Chapter 4
Her whole body trembling, Phoebe stared, incredulous, at the sculpture’s handsome, merciless face. She gripped Rachael. “I’m seeing things. The statue…it’s alive. Tell me this isn’t happening.”
Rachael grabbed her too, her hold so tight her knuckles were white. “It’s happening,” she said, her voice so quiet, so fearful, it was almost a whisper.
“What’s going on, Rach? You’re the psychic.”
“I’ve never seen this before. That old bust you bought. It contained something evil. You’ve brought it back from the dead.”
A sickening sensation of dread made the tiny hairs on her arms and legs stand on end and yet, mixed with disbelief came recognition. He was just as she’d seen him in her dreams: his black hair gleamed, his skin was olive and his lips, full and sensuous. Even in this maze of surreal danger she could sense the sexual pull of his gaze as the statue became a full-blooded man; a man who stood tall and commanding with shoulders as big as a doorway and muscles that rippled. His breastplate was decorated with lapis lazuli and the robe over his shoulders flowed red. He was a great hulking warrior fresh from the pages of an ancient text.
He looked down at the burning ring of protection and back at her, his face imploring. “Hurry, Princess, release me or die.”
“Die? Who will die?” Phoebe asked, unable to take in what he was saying. Still holding on to Rachael, she stepped back until her body was pressed against the studio wall.
“You,” said the man who called himself Agrat.
“Why? Why will I die?” Every bit of saliva dried in her mouth so that her throat became thick.
“Because of the curse. Hurry, Princess. Release me,” he urged. He frowned and his eyes began to glow with red unearthly power.
“Your eyes. What are you?” Phoebe’s voice trembled.
“Phoebe,” Rachael cried, clutching her so hard her fingernails dug into her arms. “He’s a demon.”
The demon's gaze focused on Rachael. "Healer, you know it is not so. You are the one who told me so."
"What's he talking about, Rach?" Phoebe asked.
"I don't know," Rachael said.
One of the ten rocks spluttered out, quickly followed by another.
Phoebe froze, bewildered by the instinct that there was something more to him than the dangerous reality of what stood before her. Disbelief still punctuated her mind. Although he looked like a man, the flesh and blood being that stood in front of her could not possibly be human. He must be a demon. With her heart pulsing in her throat, she untangled herself from Rachael and took one step forward. “And why are you calling me, ‘princess’?”
Another rock died out.
“You were my princess in the last life you lived, before my brother, this traitor, the son of a fallen angel, Galaden, betrayed me.” The demon turned and his furious gaze fell on the carved angel statue standing next to him. He slammed the invisible barrier but failed to penetrate it before turning back to her, his eyes no longer glowing, his look beseeching. “Do it now! Remove the rocks. There’s no time.”
“Don’t do it, Phoebe. Get out of here. The rocks are made from shale. They only burn for minutes. There aren’t many left,” Rachael cried.
Fear, as sharp as a blade, stabbed Phoebe. She recognized the snapshot of her dream coming to light before her eyes. The demon and the angel were mortal enemies. She remembered the angel’s wing covering her and yet...trying to remember more was like catching clouds.
