Entice: An Ignite Novella Read Online Free Page A

disrepair. The sheets on the bed are twisted and spill onto the ground like a fabric waterfall that usually trips me as I pace the perimeter of the room. Dozens of journals and old history books are splayed around the floor, stashed under the mattress, and stacked haphazardly on the nightstand like some crooked tower. There’s a fat well of ink that I keep next to my bed in case I have the sudden urge to write something down in the middle of the night.
    The disorganization drives Azael mad. I think that’s one of the reasons I love it so much. The untidiness is warm to me, whereas the harsh order he prefers looks detached and unfeeling. It’s all severe edges and crisp lines with him; I prefer the blur of shambles.
    There’s nothing in this room that is Azael, nothing from our life before. He has become a true soldier and burned away his past to make room for his future and the cause he now serves.
    I’ve become intimately familiar with every inch of this room. Since we’ve returned to Hell, Azael has spent nearly all of his time in the company of Lucifer, conferring with him about how best to keep Michael’s soul caged.
    There was a story Azael had heard about when we were still in Heaven, a whisper about a box the guardians had constructed that would protect important or injured souls from any outside danger. Protection, however, is handed down with good intentions; imprisonment like this was meant to be malevolent. With Lucifer, he helped redesign the box, twisting it into something darker—a permanent, impenetrable trap.
    The box, he claimed, wasn’t enough to hold Michael. So they created a special room, enchanted with curses, to further secure his soul. He called me to help but only let me stay long enough to carve the strongest curses I knew; he handled the rest. The room is to be guarded at all times, by both Greater Demons and hellhounds, and in a concentric circle spiraling out from the prison are traps and binding spells. No expense was spared when ensuring the cell they’d created for Michael would be impervious to attack, no measure deemed too extreme.
    I had no further part in the process than the few curses I carved. Seven in total, burned black in the ice. Azael wouldn’t allow me to assist more, telling me to stay away from Lucifer. I was only too eager to listen. I think he’s hoping that if I keep my head down long enough, Lucifer will forget the way I spoke to him on the mountain after the final battle. My mouth can’t get us into more trouble if I keep it shut.
    According to Azael, I’m too emotionally unstable to be trusted. He’s worried that my moods swing too quickly from one end of the spectrum to the other. One minute I am fine and quiet, the next I am ready to rip apart everything I own, especially at the mention of Lucifer.
    There are times Azael takes my anger as commitment to our new cause; he encourages me to let my rage flame up and consume me entirely. He thinks it will build character and serve as practice for the devastation he’s sure we’ll unleash on Earth. But until I can learn to compose myself and hide my temper under the terrifying mask of calm Lucifer has mastered, it’s best I stay out of sight, tucked away in our small corner of Hell.
    He hasn’t yet forbade me from leaving the room—not that I would listen to him if he did—but I don’t find anything of interest down here. The halls and each great room look the same. Icy. Cold. Blue with veins of what looks like blood pulsing through the floor. I’d rather stay here, in my room with my books and words, than be forced to try to make light conversation with the demons and fallen angels that are already so committed to Hell’s mission.
    I don’t have the energy to fake the enthusiasm necessary to pass as a compatriot, so I practice my convincing smiles and sardonic commentary in solitude.

Chapter 5
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    I N THE MIDDLE OF THE night—or maybe it’s early in the afternoon; I can’t tell