Chapter 15 – Jessica
The Malebolge: The Trench of Grafters
“I s it me, or is it getting hotter again?” I wish I could pull my armor away from my skin, get some air in there.
“We are entering the bolgia of the grafters,” Ithuriel says as if that alone was an explanation.
I roll my eyes. “I haven’t read Dante since high school, have mercy on me.”
Sariel snickers. “Corrupt politicians, baby.” I flush at the nickname. “The trench is filled with boiling pitch.”
I boggle at him. “We’re not swimming through boiling tar as well, are we, Sariel?”
He flicks the tip of my nose and I stick out my tongue.
“No, Jessica,” he says, mimicking my serious tone. “There’s a path through the cliffs and bridges.”
“Then how are they keeping the sinners, you know, tortured?”
“You will meet some of Hell’s most nefarious demons,” Ithuriel chimes in. “The Malebranche.”
I shudder at the ominous-sounding name. “What are they like?” I ask.
“Sick and twisted,” the angel replies without hesitation, making Sariel snort.
“Most demons are sick and twisted in their own ways, blondie.” I’m not quite sure which of us the Fallen is referring to. “These just happen to take the cake,” he finishes.
“They are grotesque,” Itha supplies. “Their wings are gnarly and hooked, their hands are armed with large, serrated claws.”
“And they just love torturing the sinners they’re babysitting,” Sar adds.
“Great,” I mutter. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
Sariel steps closer. While I note the shrinking distance between us with a raised eyebrow, he winks at me and places his hand on the back of my neck, under my high ponytail.
“What are you doing, Sar-Sar?” I murmur. I know Itha can probably hear me, though.
Sariel’s reply is a silky whisper. “I missed feeling your skin under my fingertips, poppet.”
Goosebumps race down my spine, both from his words and the touch; so gentle yet so domineering, predatory. My heart rate picks up as I remember how his touch felt between my legs, the skillful way he made me come. I think about the insane amount of experience he must have, all the males and females he pleasured, and jealousy twists my stomach.
Oh, no, Jess. Don’t go down that path. He’s not yours and he’s one point five thousand years old. It’s not like he could have been a virgin…
I look at Ithuriel, the angel casting furtive glances back at us as he walks ahead. Okay, so he could have been a virgin. But do I really want him to be? Not that I think Itha is any less sexy for being inexperienced. Quite the opposite. The things I could teach him. We could teach him.
Oh God, stop it, Jessica .
Sariel’s strong fingers squeeze the nape of my neck. “Penny for your thoughts?”
I roll my eyes up at him. They’re both such tall bastards. “I thought we determined you don’t have a penny on you, hot stuff.”
“What else can I trade to get inside you?” He smirks at my scoff. “I mean, get inside your head,” he clarifies and I burst into laughter.
“You’re a big baby,” I tease him.
His lips twist into a wry smile. “If I say I’m a baby, can I nurse at your bosom?”
My breath catches at the audacity of his immature joke and I cough my way through strangled laughter.
“If you two are quite done,” the angel’s haughty voice floats from ahead. “We need to start walking in a line, one by one.”
With one last caress against my pulse point, Sariel lets go of my neck and falls back. When I reach Itha, I see why he wants us to form a line. We’ve reached the tar-filled trench.
The path takes a sharp downward turn from where we stand, elevated. I follow it with my eyes, tracing the twists and bends it takes through the bubbling black pitch. In some places, it’s nearly level with the black substance. Misshapen figures stand there, small due to the distance between us, poking at the sinners boiling in the tar. In other places, the path climbs upward again, a narrow trail with cliff ledges on each side. Several of these cliffy areas are joined by rickety-looking rope bridges.
“We have to walk across that?” I ask the stoic angel in disbelief.
He looks down at me and his eyes soften. He lifts his hand and tentatively places it on my shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “It will be alright, Jess,” he says softly, then releases me and turns down the path.
I fight to keep my mouth closed. That’s the first time he’s given me a casual touch. A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in my stomach.
Sariel leans close to my ear. “Good job, babycakes.” His warm breath tickles my earlobe and I shiver. With a chuckle, he gently nudges me to follow our angel. I suddenly realize it’s been days since I’ve seen their wings. I miss the majestic sight of them.
It doesn’t take us long to reach the bottom of the trench and I get to see the Malebranche for the first time up close. They’re as bad as Itha said; their flesh is black and slimy, almost like they’re made of tar themselves. When they see us, their large mouths open into too-wide smiles, displaying sharp fangs, each as long as my finger. I wonder when someone just took a long stroll through the Malebolge like this. If they see visitors often.
Our presence doesn’t stop them from using their claws or long hooks to prod at the wailing sinners. I don’t see the necessity for it; the poor fuckers are already red and pink from the steaming liquid, all the hair on their bodies melted off. Some have oozing black holes where their eyes used to be. The stench is unbelievable.
When we climb back up and away from the demons and sinners, the ground opens on each side of us and I don’t really feel relieved. Each step of the way through these trenches unlocks a new fear.
The first time we cross one of the suspended bridges, my foot goes through a dried-out plank and my stomach falls to the bottom of the chasm.
“Fucking Hell,” I gasp, breathless as Sariel holds me up from behind me.
