Unchained: Feathers and Fire Book 1 Read online

  I frowned at it, and stifled a groan of confusion as I turned back to Johnathan, my head swimming with pain from the drugs, my jaw aching. I was having trouble piecing his rabid words into an understandable picture. Nothing made sense. I tried for my magic again, and although I could still sense it, it was out of reach. Like moonlight shining down on me.

  “To represent everyone’s Father,” he said, pointing back at the cross with the feather. “The one who gives you free will,” he spat.

  I just stared at him. Was he referring to God? What did the feather have to do with God?

  “Why?” I asked in a whisper. “What do I have to do with this? Why play games with the pieces of the spear? You had all of them,” I mumbled, feeling the fog slowly begin to fade away, but pain still pounded in my ears. Had he poisoned me, or was this a normal side effect?

  “Each piece of the Spear of Longinus needed to taste betrayal, or chaos. And they all needed to touch your hand soon after they did so,” he said, sounding smug.

  “But…” I strained to think through the ache behind my temples. “I only touched two of them…” still not understanding what he was trying to accomplish. What it had to do with me. Where was Nate?

  “I’m glad you brought that up.” And he strode over to Gabriel. Without any warning, he stabbed him in the stomach with a piece of wood. A piece of the spear. Gabriel groaned, helpless to stop him with his wrists nailed to the cross. Johnathan chuckled, and then walked over to me. I fought against my chains, but it was no use. He held the piece of wood against my hand for a few seconds and I felt a single pulse of energy. Then he stepped back, taking it with him. “There. Much better,” he said, smiling up at me.

  Roland groaned again, trying to lift his head, then he dropped it. The metal nails hammered into his wrists and shins made me want to vomit, but it would have been only bile. The heads of the nails glinted in the moonlight.

  I turned back to Johnathan, who stood directly before me. He was holding the three pieces of the spear. They each had a crimson stain on one wooden end. From the vampire, the wolf, and… Gabriel. But why Gabriel? A stand-in for your biological father, Johnathan had said. Was Gabriel a… blood relative of mine? And what had he been doing in the bar?

  Coincidence couldn’t go this far. It was impossible. Even so, what did it all mean?

  “It would have been much more fun if you had worked with me. I gave you every opening. But then Temple had to show up and ruin everything. I saw you almost kiss him tonight, and I must admit, I might have lost my cool.” His eyes flared with deep fire for a moment, part of his true form showing through, the creature I had seen from the auction. It was him. It had always been him. Which meant either he could appear as a female Demon, or… there was another Demon in the game. The one that had warned me to back off in the alley outside the church.

  “Kill me,” I whispered, rattling my chains. “Or let me down, and we’ll settle this here and now, you fucking coward. If you’re so high and mighty, put me on level ground and we’ll see who bitch slaps whom.”

  He chuckled. “We’re past that, Callie. Or is it Constance?” He tapped his lips thoughtfully, and I stopped struggling, remembering the man from the auction. The Nephilim.

  “Constance?”

  Johnathan nodded, turning to study the horizon as if gauging time, before turning back. “We had everything in place. The wolves as bait, the faulty information given to Roland. Meeting you at that bar before the auction.” He shook his head, grinning. “But the wards they put on you so many years ago were good, Callie. Even now. I didn’t even sense you from three feet away!”

  “What are you talking about?” I whispered, as confused as if he had been speaking French.

  He nodded. “We’ve got a few minutes to spare. And it would be nice to prolong your suffering a bit. The Devil knows you’ve teased me enough these last few days…” he added, sharp, white-hot fury lacing his words. “You see, we heard about you from a bad, bad person in the Vatican itself. Took years to get a spy in there, by the way.” He rubbed his knuckles against his shirt proudly. I just stared, struggling to focus through my pain. “And he told us a tale. About an orphan with white hair delivered to a church many years ago. It was almost too good to be true. But that girl worked for one of the Shepherds, so we knew we had to play it careful. Now, I’ve murdered dozens of white-haired girls over the years, in dozens of cities. Looking for you. So, I had my doubts that you would be the one. But that Nephilim calling you Constance? Your biological mother’s name?” He shook his head in amazement. “Happiest day of my life. That’s what confirmed everything for me, although those mangy wolves could have ruined it all by almost killing Roland and trying to renege on their promise to me. But I took care of that.”

