Curse of Tempest Gate Read online

  A scream crawled up her throat in a roar of denial. “Demons are not real! They are not real,” she yelled again.

  “Oh, but they are,” a deep voice momentarily broke through her tirade.

  Her limbs froze and her heart threatened to stop. The Archangel Michael stepped down from his base, his wings spread wide in a ruffle of feathers that sliced through the air. He no longer was a frozen stone effigy, but flesh and blood. His hair was seven shades of gold and his eyes as blue as the sky. Her mouth dropped open, but no words left her lips.

  “I believe you asked for my service.” He bowed before her with a generous display of courtesy.

  She let the scream come loose, bellowing like a banshee set free to find its prey.

  Chapter Three

  Michael’s eyes lowered in a deliberate blink. “Must you do that?”

  “I’ve passed out and this is all a dream. That’s it. I’m dreaming.” She told herself.

  Michael tilted his head to the side, his thickly lashed eyes narrowing. “Do you always talk to yourself, female?”

  “I… I… Oh, my God.”

  “Hmm… God? Not likely.” He strode toward her with purpose. She tried to move, forgetting she was held fast by the vines now wrapped around her legs and arms. When she looked up, Michael had raised his sword. She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block a deathblow by hiding behind her eyelids, but it seemed Michael only meant to cut the vines that bound her. His hand snaked out and yanked her from the chair. She went flying, slamming into his chest. He may no longer be stone, but the hard planes of his body were just as unforgiving as slamming into a slab of granite. Her breath left her in a whoosh. She gasped to draw in air again or pass out.

  “Are you all right?” His blue-eyed gaze landed on her.

  She couldn’t speak and nodded as her legs went limp.

  “There’s no time for swooning. He gripped her upper arms tight, causing her to yelp. “We have to move. Now.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but dragged her behind him.

  “Go? Go where?” she finally found her voice. “I have to go back to the hotel.” It sounded lame, but to go with a walking and breathing statue challenged her sanity. As if talking to the statue didn’t already confirm her hold on reality had slipped.

  “You must follow me,” he demanded, leaving no room for debate, but she didn’t let that put her back.

  “I don’t think so.” She yanked her hand free, the jolt making her camera swing back and hit her chest. “Ouch.” She stared at the camera then lifted it and snapped a picture of the statue that had come to life. Now she had proof. Man, this would be great for the story—that is if she got out of here to write it.

  “What was that?” the angel demanded, clearly not happy with her. “You’ve blinded me, Female.”

  She quickly slipped the safety link off her wrist and stuffed the camera in her jacket pocket. “Nothing you should be concerned with…and you’re not blind.”

  “Says you. I am seeing spots.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They’ll go away in a moment. While I have your attention, I’ll let you know I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re on your own, bud. I didn’t sign up for this.”

  His wings snapped against his body in irritation. “Sign up?” his voice was sharp. It looked like he recovered from his temporary blindness, too, his gaze locked onto her, pinning her down as if she were a bug trying to fly away and he had the power to forbid it.

  “Yeah, this whole I am cursed scenario.” She waved her hand in an elaborate display. “I’ll just mosey on out of here.” She pointed toward the gate and took comfort that she could see it in the distance. Her gaze shifted to Michael again and she stared at his wings. For a second, she wondered if he could really fly?

  Michael huffed with annoyance. “If I have been awakened, so has he.” His deep melodious voice drew her attention to his lips.

  Nice full lips that would know how to kiss a girl. She shook her head at the thought. She should be thinking of running, not of kissing. He’s a statue for God’s sake. Her gaze did another sweep of the formidable long-limbed man. He may have been a statue, but he most definitely was not one now. His gleaming mane of seven different shades of gold framed a face of masculine beauty, his broad chest tapered nicely down to a tight waist and slim hips. Hmm, yes, a hard body that beckoned with sexual promises. Startled at where her thoughts had gone, she cleared her throat and forced her attention to stay level with his eyes. “He, as in Samael, has awakened?” Of course he meant his nemesis. It would only make sense if the legend was real the other being involved would show up to play, too. Dream, a vivid delusion or whatever this was, she was soooo out of here. She didn’t wait for him to answer her. She whirled around and bolted for the gate.

