before me, an urban landscape that glittered with all the allure of a beautiful woman at night. She presented her best side, using shadow and light to her advantage. Dirty alleys were lost to the dark while shiny newness and quaint historic flavor were emphasized. Subtle scents of teahouses tempted me to stop. Raucous pubs called to my need to live a little.
 

Later
, I promised myself,
when this is done.

Without the benefit of my phone’s GPS, I was stuck wandering the streets and doing my best to read the directions I’d jotted on my hand and wrist. Considering the fact I was a miserable left-lane driver, it took a few round-the-block maneuvers for me to find what I’d been looking for.
 

The Four Seasons looked like any other fine hotel, with one exception. It was openly busy, choosing not to hide its activity behind prestige. I pulled right up to the front, trying not to laugh as the valets shoved and pushed in an effort to get close to the car let alone be the one to park it. Leaving it running, I stepped out and was met by a distinguished-looking man in a suit.
 

“Madam.” He looked over the car and couldn’t contain his grin. “I’m happy to see to your car.”

“I need a little something extra.” As discreetly as possible, I slipped him several hundred euros. “It needs to be in as good a shape as it is now, if not better, when I come back. I also need it parked out of sight, please.”

Money disappeared with one hand while he took my hand and helped me to the sidewalk with the other.
Guy’s a freaking magician.
 

“Of course, madam. I’ll assign a couple of the lads to look over it. May we expect your return after dinner?”

This was the tricky part, because I was about to prove myself a liar. “Sure. Dinner.”

Without batting an eye, he slid into the car and pulled it around the corner.

The moment he was out of sight, I flagged down a cab getting ready to jettison itself back into increasingly congested traffic. “Our Lady Queen of Peace Parish.”
 

“Right then.” The cabbie floored it.

I sat back to rack my brain over what I knew of Old World Catholicism, miracles and acts of blind faith.
 

My knowledge banks being what they were, I was left with plenty of time to sightsee.

Chapter Seventeen

Propped open for evening Recollections, the doors to the church vestibule were enormous. Candlelight spilled down the steps, warm and inviting. The deep, melodic voice of the priest settled around me as prayers were recited and the congregation answered in soft whispers. People came and went in ones and twos, rarely more. I hesitated.
What if this doesn’t work? What if I have to have unquestionable faith? And where am I in the whole fate versus free will argument?

“Standing at the foot of the steps to a church talking to yourself,” I muttered. Rolling my shoulders, I pretended not to see an exiting couple glance my way nervously before picking up their pace. “Right. Phase one of my evil plan: scare the locals. Implemented.”
 

Incense tickled my nose and burned my throat as I took a deep breath and plunged into organized religion for the first time in more than a decade. Unsure whether or not to genuflect this far back, my feet stuttered as my upper body tried for obedience. The resulting move was mildly seizure-like. I slipped into the first empty pew I came to and dropped my forehead to the seatback in front of me.
 

Well, that went smashingly.
 

Once I got my bearings and convinced myself that no one was, in fact, staring at me in abject horror, I took a look around. The church was beautiful. A tall, barrel-shaped ceiling rose overhead while large stained glass windows along one wall depicted spiritually significant events from the Bible. Pale walls were up-lit, enhancing the sense of height and space. The front of the church had a broad maple table covered with white and gold linens. A priest was handing out the Sacrament beneath the Crucifixion of Christ. Small, dark wood doors along one wall opened and closed quietly as parishioners completed Confession.

Summoning my nerve reserves, I stood and made my way over to one of the confessionals only to pause.
Do I knock? Wait? Take a spiritual number?
 

“Try the handle,” said a soft voice behind me. “If it’s not locked, go in.” I glanced back to find an altar boy in white robes staring up at me. The look on his face clearly said
Lady, I’m
seven
and I know what to do.

“Thanks.” I tried the door and found it open. The dim booth was small enough it should have been claustrophobic, but it wasn’t. I felt secure, safe, protected. It was the strangest thing that in a world gone mad with monsters and demons and magics, oh my, that this would comfort me. A small panel slid back. Silence.
 

Here we go.

“Um, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. A lot.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then came the most compassionate voice I’d ever heard. “There is nothing, child, that the Father cannot forgive.”

I wanted to challenge him, force him to see the things I had seen and tell me that his faith was still as strong after the revelations as it had been before. My mind worked madly. Every precalculated idea, every squirrelly plan, every direct challenge—they left me. All that remained was the truth, and I couldn’t bring myself to share it.

“When was your last confession?”

My reaction was inexcusable. I snorted. “Never.”

“If you’re interested in Catechism—the switch to Catholicism—you’re free to talk to any of the clergymen in the lobby.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m not interested in converting.”