They took to the staircase, plastering themselves to the side when a guard clonked past. They were approaching the third landing when a shout rolled up through the passageway.

  “You think they found the guard?” Trick whispered.

  “Sounds like it,” Asha replied. “Let’s go.”

  They took off up the stairs at a sprint, Seraphina following at the rear; she had been one of Heaven’s quickest fliers, and she hadn’t been slow on foot, either, but she still had to work a little to keep up with the others.

  They’re fast. I’d enjoy racing them on flat ground one day.

  More guards filed past them, spears in hand, their deep voices rumbling in their native language. Seraphina pressed close to the wall, as if she was trying to merge with it.

  Eventually, they made it out the stairwell, coming to a stop in a small chamber, which was half-filled with guards talking madly to each other. Asha moved close, until the three of them were huddled together. “We need to get out of here.”

  Seraphina and Trick nodded.

  They dodged through the crowd, passed beneath an archway, and moved into a wide brick hall decorated with suits of armor. Oily, nausea-inducing magic wafted from the displays, and peering at the closest one, she saw the hollow sockets of a skull beneath the helmet. Glancing at the others, she realized they all contained skeletons.

  Necromancy.

  Revulsion raced through her. To desecrate the dead in such a way...

  “Come.” Asha grabbed Seraphina’s arm and dragged her to a small alcove. The contact was freezing and she pulled away as soon as she could.

  Once hidden in the small side area, Hades’ PA nodded at Trick, who closed his eyes in concentration. He shook his head.

  No luck on the teleportation, then.

  “Give me your hands,” Asha said.

  Reaching out, Seraphina fought a wince as the cold bit into her burned palms.

  Their surroundings changed, morphing into a deep forest, with a small cottage in the background.

  Asha bent over at the waist, panting. “We’re out.”

  Drumbeats filled the air. Seraphina pressed her aching palms over her ears. “What is that?”

  “Lucifer just closed the realm,” Trick said, eyes wide. He focused on her, expression solemn. “We’re stuck in Sheol.”

  Chapter 24

  Trick was a dead man standing.

  Lucifer had locked Sheol down. No one out. No one in.

  Fuck. Fuckity, fuck, fuck.

  This could go on for days, weeks, even, and they only had three-and-a-bit days left on Hades’ deadline. The thing was, Hades didn’t bluff. So, if the god said the price of failure was death, then it was really was death.

  And Trick didn’t want to die.

  “Lucifer’s shut the realm? He can do that?” Seraphina bit her lip, then glared at the treed landscape around them, as if it were to blame.

  “Yup.” Asha ran a hand over her cheek. “All the Hell-lords can, although Satan has only ever done it three times, and Hades once. Lucifer tends to do it every other decade.”

  “You think it’s because he found out we escaped?” Trick asked.

  “I would think so.” Asha whipped out her cell and tapped at the screen. “He won’t know who he had in his cells, so he’ll be paranoid it was a spy. Hades says a guard came to deliver the news that someone had been transported to the prison, but had escaped without being seen. Lucifer was with him at the time. Seems his face was priceless.” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky Hades finds this amusing.”

  “He’s the one who demanded we go on this mission.” And it had been nothing but a disaster ever since.

  “Yeah, you have fun telling him that when it goes even more pear-shaped.”

  “I will.” Not that he’d come out the other end of that chat alive. But at the rate they were going, they wouldn’t live to see the end of the week, anyway.

  Seraphina kicked at the dirt. “Where to now? Are we staying at that cottage?”

  Trick spun on his heel, taking in the small building amid the trees. “Is that a Wayfarer’s Hut?”

  He’d heard of them, of course. But he had never seen one in person. Safe havens within Hell, they were warded with anti-violence spells and were places of refuge for the weary traveler. They were legendary, and didn’t just appear to anyone.

  “It sure is.” Asha grinned. “But you aren’t staying here.”

  “Why not?”

  “This is my beach resort; you guys can find your own.”

