Angel of Darkness Books 1-5

by Mackenzie Morris

  Oviel was the first to speak. "It's almost sad when they die so young, but justice is blind to even age, it seems."

  "What's going on here?" Zeriel asked.

  "That kid is a dirty-handed thief. See those brands on his face?" Axaniel asked. "Those were from his first two offenses. This is his third. You know what that means. He's going to hang there by his neck until he stops breathing. Hopefully the drop is enough to break his neck. I hate it when they strangle and suffocate for a while. All that thrashing is just terrible."

  "Just stop talking."

  High Priest Corin, in a long black robe stepped forward and spoke where the entire audience could hear him. "Liam Calen Ulverin, you are hereby sentenced to death by hanging for your third offense of theft. You have been tried and found guilty of all offenses, including stealing a holy tome from the temple. Does the condemned have any last words?"

  Liam whimpered as the rope was placed around his neck and tightened. "I did it. I stole those things. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Please don't kill me. I don't want to die. My sisters need me. They need me or they'll starve."

  Zeriel called out to them. "No! Stop this. You can't kill him. He's just a child!"

  Carvael pulled him back away from the edge of the roof. "Zeriel, calm down. What has gotten into you? That boy is a thief. He stole the Draconia Lexicanum from the temple."

  "The what?"

  "You don't know what the Draconia Lexicanum is?" Oviel asked. "Sounds like you need to go to the library in Heaven and do some research. I was certain that your father would have told you about something like that. That thief was messing with powers far darker than himself. It is a good thing the guards caught him. Death will free him from whatever evil powers have been unleashed from the ancient pages of that book."

  The trap door fell open and the rope pulled taut. Zeriel looked away. He couldn't watch it.

  Oviel looked down at the roof. "It's a sad thing . . . justice."

  "Is that justice in your eyes?" Zeriel asked. "Liam was a child. He stole to feed his family. They all relied on him, so he did what he could. Now he's dead. Is that justice?"

  "The world is black and white." Oviel held out his hands. "On one hand, you have goodness, virtue, and purity. On the other, you have crime, evil, and destruction. As angels, we are the guardians of Heaven. We protect those who do Sola's will in Aldexa. You are her son, Zeriel. Never forget that. While the thief was only a boy, we have to show these humans who is in charge. They have to know that rules and laws are in place for a reason and no one is safe from Sola's will."

  "Even if it means killing a misguided and desperate child?"

  "Even if it means killing thousands of children. You've never had an issue seeing this before."

  Zeriel turned away from it all. "Maybe I've learned some things from being around humans."

  "A little too much."

  Chapter 9

  If there was going to be any way to figure this out and get back to his own reality, then this library would have it. Zeriel flew through the warm air of Heaven that smelled like sugar and honey then landed on the front steps of the library. Hundreds of fellow angels were gathered around in the courtyard, talking with each other or sitting at the cafes sipping wine and eating mana-filled pastries and drinking the pale pink sticky ambrosia. Soft cello music was playing nearby in the universal haze of the angelic mage-glow.

  Zeriel pushed open the heavy golden doors that were engraved with pictures of angels and grapevines then stepped into the quiet library where the only sounds were the occasional shifting of silk robes, light footsteps on the dark wooden floors, and the rustling of feathers from the other angels who were busy with research or writing at desks lining the walls of the first floor. Tall spiraling staircases reached up in the middle, stretching upwards twenty floors to the glass ceiling. Instead of climbing, Zeriel flew up to the top floor where the oldest and most important books were stored in tall crystal bookcases.

  He didn't know what he was looking for, only that there had to be something in these books. Then he spotted something strange on the bottom shelf, caked with years of thin grey dust. Zeriel knelt down then ran his fingertips over the leather spine of the large book. In gold, the name Jaylen Corrifus was written there. He slid the book out of its place then gently opened the cover. The stiff parchment pages were in pristine condition. Zeriel immediately recognized the sharp-edged handwriting that detailed all manner of gold, gemstones, and bottles of vintage wines. If he knew any better, he would have sworn that Jaylen himself wrote this. Even if the random writings inside the book were useless to his investigation, he knew he could at least use this for something.

