Chapter Sixteen

 

Frederik had not been far off the mark when he contemplated what a vampire's torture would be in Hell. As it happened, some vampires were indeed starved of blood, while others drowned in it.

His torture was not to forever burn in the flames of his new prison. No. That part had merely been his initiation, as the demon above him had told him once it had been permitted to pull him from the fires. He knew not how many demons were guarding him, as when the fires had finally ceased there had been little left of his skin, and he'd been blind. His eyes had melted away entirely.

His skin and eyes had eventually grown back, painfully, slowly, in what had felt like days. But, first, the worthless, blackened bits that remained hanging onto his brittle bones had been shed entirely off, like the overgrown skin on a snake, only much more painful, he was sure. When he awoke from that nightmare, his hands, face, torso, all were as they had formerly been. Even his clothing, which had burned to nothingness, leaving him naked, had been on him as though the fires had never happened.

He'd thought that they could do nothing to him that would be worse than the fires, but then they had. A new torture had arrived. But that torture was not to forever hunger for blood, always seeing it yet never being able to drink it.

Frederik's torture was to drown in blood for all eternity.

After several days of gasping for breath in an enclosed space flooded with blood, there was no question of which torture was worse. This punishment had been chosen for him because he had killed and drank so much before he died. He was sure of it. It made his punishment an ironic one, and Hell and those in charge of it were known for their sense of humor.

It caused even him to laugh. But then he slipped from the stalactite he latched onto and fell back into the pool of blood. It enveloped his head, and, for a frightening moment, he could neither breathe nor think. He kicked his legs, numb from the cold— he was not even given the privilege of drowning in warm blood, all the more awful when he became thirsty enough to drink it—but he finally brought his head back to the air pocket in the ceiling of the cave where he was trapped.

He coughed the blood from his mouth and gasped for air, clinging to his rock with white fingers. The pool beneath him was so deep he could not feel the bottom. He had once even swum down to try to find it, but had come away with nothing. He had attempted to find a way out, many, many times. He only ever found other air pockets, some barely large enough for him to catch a breath before he had been forced under the blood.

His current position would last him long enough. There was enough room that his entire head, neck, and even a little of his shoulders could rise out. He would stay until forced to swim on.

The worst moments were when he caught sight of a floating corpse caught in the uneven ceiling. Even with the blackness of the blood around him, and the red staining into the body's clothing, he always recognized the corpses.

The villagers he'd murdered.

He knew perfectly well they were not the real villagers, but illusions created to test his sanity. They were difficult tests to pass.

Another corpse floated toward him now with a speed that should not have been possible given the weakness of the current and the pointed ceiling that hindered it.

He shut his eyes and pressed his face to the rock as it approached. He did not wish to see another skeleton stare at him accusingly. Did not want to feel the press of long, pointed fingers as he was grabbed from beneath the black pool and pulled and tugged until he was brought under.

The blood became still. Not so much as a ripple of movement around him or the echo of a faraway drip. Only the sound of his breath pressed against the limestone of the cave. Minutes passed. He took a chance to look, to open his eyes, and see if someone was indeed watching him.

A near-skinless face with no lips, exposing large teeth, hallowed sockets that still contained wide, angry eyes, and enough flesh to form a crooked nose, stared at him, inches from his face. Frederik held his breath. Some seconds passed with no movement. Perhaps this one truly was just a corpse?

Bony hands lunged and gripped him by his coat. Frederik roared and fought to free himself, but releasing the pointed stone where he hung had been a mistake. He was pulled under as easily as he had been the countless other times.

Be still. Let it take you away. It will release you eventually, he thought. But he'd taken blood into his lungs and his panic damned him. The need for air was too strong; it forced his limbs to move, to fight, even though it inevitably prolonged his suffering.

More skinny, fleshless fingers took hold of him beneath the blood. His clothes, legs, arms, and neck. Teeth bit down hard on him in all the places where a normal man's blood would best flow in a mockery of the times he'd fed.

His lungs burned and expanded in his chest, begging for air. He bit his lips together to keep from inhaling more blood into his lungs, yet it trickled down his nose.

They were not releasing him. They were holding him longer than usual. They truly meant to drown him. He was already dead and in Hell. What would happen if they killed him again?

