Chapter 3
The cold iron of the train tracks hit my kneecaps, and I hunched over in pain as thousands of volts of electricity wracked through my body and claimed all coherent thought.
I dragged myself, with heavy limbs, from the tracks and hoisted myself up the platform. I felt like I had a dozen extra limbs and a massive weight on my shoulders. Every movement made my joints feel like they were full of broken glass, even though I was a Pureblood and I could heal in seconds.
Blood smeared the white tile as I crawled onto the platform. I heard screaming and looked up through blurry vision to see hordes of commuters scrambling away from me. Some pointed to me. Others were torn between helping the nude and bloody woman in an underground station, and running away screaming.
I pulled my knees to my chest, and forced myself to stand on shaky knees. Something brushed against my arms. I looked down to see that I was surrounded by golden feathers, sprinkled on the ground like litter.
A cursory glance told me that no angel was around. The feather was mine. It had come from the expansive wings that protruded from my shoulder blades like broken bones.
What had that wench done to me?
What would Luc say when I dropped onto his doorstep with wings the colour of the sunrise?
I needed to get to Hell. Stat.
I knew from experience that the closest Fold was only a few steps away from where I stood.
Bond Street tube station. Hundreds of people had perished during the Blitz on London during World War Two. But it wasn’t the bombs that had caused the most death inside of the underground railroad station. It was the crushing hysteria. People had run, fallen and then trampled by the mob as the hordes of people tried to retreat to safety during the onslaught from the fighter pilots above.
Folds between Hell and the Human Realities were caused by massive amounts of human suffering and death. Bond Street fit my needs perfectly. The staircase to the platform was the perfect storm needed to create a gateway to Hell.
I needed to get back to Lucifer. I needed to see my child. Hold her. Find out if she was safe.
The desire to go home was a roaring beast inside of my mind that drowned out all other thoughts.
The chaos in the station faded as people were escorted away from my staggering naked form. The walk from the platform to the stairs was short but their fear lingered like confetti. Its sparkle was begging to be plucked and feasted on. The sensation was different to the threads of Hell Magic that ran through my body.
I felt powerful. But different.
Stepping through a Fold was as easy as stepping off a curb, For a Pureblooded Demon. I waited for Limbo to swallow my body and spit me back out on the cusp of my home, but that was not the case.
My hand rested against the grotty cream painted wall, but there was no presence of a gateway. Nothing happened. I was unable to step through worlds.
I slammed my hand against the wall and a piece of it came away with my fist. My body crumbled until I slid down and sat on the first step I could find.
I resisted the urge to pull my knees up to my chest to comfort myself.
I lamented my inability to access Hell as if I had merely encountered a riddle that I could not solve, but inside I was screaming as if I was tied to a pyre that had been set ablaze.
My child was behind the veil and I could no longer gain access to my home. Why? Why?! WHY!?
Had God decided to punish me by giving me obnoxiously large wings so that I could not go home.
I could not cry tears, but I still sobbed. I could feel the tangled threads of Sin under the surface of my body, but something was blocking them. I was not going to let go of my connection to Hell, in case I was unable to find it again.
I eyed my golden wings with disdain.
I held onto the railing as I stood up. Having two large protrusions bursting from my shoulder blades made balance an issue. I tried to Lace to Hell but was unsuccessful.
So, I Laced to my office.
The mirrored glass of the Morgenstern and Clark offices was the same as the day I left, over five years ago. The only difference was the receptionist and the colour of the throw pillows on the chairs.
The potted plants in the corner, which I had never noticed before, were symmetrical. I suspected that they were made of plastic as they gave off no energy signature.
I strode past the desk at reception, as I had done thousands of time before. Nude with two hulking wings that trailed on the floor behind me. The receptionist opened her mouth to speak, my lips curled over my teeth and I hissed like a feral cat.
The woman shrunk back, and reached for the phone with shaking hands. To call the police or whoever occupied my old office, who knew? I was confident that I would find out in a moment.
The elevator played the same music that it always did and when the doors pinged open on my floor. I strode forward with my head cocked to the side. I surveyed every inch of the space. Luiz was not at his desk. My name was no longer on the plate across my old door.
I was sure that the brokerage firm was still under my name. The door of my office was made of frosted glass and I could see the dark figure of my 'replacement' as they puttered about.
I walked forward and raised my barefoot to kick the door inwards. The deadbolt splintered in the frame and it bounced back once.
“Hello,” I said, hoping that my greeting was enough.
“Bambolina!”
Oh. For. Fucks. Sake.
“Ciao, Marina.” I licked my bottom lip and surveyed the Sicilian beauty. Her hair fell in soft brown waves and her eyes were the colour of whiskey. Her skin had once been olive toned but had paled. I guessed from the lack of sun in London. She was a Greed Demon, Fifth Circle. Her features were delicate, not unlike her Kings, Mammon. I had believed that Marina had been human or at the very least a Daemon, as I had only ever spoken to her over the phone. I had been wrong.
“What are you doing at my desk?” I asked.
Marina's smile was broad but her eyes flickered with fear as she saw my wings ruffle in irritation.
