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Samael removed his aviators, and his shimmery eyes glowed as he cocked his head to the side and studied Kellen. “What you are, Kellen James, is a mystery at the moment, but make no mistake, mysteries are my specialty.”
Kellen’s face tightened. “Is that a threat?”
“No, my friend. It’s a fact. You won’t be able to take a crap without us knowing.”
“Us?”
Silence stretched long and thin. A large dragon tattoo shimmered against Samael’s neck, the colors luminescent and hypnotic. Azaiel knew what existed inside the ink and magick. The dragon was real, something Samael could call upon when needed.
It was time to go.
Samael ignored his question and turned to Azaiel. “You’ll be fine, Fallen. The stench of the lower realm still clings to your flesh.”
Azaiel’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the portal?” Azaiel had no time for games and posturing. “We need to get this done, now.”
Samael returned the aviators to his face and turned abruptly, heading toward the far end of the alley with long, controlled strides.
“Don’t antagonize the demon,” Azaiel said harshly to Kellen. “He may be an asshole, but you’re in over your head if you think to insult him.”
“Who is he?”
“He is not the person you want to piss off.”
Samael held his hands palms out toward the worn, weathered brick. Several seconds passed, then the air shifted. The brick liquefied and melted into a swirling haze of red energy that pulsed and threw off an incredible amount of heat. Azaiel felt the pull immediately and clenched his hands together. He’d spent eons plotting his escape from District One and the gilded cage he’d called home.
A gilded cage that had sat prominently in Seth’s courtyard, there among the dunes. He’d been like a circus freak on display for everyone to see. Seth was the largest collector in the known realms, and Azaiel had been one of his biggest prizes. The son of a bitch was able to come and go as he pleased—Lucifer placed no restrictions on his travel—and he’d often brought those from the otherworld back to the dunes to see his treasures.
Samael turned and motioned with his hands—a quick gesture—and Kellen moved forward.
“Watch your back, Kellen James. A lot of the filth who reside below are hungry for your kind of meat.”
“Yeah? And what kind of meat is that?”
Samael flashed a smile and sniffed the air. “The only kind that’s good. Fresh meat.”
Kellen glared at the demon and stepped into the portal without hesitation.
Samael glanced his way. “Don’t screw this up Fallen.” Gone was the sarcastic tone. The demon was dead serious. “Mallick needs to be stopped, and if I could do it without attracting Lucifer’s or Lilith’s eyes, I would gladly separate his head from his shoulders and burn his remains to ash.” Samael shrugged. “Alas it would raise more questions than the League can afford, so you’d best make sure your little witch is up to the task or . . .”
The words didn’t need to be spoken.
“This portal opens inside the clock tower near the main square. It will only recognize your body signature for twenty-four hours, so don’t linger.”
Azaiel frowned. “I didn’t know there was a time limit.”
Samael shrugged. “What fun would there be if not for a sliver of danger? Be warned that I can’t guarantee an extraction if you miss the twenty-four-hour window.”
Azaiel nodded and took a step forward. He gave his body up to the pull and closed his eyes as the energy from within the portal seared his flesh. He would retrieve the grimoire for Rowan, and nothing would stand in his way.
Not even Seth the golden.
Chapter 22
It was nearly one in the afternoon when Rowan slid from her bed. She sat on the edge, dangling her bare feet over the worn wood floor for a long time and listening to the myriad of voices outside. It sounded like the bloody circus had come to town. The mad braying of a donkey punctuated her thoughts, and she smiled in spite of herself.
She stretched out her toes and rotated her ankle. Damn, she needed a pedicure. The blue polish she’d sported in Paris was chipped and sad-looking.
She rotated her neck and winced at the tightness that was so deep into her muscles it felt like her shoulders were going to snap. The beginnings of a headache clawed up the back of her skull, and her mouth was dry. Her window was open, and a warm breeze—at least for October—drifted across her skin, yet she shivered, cold and still so very tired.
