Christine Warren - Huntress

Areshko expelled a cloud of magic and Ava shimmered back into being, naked and covered with blue bile. She choked, and then her eyes flew open. “Jack?”

“I’m here, luv.” Jack stripped off his leather and wrapped it around her.

Nazaraphael knelt on Ava’s other side.

“She’s beautiful, Winter. I see why you’d come back down into this hole for her.”

Ava threw her arms around Jack and pressed her cheek against his. “It was awful,” she whispered. “She did things … But I knew you’d come back for me.”

“You did?” Jack stroked her sopping hair. “You actually had faith in me, darling? I’m bloody touched.”

“Not faith,” said Ava. “Not in you.”

Jack pulled away from her. “Ava, are you all right?”

“Nazaraphael,” she said, “we brought you. We brought you to Areshko …” Her hand darted out, and Jack saw the bile-covered knife a second before it embedded itself in his chest.

He let out a cough and swatted at the knife. “What the bloody fuck … iron? ” Cold fingers wrapped his heart and pain seized him. “Iron …” Jack fell on his side, his cheek digging into the stones.

Ava pulled her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

Nazaraphael stood and brushed off his knees. He lifted Ava up by the hand, as if she weighed nothing. Jack’s leather slipped off her, as crumpled as he was.

Nina’s face obscured Jack’s swimming view of the pair. “He’s not dead,” she said in a hollow voice. “But he’s bleeding. … Why did you do it? He helped you.”

Areshko swiveled her head from Nazaraphael to lock Jack’s gaze, as his life unspooled at a terrifying rate.

“Nina,” Jack said. “Nina, get away from me!” He felt it again, the sickening sensation of Areshko’s magic, the great sucking void, and then he was moving, dragged across the ground toward the demon’s sphere. He wrapped his hands around Nina’s thin shoulders, trying to hold on, but he was left with a shred of her T-shirt, as she vanished into the void of Areshko’s magic.

Jack wanted to scream, but he hadn’t the breath or blood left. Beside him, Ava shrieked as Areshko’s influence scrabbled at her, nails cutting lines in her cheek and Nazaraphael’s shoulder when he shielded the demon huntress from harm.

Areshko swayed, shuddered, and smiled. Her terrible magic quieted, sated. “So sweet.” She sighed. “To taste the blood of the seraphim. It burns.”

Jack blinked at her, levering himself onto his arms. He felt nothing, floating as from an opiate high on the cold, fathomless water of shock. “Hold on just a bloody minute. What?”

Ava gave him that sad gaze. “Nazaraphael, Jack.”

Jack felt his mouth work. “He’s a …”

“I am not a demon,” Nazaraphael said. “I am Fallen. I reside in Hell but I am not a denizen.”

Ava swayed unsteadily, shivers wracking her naked skin. “I’m sorry, Jack, really I am. But he’s promised me. He promised me if I delivered Areshko, he’d …”—she swiped bile from her eyes—“he’d bring Daniel home to me.”

Areshko let out a moan, and Jack grabbed his head.

Feedback reverberated through his sight, and he watched as Areshko’s stomach swelled and her mouth opened, a great sucking void through which he could hear screams and a harsh, hot wind.

“Ava,” he whispered, “you know there’s no such thing as angels.”

“You hate demons as much as I do,” she said. “They make deals, and they steal souls. Daniel … She tortured him, and in the end he made a deal to end it.” She stood, wavering. “But now I have Nazaraphael. One of the Fallen, for the Triumvirate. And I have the means to go before them and bring his soul out of Hell.” She pointed to Areshko. “Take me. I want to go.” Ava took a wavering step toward Areshko, who held out her hand.

Jack reached up and grabbed Ava’s wrist. “I can’t let you do this, Ava. If you let her kill you and send you down, you’ll die in Hell. Nazzie here can’t deliver a soul any more than a mail boy can.”

“No,” she flared. “He is an angel. They’ll have to give Daniel back to me.”

“Daniel is dead!” Jack shouted. “And before he died, he made a deal to save his own arse! That’s not a man worth dying for, Ava.”

She jerked away from him and fell toward Areshko. “Take me! I want to die! The Fallen will resurrect me!”

Jack watched Areshko as her belly swelled even more, with the possibility of another meal. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “Ava. There are no angels. There are no Fallen. Demons lie.”

Ava pulled free of him and ran to Areshko, kneeling before the demon woman and spreading her arms wide. “Kill me. You want me. I was Daniel’s favorite.”

Areshko leaned down and caressed Ava’s cheek, then she bared her teeth and slapped Ava aside. Her mouth opened, and her magic swelled. Jack clutched his head, the blood chilling on the front of his shirt, as the air in the catacombs frosted with malice.

Nazaraphael threw up his hands, but Areshko was too much for him. The demon of the city withered, skin ashing and skeleton disintegrating, before he disappeared like dust in a wind.

Jack managed to get to his feet, one hand over the wound, which felt as wide and deep as a river. “Ava. Come with me. Come now.”

Areshko laughed at him. “Oh,” she said in a new, legion voice. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere.”

Jack tugged Ava, only to find his way blocked by a crowd of zombies drawn by the ambient magic. “Why did he have to be the bloody demon of the city?”

Ava looked to Jack helplessly. “He said he was an angel …”

Jack watched the zombies ebb around Areshko. “I know,” he said. “I know. But what do you know about Areshko?”

“She killed Daniel,” Ava moaned. “Killed him in spirit. She is the Hunger. She hunts.”

“And when she eats—what then?” Jack drew back his fist and popped the nearest zombie in the jaw. It staggered away from him, and Jack bore Ava on toward the exit.

Another zombie lunged and caught her across the stomach. Blood made its lazy way down her abdomen. “Areshko … she’ll consume Nazaraphael, his talent and his power,” she said.

Below them, Areshko opened her mouth as wide as a sewer grate and bit down on a zombie’s neck. There was no blood in the dried-out thing, but Jack saw the vile cloud of magic escape all the same, grayish green like a punctured bladder of gas. Areshko drank it down, her blue skin taking on the glow of an oil slick, the white brands hissing as they heated. She ate like she was the Horseman of Famine, hungry moans issuing forth.

“Bollocks to that,” Jack said. “We can’t let her have that sort of power …”

“Jack,” Ava said, as he dropped her hand, “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t care,” he said plainly. “You aren’t the first a demon’s lied to.”

“But I need you to know,” Ava said.

Jack shook his head. “Save it for when we’re out of the ground, yeah?”

“Can’t stop her,” said Ava. “Need a sanctuary, to wait for the end.”

Jack tossed her a look. “Sacred ground won’t stop zombies and demons. You think any necromancer or Hell fiend gives a bollocks what a priest said over a patch of dirt?”

“A warded house, then,” Ava said. “A bunker, a fucking tank. Something .”

Jack scratched the back of his neck. He felt like sleeping—sleeping for a hundred years, like some old tale. He was halfway to passing out, and bits of ghost and magic fluttered at the edges of his eyes, the sight waiting to pull him under.

Areshko would keep growing her hunger until it consumed enough of the Black to spill over into the world of the living.