Soul Betrayer (Ubiquity, #2)

by Lindt, Allyson

  Desire spilled from her in waves, spiking and encasing him. He swallowed her cries when she came, and didn’t let up until she shuddered away from his touch.

  “So,” Irdu said breathlessly against her lips. Why did she have to have a meeting now? “You get him to grovel for forgiveness, and we can make the fantasy real.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Just like that?”

  “Absolutely.” He kissed her more lightly this time, then pulled her close. He held her, listening to her breathing return to normal.

  Someone knocked. He didn’t think anyone in this place did that anymore. “I think your eleven o’clock is here,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  He was reluctant to let go of her, but he forced himself to step back. He waited until she had her clothes straightened. It was tempting to help, but he’d probably take them off rather than put them back on.

  She gave him one last playful look, then opened the door.

  “Is now a bad time?” Samael asked, looking Irdu over as he stepped in the room.

  “Now’s fine. You’re on my calendar.” Ronnie’s tone was professional, but she didn’t try to hide the pink dotting her cheeks.

  Irdu didn’t like the needles that crawled over his skin when he brushed Samael’s shoulder. He didn’t care that Ronnie had a past with the guy, or was friends with him now. Something about the other demon radiated deception.

  Then again, he was a demon. And an accountant for a company cooking their books. So maybe that was to be expected.

  Irdu had a feeling there was more to it than that.

  MICHAEL STRETCHED OUT his legs and leaned back, resting his weight on his arms and wrists. “You’re a wonderful cook.”

  Ronnie flushed. “Irdu taught me. He makes these crepes...” She ducked her head. “That I’m sure you don’t want to hear about.”

  He didn’t know how to respond. He’d never heard her say anything unkind about the incubus, and it was impossible to miss how much Ronnie and Irdu cared for each other. Maybe Michael should get to know the guy. “I still own him an apology.”

  She blushed. “Yeah. You do.”

  Michael hadn’t been surprised when Ronnie asked if she could pick their dinner location, but he didn’t expect it to be a picnic on the roof. The condo complex didn’t have standard access up here, so he’d never thought to visit. From the large, cleared spot of concrete near the edge, he could tell she spent a lot of time up here. She always did love watching the stars.

  She tucked her legs under her and fiddled with a pebble. “We’re spinning our wheels.” They were discussing how to keep something like the Vine incidents from happening again. “We know what we want but have no idea how to find it. Where are you getting your tips?”

  “Some are luck. The rest came from Abaddon.”

  Ronnie clenched her jaw. “You realize she was involved in Boston, right?”

  “She didn’t cause the damage, but yes.” He wasn’t in the mood for an argument. The evening was going so well. “It doesn’t matter. She can’t give me any more.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  He couldn’t ignore the edge of suspicion in her question. “Can’t,” he said. “She doesn’t want to work with Gabriel any longer.”

  Ronnie sat up straighter, hand on her stomach. Her aura flared, and the faint scent of burning pepper filled the night—a smell he associated with Metatron.

  Michael should have known the name would have that effect on her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. Bad memories and all that. It’s not as if I thought he was gone, and Irdu reminded me Gabe’s still got influence. I just... I wanted to pretend he might not have anything to do with this.”

  “Would it be better if all these events were random and unrelated?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “Sorry. What else did she tell you?”

  He related the morning’s conversation as best he could, hating the pain that flashed across Ronnie’s face every time Gabriel’s name or motivations came up.

  “I see.” The emotion vanished from her voice. “How long have you been talking to her?”

  “To Abaddon? Most of her life.” He smiled, to lighten the mood and let Ronnie know he was joking. Her weak laugh implied she didn’t appreciate the humor. “For a few months,” he said. He left out the details about why Abaddon came to him in the first place. This didn’t seem like the time to drag up more demons from Ronnie’s past.

  Ronnie shook her head. “So, we’re looking in the wrong place. We don’t need a pattern or algorithm; we need to know who’s loyal to Gabe.”

  “Who’s going to tell us that?”

  “We both know people.” The frustration in her tone grew. “I mean, I’ve been out of the loop for a while, but you haven’t. We can ask them?”

  He grimaced. “Those of us who don’t work for Ubiquity tend to exist in silos.”

  “Especially you. Fuck. Not that I blame you. I keep pissing people off left and right.”

  “Aren’t you on good terms with Samael?”

  She hesitated, casting her gaze to the ground. “Not exactly. Lucifer probably knows who’s loyal to Gabe, right? And he’s on our side.”

  What started off as a lovely picnic under the stars was rapidly deteriorating into one awkward topic after another. Michael wanted the calm back. “Lucifer is on his own side.”

  “He—”

  “Gave you this chance. I realize that. And the two of you have a bond literally older than humanity.” Michael tried to keep his tone kind and sympathetic. “But remember how much he kept from you along the way. And how many lies do you tell for him?” The cryptic conversation from Saturday night rolled into his memory.

  “Not as many as I used to.”

  Had things really fallen this far among their ranks? “Whom do you trust?” he asked.

  “You.” She managed a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Irdu. Tia...”

  “Who else?”

