“What station is promised?” He looked at me sharply. I definitely had his attention.
“Archangel.” It was single word, but loaded with power and history.
He blew out his cheeks and then whistled slightly. “Well, there’s no sense aiming low with lies, is there?”
“I know. It’s sort of like entering the army as a general. Unheard of, to me, but I was wondering what the point of something like this might be, you know, if it was really happening.”
“That’s the best angle I’ve heard in some time. Generals.” He shook his head ruefully. “Well”—he rose to his feet—“it’s time for something cold to drink. Let’s finish this inside, and I’ll give you a little feedback on the military structure of hell as I see it.”
And I went into a Catholic church with a volleyball player-turned-priest, who was giving me order of battle advice about a supposedly mythical beast. Just another Floridian afternoon.
12
The Archangel Davis
Alone again, Davis sat mute in the stillness of his studio, surrounded by the tools of his passion, his life, all save one: Rudy, who had just announced he was leaving, giving no reason and no hope for a tearful reconciliation, though in truth, Davis had suspected that this was just a stop for his lover and not anything permanent, despite their relationship having lasted six months. No matter how badly he had wanted exactly that type of stability, he always sensed the cliff looming, coming closer to his feet.
Rudy was alway thin and tanned, fashionable, rarely employed but desired by all and invited to every club or event nearby, and a must-have for any social occasion. Rudy was like a shiny status symbol with a blinding smile and tousled blonde hair.
Rudy, who walked into Davis’ studio to look at his jewelry and never left, who convinced Davis to come out to his parents after nearly thirty years of quiet bravery and shame, only to have his parents embrace him to mute his sobs. He didn’t even know if he missed Rudy; he was just numb with the inevitability of the loss.
And now he would return to his work. Alone. No, focused, he thought. Or so he hoped. For some artisans, pain was a catalyst, but gentle Davis, who had been introspective and pleasant since infancy, had doubts that he would ever produce the things that had bought his life, his simple studio, and what things he owned. Rudy had left little behind, but Davis was beyond caring.
He registered that the door to the studio opened and heels clicked on the polished concrete. I should have locked the fucking door. I’m in no mood to sell. I have nothing left to sell, he thought, skimming the drain and feeling the hurt begin to constrict around his chest. This would not end well, it seemed.
“I’m not open.” His voice sounded strangled in his own skull, or maybe he was just projecting the blackness of his mood. He looked up and saw the woman, as out of place in his rough and tumble workspace as Rudy had been. Her beauty was much more refined, deeper than the external shine of his ex-lover, and there was a heft to her refinement that Rudy could not have carried, ever. She waited a fat second before she spoke, taking his hand from the table and patting him kindly. Oddly, he wasn’t offended. She seemed to mean it, a new sensation for Davis.
“I’m not here to buy, Davis.” Her voice was compassionate and patient.
He didn’t bother to ask how she knew his name; it was on the door. But he sensed that she knew much more about him than that simple fact. He felt exposed in her sight, but not threatened.
“Before I offer you a life and a place to heal—away from here, you should know that Rudy is going to die on June 11,” she began.
He jerked fully alert and stared.
“Drug overdose. Our Rudy is quite the party boy when he isn’t pretending to be a Bohemian lover, but he’s going to meet his end in a nightclub bathroom in Denver, swimming in his own vomit on a white tile floor while hundreds dance the night away on the other side of the door. Does that make you sad?”
Davis thought carefully. She would know a lie in a second; he sensed it without even looking into the depths of her dark, gold-spangled eyes which flashed with a hint of laughter as she delivered the news of Rudy’s impending death. “No, I’m not. And I guess you already know that I’ll go with you, away from here. Will I get to make things? I don’t want to leave all of the past, just the part with him.”
Now she laughed, bringing him into the beautiful fold of her joke. “Oh, I want you to make things. Beautiful things, Davis, and you’ll have materials that kings would shed their blood for, all at your fingertips.”
