Mammon and his spies.

Lilith.

I must find her.

I stick to the shadows, moving within them, becoming one with them. There is very little light lancing in through the windows high up on the walls. This is a place of darkness. If I focus, I can feel the vibrations of pain etched into its walls. If I stop and listen, I can hear the echo of screams.

But I do neither of those things. I block out the residue of pain and forge on, examining room after room, climbing staircase after staircase.

My eyes tell me that there is no threat here.

Mammon is not here.

There are no guards.

And yet my gut warns me to beware. I hit the second floor of this accursed place and icy fingers rake up my spine.

I’m not alone.

Windows line the left wall of this corridor and gauzy red drapes cover the glass. Everything is still and silent, and then, as if a switch has been flipped, the drapes begin to billow outward into the room as if blown by a breeze.

But the windows are closed.

There is no breeze.

The shadows grow longer, stretching toward me, and it takes everything in my will not to back away.

I’m a fucking assassin, and I will not be spooked by smoke and mirrors.

There is someone here.

And they’re playing games.

“Show yourself.” My voice sounds abrasive in the silence. Too loud and too sharp. “Stop playing games and show yourself.”

Laughter, cruel and cutting, slices across my senses, and my bladder clenches.

I draw my blades. “Why don’t you laugh in my face, huh?”

The air before me ripples and then there is a face right up against mine. Its impossibly wide grin and empty black eyes make my heart stutter, but my scream of shock remains trapped in my throat. Still, my body reacts as trained, slashing at the face with my daggers.

But the face is gone.

Laughter echoes around me, louder, closer, and then the corridor is filled with spectral bodies and faces contorted in manic smiles. But now that I look closer, the smiles aren’t real. They’re cut into the faces, hooked in place with metal and pins. Dried blood mars cheeks and chins, and empty eye sockets watch me hungrily.

“Come and play.” The voice is raspy and broken. “He likes it when we play.”

This time I listen to my body and take a step back.

These aren’t beings I can fight. These are specters, and I know in my gut that what I seek lies down this corridor, beyond the red door at the end. To get to it, I’ll need to pass through the dead.

These specters are ancient. I can sense that much, and specters are able to do damage to the living if they desire. I can sense their harmful intentions. If I’m incapacitated, then the others will be at risk. They’ll be walking onto this corridor with no idea what awaits them.

As much as I hate to do it, retreat is the wisest option.

I’ll need back-up for this.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Fee

Keon was gone for what felt like forever, and when he reappeared, he looked shaken.

“What is it?” Samael asked. “What did you find?”

“Mammon isn’t here. No guards either,” he said. “I’m pretty sure the place is deserted except…”

“Except?” Mal probed.

“There are specters blocking my path to a red door. I believe Lilith is behind that door.”

I frowned up at him. “You mean ghosts?”

“No,” Azazel said. “A ghost is a spirit that still retains some semblance of the personality it had in life. A specter is a warped thing that may or may not have been a person. It may be the residue of an entity, or the memory of horror given form.”

“Satan committed atrocities in this place for centuries,” Samael said. “It’s no wonder his acts of torture and depravity left a mark.”

There was only one thing we needed to know. “Can they hurt us?”

“Yes,” Samael said. “If they wish to, they can. They’ll draw on our energy to do so.”

“Can we hurt them?”

Samael shook his head. “We can’t hurt them, because we don’t exist on the same plane as they do, but they’re able to slip onto ours and do harm.”

“Then we barrel our way through,” Azazel said. “We all heal fast. We’ll evade as much as possible.”

But I had a better idea. “Or we provide a diversion and draw them away from the corridor.”

“No,” Azazel said.

“You haven’t even heard my idea, yet.”

“I don’t need to hear it to know it will involve you playing decoy.”

“Look, I might be able to communicate with them if I lower my shields.”

“Hell, no,” Mal said. “Those things are pain. You do not want to feel that.”

I met Mal’s gaze levelly. “I can handle it. It’s a good plan. I can circle back and join you guys.”

He arched a brow. “And what makes you think you’ll get them to follow you? You can sense other’s emotions, but you can’t make them feel things… Not like I can.”

