Page 71 of Infernium

According to the book, 777 wasn’t necessarily something positive. It served as a warning of change and, once seen or experienced, meant no return to the before.

No undoing what was already set in motion.

Which could’ve meant a myriad of things, but seeing as the worst of my worries happened to be changing into a soul-collecting demon soon, it seemed pretty obvious what the heavens were trying to tell me.

I was Hell-bound, no matter what.

Flipping the pages, I searched for the next concerning number–the one I’d been seeing a few times. 137. The time on the clock when I’d wake from nightmares, and every time I suffered a strange hallucination in the middle of the day.

Again, from my own repertoire on religious numerology, I recognized it as either a sign of the angels, or some biblical reference. All I’d found in the Bible was an excerpt reassuring me that God was with me.

Pretty sure that ship had sailed when I’d had sex with a half demon.

And again, in spite of humans turning every combination into a lottery pick, I knew there was more to it.

Unfortunately, the book confirmed my suspicions.

Frowning, I lowered the book and stared down at the words I’d just read.

From death brings life.

It wasn’t a single number, but two separate meanings combined. A duality. Thirteen represented death and seven was creation. Perfection.

A new beginning.

Perhaps it meant my soul was damned upon the birth of the baby. I accepted that, even if the thought scared the shit out of me. But what if it meant something else?

Something darker? More obscure.

In that case, what would have to die to bring forth life?

The plan to venture into town and speak with Catriona had been cut short by storms that were expected to pass through soon. Anya had thought it best to wait it out and consider going the following day. With all the questions swirling in my head–more so than before–I’d need some kind of distraction between now and then, or I’d end up going nuts having to wait.

A smudge of black slipped past my periphery, and I looked out the window to see the flick of a long and skinny black tail. Confused, I leaned into the pane, peering out along the wall of the cathedral, where a black cat pranced along the narrow ledge.

Not just any cat. A Sphynx with a very sassy saunter.

“Camael?”

With the number of times I’d hallucinated something, I didn’t entirely trust my eyes, though.

Barking snapped my attention to the dogs in the yard below. Anya and the maid had left, and all three of the animals jumped and snarled, their attention on my window.

Holy shit.

Tossing the book aside, I unhooked the window latch and pushed up the heavy frame, my arms trembling with the effort. The barking sharpened, louder than before. Once cracked enough, I stuck my head through the opening. “Camael? Here, kitty-kitty!” At the kissing noise I made, she twisted toward me, bringing into sight familiar multicolored eyes–one deep brown and one blue–which was unusual for her breed.

Confirming that it was, in fact, Camael.

On the ledge of the cathedral.

In a completely different realm.

I’d ponder thehowof it all later, but right then, I needed to get her off that ledge.

The dogs barking grew frantic below, all of them sounding like they’d rip her to shreds if she happened to fall. Reaching a hand through the window, I tapped the concrete, urging her to come to me. “Come on, kitty. Come here.”

Instead of doing what she was told, the ridiculous cat sat back and lifted her paws, which she proceeded to lick in my face. Camael’s way of telling me to fuck off.

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