Voices of Hell Page 7

  As the door shut, Izzy laughed. She’d never seen more than complacency, mild irritation, or a scowl of disapproval on the old demon’s face. The utter change in countenance was absolutely flabbergasting.

  ****

  The evening covered the city in the neon shades he loved as Raf sat back and took in the world beyond his window. Beside him, a six pack of Saparo’s Space Beer sat chilling in an ice bucket, the note from Marty next to it. Drinking beer that had been made from Barley grown in space and cost more for a six pack than his entire food budget for several weeks seemed ridiculous, but he wouldn’t let it go to waste.

  Plucking a bottle up and untwisting the cap, he saluted the night and quoted his agent and friend. “Here’s to chasing the sun, reaching for the stars, and howling at the moon.”

  A large smile spread across his face as he took a drink. It felt good to see his future brighten and to have money in the bank. He’d lived off meager sales and shitty jobs for too long. Now he had money, real money to plan a real future on. His time had finally come, and it was all thanks to Iyzebel and Ashur Daeva. Just thinking her name sent a chill down Raf’s spine, and the taste of his celebration gift turned sour on his tongue.

  Shaking off the images of death that threatened to replay in his mind, Raf declared, “No. Not tonight. I will not fall victim to this again. I do not want to hurt her. I will not hurt her. This is just some kind of stress induced madness and coincidence. It means nothing.”

  Somehow, saying the words aloud made it seem less real and far less frightening. Downing the rest of the bottle, he let the cold rush and warm buzz begin to take away any doubts. By the time he’d finished his fourth, the lingering thoughts of her blood on his hands drifted into oblivion, allowing him to anticipate her arrival the next day.

  Chapter Eight

  Izzy rang the bell as she stared at the stark hallway around her. The dove gray walls, charcoal colored carpet, and stench of human lent a depressing air to an already shabby building. She couldn’t imagine it being the entrance to the outside world and the greeting when someone came home at night. Wondering how the entire population of the building hadn’t leaped from their windows, she waited patiently for about a half of a second, then pressed the bell twice more in rapid succession. When Raf still didn’t answer, she turned around to walk away, certain that she’d come to the wrong place.

  “Shit,” she mumbled while digging through the Dulce bag for her car keys. Head down as she searched the bottomless pit of her purse, Izzy didn’t see the first step. With a twist of an ankle, she let out a squawk, and tumbled.

  Her face smashed into something much more yielding than the wall, and her flailing arms gripped onto the softness of a t-shirt covering hard muscles. Gasping as the sting of hot liquid splashing on her arm, she struggled to right herself while apologizing.

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t—” Izzy clamped her lips shut as she looked up into the stranger’s face. Though she’d never met Left Eye Luciano, she had no doubt that was whose meaty fists were clenched into the fabric at her waist. The drooping right eye and suave twenties style suit—covered in spilled coffee—gave him away.

  “Hello, Izzy,” When he spoke, the movement of his lips pulled the long scar that ran across his jaw until it turned white.

  “Luciano,” Izzy looked around, hoping Raf would not suddenly appear. “What in the name of Hell are you doing here?”

  “Capone sent me,” the old wound of serving as the mobster’s lackey showed in Luciano’s good eye. It was no secret that old Left Eye had been twice the gangster Al had, but somehow, Al had the higher rank in Hell. Of course, he’d been made into a demon long before Luciano, but that had little to do with it. Mostly, it was about the showmanship of it all.

  The devil does love his flash and panache, Izzy thought.

  “Well, you can tell him that I said stay the fuck away from me, this place, and its inhabitants. This isn’t Chicago. I may not outrank that little bastard, but Ashur does.”

  “See, there’s the problem, toots. Capone has the kid, the kid is the key to Ashur’s big plan, and the boys from Chicago have a better idea of how things should be done.”

