Chapter 2
SIMONE
Iwake up with a gasp, my surroundings making no sense. Bare walls slide past my vision, broken only by the occasional candelabra. I’m being carried by strong arms like a doll, the smell of ash and a tinge of sulfur invading my nose.
The stranger in the kitchen! He must have taken me somewhere on either my parents’ or Thomas’s orders.
I look up to find a man with perfect, classically handsome features. If he weren’t a thug, he could have been a model—he’s that beautiful. Our eyes meet, and I think I see a hint of regret in his gaze.
“Apologies again for incapacitating you, young Cambion. It was imperative that we didn’t expose ourselves to the humans.”
To the humans? He’s a madman!
“Would you like to walk?” he asks, a little like he’s asking for my preference. Coffee with milk or sugar?
“I would like to walk out of here,” I answer when I find my voice.
The man—I think he said his name is Corson—shakes his head.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Purgatory is your home now.”
I start struggling in his arms, and he finally sets me down, my legs shaky at first.
“Look,” I begin. “Whatever my parents are paying you, I’ll… I’ll find a way to get you more. They’re not good people. Please, just let me go. I don’t want to go back to France.”
Corson gives me an odd smile. “You’re not going back to France, Simone. You’re in the Underworld.”
A small giggle erupts from my throat. “You’re insane, right? Or is this a joke?”
“No joke.” He indicates the hallway ahead of us, and I realize I hear voices. There’s shouting, even crying. What the hell is going on here?
If there are more people here against their will… then was this not my parents’ doing?
My feet feel rooted to the ground. I’ve been scared many times in my life, but it was all from knowing what to expect—the worst. Here, what’s ahead is unknown.
“I’m…” I trail off, my breath coming faster as my mind conjures up different scenarios. “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me,” I finally say.
I realize I sound like a frightened child, but that’s because I feel like one.
Corson shakes his head. “Where is Daniel?” he mutters to himself. “He’s better equipped to handle fragile little mortals.”
I hate that even after all these years, I’m still fragile, still not a survivor. The comment makes my back straighten, makes some smidge of pride inside me come to life.
“Fine,” I say on a shaky exhale. “If I go there, you’ll tell me what the hell is going on?”
A corner of Corson’s mouth twitches into a smile before he visibly schools his expression and nods gravely.
“Then let’s go,” I murmur, acting braver than I feel.
Corson leads me to an atrium filled with people. But they’re not what has me nearly tripping over my feet. No, that would be the sky.
“What… How?” I stammer, looking at the swirling red aurora on a bed of deep indigo.
“I told you,” Corson says. “You’re in Purgatory.”
With that, he walks past me to where more imposing men in robes like his are standing, most with hoods still covering their faces.
A few more people in various states of distress are brought in as I still numbly gawk at the sky. Maybe we’re in a virtual reality simulation?
This isn’t Star Trek, Simone. Quelle idiote.
“I want to go home,” a pale woman with auburn hair says quietly behind me, drawing my attention. Another robed figure is by her side, tall, with gleaming dark skin and eyes that make my heart stop in my chest—they’re yellow and slitted! Those have to be contact lenses. Right?
The man leaves her side, but instead of joining Corson and the rest of the robed figures, he strides to the center of the atrium. A circle quickly forms around him, no one wanting to be too close to him.
“Let me repeat what you’ve been told as you were brought here today,” the man begins, his voice deep and captivating. “You’re in the fortress of Abaddon. This realm is also known as Purgatory.”
I gasp when a boy with pink hair tries to run back the way we came. The large man’s hand shoots out so fast that my eyes have a hard time tracking it, stopping the young man in his tracks.
“No, I’m not human,” the black man continues, like he’s not holding someone by the neck of their hoodie. I cover my mouth, gasping with the rest of the crowd. Is he joking? He can’t be serious!
He releases the young man and carries on. “No, I won’t kill you, though I cannot say the same for most of the occupants of this realm. And my name is Maalik. But you can call me ‘yes, sir’,” he finishes with a smirk.
Where have these madmen brought us? Why us and why here? I see the same questions reflected on the faces of the people around me, and I find myself wishing it had been Thomas or my parents who sent Corson after me. They’re insane, but these monsters make them seem only slightly dysfunctional.
“You are here,” Maalik continues, “as a last attempt to save your pathetic, sin-riddled world from… well, yourselves. You see, with how humans are multiplying like rabbits in your mortal realm, so does sin. And where do sinners go?”
He’s looking at his audience like he wants us to provide an answer. After a moment of silence, another young man finally asks, “To Hell?”
Maalik nods. “To Hell. Which is now bursting at the seams like your Thanksgiving turkeys.”
Are we really in Hell? I always thought it was a religious construct, something fanatics threatened you with when you didn’t conform to their made-up set of rules.
“Why are we here?” a woman asks, and a few of us nod in approval. Finally, someone’s asking the important questions.
Maalik seems thrilled at the question. “Why, to cull the ranks, of course.”
“How are we meant to do something you can’t?” the tall, auburn-haired woman who entered with him asks.
“Excellent question.” Maalik grins at her. “While you would not have noticed in the mortal realm, you have Celestial blood in your veins. Meaning you can, when properly trained, take on these manifestations of the sin your kind begot.”
Celestial blood? We’re… angels?
Oblivious or uncaring that he just rocked the foundations of our worlds, Maalik continues. “Your mommies or daddies or more likely great-grandparents had demonic or angelic blood.”
Not just angels but demons too? I would know it if I had evil inside me… right?
While Maalik talks to the auburn-haired woman about her heritage and various combinations of what he calls Elioud, I find myself backing away toward a support pillar. I can’t breathe. My back hits the cold stone, and I slide down until my ass is on the ground.
“What are you?” I hear the woman ask. “Why aren’t you taking care of this threat from your realm, if it’s out of control?”
“We are the Fallen,” a gentler male voice answers her.
“We fell from grace but repented and did not give in to evil. We are free to walk among Purgatory and Hell, and even the mortal realm, but we are denied Elysium. And there are not enough of us to corral the manifestations made from corrupt human souls. They are breaching into the human realm. The archdemons and demon lords do not much care for the mortal world.”
Archdemons, demon lords, fallen angels… I lean forward, lowering my head between my knees. I think I’m going to be sick.
“We will teach you to fight the manifestations and also the demonic creatures you will encounter while carrying out your duty,” Maalik says, his tone brooking no argument.
“You will be given quarters, train, and live here. This is your final destination, after all. There is no Heaven for Nephilim, nor for Cambion or other combinations of Elioud, of course.”
Me, fight? Ridicule. I couldn’t fight off one pathetic, abusive man, and they expect me to fight… demons?
Someone walks to my side.
“I’ll show you to your room in the Cambion wing. Others with demon blood will reside there with you.”
I look up at Corson, the red aurora casting a frightening backdrop behind his imposing form.
“How can I be a demon?” I ask him, my voice breaking on the last word. “Back in France, I was a nurse in a… how do you say it… unité de soins intensifs néonataux? Intensive care for babies? In America, I worked as an au pair, taking care of an adorable little boy. I’m not evil.”
Corson crouches down to my level. “Having a few drops of demon blood doesn’t make you evil, Simone. Just like having angelic blood doesn’t make someone inherently good.”
“Then why does this feel like a punishment?”
He doesn’t answer, though his jaw is clenched tight, his mouth set in tense lines.
My eyes fill up with tears, blurring my vision. “What am I being punished for?”