“Fine. Then we both play decoy.”

Azazel didn’t look happy and was about to protest when Samael cut him off. “It’s a good plan.” His expression was thoughtful. “But it’s also dangerous. I won’t put you in unnecessary danger, blossom.”

But I was determined. “We can do this. You focus on getting to Lilith. Mal and I will lead the specters away from the corridor to buy you time.”

I could tell neither male was happy with this idea, but it was a solid plan that would get us to Lilith fast and with minimal damage.

Samael nodded curtly, and Azazel’s jaw clenched.

“Be careful,” he bit out. “Mal…”

“I got this,” Mal said. He looked down at me. “We got this. Where’s the corridor?”

“I’ll show you,” Keon said.

We followed him into the fortress.

The obsidian steps leading up to the second floor were dark and ominous before us.

Samael, Keon, and Azazel crouched in the shadows out of view.

Mal reached for my hand. “You ready?”

I nodded and slipped my palm into his.

We ascended together and my skin began to prickle with awareness of an otherworldly presence.

I’d worked with ghosts most of my adult life, and I’d never felt anything like this. Despair, hatred, and hunger. It rivaled the malignant. It rivaled the depravity that resided in The Eye. Sorrow, pain, and emptiness clawed at my chest until it was a hollow vacuum of nothingness.

Thing was, I hadn’t dropped my shields. How strong would these emotions be if I did?

We reached the top of the staircase, took a right like Keon had instructed, and the awful crawling sensation that had bloomed to life across my skin intensified.

“Do you feel that?” Mal whispered.

“Yeah.”

The stationary drapes began to billow and laughter filled the corridor ahead of us. My gaze locked on the red door.

Keon was certain Lilith was behind it.

What if he was wrong?

No time to worry about that now, because visages materialized out of thin air—horrific mask-like faces contorted in representations of mirth. My stomach cramped and nausea rolled up my throat. Each visage grew a skeletal, emaciated body. Skin hung off bone, and muscle and ligaments were visible through horrific wounds.

Satan had done this.

“Join us,” several voices said in unison. “Be us.”

Yeah, no thanks.

“You’re lonely,” Mal said. “You hunger for something, and you don’t know what that is.”

“Yessss.”

“I can show you.” Mal squeezed my hand. “Get ready to run,” he whispered.

The specters went still as if mesmerized.

Mal was doing his thing and planting a suggestion in their minds.

Their heads fell back, and a collective moan rose into the air.

Mal tugged me back a step. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

The specters’ heads snapped forward, and they surged toward us.

We turned and ran.

Azazel

Fee and Mal run down the staircase and take a left into the maze that’s the first floor. Every instinct demands I go after her and protect her, but I remind myself of her resilience and determination. She is perfectly capable, and she’s not alone.

Mal will have her back.

They’ll be fine.

Samael slips from the shadows and I see my struggle echoed on his face. He loves her, even though he barely knows her. How can that be? He shakes his head slightly and heads for the steps

I catch Keon’s yellow gaze in the gloom as it tears itself from the corridor Fee has run down. His hands are fisted as if he’s holding himself back.

He loves her.

The thought is a searing conviction that shatters me, and instead of rage or indignation, pity twists my heart.

He catches me watching him, and his lip curls in derision as the mask of the assassin falls back into place.

A façade.

A cloak.

Damn the fool.

Damn him for feeling what he feels.

We take the steps two at a time. The corridor is deserted, silent, and empty, and the red door screams at us to open it.

Samael presses his palm to the painted wood and closes his eyes. A shuddering sigh rattles his chest.

“Please be here,” he says.

Then he pushes open the door and power stings my skin. I draw a sharp breath, but Samael passes over the threshold as if he feels nothing.

Keon makes a strangled sound as he steps closer to the door. He backs up a little before forcing himself to advance. He feels the abrasive energy too. Could this be what’s kept the specters out of this room? But my thoughts take a back seat as I enter the room properly and see my mother for the first time in weeks.

At least I think the figure curled up on the floor is her. She’s in a beautifully crafted cage with fleur de lis decal. But it’s the silver runes etched into the metal that grip me.