Panic thumping through him, Frederik renewed his struggles; he kicked and punched. The thickness of the blood made his blows sluggish and slow, near useless. He reached his hands out to grasp at one of the bones attached to him. Gripping it hard, he bent it until it broke. The corpse released him and swam away with the speed of a fish.

He reached out to do it again but they all relinquished their hold, fearful he would snap their bones as well.

Finally free of the bony shackles, Frederik kicked off toward where he believed— hoped—air would be. He made it to the surface of the blood pool, his face breaking free of the blood and pushing up so hard the top of his head struck the stone ceiling.

A single white star flashed over his eyes. A wave of dizziness washed over him, consumed him, and, though he'd barely taken a breath that would fill the lungs of a small bird, he hardly cared as his lax body sank back under the blood where more hands took hold to caress.

*****

"Remember the rules. Do not look back. If ye look back, he will be lost to ye for all eternity."

Jo had to find Frederik first. He took another amber stone from his pouch and let it drop to the dark floor with a glassy clatter.

Hell was not an open pit of fire and bright chambers with chains filled with the screaming dead. 'Twas a labyrinth, dark and small, barely enough room for him to stand at his full height, and even less air. What little air there was, was hot and dusty, putting a strain on his lungs and progress through the maze.

He was required to walk constantly with his head bent, and, had it not been for the sword that burned in his grasp, he would have to rely on touch alone to determine his path. And he was glad he could do without touching things down here. The stone walls were wet with fresh blood and other things. Even with the holy fire he carried, he continued to stumble over the uneven ground and occasionally bang his head in the dips of rock above him. 'Twas painful and put smears of blood in his hair and on his forehead.

At least he would be able to see the stones he dropped when it came time to flee. Hell did not give up souls gracefully. To steal one was nearly unheard of. Yet, it had been the solution offered to him to prevent him from selling his own soul.

Jo kept his ears alert. He was getting closer. He knew it; he could feel it. The muffled screams told him he was near the prisoners' chambers. There were no doors or caged bars for him to peer through. But whenever he stepped beyond a soul's torture room, a portion of the rough red and grey stone would transform from solid rock to a smooth and transparent surface that was clearer than any glass window.

He saw men and women being raped by demons, being eaten alive, having sexual organs and other body parts removed, and having their flesh peeled away. Horrors he prayed were not being inflicted upon Frederik. Most horrible of all, when the wretched souls spotted him, his sword and wings exposed in the cramped tunnels he was forced to walk, they cried out for his help, thinking him to be their savior. But merely looking at them brought vivid images of their sins to his mind, as though he were reliving their memories of the terrible things they had done, and he felt no remorse when he left them behind.

He felt more like running for his life than assisting them, as their demon guards inevitably also spotted him and gave chase. On one occasion, a demon refused to give up chasing him, forcing Jo to halt and fight it to the death.

The demons were not kind hosts to intruders, especially angelic ones.

Being in this place made Jo glad he had not sold his soul to get there. He would have done so with a grimace had the Council refused to help him. But he would have done it. His threat had worked, and the glowing spirits granted him the permission he required to leave Heaven, and even pulled a few strings and whispered into the right ears to open a small portal into this dank pit. The only rule was that, once he attained his prize, he could not look back. He did not understand this rule, but he would not question it either.

As he passed another chamber and the walls opened, he looked inside very quickly before sneaking passed. He could not afford another battle with more demon guards. His body was becoming weak, and the arches of his wings were bleeding from where they continually scraped against the top of the tunnel. Soon, he would not have the strength to rescue Frederik at all, let alone free the both of them from this place.

He passed the pit quickly. The pitiful soul within this prison was not Frederik. 'Twas an old man in bright robes, with jeweled rings, and a golden crown upon his head. He sat chained to the floor, starving while a feast of colorful foods sat out of his reach on a long table. Two demons sat at the table, eating as calmly and politely as though they were having a small party. Occasionally wiping their lips with napkins to clean away crumbs of bread, and conversing through their long, black jaws in a language even Jo did not understand.

He passed another chamber set up in a similar fashion. More demons tortured another soul who hung by his feet from the ceiling. And on and on it went for what felt like hours.

He was running low on amber stones.

