Wickedly They Come (The Wickedly Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  Asa hobbled, clinging to the cane with both hands, his smug face intent. “You’ve hunted and fought so hard all these years for Christ, now you shall die like your Christ.”

  She’d heard those words before. Asa had said them when her father had died. “That’s—where—you’re wrong. Christ—is alive.” She gasped. “He’s here—”

  Jordan welcomed the hallucinations that came next. Her father, vital and alive, loomed over them. He stared at Asa with a rakish grin. His eyes came to rest on her. Not with pity, not with sorrow, but with pure love. He dipped his head, and his mouth quirked. The quirk spread to a brilliant smile, a smile she’d missed these past seven years.

  Then he was gone. Jordan accepted the sign from heaven—her father would be taking her home.

  Her blood stained the ground, draining her warmth, her pain, her life. Even in her condition, Jordan reacted to an indescribable flash of light and cried out, “Markus!”

  Violent and swift, a wrathful angel destroyed demon after demon, and cloaked humans fled. Only Asa remained, driven past the brink of insanity by his defeat. “You can’t kill me, and I will never give up. Do you hear me, Markus?”

  Transforming, the human Markus strode rapidly toward Asa. His daunting eyes merciless. “I’m human,” he snarled. “Now, I will kill you.”

  “Your Father won’t allow it.” Asa scuttled backward, his wooden crutch in tow. “You’ll be cast from heaven. Think of the torment, think of God’s rebuke.”

  “No, Markus.” Jordan sucked in a breath. “He’s not worth it. Let him go.”

  Markus whipped about. “Jordan.” His marbleized features crumbled at the sight of her.

  Her heart overflowed with love for the angel who had guarded her from her birth, until then, her death. Motion caught her eye. Asa’s crutch had fallen to the ground, and with two hands, he gripped a gun, taking aim.

  Jordan willed Markus to turn. Her chest heaved, producing a withered gasp, “Markus, behind you—” The gun fired.

  Already turning, Markus’s body jerked, yet he continued toward his adversary.

  In a desperate need to flee, Asa tripped, stumbling headlong into the bonfire. Flailing his arms, he screeched, a repulsive cry that heightened the creepy night.

  Asa wobbled upright, his expression bizarrely jubilant. “Master—My lord,” he squealed. “The consecration is complete!” Murky shadows slunk from his mouth like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Flames ribboned his legs, and steadily, the blaze devoured him.

  Jordan didn’t want the grisly inferno to be the last thing she’d live to see. Her eyes blurred then refocused. Beautiful Markus gazed at her. Perfect. She wasn’t in pain anymore, just tired—very tired. Her eyelids lowered.

  ABUSE HAS BROKEN MY

  HEART AND I AM WEAK

  JORDAN WHIMPERED, AND pain claimed every inch of her body. Disoriented and enfolded in Markus’s restoring embrace, she stirred. Over and over, Asa’s repugnant screams rippled through her brain and she wept.

  Markus soothed her, tenderly brushing the tangled hair from her face. His suffering gaze locked on her.

  “Will it ever end?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe not in your lifetime.”

  “Then let me die.”

  Markus managed a dismal attempt at a smile. “You have a lot of fight left in you. I feel it. And Asa Trebane is dead.”

  Jordan quivered from head to toe, her bones felt as if they were encased in ice. “No more debt to be paid,” she said through lips trembling. “No consecration?”

  “Evil never rests, but for now, it’s over.”

  “There’ll be another Asa, more heinous and powerful.” She grimaced, a sting branching out of her hands at the slightest twitch.

  Markus’s gilded hair glistened like vast lightning bugs on a summer night. Jordan noticed blood covering his T-shirt. Only her angel would look dazzling after being shot. Her head slumped to the side to stare at the flames licking Asa’s bones. Without taking her eyes away from the fire, she said dully, “We’re quite a bloody pair.”

  More agile than any human could move, Markus rose, bracing her against his blood-soaked torso. He transported his precious cargo out of the forest as she lost consciousness.