“Lucifer transfers me from the Milan office, Si.” Her voice never wavered and her expression was a benign mask of pleasantry. “Hell still needs energia.”
“Where is Luiz?”
Marina shrugged; her eyes flared silver. “Should you not be more concerned with your Lucifer, Bambolina?” Marina stood up and walked around my old desk until she was in front of me. I eyed her red-soled high heels, and my facial expression soured.
“Are those my shoes?” I said in a level tone.
“You have been gone five years, si?” Marina surveyed her manicured nails. “I can buy my own Christian Louboutin’s.”
I nodded in agreement but said nothing.
“Your Lucifer on the other hand?” Marina pouted. “He has been in such a state since you left.”
My fingers twitched as I held back the urge to reach forward and rip her head off her shoulders. “I died, Marina.”
Marina let out a peal of laughter that sounded like bells. “Sure, sure.”
“I need you to Lace me to Hell,” I said through clenched teeth.
Marina eyed the wings protruding from my shoulder blades. “Is not a place for Angeli, no?”
I had moved before she could blink. My hand curled into the hair at the nape of her neck. I was close enough that her overpowering perfume tickled my nose.
“I do not hate you, Sicilian pest,” I whispered, my breath tickled the shell of her ear. “I will even forgive you for your lies about bedding my lover in my absence, but your giddy Eurotrash impression is wearing thin.”
My grip tightened in her black locks. Marina's eyes blazed as she glared at me from the corner of her eye.
“Take me to Luc,” I ordered.
“You are so grumpy, Si?”
“And you are too perky for a Hellion.”
Marina rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. She blinked out of existence and then reappeared in the same position. I pulled my hand back down to my side.
“It did not work?” Marina looked around the room, and her eyes narrowed. “Something is wrong with you, Bambolina.”
“Is Simon still on the payroll of Morgenstern and Clark?” I reached over the desk and grabbed the phone. Simon had been my driver for years.
Marina nodded silently, eying my wings as if she had finally realised that they were real.
“He should have retired by now,” I muttered as I waited for the line to connect.
All the bars and restaurants had changed. The flowers. The lampposts. Everything was different but only marginally. The buses were a completely different colour, having switched from a red to a deep blue. I did not like it.
It meant that time had indeed passed.
A sense of unease became a vice around my heart. Simon, my driver, had not been shocked to see me or my wings. He simply opened the door for me, as he had always done before. No emotion showed on his jowls; his eyes held more wrinkles on the corners. His hair was completely white, whereas before it had only been pepper with a dash of salt.
“We're here, Ms Clark.” Simon's gravelly voice was a soothing balm. He had provided a blanket, which covered my modesty. I began to lament that articles of clothing that I could no longer wear. How could I dress with extra limbs growing out of my back?
Fucking wings.
Fucking God.
Why had she decided to punish me? That I would never know.
I walked up the stairs to my penthouse flat in Knightsbridge, nodding at the doorman. He was an old fellow, and had welcomed me every day for ten years. He hadn’t said a word about my lack of ageing when I had lived in the building before. Nothing seems to phase old Mac, but my reappearance after five years did cause him to do a double take.
He called the elevator down for me, and ignored my wings. I imagined that I looked like I was going to appear in some bastardised version of the Nativity play.
I was no angel.
The sooner that the Lord realised that and stripped me of my wings, the better.
I wanted to go home more than I had wanted anything else in my long life. It was hot metallic taste on the tip of my tongue. An ache for my home.
When I had been in self-imposed exile, I could have easily returned if I wanted to. I didn’t because I had been told not to. Lucifer owned my obedience.
The private elevator to the penthouse opened, and I was not prepared for what greeted me.
Luiz Ramirez, my old personal assistant, bodyguard and Hellhound stood in my kitchen. Cleaning glitter from my once pristine work surfaces.
Glitter.
“I understand that you are fabulous, but doing arts and crafts in the home of your dead employer is rather unusual, don’t you think?” I said as I stepped into my home. My cleaner had been under order to deliver a bouquet of white roses and to display them near the entrance of the apartment. The familiar sight of the flowers was another puzzle piece that helped to ground me.
Luiz's response to my appearance was a smashed glass.
Dartington, for Hell's sake. Didn’t he know the value of antique crystal?
Luiz's eyes grew wide, and their Hellhound orange sheen caught the light. I had never seen the Hound rendered utterly speechless.
“He told me you were dead,” Luiz whispered. His voice was broken, stitched together with an excitement that he did not want to let himself feel.
“I was.” I nodded. “I can understand why you are no longer at Morgenstern and Clark. Marina is enough to give anyone a toothache.”
Luiz reached out and used the kitchen island to prop himself up. It looked like he was on the verge of collapse.
“Why...? After all this time? I need some—God, Dahlia. How am I going to explain this to Petra?” he hissed.
I cocked my head to the side and opened my mouth to explain. His gaze shot over my shoulder and his eyes widened further.
A smile plastered on his face, like a mask of serene happiness and love. “Hi, Sweetie.” He cooed. “Did we disturb your play time?”
I turned to see to whom he was speaking.
Stood in the doorway was a five-year-old child, with hair as pure as virgin snow and eyes the colour of silver pennies.