My Beautiful One

40. Falling in fire

Dante wrote that the hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who in great moral crises maintain their neutrality, and so far it looked as if a searing-hot spot in hell was going to be reserved just for me. But it wouldn't be so bad, because from what I'd seen in the past four days I'd been with Sebastian, he would be going to Hell as well.

I knew, every time Sebastian and I left the apartment, that what we would spend the day doing would be absolutely, fundamentally wrong, but I found it hard to be upset in any way because I honestly didn't understand it.

Is what's going on evil? I thought to myself. Almost definitely yes. In what way is it evil? I have no idea. Is the fact that Sebastian is so happy all the time a reason why it's hard to see it in a bad light? Definitely yes.

But then again, I could be heading for purgatory, because I had been -every night, after a day of doing the Angel knows what- trying to convince Sebastian to drop his plans, which was a good thing.

"So where are we going today?" I asked him, putting my fork down and looking at him expectantly. We were eating breakfast, or rather, I was eating and Sebastian was sipping from a glass of red wine and watching with curiosity.

"Ireland." He replied. "We're meeting a... shall we say, colleague of mine."

"To do what?"

Sebastian shook his head mutely and stared into the glass, his long, elegant fingers playing with the stem and swirling the wine around. He never liked to answer questions about the intricacies of his plans, which was odd considering he took me with him all around the world to accomplish them. So far we'd been to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil and Antananarivo in Madagascar, as well as around the USA to meet with various traitors of the Shadow World. I liked to think that Sebastian's reluctance to address the subject meant that he was feeling guilty about it, but from the way he seemed to light up when he was working, I knew it was just a fantasy.

"Fine then." I sighed, hopping off the bar stool I was sitting on and putting my plate and cutlery in the sink. "I'll change, then we'll go."

My dropping of the subject perked Sebastian up again, and he smiled and pecked me on the cheek before wandering over to the east wall and scribbling on it with a stele. When I reached my room -which I'd found out was the master bedroom- a glance out of the window told me that Sebastian's scribbling had changed the apartments location from New York to Ireland. The sky outside was grey, the edges of the clouds a smudged, inky black that told me rain was coming. I dressed accordingly, putting on gear but trading the tough leather jacket for a beige trench coat, and met Sebastian at the east wall a few minutes later. We stepped through together, and as our feet touched down on soft, damp grass, another smile lit up his features.

The same could not be said for my expression, as rain had somehow already managed to find its way into my socks, and my companion's smile seemed to be the only bright thing in all of the landscape that could be seen. We were on a cliff, not quite the edge, but close enough to see the curve of the beach where the grey, roiling sea crashed up against the rocks. Gulls screeched as they flew above the waves, and the wind whistled around us, biting at my cheeks and making me draw the collar of my coat up to my chin.

Sebastian, noticing my discomfort, put his arm around me and hugged me to his side as we began walking. He didn't seem to mind the cold, and his smile only dropped when, after a short walk, he knocked on the wooden door of a stone building that seemed to be the only civilisation for miles. The grimy windows wouldn't allow me to see what was inside, but there was a rain-battered sign with fading paintwork that had 'The Hobgoblin' in slanting red script, and below it smaller but somehow bolder-looking writing saying 'No Nephilim' on it.