To Hell and Back by L.B. Gilbert

Chapter Forty

Valeria had taken a huge risk, but after Michael’s demonstration of power, she’d known she could never allow him to reach Earth.

Outright defiance was impossible. He was too powerful to disobey. The pile of bones in the basement had been enough of a deterrent. She had to work with him long enough to open the gate to Earth. But she couldn’t allow him to go through it. So, she’d done the only thing she’d been able to do.

He did order you to use your power.

But all Michael knew about was her mirroring talent. He didn’t appear to be aware of the other ability, the one she’d acquired as a child after that poor witch had a stroke.

Valeria closed her eyes halfway down the stairs, on her way to the library for the required reading Michael had assigned.

She was so sick to her stomach that she nearly pitched down the stairs. The memories of using her secret ability were that strong. Sitting on the stairs heavily, she let them come instead of pushing them away.

The first one she remembered had been the woman who’d broken down at the playground, tearing Valeria off the jungle gym and trying to drag her into her minivan. The hysterical mother of two told the cops that she was Valeria’s mother, despite the fact her children were present, contradicting her. She’d had to be sedated before she’d stopped.

Who had been next? Valeria wasn’t entirely certain because there were a few others in quick succession. The faces of her victims blurred. She had actively tried to forget them. But there was another burned into her brain— the boy from that Canadian coven she and Ravenna had visited when she was fourteen.

Fifteen-year-old Ryan had stolen a kiss. It had been perfectly innocent, and an infatuated Valeria had reveled in his attention—up until he’d grown dangerously obsessive. Things had deteriorated so fast that Ravenna had decided they had to leave. It had been one of the few times a hasty departure hadn’t been because of her mother.

Ryan had threatened to slit his own throat when they started packing the car. He’d begged them both to stay. His parents had been forced to restrain him while they made their escape. For years afterward, she would hear his pleas echoing in her head as vividly as if he were standing right next to her.

That was the incident where her mother had connected the dots with what had happened years earlier.

She had been thrilled, Valeria remembered, stomach churning. Ravenna had even made her practice—what she called controlled experiments. Or, at least, she had attempted to control them.

Rubbing her head to scour the memories from her brain, Valeria debated the wisdom of trying to use that ability on Michael.

It won’t work on him. He was a damn archangel. But what choice did she have?

Oh, he is definitely going to snap your neck.Well, that was some consolation, she supposed. Who else got to say they were struck down by an archangel?

Valeria scrubbed her face with her hands. Don’t get fancy. Call it what it is. Murder.

She would get murdered by an archangel. The least she could do was make sure he had a good reason.

Picking herself up off the step, she continued to the library.

* * *

Camael was called Cernunnos because Camael was the one who slew the beast.

Valeria had come across the notation in the margins of a book, one that bore the markings of another library—that of Mammon the alchemist.

Many books bore that symbol in Michael’s library.

Had another unfortunate witch made the note or was she seeing another devolved angel’s handwriting? Or was Mammon one of the original ‘natives’ Michael had so much contempt for?

Valeria had found a map of Sheol in the library that had several familiar names marked on fortifications, things she recognized from her readings of Christian angels and devils. It was from the map that she realized the names of the demons were frequently synonymous with their fortification.

For example, Cernunnos appeared to be a title and a place. Camael became Cernunnos by inhabiting and ruling the castle Cernunnos. But Michael was not the new Cernunnos despite killing Camael because he didn’t take over the castle.

He’d razed it to the ground, obliterating it along with all its inhabitants, all the servants and soldiers Camael had commanded. That last detail Michael had told her himself, tossing the fact at her casually like the books he’d nearly dropped on her head just yesterday.

The new books had come from Camael’s library, the handful Michael had deemed worthy of inclusion of his own. Another example of keep what you kill. According to Slank, that was the way of life here.

Valeria had cataloged the volumes, adding Michael’s mark—a star intertwined with a stylized laurel crown. It was a symbol of civility and power—and just as false as Michael’s masculine beauty.

But it was this awareness of his beauty that Valeria exploited. She began to shoot him awed and admiring glances whenever she was in his presence. He didn’t react, just accepted them as his due, but when she began to get flustered around him, he displayed an increased tolerance—after a few unfortunate missteps.

The first time she ‘accidentally’ bumped into him, he backhanded her to the floor. But he didn’t use his full strength. It had been more like he’d brushed off a gnat. She’d been fortunate he hadn’t killed her, walking away with only a cracked cheekbone. Fortunately for her, borrowed talents worked on this side of the barrier. She’d been able to heal herself.

Despite this less than auspicious start, she chanced a second touch when he’d handed her a list of chores. And then another when she bent to pick up something at his feet, brushing against his ankle with her pinkie finger. And then another and another. She kept engineering small accidents that led to skin-to-skin contact, courting death each time.