  “That’s it. It’s a short, pathetic list.”

  “It’s not pathetic.” It was longer than his list.

  Ronnie furrowed her brow, as if diving into an intense thought, and the red and gold around her flickered and danced in the darkness. “What about Abaddon? If she was on the inside, she knows who else is.”

  “If Gabriel doesn’t already realize she’s turned her back on him, he will soon.”

  “We don’t know five people between us who we can trust.” Some of the sorrow vanished from her words, replaced with fire. “You killed twenty-seven of his, and that didn’t make a dent in his numbers. He can’t cut them off and replace them all overnight, just because he thinks someone close to him might sell him out. I guarantee he’s got a backup plan for someone betraying him—he lied for three-thousand years about why he tried to kill me—and it’s not to obliterate everyone who hasn’t and start from scratch.”

  Michael couldn’t help a smile.

  “What?” Ronnie asked.

  “I like hearing your determination.” He stood and moved to sit next to her. When he intertwined their fingers on the rough concrete, she leaned into his shoulder. The contact felt right, especially accompanied by the brush of sugar and spice she radiated. “What if his contingency is moving everyone else into hiding?”

  “They’re already there, as far as we’re concerned. And if his order is to lie low, it means fewer exploding buildings, right? Win-win. A list of who’s been with him in the past, regardless of if it’s complete, would be more than we have now. Irdu said”—she sighed and rubbed her face with her free hand—“most of us don’t hop from place to place on a regular basis. Agents prefer to settle down. Whether or not you’re not keeping up on your contact list, you’ve heard rumors about where some of them are.”

  It was a shot in the dark, depending on what Abaddon gave him. And that was only if she agreed to. There were thousands of agents scattered around the world, depending on what their jobs were, each goin
g about things in their own way. Ronnie was right, though. It was more than they had now. A direction to look in next. “I’ll get leads from Abaddon. Can you do the same with someone at work?”

  Again, she hesitated. Her grip tightened around him, and her knee bounced. “Irdu is the only person I know who might consider helping me, and he’s not too happy with you.”

  “He’s not doing it for me.”

  “True. And he’ll see it the same way.” She rested more weight against Michael’s arm. “When did heaven and hell shift from helping the world to this complicated cup and ball scam?”

  “You should be used to the deception. You trained in the intricacies of lying, right?”

  Seconds ticked by, and she didn’t answer.

  “I don’t say it to insult,” he said. “It’s a part of the training everyone from hell receives.”

  “It is. It’s the same thing that makes me second-guess almost everyone.”

  “I think we’re all reaching that point.” Michael hated it. He shouldn’t have to scrutinize a list of agents he knew, wondering which planned to turn on him and which simply didn’t care. When did this all become infighting and near-war?

  “What happened to angels and demons?” Ronnie’s question echoed Michael’s thoughts.

  “Nothing. Everything. Ever since ...” He couldn’t finish the thought, given how much Gabriel’s name seemed to bother her.

  “Gabe tried to kill me. The first time. You can say it.”

  He’d rather not. The words devoured him, though Gabriel hadn’t succeeded. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll talk to Abaddon.”

  “Why do I feel like we’re woefully under-equipped to handle this?”

  “Because out of the four originals, only half of us aren’t in it for ourselves.” He shifted on the ground to sit behind her.

  “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” She leaned back, resting her head against his chest. “This isn’t about the four of us. It’s about every agent. All celestial beings.”

  “And the whole of humanity.”

  “Yes. Them too.”

  Michael wrapped his arms around hers and gave her a light squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. We have a next step now.”

  “If we don’t manage to decide on a few more steps, and quickly, it won’t matter.”

  “I know.” That was one thing he didn’t question.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ronnie did as she had on so many mornings before work really started—she stopped in at Irdu’s office.

  Her gut sank. It was empty. What the fuck? Every other thought she had evaporated. The only things left in the room were the desk and a couple of push pins in a paper tray. Correction—there was also a power cable hanging limply off the desk edge.

  Did he move to a new location? Odd thing to do first thing on a Monday, but he’d been assigned to different departments on a whim before, and her mind refused to consider any other option.

  She forced herself to run through a list of possible reasons the office was empty. There was... No, not that. Maybe... Not likely.

  Tia would know.

  Ronnie rounded the corner in the section of cubicles where Tia sat, and her feet stuck to the floor. Another empty desk, as forlorn looking as Irdu’s. Ronnie had a place she could go for answers on this one. She found Tia’s manager—an angel Lucifer brought on after he promoted Raphael.

  “Where’s Tiamet? Did she transfer?” she asked.

  “Laid off. Fired. Whatever you want to call it.”

  Ronnie’s shock grew. “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Came in this morning, found the note in my email from Human Resources, and she was already gone.”

  No. Nonononono. Ronnie didn’t want to think that was the case. Only one person had that authority besides her. Lucifer wouldn’t, though. Hadn’t. She made her way back to her computer, and with a couple keystrokes, accessed Tia’s and then Irdu’s employee records. Both said the same thing. Terminating Manager: Lucifer.

