Chapter 18 Dante
Dante
Ifound something. I tore the thin mattress from my cot and found that the metal slats are screwed in.
The screws sit flush with the side rails, and they are flatheads.
This is good. While the cot itself and the bars of my door are new, the Seraph didn't deep-clean the cell.
No, they left the rubble from years—decades? —of neglect.
A single chip of cinderblock waits for me in the corner.
I make sure to hide it when I'm not using it, just in case Hannah gets any ideas.
That woman stares at me with predatory eyes practically every time I turn around, but she's not here now.
I don't know where she is. But my heart races with anxiety as I slip the thin piece of concrete into the screw's slot and gently twist. I tried with my thumbnail first, but all that got me was a sore thumb.
This is working. Ever so slowly, the screw comes loose. I suck in a breath, trying to calm my nerves. My fingers tremble, and the cinderblock shard crumbles.
"Fuck!" I whisper. "No, no, no!"
I slump back on the floor and stare at the screw. It's only slightly protruding from the metal railing. Wiping a shaking hand, I try to grip the slippery little fucker and twist it the rest of the way out. Unease grips my stomach, and sweat gathers on my brow.
Clunk! Creeeak….
Heart pounding, I abandon my mission and throw the mattress back on the cot.
I quickly sit and perch my elbows on my knees, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
Raking a hand down my face, I feel the sweaty overgrowth of my beard and wince.
I prefer my face to be clean-shaven, but I'm not about to debase myself and beg Hannah for a razor.
"Oh, Dante!" Ella sings out. Her footsteps sound faster than usual, like she's practically skipping down the hall. "I want to make a deal with you!"
Icy dread prickles on the back of my neck. "What kind of deal?"
"Oh, it's a very good one." She appears with her signature hateful grin. "All you need to do is look pathetic when the Nephilim gets here. If you do that, I'll let you have time outside! Don't you want to see the sun? Feel the breeze on your skin?"
As much as I hate to admit it, I really, really do. "Explain."
"The Nephilim arrives tomorrow!" Ella squeals.
"You're going to look all sad and pathetic and weak.
Just like you always do—like you've always been.
You use your money like a shield. You use it like a weapon of mass destruction.
But without it? All by yourself? You're nothing.
You're nothing! And you're going to show the Nephilim the pathetic little mess that you are. "
I'm shocked into silence. Ella has been, up until now, extremely cool-headed. Slimy and taunting, yes, but she's never lost her temper. The realization hits me like a lightning bolt: she's nervous. The Nephilim's impending arrival has her on edge. I bite the inside of my lip to hold back a smile.
"That's all? Just look pathetic and weak?" I manage to deliver my response in a flat, monotone voice.
She huffs out a scoff. "That's it. Should be easy, right?"
"Right. And then you'll take me outside?"
"And then I'll take you outside. You might even see your wife."
My heart leaps into my throat. "Melody? You'll let me see Melody? Where is she—what have you done to her?"
"I haven't done anything to her." Ella smirks again, her calm and collected persona returning. "You might want to ask her what she's done, though."
Before I can ask anything more, Ella turns around and stalks away.
What the fuck? What has Melody done? What did Ella make her do?
The possibilities race around my head, each of them more vicious than the last. Did Hannah get too close?
Did Ella? I didn't see any more bandages.
I didn't notice a limp. But it would make sense if Melody hurt Ella somehow… perhaps that's why she lost her cool.
I smirk. Good. Melody is raising hell. And I can't wait to tell her how proud I am.
I knew Ella couldn't break her. I knew Hannah wouldn't get under her skin.
She's stronger than either of those women, and I can't wait to hold her in my arms. Bury my face into her neck and whisper words of praise into her ear.
As soon as I hear the metallic clunk of the door down the hall, I leap off the bed and throw the mattress again.
The screw waits for me. The head protrudes not even a centimeter but with the knowledge that Melody is terrorizing Ella?
I can do anything. My palms are bone-dry, and I grip the head, gently twisting it with bated breath.
It moves.
Faster and faster, the screw inches out before it falls into my palm. Yes. Yes! I can't help the joyous laugh that bubbles from me, but I slap my hand over my mouth. I don't know if they can hear me. I can't let them know.
The metal slat hasn't moved, though. Pressing down, it creaks, but slides down from the side rail. The other end, unfortunately, is stuck tight.
"Shit." I wiggle the rod again. It slips up and down, but I can't remove it. It's all one solid piece of metal, and I don't think I can break it. Not without drawing attention, anyway. Though if I can't hear the other floors… they can't hear me.
Bracing myself against the side rail, I grip the slat and heave backwards with all of my strength—and the only result is my shoulders hurting. I huff out an exasperated breath, but as my hands leave the metal, it twists. Exactly like the screw. "My god, I'm an idiot."
Unscrewing the slat is much easier than fiddling with a tiny flathead screw.
Within moments, the slat falls into my hand, and I bark out a laugh.
I have a fucking weapon. It's blunt, but it's long.
Swinging it around like a baseball bat, my chest fills with hope. I have a weapon. And I can fight back.
A low rumbling wakes me from my sleep. I bolt upright, clutching the metal rod to my chest. I don't know what time of day it is—the light stays on no matter what.
Peering around nervously, I see that everything is mostly as it was before I fell asleep.
