Bartholomew had no reaction to my emotional response.
“Tell me.”
“It’s complicated—”
“Tell me!” I stepped toward him, my hands tightening into fists and making my knuckles ache from all the old injuries I’d sustained at his side.
He didn’t flinch at my outburst, didn’t even blink. “Hell took her.”
My chest started to rise and fall harder, processing those words without meaning.
“When Fender left the game, he abandoned that camp out there near the Alps. Shortly afterward, it was claimed by a new group. Hell.”
When I left the Chasseurs, I became a contractor. I started my own company and adopted a quiet life—for Claire. The world had changed since I’d left, and now I was in the dark. I had no idea who Hell was. “Who are they?”
“A cult, basically.”
Fuck.
“They believe angels walk among us and they’re the path to their redemption. They take women they believe to be divine, they believe to have invisible wings, who are so beautiful they’re ethereal. That’s all I know.”
They must have spotted Beatrice in her ballet—and took her. My daughter was with her, and they decided to take her too. My little girl was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of psychopaths that had no grip on reality. “Tell me the way.” I’d ride on horseback or take a chopper and find Hell, get Beatrice and Claire, and burn it to the ground.
Bartholomew continued his hard stare. “That’s where it gets complicated.”
“It’s not complicated to me.”
“They’re a large group. At the camp alone, there must be hundreds. They’re heavily armed, and they’ve got allies.”
“I’m not asking for your help, Bartholomew.” I would get my girl back on my own. A bunch of psychopaths wasn’t going to stop me. They could be heavily armed, but it wouldn’t make a difference—because I was fucking bulletproof.
“Then you’ll die, and she’ll die too.”
I sucked in a breath through my clenched teeth and winced in pain, dropping my chin to stare at the floor, needing a moment to push the image out of my head—of her lifeless eyes. I refused to bury my daughter. I refused to outlive her. I refused to let anything happen to her.
“They’re a bunch of freaks, but they are smart freaks. We negotiate first.”
“No. I will kill them all—”
“They deal LSD. They’ve got friends in high places…no pun intended. We’ve managed to coexist peacefully up until this point. Not going to disturb that for a kid.”
I huffed and puffed in immediate anger, wanting to dismantle his frame piece by piece, arms and legs, fingers and toes, until there was nothing but a spine left behind. “She’s not a kid. She’s my daughter.”
With no sympathy whatsoever, he stared at me. “You shouldn’t have had her in the first place. You had a way out, and you didn’t take it. None of this would be happening right now if you’d just let Beatrice get that abortion—”
“Fuck.” My entire body clenched, my teeth grinding hard together before they opened again and let the spit fly out. “You.” My clenched hand slammed down through the air and failed to hit a target because he was the one person I couldn’t strike. He was the only lifeline I had right now. “Don’t you ever fucking say that to me again. I’m sorry that I broke my vow, but I’m not sorry that I had Claire. I’ll never be sorry for that. Ever.”
5
Constance
I sat on the bed with the book open in my hands. The Tale of Demons.
I looked through the table of contents and saw a name that stuck out to me.
Forneus.
I flipped through the pages until I found that chapter in the center of the book. The books were printed and bound in a traditional fashion, but there was no publisher information, no ISBN, nothing. Did they write these themselves?
I read through the information. Forneus, the great marquis of Hell, is loved by both his friends and his foes. A member of the Order of Thrones and once a member of the Angels, Forneus is the expert in rhetoric and languages, and his name is derived from “oven” because he embodies the heat of the flames of Hell. He has twenty-nine legions of demons under his rule and is the ruler of the Malevolent, granting elevation of man to demon to those who earn it.
“I’ve gotta get outta here…”
The door opened, and Rebecca stepped inside, dressed in black like Forneus and the Malevolent. She glided forward and stopped several feet away from me. “You’re conducting your studies. Good.”
My studies? “I’m just trying to figure out how fucking crazy all of you are.”
Her lips pressed tightly together, and her eyes seemed to burn with flames. “You’re immortal. You’re the light. You’re the way. Appreciate the gift you’ve been given by God—”
“I’m not an angel!” I slammed the book shut. “I’m just a person that you stole! I was living my life like a normal person until you freaks decided to take me. You took my life when it wasn’t yours. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Rebecca was still, turning ice-cold, her eyes widening, curling her bottom lip into her mouth to chew. “You have no idea how lucky you are. You have no idea the gift that’s been bestowed upon you. You have no idea the sacrifice someone would make to have the divinity you have. I suggest you appreciate it.”
I didn’t even bother refuting her insanity anymore. This woman was more than brainwashed. It was as if she’d had a brain transplant.
She walked to the bookcase and pulled out a book before handing it to me.
I didn’t take it.
Her eyes turned steely at my disobedience before she set the book on the bedspread beside me. “You will practice the harp every night and prepare for Forneus.”
“Prepare what for Forneus? And what is his real name?”
“Music.” She never answered the second question.
I glanced at the harp before I looked at her again. “I have no idea how to play the harp—”
“Then learn.” She stepped back and approached the door. “I’m here to guide you to worship.” She raised her hand and gestured to the door, moving with forced elegance that was just ominous.
“I don’t worship Satan.”
“Nor do we.”
I hadn’t left my room since my interaction with Forneus. All we’d had was a conversation, but it disturbed me so greatly that I didn’t want to leave my quarters. The door to Beatrice’s room had stayed locked, so I hadn’t seen her. I shuffled between two different feelings—fear and bravery. Sometimes I found the strength to speak my mind, but at other times, I was too scared to move an inch. I knew this place wasn’t really hell, but sometimes my mind actually believed it was because it was so traumatic.
“Allow me to guide you to worship.”
I didn’t want to go anywhere with this bitch. “I’m good.”
“You need to pray with the other angels.”
Other angels? All I’d seen was Beatrice and Claire. There were others? “Women like me?”