Wicked Fire: Angel Fire, book 2

by Johnston, Marie

  Gerzon was a pain in his ass. But so far the demon was satisfied with staffing the club with extra demons. He thought having more bodies to possess was progress. And that was fine with Jameson. He’d never really planned to bring the demon or his horde into Numen with him—once he figured out how to get in there himself.

  “Go ahead and talk to Gerzon. I’d like to see how that goes.” Yes, Jameson was utilizing his own blood to try to gain entry into his former realm. But he wasn’t about to share that with Stede. If the male caught wind, Jameson would find himself strung up and bled dry.

  As far as Stede tattling to the archmaster Gerzon about a topic he only suspected, well, Jameson would call his bluff. Not even a crooked angel was going to approach an archmaster.

  He expected Stede to vibrate with anger, but the male’s temperament had calmed. Stede flicked a glance at Andy and then back at him. “You’re stretching yourself too thin. You can’t do it all. Someone’s going to suffer, whether it’s that pretty little human you keep in your bed or that son who’s fending off attacks no matter what realm he’s in.”

  There it was. The reason Stede had drastically reduced his lifespan. He was going after Jameson’s kid. “If you don’t have news for me, we’re done here. Andy, do see him out.”

  He rose, straightened his tie, and strode out of the meeting room. What Stede had forgotten was that Jameson had been stranded in this realm for a long time. He’d been tossed out and used, and he’d come back stronger than before. No one was going to double cross him.

  * * *

  Felicia eyed the large maroon plastic tote Odessa was holding. Her sister planted herself on the floor of Jagger’s office next to her. Since they couldn’t go anywhere, Felicia had bugged Bryant for something to do. And he’d turned Odessa on her, to convince her to do a task that she’d been avoiding, one that she’d insisted could be left for a couple of centuries.

  Felicia leaned away from the tub like it was going to chomp on her arm as soon as she reached in.

  Odessa flipped the lid off the tub. “I made sure to call you when I was ready to go through his items. After the house burned down, I was grateful to have this. He’d taken a lot of mother’s stuff with him.”

  A sharp pain jabbed her heart. At least one of them was a responsible adult. Odessa had packed up Father’s place. He’d moved out of their family home after Mother had died, and Felicia hadn’t given a thought to what had gone with whom. She hadn’t wanted the cold marble mausoleum that was once her home, so it’d gone to Odessa. They were angels and, as such, didn’t have many personal belongings. In her apartment on Earth, she probably owned three times what normal angels did. Other than robes and books and maybe an electronic from the human world, angels spent their time in service, whether it was to each other, humans, or the realm in general.

  Felicia folded herself down next to Odessa. Her sister sat with her legs to the side to keep her robe from gaping open. Her wings rested on the ground behind her, crossed at the tips like her ankles.

  Felicia had none of those worries. She sat crisscross applesauce as her students called it, and as always, her wings were morphed. But as much as her back ached, it helped being among those who understood why she hid them.

  Jagger waited outside with Bryant, and that helped too. This raw moment didn’t need his brooding judgment.

  “Is this all there is?” She frowned at the contents. The bin was a couple of feet tall, but only half full.

  Odessa nodded. “I almost bought two or three, but Father lived sparsely.”

  Another pang hit her chest. Father had been the bad guy for so long. A loving, happy dad turned cold and distant when she’d needed him most. All of her rage over what had happened and the powerlessness it still made her feel was aimed at him. If he hadn’t withdrawn, perhaps Mother would’ve had someone to turn to when she ran out of strength for her children.

  A sigh gusted out of her.

  Odessa’s bright gaze touched on her. “I know. He was suffering in his own way. We all were—are.” She glanced at Felicia’s back.

  “I’m not suffering,” she mumbled. She’d survived. She’d adapted. She was still serving the world like her kind did. No one knew it, thinking the worst of her.

  “Thank you for helping me with this.”

