Voices of Hell Read online

  Huffing out a breath of frustration, she fell back into the seat, not willing to press him further. Ogwald might not be a higher ranked demon, but he was very old. The amount of power pulsating from behind his fleshy façade was enough to make Izzy uneasy at best.

  Fidgeting with the black diamond tennis bracelet that circled her wrist, she tried to calm herself by watching the city pass her by. Mulberry Street, in the heart of what was left of Little Italy, had always been one of her favorite places to frequent. She’d often begged Ashur to take up a residence there, but he was too entranced with the posh Upper East Side. Enchanted by the quaint restraints, colorful personalities, and rich history, she spent days and night roaming the streets. The only time she did not venture there was during the annual Feast of San Gennaro.

  Religious idols and symbols did not harm her, or any of the demons, not really. Some sects cowered from such things, because they held a sick belief that they were truly the monsters that Christianity had painted them to be. Most, however, were angered and disturbed by the old beliefs and the celebration of the bloodiest religious movement in history. Izzy was of the latter state of mind.

  Lost in thought, Izzy hardly noticed when her dream of having a hide-a-way within the neighborhood turned into a daydream of a mundane human life, and she barely noticed when they entered Soho. It wasn’t until Ogwald’s scratchy voice announced their arrival that she realized that she’d been thinking of her and Raf, standing on the little wrought balcony above one of the many shops, watching the sun go down over the city.

  Disgusted, she physically and mentally cringed. What the fuck is wrong with me? Daydreaming over a damned human is bad enough, Izzy, but doing it over one with a link to the great demon slayer is insane. Hell, I don’t even really want to live in this shithole anyway. Smacking herself in the forehead, she grimaced and stepped out of the car.

  Standing in front of the newly converted factory building, she tipped her head back. Old world charm still clung to the façade, even though she knew inside that it would be all polish and granite. That’s what had happened to the neighborhood she loved, Soho and Chinatown had eaten it alive, leaving just a small portion of a once sprawling borough. She hadn’t been born yet when the Mafia ruled the roost there, but she could imagine what it must have been like before the poor grew rich and had flooded into better places. The boundaries had become almost nonexistent in the new world.

  As she checked her little, gold Chanel watch, Izzy thought of the man who lived high above the street where she stood. People like Giovanni Guireto, who had once strutted down the street in his pinstriped suits wielding pride, power, and money were the reason she was so in love with Little Italy. Now in his seventies, the man known as Dom Guireto, had used his ill gotten funds to buy up real estate and establish himself on the top floor of his most luxurious den. He didn’t cut such a ruthless or glamorous figure as he had in his youth, but she’d come to like him despite herself.

  Another human that I’ll be sad to see burn. Maybe Ashur will let me keep him, even if he is as old as dirt.

  Before she could drift off into thoughts of the culling, a voice called out to her from across the street. Turning, Izzy felt her blackened heart leap and her throat go dry.

  Rafael stood on the corner, his hand waving high above his head like a zealous child. The goofy grin he wore was dazzling, but the dark circles under his eyes spoke of restless nights. As he crossed the street, he gripped his portfolio in his arms as if it were a fragile child, and the action made him look all the more endearing.

  “Miss Daeva,” Raf panted, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m afraid I am terrible at navigating my way in the city. Thank you so much for coming. It means so—”

  Izzy pressed the palm of her hand over his mouth, effectively silencing the young man. “Look, Mr. Denat, my brother insisted that I be here. No one argues with a man such as Ashar, so you may save your thanks for him. Please don’t gibber like that when we get upstairs.”

  Raf’s eyes remained held wide in a comical expression of shock, even after Izzy jerked her hand away and wiped it down the front of her royal blue dress. “Please, call me Rafael or Raf. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a wreck. This is just all so exciting for me.”

  With an impatient sigh, Izzy conceded, “Okay, Raf. Get your shit together. This man, he’s very amicable as long as he is pleased with a person, but he isn’t someone you want to offend.” Leading him into the cool recesses of the building’s lobby, Izzy whispered, “For the love of everything, be respectful.”

