The Soul Destroyer

by Elicia Hyder

  “I’ve only seen her through the spirit line. We all have.”

  Crunching my abs, I propped up on my elbows to look at her. “Why did Sandalphon enter Cira? And why wasn’t he present at the Council’s verdict?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  “So give me two answers.”

  “I don’t need to. I don’t know why he went to Cira. He was making a lot of wild accusations lately that I know were untrue.”

  “Like what?”

  “He thought the Council was having secret meetings, which we weren’t. The final blow before he left for Cira was the ruling to bring Iliana to Eden. He didn’t support it.”

  I flopped back down again. “I knew it. I knew he’d be on our side.”

  “But he was overruled. The rest of the Council agreed.”

  My jaw was tightening. “We need to change the subject. I’m tired of fighting with you.”

  She walked over to the side of the bed by me. “Think we can be friends then?”

  “Friends?” I shook my head. “But I will agree on a temporary truce.” I held my hand toward her.

  She smiled and shook it.

  By eight o’clock—dinnertime by Italian standards, so I was told— Cassiel and I had wandered the streets for an hour without any luck. The outdoor tables were filling up and the sights and smells from the kitchens were making my stomach rumble again.

  “Why do you think hunger pangs are so intense on Earth and yet we eat so much more here than we do in Eden?” I asked, halfway to myself, as we crossed over a bridge.

  “Filling a void?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “You hungry?”

  “If you walk any closer to me, I might take a bite out of you.”

  Her head snapped back.

  I squinted one eye. “That came out way more sexually charged than I intended.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “Come on. I know a great place to eat where we can still do our job.”

  We stopped at a trattoria at the edge of the plaza.

  It was quaint, with tables draped with white tablecloths facing St. Mark’s Basilica. After some direction from Cassiel, the waiter showed us to a table on the outside row with a clear view of the piazza.

  “Grazie,” I said as he handed me a menu, overworking my pronunciation and staring at Cassiel.

  She grinned and asked the waiter for red wine. That much, I could understand.

  “I need to wash my hands.” Then she looked at me seriously and lifted an eyebrow.

  I put my hands up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good.”

  The entire menu was in Italian, so I put it down and scanned humans enjoying the piazza.

  The local life was back out in full force after the rain and the crime-scene cleanup. Artists painted the skyline along the water while street musicians jived in the square. A few people danced in the crowd. It was hard to believe so much death could be found in a place so alive.

  “Have you decided what to order?” Cassiel asked as she sat back down across from me.

  I picked up the menu again. “I have no idea. I can’t read it.” A word snagged my eye. “Oh, I do like gnocchi.”

  “It’s very good here,” she said, not looking at me.

  I lifted an eyebrow. “How many times have you eaten here?”

  “Never, but this is Italy,” she said. “Be sure to order a main course after the gnocchi or you’ll sound like a tourist.”

  “Can’t have that,” I said with a smirk. “Am I allowed to have some of your wine when it comes, or should I have ordered my own?”

  “I’ll let you have some.”

  “Thanks.”

  She winked. “You’re welcome.”

  After deciding on the filetto di bue all griglia and praying to the Father that meant some kind of steak, I put my menu down. The waiter walked over and poured both of our wineglasses full.

  He took Cassiel’s order first, then turned to me. I pointed at the things on the menu I wanted, and he smiled…which hopefully meant he understood. I assumed as much because I was far from the only American on the piazza.

  Cassiel picked up her glass. “Look at you. Ordering all by yourself.”

  “I hope it doesn’t backfire me. I accidentally ordered fried tarantulas once in Cambodia.” I gagged. “Still can’t even think about it.”

  She laughed and shook her head.

  I sipped my wine, then looked at it. “That’s pretty good.”

  “Yeah. It’s usually a good bet to order the house wine whenever you’re in Italy.”

  “Good to know.” I put the glass down and scanned the piazza. “It’s a shame I never came here when I was alive. From what I’ve seen, Italy’s worth all the hype.”

  “The food is even better in Rome and Florence.”

  “Judging from the pizza alone, I’m having a hard time believing that’s possible.”

  “Maybe once all the madness settles, we can go,” she said.

  I smiled.

  “What?”

  “I think you’re starting to like me.”

  “I’ve always liked you. That’s never been a question,” she said over the top of her glass.

  Too bad we were on opposite sides of such a deal-breaking fence.

  I turned my attention back toward the tourists surrounding the basilica.

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and read the text message from Azrael. The team from New Hope just left. Ahab is fine.

  I tapped out a reply. Thanks for the update. Another dead girl here in Italy. Still no killer.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Just Azrael letting me know everything’s fine with Ahab.”

  “What was it like when you found out Azrael was your father?” she asked, balancing her chin in her hand and leaning on an elbow.

  “It was an eventful day all around.” I crossed my arms on the tabletop. “I’d just surprised Sloan by coming home early from a military deployment. In almost the same sentence she told me she was pregnant and that I had a father.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. For an orphan, it was a lot of new relatives in one conversation.”

  She laughed. “But you already knew he was an angel, right?”

