“There's a bottomless pit of monsters in the Earth,” I whispered. “That's so messed up.”
“But it's sealed, and as Sam said, Abaddon is a recluse,” Ira pointed out. “I can't imagine him ever leaving his home, much less leaving it to plot against another angel.”
“We shouldn't rule him out,” Ted said. “At this point, it could be any archangel of death.”
“Vhere is pit?” Kirill asked.
The angels looked at each other and grimaced.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The entrance to the Abyss, and the location of Abaddon's home, were in Geneva, Ohio; a town on the shores of Lake Erie. It was February—the tail end of Winter—and that meant snow. Lots of it. The weather didn't surprise me; not because it was Winter in Ohio, but because in my experience, Hell was usually cold. I know; technically, it wasn't Hell. Ohio just happened to have a pit of demon locusts in it.
Thankfully, we didn't go to the pit. Instead, we went to Abaddon's home. And by “we” I meant all of us except for Azrael. He was staying home with Lesya so that we didn't draw any undue angelic attention. The last thing we needed was a repeat of the mountaintop scene on the rim of an abyss.
Abaddon lived on the outskirts of town; on twenty acres of land currently covered in slushy snow. The pit was out in his fields somewhere; hidden under all that white. I could feel its presence like a buzzing across my skin. It felt sentient; like the Abyss knew we were there. Or perhaps it was the locusts that I was feeling; a focused impetus to be released.
“Son of a biscuit,” I cursed under my breath. “Does anyone else feel that?”
“It's waiting,” Ted whispered as he peered around the bleak landscape.
Skeletal trees clawed at the pale sky with blackened branches, and a whistling wind scraped at our cheeks. Tinge it all red and add some mountains, and it would resemble Luke's Hell. I was certain that, if nothing else, the Devil would declare the ambiance a match.
“Well, I'm not waiting,” Sam huffed and headed for the front door of a quaint farmhouse.
The building was freshly painted; white with blue trim. The porch we strode across was in good repair, and the doorbell chimed merrily when Sam pushed the button. The farmhouse seemed to be maintained with pride and had a very welcoming air for a building that had been built beside a swarm of imprisoned, monster locusts.
After a few minutes, we heard footsteps on a hardwood floor, and a blond man opened the door. He was dressed in simple clothing—a T-shirt and jeans—but his heritage was clear in every beautiful line of his face and curving muscle of his body. This wasn't just an angel; he was an angelic warrior. He reminded me instantly of Michael; with his fair looks and sternly stunning face. But there was a darkness in his eyes that was more like Azrael; something a little sad and lonely. He looked hopeful to find people on his doorstep, but then he recognized the Horsemen.
“What are three of the Riders doing at my door?” He asked in a deep, suspicious voice. “And you've brought other gods with you.”
“Abaddon.” Thaddeus nodded respectfully. He started to say more, but I interrupted him.
The look in Abaddon's eyes had resounded within me, and my love magic was rising in response to it. I knew immediately that this man was worthy of Love; and my magic didn't choose men indiscriminately. I trusted it implicitly; Love have never steered me wrong. And I was going to let it guide me again.
“I'm Vervain.” I held out my hand to Abaddon. “If you could spare some time; we'd like to ask you a few questions. That's all, Nothing horrible; I promise.”
Abaddon shook my hand, and his eyes widened as my magic brushed against him in question. He let the love energy in—his lips parting on a sigh—and it shot straight into his lonely heart. I closed my eyes as Love filled Abaddon and cleared away the hopelessness that had been weighing him down. Living so closely to the Abyss had taken its toll on the angel, and he had lost himself waiting—as the locusts were—for the Apocalypse.
“That's not a way to live,” I whispered as I opened my eyes. “It's a slow death.”
“And that is what I am,” he said without resentment. “Frozen Death; waiting for the thaw.”
“It's time to let that go,” I said. “Just because humans believe that all you are is destruction, it doesn't mean that you must believe it.”
“She's right, Abaddon,” Ted jumped in. “Remember why we became gods in the first place; to live forever, not to be enslaved by myth.”
Love returned to me, and Abaddon slowly released my hand.
“Thank you, Vervain,” he murmured. “That's a gift I will treasure.”
“You have a good heart,” I noted. “Love wouldn't have chosen you if you didn't. And good hearts are hard to come by; they should be shared, not hidden.”
“Perhaps.” He gave me a soft smile. “But I don't think you came here to give me love advice.”
“No,” I agreed. “You know the Horsemen, but these are my husbands; Trevor, Kirill, and Odin, and my boyfriend, Toby. May we come in? It's cold as Hell out here.”
“Please.” Abaddon waved us into his home and then shut the door on the cold air. “Let's sit in the living room. Would anyone like some coffee?”
A chorus of “Hell yes” was the response. Abaddon chuckled and went to fetch the coffee. While he was gone, we looked around the room. It was sparsely furnished but every piece was hand-crafted and well-made. The décor was eclectic; not at all what I had expected after seeing the outside of the farmhouse. There were items from all around the