Davis rose and went to her, where she held out her arms to him and stroked his hair like a mother, delicate, loving. Taking the pain away as only she could, one touch at a time. “I will protect you as no one ever has before. No pain. No fear. Only my light and your beautiful hands. Can I have them, Davis? Will you create for me?”
The first tears fell as he let go, his chest loosening, the pain fading, chased by her assured warmth. “Yes, my hands, all of me, of course.”
She pulled him even tighter, her presence inhabiting him completely. “Hands first, Davis. You give me your skill, and I will give you all of the time in the heavens. The rest of you I will take, and you will thank me for it. Eternally.”
“You’re like an angel” he muttered.
“Oh, child, not like an angel.”
He felt her smile against his face as she held him.
“I am the brightest angel.”
13
Florida: Ring
Father Kevin left me sitting underneath an enormous, sprawling ficus tree, its limbs reaching outward toward the afternoon sunshine. He returned from the parish building with two tall bottles of sparkling water, each with juicy wedges of orange camped on the neck. Squinting upward, I admired the tree, and we sat in companionable silence for a moment as cars rushed around us, held at bay by the lawns.
“It took me ten years to become a priest.” Father Kevin began to speak then took another sip of the water. “I spent a full decade in sober, scientific approach, learning about the teachings of a man who is the son of God, made real, but whose influence, it may seem, is failing. For the cynic, that’s a losing bet. And yet, as I began the long slog through my lessons, I could tell that I was only beginning. In point of fact, getting the collar was rather anticlimactic, once I realized just what type of journey I had begun, both spiritually and intellectually.”
I was interested, but stayed quiet. I couldn’t reveal the nature of our household and the fact that we most certainly understood the nuances of the known world and the shadows beyond it. I simply sat, attentive, until he went on.
“You asked me a military question, of sorts, and how it relates to a—let’s call it a process, for now, a process that results in the corruption, or further corruption, of human beings and their respective souls. Correct?”
“Perfectly put,” I agreed.
“I think it might be better to address the root cause of this offer. Let’s start with these generals.. You know who the archangels are, I presume?”
“I think I do. But I suspect I don’t know as much as I should,” I said.
“Well, we can already make one assertion about this person who is harming others. He or she is a liar. A complete and total fraud.” His voice took on a ripe tone of disgust.
I looked at him, a bit shocked. “How do you know that, based on what I’ve told you?” I was confused and hoping he wasn’t going to turn from the friendly priest into a ranting loon.
“Simple math, Ring,” he began with confidence. “If this is process has happened more than once, the entire premise is a lie because there are a limited number of generals in any army. So this person—” He looked at me quizzically, so I broke in.
“It’s a she.”
He nodded once and went on. “She is offering the cheapest, most worthless gift in creation-- something that is not hers to give. And that tells me, by logic alone, that she is completely full of it, so to speak. Do you see?”
“You’re close
to the truth. And yes, I do see your point. Logic wasn’t my strong suit in college, but it should have been obvious to me,” I said.
“Don’t be hard on yourself. This leads to me to my next point about with this unseen woman who troubles you. Do you think she is a demon?” he asked with all seriousness.
I coughed and spat water onto the concrete, pounding my chest to clear it. I hadn’t quite expected that leap of logic, and it seemed at odds with Father Kevin’s relative youth.
“Yes.”
He gave a sad smile beyond his years, and said, “I thought so.”
14
Florida: Ring
It was the golden hour of early evening when I walked into the house, greeted by Gyro’s affectionate presence as he demanded several minutes of my attention before retiring to the couch. My Wagoneer was gone, which meant very little since everyone seemed to drive it except me, but I saw Wally’s door ajar and went to tell her about a newly arranged dinner event with Father Kevin.