  I hung there, stunned to silence at hearing the name again — learning that it belonged to my mother hit me like a blow to the stomach. My mother. Constance. The one who had left me outside the church. But why had Johnathan been hunting me for so long? Why was I so important to him? What had my parents done to piss him off so much?

  “And Father David?” I asked.

  Johnathan shrugged. “That was just for fun.”

  I sagged my head, disgusted.

  “Callie Penrose. The girl with four fathers,” he said again, sounding wistful. “You will help me open the gates of hell. I thank you for your sacrifice.” He glanced back at the skyline, and I noticed it was lighter, the sky purpling with the approaching dawn. He turned back to me, an eager smile on his lips, flames flickering in his eyes. “But first, a little fun…”

  I learned about pain, then.

  I had thought I was beyond that after training with Roland, but Johnathan was a master. Roland was only a substitute kindergarten teacher in the arts of pain.

  Chapter 46

  I gasped as he slapped me, a strictly muscular reaction. I had been fading, losing consciousness. I hurt everywhere. Ribs cracked, face cut, gashes all over my body. My shirt was entirely gone now. I didn’t remember when it had been sliced away. The cool breeze caressing my exposed breasts felt like a lover’s lips, a mockery of the pain racking my body.

  I blinked, staring at Johnathan. He was drooling, eyes wild with lust. I spat on the ground. It was more blood than spit. “What… what is Gabriel doing here?” I rasped, remembering that question, if nothing else.

  “Like I said, a stand in for your father. I found him following you around town. A Nephilim.”

  I just blinked at him. Surely that should have given me a reaction of some kind, but I was beyond the ability to show surprise. My father was a Nephilim, so my mother must have given me my magic. A wizard. I let out a shallow breath. It hurt to breathe deeply. I only wanted to die. I was helpless. Roland was helpless. My dad was helpless. Gabriel was helpless.

  Death was all that waited for me, now.

  Unless… Where was Nate? He knew things. He should have found me by now. Monsters were scared of him. I dove deep within my core, and imagined my feather to wash out the pain, wanting to die with at least some semblance of beauty around me. The calm of my mental feather came quickly, as if knowing I didn’t have time to achieve it all by myself. I let out a shuddering breath, feeling lighter, abandoning my burdens, accepting my fate.

  In that calm, I managed a grim smile, remembering Johnathan’s reaction from earlier. “I wish…” Johnathan leaned closer, eager to hear me beg. “I could explain how good it felt to taste Nate’s tongue—”

  He slapped me again, and I felt a tooth loosen. But it didn’t hurt as badly as it should have, as if my mental feather had absorbed some of that pain from me. I looked up to see him panting. I smiled at him, feeling blood dribble down my lips.

  “What am I to you?” I managed, wanting to at least hear why he despised me so much.

  “You’re what I need, Callie. What I need. A slice of heaven…” he smiled. “Well, enough games, I guess. Time to get to work.”

  The feather in my mind quivered at mention of a sudden ti
metable, and then began to rotate in a circle, faster, and faster. Blurring at the edges. Words poured from my mouth without thought.

  “He’s coming! The fifth one rides. On hooves of fire with whips of Hope…” my voice rang clearly, strongly, despite my agonized body.

  Johnathan snarled, staring out at our surroundings, and then looking up to the sky. “He can’t. We’re blocked away. No one is coming to save you, Callie. This is where you die. No Rider. No Hope. Just death,” but he did look concerned, glancing over my shoulder several more times.

  Where had those words come from? Was I delirious? It wasn’t surprising, what with the pain and the drugs in my system. But… Johnathan had understood, or at least feared what I said.

  But I knew he was right. No one was coming for me. They would have already done so.

