Eve of Destruction

“I heard some unknown demon-type did it.”



“Yes, that’s true.”



“Must have been a badass to take out Takeo.”



“I’ve never seen anything like it.” The graveness of the situation was evident in Reed’s somber tone.



“Shit.” Kobe’s dark eyes were sad. His features were kept youthful by the mark, but nothing could hide the weight of experience that burdened his five-foot ten-inch frame. Killing demons took a terrible toll on the soul. “It’s already bad out there.”



“We’ll find and kill it. We always do.” Reed was grateful to sound more confident than he felt.



Kobe paused beside one of the many planters that decorated the lobby atrium. “Do you think Takeo got in?”



Reed inhaled deeply, contemplating the best answer to the question. It was a common one among Marks. They were working for absolution and all wanted to know if they would be granted access to Heaven if they lost their lives before collecting enough indulgences.



“He deserved to,” Reed answered.



It was the best answer to give that wasn’t a violation of the Decalogue, but it clearly wasn’t the answer Kobe wanted to hear.



Still, the Mark accepted it with a grim nod. “If you need me for anything, let me know.”



“I will.” Reed shook the Mark’s hand, then they separated. Kobe headed toward the tucked-away bank of elevators that led to the subterranean floors, an area that was restricted to Marks and Infernal allies and prisoners. Reed crossed the bustling lobby to reach the private elevator that would take him directly to Raguel Gadara’s office.



At least one hundred business-minded pedestrians congested the vast space. Fifty floors above them, a massive skylight illuminated the atrium and served as an architectural invitation to God’s blessings. The steady hum of numerous conversations and the industrious whirring of the glass tube elevators testified to both the effectiveness of the design and Raguel’s widely lauded business acumen. On the surface, all was well at the headquarters of the North American firm. Mortals conducted business here in blissful ignorance of Gadara’s true purpose—the oversight and control of thousands of Marks.



The seven archangels were responsible for funding their firms in a secular fashion. Raguel had a knack for real estate, which had created a multibillion-dollar empire and a notoriety that rivaled Donald Trump and Steve Wynn. Gadara Enterprises owned properties the world over, from resorts in Las Vegas and Atlantic City to office buildings in Milan and New York. As a handler assigned to Raguel’s firm, Reed had traversed the various halls so often he could do it with his eyes closed. But ever since he had marked Eve here, he could no longer do so comfortably.



Without volition, his gaze moved to the stairwell door that concealed the landing where he’d taken Eve. Memories hit his brain in a rapid-fire series of graphic images. The recollections were so vivid, he could feel her lush curves beneath his hands and smell her perfume. His dick hardened and he adjusted himself for comfort.



“Damn you,” he growled, as much to Cain and Eve as to himself. He needed her to advance his ambitions, but he didn’t need to admire her. Or covet her.



Entering the elevator, Reed stabbed at the lone button on the panel. There was a long pause as the camera in the corner focused on his features, then the security guard on the receiving end of the feed set the lift in motion. It shot up the thirty flights to the penthouse in a matter of seconds, but Reed could have shifted across the distance in the blink of an eye. Teleportation was a blessing given to all mal’akhs—except for Cain, who’d had the gift stripped from him. Reed chose to take the slower secular route today in order to gain the time needed to get himself under control. By the time the doors opened, he felt ready to deal with Raguel.



He exited into the massive, well-appointed office as if he owned it. An intricately carved mahogany desk was angled in the far corner, facing the bank of windows on the opposite side. Two brown leather chairs faced the desk and an eternal fire crackled in the fireplace. Above the mantel, a portrait of the Last Supper as imagined by Da Vinci brought God into the space, as did the crucifix adorning the wall behind Gadara’s chair.



The archangel himself stood at the windows with his back to Reed. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and his bearing was regal and relaxed. The contrast between his cream-colored garments and his coffee-dark skin enhanced both beautifully.



“How is Ms. Hollis?” he asked, without turning his head.



Adjusting his slacks, Reed settled into the chair before the archangel’s desk. “Recovering and putting on a brave face.”



“Cain is not capable of arranging Ms. Hollis’s resurrection alone.” Raguel pivoted away from the Orange County vista. “You must have helped him.”



“Help Cain? Me?” Reed’s mouth curved slightly. Whether he had or hadn’t was for him alone to know. The ambitious archangel didn’t need any more ammunition.