Then Jo felt a thud at his feet. Or rather, he felt it under his feet. He halted his slow stride, fearful a demon was preparing to break through the ground beneath him, and yet he heard nothing more. Still, his body instinctively prepared for battled. His limbs became pliant and limber should he need to move quickly, his breathing slowed for him to hear better. Should some unwanted thing dig its way out and attack him he would be ready for it. But naught came, and all remained silent.

Yet there had been something under there.

There had been torture chambers to the right and left of him as he'd walked through this maze. Could there be chambers above and beneath him as well?

He took two more, tentative steps forth, and, as he did, the floor opened beneath his sandals, revealing a pool of black liquid beneath him. Even through the rock, the scent of it was all around him. He knew 'twas human blood.

Curious, he had yet to see a chamber quite like this.

Though curiosity was hardly a reason to delay his search, Jo could not persuade his feet to move. His whole body was drawn to the sight beneath him, and he went down to one knee to have a better look, giving in to the compulsion to stay, to observe, to wait and be sure that whoever was in this prison was not his lover.

A bloody image floated up from the depths, small arms and legs that were missing large bits of flesh. Stretched out, the body floated face up, but with part of the face itself missing, revealing smooth white bone that beaded red droplets. The loose hair was yellow, stringy, and uneven in the places where the flesh of the skull had been torn away. A corpse. What had once been a child. A little girl.

Not a real little girl. He could tell. This dead child appeared perhaps six years old, if that, and no child of that age could do anything that would justify a sentence of Hell.

More bodies came, some older, some younger, all wearing torn garments that identified them as peasants, and, as they came, he knew they were all as false as the girl. Perhaps meant to torture the victim of this particular chamber.

There were so many.

Jo sucked in a breath as the purpose of this chamber and the punishment inflicted there struck him.

These were the villagers. The people Frederik had been tricked into murdering. This was Frederik's chamber. His eternal punishment. How ironic to throw a vampire in a deep pool of blood with the people he had killed.

No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than Frederik surfaced. Even through the black and red of the blood staining his clothing and hair, Jo knew 'twas him. The shape of his body was one he could never forget, even with the blood staining his hair and clothing. He was face down and unmoving.

Jo slid his hands along the clear stone, searching for an entrance before he began pounding on it with his fists. "Frederik!"

Frederik did not respond, and Jo only succeeded in hurting his knuckles. Though he could see through it, 'twas still stone beneath his hands and knees.

"Frederik! Grimm! Wake up!" Jo lifted his sword and brought the tip of the blade down hard again and again, the holy fire tearing chunks through the floor to the chamber beneath. He was making noise, loud noise that echoed through the tunnels. He knew this, knew that demons would hear and come running to inspect, but he could not stop. He would deal with them when they came.

His sword tore at the rock, cracking at the glass-like surface. His lover did not so much as twitch as Jo screamed at him. Jo's already tired and aching body protested his movements, but he raised the blade above his head once more and brought it down with a roar.

The sword sliced through the rock, slashing one of the skeletal corpses through the chest, the fire hissing as it met the wet blood. Jo attempted to pull the blade free to continue his chipping, but then the floor and rocks crumbled away as the ground beneath him gave out. Jo cried out as he nearly lost his balance and fell into the blood pool with the corpses below, but he reached out and caught himself with his other hand on the still solid ledge, refusing to release his blade. He would need it to escape.

Righting himself, breathing hard from his near fall, Jo used his blade to catch Frederik's clothes and pull him forth.

"Ye had better damn well wake up, Grimm," he muttered. "I will get ye out of here, but ye need to wake up."

When Frederik came close enough, Jo reached down and grabbed him by the back of his soaked coat, the blood squishing through his fingers. With a slippery yank, Jo pulled Frederik from the blood pool and dropped him with a wet plop and a smack on the solid stone.

Frederik did not blink his eyes open as Jo hoped. He was not breathing, but he was not dead either. Hell played tricks like this. To give the illusion of finally slipping into death, to escape the nightmarish tortures that awaited everyone in here, only to have them re-awaken back in their prison cells. Jo had no time for it. He needed Frederik awake and moving.