  “Yeah. Kasyade, Sloan’s demon mom—”

  She held up a hand. “Oh, I know Kasyade.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you would. Anyway, she told me I was the son of an Angel of Death.”

  “How long was it before you found out he betrayed all of Eden?”

  My brow scrunched. “That’s not fair. He fell in love with my mother. And I’d say he more than redeemed himself there at the end.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  I straightened in my chair. “Cassiel, Sloan would have died had he not destroyed himself with Iliana’s power. And if Sloan had died, Kasyade would have taken Iliana across the spirit line and destroyed it. He saved us all.”

  She held up both hands in defense. “I’m not arguing that what he did wasn’t noble. But he was cleaning up his own mess.”

  I sat back. “There you go again, wishing I’d never been born.”

  “It’s not personal. Few things with angels are. But if you’d never been born, the demons would not have had Sloan. You two wouldn’t have met and created the Vitamorte.”

  “I feel like if we keep talking about all this, we’ll break our truce.”

  She bowed her head. “You’re probably right. What shall we talk about instead?”

  “Let’s talk about your Bon Jovi obsession.”

  “My what?”

  I started humming the melody to “Livin' On A Prayer.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed.

  “You hum all the time, Cassiel.” I chuckled.

  “I do not.”

  I laughed harder. “Yes, you do. I think the eighties must have been very good to you. Was it only Bon Jovi or was it Guns N’ Roses and De
f Leppard too?”

  She wadded up her napkin and threw it at me. It missed my face, but I caught it with my power, suspending it just off the ground.

  Cassiel’s mouth formed a perfect O. “You’re not supposed to do that here,” she whispered loudly.

  I snatched the napkin out of the air. “We passed a guy on the way here pulling roses out of ladies’ ears. I fit right in.”

  She giggled again as I handed it back to her. “Do you tease everyone as you tease me?”

  I picked up my wineglass. “I actually don’t tease anyone. Ever.” I took a long swig.

  Her laughter faded. “If it makes you feel any better, neither do I.”

  “Nooo,” I said, drawing out of the word.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “What do you do for fun, Cassiel?”

  “Fun? What’s that?” she asked, shaking her head. “I’m an Angel of the Council.”

  “I’m aware.”

  She looked down at her wineglass, holding its stem with both hands and staring at it so hard, I feared the glass might crack. I reached over and put my hand on her forearm. She relaxed and smiled at me.

  “Fun is not what we do. It’s what they do.” She looked out at the piazza.

  “I felt that way when I was human. Like I was always on the outside looking in.” I swirled my wine around in my glass. “At least until I met Sloan. She lightened me up a lot.”

  “You really loved her.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I did. Still do, and probably always will.”

  It was her turn to squeeze my arm. “It’s a funny thing, love. Truly the most powerful force on either side of the spirit line.”

  “That’s for sure. I never thought I’d feel anything close to what I felt for Sloan.” I shook my head. “I was wrong.”

  Her brow lifted.

  “Iliana. I gave up my life with Sloan for this tiny person I hardly know.”

  Cassiel opened her mouth to speak. Then she closed it. Perhaps she felt the same worry that was stirring in my mind. That if we kept up the current conversation, it would lead to another fight.

  And that was the last thing I wanted just then. I was enjoying laughs, the banter, the warmth of her hand still on my arm…

  I was enjoying it too much.

  We searched the city the rest of the night, traveling from street bench to street bench, posing as a couple while monitoring the city. Nothing turned up, and there were no more reports of dead bodies.

  But it all hadn’t been a waste of time. By the end of the long night, I knew a lot more about Cassiel than when we’d started. Like, on Earth, she couldn’t get clean enough. She must have washed her hands fifty times between sundown and sunup. And in the purse she’d brought from Eden, she carried hand sanitizer, wet wipes, and travel disinfectant spray. Really ironic for an angel who couldn’t get sick.

  She talked about Eden and told stories about Azrael. About the days before he’d given up his place in Heaven for my mother. During the first great war, Azrael had been the angel who’d quite literally thrown the Morning Star out of Eden, sending him like a blazing meteor across the spirit line into the galaxy.

  I’d always thought Azrael was a badass, but by the time Cassiel finished, one thing was clear: my father was a legend. I understood a little better why his betrayal (her word) carried such a lasting sting.

  She’d genuinely seemed curious about me as well. She’d asked about my time in the military. About my travels with the Marine Corps and with Claymore. And about what it had been like to find out I was the son of the Angel of Death.

  When the sun came up, we were scouting for signs of fresh death again. But the Calle dei Morti was dead—in a good way—so we journeyed beyond it.

  Venice by day was very different from the Venice we’d stalked all night. Most dinner restaurants were still closed, but in a few, we could watch the chefs making fresh pasta and hanging it to dry. We also strolled through the Rialto Market as most of the fisherman were unpacking their fresh catches.

  The whole experience was dizzying and almost made me forget the horrors of why we were there.

  After a quick breakfast at a Venetian bakery, Cassiel and I started back toward the Casa Cafiero. Leaning on my arm, she yawned.

  “Tired?” I asked.