The mark system had been built to work cohesively and, at one time, it had. Now, however, the race to please God better and more often than their counterparts had led to dissension and subterfuge among the archangels.



“Not that I mind, of course,” Raguel assured. “It would have been a tragedy to lose her.”



“It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened sooner, considering the deviations from protocol that she’s suffered through.”



“She has to be put through her paces. She has to be better than her peers, tougher and quicker. Unafraid. Her work with Cain will always make her the target of Infernals like Charles Grimshaw.”



Reed’s fingers curled around the ends of the armrests. Raguel was using her to further his own ends . . . and to aggravate Cain. “She became a target because we had her waving in the wind.”



It was a coup for the archangel to have Cain on his team, and that was possible only because Eve was assigned to the North American firm. If anything happened to take Eve from Raguel’s power, Cain—and all the prestige he brought with him—would be lost, too. Which was why Raguel was dragging Reed into the whole mess. He hadn’t counted on Eve throwing a wrench into his plans.



“What does not kill her will make her stronger.”



Reed’s gut twisted with the memory of her scorched and broken on the bathroom floor. “She’s already been killed once. Guess it can’t get any worse.”



“Your sarcasm is ill placed.”



“What do you expect, Raguel? You ask if she’s okay when you’re the reason she was dead in the first place.”



The archangel exhaled audibly, a soft but chastising sound. He was in his element while class was in session, the only time an archangel was given free use of his celestial gifts. Power thrummed through the air around him and divine radiance burnished his appearance with a golden glow. If he chose to, he could extend gold-tipped wings to a thirty-foot span. But he only had four weeks left before his students would graduate and he would once again be trapped within his temporal guise.



The training of new Marks took seven weeks, and the archangels rotated the duties so they could each enjoy their God-given power. The rest of the year the Lord suggested they live mortal lives. He believed the archangels would be more sympathetic to His beloved mortals if they suffered the same inconveniences.



The archangels could choose to disregard the suggestion, of course. Jehovah was a strong proponent of free will. But there was a price to pay for every transgression. Considering the heat of the competition between the archangels, they were loath to incur even the smallest setback.



Raguel changed the subject. “We have to find the Infernal who killed your Mark.”



“Yes, we do. Has there been word of further sightings?”



“One possible. In Australia.”



Raguel moved toward his desk. Elegant in build with coarse black hair liberally sprinkled with gray by design, the archangel didn’t age as mortals did, but he was forced to simulate the passing of years in order to allay suspicion. Eventually, this incarnation of Raguel would have to die and he would be reborn as someone else. Sometimes slipping into the role of a descendant was possible. At others, a full reinvention was the only viable way.



“Was another Mark lost?”



“Yes.”



A chill swept through Reed. He would never forget the manner of Takeo’s death. There had been nothing left of the Mark but skin clinging to forest branches and fluttering in the night air. “You can’t mistake this Infernal’s signature for any other’s. If it’s the same demon, it will be obvious. Was there a witness?”



“Yes, the handler was present at the time.”



Mariel, another handler under Raguel’s purview, had heretofore been the only celestial to glimpse the demon. Only briefly, but long enough to bring a haunting terror to her eyes when she spoke of it.



It crawled inside my Mark, she’d said. Disappeared in her. She c-could not c-contain it.



What remained was an explosion of tissue and skin in quantities not sufficient to make up a body. Where did the bones and blood go?



Reed exhaled harshly.



Raguel leaned one hip against the front of his desk. “Perhaps you and Mariel should go to Australia and question Uriel’s handler yourselves.”



“I want the Infernal, not reports of it.”



“It will not take you long. A few hours, at most.”



“If you insist, I’ll go. Otherwise, I don’t see the point.” But Reed’s outer capitulation came with inner doubts. Aside from having lost a Mark to the beast, he had nothing to offer in the way of assistance. Hands-on investigative work was the duty of Marks. His job was simply to know the strengths and weaknesses of those under his watch and to assign them to hunts where they had the best probability of success.



“You do not seem pleased,” Raguel noted. “I thought you would be.”



“Why? Because I want retribution for Takeo’s death? It won’t bring my best Mark back. I can only pray that my testimony was sufficient and he is with God now.”