Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Shaking his head, he managed to pull himself back together, and moved toward the source of the music, his gaze already glued to the banister shaped like a massive snake. “It’s my duty.”
At least this time Gabriel didn’t protest or mock him about not being an angel. Abaddon was lost when it came to his identity, but he could do this. He could send one more sinner to Hell.
A phantom child ran past them, up to the room that offered no solace.
This was the night of reckoning.
The music was loud enough to mute the soft creaking of the stairs while he descended with Gabriel as his shadow. Animal trophies stared at them from walls, and if Abaddon hadn’t known better, he would have feared one of them might tear out of brick and wood to take its revenge.
The air smelled of camomile, which Mother always drank before bed, but as he took step after automatic step toward the open doors of the front room, the flames from the fireplace reflected in the glass cabinets in the hallway felt almost too close. Like a warning about where he would soon end up.
But neither of them could back out now. Whether he was Abaddon, who had taken over the body of Adam Benson, or some messed-up human about to kill his own mother, he’d push on.
And there she was.
Mrs. Benson stood with her back to them, facing a massive, elongated aquarium that reached to just above her midsection. She tapped the glass, as if wanting to agitate the fish inside instead of feeding them. The fire crackled next to her. If she wasn’t a monster, Abaddon would have admitted she looked regal with her tall slim frame, and black hair in a loose updo. And, as if she didn’t embody the persona of a villain enough already, she wore a long robe in a discreet snake pattern.
Abaddon’s body pulsed when she lifted a silver milk jug above the tank full of ugly fish with toothy jaws. Blood drizzled into the water, which instantly turned into a chaotic whirr as the hungry piranhas sensed the promise of a meal.
Abaddon stepped forward. He still remembered how the sound of her voice had sent him into a panic attack at the diner. His knees were cotton-soft, but he wouldn’t give in to fear this time.
He needed answers, just as Gabriel had.
“Good evening,” he rasped when he was close enough to the buzzing fireplace.
She spun around, but her first instinct was to reach for her pocket, and he shouldn’t have been surprised to find a gun pointing at him.
“What—” She stalled, widening her eyes, and with Gabriel staying behind in the shadows, Abaddon had all of her attention. “You’re back. For the ritual!”
“I am. This will be the final cycle,” Abaddon mumbled, forcing himself to stand tall, even though his limbs felt like wool. The sight of her face was like a clawed hand breaking past the walls he’d put up in his mind, and as her slender, youthful form came closer, he found himself paralyzed by fear of the things she might do to him.
"It would have been, if you hadn't disappeared on us years ago. We now have to repeat the second one and wait another ten years for the third.” Her lip curled, showing her teeth. She still had her lipstick on, but it was smudged and reminiscent of blood on her mouth. “I told John you’d be back, but he insisted on starting over with another son. Now he will see Beatrice’s bastard wasn’t needed! For all I care we can dispose of that child at the ritual.
“I had a vision when John planted the seed in me. Everything vibrated with colors as an angel flew out of my womb and struck down those who opposed the new world order. A new start. Closer to God and his angels. You are meant to be the one to make things right. Oh… You’ve changed so much,” she babbled, but didn’t put down the gun despite reaching out to him.
Abaddon’s skull might have exploded. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe or speak, and his entire being pulsed with fear as barriers broke, flooding his mind with images and sounds he didn’t want to ever see again. So much blood. So much screaming and fear.
Sometimes, only Dr. Rogers’ special potions had kept him from running.
“I knew I prepared you well. You wouldn’t desert your duty. Or was it the lure of things to come that drew you back to us? Did you miss the spectacle?” Her smile was the only thing he focused on as everything blurred around its razor-sharp contour. She looked different than he’d remembered, somehow both younger and older at the same time. Was it the pact with dark forces that made her so, or a plastic surgeon?