Angel of Chaos

by Debra Dunbar

  “Him, her — this angel isn’t taking my baby,” Harper said in time with the knife to my kidneys.

  “True. I doubt the Iblis is interested in taking your baby, though. From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t seem to enjoy the company of human infants — living or deceased.”

  The blows and stabbing abruptly ceased.

  “Oops.”

  Yeah. Oops indeed. I squirmed inside the elven net. “Get me the fuck out of here before I bleed to death. Damn it all, Harper. Why do you always have to be so fucking stabby?”

  “Sorry, sorry!”

  The net lifted, and I looked up at the two girls. I felt like shit, and from the expressions on their faces, I knew I didn’t look much better. Gregory was at the edge of the stairs. Nils, halfway down, was biting back a smile.

  “Well, that was vastly entertaining,” Gregory drawled. “From the situation at hand, I gather Dalmai is not keeping you two captive in Wyatt’s basement?”

  “No.” Nyalla exchanged a wary look with Harper. “I know he’s your angel and all that, but I don’t believe meditation did anything to improve his moral standing.”

  “Go on,” Gregory urged. “What exactly happened? I’d like to hear your side of the story before I track down and deliver justice to my former angel.”

  I shivered, and Nyalla stared at him with wide eyes before continuing. “I heard a commotion downstairs — Harper screaming and something making a thumping noise, but I couldn’t get out of my room. He’d sealed the door, and I couldn’t break it down — even using the closet rod as a battering ram.”

  “I was in the barn, and when I came in, he grabbed me,” Harper chimed in. “He got really angry when whatever angel magic he was using didn’t work on me. I kept screaming, and he tried to slap duct tape on my mouth. I fought him the whole way as he dragged me through the fields. The duct tape came loose pretty soon after we got out of the house. At that point, he seemed more eager to get me into the woods than stop and try to shut me up again.”

  “I knotted my bedsheets into a rope and climbed out the window, just like in the movies.” Nyalla was practically vibrating with excitement. “Then I snuck through the field after them. It was easy to stay undetected since Harper was making so much noise screaming and yelling.”

  “And Nyalla collared the other angel while Harper sliced him to ribbons.” The girls had the grace to look rather uncomfortable at my summary. “But what happened to Dalmai? Did he run away? Do you have any idea where he went?”

  “There.” Harper pointed to the boxes stacked up in the corner. “He went right there.”

  Given the condition of the angel in the sticker bushes, it was with great trepidation that I got up and peered behind the boxes. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The collar was the only clean thing on Dalmai. He’d been trussed up with electrical extension cords and had what seemed to be a dirty sock crammed in his mouth. One eye was swollen shut, and his nose was sideways. The angel’s clothing was torn, and blood oozed from deep scratches all over his arms and legs. A particularly deep gash ran diagonally across his side. I had no doubt who had done that one.

  “Wow, he’s alive.” I wasn’t being sarcastic. I truly was surprised that the girls hadn’t turned Dalmai into angelic hamburger.

  “We figured you might want to interrogate him then throw him into Hel with the other one.”

  Dalmai’s one eye grew round at Nyalla’s cheerful statement. I smiled and patted the girl’s shoulder, happy that I’d been such a positive influence on her vibration pattern so far.

  “I’ll take care of this.” Gregory pulled the sock from the angel’s mouth and tossed it aside. “Dalmai Haseha Huzia Rami, you have forsaken my household and broken ties with me, but as a member of the Ruling Council, I command that you answer my questions truthfully.”

  “I demand that the head of my choir be present to represent me.” The angel’s voice was raspy, but strong. For someone who was tied up and bleeding on a cement floor, he had surprising dignity.

  “And who would that be?” Gregory drawled.

  “Chabriel.”

  “Who the fuck is Chabriel?” I whispered to Gregory. Must be either Sleazy or New Guy, unless there had been a reassignment in the last few days.

  “Seventh choir.”

  Seventh. There were seven of us on the Ruling Council, including the empty spot for Uriel. That meant I must have a choir assigned to me. Of course, it must be solely populated with the Fallen, since no angel of reputable vibration pattern would want to be in the angelic equivalent of Satan’s household.