  I groaned, squeezing out the last of my strength to rattle my chains, pulling deep, straining for my magic. I reached closer, but it was still too far away. Like trying to grasp the sun. Or a star. Or a falling feather.

  “No use, my sweet,” Johnathan smiled. “Those chains block your magic, and you aren’t strong enough for the other thing. Especially without a patron.”

  I struggled anyway, knowing he was right. Even if I broke free, all I would do is fall to the ground in a bloody heap. I was bleeding out. I was sure of it.

  Johnathan walked over to Roland, nodding hungrily. “Yes, he dies. Soon. Minutes, maybe…” Then he buried one of the wooden pieces of the spear into his stomach, leaving it there. Roland gasped, eyes rolling for a moment before his head slouched back down. Bloody saliva dripped from his lips as he whimpered incoherently. My void rocked at the unexpected violence.

  Then he did the same with my dad, despite me screaming, rattling my chains, even begging. It was as if he didn’t hear me. He buried the other piece of wood in my dad’s stomach, receiving a similar reaction from the already dying man. I sobbed, whimpering, pathetic.

  I felt a dark power surrounding me, and saw a small, living shadow hovering before the piece of wood in my dad’s stomach. It quivered as if alive, feeding on the wound. I saw Roland’s spear doing the same. Both men were silent, now, still breathing. But barely.

  Johnathan came back before me, studying the last piece of the spear in his hand, nodding to himself. The tip. Then he dipped the blade deep into my stomach with no more care than if he had been idly wiping up a spill on a counter. I gasped, twitching, muscles protesting the blade.

  Then he slowly pulled it out, looked down at it, and turned to stand before the fourth cross, the one with the feather. Blood poured down my leggings, making a puddle at my toes.

  “Now for the fireworks,” he said. And he began to carve open the feather with the tip of the spear, as precisely as a scientist would dissect a worm with a razor blade, even though I knew the spear hadn’t looked keen enough to make so fine a cut.

  Light washed over the clearing, almost the same color as the moon, and then it began to throb into a darker purplish color, like a violent bruise.

  Nate would come. Someone would come. The Vatican would know Roland was dying and send help. An Angel would save us. A Demon was here. An Angel had to come. A Nephilim was bleeding out beside us. What better time for one of God’s children to make an appearance than now?

  But other than the darkening purple glow, nothing changed.

  I heard the three men on the cross let out a last breath, sagging lifelessly in unison. Without the void and my feather, I would have screamed. But I didn’t. I was the void. The feather.

  The purple glow had darkened further at their deaths.

  I was all alone. They were all dead. Those who had given me magic, love, and… a slice of heaven… whatever that meant. A Nephilim.

  No one was coming to save me. I had asked not to be saved.

  No Angels. Just a Demon.

  No daddy. Even though I had four of them.

  No Nate. Just an arrogant young girl of a wizard with white hair.

  It was just me. And… all I could do now was to ruin the spell.

  In the void with my feather, I accepted that fact, abandoning my pride, my arrogance, my self.

  Only a sacrifice could stop Johnathan, now.

  I dove deep within my void with the feather, content to do something, anything to ruin this ritual of madness. If I could kill myself, maybe that would be enough. Rituals like this were precise, and the smallest thing could ruin them. I was dying anyway, but maybe the timing of my death mattered. Because I hadn’t died with the other three. So, he still needed me alive.

  I wouldn’t have time to feel guilty at suicide, but at least I could stop Johnathan. Even if it was only by dying before my appointed time. Stopping him from opening the Gates to Hell. I desperately focused on the feather in my mind. I saw Johnathan freeze, spinning to stare at Roland and then my dad. “What trickery is this?” he snarled to no one in particular.

  I ignored him, closing my eyes as I fed my feather the last of my pain. The last of my self.

  “No matter. I can still make this part work, at least,” I heard Johnathan say.

  My feather began tugging at my soul, pulling deeper than I thought possible, drinking in a pain that I hadn’t offered to it.

  My nightmare.

  My feather consumed it in one metaphysical gulp.

