Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Maybe it’d just been a campfire story to scare vampire kiddies but it still made me shiver.

  Rahab’s grin was wild. “The Brotherhood have spoken. You’re honored. You’re both to start Initiation Purge Week.” Drake’s horrified gasp did nothing to make me believe chocolate treats were part of the Purge. “Of course, there’s only one position to train as Lazarus Mage. We thrive on competition. At the end, the loser will be reduced to Underserving to serve the winning apprentice.”

  Drake drew himself to his feet, casting his father a furious glance, before stalking away.

  An Underserving? Lower even than apprentice…

  When I looked up, I caught Rebel’s glance from across the arena, where he’d been left kneeling. He smiled, but I could see the tightness around his eyes.

  What the hell was this Initiation?

  Purge didn’t sound like pleasure. More like hell.

  Delicate fingers clasped mine. I glanced at Mischief, who’d sidled to my side. Yet the way that he stroked his thumb across the back of my hand, just like Rebel would’ve done had he been able to, didn’t reassure me. Because Mischief wouldn’t be comforting me if he wasn’t terrified himself.

  I’d won the Battle of the Bailey — and Mischief. But I’d humiliated Drake, forcing him into a contest for the only place as a mage. Now I had to take on a week of hellish initiations. I couldn’t ask Drake to throw the Purge because whoever lost, faced a lifetime as little more than a slave.

  4

  To find a genie is not to be its master but its slave. Because wishes always have a price.

  I’d once discovered an antique tin lamp in a flea market on the way back from school. Although I was no thief, I’d stolen it for Gizem, my best mate at Jerusalem Children’s Home. The Two Orphan Musketeers, we were the storytellers; Gizem loved to scare the other kids with tales of jinn (and not the Disney singing sort).

  It’d become the tradition after that for each kid to take a turn holding the lamp like a holy relic, making a wish to the Jerusalem Jinn.

  I think we half-believed in the jinn ourselves within the year. Except, a wish to a jinn never went the way that you meant it to, even we knew that. It was dangerous to tempt the dark magics.

  What had I wished…?

  For the angels to want me.

  I bastard got what I wished for, didn’t I?

  I spluttered, spitting out silky mouthfuls of hair.

  Oomph.

  The Blood Familiars — fox brothers, Blaze and Spark— wriggled more firmly onto me, squashing me under their heavy flanks.

  Blaze tipped back his head; his amber eyes met mine as they narrowed, then he let out a throaty gekkering.

  Thwap — Spark’s white-tipped tail swiped me across the nose.

  I cracked my head against the glass floor of my chamber in the Mirror Lodge. I groaned, as my wings were jostled; my accelerated angelic healing powers were already knitting together the broken bones, but they still ached. I ignored the slivers of pain, twisting to tickle the Blood Familiars’ sides.

  We tumbled in a thrash of fur, feathers, and tails, until I wormed out from underneath them, panting.

  “No fair,” Spark whined telepathically.

  “Life’s not fair, foxie, suck it up,” I panted, staring up at my disheveled reflection in the glass ceiling.

  An orb of violet fire, like a magician’s ball, flared and sputtered in the center of the room, casting it in a specter glow: a box lit from the inside. Rough ropes, as if I was at sea, coiled from the ceiling, either to hold me, my Broken, Underserving, or some other beast: in this shifting castle of the impossible, it could be anything Rahab imagined.

  And wasn’t that a thought that buzzed with the happies?

  Blaze leapt onto my bed — a glass slab that was too close to Sleeping Beauty deathbed chic for comfort — and circled round and round nesting into the bronze velvet sheets. “We’ve bided a long while now, and you swore that this time you’d bring at least one of our lads home with you.”

  Home…?

  How long had it been since I’d had a home? My apartment with Jade…? But then, Toben and his gang had still controlled it…

  Never…?

  Spark nudged me with his head, before grinning in submission. “Aye right, we miss them, Keeper.”

  I stroked my fingers across Spark’s ears, and he nuzzled closer. I stifled a yawn. When had I last slept?

  Sleep deprivation: Cult Brainwashing 101.