  Beach resort?

  There wasn’t an ocean within sight, and the soil beneath their feet certainly lacked the glamor of beach sand.

  “Kicking us out, Asha?” Trick asked.

  “More like not inviting you to stay. I had to leave my tropical paradise to get your ass out of there, and now I am stuck in Sheol. You guys can sort yourselves out now. You’re work, and I’m on holidays.”

  She spun on her heel, and walked toward the hut, her hips swaying beneath her sarong.

  “Is she really leaving us here?” Seraphina demanded.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Can she do that?”

  “She can do anything she wants,” Trick muttered. Working for Hades, she was pretty much untouchable. And she was a demi-goddess of some kind.

  “Where do we go?”

  Trick thought through his list of contacts in Sheol. “I know a place.”

  Seraphina’s mouth closed in a thin line, but she didn’t argue.

  “Thanks, Asha!” Trick shouted to the goddess’ retreating back. “Pleasure doing business with you, as always!”

  She gave them a flippant wave, then knocked on the Wayfarer’s Hut’s door.

  I really want to see inside there.

  But Asha had made it clear they were to go their own way. Taking a deep breath, he placed a hand on Seraphina’s arm and focused on their new location.

  They re-appeared outside the Casa de los Condenados.

  The home of the damned.

  The Casa de los Condenados was a popular destination for tourists, and Trick’s favorite watering hole. They sold information here like they did beer. The Human Realm was also so close, you could almost smell the pollution in the air, and see the neighboring street through the hazy barrier.

  Letting go of Seraphina’s arm, he strode toward the bar’s entrance.

  “What is this place?” she asked, eyes scanning the building.

  It looked more like an old manor house than a tavern, complete with three stories and a gabled slate roof. But inside, the ground floor was a typical bar. A long counter traversed the length of the room, with shelves containing all kinds of alcohol behind it. Round tables were scattered throughout the open chamber, which had a polished concrete floor—easier to hose down after a fight.

  The bar was packed, filled from end to end with a variety of demons, and the occasional human. Probably going to be someone’s snack, later. One of the bartenders was sweeping up a tinkling pile of a broken glass as they entered. The Foraci demon flicked a glance their way, before returning her attention to the broom. She had tattoos covering her right cheek and descending down her neck: a Scryer. One of the most rare and powerful of her kind.

  Seraphina frowned at the demon, then bent to pick up something near her feet. She pocketed it before Trick could see what she’d found. Damnit. He’d have to check it out another time.

  He approached the bar, the angel close at his heels. He was searching for the owner, when a large shadow fell over them.

  “Now who might this be?” A high, accented voice asked.

  Trick glanced over his shoulder. The shadow belonged to Lamar, the bar’s owner, and a Djinn; someone you did not mess with, unless you were powerful enough to take him on. Lamar, however, currently only had eyes for Seraphina. In fact, his expression was a little glazed, as if stunned by her unnatural beauty.

  I know the feeling, buddy.

  “What can I do for you?” Lamar gave her a broad smile, flexing his arms to show off his immense muscles. Then the Djinn sniffed the air and stiffened, his eyes turning to pools of flame. “Angel,” he spat.

  Seraphina drew herself up, her own eyes going wide. “Djinn.”

  Angels and Djinn were cousins, of a sort. Not that angels liked to admit as much, and the Djinn had grown to resent their Heavenly brethren over the millennia.

  “What are you doing here?” Lamar demanded.

  “Looking for a place to stay. And for the owner of this.” From her pocket, she withdrew a single feather. It was the color of a crow’s wing, shiny with health, and delicate.

  The Djinn snorted, his eyes returning to their orange hue. “It’s a bird’s.”

  Trick reached out and touched the feather, stiffening at its residual power. This was an angel feather—and not just any angel’s. This belonged to someone powerful. But he had never heard of an angel with black wings before.

  How intriguing.

  “It’s an angel’s. Whose is it?” Seraphina demanded.