  “No reason to thank me. You shouldn’t have to do it alone. But Jagger was weird about you coming here with this.” Speaking about him was refreshing. He was usually too close for her to talk about, or the only one in the room with her.

  “I imagine it’s hard. He has nothing left behind.” Odessa sifted through a stack of envelopes. Some were pink and—she sniffed—lightly scented? “He has to pretend his father never existed. Did you know they destroy all the personal belongings of a fallen?”

  Felicia’s gaze drifted until the envelopes were a blur. No wonder he’d been moodier than usual. “Damn.” No one talked about Mother or how she’d died, but Felicia’s entire existence wasn’t threatened just by remembering her. Jagger had been a teen when his father had fallen.

  Odessa brought an envelope to her nose and sniffed. “This smells like Mother. Rose and lavender.” She opened one. Sprawling calligraphy danced across the page. “A love letter, from when they were courting.”

  Thinking of her parents young and in love squeezed her chest. She knew how that story ended.

  A faint smile lit her sister’s face. “They were marked as sync mates, but Father courted her anyway. She was young and scared. He was patient and kind.”

  And in the end, it hadn’t mattered. Felicia pushed off the floor. She didn’t want to hear this about the dad who’d been dead to her since he’d given her money and told her she’d be better off if she didn’t come back to Numen. He’d let her think he didn’t feel for her and that she was only trouble, and he’d run her off. Had it been for her own good?

  It hadn’t, but he couldn’t have known how it would turn out. Only that she’d been endangered because of him and because she was too easy to get to in her own home.

  A small gasp had her spinning back around. Odessa covered her mouth with one hand and a piece of paper shook in her other hand.

  Felicia rushed over and snatched the stationary. Violets danced around the edges and in the middle Mother’s handwriting.

  Please forgive me. My love for you and our girls doesn’t eclipse my fear. I’m terrified and they are trying to use my fear to get to them. I cannot protect them. Please forgive me.

  Mother hadn’t addressed the letter to anyone. No other last words, no “love always” or “yours forever,” just a desperate plea to understand the feelings that drove her into the fountain of angel fire.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Wetness streaked down Odessa’s face.

  The door banged open and Bryant rushed to his mate’s side. Felicia had to look away. He’d sensed his mate’s distress, as he should. Hadn’t Father felt Mother’s anguish, or had their sync bond not mattered? Witnessing Bryant’s quick reaction told her enough.

  A sync bond alone wasn’t enough to make a lasting relationship.

  Jagger approached, wary, eying her as if she were the one who’d made Odessa cry. She was about to snarl at his black heart, but his gaze dropped to the bin, and for a heartbeat, heartbreaking loss reflected in his eyes.

  Her mean words died on her lips.

  He tore his gaze away, his expression carefully blank, and took the paper from her. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he read the words. Without a sound, he handed the sheet to Bryant.

  Her new brother spared only enough time to read the message before dropping it back in the bucket and collecting Odessa in his arms.

  Jagger stood close enough that the heat wafting off his body was a small balm. As usual, there was no comfort for her. No gathering her up and soothing her own pains. But her sister was cared for and that would have to be enough.

  She squatted down and sifted through the rest of the contents. Letters. A phone with a smashed screen. Fathe
r’s attackers had probably crushed it, or it had been damaged in the fight to his death. Some scrolls that he might’ve been researching for his job as senator.

  She handed two to Jagger. “Here. Read those.”

  There was likely nothing on them, but going through Father’s last days might help determine who else was involved. They only had two names and that wasn’t enough. Stede and Kenton might have fled the realm, but there had to be more likeminded and brutally ambitious individuals left behind.

  She read one scroll. A sync request for a senator and the much younger daughter of another senator. A power mating. Tossing it aside, she grabbed another. A request for regulating angel fire, which had gotten denied.