  Flying outside again, he spotted Oviel chatting with a younger angel at the cafe. Zeriel landed next to the manicured bushes covered in yellow blossoms then leaned over the metal gate and held out the heavy book. "Oviel, a minute?"

  "Sure. What's up?"

  "Look. Jaylen Corrifus." He patted the spine of the book. "It's right there. Tell me you can see this."

  "Of course I can see it. Why are you carrying around one of treasurer's account books?" Oviel asked, finishing off his cup of ambrosia.

  "Account books? What?"

  "Jaylen Corrifus is Heaven's treasurer. His angel name is Jayael? You used to go over to his office when you were little to learn mathematics. I know you remember him."

  "Uh . . ." Zeriel held up the book and turned it over in his hands. "Y-yeah. Sure. I think I'll go return this to him."

  "Zeriel, we're worried about you."

  "I am too." Zeriel leapt into the air then glided down the hill to the modest building made of silver bricks and tiny yellow citrine stones around the door and windows. He went to the door and knocked on it a few times. "Hello? Anyone there?"

  A very familiar voice called from the other side. "Come in."

  He stepped inside the book-lined room where hundreds of candles burned on the desk, shelves, and windowsills instead of mage-glow to light the room. Zeriel stopped where he was and the door shut behind him as he stared at the white-winged angel who was busy scribbling down something on a pad of paper. It was Jaylen. One hundred percent, even down to the bright blue eyes. There was one difference, though. The angel had two hands.

  The angel looked up expectantly. "Can I help you?"

  "Jaylen!"

  He didn't seem to share the same enthusiasm. "Uh, that was my human name. I'm Jayael now. Do you need something? Why do you have my account book?"

  "Huh? Oh, yeah. This." Zeriel handed him the book. "There."

  Jayael took the book and quickly flipped through the pages. "Thank you. This is very important."

  "Why does the book have your human name on it and not your angelic one?"

  "Because this was started for me by Sola before I became an angel. This particular book is my personal account. Sola had been setting back payments for me even while I was a human."

  "Why would she do that? I've never heard of something like that happening."

  "It's a long story, and one that I personally do not feel like discussing right now. The more I can forget about my life and death as a human, the better."

  "Was it that bad? Did you die in a terrible way?"

  "I lived in a terrible way. This cannot be why you've come here. Thank you for the return of my book. Now, if you don't have anything else for me, I suggest you leave."

  "Jaylen-"

  "Please call me Jayael."

  "Oh, of course. Jayael, are we . . . friends?" Zeriel asked.

  "Friends? Have you been drinking?"

  "No. Not at all."

  "I wouldn't call us friends, Zeriel. You used to come here to learn math and stuff, but other than that, we've only spent time together once at the tavern."

  "You drink now?"

  "I drink wine just like every other angel. Why is that surprising?" Jayael asked.

  "Let's go. Come with me now. We'll go have a drink and talk."

  "Talk about what?"

 
; "Uh . . . accounting stuff?"

  "Listen, if you wanted to ask me out on a date, then you should have just asked." Jayael pushed the papers off of the desk then sat there and grabbed Zeriel's collar. He pulled him closer and whispered in his ear as he took Zeriel's hat off. "We both know how these kinds of things work. If you don't tell, I won't tell. No one has to know."

  "Whoa, whoa, wait. How old are you?"

  "Old enough. But if you must know, I'm seven hundred and twenty-two."

  "You still look sixteen."

  "Sixteen? Just be quiet and enjoy yourself." Jayael kissed Zeriel's neck as he unbuckled his belt then slid his hands up under Zeriel's shirt. "Every angel has needs. As long as it's kept quiet, we can do whatever we want."

  What the hell? Zeriel tried to push Jayael's hands away, but the other angel simply pinned his arms to the top of the desk. "Stop. This isn't what I wanted."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I-I've never done this before."

  "Shh. Then let me take control." Jayael roughly kissed Zeriel and bit his lower lip in his teeth.

  Zeriel moaned and pulled away. "Ugh, you know what? This isn't working. Just get off of me."

  "What? Why?"

  "This is not why I came here."

  "Then why did you come here, Zeriel?"

