“Maybe. He said it wasn’t safe to talk, so he’s coming to meet with us here. Tomorrow. I mean, tonight,” Oliver said, looking at the clock, which showed that it was half past three in the morning. “Caught a break finally.” He punched Kingsley on the shoulder, and the two of them looked at Schuyler like eager puppies hoping for a treat.
It was just as Jack used to say—one lead was all they needed—one light against the darkness and all would be illuminated. Jack…if only he were here with her now…but Schuyler couldn’t continue to dwell on his absence. She had vowed to move forward. There was that feeling again—that odd sensation that she was not alone—but she ignored it. She was just paranoid.
So Schuyler returned their smiles, happy to bestow praise. “Happy New Year indeed.”
TWO
Mimi
hat are you singing?” Jack asked, whispering.
Mimi started. She hadn’t noticed she was humming out loud. She began to sing: “‘Leaving on a midnight train to Georgia…’” Her voice carried through the empty cabin, low and soft. They were on a train headed from the Ninth Circle of Hell back up to the gatepost at the crossing, back to their world, at their master’s bidding. Unlike the dirty subway car that had taken her back to the surface last time, now she was seated in a first-class carriage, complete with reclining seats and troll attendants on call. There was a difference in trying to escape from Hell and willingly leaving with its master’s permission.
“‘Bought a one-way ticket to a life he once knew,’” Jack sang, his voice a complement to hers. When the song ended, they shared a rueful smile, identical down to the dimples on their chins. Just like looking in a mirror, Mimi thought, glancing at her twin. How could she have ever hated him? Jack was part of her, had always been. She didn’t know how she could have survived all these long years in the underworld without him by her side. Time was different down here: she understood it intellectually, but it was still disorienting to live outside of the circadian rhythms. There was no day, no night, just an endless present. She had no idea how long they had been away from their own world.
Once again, they had been yoked to each other for a difficult task—Dark Angels secretly fighting for the Light, hiding their better natures in order to win their freedom from each other.
She removed a jeweled compact from her purse and powdered her nose, admiring her reflection. She was the Mighty Azrael, Angel of the Apocalypse. The most beautiful girl in the underworld. Even the Dark Prince—that old rat bastard—had hinted that if she ever tired of Abbadon, he wouldn’t mind getting to know her a little better. How ironic that her legendary beauty had not been enough to keep her twin by her side.
No, she had never been enough for Abbadon, which was why they shared this burden. She had loved him once, more than he had ever loved her, and the rejection still stung, but now it was like the buzzing of a gnat, a flea bite, inconsequential, annoying at best, merely a hairline crack in an otherwise formidable fortress. She had been living with it for so long—his worship of Gabrielle, casting his lot with that…Abomina— No, she couldn’t call her that anymore.…With Schuyler. There. Mimi could not bear to think her name even if they were adversaries no longer. Schuyler had won, for sure. Not that it mattered.
It was too late to think of what might have been. She had committed to this task, and she would see it through. She looked out the window, the landscape a monotonous gray rock, the red-hot cinders from the Black Fire the only light for miles. It seemed like centuries since she had felt sunshine on her face, even though Jack had assured her they had been in Lucifer’s service for only a few months, and that when they reached aboveground it would be right around New Year’s.
Do you think we’ll find it? she sent to Jack.
I hope not.
Don’t, she warned, alarmed at his cavalier attitude. They might hear.
They can’t hear us, Mimi. I told you. Not when we talk like this. The bond allows us that privacy at least.
He was her twin. The same dark star had birthed them. Bound to each other from the beginning. Sealed in blood and fire.
The bond was the reason they were slaves to the Dark Prince in the first place. Its unbreaking had cost them an internship in Hell. Divorce lawyers had nothing on Lucifer. Mimi was appalled and yet amused at the same time. Was it worth it? They were playing a dangerous game. If Lucifer suspected they were false…She shuddered to think of the consequences. He held their very souls captive unless they delivered. They would pay the ultimate price if they did not.
Whose idea was this, anyway? Mimi remembered how close she had been to destroying Jack, holding her sword aloft, ready for revenge. She could have struck him down. It was so tiring being good. Sacrifice just wasn’t her style.
Oh, well. Too late now.
At least they had each other. Mimi would have gone mad if she hadn’t had Jack to lean on. Their former commander had kept himself scarce. Lucifer was always thus, Mimi remembered—aloof, withdrawn, prone to seek his own counsel. And once they had returned to the dark fold, they had been surrounded by old comrades and enemies. Angels with whom they had fought side by side. Angels they had betrayed during that last terrible struggle for dominion of Paradise. Needless to say, they had been given a chilly reception.
That first night back in the underworld they walked in to find a hostile crowd at the local watering hole. She and Oliver had frequented it during their sojourn, but the management had changed, and the place was not what it was.
“Look, everyone—it’s the ones who lost the war for us,” Danel had said. He had been one of their oldest friends, a warrior, tall and golden and proud, beautiful as ever except for the ugly scar that bisected his face. Now he sneered at them. “If it wasn’t for you…”
“Traitors. Thieves. Turncoats,” came the silky voice of the angel Barachiel. “Welcome to the underworld. You will find you are right at home here.” He smiled.
“You are kidding yourselves if you think you can return to his service so easily,” hissed Tensi, a formidable avenging angel who had led the charge from the left flank all those millennia ago, when the world was young.
But in the end the angels left them alone. They still feared Abbadon’s hammer, still cowered at the flaming sword of Azrael.
“We have no place here,” Mimi had said to Jack later in their private quarters. The twins had merited a lavish suite in the palace, a rival to the ducal estate that Kingsley had once called home. “Michael and Gabrielle never trusted us—and neither does this sorry lot.”
“They will come around. They have no choice.”
Jack had turned out to be right. While the Silver Bloods were strong in number, they were also fearful and scattered. They still remembered the power of the White Fire of Heaven, the wrathful armies of Paradise, how they had been cast out of Elysium and into hellfire. Since Leviathan was tasked with assembling the demon army in the deep bowels of Hell, Jack had stepped into his former position as the head of the Dark Fallen.
Every night Jack drank and feasted with them, singing old war songs, drinking the blood ale, skirmishing in the training courtyards, testing his strength against theirs, gaining their trust, their respect, their admiration, and whatever tenderness was left in their Corrupted souls that passed for love. He impressed them with the depth of the power at his command. Abbadon had truly returned to Hell, they said. Abbadon, Destroyer of Worlds. Hell’s true son.