  Gregory reached out and tugged one of the electrical cords that bound the angel, jerking Dalmai forward. “Normally I would grant your request, but as you didn’t follow proper procedure in changing choirs, I am electing to refuse.”

  “Statute five, article three allows me to leave the choir of any angel whose vibration levels have fallen below an acceptable level, or who I have personally witnessed violating angelic law and/or purity standards.”

  I caught my breath, waiting for Gregory to explode in his customary burst of temper. Instead, my angel appeared composed and under control.

  “True. So Chabriel is aware of your accusations? You’ve petitioned him and been approved into his choir?”

  Dalmai paled, his one good eye swiveling to look at me in terror. I had no idea what I had to do with all this bureaucratic nonsense. No doubt I was about to find out.

  “I have petitioned. It’s under review. Surely I would be granted temporary membership under the circumstances.” There was a pleading note to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

  “Probably,” Gregory tapped his chin. “We’ll put it on the agenda for the next Ruling Council meeting, and I’m sure they’ll vote to grant you temporary membership into the seventh choir.”

  The angel began to shake. “These are special circumstances. I request asylum in the seventh circle — immediate asylum.”

  Gregory raised his eyebrows. He seemed to be enjoying this weird conversation far too much. If Dalmai had been one of mine, I would have jumped straight to physical torture.

  “I’m afraid not. As an unaffiliated angel, you will fall into the fifth choir.”

  “No! I’m not Fallen. You can’t assign me to a choir that I haven’t petitioned.”

  Ah, now I understood the angel’s fear.

  “Yay!” I clapped my hands. “I’m the fifth choir. Now that you’re mine, let’s cut with all the stupid talk of statutes and petitions and get right to the torture.”

  “I believe ‘default’ would be the correct term. The fifth choir … or you could remain in mine.”

  Damn Gregory for spoiling all my fun. I spun about to leave in a huff, only to have him grab my arm and spin me back around.

  “Which shall it be, Dalmai?”

  As if there was any question as to what his choice would be — an angel, even if he was a potato–chip–eating one, or an imp of a demon that had somehow managed to become the Iblis.

  Dalmai licked swollen and bruised lips. “Her. I’m taking the fifth.”

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  “Dalmai Haseha Huzia Rami, pending approval of your petition to enter the seventh choir, you are temporarily placed in the fifth. You will carry out the duties and responsibilities assigned by your superiors without argument and with due respect. Your rehabilitation is at the hands of the Iblis.” Gregory turned to face the two women behind us. “Nyalla, could you please remove the collar?”

  She stepped over the hog–tied angel, letting her foot kick him in the face. With a quick flick of her fingers, the collar was in her hands.

  “All yours, Cockroach.” Gregory gestured toward Dalmai. “I’ll take the girls back to your home and put on a pot of coffee.”

  His hand left my arm, and I heard three sets of footsteps ascend the stairs. Dalmai remained on the basement floor, injured and bound, although he now had the ability to correct both.

  “Would you like my assistance?”
Nils’s smile was a tad on the evil side, even for a Fallen angel.

  I shook my head. “Nah. Go drink coffee and hang out at my house. This won’t take long. I’ve got shit to do.”

  I waited until I heard the slap of Wyatt’s screen door before turning my attention to the angel on the floor. What to do, what to do? There were so many delicious options to consider. Wyatt’s basement held lots of interesting possibilities. An assortment of tools hung from a pegboard. Christmas decorations lay beneath an inch of dust under the staircase. A variety of sporting equipment lined the walls.

  Whip him with a fishing rod? Remove his fingers with the tin snips? Nah. The speed with which the Ruling Council considered agenda items meant I could have years with this guy. Plenty of time to let my impish imagination run wild.

  I selected a rusty set of hedge clippers from the pegboard. There was no reason for Wyatt to have these things. I don’t think a hedge had been trimmed on his property since 1967. Still, these landscaping tools had their uses. Dalmai’s jaw set in a determined line as I approached him. Sliding the clipper blade under an electrical cord, I positioned the rusty point against the hollow in his neck.