I stopped when I saw her nude figure, sleeping, with the last rays of the sun casting her in an orange glow that made her incandescently beautiful. She stirred, lightly, as someone might do when they know they are being watched, and then sleepily called me over to the bed. I lay next to her, slipping my hands over the flawless expanse of her body, her legs, and letting my fingers come to rest on her breasts, with nipples hardened by my brushing fingers. I was going to tell her something, I think, but then she reached back and began to remove my clothes, giving me all the invitation I would ever need as I entered her from behind and we rocked slowly, easily, until I felt her tighten around me and her breath adopted the shallow gasps of a woman in perfectly welcomed agony.
She was hot and slick, and every stroke ended when our skin touched with an electricity that was almost painful. We stayed that way in perfect silence, until I heard her begin to hiss as her first orgasm broke free, a series of long, rolling shudders that nearly ended me right then and there.
She pulled free, turned me on my side, and slipped her mouth over me, sucking hard, then soft, and then not at all, just leaving me to rest on the warmth of her tongue.
“I think I want to”—I said, but then her eyes wrinkled with laughter and she pushed herself to my base as I filled her throat. Slowly, she clamped down even harder with her lips and tongue and then I did come, hard bursts that made my legs quiver like I’d run a dozen miles in the heat, and she didn’t stop until I fell back, panting, one had over my eyes and a massive smile on my face.
Afterwards, we lay under the whirling blades of the fan in that semi-sleep that lovers can know and the rest of the world can envy. I kissed her neck and asked her if she would like to have a dinner guest the next night.
“Where? Who?” Her voice was thick with residual lust, and I reveled in the huskiness of it.
I pulled her against me and held her for a second, waiting, and then told her softly, “Father Kevin will be here at six.”
I could not have launched her higher without a rocket booster as she leapt up, chest flushed red, and shrieked, “What?” in a voice that had suddenly become Argentine, Catholic, and very guilty.
“Do not joke with me! I would not have made love to you and Risa in the same day if I had known—”
“You little tramp. My, what a busy day at the office,” I commented, in my blandest tone possible.
“Enough! He is a priest and I am Catholic. A bad one, yes, but a Catholic, and he will, he will . . .” She grasped at a word that her post-orgasmic fog was cloaking from her guilty mind.
“Smell it on you?” I offered helpfully. Unlike Wally, I had no guilt. I still ogled her as she bounced about the room, frantically waving her hands and looking delicious.
“Stop looking at me like that. You just had me! And I, oh, I will have to have wine so that I can seem to be decent. Lots of wine,” she finished, defeated by her own frustration as she sagged back onto the bed.
“Are you ashamed? Seriously?” I poked her in the ribs, half kidding.
“No. Not now, not anymore. I am just caught off guard. A priest. In our house. I wonder what Risa will think?” She laughed and then added, conspiracy in her voice, “I cannot wait to see what she wears.”
“That’s the spirit. You know, we don’t have to tell him we’re lovers. We do actually have separate rooms.” I couldn’t wait to tell her why Kevin was coming over for dinner. That alone would be cause for alarm to her and Risa, who were even more guarded about our career than me. I knew that Risa would be home at some point, so I pulled Wally back onto the bed where she burrowed her face into the pillow with mock shame, and then, with a furtive smile half-hidden by the sheets, asked me if I wanted to join her in the shower. I followed her there with purpose. Scrubbing the sin from her was the second most important job of the evening, right after making her feel just a bit dirtier.
15
The Archangel Tyler
“Do you swear?” Dara asked for the third time.
She was so close to saying yes. If he had to smile one more time just to reassure the stupid slut, he thought he might puke. She was trash, a complete nobody. He was two grades ahead of her and she was adopted, for fuck’s sake, she didn’t even belong in this neighborhood, not like he did. His dad was important and his mom didn’t do anything except work out and tell his sister she was getting fat every time the cow came back from college.