  Twisting his head around to take in the dark chocolate and warm beige colors that wrapped them in the very essence of luxury, Raf asked, “Is it true that he used to be—”

  “Hush!” Iyzebel squeaked, causing the professionally bored looking man behind the service desk to glare. “Are you trying to piss someone off? Don’t tell me you are one of those insufferable males who must ruin anything remotely good before they’ve had a chance to enjoy it.”

  Ducking his head, Raf whispered, “Sorry. No ma’am.”

  Ignoring both the apology, and the fact that he had referred to her as if she were some elderly matron, Izzy addressed the still glaring clerk, “Iyzebel Daeva and Rafael Denat to see Mr. Guireto.”

  Mr. I-Get-Paid-To-Look-Down-My-Nose-At-You held up his index finger and picked up the phone receiver. He pressed a button, and waited a moment before speaking in an extremely nasal tone, “Daeva and Denat?”

  Another long pause held them in annoyed suspense, before the man’s face dropped into a grimace, and he mumbled into the phone, “Yes, sir.” A painful looking smile stretched across his thin lips as he returned his attention back to them, “Ms. Daeva, Mr. Denat, I apologize for keeping you. Mr. Guireto will see you now.”

  Izzy had to bite into her cheek to keep from laughing. The power of a name and an acquaintance in the human world could move mountains. The self-importance that mortals clung to often entertained her as she plotted their demise. All the money and power in their possession would not save them from twisting like twigs in the deepest pits of Hell once they culling began.

  Smirking to herself, she led Raf to the elevator. The trip to the top floor was silent, other than the quiet jazz music streaming in from the speakers overhead. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he ran a shaky hand through his hair and thumbing through his portfolio to make sure he had everything he needed.

  Rafael made her skin crawl and her heart skitter. As if a geyser of fear and lust had managed to come to boil in the pit of her stomach, Izzy’s entire body seemed to heat and churn. Every second standing so closely to him made her feel as if she might erupt and made her thankful that she’d taken a soul before she’d left the house for the day. The scent of him made her salivate with need, and his nervousness was nearly an aphrodisiac. For a moment, she felt like a lioness watching a wounded gazelle, until she remembered the human’s link to the angel.

  ****

  Standing so near to her in the small space made him fidget nervously with everything he could. Thankful that Iyzebel thought his anxious demeanor was a result of meeting with a potential buyer for his art, Raf tried to avoid meeting her eye as she watched him.

  Every time he looked at her soft cheek, her large blue eyes, or the curves of her body, the painting came to mind. The rush of desire and revulsion raced into his body made him ill. Panic swelled his heart until it pounded against his insides, the pressure making hard to breathe.

  When she’d touched his mouth with the silky palm of her hand, he wanted to kiss it. He wanted to trace the lines and swells with his tongue and taste her flesh. Blushing, he ducked his head lower, trying to hide his shame inside the large black binder that held samples of his varied works.

  Tracing his finger over the edge of the miniature she’d refused to take the night of the showing, he hoped she’d accept his gift. He couldn’t quite understand why it was so important that she hold that tiny painting in her delicate fingers.
He wanted to make her smile more than anything in the world. Not the sardonic little smirk that she brandished, but a genuine smile.

  Looking up, his gaze fell on the reflective surface of the stainless steel doors. Gasping, Raf took a step backward as the temperature in the elevator rose to an unbearable heat. Sweat formed on his brow and his clothes suddenly felt too tight. Tugging at his collar with his free hand, he tried in vain to breathe freely.

  His warped image in the doors did not fall backward as he had done. Instead, the winged creature stepped behind the mirrored version of Izzy, the sword held at ready. Her face was blank, unreadable, as she stared straight ahead. Either she had not noticed his predicament or didn’t care.

  “Iz—” he tried to warn her, but he choked on her name.