  I rolled my eyes at Blaze, who’d wrapped himself imperiously in my velvet sheets like a gown. “Easy, bro. I go — BOOM — with my new wizarding skills, turning the entire Legion into baby gargoyles, then burrow my way off this island because magic grounds all Angel Airlines, with a bloke strapped under each—"

  “Are you mocking me, lass?” Blaze growled into my mind.

  I winced. Maybe Mischief’s sarcasm was catching. “Turn down fox radio, I’m getting a migraine. And that’d be a yeah.” When Blaze’s eyes blinked with worry, my tone gentled. “I saw Rebel. He’s alive…safe.” They didn’t need to know about the way Rahab’s hand had curled possessively around his shoulder. “Plus, the reason I look like a sailor doll that got snapped in half, then dunked in the pond, is I fought for Mischief.”

  Spark let out an excited bark, whilst his green eyes sparkled, before he cringed low to the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

  Mischief had himself a fanboy.

  “You freed him?” Blaze demanded.

  I shuffled my foot backwards and forwards. “What’s free mean anyway?”

  You should’ve known better than to trust wishes. The Mage is the Phoenix Jinn: he burns those he tricks to ash.

  You’re done with the Scaredy-pants routine then?

  I’ll be wearing them in reinforced sequins every moment that we’re stuck with these angelic assholes. You should be too.

  How are your wishes working out for you?

  Wish three? To prove myself…? I had to destroy Drake to do it. And I set us both up for this psycho Initiation Purge Week.

  Dick move, Feathery-love.

  Plus, Lazurus rises chanted in ecstatic fervor seems less Aslan and more Loki.

  Then let me serve you some space Viking realness: the dead rise, when the Mage resurrects angels as slaves.

  There’ll come a time, when you’ll have to decide whether the rewards that the Mage grants, outweigh the price he’ll demand.

  And you haven’t even seen Wish Two yet…

  Hell, I wished that J wasn’t always right…and didn’t have to hide in my mind, so that he could help me against the Mage.

  Suddenly, a wide screen to the side of the chamber, which glittered with amber shards like a Phoenix bursting into flames, shook.

  Splash — water sprayed from behind the screen, followed by an elegant foot and ankle pointing out in a striptease.

  “Enough of the free semantics, look you,” a teasing voice called. Then a wet — naked — Broken, Ceri, crawled from the bath behind the screen towards me. Less like a slave, however, and more like he was the auburn-haired lion, and I was the prey. He grinned as he shook his hair, raining pearly bubbles across the mirrors and to their sizzling death on the violet fire. “I ran this bath for you, and you haven’t even joined me. Rude, and the waste of all this soapy good time fun.”

  Hell, why did he have to be so gorgeous?

  Ceri had been delivered to me as my personal slave on the first night that I’d been brought to the castle, and in case I hadn’t been able to read between the lines of why, Ceri had been quick to read it out to me in smutty detail. It hadn’t taken me long to fall in love with his cheeky banter, kindness, and courage.

  I rolled my eyes. “Do most Broken get in the baths that they run for their mages?”

  Ceri rolled his shoulder, whose skin was bronzed as caramel. Yet he had only stumps where his wings should’ve been: as a slave, they’d been cut off. “Do I look like most Broken?”

  I flushed. “Screw that,
you’re my Lion Boy.”

  He gave a light laugh, licking my thigh.

  I shivered: bad thoughts, down girl.

  Then Ceri slithered up my body, as I clasped my arms around his slippery waist. “Just a quick wash to get clean, then dirty…” He murmured.

  He lifted his arms, grasping onto the ropes above his head and arching his back. His chest stretched, pushing himself out to me: an offering.

  I gasped.

  For the first time, this wasn’t a bloke bound but willing.

  When I ghosted my hands down Ceri’s chest, his breath hitched. I circled his nipple until it peaked, then sucked it; it tasted of ginger, as hot and spicy as Ceri smelled. He moaned; his prick was hard and straining. Unexpectedly tender, I trailed my hand up his neck, towards his cheek. He turned his head, pressing his lips to the back of my hand.

  Just like Gwyn and Haman: the other Broken slaves.

  Had Ceri been trained in the same tricks…?

  What the hell was I allowing myself to do again?