"Grimm, wake up!" He slapped the man's cheek, and then slapped him again harder, but that did not wake him. Neither did shaking him. He did not know what to do. He did not know how to get Frederik breathing again. Worse still, images of the sins Frederik had committed in his life flashed through Jo's mind, distracting him. The MacGreggor villagers . . . then earlier scenes from his youth when he hunted and killed freely, as though death could never claim him . . .

Sloshing and moaning in the blood chamber had Jo spinning his head. The corpses had come alive, as alive as they could become, and were attempting to pull themselves through the hole Jo had created, but the sheer number of them attempting to crawl over each other and the hole's edge, which continued to crumble away under their weight, impeded their progress. Eventually they would come up for Frederik, for the both of them if they could take them. They were the demons of that particular chamber, and they did not wish to give up their property.

Jo grabbed Frederik's jacket and yanked him farther away from the hole and the demons within before returning to work. "Grimm, ye selfish bastard, if ye can hear me, get up. Get. Up. I cannot carry ye out of here, ye need to walk out on yer own. Frederik!" Already he could feel the spell of Hell begin to take its hold. Now that he had what he came for, looking behind him, even looking at Frederik, was dangerous.

More memories of the murders Frederik committed came to him. Jo could not shake them off this time. Frederik drank from the villagers until they had not enough blood to sustain them. When he could drink no more, Frederik's hands trembled as he strangled the remaining villagers in their beds. He quietly wept as he did so to the young ones. Such a difference between the Frederik of these memories and the younger Frederik from centuries past.

Jo forced himself out of those images with a yell. A light dizziness took him and the tunnel spun, the moans of the dead sounding far away. He rubbed his eyes to bring himself back into the present, smearing blood on his face. He ignored the sticky fluids on his cheeks and returned to shaking and hitting his idiot lover. "Frederik!"

Still, Frederik would not move. His eyes did not open, and his chest did not rise and fall to draw breath. The angry moans of the zombies behind them grew more impatient, and the swish of blood as they fought to be free became violent.

Jo did not know what to do. For one heart stopping moment, he thought there would be no escape for either of them, all because he had the misfortune to attempt a rescue when Frederik was unconscious.

Jo could not leave without him.

Then a ridiculous thought came to him. A random epiphany. An answer to a prayer. Someone was answering Jo's prayers now.

Jo did as the images in his mind instructed. He pinched Frederik's nose and tilted his head back before covering his mouth with his own. Jo blew a long, hard breath into him, felt the rise of Frederik's chest, and then, as though Jo were bringing him to life, Frederik began to shake. His throat gurgled as he coughed and sputtered, his eyes flying wide as he choked. Jo jerked away as Frederik spat up the blood in his throat and lungs. Frederik abruptly spun to his side to vomit rushes of blood, choking on air between heaves.

Jo laughed stupidly. He rubbed Frederik's back to help ease the blood out but did no more than that. Zombies who wanted to inflict tortures worse than death upon them were still clambering to get at them. They were now pulling themselves from the pool and dragging their bodies across the ground.

Jo spat the blood from his lips. Frederik reached his hands out to him, his eyes transforming from confusion to joy and then horror within seconds. "What are you—"

"There is no time, we must run." Jo grabbed the handle of his sword from where he'd dropped it to give the life-giving kiss. It burst to flame in his hand, burning away all traces of blood from its steel, and, for the first time ever, he did not witness Frederik wince at the sight of fire. "Follow me, and do not look back."

Frederik coughed again and nodded. Jo grabbed him by his coat and yanked him up, taking his hand. He moved quickly, letting the fire from his sword light the way. Frederik stumbled drunkenly over his feet and the uneven ground, still occasionally hacking blood from his throat, but there was no time to allow his strength to return. The corpses behind them shrieked at their escape in full-throated tones that belied the condition of their rotting bodies, but Jo dared not look back.

At that moment, Hell's spell took hold and gripped firmly. Jo felt it as surely as he felt the sword in his hand or Frederik's weight behind him. It circled him, mocked him with its certainty, and dared him to turn his head. The urge to look behind himself, to be certain Frederik was behind him, was great. He had to fight against it. Even though he could feel Frederik's hand in his own, it no longer felt as heavy as before. For a moment, Jo fancied perhaps he was carrying an arm not attached to a body.