  “It’s no one’s. Give it to me.”

  “No.” Seraphina closed her fist over the tiny treasure.

  “Then leave.” The Djinn clenched his jaw.

  Trick stepped between them, before the confrontation could turn ugly. “Lamar.”

  The Djinn focused on him and paled slightly. “Mr. Trick.”

  “My colleague and I are searching for accommodation. Can you give us a room?”

  The bar owner tried to look past him to Seraphina. “Eyes on me, Lamar. A room. Do you have one?”

  The Djinn swallowed. “We are booked up. With Lucifer closing down the realm, I have a sudden influx of guests.”

  “So, you don’t have a room?” Trick’s voice was a silky lash.

  The Djinn winced. “I have one.”

  “Then we will take it.”

  Lamar straightened his shoulders. “Only if she gives the feather back.”

  Interesting, that the Djinn was so invested in that tiny piece of fluff. But right now, Trick had to focus on finding a safe place for the night. If they had to camp, it would be a rough time, especially when the native denizens of Hell loved to consume angelic flesh.

  “Give him the feather, Seraphina.”

  She shot him a betrayed glance.

  Lamar held out his hand, wiggling his large fingers impatiently.

  With a reluctant sigh—and a glare—she placed the feather in the waiting palm. “I would like to speak to the feather’s owner.”

  Lamar shook his head. “Trust me, angel. They don’t want to speak to you.”

  Hurt flashed across Seraphina’s face before she could mask it.

  Does she know who owns the feather? What is going on?

  “Here.” The Djinn handed Trick a key. “Room seven, second floor, at the end of the corridor. It has its own bathroom. I recommend you keep your angel on a tight leash.”

  Seraphina hissed.

  “Excellent.” Trick took gentle hold of her arm and pulled her away from the Djinn.

  “But—”

  “Later.”

  He herded Seraphina across the bar’s ground floor, to the other end of the room, where a staircase led upstairs. She planted her feet at the base of the stairs and crossed her arms.

  “I am not going up there. I need to learn more about the feather.”

  “Not right now you don’t.” Annoyed, Trick whipped out a hand, touching her arm quickly and teleported them to the second floor.

  Scowling, she jerked away from his hold. “I am going back downstairs.”

  “Sweetheart, if you want to piss Lamar off, go right ahead. But he’s a Djinn and he owns this place. Do you really want to mess with him?”

  Eventually, she ground out, “No.”

  “Then come on.”

  Room seven was at the end of the hall. Opening the door, he saw it was a decent size, with a desk, fridge and bathroom. The only problem? There was just one bed.

  I am not sleeping on the floor.

  “Dibs on the bed!”

  Chapter 25

  Mother fucker.

  Yael rubbed the bridge of his nose, and stared at the fading, shimmering barrier. He stood at the back of Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar; the stale smell of alcohol mingled with the sticky humidity of the Human Realm.

  How had that not worked?

  He’d opened a Devilsgate, and then bam! he’d been smacked in the face by a brick wall and deposited here. He could even see the faintest shimmer of a manor house in Sheol, the Casa de los Condenados now just a mirage against the brickwork wall of the bar’s courtyard. But his quarry was stubbornly in Hell, while he wasn’t.

  I did everything right. I should be standing in front of that bar, right now.

  Instead, he was stuck in New Orleans with a sore face.

  Glancing around the empty Blacksmith’s courtyard, Yael breathed a sigh of relief. At eight in the morning, the bar was empty of patrons and staff. No one would have noticed his sudden appearance, and hopefully wouldn’t see his equally sudden departure. Although, this was NOLA; from what he’d heard, that kind of thing was par for the course here.

  Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew another bag of gate-dust, and threw some into the air. It shimmered with magic, before falling to the ground in a spray of expensive dirt. Very expensive dirt.

  What the actual fuck?

  Yael grabbed his phone from his back pocket, then hesitated. He hadn’t told Raze or Azrael where he’d gone, or even that he’d left. Raze was used to his absences, and he didn’t trust Azrael like he used to, not after he’d shacked up with that sociopathic cambion, Dru.