  The flap of wings whooshed overhead and she ducked as the shadow cloaked her. Believing he meant to tackle her, she covered her head, but instead, the archangel landed in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest. The expression of annoyance he wore marred his otherwise perfect features.

  Guess that answered her question about flying.

  She tried to move around him, but he mimicked her steps to block her.

  “You know of Samael?” he asked. “How?”

  “This is one crazy dream. Yes, I know about you, Samael, Mary, and the curse my ancestor casted.”

  He lost his stance of annoyance and replaced it with surprise. “You are of Sophie’s blood?”

  “Yeah, so you see I know the whole story. You stay and fight and I’ll be on my way.” She tried to go around him and again he blocked her escape.

  “You believe you dream, but still you want to run away.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Why take a chance. Now, move aside.”

  “You will not make it to the gate.”

  “You want to bet? Let me pass and watch how fast I hightail it out of here.”

  His gaze swept over her as if sizing her up. He must have read the determination in her features, for he made the gesture of stepping aside with a wave of his hand. She breezed by him only to be halted by his words.

  “Even if you make it to the gate, he will be waiting there for you.”

  She should just keep on going, but the reporter in her couldn’t let it go. Clarity had to know what he meant by that statement. She turned to look at him. “Why would he care about me?”

  “He will sense who you are, as I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re a descendent of the witch. I wondered how I had awakened before the sun completely set. Your magic is strong.”

  “I didn’t awaken you. And for your information, I’m not a witch.”

  He tilted his head, studying her. “You have the look of her. Those eyes. You have Sophie’s light eyes and a way of looking at me with displeasure. It is clear you have her blood. You are a witch whether you have harnessed your power or not. If you want to survive this night, you must come with me.”

  “Haven’t you been listening? I don’t want any part of this.”

  “You have no choice now. The events have been put into motion. Even if you manage to make it to the gate, you will not be able to leave. Samael will not allow it.”

  She half chuckled, more out of nerves than thinking the situation humorous. “How is he going to stop me? Do you think he will try to kill me?”

  “I believe you already know the answer. Your nervous stance speaks louder than words.”

  A chill ran down her spine and her eyes flickered warily. With the wild imagination, she possessed, she conjured up all types of scenarios in her head of what Samael would have planned for her.

  A movement caught her attention and her gaze shifted to Michael’s feet where fog floated and swirled over the ground. It was like she entered a black and white horror flick and she was the star. Eerie music was the only thing missing. Desperation to reach the gate and what she believed was safety gave her strength. “I’m out of here.” She t
ook off at a sprint and didn’t turn around to see if Michael pursued her.

  Leave before the fog rolls in, Mr. Donner’s words echoed like a taunt. She thought the statement odd, but now seeing the low clouds swirling at her feet like a live entity, she realized too late the old man’s words were meant as a warning. A warning she hadn’t heeded.

  She didn’t slow down and hoped to God she didn’t trip over a headstone on her way. She almost reached the gate, but the fog whirled up in front of her like a gray wall, causing her to slide to a halt. Then the cloud of gray molded and took shape, revealing the man concealed within its depths. He stood there tall and strong with the chiseled looks of a god.

  “Hello, lovely lass.” His voice was smooth, but with a slight vibrating purr. He was the perfection of beauty and didn’t appear threatening in the least and yet, her skin crawled as if evil whispered over her skin.

  “Samael, I presume.” She made the conclusion since she had already met Michael. Who else could this be?