He yanked Frederik along, felt his weight once more, and ignored the vampire's indignant complaint, relieved to feel his body. He fought to keep any of Hell's other spells from tricking him again. There could be no mistakes. One look back, one little glimpse at Frederik, and the demons would ensnare Frederik forever. No second chances.

"W-wait, Jo,"

"No time. Do not look back," he yelled. He had no idea if the spell worked the same magic on Frederik. He dared not take the chance. "If ye look back ye shall be done for."

He found the yellow pebbles he'd dropped on his journey in. They glowed under the light of his sword, but faintly. The blood pooling from the walls and onto the ground nearly covered some of them. Now that he had to follow them out, he dearly wished he'd dropped them closer together so they'd be easier to follow through the twists and turns.

"Where are we going? How did you get here?"

"Not now!"

A tall demon, hunching nearly to its waist with the narrowness of the tunnels, walked directly into their path. Its charcoal arms were long and fell nearly to the ground. The legs were skeletal, thin as the arms themselves, yet the torso was heavily muscled. The scales there were thickest at the chest, to protect all the vital organs. It reminded Jo of a vampire's natural defenses.

The creature seemed not to notice them until they nearly ran into it.

Its long, horse-like head spun as they skidded to a halt. Its ruby red eyes glowed with rage as it, too, opened its mouth in a long, sharp-jawed roar. Hot air and spittle flew from its open mouth. Jo had to cover his face with his sword arm to protect himself against any poison. Yet it did not stop. It did not attack. It only roared, continuing to reveal their whereabouts.

Forced to relinquish Frederik's hand, Jo charged and swung his sword, the tip scratching along the wall during the swing and creating sparks and lag, but his strength and aim held true. His blade struck on the neck of the beast, but the tough hide prevented a full decapitation. His sword went about halfway through the neck, severing the bone. 'Twas enough to silence the creature and put it down with a heavy thud, its black blood mixing with the red of the walls.

Jo blindly reached his hand out behind him, searching. "Frederik."

"I am here." A warm, sticky palm slipped into his own, and Jo sighed.

"Let's be gone from here," he said. He could not wait for the moment when they returned to the surface where Anael awaited, when he could look at Frederik once more, with demon and human blood on neither of them.

"Frederik, I—"

"Whatever you are about to say, say it when we are not down here."

A good idea if he ever heard one. Now was not an appropriate time.

"If we become separated, follow the stones on the ground." Jo pointed his blazing sword toward the little yellow tablets.

"I see them," Frederik answered.

Jo nodded. "Good. They lead to our exit. I shall meet ye there if we are forced apart."

Frederik's hand became tighter in his own. Any more pressure and the bones would splinter.

They mixed their progress between running and sneaking, hurrying wherever they could but being as silent as possible while passing the dungeons of other damned souls.

"Where is our exit?" Frederik asked after a time, his voice labored. Occasionally, Jo could hear as he coughed and spat more blood.

Jo turned to look at him but caught himself in time. Heart beating wildly, he cleared his throat and pointed his face straight ahead, locking his neck. That had been too close.

"I did not come in the traditional way. We are not going to the river. There is a portal waiting for us at the end of the amber trail."

"Aye," hissed a raspy voice from behind. "Thank ye for providing it for us as well."

As the urge to look back and see the owner of the voice sprang on Jo, he tightened his grip on his lover and yanked his arm. "Do not look behind ye!"

"I was not going to," Frederik muttered.

"How very rude," said another, feminine voice, more sultry, more refined and modern. "To not look us in the eyes as we greet you, even after you sent us here."

"Jo . . ."

"I know who they are. Run!"

The two of them shot off down the tunnel. Laughter and animal shrieks followed them from predators enjoying the hunt. Jo did not dare turn his head.

A test. Or more of the horrible humor of Hell. To send the very vampires they had killed at MacNiel's keep after them.

If the vampires captured them, no demon guard could ever do worse to them than what these angry vampires wished to do. How many were there? Only some of the vampires who had attacked the keep? Or all?

Jo had to increase his speed to stay ahead of Frederik, to keep from looking at him. Frederik continued to stumble over the uneven path, hindering them.

The vampires snapped at their heels as he dragged Frederik back to a run.

"We will kill you! We are here because of you!" Voices, angry voices, shouted. They were close. Inches away.

