Demon Night

voice sounded too weak—he didn’t believe her. She tried again. “It’s knowing that you might start being careful around me…and that I’ll deserve it.”
    He drew in a long breath before letting it ease out. “And how’s that, Miss Charlie?”
    But she didn’t get an opportunity to explain. Ethan stiffened and his focus shifted beyond her. Frustration sounded a sharp note through his psychic scent.
    “They’ve already gone,” Ethan said. “The nephil’s dead.”
    Charlie turned, and a shiver of dread traveled the length of her spine. She recognized the Guardian standing on the lawn behind her: Michael, the Doyen with the incredible voice and strange obsidian eyes. They appeared human now, the irises almost the same color as Ethan’s—but they were hard, and tired, as if he hadn’t looked upon anything good in too long a time.
    “I have need of you both,” Michael said softly, and Charlie had to fight the weakness in her knees, the urge to sink to the grass and let that sound wash over her.
    Ethan glanced at her in concern, and she shook her head. “I’m all right,” she said. “I just wasn’t ready for that.”
    Michael’s response was heavy with apology. “You will need to prepare yourself for more, and you must do it quickly. I have cleared the way for us, but if we delay too long, we risk the demons discovering those I have slain.”
    Sudden tension paled the scar on Ethan’s lip. “Where are you planning on taking us?”
    “I have found the nephilim’s prison.” Obsidian swirled around Michael’s golden irises. “But I cannot break through the shield surrounding it.”
    “Oh, God,” Charlie whispered in numb realization.
    Hell.
    Ethan took her hand, held her steady. She clung to him, fighting the brain-deadening fear that washed through her, dimly aware that Ethan was signing a blazingly fast exchange with the Doyen. Ethan’s fingers curled into a fist at the end of it, and he looked down at her.
    “It’ll be quick, all right?” He glanced at the Doyen. “Michael will make you up some heavier clothes, a jacket to ward you against the heat. You close your eyes, try not to look. And it’ll smell something terrible, so try not to breathe.”
    “And not to listen,” Michael added quietly.
    Ethan’s hand shook, and a look at his face confirmed that it wasn’t in fear, but in fury. But he didn’t round on the Doyen, and simply held her gaze as he said, “You just hang on to me real tight.”
    She did, but still the heat ripped the breath from her lungs, seemed to scorch her cheeks. She buried her face against his chest as quickly as she could, but the glimpse she saw was enough: they stood in an enormous cave, and directly in front of her a large black building carved with symbols was set into a foundation of rippling, moving flesh. People or things surrounded them, on the floor and the walls of the cavern, crawling, screaming, and everything was red and the stench of burning blood sank into her even though she hadn’t drawn air.
    “Charlie,” Ethan said, and she wasn’t sure if she heard his voice over the horrifying cacophony or if she just felt her name from his lips. His Gift slammed into her, and she bit the bare skin at his neck.
    No no no, she screamed, because it was huge and beautiful and the most terrifying sound she’d ever heard, and she couldn’t hold on to it, couldn’t get her head around it.
    Ethan fell to his knees on the soft wet floor, his grip slackening, his blood warm against her cheek. She fell with him, and then Michael’s voice was there, lifting her, helping her fight the overwhelming need to sink into the dark miasma of that sound, to just let go, to give up.
    Michael’s hands were against her back. She felt the punch of a different Gift as it healed Ethan, and his arms tightened around her again.
    “It’s Lucifer’s blood, Charlie,” Michael said. “Don’t attempt to hold it or replicate it. Let it run through you, then let me into your mind, and I’ll sing it.”
    She felt the touch of him like a bright golden light, followed by Ethan’s amazement.
    And then nothing except the soaring voice that sang the dark and terrible sound that had been filling her, hitting each note, all of them at once, an impossible chorus from a single tongue. A hush fell around them in expanding waves, as if all of Hell stopped to listen to that voice, and it continued on, swelling far longer than any human could have sung it, longer than any lungs