  The semantics of free…? How was Ceri any freer to choose what he did with me? He’d been gifted to me as a Broken, just as Gwyn once had: my sex slave…

  I recoiled, shaking my head. “Not going to happen.”

  Ceri held onto the ropes for a moment longer, examining me with a shrewd look, before letting go. He pouted. “Why won’t you play with me? I refuse to believe that I revolt you because I have eyes, see.” He jiggled his soapy arse, and I sniggered. “And here’s a secret: I just want a good shag, isn’t it?”

  “Kinky bastard angels,” I muttered as I backed away to the wall. “And you enjoying sex isn’t a secret.”

  He stalked after me. “It’s really not.”

  “We’re not flirting anymore. The Non-Flirt Zone has been reached.”

  “Are you certain?” Ceri rested his hand against the wall, pressing his naked body against me, as he tilted his head in thought.

  “We’re not doing anything…” I gestured with my hands, whilst Ceri blinked at me in pretend innocence; I was so adding him to my List of Asses to Kick. “…Naughty together because there’s no we.”

  Ceri smiled. “Don’t worry, I can solo flirt. You should try it some time. I’m the Solo Flirtster. But there’s no we…?”

  Smack — dramatically, Ceri collapsed to the floor.

  Then he cracked open an eye to see if his death scene had my full attention. I crossed my arms, glaring down at the Drama King.

  Spark nosed Ceri with a whimper.

  Ceri winked at him. “Tragic, to die so young and beautiful…but at least I have my wank bank to console me.”

  “Try again, bro.” I snatched Ceri by the arm, yanking him up, whilst he giggled. When his head nestled against my chest with his auburn hair brushing against my skin, I couldn’t help asking, “How’d you survive in this nightmare sect?”

  When Ceri stiffened, I stroked the curl of his ear and regretted saying a word.

  “I didn’t,” he whispered at last. “Maybe I’m a rebel Broken, see, like you’re the rebel princess? When we first heard about that…I hoped that I wasn’t alone…” He snuggled closer, and his words were almost lost. “Or maybe I’m just faulty. That’s why they gave me to the freaky cold magicked Glory.” Then he drew back from me; his were eyes wide. “I don’t—"

  I caught his chin. “Ever thought that you’re the only one who’s good enough for royalty?”

  This seemed to short-circuit his flirty-tongue; Ceri froze, staring at me in awed shock. Finally, he managed to grin. “If this is a dream, then I’ll take it. Ceri: by Royal Approval.” He slammed his hand against the glass. “Not a failure, shameful, let-down…”

  “Chosen,” I repeated firmly. Hell, it was too close and raw. Every shadowed doubt that’d played on my own thoughts, here the Legion used them to control. “Saved for the queen.”

  “Then long live the Queen!” Ceri bounced on his toes. Then he blanched, backing away from the wall.

  I frowned, twisting to see what’d freaked him out.

  Wish Number Two: you asked to see your brother. In the world of warped wishes, you watch your words, hooker.

  Now you’ll see him… Yet how much crueler is it to see but not be able to touch?

  The mirror wall no longer reflected back my own room but the room on the other side of the Lodge.

  True to his word when he’d first brought me to the castle, Rahab had placed me with my half-brother, just never in the same room. Now I’d got my second wish: I could see my brother, but only through the one-way mirror on my wall.

  I clanged against the mirror, sticking my palms flat against it, whilst I stared through at the other side.

  The Looking Glass room was identical, except that the sheets on the bed were golden and lying on his side amongst them was my brother.

  I pushed myself onto tiptoe, grinning; my mouth was dry, and my pulse raced. My magic stirred, striking against the glass to reach out to my brother, just as the shadows danced inside, until I could’ve twirled Ceri around from the fluttering feeling, if I hadn’t been so stuck to the picture in front of me.

  Even if I could only see brunet tresses cascading to my brother’s shoulder — and a snowy peak of skin.

  Bruised skin.

  I bit my lip hard. The hint of shoulder above the sheet was swollen and purple.

  What the hell had Rahab done to my brother?

  I couldn’t let my brother be hurt. I had to save him, just like I hadn’t been able to save my sister.

  I slammed my fist against the glass, but it didn’t even tremor.

  Crash, crash, crash.