  He took a breath and held it.

  With a snap, I brought the handles of the trimmers together and cut the cord. Well, I attempted to cut the cord. Those things are fucking tough, and the clippers were dull as a butter knife. After three tries, the extension cord broke. I jerked it from the angel, flinging him against the block wall as it spooled from him.

  “Heal yourself.”

  He staggered to his feet and stared at me in astonishment. “Yes, Mistress.”

  With a flash, he stood before me completely healed. Although his head was bowed, I could see him eyeing the dull, rusty clippers. I tossed them aside and walked around the basement, searching.

  “Ah.” Picking up a soccer ball, I juggled it from hand to hand as I approached Dalmai. I could practice kicking it against his head. Nah. Ooh, or I could implant it under the skin of his abdomen and make him walk around with a fake pregnant bump for a few days. Might make him a bit more sympathetic for Harper’s condition. Or I could deflate it, shove it up his ass, and then re–inflate it. Hmmm.

  He raised an eyebrow at the ball.

  “Odd. I’d pegged you for more of an American football fan.” His hand twitched, but the sardonic twist was back to his lips. Some angels had no sense of self–preservation whatsoever.

  “You assaulted one of my Fallen. You sealed my girl in her room. You took the woman I’ve sworn to protect and attempted to turn her over to another angel. You plotted to have her unborn child killed — another being I’ve sworn to protect. That’s four of my household — I mean choir, that you’ve done wrong by.”

  Dalmai swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping and rising with the effort. It gave me an idea.

  Reaching out, I touched him, pouring my energy through the flesh of his corporeal form. “Dalmai Haseha Huzia Rami, I curse you to remain fully present in the form of a human for as long as I wish it. You will not be able to heal your injuries. You will need to consume food and beverage in order to sustain yourself. You will feel the urges of your physical body. You will be swayed by the seductive song of sin.”

  He gasped as the pore–less ivory of his skin turned slightly tanned. His features became more defined, and the body beneath his clothing took on the muscle and sexual organs it had lacked before. I ran a broken fingernail down his arm, and he jerked away, clasping his hand over the pink line.

  “There. Remain in this house until I return for you. Don’t fuck up any of Wyatt’s computer shit, or I’ll let him shoot you with his guns. Trust me, it will hurt like fuck, and you’ll bleed all over the place.”

  I turned, kicking the hedge clippers out of the way as I walked to the staircase. I was halfway up when I heard the frightened whine of Dalmai’s voice.

  “Mistress. Where are you going?”

  I paused. “Home. Where the people I love are having a hot cup of coffee and probably breaking into that key lime pie I bought yesterday. If you get hungry, I think Wyatt has some canned peas in the cupboard upstairs.”

  Continuing up the stairs, I ignored his repeated pleas not to leave. It wasn’t just the coffee calling my name. I had a deadline, and I wasn’t sure that this showdown — no matter how well choreographed, was going to go as planned.

  –29–

  The key lime pie was half gone, and Gregory was making a second pot of coffee by the time I walked through my front door. Something light and giddy bubbled through me to see them there. Mine. My angel, frowning as he precisely measured the coffee grounds, Harper, resting her pie plate on her belly as she leaned back in her chair and sighed happily, Nils and Nyalla tussling over the can of whipped cream. I had to make this work. Somehow I had to pull off a miracle and make this all work.

  “No, like this.” Nyalla wrestled the whipped cream away from Nils and tilted her head back, spraying it into her mouth. “Mfff, mmm.”

  The Fallen laughed and swiped a finger along the edge of her lips, scooping up stray whipped cream. As he raised it to his mouth, I saw something flash in his eyes — something I recognized quite well. Ooh, that bastard!

  “Nils, I am your Mistress, and I require that you answer me truthfully. Have you participated in anything of a sexual nature with any of the residents of my household?”

  There. That was broad enough that he shouldn’t be able to wiggle out of it.