  “You bastard!” There wasn’t a word for the feeling that rushed through her. Anger, rage, or fury couldn’t touch the broiling of her blood. Betraying Ashur, she could almost understand it, but it was a treachery nonetheless. Taking Raf, using him in for political gain, that was inexcusable. These things, made her eyes shift and her talons rip from her fingers, shredding the skin in their abruptness. However, it was risking the culling that brought out the true beast within.

  As Luciano chuckled, Izzy drew her hand forward, fast and hard. The razor sharp tips buried deep into the flesh of his face, flaying the skin from his hairline all the way to his good eye. Using the brute force and velocity of the swing, she drove her nails into the socket. In a spray of blood and a flurry of screams, the orb popped out and bounced on his pockmarked cheek like a little rubber ball.

  Free of the demon gangster’s grip, she fled. Izzy didn’t doubt for a second that she could beat him in a fair fight, but she had to get to Ashur, and they had to save Rafael. Feet hammering on the stairs, she burst out of the door and onto the sunlit street. Blood slick hands frantically digging in her purse, she pulled out the keys to the little red jaguar, all the while wishing Ogwald had driven her.

  Iyzebel slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar leather hugging her curves, and shot into traffic. The blare of horns and angry voices fell behind as she speed shifted, squealing tires and cutting off cars in her haste. In the rearview mirror, she could barely make out Luciano’s seething form stumbling into the street. Seeing her bloody hands in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel disgusted her.

  Strike four, Al. You’ve made me get my baby dirty, she thought as she pressed the button on the steering wheel. “Call Ash.”

  The sound of U2 belting out “The Devil Inside” filled the interior of the car before Ash answered, “That was quick. Tell me you didn’t eat him.”

  “Ash, we got problems,” she panted as the sleek machine careened around a corner, nearly colliding with a city bus. “Capone and Luciano have gone insane. They have Raf, and they want to strike a deal.”

  “Fuck! Izzy, do you understand what this means. If they take him into Hell, it will awaken his angel heritage. All of our carefully laid plans will go to waste. I should have known better to trust those antiquated thugs. Get back here, now. I will call the other Voices. This is war.”

  The line went dead and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, bounced for a moment, and imploded. The culling would be ruined. The last five years of preparation for her, and hundreds of years for Ash, would falter in the span of a moment. Her mind strayed from her anger and a flash of Raf with brilliant white wings and a flaming sword materialized on the road in front of her.

  Death in waves. Death greater than the harvesting of the humans could bring. Death that holds no mercy. For the first time, Izzy saw what Ashur had kept hidden from her. The angel’s presence was strong in his descendent, and if it were awakened, he would slay them all.

  Cursing the traffic, she turned up the stereo and screamed out her fear and frustrations. Arriving home twenty minutes later, she felt much more stable and her hands had ceased shaking, but the haunting knowledge that Rafael was truly the angel reborn haunted her.

  Stupid Ashur. Stupid. How could he play this game and not know all the players? How could he act as if Rafael’s ties to the angel were not that strong? Trying to swallow the knot of hatred forming in her throat, she forced herself not to scream his name as she entered the house. Get him back, kill the mobsters, and then deal with Ashur.

  She found him in his office, the others crowded around the desk once more. All eyes turned to her, each noting the scent and sight of demon blood still staining her hand and clothes.

  “I see that Luciano won’t soon forget you.” Sydonay indicated the dried blood splattered ov
er Izzy’s hands and body.

  “Ripped the asshole’s good eye out. I know it will heal and won’t scar, but pissed him off good and proper just the same.” Izzy smirked, but the smile quickly faded. Turning to Ashur, she asked, “What are we going to do?”

  She wanted to stomp her feet and cry. She wanted to pout and scream like a child. It wasn’t fair. She’d gone through so much; she had sacrificed herself in so many ways to be able to see the culling happen. Her revenge had been in her reach, like a shiny new toy.

  Swallowing down her anger she reminded herself, Demons, not even newly made female ones, don’t throw hissy fits. Instead, she balled her fists at her sides and glared at the wall.

  Ashur’s voice was the dual mask of man and demon as he spoke, “We’re going to destroy every last one of them, that’s what we are going to do.”

