Sons of Angels

by Rachel Green

  “Do it.” Jasfoup looked down at the unconscious woman. “She can make another when we’ve dealt with Raphael.”

  “We’ll go out the front.” Gillian pulled three throwing daggers from a sheath on her thigh. “Work our way around to the back and take him by surprise.”

  Felicia gulped, tears springing unbidden to her eyes. “You don’t have to. I can do this on my own.”

  “And let you have all the glory?” Jenna grinned. “Let’s go.”

  They slipped down the back stairs and through the kitchen into the hall, looking through the letterbox to make sure the angel hadn’t come around to cut them off.

  The coast clear, they crept into the night. “Good luck.” Gillian pulled Felicia into a full, open-mouthed kiss.

  “Last kiss before dying?”

  The vampire smiled. “One on account. We’ll talk when this is all over.”

  Felicia grinned and nodded, shifting to her partial wolf form to slink along the wall toward the stables while Jenna went the other way and Gillian climbed straight up the wall.

  * * * *

  The stables were lit by the light from the kitchen window when Felicia entered the yard, her Audi parked next to Harold’s van at angles to the wall. She used their bulk to mask her movement as she worked her way to the back of the house.

  She stopped when she got to the back of the van, surprised to see a large motorcycle parked there, its panniers full of weaponry. She spent a few moments going through the contents, half afraid to touch what she recognized as guns and grenades.

  When she pulled the sword from its sheath its blade burst into flame. She thrust it back in and remained motionless, afraid the angel had sensed or seen her touching it. When orange light blossomed again at the back of the house, she worked as quickly as she could, unbuckling the sheath from the panniers and slipping it into the boot of her car. An angel’s sword, she hoped, would work against an angel. Her studies of European art told her that much. She was unwilling to wield a weapon she’d only ever seen used in films.

  Armed with the fetiche, she crept toward the corner of the house.

  “Come on. Come out and be destroyed.” The angel seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, still in mortal form, though his wings were spread out behind him, fanning the fires as they licked at the fabric of the manor. Knowing Harold had shielded the house was comforting, but she wondered how long his spells would hold.

  She edged forward, creeping from plant container to picnic table, trying to get close enough to throw the fetiche.

  Her movements betrayed her.

  “There you are, my pretty one.” Raphael turned on the spot with the beginnings of another ball of flame twisting around his fingers. Like Puriel, he had several pairs of wings fanning from a naked, well-muscled body, and had the face of a choirboy. The flames gave his skin a golden glow, though his eyes glittered like steel ball bearings “Why don’t you come out where I can see you properly?”

  Felicia stood, the fetiche in her palm ready to throw. She moved forward, her heart hammering against her ribcage. “Leave them alone. I’m the one you’re after, aren’t I?”

  Raphael bowed. “I admire your honor in facing me. That shows true courage.” He smiled. “Not that it does you any good, but I salute you for it. You honor the name of demonspawn.”

  “How about making it a fair fight?” Felicia’s fear prompted sudden bravery. “Man to man, as it were.”

  “An admirable suggestion.” Raphael’s wings arched high over his head. “But one I must sadly decline. It would be improper to engage in such brutalities.”

  “Then go to Hell.” Felicia threw the stone to transport him to the icy circle.

  Raphael sidestepped, the fetiche skittering off into the darkness. “Stones will do you no good, though I recognized the stink of the dead upon it. Some sort of spell, I imagine.”

  Felicia turned and ran for the house. She managed to pull open the door to the green room before she heard the whoosh of the flames as they left the angel’s hand.

  Something kicked her in the back and she fell forward into the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Orange light hit the room, coruscating to blue as she turned to see Jenna writhing in flames.

  Then she was gone.

  “Jenna!” Felicia rushed to the door but the butch had vanished, reduced to ashes by the celestial fire. Tears fell down her cheeks as she saw the angel laugh and walk forward to check his kill.

  “Missed. But a nephilim here or there is always a bonus.”

  “Murderer!” Felicia looked up as another figure ran past the rose beds from the woods, the only access to the manor when the gates were closed. It was Meinwen.

