Tirade (Heven and Hell #3)(2)
Author: Cambria Hebert

“What is it?” Gemma asked from beside me.

I looked back down at the plain dagger in my hand. It had been Sam’s favorite. He chose it every time he trained with Gemma. I closed my eyes and called up a prefect image of it clasped in his hand. I used the memory to mirror how he held it. Knowing my hand was in exactly the same place that his had once been gave me comfort.

“Can I keep this one?” I asked Gemma, my voice turning hoarse. I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders, sorry for my moment of weakness.

“Of course.” She gave no indication she knew how my insides were churning.

“Thanks.”

“Let’s get some lunch,” Cole said, coming up behind us.

“Can’t,” I told him. “I’m heading to the hospital to see my mom.”

“Want me to come with?”

“No. You and Gemma stay here, go through the books. We have to find a way to retrieve a Lucent Marble and get through the portal to hell without a hellhound.”

“I’ve been through those books a thousand times over the years,” Gemma said, looking over at a large leather bag that contained three large leather-bound books.

“Then you aren’t looking hard enough!” I snapped. Gemma’s face didn’t change, but instantly I felt guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” I was yelling at one of the only people who had been working tirelessly to help me get Sam back. On day two of Sam being trapped in hell, Gemma offered up the books that are hundreds of years old. They contain knowledge I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else, including the internet (finally proof that Google does not know it all!). They contained fact after fact about heaven and hell, how they were created and all the information about what most people today would think are merely myths. From some of the stuff I’ve read, I’ve come to think it’s better if most people do think of this stuff as myth. Otherwise, everyone would be afraid to come out of their houses.

Gemma was hoping there might be something in there we could use to help get Sam back. So far, we hadn’t found anything but more proof of how hard it would be to go up against Beelzebub, AKA the Prince of Demons, and Hecate, the original witch of hell.

“I get it,” Gemma said, brushing off my mood.

“No.” I laid a hand on her arm. “You’ve been nothing but helpful and supportive. You didn’t deserve that. I’m just so frustrated.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Gemma shrugged off my arm and stepped back. She didn’t know how to act when someone showed they cared for her. I had a feeling she spent a lot of years pushing people away and not getting close to anyone because of something in her past.

Cole glanced at me, then back at Gemma. “You go. I’ll stay here and help Gemma look through the books one more time.”

Gemma nodded. “I’ll look again, even though I know there isn’t an answer in that book. You need a hellhound or something else that is incapable of drowning and strong enough to swim to the bottom of all the sludge they call water.”

I blew out a frustrated breath.

“Why don’t we just free Sam and then let him get the marbles?” Cole said. It was an idea he kept on voicing.

And I kept on saying no. “We can’t do that, Cole. He’s been trapped down there for five days. Five! Before we killed the demon that had been living inside Logan, it sliced his arm with a dagger. He’s exhausted and I’m pretty sure he has some broken ribs.” I know because I can feel his pain through our Mindbond. “Not to mention, they are hardly feeding him and I will not risk his safety down there for one single second longer than I have to. I have to have those marbles because the second he’s out of that cell, I’m busting them open and we’re getting out of there.”

“You may not have a choice,” Cole said darkly.

“I have to go,” I said tersely, not wanting to admit what Cole was saying might be true. “We’ll meet up later?”

Gemma nodded and I left without a glance at Cole. I wouldn’t fight with my brother. I had bigger battles to fight. Like ones down in hell.

Even still, I wondered if it would be enough.

*

I stopped outside his bedroom door, taking a deep breath and smoothing out my wrinkled T-shirt. Logan had been here, at Gran’s, for five days, and in those five days, I spent time with him every single day, some days twice. Usually, if I wasn’t training or with my mom at the hospital, I was here with Logan. But even with all the time I spent with him, there was still a wide valley between us. We weren’t getting closer. I wondered if Logan would even accept my presence if I wasn’t his link to Sam.

I tried to tell myself he seemed so distant because he was so weak and sick. He had been possessed by a powerful demon, a demon that made everyone, including me and Sam, believe Logan was a hellhound. Even Logan thought he was. No one could figure out why he didn’t act like a normal one (if there is a normal for a such a beast), like why he didn’t love the water, why shifting literally ripped his body apart every single time with intense pain and why he would black out and not remember anything.

I had been through a lot in my seventeen years, but Logan was only fourteen and I’d never been possessed by a demon. I figure that gave him reason to be distant—especially from me.

When the demon left his body—it literally left a dying boy with broken pieces we had to put back together like a puzzle. His bones, which had been broken and realigned several times, had never healed right. The angles of his joints were slightly off and therefore his skin looked lumpy in places where the bones stretched the skin. He wasn’t as coordinated as he should’ve been, and when he walked, it was never in a straight line but always at an angle. His skin was pale, making me think that he lost too much blood when Sam was forced to stab him with a dagger. His body was so weak; he just couldn’t produce more blood so he was left with nothing more than a ghostly pallor. Beyond that, he was too thin and could hardly eat, like his stomach had shrunk. The only thing he seemed to have an appetite for was candy—which we supplied in full force. After all he’d been through, I wanted him to have something that brought him some joy. Even if it was short-lived and not what he truly wanted.

I lifted my hand and knocked; the door swung open. Logan was on the bed, watching TV. I averted my gaze away from his bumpy knee caps and looked at his face. “Hey, Logan!” I said, walking the rest of the way in and plopping down on the corner of his bed.