  A tapping at the door interrupted his would be tirade, and Ogwald entered the room. The elder demon’s expression was dour as he carried in a small black box trimmed in red and gold ribbon. The Voices of Hell and Izzy held their breath, eyes locked on the package with a sick fascination.

  Ogwald’s eyes flashed with purpose as he placed the box at the center of the desk. “This arrived for you, Ashur. I apologize for interrupting, but the young halfling that delivered it was quite insistent that you’d be expecting a message. Given the circumstances, I took the liberty of running the small metal detector over it, not even a beep.”

  At first, all eyes were locked on the box as if it might explode at any moment. The faint scent of blood rose up from whatever was inside, holding them in a state of suspension. A message from the mafia could mean many things, depending on what was hidden beneath the exquisite wrapping.

  Izzy’s mind ran wild thinking of all the stories she’d heard from Capone. A fish wrapped in a bulletproof vest, because the man was sleeping with the fishes. Ears, fingers, testicles, and worse shipped to the families of kidnapped victims. Flowers, like Giovanni used to send. Oh, for the love of the darkness, someone open the fucking box.

  She started to reach for it, to be the one who broke the spell and looked inside. Nothing could be worse than the fear she felt inside, nothing could have wrecked her more than not knowing if the culling had been forfeited or if there was still a chance. If they took him into Hell, if they’ve tried to slay him, they will have awakened the angel. The fools, no one can kill an angel without a heavenly blade.

  Before Izzy could make her move, Ashur ripped the band and pulled the lid away, tossing it to the side. Together, the demons leaned in, peering into the shallow depths. At the bottom of the box, a small white dove lay with its unseeing eyes staring blankly back at them. A pearl tipped hat pin stuck deep within the creature’s chest, piercing its heart. The crimson stain that spread out from the entry wound looked all the more horrifying because of the bird’s innocent nature. Someone had placed a small note, rolled like a scroll and tied with black satin, under the pathetic creature’s wing.

  Snatching the paper out of the box, Ashur scoffed, “Ogwald, get this disgusting mess out of here.” Fingers deftly unrolling the cylinder, he read aloud, “Come to the restaurant at ten. If you don’t show, we will take this to the mattress.”

  Fluerty’s face turned a livid maroon, the blood of his human shell flooding into the thin skin. “Take it the mattress? This fool wants war? The idiot has a death wish.”

  “Settle down, brother,” Focalor settled his hand on his twin’s arm. “We have seen how this ends. The crime families and The Voices of Hell have been both brothers and enemies in the war against humanity. Every few decades, some idiot boss or don gets it in their head that they can rule. There’s never much resistance once they realize that demons do not negotiate.”

  “This is the first time a demon has ever gone against us and sided with humans,” Galia pointed out. His dark eyes narrowed. “This ridiculous idea about ‘the family’ makes them loyal to the wrong people. If they want war, I say we give them death.”

  “They have the perfect bargaining chip,” Izzy whispered, more to herself than to the others.

  “She’s right, you know. If the artist is pushed too far or harmed, we will lose everything.” Sydonay stood up from her chair, placing her hands on the smooth surface of the desk as she leaned forward. “We have no choice but to negotiate. Whatever they want, we will have to give it to them. At least until the culling.”

  Ashur glowered, “The streets will run red with the blood of humanity, but my pallet will be filled with the souls of those who have betrayed us.”

  ****

  Struggling against the ropes that held him, Raf raised his head blinking in the light of the single bulb that hung above his head. Panic filled him as he fought to get free. The impenetrable abyss beyond the light surrounding him above closed in with each rapid breath he took. The ropes that bound him burned into wrists, chest, and ankles, as he twisted and turned until he realized his efforts were futile.

  “Help me! Someone! Help me!” he screamed, choking on his own terror.

  A match struck, and in the light, two beady eyes glowed in the darkness. The figure breathed in, puffing on the end of a large cigar, making the match pulse and burnout.