There is only one notable difference: the back wall is damp, and a small pool of water gathers on the floor.
Thunder cracks and shakes the walls, reverberating through the metal bed frame. I hiss out a sigh. It's just a storm. There must be windows somewhere. I wish I could see it. I wish I could see the outside world. I'd give damn near anything to see the rushing wind and pouring rain.
Stilling, I listen intently for something. Anything. Ever so faintly, I hear the sound of whistling wind. I carefully creep out of bed and run my hand along the exterior wall. If I can just feel it, if I can feel the wind, even a tiny puff… it'll make the storm more real.
The leaking water is cold against my hand, and I press my face against the wall. Water. Dirty rainwater, but it's real. It's cold and it's wet and it's real.
I'm still real.
A metal-against-metal clunk from the door has my heart pounding in my chest. I scurry back to my bed and hide the metal rod under the mattress.
"Dante!" Ella calls. "Are you decent?"
A chorus of laughter—a male's laugh, someone unfamiliar—echoes down the hall.
My anxiety spikes. The Nephilim is here.
Another piercing clap of thunder accompanies their footsteps, and I curse under my breath.
I sit on the edge of the bed, keeping one hand pressed firmly into the mattress and the other on my knee. I stare at the cell bars.
"Well, look at this." A tall man in a white suit stands beside Ella, who's smiling so hard her cheeks look strained.
The man is paler than I am—nearly paper white.
He has blonde hair slicked back in a low ponytail and icy blue eyes.
He appraises me with mild disgust, his thin lip curled over large teeth. "You did it."
"I did!" Ella snickers. She keeps a respectful distance from the man, beaming and flicking her gaze between him and me. "I got his wife, too."
"Really? Are we meeting her next?" He sounds almost disinterested. The Nephilim has a vaguely European accent, perhaps Scandinavian? I can't quite place it.
"Oh—would you like to? Of course, that can be arranged. It's no trouble. In fact, I insist!" Ella simpers.
"Why not, huh?" He tosses a manicured hand into the air.
I narrow my eyes at the man. He stares back, sweeping his gaze from head to toe.
Ella craves his approval—that much is obvious.
But he doesn't seem too willing to give it to her.
That puts a smirk on my face, and I shift my focus to Ella.
She doesn't notice in the slightest. Hannah pokes her head around the door frame and scowls at me.
"What are you smiling about, huh?" She points a gloved finger.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just such an honor to meet the Nephilim." I glare back. "Truly, so impressive."
The Nephilim turns back to me and scrutinizes my unkempt appearance. I square my shoulders and stand up to my full height, not breaking his gaze. His thin lip curls again as he sneers, obviously waiting for me to fall in deference. I grin. "Like I said, an honor to meet you."
"Sit the fuck down, Dante," Ella snarls.
"Your pet is quite ill-behaved," the Nephilim says, still staring at me. "I thought better of you, Beacon."
"He is—but nothing a little corrective action can't fix, hmm? Hannah, would you be so kind as to sedate our guest?"
"Fucking try it," I whisper under my breath.
My hands itch, aching to wrap around the length of metal I've hidden away.
I may be weak, and I may be captured, but I could still beat the shit out of them.
In fact, I'm looking forward to it. The Nephilim may have Ella wrapped around his slimy finger, but his posh aura only disgusts me.
He represents centuries of hate between the Goetia and Seraph, and if I don't kill him? I know Melody will. I can only hope I'll be able to see it.
"Is that necessary?" The Nephilim raises a hand. "Really, Beacon? You require medical intervention to keep your pet at bay?"
"Wh—no! Of course not!" Ella flushes a deep red. "I just thought it might be easier for now, considering your presence."
"I must say, I'm not impressed." He sniffs. "You were quite convincing on the phone, but now… I don't know what to think. One man, his wife, a few guards… what else?"
"What else?" Ella gasps. "I—sir, I don't think you understand the situation. I have captured The Dantalion. I have his wife. I have his guard. This is—this is simply a proof of concept, sir. It means they're not untouchable. I proved it!"
"They're human," the man deadpans. "Of course, they're not untouchable.
We are all just people. Some of us with a more righteous cause, of course, but all this shows me is that your plan did work.
Yes, it worked. But it took years, did it not?
Nearly a decade of infiltrating The Dantalion's inner circle? "
I can't stop the shit-eating grin spreading across my face. This is amazing. Ella's getting dressed down by her boss—her idol—and I get to watch? God, this is almost better than watching Melody tear a man to pieces. I kick back on the cot, crossing my ankles and looping my hands behind my head.
"Yes, but—"
"—but what?" The Nephilim interrupts a fuming Ella. "How does this plan scale? Do you already have eyes with the other Goetia?"
Ella is practically spitting with rage. Her face is tomato red, and Hannah's stricken expression is downcast. I chuckle under my breath.
"… no."
"Hmm. Perhaps I was too hasty in my decision. You may not be ready for Beaconhood, after all."
Something snaps in Ella. I watch the blood drain from her face, going from a shining red to a sickly pale white. She clenches and unclenches her fists. Hannah stares at the floor, not saying a word. I feel like I need popcorn.
"I understand, sir." Ella squares her shoulders. "I would prefer you hold judgment until you see what we have planned."
She shoots an icy glare in my direction, and my smile drops. What the fuck does she have planned?