  Couldn’t Azrael see that she was a disaster waiting to happen?

  Skies, you could argue she had already happened. Azrael would never get back into Heaven mated to a demon—a cambion, at that. And as for Z...nope. Yael wouldn’t go there. The other Dart had already suffered so much, and to then be mated to the queen of the Mortus, no less...

  Z was doomed already, no matter that he had kept his wings.

  Unlike those two, Yael did not plan on spending the rest of his eternity on this dust ball or in Hell.

  You could tell Raze.

  Raze was logical, sound, and reliable. Although, why the angel had accumulated immense wealth in the Human Realm while still an angel was anybody’s guess. But angels could have some strange habits, and Yael figured that money-making was one of Raze’s.

  Yael liked to collect garrotes.

  And use them.

  Right now, he had to track down his quarry, which would prove difficult when they were in Sheol and he was in the Human Realm. He’d heard whispers of a black-winged angel, and he had wanted to see this individual for himself.

  There was every chance it was Dina, his former captain.

  But there was every other chance it was another fallen angel, one that had eventually grown powerful enough to regenerate their wings. It was meant to be impossible, but Yael had come to understand that the archangels were not all that forthcoming with facts, or even the truth. You could lie without actually uttering a falsehood.

  And if there was a fallen angel that powerful...it was an ace he could keep up his sleeve. If all else failed, and the Darts couldn’t retrieve all three pieces of the Heart, then he could present the angel’s head to the archangels, on the proviso that he was reinstated in Heaven. To Yael, nothing mattered more than ascending back to his former life.

  Being wingless and less significant than before was not acceptable. He had had a life back in Heaven; family, friends, and the occasional lover. What would Mother and Father think of me now?

  They would be bowed with shame, that’s what.

  His parents had always wanted him to be more: more powerful, more intelligent, more everything. His whole life, he’d disappointed them. He’d developed silver filaments in his wings rather than gold. He’d been second in his scholarly training, rather than first. When he’d been awarded his place in the Darts, they had finally shown a dash of pleasure in his achievements, but they’d been disappointed he was not the captain.

  Now, everything they’d thought about him would be true.

  He was a failure.

  Not if I can find this angel.

  If it was Dina, and he saved her, the Darts would be whole once more, even with Z living in Hell. Z was on their side when it came to finding all the pieces of Heaven’s Heart. He would step up when needed. And Dina was so powerful that finding the other fragments of the Heart would be a piece of cake.

  But he just had to get into Hell to find her.

  There is still Seraphina. She might have some contacts.

  Half driven by guilt, half by frustration, he still couldn’t think of Seraphina without anger filling him. She’d shown him yet again why he wasn’t the angel his parents had dreamed of, because she’d been willing to sacrifice her soul for the Darts, for Z.

  Yael had been desperate to avoid such a fate.

  Still, he trusted her.

  She would do right by the Darts, and wanted to get back into Heaven just as much as he did. And she wasn’t angry at him for being a dick; she’d messaged him earlier.

  Okay. He’d call her, then Raze, to see if they knew why the spell hadn’t worked.

  The phone rang for a few moments before a male voice answered. “Seraphina’s phone.”

  Had she been hurt? Kidnapped? Why was some stranger taking her calls? Yael clenched his free hand. “Who is this?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I asked first.”

  “I asked second.”

  Who was this fucking moron?

  Seraphina shouted in the background. “Give me the phone!”

  “You didn’t say the magic word!”

  “Give me the phone, please.”

  “Fine.”

  A rustling of cloth, then, “Hello?”

  “Seraphina?”

  “Yael?”

  “Who the Hell was that?”

  “Trick. My new boss.”

  That still didn’t explain why the guy was answering her phone, but at least it meant she was okay. Maybe he’s screening her calls. If he did, that was fucking scummy. “He’s an asshole.”

 

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