Though the Brightest Fell (The Brooklyn Angels Series Book 1)

by Nola Cancel

  And, should the dagger fail, use the shotgun to blow his fucking head off. I’m sorry, Joey. Sorry I couldn’t be the father you needed or wanted.

  I love you, very much. Don’t be a fuck-up like me. Take care, kid. Your Pops

  P.S. Don’t know what those coins are made of but they cost the guy who made the dagger a couple of fingers, so be careful.

  Bye, kid. Joe didn’t realize he’d been crying till some of his tears fell on the letter. But he knew why he was crying.

  His father was a hard guy. A real prick, some would say. But to Joe, he was just his Pops.

  And though he never said I love you out loud, the letter proved what Joe always knew, that his father really did.

  Joe put the letter in the back pocket of his jeans, took the dagger covered in its cloth, and grabbed the shotgun.

  Walking up the same storm cellar stairs Belial had used so many years ago, Joe’s mind was on one thing— revenge.

  “Don’t worry, Pops, that fuck will pay for everything he’s done—I promise.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Michael and Azriel walked into the Hell-Hole at the exact time that Belial had instructed. Old-time calliope music was playing over the speakers and the room was lit up with thousands of multi-color blinking lights.

  The ride was on and spun around and around on an invisible axis. Michael thought he could make out two figures standing on it, but the ride was going too fast to be sure.

  The music, lights, and constant spinning were distracting—probably on purpose—and Michael could tell Azriel was losing focus.

  “Pay no attention to the noise,” Michael whispered. “Just remember what I told you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Sixteen years ago

  Dante’s was the most popular bar in Rome. Cool enough to make the European hipsters happy and quiet enough for the serious drinker to get their load on.

  For Bub, who tended bar there three days a week, it was a place to meet new people and listen to their individual stories. Bub was a great listener.

  “What can I get you?” Bub asked the distinguished looking gentleman who’d just sat down.

  “Water,” Belial answered, in no mood for conversation with another meat-bag. In the past few years, he had spoken to enough of these rejects to make the prospect of answering a simple question

  excruciatingly painful. The very idea that any of these humans might ever be able to help him was

  incomprehensible, but he was at his wits end and was told, over and over, that this bar might be the place to find the answers he needed or the item he’d been searching for.

  “Water?” Bub repeated, making sure he had heard the smelly little guy right.

  “Yes, water. Why, you got a problem with that?”

  “No, no, not at all,” Bub replied, displaying a bright and genuine smile. “Just not a common request.”

  Grabbing a glass of water, Bub placed it in front of his new customer. “So what brings you to Dante’s tonight?”

  “That’s my business. How about you find someone else to annoy?” Belial replied, his disgust growing by the second.

  “No problem. Didn’t mean to bother you,” Bub said. “We just get a lot of people in here who seem to be looking for something—something they can’t find on their own, despite their obvious skills. Let me freshen that water.”

  Belial watched the meat-bag walk away. He wondered, could this piece of trash help him find what he so desperately needed and had searched every corner of this world to locate?

  After the deal with Nino had gone bad and the three angels they had captured wore out their usefulness, Belial had been disappointed. Even finding out that his maimed and tortured brethren had all ceased to exist as a direct result of his actions had left him only slightly pleased.

  However, after witnessing Michael’s agony and guilt over his brothers’ deaths, Belial’s mood greatly improved. He felt renewed and couldn’t wait to catch and drain other angels on earth.

  Unfortunately, this unbridled joy was short-lived.

  Once Michael started destroying anyone or anything associated with Belial, he knew if he didn’t run far and fast, he would soon be next. The archangel would eventually find him, and once that happened, no mercy would be shown.

  When he left New York, it was with a definite purpose—to find something or someone to help him get rid, once and for all, of any angels that happened to be on earth, especially Michael.