  THREE DAYS IN the hospital, a blood transfusion, and alternative treatments had not remedied Jordan. Seeley realized her daughter had been broken in body and spirit. She coddled while Henry and Em helped during the recuperation. Endeavoring to mask her concern, Seeley conversed optimistically about Declan, work, the weather, anything to cheer her daughter.

  Jordan mentioned her friends, asking what the excuse was this time, and if they’d found Ronan yet. Entirely ignoring the question about Ronan, Seeley repeated the story she’d constructed about a hoodlum.

  “Hoodlum?” Jordan had snickered, devoid of humor. “Wow, why not a thug or a gangster?”

  Although, it wasn’t a sincere chuckle, Seeley was happy to hear it.

  A WEEK LATER, headlines reported the unexplained disappearance of billionaire, Asa Trebane. Foul play was suspected, and police had yet to find a body.

  Squeamish dreams of Asa’s fiery death obsessed Jordan. The one person—or angel—she urgently needed to see had left her to wallow in misery. Her mom breezed into her room, spreading the curtains and grating open the window. Sunshine chased the drabness away, and lukewarm air sifted through the stale room.

  Jordan moved into an upright position. The discomfort in her grinding expression chronicled the mild exertion. Her mom fluffed the pillow and tucked it behind her back, then handed her antibiotics and a glass of water.

  “Father James is here again,” her mom said.

  A blistering zing raced up her arms as shaky fingers gripped the pill. “He wants the whole story, and I’m trying to put it far from my mind,” Jordan replied.

  “He can help. Come on, I know you’re raring to go.” Seeley pulled back the covers.

  Like an eighty-year-old woman, she gimped off the mattress, muscles taut “I feel grungy. I’m going to take a shower and get dressed first.” Dismissing her mom’s assistance, Jordan waved her off, and grumbled, “Go talk to Father James. I’ll be down in fifteen.”

  Toweling condensation off the mirror, she inspected the stitches on her arm and just below her shoulder. Then, she looked at her hands. The puncture holes would leave scars, a lasting souvenir. She put ointment on each wound as the doctor had recommended, and then wrapped them with gauze.

  The weather had warmed, and she unburied a pair of shorts and a top. Walking past the mirror, her reflection caught her by surprise. Sharp cheekbones above sunken cheeks, and her clothes hung on her whittled frame. Ugh, I feel and look old.

  Alone with Father James, Jordan described the night in graphic detail: Markus’s timely arrival, the angel’s fierce battle with the devil, her own excruciating crucifixion, and then Asa’s death. Reliving it was exhausting.

  Listening without interruption, Father James pondered the ramifications of her story.

  “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It’s hopeless,” she said, tucking both sides of her hair behind her ears. “That’s how I feel right now. It’s too hard. The fight, I mean.

  He softly touched her gaunt face. Then he shared his euphoric apparition of the previous month. His account brought a hint of life to her spirit. “Hopelessness is never an issue, understand?”

  “Markus is gone, again.”

  “We all need healing.” He patted her hand. “Surely, Markus achieves his energy from proximity with his Father.”

  Yes. Markus is healing.

  DECLAN JOINED THEM for dinner. His uplifting presence, humorous anecdotes, and demonstrations of how to disarm a hoodlum, had them laughing until tears formed. As she scraped the last spoonful of pistachio pudding from her bowl, Jordan felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Can we talk, outside,” Declan asked.

  She gave her mom an inquisitive glance over he
r shoulder and followed him onto the front porch. He paced the wooden deck, his hand massaging the back of his neck like someone awaiting an execution. Jordan leaned on the porch rail and breathed in the succulent perfume of Em’s honeysuckle tree, and waited for him to speak.

  “I’m not a man to juggle words,” he said, “so I’ll get straight to the point.” He rubbed his hands together, and then struck a prayerful pose. “Would you object to me— I mean— I love your mother. I know this is rather sudden.” He swatted at a buzzing bee.

  The man was falling apart before her eyes.

  Expelling a winded breath, he succeeded in saying, “I’d like to ask Seeley to marry me, and I’d like your permission.”