  Then strong arms were around my waist dragging me away, and the wall was frosting, shimmering back to a reflection of only my room.

  My brother was lost to me again.

  “Bastard, no…” I screamed, squirming away from the hold.

  “Apprentice,” the cold voice broke through my grief, stilling me. “In the name of the Brotherhood, remember the Code.”

  I swung around to the chilly gaze of Och, the Chief Discipliner, who was both Mischief’s older brother and leader of the mages who trained the Broken slaves and chopped off their wings.

  Yeah, so for Discipliner read prick.

  I’d freed Barakiel — the Lightning Angel — from the prison on Angel World; Barakiel had killed Nathanael, Mischief and Och’s younger brother. Not that either of Nathanael’s brothers knew that he was even dead. I didn’t know why Rahab was keeping the secret, but I didn’t fancy the magical wrath of either a Discipliner or my shapeshifting family, so wouldn’t be the one to break that silence.

  I’d once accused Mischief of being part of the Discipliners, but it was only when I saw Mischief delivered to me slumped in sizzling electrified angel cuffs as my Undeserving by his own brother — a gleaming broad-shouldered Discipliner in gold harem pants and neat silver curls like a Roman senator — that I understood the truth behind the Legion of the Phoenix.

  This was about power.

  Whereas Och had been raised with it, Mischief had played the part of the pleb. Yet when Mischief could blast us all to itty bits with his magic: bastard why?

  Wish Number One: Mischief is yours, Violet-puss.

  But he’s not free.

  What did your wet and suckable lion cub call it? Semantics, bitch.

  Rahab isn’t royalty; he was left to die. He’s played a game of survival from the moment that he was born; there’s no silver spoon, only the drive to win.

  Now he expects no less from his brainwashed kids. You either up your game or you become his pawn.

  “Screw the Brotherhood and screw the Code.” My magic gave a punishing pulse behind my eyes, even as I heard the echo of Kunel’s nasal voice chiding me for my rebellion. “My brother—"

  “Shall cope one more day without you.” Mischief scowled. “Or do you imagine our sweet Invisible Prince trained to be nothing but a lost duckling, rather than the Butcher—"

  Och backhanded Mischief
, sprawling him across the chamber’s floor.

  Blaze bounded off the bed next to Spark, as they both snarled.

  Only then did I realize that Ceri had fallen to his knees with his forehead touching the floor, whilst he panted. He was terrified and for the first time acting like the Broken on Angel World had.

  Hell, Och had probably trained him.

  I stepped in front of Ceri, pushing Och back and enjoying the indignant expression, which reddened his haughty face. “Get lost, bitch.”

  Och’s gaze flickered between us, before settling on Mischief, who’d struggled up onto one knee. Och appeared startled. “Brother, please,” he whispered, “for once, remember what you are.”

  I blinked, confused, as Och shoved Mischief, pushing down on his shoulders. To my surprise, Mischief ducked under his hands, staggering to his feet.

  For a long moment, there was nothing but a staring contest between them like they were two kids, rather than powerful magic wielders.

  Why wouldn’t Mischief simply kneel? And why did my own vampiric and angelic powers surge and foam inside at his refusal, hungering to force him?

  When Och rubbed his fingers together, a coiled whip appeared in his hand. “Do not shame our family further.”

  Mischief hesitated, before turning away his head and holding out his palm.

  My arms shook, as I hugged them across my chest. No matter what my ancient powers felt, I was in charge now, and no one was hurting Mischief because he wouldn’t kneel. “He’s mine: packages must be delivered undamaged.”

  “By the Phoenix, he’s not yours yet and he shall always remain under my guidance,” Och admonished. “Are you ready to reform, brother?”

  Mischief ignored Och, tilting his chin in defiance.

  Och sighed, hesitating.

  Swish — crack.

  The whip landed, leaving a crimson weal across the center of Mischief’s palm, but he didn’t make a sound.

  Swish — crack.

  The second blow was harder. It cut across Mischief’s thumb, and he flinched.

  Och was holding back though, I could tell: wrapping the whip behind his shoulder for maximum effect but pulling it when he reached Mischief’s palm to reduce the force. I’d bet anything he didn’t do that when he lashed the Broken.