  The angel started, looking rather ridiculous with a raised finger covered in whipped cream and a rather petrified expression on his face. Slowly he turned to look at Nyalla, then back to me, his cheeks crimson.

  “Yes. Uh, well, Nyalla and I have engaged in acts that have lowered my vibration pattern significantly.”

  Nyalla snorted, waving the canister of whipped cream. “You say it like we were out killing puppies and kittens. There’s nothing wrong with having sex.”

  I struggled with the urge to rip Nils’s head off. Or some other part of his anatomy. “You are having sex with Nyalla? After all that bullshit about how taking advantage of humans was so loathsome, you’re not only having sex with one, but one that is under my protection?”

  He must have heard the violence in my voice because he took a quick step backwards. “No! I mean, yes. It wasn’t my fault. She seduced me.”

  “What?” Nyalla shrieked, whacking Nils in the chest with the can of whipped cream. “I did not! You’re the one who was walking around naked in the middle of the night with a hard–on.”

  “That thing is always hard! You’re the one who proposed we do something about it. I thought you meant ice it or something, not … that.”

  “Oh, you! “ Nyalla was now beating him in earnest. “Did you tell me to stop? No. Instead, you got busy with your hands and mouth. And I did not initiate it the other six times. Or was it seven?”

  Nils raised his hands to shield himself from Nyalla’s blows. “I couldn’t help it — not with you right there and all the memories of what it felt like pouring through my mind. I’m not in control of my genitals. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Men! It’s always the penis’s fault. You’ll blame everything from poor financial decisions to substance abuse on one organ.” Nyalla feinted with the can and drove her fist into Nil’s nose when he ducked. She didn’t hit hard enough for it to bleed, but the Fallen howled as if he had been gutted with a splintery wooden spoon. “Well, no need to worry any longer. When I get through with you, you won’t have any penis to blame.”

  “Nyalla, wait!” As entertaining as this was, I feared she might truly make good on her threat. I was sure Harper had a knife handy to loan her. Giving Nils the Bobbitt treatment would need to wait a bit, though. He was my Fallen, and I needed to make sure he understood what a poor decision he’d made. It wasn’t that I cared about him having sex with Nyalla — they were both consenting adults, and I had always been partial to the sin of lust — it was his hypocritical posturing. And his throwing my gir
l under the bus when he was clearly attracted to her, both physically and otherwise.

  I scowled, taking a step toward the angel. His hands came up.

  “I swear. I’m not used to all the sensation; I’m not used to this appendage.” He waved one hand toward his groin. “It has a mind of its own. It does what it wants. I’m Fallen, and this is truly a punishment, to be so influenced by a part of my anatomy that I sin with humans.”

  Yeah, whatever. I didn’t blame Nyalla one bit. Nils was fucking hot, and who could resist a Fallen angel? But four–million years should have taught this guy some restraint as well as the ability to take responsibility for his actions.

  “Oh, beloved angel of mine, what do you recommend as an adequate punishment in this instance?”

  Gregory took a sip of coffee and crossed his arms in a pensive pose. “Well, nailing an angel’s wings together and tossing him off a cliff has proven to be a horrifying penalty, but Fallen do not have wings. Perhaps something to do with the body part in question?”

  That gave me a great idea. “Stay here,” I commanded my Fallen before racing upstairs to ransack Leethu’s former bedroom. My only hope was that Harper hadn’t found the item I was searching for and tossed it.

  Nope. I headed downstairs waving the metal device triumphantly in the air. It looked like some sort of plumbing fixture — which, in a way, it was.

  “Drop your pants,” I commanded Nils. He did as asked, and Harper edged around to the side to get a better look. Nils might be an angel, but he was nicely proportioned. And the item I held in my hand was going to be waaay too small. Good.

  I reached forward and grabbed hold, shoving the spiral of metal onto the organ in question before looping another section around his balls and locking it in place. Nils shivered, looking down at me with huge, frightened eyes.

  “You say you can’t control your cock, well this will do it for you. No way you’re getting stiff with this thing on.” I stepped back and admired the device. Leethu knew her shit, and she did love using toys.