  There were those in Numen who wanted angel fire regulated? It was so deadly, its burns irreversible, that no one wanted to mess with it. Only warriors had access to the special vials and protective equipment necessary to fill them; otherwise the angel fire was left open to the public. After all, no one wanted to risk even a droplet splashing on them. They all gave it a wide berth—except those like Mother.

  This request might be onto something. Most angels couldn’t take angel fire away from the city center, but what was stopping those with access from abusing that privilege? The days of thinking there were no bad angels among them were over, and the rest of Numen needed to know that. She should talk to Bryant when this was all over. The senate wouldn’t take her seriously if she approached them, but the director would.

  Jagger dropped his first scroll into the tub. “A request for information on the blood of the fallen.” He frowned. “Why would that be significant?”

  “I can search the archives,” Odessa offered.

  Bryant shook his head. “You’re not diving any deeper into this mess.”

  This was her opening. They couldn’t keep twiddling their thumbs at Jagger’s or crying over her father’s documents. “We should go to the archives. Jagger and I.” Bryant was already shaking his head when she charged ahead. “We know what to look for. Those who are after us will think we’re still hiding under guard.”

  “It makes sense.” Jagger was going just as stir-crazy. “If we find anything, we’d be the ones with the advantage this time.”

  Bryant’s gaze flicked back and forth. She didn’t press him. If he thought they were the best option, he’d send them. But he debated so long she doubted he’d give the order.

  “Fine,” he bit out. “But be careful or Odessa will make me suffer.”

  Chapter 13

  “Those are some tall freaking ceilings,” Jagger breathed in Felicia’s ear. She shivered. Her heat was like a cozy blanket he wanted to hug against himself. Creeping into one of the most esteemed buildings in Numen shouldn’t be titillating, but with Felicia, his heart raced and adrenaline pumped through his veins as they crept through the archives. And none of it had to do with the thrill of getting caught.

  “Saves on the cost of additions.” They were an old-school society at heart. Parchment was used exclusively for long-term record storage. Though they did process mass data digitally, the most critical information was stored as scrolls. Odessa was right. If there was pertinent information about how completely a fallen had changed, it’d be here.

  “I can’t believe… The director’s suspicions can’t be real.”

  “Can’t they, though?” she whispered. “He’s not human and there has to be some way to keep a fallen from transcension. I’m just surprised the ramifications hadn’t been explored earlier.”

  “It never felt right, trying to forget him. Maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess if the fallen had been monitored instead of stricken from history.” Maybe his relationship with his mother wouldn’t be so nonexistent. He thought of Mother’s glacial gaze. Or maybe not.

  Her expression was sympathetic. “I agree. How we deal with them needs to change.”

  They approached the end of a long hallway that arched impossibly high into a cathedral ceiling. Jagger scanned each direction they could go.

  Felicia gestured to his left. “Odessa advised starting in the west wing, where the most ancient scrolls are. We should split up.”

  His whole being rejected the idea of getting farther away from her. “Nothing good ever starts with that phrase.”

  Her lips parted. “Julian Hancock, do you watch Scooby-Doo?”

  He scowled at her. “It’s been a long few months.”

  He made sure his tone wasn’t insulting. She only smirked. He couldn’t imagine admitting to Valerina that he watched cartoons—and enjoyed them—when he needed to kill time in the human realm. She probably would’ve packed up right then. He was a male who’d chosen not to be a senator. For his ex, that was more than enough dings to his character. Kid shows would’ve toppled the scale.

  Valerina.

  He could think about her now without the ball of fury that had Felicia at its center.

  He was a warrior who investigated demon possessions. He hunted them. He followed clues. Felicia didn’t care about the rules—but she followed them. She was the traumatized daughter of parents who’d been victims of a system that had refused to change since creation, yet she still cared about this realm even when she had no reason to. While she liked to allude to deceit, she never lied.

