Forged by Angel & Hellfire, page 16
“Yes, and Uriel still thinks I should’ve taken the blame instead of letting you take the fall. Blah, blah-dee, blah, blah.”
“Keluth aside, why are all the archangels men?” I ask.
Michael and Lucifer look at each other and laugh.
“None of us are men,” Michael says.
“You know what I mean. You…” I press my lips together and flap my arm up and down in front of his body, reminding myself of the time Eden told me how magnificent he was while groping the air, which makes me laugh and forget what I’m saying.
“We manifest as men,” he says, “because there’s never been a time when it was favourable to manifest as women.”
Leia huffs. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Perhaps we should get back to why we’re here.” Eden directs us all to the sofas. “What else do you know about the Bishop, Albert?”
“The Bloodborn Brotherhood watched him for years.” Albert drops onto the sofa and pulls me down beside him. “I know they have information on him in their archives, but…”
Eden frowns. “But what?”
“He’s after the archives himself.” I turn to Eden. “He told me his guild seeks information now. Knowledge. That they don’t need to seek weapons anymore. But the duke killed most of the bloodborns, didn’t he?”
“The Bishop said Arnold Cloud is still alive,” Albert says. “He’s looking for him, and for Hacker, I suppose, but the rest of the Brotherhood is dead.”
Not all of them.
Eden sighs, her voice softening. “We’re not the Bishop, Albert. Now, did he ask you why the conduit was a portrait of you?”
Albert swallows hard, like he knows what’s coming. “Yes.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That it was a portrait of my father.”
“Did he believe you?”
Albert tucks his hands between his knees and blows out a breath. “No.”
“He thought you were protecting the identity of the sixteenth bloodborn, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“So do I,” she says. “And it’s very admirable of you to protect her, Albert. The question is, will she let us into the archives to find out what they know about the Bishop?”
Albert smiles and squeezes my hand. “I see where you get your cleverness from.”
Daniel arches an eyebrow and folds his arms.
“Looks like you woke up Angry Dad,” I whisper.
Albert looks back at Eden. “I’ll ask if she’ll help, but she’s not in charge of the archive.”
“Thank you. Now, I know she wanted to get back to her club, but I think she needs some sort of protection,” Eden says, smiling at Caleb.
“She won’t hear a word of it,” Caleb says. “Says she’s got Mr Harvey and a couple of nephilim on her payroll, and that’s all she needs.”
“Nevertheless, I think we should at least make sure she’s not being watched,” Eden says. “If the Bishop has the first clue who she is, the club isn’t safe, whoever or whatever Mr Harvey is.”
She’s not wrong. The work Tabby did with Sean will put a target on her back if anyone finds out she’s the third doctor. And it’s clear Fane is interested in the subjects of the paintings, so if he figures out she’s the sixteenth bloodborn as well, he’ll come after her.
We can’t let that happen.
16
Torture
Michael directs his commanding voice at Albert. “Now, what were you saying about the Bishop and the Brotherhood?”
“Sean and Rad investigated him many years ago, but he disappeared for a time. And Sean knew him… did some work for him, but I didn’t know about it until after the fire in the village.”
“What sort of work?” Amethyst asks. “Sean wouldn’t—”
“You’re right.” Albert leans sideways to squeeze Amethyst’s hand. “He wouldn’t. The Bishop bred werewolves, told Sean he’d found them, that he’d be doing him and the werewolves a favour if he turned them vae. Back then he was pitching himself as a benevolent collector of knowledge and strays. He wrote books containing first-hand accounts from werewolves and vampires and various other hybrids and became something of a celebrity.”
“I’ve read some of these accounts.” Michael snorts loudly, his sneer growing. “There is enough truth in them to bury the lies he wants those in need of help to believe.”
“What sort of lies?” Eden asks.
“That he rescued werewolves from the pain endured during their monthly transformations by turning them vae, when we know that isn’t possible. None of those wolves would’ve seen a transformation as a mere werewolf because they need to be turned before their first full moon.”
“Exactly,” Albert says. “People would seek him out for help, and he would collect them slowly and carefully. Now, he has armies willing to die for his cause.”
“What is his cause?” Eden asks.
Albert shrugs. “I don’t know, but he collects people by forcing contracts during life-or-death scenarios that he engineers himself, just like Michael says with his false accounts of misery, setting himself up as saviour. But other times in less subtle ways. For instance, he tells interred bloodborns that he can end their suffering in return for a life of service. They don’t know any better, assuming their purgatory is permanent, rather than a rebirth that will happen with or without the Bishop’s intervention. He sets up orphanages for bitten children—such noble work—then he brainwashes them into a lifetime of servitude.” He turns to me. “Like his wives. The little mouse who dressed you was one of his wives.”
“The Downton Abbey maids are his wives?”
“Yes. He told me himself that they’re turned during labour. The resulting boy children eventually become apostles. Most become yellow men, a chosen few are trained to be Isangrim from an early age. They’re conditioned to hold their tongue, forbidden from speaking, and once old enough, they’re infected by a werewolf, turned vae, then they take their vows of chastity and silence.”