  She nodded. “My stomach’s full, and now I need a nap.” She held up a finger. “Only after I take a shower and change into some sanitary clothes. Earth is gross.”

  I thought of her incessant hand washing and chuckled. I couldn’t argue though. Earth was gross.

  We never needed showers in Eden. There, our bodies didn’t shed skin cells, we didn’t sweat, and germs couldn’t survive in the atmosphere. Everything on Earth seemed to stick, and after being so purely clean for so long, it was hard to stomach the filth of everyday life.

  The more I thought about it, the more I agreed. “A shower sounds glorious.”

  “I’ll fight you to go first,” she said.

  We both laughed.

  When we reached the villa, I followed Cassiel upstairs, and she walked straight to the bathroom. She did pause in the doorway as I sat down on the bed. “Do you want to go first?”

  I smiled. “It’s kind of you to offer.” And uncharacteristic, but I didn’t say the last part out loud.

  She was already untucking her shirt, flashing bits of smooth, taut skin. A dangerous image danced through my rotten brain…beads of water and soap bubbles sliding down her wet skin.

  With a gulp, I got up and walked toward the doors to outside. “Go ahead. I’m going to sit on the balcony.” Where it’s safe.

  “I’ll make it fast.” She paused. “Hey, Warren?”

  I turned back around.

  “Aside from the part where we were hunting an undead serial killer, I had a nice night with you.”

  “Yeah. I did too.”

  With a smile, she closed the door. Then I heard the shower water running. I walked outside and leaned against the railing. “Get a grip, Warren.”

  “Get a grip on what?”

  Samael’s voice nearly made me jump off the balcony. He and Jaleal were sitting around the corner on lounge chairs. I grasped at my chest to make sure there wasn’t a hole left by my exploding heart. “Oh my god! Don’t do that!”

  They were both laughing. “Jumpy?” Jaleal asked.

  “I didn’t know you guys were here.”

  “Clearly,” Samael said, closing the book he was reading.

  “I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” Jaleal tapped her ear.

  “Oh.” I pressed the two spots beneath my earlobes, and my supernatural communication system clicked on. “Sorry, I had it off and forgot to turn it back on.” I walked over and pulled a chair around to face them. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came by to see if any of you found anything interesting. I certainly didn’t,” Jaleal said.

  “Nothing, and we were out all night,” I said.

  “I didn’t either, so I’m reading.” Samael held up his book. A Secret History of Creation. “I found this on Theta’s bookshelf. Looked like it might be interesting.”

  “Is it?”

  He grinned. “If you like fiction.”

  “Is it fiction?”

  He glanced at the back cover, then put it down on the glass coffee table. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be.”

  “I’ve been told the beginnings of Eden and Earth, but I don’t know much about the Morning Star creating Nulterra.”

  “There isn’t a lot I can tell you. No one knows much about it because it’s forbidden for us to enter.”

  “Why did he create it? Do you know?”

  Samael thought for a moment. “I have theories. The first being he wanted a place to rule as his own. Or maybe, like anyone, he wanted a place to belong. Cassiel might have better ideas than I do.”

  “That’s sort of her specialty, isn’t it?”

  “Ideas? Yes.”

  He cut his eyes at me. “Do I sense a spark
there?”

  “With me and Cassiel?” I looked away. “There’s no spark.”

  “OK.” Jaleal chuckled and crossed her ankles. “I think you’re good for her. She’s much more…what’s the word in English?”

  “Chill?” I asked with a laugh.

  She pointed at me. “Yes! Chill.”

  “Maybe. Still, I kind of hate her.”

  “There’s a very fine line between love and hate. Especially among angels,” Samael said.

  I put my feet up on the coffee table. “Well, it’s a line that’s staying definite between us for the foreseeable future.”

  Samael just nodded.

  Jaleal smirked.

  “Bad news, Warren.” Cassiel came out the door in a white robe, dabbing her long wet hair with a towel. She froze when she saw the other angels. “Oh, I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Why didn’t we know you were here?” I asked them.

  Samael’s finger circled the air. “Theta put a shield around the building. It conceals the supernatural inside.”

  I looked around but saw nothing. “Like Echo-5?”

  “Not quite as secure. More of an illusion than an actual defense,” Samael said.

  “Cassiel, you said you had bad news?” Jaleal asked.

  “Yeah.” She looked at me. “Unfortunately, there’s no hot water, so you’ll want to make your shower snappy.”

  My eyes fell to the split in the front of her robe, but I quickly pulled them up to her face. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  I stood and walked past her.

  A cold shower was exactly what I needed.

  Cassiel was drying her hair in the bedroom when I finished my shower. She’d thankfully changed out of the tantalizing robe and was wearing the cotton pajamas she’d purchased when we arrived.

  I was only wearing the sweatpants I’d bought.

  This time, I got a reaction.

  She turned off the hairdryer and spun all the way around as I walked to the bed. “What is that?”

  Her tone was more panicked than impressed. Not what I expected. I looked down a little self-consciously.

  Pecs, check.

  Abs, check.

  Respectable sweatpants bulge even after a cold shower, check.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  She walked over and grabbed my shoulder. “What have you done to yourself?”