puked up the booze and pills. I wrapped my arms in bar rags and staggered downstairs. You can imagine the mayhem. Joy to the fucking world.”
“And so Mirabel became Bella.”
“I took everything of hers: her body, her memories, her speech patterns, her fashion sense, her wheat allergy. I even took her last loser boyfriend so I could give him a taste of the demon tongue, though he barely heard his long litany of sins over his screaming. After all I took, I thought I should at least leave her name.”
“Nice of you.”
She flinched. “I am a monster, a monster in a dead girl’s clothing. But the one thing Mirabel didn’t give me, the one thing the imp brought with it, is this: I am not going back to hell.”
Fane inclined his head. “Not unless I send you there.”
Chapter 6
Fane refused to let her sudden blanching sway him. Poor Mirabel had needed help and sympathy. This creature before him deserved none of that.
Slowly, Bella slid off the counter. Since he did not move back, she stood toe to toe with him. In her slippers, the top of her red beehive barely reached his nose, and she had to tilt her head to look up at him. “You won’t have to do a damned thing to me. The tenebrae are coming, like they do every year on the darkest night. If you take my defenses, I am worse than dead.”
It had always been a point of curiosity to the sphericanum that the tenebrae—for all the demons decided lack of repenting—fled from their dismal realm into the human world at any opportunity. Even demons didn’t want to live in hell. But he supposed they wouldn’t want one of their own living the good life either.
He stared down at her with grim foreboding, his whole body tight with shock, as if waiting for another blow.
She was tenebrae. How could he have been so blind? The irony of the thought did not escape him, but even knowing what he did now, his angel couldn’t find the demon in her eyes. He saw only the blue-white shine of the cataracts. “How can the tenebraeternum be worse than death?”
“Is an angel-man even allowed to ask?” The defiant set of her shoulders wavered. “For a while, I hoped Mirabel’s history would erase the imp’s recollections of its own realm, but in some ways, the two were so similar: the emptiness, the desolation, the conviction it would always be that way. Mirabel used the booze and drugs and cutter to escape her own version of hell. The imp fled the tenebraeternum into the space she left behind.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Now I have both their memories. And it’s worse this time of year.”
He focused on the religious mayhem behind her, anything to avoid looking at her as he struggled to come to grips with this unwelcome truth. He tightened one hand into a fist until he remembered the feel of the fine bones of her neck under his fingers, then his hand sprang open of its own accord. “All the spiritual artifacts. You use them to repel the tenebrae.”
“This body protects me from the effects of the artifacts, but my cousins still hate the flavors of hope, joy and love.”
That was the sanctuary the artifacts offered her? A wall of joy and hope? He’d never thought of his abraxas in such a way. A warden’s holy relic was always a weapon, an object of carnage and terror. Love couldn’t hold a killing edge.
He stalked away from her and prowled the room, stopping at the window where another baby Jesus looked out into the night, much as Mirabel must have done.
He stared down at it. “It’s just plastic.”
From behind him, Bella said, “I’ve heard it’s the thought that counts.”
“People say so only because they got you a shitty present.”
“You know better. People imbue objects with their beliefs. Which is why I can’t use Santas to guard the way. I don’t want the tenebrae coming for me as their gift.”
He turned his glare on her. “But Jesus died for our sins, so you don’t have to?”
She lifted her chin. “That is one
“And so Mirabel became Bella.”
“I took everything of hers: her body, her memories, her speech patterns, her fashion sense, her wheat allergy. I even took her last loser boyfriend so I could give him a taste of the demon tongue, though he barely heard his long litany of sins over his screaming. After all I took, I thought I should at least leave her name.”
“Nice of you.”
She flinched. “I am a monster, a monster in a dead girl’s clothing. But the one thing Mirabel didn’t give me, the one thing the imp brought with it, is this: I am not going back to hell.”
Fane inclined his head. “Not unless I send you there.”
Chapter 6
Fane refused to let her sudden blanching sway him. Poor Mirabel had needed help and sympathy. This creature before him deserved none of that.
Slowly, Bella slid off the counter. Since he did not move back, she stood toe to toe with him. In her slippers, the top of her red beehive barely reached his nose, and she had to tilt her head to look up at him. “You won’t have to do a damned thing to me. The tenebrae are coming, like they do every year on the darkest night. If you take my defenses, I am worse than dead.”
It had always been a point of curiosity to the sphericanum that the tenebrae—for all the demons decided lack of repenting—fled from their dismal realm into the human world at any opportunity. Even demons didn’t want to live in hell. But he supposed they wouldn’t want one of their own living the good life either.
He stared down at her with grim foreboding, his whole body tight with shock, as if waiting for another blow.
She was tenebrae. How could he have been so blind? The irony of the thought did not escape him, but even knowing what he did now, his angel couldn’t find the demon in her eyes. He saw only the blue-white shine of the cataracts. “How can the tenebraeternum be worse than death?”
“Is an angel-man even allowed to ask?” The defiant set of her shoulders wavered. “For a while, I hoped Mirabel’s history would erase the imp’s recollections of its own realm, but in some ways, the two were so similar: the emptiness, the desolation, the conviction it would always be that way. Mirabel used the booze and drugs and cutter to escape her own version of hell. The imp fled the tenebraeternum into the space she left behind.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Now I have both their memories. And it’s worse this time of year.”
He focused on the religious mayhem behind her, anything to avoid looking at her as he struggled to come to grips with this unwelcome truth. He tightened one hand into a fist until he remembered the feel of the fine bones of her neck under his fingers, then his hand sprang open of its own accord. “All the spiritual artifacts. You use them to repel the tenebrae.”
“This body protects me from the effects of the artifacts, but my cousins still hate the flavors of hope, joy and love.”
That was the sanctuary the artifacts offered her? A wall of joy and hope? He’d never thought of his abraxas in such a way. A warden’s holy relic was always a weapon, an object of carnage and terror. Love couldn’t hold a killing edge.
He stalked away from her and prowled the room, stopping at the window where another baby Jesus looked out into the night, much as Mirabel must have done.
He stared down at it. “It’s just plastic.”
From behind him, Bella said, “I’ve heard it’s the thought that counts.”
“People say so only because they got you a shitty present.”
“You know better. People imbue objects with their beliefs. Which is why I can’t use Santas to guard the way. I don’t want the tenebrae coming for me as their gift.”
He turned his glare on her. “But Jesus died for our sins, so you don’t have to?”
She lifted her chin. “That is one
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