Sweet Evil (The Sweet Trilogy #1)(108)
Azael appeared as if coming up through the ground. He flitted grandly, with widespread wings, and then folded them in, a gray ghost hovering over the stage floor next to Pharzuph. Azael’s face appeared less frightening than those of the demons who had haunted me and stalked me the previous night. This one had catlike features, reminding me of a lion.
“Welcome, Azael. I trust our lord Lucifer is well?”
Azael inclined his head and Pharzuph continued.
“Well, then. Thank you for joining this summit. I hope you can return to him soon with news that will gladden him.” He turned to the Dukes. “And now we summon our Legionnaires.”
There was a great, loud slurring of hisses as each Duke sent out a personal message to his Legionnaires. The eeriness never lessened. It took all of my willpower not to cover my ears.
They came in from every direction, packing in on top of one another like smoky sheets of paper. The demon spirits blocked all ceiling lights, like an immense dreary fog hanging over our heads. Candlelight from the tabletops lit the room with a low, wavering glow. I kicked on my night vision. There was only one exit in the room. To say I was trapped would be a vast understatement.
“Welcome, loyal Legionnaires,” Pharzuph cooed at the blackness, with his arms open wide to them. They gave him space around the stage, but I still had to slump down a little in my chair to see.
Pharzuph focused on the Dukes now.
“You have done well since last we gathered. Humanity spoils and rots like never before in history. Soon, very soon, we will be fully prepared to take back what is rightfully ours, and nobody will keep us from the realms of our choosing!”
There was great uproar of applause from the Dukes, who bellowed their approval. Wonderful. Pharzuph was a demon cheerleader. His smile was broad as he motioned Rahab to join him onstage. This was it.
Please give me strength. Please make it fast. Please give me peace.
A ripple of peace went through me, fluid and cool, shaking off the panic that clung. I closed my eyes for a moment and envisioned Patti’s loving face.
Rahab greeted everyone with a heavy French inflection. Unlike Pharzuph, he did not smile or attempt to rile them. His tone was sobering and cold.
“Many years have passed since there was a need to address the Nephilim.” He spit the word with disgust. “And yet, just as the stupid humans do not learn from errors of the past, neither does your lesser race. It is very simple. Your life is not your own. You were bred to serve us. You work for us, or you lose the privilege of being on earth. There is one among you who has been warned, and yet still chooses poorly. Sin is a beautiful thing, but even we must not allow our sins to control us. Because when it does, we cannot properly influence humans. Simple enough, wouldn’t you say?”
Where was he going with this?
Rahab’s beady dark eyes scanned the room and I held my breath. His eyes passed over our group and stopped on a table in the middle of the room. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth on the stage. Pharzuph watched him from the side with a zealous look of worship. Rahab stopped and stared at that table in the middle again. I dared not move my body, but my eyesight stretched and zoomed, as I tried to figure out who he kept looking at. There were at least a dozen different Neph clustered at those tables in the middle.
“Gerlinda.” The way Rahab said her name felt like a slither in my ear. “Daughter of Kobal.”
Kobal? Ah, the Duke of Gluttony. What in the world was going on?
Rahab pointed, hatred and contempt blazing in his eyes. A high-pitched, pained yelp sounded from the middle of the room, like someone kicked a puppy. Suddenly chairs were scraping the old tiles, pushing back from the tables that surrounded Gerlinda. The Nephilim around her fled, leaving her in the middle alone.
Gerlinda was a tall woman in her thirties. Her straw-colored short hair was smoothed down around her face. She appeared tidy, but one thing worried me: The Dukes and Neph were always so careful to be in shape. I wasn’t good at guessing weight, but Gerlinda was likely over three hundred pounds.
She held a hand over her mouth, which had apparently emitted the yelp without her permission. Panic shone in her eyes.
“Can you manage to make it up here, Gerlinda, daughter of Kobal?” Rahab asked her in that slithery, scaly, antagonizing voice. “Or do you need an incentive?” He pulled a candy bar from his pocket and waved it in a taunt.
Gerlinda gaped with her eyes, frozen to her seat as the Dukes let out an uproar of laughter.
“Go on, salad dodger!” yelled a Fabio-looking Duke with an English accent. That had to be Astaroth, the twins’ father. How gross.
The next few minutes were filled with lewd comments and shrill laughter from the rowdier Dukes.
“Perhaps we need to roll her onto the stage.”
“I’ve got something in my pocket for you, all right.”
On and on it went.
I ran through a series of emotions during those moments. Pure joy that I was saved. Revulsion at the treatment of this girl. Dread that I would have to sit through whatever they had planned for her.
One of the Dukes threw something at Gerlinda, and suddenly there was a shower of junk food raining down. Baked goods, candies, cheese puffs. They had planned for this. I looked at my father’s table. He sat with Jezebet, Melchom, and Alocer, the fathers of Blake and Kope. The four of them watched with boredom, as if they were too cool to partake in the spectacle, but the vicious Dukes around them didn’t care.