  Belial had searched for more than thirteen years. Starting in Israel, the holy land, through the rest of the middle east and then the orient. In each part of the globe, he had read all the ancient tomes he could find, written on everything from rock to vellum, looking for a clue that would help him eradicate his problem for all time.

  Rome, and the Vatican in particular, was his last chance. If he couldn’t find what he was looking for among the oldest relics of Christianity in the world, he never would.

  “Here ya go,” Bub said, placing the cold glass of ice water in front of Belial. Turning to leave, Belial stopped him in mid-step.

  “Hold on there, Bub,” Belial said, looking at the bartender’s name tag. “I might be looking for something. Something very old and important to no one but myself.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” the bartender said, an amused smile illuminating his face. “I know what you seek and why you seek it and can tell you, without a doubt, there are many others who also desire it.”

  “How could you know?” Belial asked. “Who are you?”

  “I am no one—NO ONE!” Bub answered, laughing as he spoke. “I’m sorry. Inside joke, an old movie reference. Still makes me laugh. Who I am or how I know is not important. What is important, is our shared interest in what you seek and its intended purpose. I am the only one who can help you.”

  “What do you want from me in return?” Belial asked, worried for the first time in his existence, about the answer.

  “There is nothing you or your kind can give me but there is something you can do for me.”

  “What would that be?” Belial inquired warily.

  “Destroy the archangel,” Bub said, his face growing dark and menacing as his eyes burned bright as fire. “That is all I ask of you.”

  “How can I be sure you have what I need?” Belial asked.

  “I think you already know the answer to that, Belial,” Bub answered. “Rest assured your search is over. Take a minute and compose your thoughts. I’ll get you another water and we’ll talk more.”

  “Where have you been?” Belial asked, earnestly in awe of the figure that stood before him tending a small bar in Rome.

  “Nowhere…everywhere. Qui procul ab oculis, procula limite cordis, Latin for ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ It is how I wish to remain for the time. I will soon remind the world of who I am.”

  As Bub turned around, Belial came to the realization that he was not surprised. However, he was usually much more observant.

  Looking at the bartender yet again, for the first time since he walked into Dante’s bar, Belial really saw him. Beautiful face, unblemished skin, long flowing hair, and preternaturally sharp nails, honed to fine points—it really was him.

  Bub, short for Beelzebub, was a fallen angel, too. The first fallen angel, the Morning Star.

  Belial had hit the jackpot.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Present Day

  Belial walked out of the back room smiling. In his right hand he held a pair of eyes, strung together grotesquely like a macabre key chain.

  “I swear, Belial, if you—” Michael began but was immediately interrupted.

  “Don’t rustle your feathers, brother. They’re not hers,” Belial sneered. “I like to keep certain souvenirs from other members of the family that get in my way.”

  “Where is she, Belial?” Michael asked, walking slowly around the right side of the ride as Azriel walked around the left.

  “She’s here,” Belial answered, swinging th
e eyes round and round his index finger.

  “Where? Tell me.” Michael moved closer.

  “You’ll see,” Belial said as he reached for a lever sticking out of the wall and pulled it down.

  The ride made a loud clanging noise as if it were about to break. Michael watched the ride as it slowly came to a stop. The two figures he thought he had seen before rapidly came into focus.

  Michael gasped. Strapped to the ride was his beloved Maria. She was caked in blood and her nose had been broken. Both eyes were blackened and barely open. A glimmer of recognition shone in them when she spotted him but was quickly replaced by a wince of excruciating pain that cut through Michael like a knife.

  Michael tried apparating to her side to rescue her, but it wasn’t working.

  “None of your angel tricks here, Brother,” Belial laughed. “This entire room is covered with the ancient symbols that will render you and any of your selfrighteous meat-bag lovers powerless.”

  “But how did—” Michael began, his fury increasing by the second.

  “The symbols were written in the blood of the most innocent. But don’t worry, they won’t miss it. They weren’t in this world long enough to miss their remarkably short lives. The symbols themselves come from the first fallen.”

