Chapter 14 #2
His pointer finger swings in Cisco’s direction.
My smile drops. “Start talking.”
But his arm drops again to his side, and he moans at the ceiling, “Can’t smoke myself to death.
Can’t walk in front of a bus. Can’t even electrocute myself with a toaster in a bath of holy water.
Can’t even drink holy water.” He rubs his chest as if his newly acquired soul is physically burning his ribs.
“Tried that yesterday. Did I burst into majestic, purifying flames? No. I got irritable bowel syndrome. I’m trying to die with dignity, and this fleshy meat suit prison refuses to expire! ”
“Asmodeus!”
He jackknifes up with a pout, dark hair disheveled. “Did you know that what goes in one end comes out the other?” He shudders. “I never knew mortals were so disgusting.”
“What do you know about Cisco’s curse?”
He stares at me with unblinking eyes.
I start to wonder if my first assessment of him was correct and he’s actually insane.
Noctis chomps on the cigarette embers, happy as a dog with a bone. Water drips somewhere. A choir starts singing again, their voices filtering down from the ceiling on a draft.
Asmodeus pats a spot next to him on the ledge. “Take a seat, sweetheart.”
“I’d rather not.” I step closer to Cisco.
He sighs. “Honestly, he’s better that way. Trust me.”
“Do you know how to break his curse or not?”
“Depends on what you mean by break.”
“Purge that—” I point at Cisco’s dark ribbons and eyes. “Whatever that is out of him.”
He gives the sword a pointed look. “Only an archangel’s blade can do that, darling.”
“Do you know where the missing hilt is?”
“Why would you want a hilt?”
“Because it’s broken.”
He stares at me. Blinks. “Is it?”
“This is ridiculous.” I spin and stalk back to our camp, fuming.
I’m angry at myself, mostly. I let him distract me. I should have been working to get us out of here, and this stupid habit is driving me up the wall. I rip at the veil, tug it from my hair. The wimple is next. I scrunch them into a ball and drop them five feet out from the campfire, then freeze.
Asmodeus is already there, sitting cross-legged, warming his hands against the flames. He gives the habit a withering look. “Not really cut for balmy Italian nights, is it?”
“It’s freezing in here.”
“Is it?”
“Dammit, Asmodeus,” I growl. “I’m not in the mood for games.” My stomach growls too, reminding me that all I’ve had to eat today is a Twizzler. Speaking of which, I dig into the habit’s pocket and pull out the one Cisco refused.
It’s not so bad. A little dusty. A little damp. But beggars can’t be choosers. I blow on it, noticing Asmodeus is watching with hungry eyes. Noctis’s little fuzz-ball head pokes out of his pocket and does the same thing.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I groan. “You’re both starving, too?”
“Cigarettes and blessed wine aren’t exactly nourishing.” Asmodeus glowers.
I close my eyes and sigh. What the hell. Why not? I hand him the Twizzler. “Here.”
“No thanks.” Stubborn bastard shrugs. “It will probably give me indigestion.”
“God, you sound like Cisco when Tawny made him eat cupcakes.”
“Little Birdy fed him cupcakes?” He glances at me sideways, something like curiosity or suspicion darkening his eyes.
While I want to ask why she interests him so much, he’s so stubborn that it might be easier if I tease it out of him.
“It was this whole evil-sensing famine thing. And she didn’t feed him.
She baked them . . . or maybe Leila baked them, and she handed them out.
Anyway, that’s irrelevant.” I smack him with the raspberry twist on the cheek.
“She gave me this to keep my blood sugar up, but you look like you need something sweet more than me, so . . . take it, but be warned, it’s a little—”
He snatches it and plops the end in his mouth like a cigar.
“—sweaty.”
“Okay, I’ll help you,” he declares.
“Because I gave you a Twizzler?”
He scoffs. “No.” Snorts. “That’s ridiculous.” Aggressively chews on the raspberry rope and glowers at the fire. “I hope he choked on the cupcakes.”
“What?”
He glances at me. Pulls the rope out and acts dumb. “What?”
“You just said . . . ugh. Never mind. Help me with what?”
“Everything.” He gets up, dusts his hands, and stalks back to the arcade with a slight limp in his gait. “Coming?”
“Do I have a choice?” I mumble.
“No.”
“Why are you suddenly helping?” I sheath the sword between my shoulders, then jog to catch up.
“You’re right. I should be decimating you, but . . .” He pauses to sniff Cisco’s frozen form, scrunches his nose as if that was a bad idea, and then meets my eyes. “You’re one of mine. I’m honor-bound to help you when you summon me.”
“You said something like that when we summoned you at the abbey. What does being one of yours mean?”
That old picture of Lilith flashes through my mind.
“What do you think it means?” he counters.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You’re the demon of lust, right?”
“Among other things.”
“Care to be more obvious?”
“Care to join me?” he steps up the limestone wall and then offers me his hand for a lift.
Fuck it. What else am I going to do?
I take his hand and let him pull me up. He flourishes his hand, and a flaming torch manifests, casting light on the walls deeper into the ruins. Pagan murals paint every surface, each depicting stories of gods and people. These are not like the ones inside the papal apartments. These are older.
Golden light flickers over Asmodeus’s handsome face as he looks at me with melancholy.
“You remind me of someone I failed,” he says, voice soft. He limps toward the murals. “That’s why I’m helping you.”
“Lilith?”
He halts, shoulders bunching, then continues into the ruins.