Possession (Fallen Angels #5)(76)
Author: J.R. Ward

“He said something about a mirror.” She covered her belly with her arms. “That I was killed … and marked to protect her mirror?”

“Her mirror’s how she gets to Hell. It’s the key to the lock down there, and if she loses that ugly old thing, she’s separated forever.”

“It’s like something out of an evil fairy tale, then.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“But she only had me for a couple of weeks, right? That’s how long Jim said I was dead.”

“Well, technically you’re still dead, honey. But yeah.”

Sissy looked around the kitchen, noticing absently that someone had scrubbed the walls while she and Jim had been out. Once grungy and faded, the yellow was brightening up.

“So how many others like me have been sacrificed?” she asked in a dull voice.

Adrian groaned as he adjusted his position. “Time immemorial, right? She’s existed that long—so I don’t know. It’s my understanding that the seal on the door lasts until it’s broken by a third party. She can go in and out as many times as she wants to, but, like, when Jim went into that bathroom door, he broke it. I also think whenever she moves, she needs another sacrifice—new door and all that.”

“There must be others like me down there, then.”

“Yeah.”

That anger started to curl in her gut again, the burning getting stoked once more. Reaching down, she lifted her shirt up and looked underneath.

She expected to find the glowing in her skin, but there was none, no markings, either. Maybe she’d imagined what she’d seen in that loft?

Tugging things back into place, she met the eyes of the angel.

“You got another question?” he prompted.

“The ones like me, trapped down there?” she said quietly. “Is there any way of getting them out?”

The drawbridge was up.

That was the first thing Jim noticed as he arrived in Heaven. Actually, no, that was the second. The real number one was that his summons was not answered and he’d had to force himself up here.

Hadn’t been aware he could do that until he’d found himself back-flatting on Heaven’s lawn.

Getting to his feet, he brushed off his ass and frowned at the abandoned tea table. Hard to believe those four natty bastards would have walked away from it like that, leaving half-filled cups and itty-bitty sandwiches all over the place.

Something had happened.

“Nigel!” As his shout faded, he turned toward the fortified castle walls. “Colin!”

Nothing. Not even that huge wolfhound bounding over to him.

With few other options, he started hoofing it around the perimeter, hoping to run into someone. He’d gone about a fifty yards when he saw Nigel’s colorful tent setup off in the distance, gleaming in the strangely diffused light. Breaking into a jog, he beat feet in its direction.

“Anyone home?” he barked as he got within range of the draped entrance. “Nigel? You in?”

He called out a couple more times. Lost his patience with the whole polite thing.

Welcome back, Ali Baba, he thought as he drew the fabric aside.

Just as before, jeweled colors glowed from every corner, the fine silks and satins hanging in folds that caught the golden light of many candles. The furniture was all antique and very fancy, the place looking like something out of an Old English excursion to the Middle East.

“Nigel?”

At first, the flash of silver on the floor seemed like nothing but the glare of candlelight playing tricks on his eyes. But as he refocused on it, he realized there was … a thin puddle of the shit? Right at the base of one of the curtain falls. It looked as if someone had melted down a sterling tea set right on the Oriental rug—

That was when he smelled the flowers.

Breathing in, his nose hummed with a bouquet of freshly cut blooms.

And then he heard a faint, rhythmic sound.

Drip, drip, drip …

As dread clawed its way into the center of his chest, he approached slowly, and watched from a distance as his hand reached out and grabbed hold of a ruby-colored curtain.

Even before he pulled the thing back, he knew what he was going to see.

“Oh … fuck … no.”

On the far side, lying in an uncharacteristically messy sprawl on a chaise longue, Nigel was at once perfectly alive and completely gone: unmoving, with no breath in his chest or expression to his face, he was nonetheless the picture of health, a blush to his smooth cheeks, his skin retaining that glow he had had during his version of “life.”

There was a crystal knife sticking straight out of his sternum, his own hand still locked on its grip, his eyes fixed on some far-off point.

That silver blood was everywhere on the floor, and the dripping was more of it falling into the biggest of the puddles, the one directly under the body.

Jim backed out into the main space, letting go of the drape. The thing did not return to its former place, however, getting bogged down in the archangel’s blood, the doorway, such as it was, remaining open so that he could still see his “boss.”

Something hit him in the back of the legs. A chair by an inlaid desk.

Jim let himself fall down into the cane seat. Staring at the game changer ahead of him, he was dumbfounded to the point of not being able to breathe.

His choices had caused this; he knew that without a doubt. And that was bad. But the real kicker? He couldn’t say, even if he’d known this was going to be the result, that he would have done anything differently when it came to Sissy.

He just really f**king wished that he hadn’t had to trade one for the other. Yeah, he’d gotten the girl out, but the cost had been so much higher than he’d thought.

And now he knew precisely why the drawbridge had been up.

Heaven was not as secure as it used to be, was it.

Chapter Thirty-four

What was the saying? Once more with feeling…?

Cait leaned back as her plate of food arrived. Oh, yeeeeeahhh, cheeseburger with French fries. Nothing like a little red meat after what she and—

She glanced up as her cheeks got hot. Across the same table they’d been seated at before “things” had happened down at the boathouse, Duke was doing as she was—making way for about a thousand calories of burger goodness.

His had been without the cheese, though.

“Ketchup?” he asked, in that deep gravel voice of his.

After she nodded, he passed the Heinz, but didn’t release it as she took hold of the bottle. When she looked up into his half-lidded eyes, he deliberately licked his lips.