  “Who-who are you?” Raf blinked and stared, trying to see the face of his tormentor. “If this is about money, I don’t have much, but it’s yours. Whatever you want. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Violence is not good business.” The voice echoed out of the darkness, deep, soft, and as melodic as a song, and Raf struggled to follow the sound. “It’s not my way, really. History will tell you otherwise, man will tell you a different story, but I tell you that I am not a monster.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I am a man of many things, Rafael, and a demon of even more. In life, I was known as a criminal, in Hell, I am known as Lucifer’s sergeant. What I’ve learned from being both is, sometimes, the potential for violence is much more effective than the act itself. I do not wish to harm you. I only wish to use you to obtain my goal.”

  “Demon? Criminal? Are you crazy? What do you want from me?” Despite his fear and confusion, a silent voice whispered into his soul, that the man was from beyond the earthly realm.

  “Yes, a demon, Mr. Denat. Do you doubt me when I say I am what I am?”

  Raf couldn’t form the words to deny such things existed. His mind swirled around the dreams that had haunted him since the night Iyzebel and Ashur had entered his world.

  “Silence is golden,” the voice came again, the eyes visible by the glow of the cigar as the figure inhaled.

  “Screw you.” Raf spat the words as if the taste of them made him sick. Something in the darkness shifted and the sound of heavy footsteps crept toward him at a steady pace. The sweat of his brow ran down his face and he couldn’t breathe. Death was in the room, hiding in the darkness, the stench of it screamed through his senses.

  The figure stepped into the gray light just beyond the illumination of the bulb. His bulky stature was clad in a dark, well fitting suit and tie, and confidence radiated from his stance and jaunty tip of the felt hat that sat on top of the man’s head.

  “The name’s Al. Al Capone.” The figure took the final step and entered the small circle of light.

  “Al Capone? As in the mobster? You got to be kidding me.” Raf bowed his head, if it weren’t for the fact that he was certain he would die, he would have laughed.

  “Show some respect, kid. I’m a nice guy, but you don’t want to see the other side of me.” Capone took another large puff off the cigar and blew out, the smoke clouding the air between them.

  Through the fog, Raf watched in silent terror as the demon’s hands elongated, teeth sharpened behind the thick lips, and eyes glowed. “What the fuck?” he questioned as the smoke drifted away and Capone turned back into the figure of a man.

  “Just showing you, Raffy boy, that I’m not the one you want to screw with.” The smug smile spread across his face, making him look l
ike a jolly kind of guy rather than the ruthless monster that he was.

  Holy shit, tell me it’s a dream. Tell me it’s one of these crazy nightmares. Izzy will show up. I will turn into the angel. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. His mind screamed the words that he didn’t believe.

  “What? What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing, pal. You’re not that important, you’re just the bargaining chip. This is about family.”

  The realization that he was no more than a piece of collateral struck Raf hard. He had no one in his life, other than Marty. “Who? Who is the other side of this?” Thinking of all the sudden blessings that had taken place in his life, Raf wondered, Did that idiot strike a deal with the devil?

  Capone’s smile widened as he hooked a thumb inside the dove gray vest he wore. “Don’t worry about it, kid.” Turning, the mobster strode away, back into the shadows.

  The deadening click of the door made Raf’s heart fall, and he bowed his head to pray. He’d never been very religious, but when faced with a madman or demon, he supposed it was in his best interest. With his head bowed in the silence of his prison, he felt a strange pulling, as if his shoulder blades were stretching inside of him, and he hoped it was the hand of God letting him know he was not alone.

  Chapter Nine

  The limousine pulled up to the curb outside the little Italian restaurant, and Izzy took a deep breath. What happened inside could destroy all they had worked to accomplish. Ash issued last minute commands, Galia echoing him in almost every instance, but she couldn’t think clearly enough to pay much attention. She knew her part in the plan, that’s all that mattered. If things went wrong, her job was to get Rafael out at any cost. If things went right, it was the same. Her only worry was doing so without him witnessing something that she could not explain. If one of the Fallen morphed out of their human disguises, it might trigger the angel inside of the human.