The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(62)

Arthur bent down and picked up the clump of twigs. He stared at it for a moment. Then, with a curse, he shoved it into his pocket and started toward the hole. Gabriel sped past, inserting himself between the Nephil and the portal. “No farther,” he said, brandishing his walking stick.

Arthur’s jaw set. “Get out of my way.”

“No.”

A wisp of vapor rose out of the glow. It carried the odor of brimstone. It was accompanied by a faint but unmistakable wail. Dear Lord. Worse, worse, and worse again.

A vein in Arthur’s forehead throbbed. “That was not a request. That’s the entrance to Merlin’s Cave and I’m going in. Cybele—”

“Couldn’t possibly be in there,” Gabriel said. At least, she wasn’t supposed to be. “Her entrance is forbidden. As is yours.”

“Her blood’s on the ground.”

“That could be anyone’s blood. An animal’s, maybe.”

“It’s hers,” Arthur said flatly.

“How can you be sure?”

“I can smell it.”

“Oh.” Gabriel gave a faint shudder. “Disgusting.”

“I found her touchstone. She wouldn’t let go of that. Not voluntarily.”

“Touchstone? Isn’t that some Druid thing?”

“You don’t know?”

“If I knew,” Gabriel said testily, “would I ask?”

“It’s a stone,” Arthur said. “Embedded or wrapped in wood. Every Druid has one. It helps us focus magic.”

“Ah,” said Gabriel, finally understanding. “Stone and wood are elemental to Druid magic. Water is as well, is it not?”

Arthur scowled. “Much as I’d love to give you lessons on Druid magic, I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait. Right now, I’m going after Cybele.”

Gabriel watched with mild disgust as dark lights burst to life under Arthur’s skin. His eyes changed, the gray of his irises dissolving into hellish red. “And. You. Will. Not. Stop. Me.”

An epiphany struck. Gabriel’s eyes went wide. “Amazing!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think this sort of thing was possible.”

Arthur’s scowl deepened. “What the hell are you going on about now?”

“Why, you, of course. I’d assumed you were merely in lust with your blond dormant. But it appears...” Gabriel shook his head. “As unlikely as it seems, I believe you’re actually in love with her. A Nephil in love. Who would’ve thought?”

A muscle ticked in Arthur’s jaw. “Get out of my way.”

Gabriel shook off the oddity of a Nephil in love and returned to the subject at hand. “Listen,” he said. “You don’t really know if she’s in there. She might just have dropped her stone without noticing. And then got tired of waiting. She probably went back to your guesthouse.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

“It’s not—” Well, all right, yes, Arthur had him there. Though he had no idea how it had come about, it was likely that Arthur’s lover was inside the cave. But he wasn’t about to admit it. Raphael would have Gabriel’s wings in a sack if he let Arthur follow after her.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” he continued, “or how your friend was injured. If she went into that cave, I don’t know how she did it. No Earthly or Hellish being may pass through a celestial seal. Or at least, not without—”

His mouth snapped shut.

Arthur went still. “Without what?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“You white-faced sot. What were you about to say?”

“Never you mind.”

“Fine.” White flame erupted in Arthur’s palms. Stepping neatly to one side, he took aim and...

“Wait.” Gabriel lunged for him. “What are you—”

Hellfire exploded. He whipped his walking stick around—unfortunately, not quickly enough. He deflected only a portion of the attack, and poorly, at that. The lion’s share of the fire blasted right past him into the pit.

Gabriel’s hair stood on end. He watched in horror as Arthur poured all his fury and fear into the flame. The Nephil’s eyes burned red, his skin glowed darkly. The force of his magic was so raw, so pure, and so filled with the power of death, it actually sent Gabriel staggering backwards.

Dear Heavenly Host above! Cherubim and Seraphim aloft! Raphael was right to fear Arthur. The Nephil was a grave menace. What was Gabriel even doing here? He was a messenger, not an avenger. He wasn’t used to situations like this. Conflict was Raphael’s and Michael’s domain.

He raised his walking stick, considering how best to interfere. Before he could act, Arthur’s hellfire sputtered and died. Gabriel breathed a sigh. Then he realized his relief had been premature.

Arthur, arms outstretched, flung himself headlong into the light. As Gabriel watched in horrified shock, a hand rose from the brilliance and closed around the Nephil’s wrist.

What? Oh, no. No, no, no, no.

His walking stick clattered to the ground. Hurling himself forward, Gabriel grabbed Arthur’s nearest ankle with both hands. “Stop. Stop right now!”

Arthur’s arm had sunk into the light up to his shoulder. Gabriel tugged as hard as he could, but the Nephil wouldn’t budge. “Noooo!” he wailed. “This cannot be happening!”