  He bowed with a flourish. He wore dark robes, which made his shoulder-length hair appear almost white. “You presume correctly.” He closed his eyes and inhaled, as if trying to take in all the scents around him, filling him until he seemed satisfied. His eyes popped open and his cold stare latched onto her, greediness illuminating in the depths of his eyes. “You’re part of her—the witch.” The last word was drawn out, the tone insulting. He took a step toward her, or rather, he floated toward her. With the fog lingering around them, she couldn’t see his feet, but his movements were smooth as if his body hovered over the ground.

  She glanced beyond him, where the gate stood like a beacon of hope. She had to reach it, but to do so she had to run past Samael. The look of determination lighting his eyes told her she couldn’t reason with him as easily as she reasoned with Michael to let her go.

  She backed away and tripped over a low headstone. He was upon her in a flash, his cold hands on her. She rolled away, scrambling to get away.

  “You cannot run, witch.”

  She really didn’t like how they all assumed she was a witch. Samael grabbed at her again and she thought he had her, but his hand slid through her as his corporeal being lost substance.

  So, Samael couldn’t hold his form. Good to know.

  She ran for the gate with Samael cursing her escape. She would have made it to safety, but Hester Higgins stood on the other side. Her hands on the iron bars, she shut the gate and slipped a lock into the latch.

  “What are you doing?” Her panic was obvious in the way her voice rose. Got to keep it together, Shaw. Think this through. Don’t make rash decisions.

  “You have to stay,” Hester told her as she clicked the padlock shut and slipped the key into her sweater pocket.

  “No.” Clarity ran to the gate, her hands gripping the iron bars. So much for playing it cool. “Let me out.”

  Samael’s low chuckle had her whirling around. She pressed her body against the iron bars. Samael was in a solid state again, obviously recovering from his fade-to-nothing-episode.

  “Hester, you did well,” Samael praised her.

  Clarity’s brows furrowed. She chanced a look at the receptionist from the hotel, making sure to keep Samael in her line of vision, also. “Why would you help him?”

  Her shoulders slumped, her worn face flushed pink, and her eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “I had to.” Hester’s gaze shifted to Samael’s with unease. “Do you remember the names I gave you earlier? One of the names on the list is my niece’s. She hung around with a rowdy crowd, but she was a good kid. The kids dared her to sit on the devil’s chair. She’s never spoken again since her night here. Samael promised to release his hold on her if I helped him.” Hester looked at her now, her gaze pleading for Clarity to understand, as if she expected her to forgive her.

  “And so I shall help your niece,” Samael promised her with a solemn nod of his head.

  Clarity knew she was in deep trouble, but then her eyes caught sight of Mr. Donner walking toward them. “Mr. Donner.” She waved to him. “Hester won’t let me out of here. She has the key. You have to help me.”

  Mr. Donner’s features clouded with regret. “I warned you to leave before the fog rolled in.” Yes, he had. She glanced at the whirling mist circled around her ankles. “I tried.” Her fingers curled around the bars. She cringed when Samael spoke again.

  “Mr. Donner is of Michael’s blood, but alas he did not survive his visit here and he couldn’t save Michael.”

  She looked at Samael, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean he didn’t survive?”

  Samael waved his hand toward the ground where he stood. The mist parted for him and he pointed to a mound in the shape of a body. It couldn’t be what she thought.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head in denial. “Mr. Donner?” She turned to look at him, hoping he would tell her what she wanted to hear. That he was alive and this was some kind of sick joke.

  Samael’s low chuckle forced her to see the truth, but Hester’s words confirmed it.

  “He was nosing around where he shouldn’t,” Hester bit out, her eyes narrowing. “But it seems Mr. Donner helped us out by convincing you to join us. After we spoke and you went upstairs, it dawned on me who you looked like. There’s a portrait of a young Sophie Peabody hanging in the historical museum in town. You look a lot like the witch, minus the earring in the eyebrow of course.”