Valeria had just fetched a bottle from the wine cellar, a holdover from when the land was more fruitful, when Michael finally reacted.

She had poured him a drink, setting the glass just inside the circle of his arm as they rested on one of the library tables. Her forearm touched his, and she sent the largest pulse of possession she had ever chanced.

Valeria was pulling away when Michael grabbed her wrist. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was unbreakable.

“Yes?” she asked, keeping her tone meek.

Michael tilted his head to one side as if he were studying her.

Forcing herself to stay still, she waited. It’s okay to show your fear. Your heart should race when an archangel holds you in his grip.

“What are you doing?”

“Serving you, my lord,” she said, eyes downcast. Valeria was dredging up everything she could remember about how servants acted in period dramas, hoping self-effacement would please him.

His eyes narrowed on her face, and she braced herself to have her wrist crushed.

“Do you admire me, child? Is that why you stand so close to me?”

“I, uh, I wasn’t aware that I was,” she hedged. “Please forgive my inattention. I will do my best not to forget my place again.”

He sighed, then patted her head the way one would a dog. She was leaving the room when he called out to her.

“Valeria?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I do find your scent more pleasant than Slank’s. If you wish to take her place as my server at mealtimes, I permit you to do so.”

She bowed, the gesture unfamiliar and awkward. Then she went to fetch his dinner.

The first dozen times she served his meal, he dismissed her with a wave as soon as she set down his tray. On the thirteenth, he invited her to sit down. On the twenty-first, he allowed her to speak. By the time they had shared a few dozen meals, he was ordering her to tell him stories because “I want to understand who the people I will rule have become”.

She soon realized he’d caught glimpses of Earth. His questions were too detailed, too knowledgeable, for it to be otherwise.

Demons communicated with humans through a summoning circle. They could even travel there if the human doing the ritual was stupid or crazy enough to let them out. But she didn’t think Michael had ever communicated that way. It was beneath him.

So how did he know that movies were watched on big screens or that humans had televisions in their homes? Because he had a million questions on how they worked and what people saw on them.

Many of these questions centered on a soap opera called Days of Our Lives. Michael was intensely disappointed when she couldn’t answer a single one.

“But how did they bring Patch back from the dead? And why hasn’t anyone defeated Stephano DiMera yet?” he thundered, promising that once he was back on Earth, he would force the creators of the show to write in a hero to do exactly that.

The knowledge he had showed signs of being acquired in snatches and only from a narrow or limited point of a view. It made Valeria recall all the times she’d been made uncomfortable by a person’s gaze. It had happened by churches, the person wearing a cross more often than not…

What had she read in the library yesterday? The knowledge niggled and fluttered just out of reach for hours until it hit her as she was scrubbing the floors.

A true believer is an eye for the divine. That had been written in a book of history that she hadn’t finished reading because Michael had snatched it from her hands. He’d scolded her, telling her not to waste time on things he already knew.

Now she saw his reluctance to let her read that book in a new light. If a true believer meant a truly devout person, was it possible that Michael could use those people as channels? Could he hear from their ears or speak from their mouths?

That would certainly explain how he’d made deals with witches on her side of the barrier. And the vessels would either be willing or have no idea they were being used. Remembering the rabidness of the cross coven, she was betting on the latter. That made more sense than Michael making use of a circle where the summoner had the power to dismiss him at will.

Imagine what he could do once he’s on the same planet as them. It was enough to give her nightmares, but since she was already living one, she said screw it and passed out every night, refusing to have dreams.

Not even good ones about Rhys. They would be too painful.

Would she be an old woman when they opened the door to Earth? Just how much faster was time running here? Double? A factor of five? Was the scale logarithmic? Would Rhys be there to help her beat Michael back before she slammed it shut again? Would anyone?

If only she could talk to the other side, leave them a message. But she didn’t have the strength of a demon or an angel. She could try to send a message as the door was opening, but it would only work if Michael were distracted or he’d kill her on the spot. Unless she timed it so that killing her meant slamming the door shut on them both.

Provided she could pull off that miracle, what kind of message could she send? An email blast would be great. Or it would if she had a phone instead of the dead little husk she’d found broken in her pocket after her first day here. And if you knew Rhys’ email…

Then there were the seven families. Ravenna had repeatedly told her that there was nothing that would ever get the witch clans to stop feuding with one another.

I bet the impending invasion by the head of all archangels would get them to stop it and work as allies.

Michael was the biggest threat to their power and vice versa. If her mother had survived the assault, she might know how to get in touch with one or more of the families. Whether they would believe Ravenna was another story.

Her mother had earned her poor reputation. They’d think she was lying as part of some big scam, or, worse, was trying to lead them into a trap.

I’ll have to get Ravenna involved anyway. It wasn’t as if Valeria had any other options.

But she hadn’t counted on her time running out quite so fast.