“What about the girls?”
“Most go to his convent school. Mara used to arrange it, but she’s forbidden to speak of it. However, I—”
“You hypnotised her?” Amethyst asks.
“Only a little bit. Just to figure out the cycle. His children are born every six years. The oldest of the girls will leave the convent at the end of this year to enter into the Bishop’s service.”
“Doing what?” Eden asks.
“He chooses some to be his wives.”
Every part of me revolts at the idea. “His own kids?”
“I don’t think they are his biological children, Violet,” Michael says. “Our information says he is ascetic.”
Guess I’ll be looking that up later.
“Abstinence from pleasure,” Eden says, even though I didn’t ask.
Just as Amethyst whispers, “No banging.”
“What about the rest of the girls?” I ask.
“They eventually become nuns,” Albert says. “Staying at the convent to raise the next generation.
I shudder at the thought of it. Imagine leaving school—a brainwashing convent school—and being forced into the service of an unrepentant monster. I can’t think of anything that would convince me to pursue a career as a nun—sorry, God, Jesus, whoever—but I could be persuaded if the alternative was marrying the Bishop.
“What about the other girls, Albert?” Amethyst asks. “You said most went to the convent school, but not all?”
“The others were… Mara’s payment. But it’s been many years since she was involved with the girls.”
Amethyst looks like she’s about to puke, and she leans into Albert for a cuddle. Tears brighten her eyes when she looks up at him. “I don’t understand her.”
“The Bishop has been pulling her strings for years, Amethyst.” Albert squeezes her arm. “He knows flesh weakens her and makes her unstable, but he doesn’t want her making decisions for herself.”
“Was it him? Did he make her kill Sean?” The hope in her voice is painful.
Albert shakes his head. “The Bishop can’t be blamed for everything. Mara knew what she was doing when she killed Sean, and Sean knew how dangerous she was. It’s why he had me watch her. It’s why I watched over you while you slept.”
Amethyst pulls away. “But I’m immune to her.”
He shakes his head again. “No, you’re not. I wanted her to think that, so she’d stop trying to put ideas in your head.”
Amethyst’s shoulders slump. “All these years I thought she couldn’t get to me, and it was you.”
“Me.” Albert tugs the chain around Amethyst’s neck and lays the charms in his palm. “And this.”
“Do you know what he does when his wives become unstable?” Michael asks, watching Albert carefully from the arm of the opposite sofa.
“He doesn’t keep them long enough to become unstable, but…”
“But?”
“He makes them unstable, torturing them with mind games until they beg for death. Until they beg me for death.”
Albert looks at me with despondent eyes when I gasp.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
“I killed them.” He stares down at his hands. “One bite from me and they were gone.”
“Why did you do it?”
“It was me or… He made me watch three times. Three women torn apart by vaewolves. The next time, he asked if I’d like to do the honours. He offered me their deaths just like that. No more important than pouring the tea or carving a chicken.”
“He was measuring you,” Michael says.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Albert asks. “I made it too easy.” He turns to me, stroking his thumb over my hand. “This is how he gets his consent. He shows you something that hurts to watch, something you could do with less pain and suffering, then offers you the chance to do it, and you jump at it because to watch is horrifying. I told myself it was a mercy… that with a life such as theirs, they’d be better off dead at my hands than anyone else’s. But who am I to decide such a thing? Whatever lies I told myself, the truth is I still killed them. I killed them because he wanted me to. And you did the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“You watched me suffering until you couldn’t take it anymore, correct?” He waits for my nod. “Then you offered yourself up like a piece of meat.”
A shudder runs through me. That’s exactly what I did. But I didn’t kill anyone. If he’d given me an ultimatum, if he’d asked me to consent to someone else’s torture instead of Albert’s, what would I have done?
I’ve never known Albert be this vocal, and despite the atrocities he just admitted to committing, he’s only getting understanding nods and pity faces.
“He didn’t let you feed, Albert?” Eden asks. “From the wives?”
“No. The vaewolves took what was left of them.”
“Their bodies didn’t… disintegrate?”
Albert shakes his head. “The bite kills instantly, but the body lingers for a minute or so.”
“How did you end up in such a state?” Eden asks.
Albert looks at Seth with wide-eyed surprise, and it’s the same look he gave me when he realised I hadn’t told Eden his portrait was a conduit. Clearly, he thinks none of us can keep a secret. Seth shrugs, and I wonder what else Albert told him during those hours when he sat by his bedside.
“The Bishop knows I can’t sire vampires. That I can’t feed without killing. And he knows I can’t be injected. The reason he was so angry about Violet’s negotiations is because he missed the opportunity to use the triblade on me. He never intended to let me go straight away.” Albert squeezes my hand. “He asked for my consent to feed me without knowing what I needed. He knew his needles would be useless, but he was eager to find out how he could get some blood into me. I’m certain it was by accident that he happened upon the right thing. He was able to cut my skin with a knife made of bone, and I was able to absorb blood through the incision.”