It was almost ten o’clock and he had to sneak back in his room, so if Dara didn’t lift her shirt and let him get a squeeze of her giant tits, then the whole night had been a colossal waste. He’d already spent two hours listening to her drone on like an idiot about whatever stupid girls did for fun, but it all sounded like total bullshit, so he just nodded and smiled whenever she would come up for air when he was done kissing her, or if she ever stopped talking. He reached out, clumsily, because damned if he was going to wait anymore. He wanted to tell Austin what those things felt like whether Dara was in the mood to show him or not. What was she going to do, tell on him?
“What the hell, Tyler?”
His hand stung from her slap and the room got hot and his face flushed.
She stood, straightening her loose shirt and pointing at the window. “Get. Out. You are so gross and rude. Out. Now!”
It was upon him fast. The heat and anger surged up his neck as he felt the hairs rise, lifted by his rage, and in a second he was standing, the blood roaring in his ears. He felt his arm draw back as Dara’s face registered that moment when violence comes too close and too fast, and then he was on her, one right-handed punch landing under her nose with an audible crack as her eyes flickered like a dying candle and she fell toward her window, her skull ringing against the maple sash, finishing the task his fist had begun.
Tyler had never seen a person die before, and when his breathing slowed, he leaned down close to her. She was so pale, it was an instant transformation from Dara to this thing that lay before him, cooling in the air conditioning of her parents’ home. A flutter of panic washed over him, then calm, and Tyler stepped quietly to the window, but not before he placed a triumphant hand on her quiet breast, the last word in violation as he slid out the window to the dewy grass of the lawn.
His mind planned, not wildly, but calmly, from the vantage point of a boy who lacked nothing except a conscience and feared nothing. I can say I was never there. It will look like she fell, but what happens if they find out it was me? The first tickle of fear brushed his worry into something larger, and with each second, the limited logic of a boy began to realize that he was well and truly fucked.
And all because that skank wouldn’t let me touch her tits. Like it was something special. Oh man, oh man, what the fuck am I going to do?
“Yes, Tyler. What are you going to do?”
He whirled on the voice, worry gone to terror in a breath. “Who’s there? Who are you? I’m not Tyler. I’m— who are you?” His progress through the wooded easement that separated the houses stalled. He saw a silhouette, a w
oman, and then she walked to him, sauntering, her feet bare but still wearing what, to Tyler’s eyes, looked like a very expensive dress.
“You’ve been quite busy tonight, and all because of a simple—misunderstanding? Who was she to tell you no?”
When closer to him, he could see she was beautiful. Way hotter than anyone he knew, and so very close. She reached out and took his hand, stroking his fingers with an eroticism that his adolescence could not process.
“It’s important for one’s lesser to know their place, don’t you think, Tyler?”
He swallowed once, then screwed up what lingering courage he had and said, “Yes, I mean, if you think so. I just wanted to make out with her, but she was such a bitch. I didn’t mean to hurt her; I don’t even care about her. She was just there, you know?” His natural arrogance began to find footing again. Tyler projected vain, oily courage in the presence of a woman who was clearly some kind of threat. He felt his hand move involuntarily towards her face, the pull of her tide too strong for him in any state, let alone the weak and mentally disheveled moment he inhabited. A shadow passed in front of his hand as his fingers brushed the fabric of her dress.
Snap. “Oh God, oh my God, you fucking bitch, you broke my thumb—” Snap. The second thumb, broken as well, swung drunkenly as the tendons parted without any discussion. Her hands moved again, too fast for him to follow, and he was on his knees thinking he might die here, or she might tell his friends he was a pussy, and that the grass would ruin his pants, but he instinctively knew that his parents would never see his pants because he was never going home. Not now, not after Dara, and not now that this woman was inflicting such casual, instant violence upon him without ever changing her expression of modest amusement. She just moved at will against him, his thumbs hanging in ruin as he sobbed, fully fourteen years old at that second. His bravery was gone. For the first time in his memory he knew smothering fear.
Demon Master 2 (The Demon Master Series) Page 5
