Cipher (Demonica Underworld #8) - Larissa Ione Page 0,45
she had that was worth anything down here. “He was using his laptop to work on the viruses you requested, and the next thing I knew, your goons were storming into the room.”
“You weren’t watching him?”
“Of course I was watching him,” she snapped. “But I don’t know how all that tech stuff works.”
Her answer seemed to mollify him, maybe because it was true. She could operate email and search engines, but everything else was as much of a mystery to her as Stonehenge’s purpose was to humans.
Bael sat back in the chair, his narrowed gaze locked on her like a weapon. “Did he create any viruses?”
She shook her head. “He says they’re complicated and that it’ll take time.”
“Time?” He made a sound of derision. “With his computer skills and the plague talent that came with his wings, he should be able to snap his fingers and come up with what I want. He’s stalling. He’s stalling and I’ll kill him! I’ll slice him and skin him and...”
He went off on an insane, chaotic tangent, and she knew him well enough to stay silent while he let off some crazy steam.
When he was finally done, having promised to maim and/or kill Cipher in a few dozen ways, she asked tentatively, “How do you know what talents came with his wings? Cipher isn’t even aware of all of his abilities yet.”
Bael reached into a bowl sitting on the arm of his throne and plucked out something oblong and dripping with clotted blood. Repulsed, she swallowed sickly and hoped to hell that when evil began to flourish inside her she wouldn’t develop a taste for disgusting things.
“I know what those wings can do because they aren’t Cipher’s.” He spoke calmly, as if he hadn’t just screamed about boiling Cipher until his eyeballs burst. “They belonged to Asher.”
“Asher? He was killed last year—” She sucked in a shocked breath, remembering the scars at the base of Cipher’s wings. “You cut off his wings, didn’t you? You cut them off and transplanted them onto Cipher.” So bizarre. “But why?”
Bael popped the bloody bit into his mouth and chewed. “We needed Asher’s specific skill set, and Cipher was the perfect recipient.”
She shouldn’t be surprised, but damn, this was some devious shit. She’d never heard of a wing transplant before. But it explained why Cipher’s powers and flying ability were so out of control.
“So how, exactly, will you be using your computer virus?”
Bael crunched on something and swallowed. “Depends on what his viruses do.”
“Well, maybe you could write up a wish list,” she said sarcastically.
“That’s a good idea, my love!” He leaped to his feet, startling her into taking a step back. “Imagine if he could make a virus that would be executable in Heaven.” He threw his arms above his head in a show of maniacal exuberance. “Wonderful!” He grinned at her. “That’s how you could get your revenge.”
Yikes. That would be one hell of a revenge. She wanted her sister and the bastards who condemned her to pay, but setting loose a plague in Heaven could invite destruction on a...well, a biblical scale. For the first time, she wished Moloc was here to temper his brother’s insanity.
“Yes,” he purred as he took his seat again. “Tell Cipher I want a virus that will affect angels. And another that will affect millions of humans. And yet another that can be sent to individual demons and fallen angels.” He closed his eyes as if picturing the mass destruction he was talking about. “I will be the most powerful fallen angel in history.”
Aside from Satan, of course. And actually, if Cipher could do all of that, he would be the most powerful fallen angel—second to Satan—in history. He could rule the world with that kind of power.
“My lord...if I may.” She cleared her throat. “Where is Cipher?”
He blinked as if he’d forgotten the lynchpin in his plan for universal domination. “Ah. Cipher. The Isle of Torture, maybe?” He used one long fingernail to stir the contents of the bowl. “Flail wanted to play with him. If you hurry, you can catch her.”
Shit!
She started toward the door, but he called her back.
“Cipher can have access to the demonweb, but only on my network,” he said. “My people will watch every move.”
“Of course.” She turned to leave again.
“And Lyre?”
Her insides turned to jelly at his tone. It was his sadistic one. The one that sounded like a dull knife scraping bone. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered.
“You know you belong to