"Do not look back, do not look back!" Who had screamed the command? Jo could not say. Where was their portal? Their exit? The vampires were nearly upon them! But then, yes! The cavern! The open space where he had entered Hell finally appeared. They were nearly out.

"We are nearly there! Do not stop!"

As they came to the mouth that opened into the cave, two vampires appeared from the entry, arms reaching out. Jo could not stop himself. He had been going too fast, too eager to escape. Too sloppy.

Those arms hardened and swung like logs, hitting Jo in the neck and taking him off his feet before bringing him down.

He awoke to hands pressing on his face. He fought and kicked to get the vampire off. He heard an oof as his fist slammed into a stomach.

"Jo, Jo! It's me, you fool!"

Jo went slack and Frederik's palms, which had pressed harder down on him when he struggled, became soft. "Close your eyes. You cannot look at me."

Of course. When he was knocked over he must have landed in a way that pointed him toward . . . well, everything behind him. When a man awakens, his first instinct is to open his eyes. Frederik must have known this.

He closed his eyes and nodded. Frederik pulled his hands away.

Someone or thing must have shoved Frederik, because he collapsed awkwardly over Jo with a grunt. His eyes must have been closed as well, to keep the vampires from tricking him into looking around.

A foot kicked into Jo's side, powerful enough to dent his armor into his ribs and scrape his flesh. He cried out and pulled at the metal. Fortunately, it righted itself quickly.

He could not see it, but he could feel the movements all around him. The sound of bare feet and shoes shuffling in the rock. What he could not feel, however, was his sword. He had dropped it when he fell, and now they were utterly helpless.

"Open your eyes." It was the voice of a vampire who commanded him.

"Aye, open them. Looking at us will not harm ye."

True, but if they stood at the cave opening leading back into Hell, a lot of harm would be done. He would not risk it.

Claws raked over his face, scratching along his jaw, lips, nose, and eyes. Jo hissed and flinched back.

"Look at us!"

Jo's fist flew out but struck only the air.
"Get away from us!"

Though his eyes were closed, the swipe of air told him Frederik was blindly thrashing out as well, attempting to defend him without looking at where the enemy stood. More laughter and the sound of feet jumping away from the feeble attack and scuttling about.

Jo hoped to reason with them. "Ye must understand. We meant ye no harm, but ye attacked us. Even if all of ye had ran away from MacNiel's castle, had not killed those men, had we not killed ye ourselves, ye would have been pulled back here when yer purposes had been served."

"He lies!" The voice was so close to his ear, he jerked and knocked heads with Frederik.

"Ah!"

Hands gripped his face, hands with long, thin fingers, bulging sores, and pointed nails. Not Frederik.

He attempted to jerk away, but the grip on his cheeks tightened and fingernails scratched at his eyelids. "Not as sorry as ye will be if ye do not open yer eyes!"

He tried to push the offending creature off, but he couldn't budge him. Jo's hands wrapped around the iron-like wrists of his attacker, yet they would not move. His fist flew up and met its mark, but his knuckles burst with pain. "Frederik!" He called out, though he was certain his lover was receiving similar treatment with the sounds of struggling so close to him.

Those long, sharp fingernails edged their way under his lashes and began to push up, scratching the whites of his eyes.

Jo screamed.

The fingernails were yanked away. The blade of a sword sang through the air, and a wet sound followed before Jo heard a soft thud. Two thuds, one heavier than the other, yet the second making a distinct cracking noise. The sound of cloth and flesh—a body—crumbling. The other sound was surely the head as it had fallen. The other vampires hissed, and there was a shuffle of feet.

"Frederik?" Jo asked, finding and grasping the other man. He used his hands to feel along his body, searching for any possible injuries. 'Twas difficult with so much blood still dampening his garments.

His hands were slapped away. "I am well, who is—?"

A ferocious war cry was released and ricocheted off the walls. "Stay away from them, monsters!"

Jo's eyes nearly popped open in his shock, but he managed to keep them shut.

Zad? Here?

"We take no more orders from you, coward angel!"

An angel no longer, if Michael spoke the truth. What could he—nay, how could he be here?

"Him?" Frederik exclaimed. Jo recalled Frederik knew nothing of Zad's fate after he had been sent into Hell. "What is—has he been sent to aid us?"

