Ispend the next few days in the room Corson took me to, lying in bed, thinking. Wondering if the Beauregards are worried. Maybe they think my past caught up to me. And in a way, it did, but it’s not the recent past—instead, it’s some kind of bloodline history.
Is this why my family has people claiming to be talking with demons? Was it not a mass delusion, but actually the truth? Though they certainly never told me we’re related. Just the thought makes me sick. Demons were always portrayed as vile, disgusting creatures, without scruples or morals.
The first day, Corson comes to tell me that food is being served in the communal dining area. The second day, he brings it to me. When it goes untouched, he sends in Daniel—the fallen angel with the gentle voice.
If someone asked me what an angel looks like, I would probably describe Daniel. He’s fit, but lean, blonde, blue-eyed. He looks good, kind. A tiny part of me—a part that isn’t numb with shock—is curious why he’s here in Purgatory. I can’t imagine he did something evil. Maybe he fell in love?
“I’ve been told you haven’t eaten since you got here,” he says, sitting on the chair by my bed. The room I’m in is pretty bare, but it has the necessities—and the chair he’s sitting on doesn’t look comfortable.
“No,” I answer simply, not bothering to sit up. I do let my head loll in his direction, though. Guess finding out you are part demon doesn’t strip you of all manners. “Do I even still need to eat?”
Daniel doesn’t seem bothered by my snarky question. He just keeps smiling that serene little smile.
“You’re still mortal, Simone. Still require food, water.” He nods in the direction of the bathroom. “To relieve yourself.”
“Just how long have you been planning this?” I ask, exasperated. “Obviously long enough to build us all rooms.”
“It has been a while,” Daniel concedes. “Though Abaddon has stood here for millennia.”
“So, what’s the plan? You throw us at your problems?” I drawl, tapping my fingers over my empty stomach, which chooses that moment to growl.
“What is yours?” he counters, nodding at me. “To starve yourself to death?”
I purse my lips. “It might be a better way to die.”
Daniel leans back, making the chair creak. “I have a suggestion,” he begins. “What if, instead of dying, you learn to fight and take charge of your destiny?”
I snort. That’s hilarious. “Take charge of my destiny while being your prisoner?”
“What if you didn’t have to be? What if you chose to stay, to protect the ones you love?”
Sighing, I roll, turning my back on him. “There is no one to protect.”
Daniel is quiet for a moment. “Not even Henry?”
This time I do sit up. “Don’t mention him,” I seethe, pointing a finger at his perfect angelic face. “You took meaway from him.”
Daniel raises a blonde eyebrow. “So you were going to return to France?”
“H-how,” I stammer, my hands clenching into fists. “How do you know about that?”
“We have been observing you for a long time, Simone,” he says simply.
“Why me?” I ask, despair leaking into my voice. “I’m nothing, I’m nobody.”
“You’re a survivor,” he replies, his voice low and earnest.
The word choice gives me pause. Hadn’t I been lamenting that I’m not a survivor? Now this powerful being calls me one, and it does something to repair a wound that’s been aching for years.
I sigh, deflating again. “If you know so much about me, then you also know that I’m a failure.”
Daniel shakes his head. “You’re not a failure, Simone. You just haven’t discovered your true purpose. Until now.” His gaze is steady, bracing me like a physical thing. “It’s time to achieve the potential that was always inside you.”
“I see why they sent you,” I murmur. “You’re the devil’s advocate.”
Daniel smiles, and the act makes him even more beautiful. “Far from it. But stay here long enough, and you might meet him.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “The devil or his advocate.”