Albert tips his head back on the sofa until he’s looking at the ceiling, and his voice takes on a lifeless tone like remembering is too painful. “By the next day, he’d figured it out, but he didn’t let me feed for another week. That’s when he offered me unfiltered blood from the conduit. Thanks to Eden, I knew it contained curare and black hellebore, so I refused it. He offered again the next day. This time when I refused, he drained me. With bamboo.”
“Oh God,” Eden whispers from between her fingers.
Seth and Boxer exchange confused glances, and I get it. Albert is never this open, but he obviously told the two of them already. I only knew about it because I saw the photo in the locked box. The photo I tore into tiny pieces and flushed down the toilet. I don’t know how he does it, how he sits there talking about his torture so easily, when I can barely keep the acid down.
“Mara said she was trying to help you,” I say.
“She offered to feed me, but the Bishop wouldn’t allow it. One night during our talk, he expected me to be poisoned, but I wasn’t. The next day, Mara told me she’d been waylaid after smuggling some blood for me. Evidently, he’d poisoned it, thinking she would betray him, and luckily for us both that the blood never reached me.”
Michael taps his chin. “Mara has turned many of the Bishop’s wives, hasn’t she?”
“I don’t have details, but I expect so,” Albert says. “She and the Bishop have been trading favours for years.”
I lift my head off Albert’s shoulder. “She told me he protects her from her enemies.”
“There is another daughter of Lilith who he favours when making his wives.” Michael shakes his wrist, then glares down at his watch. “Her name’s Namika.”
“The princess is a daughter of Lilith?” Albert asks.
“Not just by name,” Michael adds. “She’s one of Lilith’s own children. You know of her?”
“Yes. Mara went looking for her during our travels… before the battle.” Albert rushes on. “The princess has a cure for the effects of river lust. Mara wants it. So, her brother… the stone emperor, he’s a child of Lilith too?”
“Iwao isn’t Namika’s brother,” Lucifer says. “He’s her son.”
Nobody mentions the warning look Michael sends Lucifer’s way.
We agree to go to Tabby’s after lunch tomorrow. Since Boxer won’t be allowed in, he and Seth will be scouting the surrounding area to see if she’s under surveillance. When it comes to protecting Tabby, everyone volunteers for the job, including Michael and Magnus, who reluctantly put their hands down when Eden fires an evil glare in their direction.
She might not be a succubus, but Eden has her own kind of power.
When Archer leaves to help Glenda cook lunch, and it looks like the meeting is finally wrapping up, Albert leans close to whisper, “Come to my room? I want to be alone with you.”
Albert’s been sleeping in the small sitting room next to the drawing room since he was well enough to move out of the shed. Nothing could have made me turn down a chance to be alone with him, but now I’m here, I can’t help wondering why he asked me.
He looks strained and awkward as he turns his little radio on and sits down, his knees glued together. Finally, he looks up and says, “I know we’re doing all this backwards, but… I want to take you on a date.”
I smile. “Yeah, it’s definitely bad form getting me kidnapped before you’ve taken me out anywhere.”
He lets out a weak groan. “I know, and I’m sorry.”
I sit next to him, reaching for his hands. “I get why it happened the way it did.”
“Do you? Because it seemed like the only option at the time, but I overestimated myself… my ability to protect you, my own power in front of that little—” He grunts, his eyes turning steel hard while he bites his lip to prevent Piper’s name from dirtying his tongue.
“They would’ve got me sometime. We both know this.” I let out a sigh. “But we can’t go on public dates anyway. We’re practically quarantined right now.”
“Lucifer said he’d smuggle us out.”
“So, we can go anywhere?”
“Do you have somewhere in mind?” he asks hopefully.
“You’re not getting off the hook that easily.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “Besides, you got it right last time. I mean, that still counts as a date. You brought food and flowers and blankets. You made me blue tea, flew me home, and you gave me a lot of truth that day.”
He kisses me softly on the cheek, and with a smile in his voice says, “I did better than I thought.” Then he starts laughing. “If I take you on a date, you can’t sniff me in public.”
“Shut up.” I swat his arm, and he tries to escape by leaning sideways. “We don’t mention the sniffing.”
“So, that’s definitely a yes?”
“Did you think I’d say no?”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you said no. Maybe it’s too soon.”
What the hell does that mean? Is he talking himself out of it already? I want to ask, but before I can, he stands and holds his hand out. “Dance with me?”
My cheeks burn as I let him haul me to my feet and draw me close. We sway together on the spot, his slowly moving hands heating my skin through layers of clothing. One hand settles on my neck beneath my hair, the other on my lower back, and he kisses my forehead, my temple, my cheek. And when my mouth gets close to his neck, so I can lay a kiss there, he tilts his head to the side with a gasp, and it feels like surrender. After several kisses, he pulls away suddenly to sit us both on the bed.
He blows out a hard breath. “Sorry, I don’t want to go too far.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Vampires don’t… we don’t bare our throats.”
“But you—”
He stares down at his knees. “Not ever.”
I can’t tell if he’s warning me not to go there, or assuring himself that he didn’t bare his throat to me just seconds ago, but I let it go.