Jo was yanked to his feet and spun around. He grasped at the arm that pulled him up and sighed. 'Twas soft, healthy muscle he felt, not the thin, cold flesh of creatures that had been down here for so long.

"Open yer eyes, my friend."

Jo did not, and he shook his head. "No," he said.

Zad's voice strained. "Please,"

There was no help for it. If Jo wanted to escape with Frederik, he would need to trust that his former brother would not wish to trap the both of them down here for eternity. His eyes opened, and Zadkiel's worried face stared back at him. He'd been allowed to keep the armor of his brothers, but there were no wings on his back. His face and hair were damp with sweat, and Jo's sword in his hand did not burn. Zad was now a mortal man.

Jo was only grateful help had arrived. By the Spiritual Council's word, no angel would aid him. Jo was to be on his own on this mission. Yet here Zad was, and Jo could not have been more delighted. Better still, the wall with their portal out of this place was behind him, though the wall still appeared perfectly intact. Jo knew it was there because he had come through it. The vampires did not know of it; otherwise, they would have made their escape by now.

They expected to be able to see the portal. Michael had said it would close once he and Frederik went through, and, if they failed, 'twould close eventually on its own, regardless. But, if the vampires went through, would it stay open and allow the lot of them to escape?

The vampires, the remaining ones, blocked their path to the portal without realizing it. Others came from all sides, enveloping them in a wide circle. But they did not alarm Jo as much as they had before.

"Take it." Zad put the handle of the sword into Jo's hand. It lit up as expected. The vampires hissed at the flames.

Zad smiled at the fire, his hand still loosely holding the hilt. "'Twill be the last time I ever hold a fiery blade."

Jo had no time for Zad's regret or sentimentality. He pulled the sword free from Zad's grip and reached his free hand out behind him. "Frederik?"

A searching palm eventually took his hand and clasped it tightly. "I have you."

"Ye can open yer eyes."

Frederik righted himself and must have done so because he hissed. Whether at Zad, the fire, or their enemies, Jo could not be certain. "Are we to fight our way through?"

"I shall." Zadkiel pulled his own sword from his belt with a long scrape. The lack of fire made him appear somewhat smaller than before. "Ye two must escape."

"But how—?"

"Neither of ye can look the other in the face without dooming each other. Ye'll be useless to me in a battle."

The circle of vampires surrounding them took that as their sign to leap in and attack all at once. Zad rushed at the three ahead of him with a battle cry, his sword flying, his body carrying him as gracefully as though his wings were still with him. Two vampires, one on Jo's left, and the other to his right, jumped into the air, claws and fangs exposed as they prepared to dive.

Jo went to the right with his weapon, and Frederik went left. He sliced down hard along the torso of his would-be attacker, cutting through cloth and flesh. His sword would have divided the one vampire into two halves had not the stone-like bones of his ribs prevented a full separation. The creature still came down heavy and stayed down. A long screech behind him sounded before 'twas cut off by the snapping of bones.

Without looking, Jo knew Frederik had broken the vampire's neck with only one hand to spare.

More came for them, but Jo refused to fight. He could not. He chose retreat and ran for the wall where he knew their portal was, where the first amber stone lay, dragging Frederik behind him and swinging his weapon at any who stood in his way, removing heads, arms, and reaching hands.

Zad was right. Merely because he and Frederik had good luck with those first two vampires did not mean they could battle a horde of them without looking at each other. They could not watch each other's backs if they could not look at each other.

"Jo!"

He thought Frederik called out to him to stop him from leaving the battle. He did not see the female vampire that leapt at him from the side wall until 'twas too late.

Her weight was too much, and Jo was thrown down, his hand ripped from Frederik's as he was pinned. He stayed awake this time to watch as the she-devil raised her clawed hand and prepared to bring it down upon his neck.

She was slammed off of him by a strong body. By Frederik, who was now directly above him.

They looked at each other, and Frederik began to fade before his eyes.

"No!" Jo tried to grab his translucent form, his arms, coat, anything to keep him from vanishing, but, instead of touching solid, muscular flesh, his hands passed straight through as though Frederik were a ghost.

Frederik opened his mouth, but what he had to say Jo would never know because he disappeared entirely.