“Jessica!” Ithuriel’s voice is brimming with concern. He starts walking back toward us.
“Don’t!” I warn him. “I’m fine, we’ll be right there.” The last thing I need is for him to step through a bad piece of wood as well.
We reach the pale angel and he takes us both in, checking for injuries. Sariel reaches over my head to lightly punch his shoulder. “Were you worried about us, buddy?”
“I’m not your buddy,” Itha mutters, but there’s no heat behind it; it's just a routine reply at this point.
“Well, I was worried,” I say dramatically. “I thought my soul had left my body.”
Sariel squints at me playfully. “Nope. Still there.”
I gasp. “What does it look like?”
The wicked fallen angel’s grin widens. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Ithuriel sighs and turns around.
“That’s as good as an eye-roll,” Sar whispers and I giggle. If you told me weeks ago, when we met to plan this mission, how much fun I’d be having in their company, I’d laugh. And probably faint.
“There’s another bridge ahead. Attempt to control yourselves.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I chirp at the angel, enjoying the way his steps falter. Sariel tugs on my ponytail. When I look back at him, he gives me a double thumbs up. Grinning, I follow Itha onto the next bridge.
I’m more careful this time, making sure each plank is good before putting my full weight on it, holding on to the ropes tightly. As the bridge sways with our movements, suspended between the cliffs above a deep chasm filled with boiling tar, my heart pitter-patters wildly in my chest.
We’re almost at the end when there’s a loud creaking sound.
“Um, what was that?” I whisper. Maybe if whatever it was doesn’t hear me, we’ll be okay.
Ithuriel stops and turns around, slowly. His elegantly pale face is now downright pallid.
“What?” I hiss.
“Hold on to her,” he tells Sariel, voice sharp.
Before I can question him further, a loud snap echoes through the trench, and a sense of déjà vu engulfs me as both angels lunge toward me. The bridge sways wildly under my feet and I pitch forward, the ropes doing nothing to stop my fall. Itha grabs my hand at the last possible moment, but then he starts to follow me over.
“Fuck!” Sariel roars, grabbing onto the other rope with one hand and Itha’s wrist with the other.
I scream as my descent stops violently, my weight pulling on the arm in the angel’s grasp. For three seconds I think we’ll make it out of the situation unscathed. Then Sariel’s depthless eyes widen with panic. Another creak and snap fill my ears as the world spins around me again. The bridge broke completely and our linked bodies are plummeting toward the cliffside.
We descend under a ledge, the wooden planks clanking and snapping at the impact above us. The trench is a blur as we swing wildly and my arm screams in protest of gravity. Through my blind panic, I register Sariel’s anguished, furious roar as we snap still.
No one speaks for half a minute. I can’t believe we’re alive. Well, that I’m alive. The angels would probably just reform.
“Are you able to pull us up?” Itha speaks first.
I look up and glimpse Sariel’s face, twisted into a pained sneer.
He hisses. “No. My shoulder’s dislocated.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. He’s holding all three of us on a dislocated arm? “Can you teleport us with the ether, Sariel?” I ask louder.
He shakes his head. “Not all three of us.”
“You are the only one that matters, Jessica,” Ithuriel decides. “I will reform once I swim out.”
The Fallen shakes his head again. “You’ll be weakened and fuck knows what’s ahead.”
“Then what?” the angel growls, finally shaken. “We cannot fly.”
“You’ll have to transport yourself. I’ll blink to Jess and we’ll meet you on the other side.” Sariel speaks calmly and clearly, despite the agony painted on his face.
Ithuriel’s features twist. “I cannot travel with the ether yet! I never succeeded.” He looks down at me with something like devastation. “Just… take care of Jessica, I will be alright.”
“No,” Sariel growls through clenched teeth. “Look at me. I said, look at me , Starlight.” Ithuriel breaks eye contact with me and looks up at the Fallen. “Good. Now, close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just close your eyes, for fuck’s sake.” Sariel manages to look exasperated through the pain. “Take stock of your body. Feel every inch of yourself, every molecule. Gather your ether in your chest… then funnel it out to your extremities, to the ends of your toes, your fingertips, that ridiculously soft, pansy-ass hair.”
I’d laugh if I were capable. The angel’s hair does look ridiculously soft. And now he feels like he’s vibrating, static electricity zapping my arm where he holds it. Either that or I lost all sensation in it forever.
“Got it?” Sariel asks softly.
The angel nods once. “Yes,” he murmurs.
“That’s it. Think of the other side of the bridge. We were almost there. You saw it clearly. A few more steps and you’d be on solid ground.”
“I see it,” Itha breathes.
“Perfect. Focus on every bit of ether coursing through you. Let go of Jess and take that last step to land.”
The angel shakes his head. “I can’t!”
“You can, Ithuriel. Just let go.” Sariel’s voice is so full of assurance that I want to let go.
“What if you don’t reach her in time?” the angel cries.
“Trust me, Starlight. I got her. I got both of you.” My stupid heart swells at the Fallen’s words. Like I’m not hanging above bubbling tar a long, long way down, like the possibility of a painful death isn’t very, very real.
“Jessica?” Ithuriel’s asking for my permission and I have to swallow three times before I’m brave enough to give it to him.
“Let me go.”