  “The Morning Star,” Michael whispered, shocked by the mere mention of his name.

  “Yes, the very first fallen,” Belial continued. “He has learned much from his time in Hell, but especially how to hurt those he once trusted and called brother.”

  “I will destroy you, Belial,” Michael said and meant it. “Let her go.”

  “Oh, I will. I will.” Belial smiled in a way that sent chills down Michael’s spine. “Have you met Herman?” Belial asked, pointing to what was left of a man standing in the spot on the ride that was right next to Maria. “We have become quite friendly in the short time since we met, but my understanding is he became particularly friendly with your female meat-bag.

  Michael lunged for Belial. Before he could reach him, the unloved pressed a switch on his belt buckle, unleashing a pair of metal wings from a compartment on his back.

  They were hideous. An affront to the beauty and majesty of an angel’s real wings. The feathers were made of metal and polished to a brilliant hue. Each one came to a razor sharp point at the ends, creating an extremely deadly weapon for anyone who dared to approach the wearer.

  Belial flew upwards with a speed that rivaled Michael’s own and landed on the balcony overlooking the ride.

  “That was stupid, Michael. Very stupid. Try something like that again and Herman will reach over and snap her pretty neck. Won’t you, Herman?” Belial asked as what was left of Mr. Scary’s face appeared to grin stupidly and nod up and down.

  “Good, very good. Now here’s what’s going to happen. You will take Azriel in the back where I will restrain him, cut off his wings, and drain him of his essence till there is nothing left but a shell of the angel you once knew. And you, Michael, you will watch and do nothing or else Herman will kill your beloved bag of bones without a second thought. Then, and only then, when what was Azriel is no more, perhaps I will give her back to you and you can both leave.”

  “Do it, Michael,” Azriel pleaded. “I am not afraid, and you have no other choice.”

  “No, but I do.” Joe came out of the back office with the sawed off shotgun in his right hand. “You guys didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?”

  Belial was incensed. His arms outstretched, he flew to where Joe was standing.

  Azriel intercepted him before he could reach Joe and slammed Belial into the lever on the wall.

  The ride began to spin again, and the lights and music starting blaring.

  Joe picked up the sawed-off weapon and tried to get a good shot at Belial. It was next to impossible as Azriel kept getting in the way.

  “Michael, get Maria,” Joe yelled.

  The ride kept spinning faster and faster and the false bottom began to drop.

  Without the ability to apparate, and with the ride still moving way too fast, Michael saw no safe way to save Maria.

  “Joe, pull the lever down!” Michael roared above all the noise.

  Joe moved to get around Belial and Azriel. Reaching for the lever that controlled the ride, he felt the most pain he had ever felt in his life when an arrow pierced his right hand and pinned him against the wall.

  Looking in the direction that the arrow came from, Joe saw Malachi whose arm was pulled back, ready to take another shot with his crossbow.

  Joe knew he was about to die when Michael flew between the two of them and took an arrow to his side. He fell to the ground in a heap of feathers, his face contorted by pain.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Malachi said, taking his cell phone from his pants pocket and preparing to take Michael’s picture to add to his collection of those he’d killed. “It should. The wood comes from the Judas tree, the same one God cursed and the only thing on earth that can kill an angel.”

  Joe knew he had seconds to do something before Malachi ended Michael’s existence. Without another thought to the tremendous amount of pain coming his way, he pulled his hand through the arrow that held it, leaving skin and bone along the length of the shaft. Once free, Joe used his left hand to cock the shotgun, pull the trigger, and blow Malachi’s head clean off his body.

  “Goodbye motherfucker,” Joe mumbled before passing out in a pool of his own blood.

  Michael was in bad shape. The arrow in his side had damaged the internal organs of his human body. And still the ride went round and round. He knew his time was almost over but he also knew he wasn’t going anywhere without saving the only person he’d ever loved.