  Why? Best way to find out was to ask, but where was he most likely to be? Here? Back in hell? Other side of the world, having steak and wine for dinner?

  Her email chimed, drawing her attention, and she stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the meeting request. From Lucifer. For five minutes from now. Asshole. The presumptuous invitation didn’t make it any easier to sit still as the seconds ticked away. At two minutes to the top of the hour, Ronnie relocated to outside his Ubiquity door. And waited for another five minutes.

  When Lucifer greeted her, with a pleasant, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she had to bite back a scream of frustration.

  “I’m sure.” She brushed past him and took a seat. “What’s on the agenda for this morning?”

  When he sat, he leaned back, arms behind his head and one knee crossed over the other leg. “I figured we’d play things by ear. We haven’t had a chance to talk in a while. This is a good chance to catch up.”

  God, she hated these games. On another day she might ease into the conversation, but they both knew why she was there. “You can’t fire my people on a whim.”

  “It wasn’t a whim, and technically, I can.”

  “Is this your thing now?” She didn’t like arguing with Lucifer, but it seemed to be status quo for them lately. “Every six months or so, you lay a few people off, to keep the rest of the company on their toes and terrified of your wrath?”

  He maintained the casual posture. “I discovered they were subverting records. Tiamet was responsible for the debacle on Saturday; she had a habit of deleting U-View videos. Irdu was deleting Tracker App records.”

  This was a game to him or something. Ronnie didn’t like the arrogant dismissal. Then again, that was probably to keep her off-guard. “Tia was deleting videos of agents with cherubs destroying things. Buildings. Blocks. She was keeping us out of the public eye.”

  “Do you know what one of the amazing aspects of humanity is?” Lucifer leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on the desk.

  “They figured out how to make baked Alaska?”

  His smile was flat. “That too. I was thinking, they can see something as clear as day—magic, the unexplainable, any number of fantastic acts, right in front of their eyes—but they’ll be so busy looking for the strings and mirrors making the illusion possible, they’ll miss how incredible the reality is.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You did but shouldn’t have. If you’d let the videos stay, no one outside of conspiracy theorists would have thought twice about them. Instead, you made things vanish and left a trail of nothingness. Now people want to know what we’re hiding and why.”

  That wasn’t true. Was it? “Even if that’s the case, it was my decision, not theirs. They did what I asked them to.”

  “Keep that in mind next time you consider giving a misguided order to an underling. You’ll have this example to help you remember to think things through.”

  This wasn’t right. An object lesson where someone else suffered to teach her? No. Lucifer was a lot of types of manipulative, but that wasn’t in his wheelhouse. “Since when is this you? Subversion—fine. I get that. But whatever you’re doing, the fluctuating between walking a hard line on the rules and the liberties you asked me to take with Samael and the SEC is inconsistent.”

  “And your point is...?”

  “My point is I don’t believe your reasons.” It hurt to say the words more than she expected—to accept Lucifer’s lies might be more than a way of looking out for her.

  “In that case, what’s the truth?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then how do you know I’m lying about my motives?”

  “Because everything out of your mouth contradicts all you’ve stood for in the past. I’m giving Irdu and Tia their jobs back.”

  “No.”

  How much more direct could she be? “What’s going on? You keep talking about the big picture. That there’s something more important than any of us comprehend. Why
do you have to make this about lies and complications? Why do you have to keep so many secrets?”

  His smug mask wavered, his brows furrowing, before his smirk slithered back in. “I do what I must. I’m looking at the bigger picture, not just Ubiquity, but the entire world, the way we all should be. Sometimes that means I have to keep secrets to get things done.”

  “No. That’s not an answer. This prince of lies bullshit? That’s dogma. Stories people tell to scare their children and anyone else they want to control. It’s not you, and it never has been. Maybe you’ve changed over the past three thousand years—”

  “I have.”

  “Stop fucking cutting me off.” Losing her temper in this conversation was a bad idea, but chipping away at the stone wall in front of her wasn’t proving effective. “You haven’t changed like that. You left heaven, took celestials with you, and created hell, because you wanted more freedom than the angels believed you should have when it came to your job.”

  “It’s true; that’s what happened. I still work toward that goal. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’d ask you not to tell anyone, but that hasn’t worked out so far.”

  Did he know she told Samael the details about the incomplete financial and employee records? Asking was the same as admitting guilt. “What’s the secret?”

  “It’s not freedom if someone tells you to do it or suffer the consequences.”

  “I disagree. Punishment doesn’t stop people from doing what they aren’t supposed to. They always have the choice. Look at all of us, angels and demons. We know the truth. What the consequences are. That breaking some rules means surrendering immortality before we’re ready. That ignoring others means death.” Should she have said that? Did anyone else have any idea what Michael was doing? He and Lucifer talked, but did execution ever make the docket? Too late to take back what she said. “Even humans do it; they break their laws, knowing there’s jail time.”

  Lucifer’s smile turned genuine. “And that’s another reason I love you.”

  Eons ago, the words meant something. In this context, they didn’t. She was done being spun in circles. “Whatever your point is—distracting me from the conversation or something else—I’m hiring Irdu and Tia back.”