  His angelic reflection smiled, his sword thrusting forward in a blaze of light and strength. The long blade shot through her back and exploded from the front in a shower of crimson. Blood splattered against the door, slowly running down in red rivulets, and Iyzebel fell forward as Raf felt the world heave and whirl. Wanting nothing more than to fall to her side and beg the angel of death to do her no more harm, he felt the tears sting his eyes. He would have done anything to save her, but he could not move or speak.

  ****

  The silver doors slid open, revealing a small entryway before them, and Izzy stepped out. When Raf did not immediately follow, she turned to find him standing dumbstruck, a look of utter horror on his face.

  Stepping back inside the elevator with an irritated sigh, she snapped her fingers three times in his face. “Rafael! Raf! Wake up!”

  He blinked once, then twice, and stared at her as if she were a ghost.

  “What the hell are you doing? Guireto is waiting!” Izzy shrieked.

  Raf turned his head, studying the inside of the elevator as if he wasn’t quite sure how he had come to be there. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I must have dozed off. It’s so warm in her.”

  “Just come on,” Izzy shot over her shoulder as she strode up to the apartment door and rang the bell.

  As they waited, she smiled at the gall of the man that lived within. In his prime, Guireto had been a ruthless killer with a sick since of humor. The two vases of tiger lilies in full bloom on either side of his door proved that he had retained at least one of those aspects. Rumor had it, that each of his victims’ widows had received an immense bouquet of the very same flower on the eve of their husband’s demise. Charmed by the devilish charisma the old man exhumed in all that he did, Izzy ran her nail down one of the fragile blossoms and watched it shiver.

  At last, the door opened, and a voluptuous young blonde in tight fitting scrubs opened the door. “I’m so sorry, ya’ll. Come on in here. Mr. Guireto wasn’t feeling quite himself when you arrived, but we got him sorted out. Bless his ever loving little heart, he’s just not been able to kick this summer cold.” The sweet southern voice fit perfectly with the woman’s big brown hair and large doe eyes.

  With a swish of her ample behind, the woman left them standing in an opulent sitting area filled with sleek white suede couches and glass topped tables. More tiger lilies stood in expensive vases throughout the room and across the large granite fireplace as the only real source of color.

  “How the hell does a little country girl like that even end up in Soho and caring for a retired ma—”

  Izzy caught him in the side with her elbow as she hissed between gritted teeth and curled red lips, “English isn’t your first language, is it? Either that, or you aren’t as bright as I thought you were.” Even as she did so, she had to admit to herself that if she hadn’t known the nurse was a demon placed in the don’s home for a reason, she’d be wondering the same.

  His skinned colored, adding just the slightest rose tint to his cheeks, and Izzy wanted to taste his blood. The idea overtook her in a wave of delicious images filled with carnal delights that would have made a human ill. The demon in her stirred; desire dripping from its fangs and nails. Luckily for her, and all those in the spacious penthouse apartment, a fragile voice interceded.

  “Izzy, my lovely, you have brought him!” excitement danced in the quick black eyes that were nearly hidden by folds of skin.

  Snapping back into herself, she crossed the room and bent to place a kiss on the softness of Guireto’s cheek. “You are looking well, Giovanni. I’ve missed our long talks.”

  Catching her hand in his, the elderly man looked up from his wheelchair and smiled, mischief dancing on his weathered face. “I’ve missed seeing your famous beauty. Marry me, Iyzebel, before I wither up and die.”

  Laughing, she gave his hand a squeeze, “Oh, Mr. G. You are always such a suave thing. What would your pretty little nurse here think of me if I did such a thing?”

  “Who, Ashley? She’s a good girl, she wouldn’t mind sharing my attention.” Turning to the beaming girl, he added, “Would you, my dear?”

  Pushing him further into the room, so that he sat across from the long couch, she laughed. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” With a sexy little wink, she gently stroked the thin hair. “I’m going to go fetch ya’ll some drinks. Hope sweet tea is okay.”

  Motioning for Raf and Izzy to take a seat, Giovanni asked, “And you, young man, did you bring me some things to look over?”

  Raf handed over his portfolio, his parlor turning pale. “Yes, sir. I have brought you samples of my work. All the styles that I know are in the portfolio, since I wasn’t for sure what you might be interested.”

