“Actually, I’m the only one who can,” I tell him as I pass right through him.
He still tries to grab me, knowing he can’t.
“Don’t fucking leave, Keyla,” he gripes, but I rush through the walls anyway.
Just as I land in Lamar’s cell, another man appears. This one is a different kind of guard. His mask is white leather, and his wardrobe is red.
Lamar starts to do something, but the guy holds up his hands as a show of surrender. “I’m here on your prince’s behest,” the man states, tearing his sleeve up to show some sort of marking. “Lucifer has requested an audience with the two of you.”
I quickly pat Lamar’s arm, reminding him of the fact he’s got those escape words and he’s about to go before the devil, who might find that very suspicious if he’s so innocent.
Though I feel absolutely nothing, Lamar subtly startles and tugs down his sleeve to cover the markings before the man sees them.
“Try something and I will kill you,” Lamar cautions.
The man in the white mask nods, then his mask turns red. Totally creepy.
I reach for Lamar, touching his back, and finding it peculiar he stays relaxed instead of stiffened.
In a blink, we’re out of the room, and suddenly we’re alone with Manella, who is walking toward us in a brightly lit, elegant red room. He runs a hand through his hair, a small smile on his lips.
“My father has agreed to a meeting, and he seems fairly lucid today. He even called for me himself, and asked me to once again tell him about the night you were accused and your alleged true whereabouts. After I told him, he nodded and immediately sent for you.”
Lamar doesn’t look as excited as Manella, and that sends a prickle of dread up my spine.
“If he’s lucid enough to read lies, he’ll release you,” Manella goes on.
Lamar gives him a tight smile. “We can only hope, my prince.”
Manella jerks Lamar to him in a pre-celebratory embrace, and Lamar hugs him back, though his is a sadder, more desperate hold.
It makes me almost suspicious, but yet there’s no guilt in his eyes. Only trepidation.
Manella pulls back, clearing his throat even as he keeps that boyish, carefree smile on his face. He looks like a completely different man.
“They’ll send for you when it’s your time to join us,” he says, then grabs Lamar’s face between both his hands and kisses him hard before jerking back again, that smile spreading.
Lamar just returns a smile that’s so beautifully tragic it makes my heart hurt. Manella, oblivious, turns and darts out the doors, leaving them wide open as he vanishes from sight.
As soon as he’s gone, Lamar clears his throat and straightens his clothing out in front of the mirror. In a blink, he looks clean and pressed, not a wrinkle on the clothes that were tattered only seconds ago.
“I’m not sure what you are,” he says, causing me to look around for someone else in the room. It’s just me. My gaze swings back as he blows out a breath and continues. “But if you’re a gift from Lilith, I can only assume today I pay the price. Lucifer hasn’t been lucid in many decades. It’d be much too hopeful to believe it’s as Manella believes today.”
Is he really talking to me right now?
“If you’re my gift, I will pay the price without falter. But I only request that my damnation be his salvation, and you move onto protecting him without penalty.”
That really makes my heart hurt.
He believes Lilith’s price for protection is now the cost of his life. The true gift was borrowed time with Manella and seeing him happy one last time.
As happy as a man who is certain his true love is about to be his again.
I hate Lilith.
If I’m everyone’s gift and curse, I hope a day comes when I’m able to save her, just so she can be damned in one way or another.
But as it stands, everyone I’ve protected has faced a consequence.
Five men I’ve saved. Five men have been locked in hell’s throat. One of those men may die today.
Now his last wish is that I protect the one he’s leaving behind without consequence. And I have no way of telling him that if I could control it, none of them would suffer.
“You will be busy in this trying time, I’m afraid,” he says a little quieter.
I wonder if I’ll be able to stop the devil from killing him.
Highly doubtful.
Furious and hurting, I follow him when a red masked man comes to collect. I’m assuming these are the royal guards, unlike the hell guards with black masks.
It’s like the death mile with all the eerie paintings of the six royal devil spawns hanging every few inches. Paintings of them throughout time. One has Hera and all her blonde haired beautiful glory in front of the Trojan horse with a deviant smirk on her face.
I stop to try and make sense of the plaque underneath, and the weird symbols turn into actual words. Blinking, I hurry and read, in case the words disappear again.
Helen of Troy. A great war between two great countries, and the ruin of two feared or deeply respected kings.
Body count—massacre
Fear factor—little to none
Historical presence—heavy impact
Is this their weird Hall of Sick Fame dedicated to their earthly visits or whatever? Was she seriously Helen of Troy at one point?
I jog down the hall, but halt when I see another plaque hanging under a picture of a very sinister, yet highly sophisticated portrait of Cain in a top hat.
He’s tipping the hat with very bloody hands.
Jack the Ripper. Leaving behind a legacy that still lives on even in new generations, and haunting of the minds of everyone once they hear the tale.
Body count—low
Fear factor—deadly hysteria
Historical presence—notorious impact
Considering I’d rather not add more reasons to make a run for it before I meet the maker of those psychotic people, I decide not to read anymore plaques.
I also quit looking at the pictures so that I don’t get curious.
Out of place in the otherwise white décor, two massive, coal-black doors that tower over me slowly start to open. Sure. Not ominous at all.
Lamar takes a shaky breath, and then he steps inside.
I try not to piss my pants, because I’m about to be in front of the motherfucking devil.
Chapter 19
We move through a short hallway, and Lamar navigates the bit of a maze we’re in like he’s done this countless times. With one quick inhale, he steps into another room, and I follow him.
My eyes take in the red and black décor, almost feeling cheated with how cliché and obvious it all is. It looks like an office, and the walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books. The room stretches up at least fifty feet, and I spin around, a little overwhelmed by the sheer wealth of knowledge concealed at the fingertips of the devil himself.
Sensing a presence, I look over just as another set of doors open, and in walks Manella, his bright smile still fixed to his relaxed face. Lamar is so rigid he looks ready to break.