  “A mortal?” Raphael drew a blade from his belt and threw it almost casually, striking the witch in the chest. She stumbled, her momentum carrying her several feet farther before she fell. He hesitated, looking directly at Felicia though the glass door. “I’ll see you soon. You could have saved them both.”

  With a flick of his wings he was gone, leaving her with the taste of brimstone and guilt. The roar of a motorbike started and faded as the angel left, followed by the whine of sirens at the front gates.

  Felicia’s tears dried on her face as she opened the door, stepping over the spot of grease that had once been Jenna. She hurried to Meinwen’s side. Her friend’s eyelids fluttered.

  “I saw the angels from the hill.” Her breath was ragged, the sound of a straw when then the glass is empty. “I have the protection of the goddess...” Her eyes closed.

  Chapter 44

  Felicia knelt in the dirt to cradle Meinwen's head. “You daftie, you shouldn’t have come.” How ironic that she journey into Hell for their sakes only to be slaughtered by an angel on her return.

  “She’s not dead.”

  Felicia looked up. Gillian held a compound bow in one hand, a sheaf of arrows in her belt. “I can hear her pulse. It’s slow, but still there.”

  “Help me get her inside.”

  “Should she be moved?” Julie knelt down, her glass eye held above the body.

  Felicia cradled Meinwen’s still form. “You should be in bed. You’re not well enough to be up and about.”

  “I disagree.” Julie smoothed a stray curl from Meinwen’s face. “I’m needed here. This woman hovers between life and death with a foot in each camp. I can see her standing on the edge of a grassy plain. She is held here only by the slow beat of her heart.”

  “Bring her back. She shouldn’t die like this.”

  “She needs a doctor.” Gillian pointed. “There’s a fire engine and an ambulance coming up the drive. They will save her life if it is not her time to go.”

  “We can’t let them see her.” Felicia looked at them both. “This wasn’t an accident. They’ll assume one of us did it.”

  “She’s right.” Julie stood. “At the very least, there will be awkward questions. We need to get her somewhere safe, with a doctor to heal the physical damage.”

  “We can’t have a doctor either.” Gillian lifted the dying Meinwen and carried her to the house. “Not if you want to avoid questions.”

  “Get her inside, out of sight.” Jasfoup held the door open.

  “Can’t you save her? Use your magic powers or something?”

  “I never learned.” Jasfoup frowned. “I have an idea, though. You need to clean up the blood before they see it.”

  “Wrack?” Julie called her imp. “We need the woman’s blood cleaned away.”

  “How?” The imp threw his arms up. “All the shovels were in the garden shed.”

  “Use your initiative.” Julie hurried after the others. “Get a spoon from the kitchen. Make sure you take the bloody soil well away from the house, though.”

  “There’s a pit half a mile south-east of the stables.” Felicia glanced toward the door, beneath which was a pile of ash. “Drop it in there.”

  Wrack watched them go. “What sort of spoon?” He waved his fist when they were out of earshot. “A
serving spoon? A tablespoon?”

  Tears stained Harold’s cheeks. “Where did Jenna die?”

  “There.” Felicia pointed. “Right by the door. She shoved me through just as the fireball hit her. She gave her life for me.”

  Harold nodded. “I know. Make sure it wasn’t for nothing.” He clicked his fingers for Devious. “I want every piece of ash collected. She deserves remembering.”

  The imp looked across to where Wrack was digging. “Do I have to use a tea spoon as well?”

  “Use anything that will get the job done. A dustpan and brush if needs be.” Harold looked at the flashing lights at the corner of the house. “I have some explaining to do.”

  * * * *

  Felicia followed the procession upstairs, where Gillian laid Meinwen on Julie’s bed. Jasfoup clutched at her arm. “I need you to keep her in the land of the living. Don’t let her cross over.”

  Julie’s expression was blank. “She looks back at us. She’s asking to be free.”

  Jasfoup shook his head. “No. I really shouldn’t do this but I’ve set my mind to it.”

  Julie looked at Felicia. “I need a bottle. Not too large.”

  Gillian spoke up. “She’ll bleed out if I leave her.”