  She only half listened to Hester’s long drawn out deductions. She couldn’t get past the idea that Mr. Donner was dead. He didn’t look like a ghost or, at least, what she thought a ghost would look like. He looked as solid as she was, but then Michael and Samael should be dead, but they were haunting the graveyard, looking very much alive, too.

  “Where is Michael?” Mr. Donner directed the question to Clarity. “I would have thought he’d keep you by his side.”

  “Oh, yes, where is my good friend?” Samael chuckled. “This won’t be a real party until he arrives.”

  She didn’t bother to reveal she’d told Michael to take a hike. Well, not in those exact words, but close enough. “Why do you need me? I don’t have anything to do with all this.”

  “Oh, but you do. You’re the sacrifice.” Samael didn’t even bother to sugarcoat his intended evil act. “I’ve been waiting for a descendent of the witch. Every fool who sat in my chair fell short, but not you. I felt the energy humming through your veins. With your blood, I’ll finally be released from this hell.”

  Mr. Donner drew closer to the gate, his eyes focused on Samael. “You forget Samael that Michael can use her blood, too.”

  “Hold on one moment,” Clarity spoke up. “Blood? My blood? I don’t think so.” She bolted, using the fog for cover. She might not be able to use the entrance gate, but there had to be another way out of here.

  Chapter Four

  Michael took the path away from the front gate, intending to wait for Samael at the old caretaker’s house. They would fight. The curse forbade them to do otherwise, and the fight would be to the death. Only they were dead, were they not? Frozen in time and let loose only on Halloween night to repeat their fight. They couldn’t leave the grounds. He had walked the boundaries, looking for a loophole, but there were none. He had paid for Mary’s death over and over again, but still it would not bring her back. He may not have given the deathblow, but his selfish actions brought her in harm’s path. He deserved the hell he was forced to live.

  Mary loved him, of this he was certain, but she also cared for Samael and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He should have stepped aside. He knew Mary would never consent to marriage, not as long as Samael had feelings for her, but he’d been selfish. He wanted her. He flaunted his visits in Samael’s face, hoping the man would lose his temper and Mary would see his true nature. With his actions, he had been no better than Samael. “You should have cast us both aside, dear Mary. We were not worthy of your love.”

  The unearthly mist swirled around his feet
, cloaking the ground. Samael had surely risen. He shouldn’t have let the stubborn woman who awakened him go, but she didn’t want his help and he could do nothing for her if she didn’t ask him to intervene. “Stubborn as Mary had ever been and just as beautiful.” Her light eyes framed with dark thick lashes were a lovely contrast to her hair, the color of a moonless night. He halted his steps in surprise as his body stirred in a most human way, a very male way. He rubbed his face and inhaled deeply, hoping to clear his thoughts and focus.

  Samael would go after her once he knew she was of the witch’s bloodline, he would use his power to keep her and force her to free him. Michael cursed under his breath, his hand going for his sword at the mere thought of Samael putting his hands on the woman.

  Disconcerted over the profoundly human responses he was exhibiting, he frowned as curiosity did a dangerous dance inside his head. Had the woman caused this change in him, this awareness? Lust. Jealousy. He did not know this woman. Hell, he didn’t even know her name, and yet he felt a pull toward her, this need to see to her safety at all cost.

  Realization hit him. This is why she was so important. “She is our salvation. Only one of Sophie’s blood can break the spell.” He looked toward where the gate to the cemetery should be. It was now covered in a whirl of gray mist and he could not make out the woman’s progress. Had she made it to safety after all or had Samael stopped her?

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Michael whirled around, his sword poised for use. He lowered the weapon when he realized it was Mr. Donner. The old man had visited the grounds and spoken to him when he stood frozen and unable to communicate. Mr. Donner claimed to be a blood relative to him, blood of his brother’s daughter. He tilted his head to the side, peering at the old man with surprise. Something had changed. His aura shimmered like a soft light. “You are a spirit now.” It wasn’t really a question, but Mr. Donner answered him anyway.