  "You know what? I don't know." Zeriel put his hat back on and turned towards the door. "You aren't who I thought you were."

  "Who did you think I was?"

  "A much better person."

  * * *

  "Black roses."

  Carvael turned to him and put a heavy book back on the shelf in the library. "Hmm?"

  "Black roses." Zeriel stared at the vase of freshly-cut black roses that sat on the small table at the end of the row of bookcases. "Where do they grow roses up here?"

  "In the gardens."

  "But black ones?"

  Carvael flipped through another book and scanned over the pages. "Aren't they pretty? Don't worry about the roses, sweetie."

  "Quit calling me that. Why is everyone calling me that? You never used to call me that."

  "Forget it." Carvael put the book away then brushed the dust off of his feathers. "I've looked through this entire row of books and I haven't found anything. I'd love to stay and help find whatever it is you're looking for, but I really must be going now, son. There is a meeting of the Angelic Court in fifteen minutes. I suggest you stop all of this useless research and sudden strange curiosity about roses and come with me. You need to be there for this meeting. It involves you."

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you. Sola wants to mate. She needs new angels . . . and she has chosen you to be their father."

  "W-what?" Zeriel asked. "I thought Gavin was busy working with other angels to impregnate Sola."

  "No. Gavin has become . . . belligerent. He has been permanently removed from his responsibilities."

  "Why me?"

  Carvael shrugged his shoulders. "It's a very high honor, Zeriel."

  "No . . . this isn't right. I'm her son."

  "It doesn't matter. All genetics are passed through the angels, not Sola. You already know that Sola is the mother of all angels who aren't humans beforehand. The only reason you are called prince is because you are my son as well. I am the highest angel there is. Don't you understand that? I am the king of Heaven, Zeriel. I can help you if you will only let me."

  A sudden surge of panic swept through Zeriel. "This doesn't feel right. Nothing here feels right. It's not real, is it? None of this is real."

  "You must be indeed poisoned, Zeriel. Why don't we get you back to the palace and find some healers to help you? You will feel better then, right?"

  "No. No, I won't feel better. You know why? Because none of this is real!" Zeriel grabbed the nearest bookcase and pushed it over, scattering books and scrolls all over the floor.

  A feminine angel in pink robes with long wavy brown hair appeared with his silver bow drawn. "Stand down, you."

  "Tarael? Tarael, what are you doing?"

  "You are under arrest." Tarael twisted Zeriel's arms behind his back and secured his wrists in golden enchanted shackles that prevented Zeriel from using any of his magic. "You're coming with me."

  * * *

  Tarael tied back his hair with a pink scarf then held up a tiny mirror to apply more dark red lipstick. "You're staring, sweetie."

  Zeriel rolled his eyes and pulled against the iron that secured him to the metal wall. His bare back was against the cold wall, sending shivers over his body. "Do you always wear makeup when you're about to torture someone?"

  "I think it helps. Do you know how many demons I have slaughtered? Do you know the ways I rip their spines out with my teeth and relish in the beautiful music of their screams? I have killed thousands of demons on my own just for the fun of it. Now you're going to have one more to add to that list."

  "What? You're insane."

  Tarael unfolded a bundle of tools on the nearby table and slid out a razorblade. "We know what you truly are, demon."

  "Demon? I'm no demon. Look at my wings. They're white."

  "Yes, because you possessed Zeriel. You are a demon who is controlling a Holy Angel."

  "Are you crazy? No, I'm not possessed and I'm not possessing anyone. It's me, Zeriel. Archangel Carvael is my father and Sola is my mother."

  "No. Who are you really? Give us a name."

  "Zeriel. My name is Zeriel, Prince of Heaven."

  "Wrong answer." Tarael sliced into Zeriel's right cheek with the blade. "What have you done to the real Zeriel?"

  "I am the real Zeriel. Ask me anything."

  "All right. We'll play your game. Who was your brother?" Tarael asked.

  "My brother? You mean Brinxael, my sister?"

  "No. There are no female angels. If you were actually Zeriel, you would know that. Though you did get the name right. Tell me how you killed that disfigured monstrosity."