  “I need Felicia here.” Jasfoup clicked his fingers and directed Delirious to fetch a bottle and a first aid kit. “I can’t guarantee success. If this doesn’t work, you’ll have to choose between the wolf bite and the vampire.”

  “Don’t make me have to choose. Just heal her.”

  Delirious returned. “Will this do?” He gave an empty miniatures bottle to Julie and a canvas-wrapped pouch to Jasfoup.

  Julie pulled off the lid. “Whisky. Somewhat fitting for a spirit bottle.”

  The imp burped. “It was full, so I emptied it.”

  “I guessed.” Julie plucked several red hairs from Meinwen’s head and poked them inside, holding her eyeball between her lips to use both hands. The bottle filled with the familiar swirling mist. “There. If her tie to this world fades I can catch her spirit in this. She won’t like it, mind.”

  “Understood.” Jasfoup barely glanced at the bottle. “Where’s Harold? He could be helping me.”

  “He’s talking to the firemen.” Delirious peered out of the window. “I don’t think they believe the fire was started by some bigger boys who ran away.”

  “He should tell them they had a flamethrower.” Jasfoup opened the first aid kit. “They’d go off hunting them instead of bothering us.”

  Felicia grimaced. “Will you please hurry? I can’t stop the bleeding.”

  “All right.” Jasfoup handed her some wadding. “I have to remove the knife. Be ready to staunch the wound.”

  Gillian held the surgical wadding next to the blade. “Go ahead.”

  “Delirious?” Jasfoup looked around for the imp. “I need a clean sheet and a white candle.”

  “Right away.” The imp vanished again.

  “What happened to the fetiche?” Jasfoup asked.

  “I missed.” Felicia growled. “He saw it coming.”

  “Never underestimate the advantages of hitting someone in the back. It might be unchivalrous, but it gets the job done.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  Jasfoup grunted as Delirious returned. “Light the candle. Put it at her head.”

  “I could fetch a desk lamp.” Felicia peered at the flame.

  “It’s not for seeing with. It’s to guide her back to her body.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you ready?” He grasped the hilt of the dagger. Gillian nodded and pressed the wad of gauze to the wound as the blade was freed.

  “Tape it down and step away.” Jasfoup held the knife by the very tip of the pommel. “Then cover her with the sheet.”

  “But–”

  “Do you want to help or not?”

  “Of course.” Gillian used surgical tape and stepped back, shaking out the sheet so that it settled over the prone woman, covering her like a corpse in a morgue. “Do you want me to clean the dagger?”

  “Certainly not, unless you want to contribute blood of your own.” Jasfoup laid the dagger over Julie’s stomach. “Don’t say a word, any of you. Whatever happens, don’t interfere.”

  Felicia shook her head. “Whatever you say.”

  He stared at her for a moment then nodded. “Blade of Earth. In blood I call you.”

  He paused for a moment. The room appeared to grow darker and Julie stiffened.

  “Blade of Earth,” Jasfoup said again, closing his eyes. “I can feel you. Show yourself and speak.”

  Mist swirled over the top of Meinwen, a pillar of translucent smoke which coalesced and sharpened. The voice of the spirit was a susurrus of knife edges through the air.

  “By the blood I come.” The spirit wavered as if in a breeze. “Why do you call me here?”

  The demon opened his eyes. “Beneath you lies a woman. Did you slay her?”

  “Aye.” The spirit changed shape, swirling over Meinwen’s prone form. “With my blade I pierced her chest, cut through skin and sinew and punctured her lung. A clean strike to kill slow. Aye. I slew her.”

  Jasfoup grimaced and pressed his hands together. He made a downward pass with them through the spirit, opening them at the bottom like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  “Spirit of Iron, Spirit of Carbon. In blood I call you.”

  The mist swirled and separated, one half light, the other dark. “We come.” Two voices spoke in unison. “Ask your question and let us free.”

  “Spirit of Carbon. Did you kill this woman?”

  The dark mist hovered over Meinwen’s form. “How could I? The wound is clean; precise. I kill by bashing, spreading the flesh so that it nourishes my children.”

  Jasfoup smiled and turned to the second column. “Spirit of Iron. Did you kill this woman?”