  He believed her. Both he and Felicia had grown up early in their near-immortal culture. In a society where one could live forever if they were careful, maturity had a different meaning than in the human world. Some angels didn’t grow the hell up until they left the realm and witnessed real suffering, until they realized that their existence was about more than lounging under pristine white clouds and boundless skies. Others took a century or two.

  After what had happened to Father, he’d become a warrior. If watching his father’s entire existence be wiped out hadn’t made him view his life differently, then his first battle against a yellow-fanged monster had done the trick.

  He’d almost lost his first real fight, and it had only made him better, taught him to adhere to his training. It had also fueled his search for a mate. Did he risk getting injured so badly that fate would decide who he was mated with and when? Bryant Vale had been on death’s door when his sync brand had appeared. During those moments, angels could ascend or descend to where their future mate was and bond, then use the bond’s healing strength. Director Vale had done just that, only the female had been so terrified by his appearance, she’d stopped dead in traffic. Not even a healing bond could rectify a full-body slam by a city bus.

  Jagger hadn’t wanted that for himself when he’d met Valerina. An esteemed senator’s daughter. A respectable member of society. He could engineer his own fate.

  Then Felicia had dated a few other warriors and somehow he’d gotten linked to her.

  But she wasn’t the cause. He’d been spending too much time with her, scrutinizing every move against his will, and being deceptive wasn’t her personality. Except for that instance with Odessa’s ex. But he’d heard of that male and couldn’t help but think Felicia’s extreme measures had saved her sister a lot of heartbreak. And saved his boss.

  Felicia had hit on him. He’d turned her down. She wasn’t a retaliator. She didn’t seek revenge. There was no reason for her to spread those rumors.

  “I know you didn’t do it,” he blurted.

  Felicia’s brow furrowed and she looked down the hall. “Do what? And don’t we need to discuss a plan?”

  They should’ve had one before they got this far, but they were winging it at this point. “Just clearing the air. Yes, it’d be better if we split up, but my gut tells me not to. And I don’t think you tried to break up my mating arrangement.”

  She nodded slowly. “Okay. So we stay together and you finally know I’m not a lying d-bag.”

  “Yes.”

  “To the left then?”

  If she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it, neither was he. He thought they should talk about it more, but her reaction made sense. The rumors had damaged his life, not hers. They had s
eemed more like a targeted attack than stupid gossip. And that meant they were his problem. “To the left.”

  He waited for her to move. She was naturally stealthy, sliding against the wall, moving silently. Her long curves were held in check, and her black leggings and long-sleeved shirt didn’t highlight a thing, but he noticed anyway. He couldn’t quit noticing. Wrong time, wrong place. When had he started pondering the right time and place?

  Not until Persephone agreed to break things off. He wasn’t mating her. She had to realize it was futile and he didn’t have time to convince her that she’d find her one and only.

  A tall doorway came into view. Felicia glanced back at him and he dipped his head. It might take two days to search this place. Maybe more, but they had to start somewhere.

  The door whispered open. The archives didn’t have a security system. Technically, it was open to the public. History should be accessible to all. Didn’t mean that those in charge of the archives weren’t nosy. Or that they wouldn’t try to deflect searches into subjects they felt were best left forgotten, which might not align with the searchers’ goals.

  Felicia slipped inside and he followed, quietly closing the door behind him.

  “Odessa said the best way to determine what each room contains is to look at a few scrolls,” Felicia whispered.

  They had yet to pass anyone in the archives, but they weren’t alone and they didn’t know when an archivist might happen by, or the cleaners who donated their time tending to the routine tasks of dusting and sweeping.

  “I’ll take this side.” Each wall, including the one the door was in, was lined from floor to ceiling with neatly stacked scrolls.

  The daunting task loomed over him. He was trained for action. Browsing history records wasn’t in his blood.

  He yanked off a scroll, his gaze straying to Felicia. She skimmed her first scroll, rolled it back up, and selected another. Her expression captivated him. Interest blanketed her features. She could probably spend hours in here.