“You stay calm when you think it’s your blood, but you get all up in arms when it’s someone else’s?”
I push away from him, still clutching the shirt. “Lucas! That’s like pissing out someone else’s urine!”
He reaches for me. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Whose blood is it?” I insist.
Lucas inhales, his gaze settling on mine. “The condemned. It’s the blood of the condemned in the Infernum. Levi can’t sacrifice humans, so he’s sacrificing the condemned imprisoned with him so he can build enough strength through their deaths and your energy to escape. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but I know it’s not your blood.”
My knees go weak, but I hold my ground. “There’s no way to stop him from doing this?”
“Not without going into the Infernum, and there are some places even Seraphs can’t go. Escaping it is one thing; entering it is another.”
“Has anyone ever escaped it before?” I don’t think I want to know this answer.
“No.”
My vision blurs, and I stumble away from him to lean against a tree. My hands are covered in blood, and it’s not my own.
Lucas appears next to me. “The condemned suffer more than you could ever know. Death is relief. Even if it’s brief. They won’t stay dead. Remember what I told you about the Infernum, Harper. It’s a prison for supernaturals who are nearly impossible to kill. Like archdemons.” He pauses, letting that sink in before adding, “For creatures like me.”
My gaze flashes to his face, Levi’s words potent when I recall them. You will have a place in Hell, Lucas Fox. Cast and chained in the Infernum of darkness. Death to the messenger. Death to those who give her sanctuary.
“That’s what he plans to do to you,” I whisper.
Silence, and then, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
A new resolve fills me. “Today, you’re doing the holidays.” He pulls back, surprised. “I may bleed everywhere, and it may be the most uncomfortable meal I have ever had, but you are damn well doing the holidays today, Lucas.”
If I’m going to bleed other creatures’ blood, and Lucas is prepping for a fight that may cost him more than he gains, then I’m damn sure going to show him what it means to be human.
Chapter 9
After returning to my cabin to clean up, Lucas blinks us to my aunt’s basement apartment.
Below her shop, the apartment is an open and airy area with lots of recessed lighting to make up for the lack of windows. Stained concrete floors span the entire space, all of the rooms open to each other except for the two bedrooms. A vibrant multi-colored kitchen connects to a simple dining room with a farm table covered in artwork. The dining room joins a living room with wildly painted walls and a sofa and a recliner, each of the furniture pieces sporting gauzy scarves and strange-looking dolls. Two doors to the back of the space lead into the bedrooms. Candles are displayed on every available surface.
Eloise is in the middle of pulling a small turkey out of her oven when we appear, and she shrieks, dropping it.
Lucas catches the pan bare-handed in mid-air, places it on the kitchen’s small counter, and smiles. Evidently, he’s also immune to heat.
“You couldn’t use the door?” Eloise asks, holding her chest.
“The angel doesn’t have any manners,” I tease.
Still shaken, Eloise glances from me to Lucas and then me again. “I wasn’t sure you would come, but—”
I rush to embrace her, cutting off her words.
She stiffens in my arms, unused to me hugging or seeking comfort from her. Her scent of gingerbread and honey invades my senses. She smells like home. It doesn’t matter that I was here only yesterday. Today, even though I am unsure about everything, I feel more confident than I have in years.
Relaxing, Eloise hugs me back, her hand stroking my hair. “Harper,” she whispers in my ear.
Today, I am thankful for her.
Lucas pulls me away, regret coloring his eyes. “It’s not safe,” he reminds me. “I don’t know how closely tied your psychic abilities are to hers.”
Eloise clears her throat, turning away so she can swipe at her eyes, and guilt swamps me. I wasted too many years letting my fears and grief distance us. I doubt I’ll ever feel natural around people, but my aunt is different.
Her, I should have tried harder with.
If all of this ends well, I will try harder.
Eloise faces us, all smiles again, although she casts a lot of ill-at-ease glances at Lucas. “I’m glad you came. I cooked enough for three meals. On purpose. Because who really wants to cook more than twice a year?”
She’s lying. She loves to cook.
“Can I help?” I ask.
She ushers us into the dining room. “No! You sit.” Her gaze slides to Lucas. “Both of you.”
For years, every time Aunt Eloise would get stressed out about something, she would grab a box of paints and brushes, sit at the table, and create art until she was spent. The table is now a collage of anxiety-ridden graffiti. Pictures as simple as stars and as difficult as human faces fan out across the wooden surface. When she ran out of room on the table, she started on the walls.
The pictures are my aunt. They are her emotions, her thoughts, and her fears. My face is among the chaos, and I think it’s a perfect place for it to be.
“How are things going?” Eloise asks.
Rushing back and forth, she fills plates before setting them down before us. My aunt may prefer making herbal concoctions, but she is an amazing cook. She says it’s a way to express herself. Like the painted table.
“Stop,” I demand. “Sit. If we need anything else, we’ll get it.”
She sits.
In a long, tiered peasant skirt, a strawberry-red top, and her auburn hair pulled up in a messy bun, Eloise looks young. Or would, if not for the circles under her eyes and the tight lines around her mouth.
“I made it through the night okay,” I assure her.
She sinks her fork into her food and then stops. “Why my niece?” she asks, her gaze finding Lucas.
Because I wrote my name, I think.
Eloise stares at him hard, as if she’s challenging him to a visual game of thumb war. It’s not about who blinks first; it’s about whose stare is stronger. “Angel?”
He leans back in his chair. He’s too big for the farm table. It’s like looking at an adult trying to sit at a kid’s table, and yet he makes it look not ridiculous.
“Which question do you want me to answer first? The one about Levi or the one about her virginity?” Lucas asks.
“What?” I glance between them, horrified. Guilt takes up residence in Eloise’s eyes. “You did a reading on me?” Realizing she hadn’t asked the questions aloud, I throw in, “You know he can read thoughts?”
“Last night, I went to see Saundra,” she replies, still staring at the angel. “It was educational to say the least. Afterward, I asked for a little guidance from the spirits.”
Lucas raises his brows, impressed. “I’m developing a new respect for psychics and your tenacity.”