  The second column shifted, flattening so that it seeped into the sheet and returned. “Yes.” Its voice rang and bounced from the walls and ceiling. “The wound is pure. From the hand of man I came, ready to slay. I found a mark in this woman’s breast and I killed her.”

  Jasfoup hissed and closed his hands again, dividing the spirit of iron into two. The silver mist changed again, this time into one tinted orange and another in shades of ochre.

  “Spirit of Fire. A woman lies beneath you, with a hand upon the gate of darkness. Did you lead her there?”

  The spirit flickered briefly before replying with crackles reminiscent of flames over dry kindling. “Nay. This woman is not burned. I did not kill her. I would have reduced her to ashes and fed my children.”

  Jasfoup nodded and turned to the darker mist. “Spirit of Ore. Did you kill this woman?”

  The column shifted. “Nay. The wound is clean. I cannot kill with such a blow.”

  Behind it, Julie shook her head as she stoppered the glass bottle, placing it at Meinwen’s head next to the candle. Jasfoup grimaced.

  The spirit of fire hissed. “You could, with my help. I could melt you down and make you sleek and strong.”

  The spirit of ore fell silent. “Yes,” it said at last. “With Fire’s help I could do it. Together we could slay this woman.”

  Jasfoup hissed and divided Fire into two. “Spirit of Heat. Did you slay this mortal?”

  “Nay.” Its voice like a wave, Heat answered. “Her skin would blister and dry under my touch. She is water heavy. I did not kill her.”

  “Spirit of Air. Did you slay her?”

  “Of course not.” The voice was soft as wind. “I would fill her lungs with life, not slay her.”

  “Good.” Jasfoup smiled. “Then I dismiss you all.”

  The mists dissipated, vanishing, Felicia was certain, into the blade lying on the top of the sheet. Jasfoup picked it up and laughed, taking the sheet in the other hand and whipping it away. Meinwen was whole and breathing, with not a mark to show the wound. Surgical gauze tumbled from her chest.

  “Yes!” Felicia grinned.
“You did it, Jasfoup!”

  “Not yet, I haven’t.” The demon looked toward Julie, whose sightless eyes focused on Meinwen’s head.

  “I caught her.” Julie’s voice echoed. “She was slippery as an eel, trying to get to her fields of grass, but I caught her.” She found Meinwen’s mouth with one hand and unscrewed the stopper of the whiskey bottle, holding her thumb over the bottle mouth. Her other hand on Meinwen’s chest, she waited until the body took a breath and took her thumb away, the mist in the bottle drawn into Meinwen’s lungs.

  Meinwen convulsed as she sucked in a great lungful of air. She rolled over onto her side and retched while Felicia, grinning, pounded her on the back.

  Meinwen held Felicia’s arm. “I was looking for you. There was a fire...and an angel.”

  Jasfoup touched her hand. “Do you remember anything after that?”

  Meinwen frowned. “I had a nightmare about being trapped in a bottle like a genie.”

  “Ah.” The demon glanced over at Julie, who was staring impassively ahead. “Nothing important then.”

  Chapter 45

  When they got downstairs again, Harold and Devious were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea, a plastic bag full of ashes on the table.

  “Is there any in the pot?” Jasfoup lifted the lid and peered inside. “I’m parched.”

  “You’ll have to make fresh.” Harold rubbed his forehead, leaving a line of dirt. “I’m fed up with making it. Do you know how much tea firemen and policemen drink? It’s criminal. I should send them a bill. I think I convinced them it was just kids.”

  “Good.” Jasfoup filled the kettle. “Meinwen’s made a full recovery after she fell and bumped her head.”

  “Did I?” Meinwen put her hand to her temple. “I don’t remember falling. I remember your shed being on fire.”

  “What’s in there, Harold?” Gillian nodded toward the bag.

  Julie twisted her hand so her eye could see it.

  “That is just so creepy. It’s like living with the Thing from The Addams Family. We’ll have to sort something more permanent out for your spare eyeball.” Harold shuddered. “It’s Jenna’s ashes. I had Devious pick up all the bits.”