  He flinched as the blade was dragged over his stomach. "I didn't kill Brinx. Carvael sent her down to Aldexa and locked her there in his little barrier-covered island of Cilona."

  "Lies!" Tarael wrapped his arm around Zeriel's waist then began kissing from his hipbones up towards his neck.

  "What are you doing? Tara, what are you doing?"

  "Don't you remember those nights in the garden? Or that one early morning in the vineyards?"

  Zeriel groaned as he turned his head to avoid Tarael's lips. "Okay, now I'm certain that none of this is real. We have never and will never do anything together."

  Tarael nipped at Zeriel's ear then stepped back and opened an elaborately decorated box. "Plan B."

  "What's in that box? What are you going to do to me?"

  "This is a simple way to see if this is one big misunderstanding." Tarael lifted the lid off of the wooden box and held up a glass tray piled high with puffy white balls. "Mana, an angel's favorite snack. But if you were actually an angel, you would know that."

  Zeriel only watched him. What was he planning to do with that? "What, are you going to tickle me with it?"

  "You know why I'm using this, right?" Tarael took a bite out of one of the balls. "Mmm. That is tasty. Though, if you're a demon or corrupted in any way, this mana will be extremely painful and toxic to you."

  That didn't sound good. "How toxic?"

  "You should be more concerned with the excruciating, mind-melting pain." Tarael ran his finger over Zeriel's right wing than held up his hand to reveal the white left behind. "Oh, would you look at this? Paint. You painted your wings white, didn't you? How long have you been Fallen, Zeriel?"

  "I'm not Fallen."

  "Oh, okay. Then this mana won't hurt you." Tarael forced Zeriel's mouth open and shoved the mana inside then clamped his hand over Zeriel's mouth and nose, forcing him to keep the mana inside.

  Zeriel's muscles tensed as he started to convulse and thrash from the intense burning that coursed through his body. Tears streamed down his face until his was groaning in agony. Once Tar
ael removed his hand, Zeriel coughed and spit out the mana. "Okay! Stop, stop, stop! Sola's rays! I can't take any more. Stop, please."

  Tarael chuckled as he wiped away the spit from Zeriel's chin. "Thank you for proving my point, sweetie. So, you're Zeriel, but Fallen. When did that happen?"

  "Doran."

  "Who? Spouting lies won't get you anywhere, you know? I just want to figure out how you of all angels could have fallen when you barely even leave Heaven. You've never had a paladin, you don't even drink most of the time, and you avoid The Veil and Hell like they're . . . well, Hell. Tell me, and I will let you go down to Aldexa and live out the rest of your miserable existence with the humans."

  "I don't know, apparently. Everything I thought was real isn't."

  "Well, then. I will leave for a bit and come back. Once you remember all about your fall from grace, I will come back and you can tell me all about it." Tarael sliced the razorblade across Zeriel's left pectoral muscle then shoved it deep and twisted it. He then stepped back and smiled as he left the razorblade embedded cruelly in Zeriel's chest. "Hold on to that for me, will you?"

  Zeriel was left there with blood seeping out of the wound on his chest and soaking into the waist of his pants. A wooden cup fell off of the table and bounced a few times on the floor, rolling to a stop against the far wall. There hadn't been any movement or any windows where a breeze could have knocked it off. Then he could have sworn that someone whimpered. "Uh . . . hello?"

  Before anyone could answer, three black rose petals appeared out of nowhere and drifted down to Zeriel's feet. Black roses? That gave him an idea. He stepped on them and ground the petals under his toes.

  "Stop! Don't hurt them!"

  Chapter 10

  "Don't hurt the roses. I love them."

  Zeriel blinked once and when he opened his eyes again, he was in Ilyan, standing in the temple gardens beside a bush of black roses. The sun was gone and replaced by the pale orange mage-glow of early evening. A group of red paladins marched past, followed by their angels. All the pain from the punishment that Tarael had inflicted on him was gone and his wounds were healed as if they had never been there in the first place. Zeriel smiled when he saw he was dressed in his simple black pants and long black wool coat with the ruby buttons. He wouldn't want to wear anything else. Even his feathers were back to their soft velvety black color. "I'm back home."