  Accepting the folder, the elderly man riffled through small paintings and photographs of larger ones as he spoke. “When I was young, and the world was mine, I had a girl. I loved her more than life itself, and I had even planned to give up my career to be with her. Her name was Caprice Madrina. She was just as beautiful as Marilyn Monroe or Betty Davis, but she had something those fine ladies did not. My Caprice had moxy, and that is what took her away from me. Quick wit and a fiery tongue have its place in every Italian bella, but she never knew when to shut up.”

  Taking a deep breath, Giovanni paused, blinking away the fresh moisture that hung on his lashes like dew as he studied a miniature painting. As he composed himself, Izzy and Raf leaned forward, impatiently awaiting the rest of the story. Though she’d spent many afternoons talking about the early years with the old man, she’d never known that he had been so deeply in love.

  Just as the moment began to become uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and his eyes met theirs. “In fact, in this portrait, you remind me a great deal of her, Izzy. She had the same sort of fire that you do.”

  Izzy startled. “What portrait?”

  Beside her, Raf stretched out his hand, wanting to tear the painting away from Guireto, shame flushing his skin once more.

  “Mr. Denat, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hold onto this for just a moment.” Carefully placing the rest of Rafael’s work back in the portfolio, he clung to the single art, keeping Izzy from looking at what Raf had done.

  The clinking of glasses signaled Ashley’s return, and they all sat quietly as she placed a drink in front of them. Once she’d finished, she scurried away without a word, obviously used to the unspoken signal that she’d not be welcome if she lingered.

  From the breast pocket of his jacket, Giovanni pulled out an old photograph, faded and crinkled around the edges. He laid them side by side on the table between him and his guests, so that the two could be compared.

  Izzy gasped. The resemblance was uncanny between the ancient photo and the muted coloring of the painting. She and the other woman were dressed in the smart little dresses so popular in the fifties, their hair was short and done up in curls. Where Izzy had a large white flower decorating hers, Caprice had worn a darker bloom.

  “This is why I have asked for you to come,” Giovanni nodded his head. “My Caprice was taken from me so long ago, and I know I will join her soon. I would like to commission a painting of her. In my last days, I wish to gaze at something more vibrant
and beautiful than these faded memories and faint photographs.”

  Raf leaned forward, his hand reaching out to touch the older man’s knee, “Mr. Guireto, it would be an honor.”

  The talk turned to the details of what Giovanni wanted, and Iyzebel slipped away, allowing the men time to discuss colors and background in depth. After pouring herself a stiff glass of brandy to chase away the awkward effects of being near Rafael, she sat out to find Giovanni’s nurse.

  “Aosoth, how is he, truly?”

  The country accent slipped entirely from the woman’s speech, “Oh, Iyzebel, no one other than you has called me by my true name in so long. You are a treasure. This human of yours, he is strong. His spirit rebels against death every day. Have you decided if you will ask Ashur to allow him the transition?”

  With a heavy sigh, Izzy shook her head. “Ashur is displeased with me at the moment, but I will make it right. I have a mission with the human male I accompanied here.”

  Aosoth laughed, “When is Ashur not displeased. How much longer must we endure this, Izzy?”

  “The culling is coming soon, we are almost prepared. Thank you for your help. I know that this caretaker fallacy is hindering your hunt, but if you could stay a little longer. I need the old man’s connections, and if I shall bring him over, I want him under the protection of someone I trust.”

  “It is my honor to assist you, my friend.” Aosoth placed her hand on Izzy’s shoulder and captured her eyes. “When the culling is over—if we survive the battle afterward—I know you will keep your promises.”

  She placed her hand on the woman’s and drew her nearer. Standing with heads bent, eyes locked, and foreheads nearly touching, Izzy whispered, “When the world is ours, I will make sure that you have your freedom from Caym. Your body and your demon will be protected from him for the rest of eternity.”

  Aosoth nodded, relief swimming in her eyes at the idea of being released from her bond with the prime minister of Hell.