  “God, please,” he whispered, “give me strength.”

  Slowly, Michael got to his feet and moved towards the lever.

  Belial saw his chance. Still struggling with Azriel, he reached up with one arm and grabbed the arrow that Mal had shot through Joe’s hand. Plunging it deep into Azriel’s chest, the angel hit the floor with a sickening thud.

  “NOOOOO!” Michael screamed. Within moments, his friend was gone. Any trace of his being vanished from existence.

  Michael was on his feet again. In a burst of rage, he flew at Belial, smashing him against the wall. With a ferocity he hadn’t felt in a long time, he grabbed Belial by the throat and started to squeeze.

  Belial pulled at Michael’s hands but could not free himself from the angel’s grasp.

  “You’re mine now,” Michael said, spitting the words into Belial’s crimson face.

  “Not…yet…” Belial barely got the words out. Removing his hands from Michael’s, he reached in his pocket, took out his coin, and pressed it against Michael’s forehead.

  Michael screamed in agony. He had never

  experienced pain like this before. He let go of Belial and felt a perfect copy of the coin burned into his skin.

  Still, the ride continued to spin.

  Belial was on his hands and knees, gasping for air.

  “Do it, Herman,” he managed to get out in a voice he no longer recognized as his own.

  Michael heard Maria scream as Mr. Scary untied her restraints and pushed her into the abyss below the ride. A second later, there was a sickening thud and Michael knew instinctively he was too late.

  “Awww, did Herman kill your precious meat-bag? Belial taunted. “These humans can be so violent.”

  “You have no idea,” Joe whispered in Belial’s ear as he snuck up behind him and stuck his father’s dagger in what should have been Belial’s heart. As he pulled it out, Joe gave it a twist for added measure.

  “You…can’t…kill…me…” Belial struggled for each word. “You’re just a meat—”

  Belial, the fallen angel, the unloved, disappeared in front of Joe and Michael’s eyes.

  In tribute, Joe brought up a mouthful of phlegm that only a life-time cigarette smoker could produce and spit it on the ground where Belial had been a seco
nd before.

  The ride was over and came to a complete stop.

  Michael had to see for himself that she was really gone. Had to look upon her sweet, loving face one last time. He tried to get up off the cold, hard ground but fell back down, too weak to move.

  He pulled the cursed arrow from his side with one quick move. He was losing his essence rapidly and didn’t care. His life with Maria was over and so was his desire to go on.

  “Do not move, Michael,” a voice he recognized instantly said. “We will get her.”

  Gabriel and Manakel stood above him.

  “How? Why?” Michael tried to ask the questions that entered his thoughts but was having trouble forming coherent sentences.

  “Rest now,” Gabriel said. “We will accompany her on the remainder of her journey.”

  “I must see her,” Michael insisted, trying to rise again.

  “She is gone,” Manakel said abruptly.

  “You don’t understand—”

  “We understand more than you know,” Manakel interrupted.

  “You understand nothing,” Michael said quietly, resignation in his voice.

  Michael knew asking his brethren how they bypassed Belial’s symbols or why they didn’t arrive earlier, in time to save Maria, was pointless. They could no more explain God’s greater plan for Maria than they could fathom why he loved her so. They just weren’t built that way.

  Looking at the carnage that surrounded him, Michael spotted Joe on the ground a few feet away.

  “Are you alright, my friend?” he asked.

  “I think so,” Joe replied. His whole body ached as he continued to lose blood. His right arm was useless and hung lifeless at his side. There was a visible hole in his hand where Mal had nailed him with the arrow. His left hand was not much better. While plunging his old man’s dagger through that piece of shit Belial was well worth any pain he felt, the blade had burned him irreparably, leaving mangled skin and shards of bone behind.

  These things alone were bad enough, but Joe knew his physical pain was nothing compared to what Michael was going through. He didn’t know what he’d do if Nan were hurt, or God forbid, killed.