  And I realized that I had never truly known peace until that moment — utterly free of burdens.

  I opened my eyes, and they burned as if doused with gasoline.

  I stared at the feather before Johnathan. To represent everyone’s Father, he had said. God. A large feather. Could it be… an Angel’s feather? The quill of the feather was split open, now, and inside was a single drop of silver, like blood. Heavenly blood. Angel blood.

  I focused on it, connecting it to my imagined feather without consciously deciding to do so. If that feather could fight, so could mine. Together. Free will.

  The silver drop… rippled, and Johnathan froze. Then he whirled, staring at me in disbelief.

  I heard laughter.

  And it was my own.

  The drop of silver rippled again. And again.

  And again.

  Faster now.

  Johnathan screamed in fury, bursting into his full Demon form — a twelve-foot-tall devil with glittering, black scales that covered him from horns to navel. His suddenly long hair was living fire, and his lower body was that of a wild goat. A pool of yellow smoke eddied around his hooves, and he bleated at my laughter.

  Then he raced towards me, fire splashing around his hooves like he was stomping in puddles of napalm. But I was still laughing, cackling now, each sound like the piercing ring of a trumpet into a cave, triumphant, powerful, and joyful.

  The silver drop of Angel’s blood rippled one last time, and then flew from the feather and struck me, splashing over my forehead as my face shot to the sky. Light washed down on me from the heavens, my skin itching, twisting, and quivering as my wounds bound themselves back together in a heartbeat.

  The world seemed to slow as I stared back down at Johnathan. He moved as if underwater. I felt a… power encase the chains still attached to my wrist. The strange power forged with the chains, strengthening them, adding onto them, creating something new. Something white and terribly breathtaking that sparked my memory. No. Not my memory. Callie Penrose’s memory, because I suddenly felt like two different people.

  My shoulders suddenly ached, erupting with fire, and I yanked my hands down diagonally, crossing them before my bare breasts. I felt the chains snap free as easily as breaking a spider’s web, but I didn’t crash to the ground, and the chains had detached from the wood, not my wrists.

  They slashed in front of me as the world kicked back to full speed, and they cut through the Demon like a razor blade through paper. Fire shot from his mouth, his eyes, and I finally fell to my knees.

  He crashed down before me, leaving us facing each other, both kneeling. His fire washed over me, bathing me in greasy flame, but I felt no
heat. I just stared into the fiery caverns of his eyes, and I saw a dark silhouette deep within.

  A shadowy figure on a throne, massive wings of smoke and shards of glass flaring over his shoulders, glaring at me with a universe of hatred. Then Johnathan collapsed into a pile of burning coals that scattered on the earth before me.

  I caught a figure in my peripheral vision, someone darting between the trees in the distance, but as I lifted my hand to smite them, a light winked out of me, and I collapsed.

  Only silence remained, but I imagined I heard sounds of a great lumbering beast, rocking the cages of his prison deep beneath my knees — rocking me to sleep like the sweetest lullaby…

  Chapter 47

  A loud slamming noise in the distance woke me. I stared out at a rising sun over a sharp cliff. A bed of coals sat before me, still smoldering.

  Had I been camping?

  I groaned, feeling almost hungover. I shakily propped myself onto my knees, and flinched at the sound of metal clinking against metal. I glanced down to see chains on my wrists. Both of them. The metal was blackened, burned. And cracked. Like they were thousands of years old, unearthed from a dusty forgotten tomb of the damned. Kinky.

  Feet raced closer, pounding the earth, breaking twigs and crackling leaves underfoot.

  I waited for them, wondering who they belonged to. I felt rested, but still weak. And dazed.

  How long had I slept? Not long if the sun rose before me. Hadn’t… the sun begun to rise before all else faded? Before I tried to attack the fleeing figure in the distance…

  The world came crashing back to me. Someone had been watching the ritual, hiding in the shadows, and running as soon as I had killed Johnathan. A second Demon.

  And now feet were almost upon me. I had only been unconscious for moments.