  “You want my permission?” she asked, stunned and overjoyed. “Shouldn’t you be asking Henry?”

  “Henry’s next,” he said. “You’re the most important person in Seeley’s life. Without your approval, there will be no proposal.”

  Jordan viewed the disintegrating man swabbing his face and let him off the hook. “Declan, I think you’re a good guy. If Mom says yes, then I say yes.”

  “Not a word, okay?” He grasped her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Our secret until the time is right?”

  His grasp sent pain coursing through her arms, but she hid the twinge. “What should I tell them about why you wanted to talk to me? You know she’ll ask.”

  In thought, he drummed his fingers on the porch rail, and said, “How about saying I wanted to know if you remembered anything else, for the police, anything you might’ve forgotten?”

  “Sounds good.” Obviously, her mom hadn’t shared all the sordid aspects.

  “Seriously, Jordan.” His eyes showed empathy. “If you remember anything, you will tell me?”

  Jordan agreed—if that occasion arose. Hiding her enthusiasm from her mom, she headed for the stairs. “I’m going to get a jump on those homework assignments.” Her mom’s gaze followed her.

  Within the hour, Henry lightly knuckled the door. “Jordan, there’s a young man here to see you.”

  Thrill? Her mom hadn’t permitted visitors in the hospital or during her first few days at home. And with her cell phone missing somewhere in the woods, she felt isolated.

  Hurrying down the stairs, her mom stood at the front door with a smug grin. “Outside.”

  A figure rose from the glider, and Jordan took two bounding strides and leapt into Markus’s strong arms.

  “I thought you’d left me again,” she cried.

  He set her gently on the ground. “Let’s go for a ride.” In silence, they walked to the car. “Buckle up.” When he noticed she was having a hard time with her sore hand, he leaned and helped with the buckle. She inhaled, taking comfort in his fresh clean scent.

  Instead of peppering him with questions, her eyes adhered to her angel. Invading shades of pink colored his prominent cheekbones, and his hair was as unmanageable as ever. A smile tugged at her mouth as he scratched the whiskers on his jaw. His cotton shirt strained over solid biceps, and she wondered if human angels bore scars.

  Markus banked left onto a dirt road. Hidden Lake in springtime was coming alive. Myriads of greenery wrestled through the soil, birds sang and wild patches of daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, and purple heather embellished the hollow. They dallied toward the rusty bridge.

  “Jordan, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most.” He seemed to relax, a grin lighting his face. “You gave Rafe a hard time.”

  “Rafe is great, but he isn’t you.” She gazed into his face. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

  Markus seemed preoccupied, staring ahead.

  “I should have listened to you and gone home that night at Asa’s,” she said. “I was in the way. Asa used me to get to you. Otherwise, everything would’ve worked out differently.”

  “We’ll never know for sure,” he said. As they strolled toward the lake, his palm surfed the purple heather. “Ronan insisted on your presence. She’d refused to work her magic unless you went with us. That’s why I came to the diner and brought you to her house. I gambled so we could use her witchcraft.” His brow furrowed, as if he was somewhat ashamed at his own conniving. “I never intended to bring you to Asa’s. Perhaps it was meant to be. Something worse might’ve happened.”

  “Worse than seeing you butchered from head to toe?” Jordan retorted, her voice brittle.

  He winced. “Asa knew exactly what he was doing. He caught me while I was human. Luckily, I’d been in the process of transforming—half-angel, half-human. Death stood still, and then my Father took me to himself.” Plucking a wildflower he handed it to her.

  “So you didn’t actually die?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “I was kind of in limbo, between life and death you might say.”

  They trekked over the bridge’s sturdy wooden planks, and stood side-by-side, angling their backs on the metal rail. Jordan perused the sun-speckled water of the lake that had nearly claimed her life.

  “Rafe kept me in the dark,” she said, sounding accusatory. “I was pissed.”

  “That was the plan. You have a habit of going in half-cocked. Even when Rafe ordered you not to go to Ronan’s, you didn’t listen. We knew the devil was lurking and scheming. His demon forces were weak, and they needed to harvest souls. Lucifer was—pissed, as you would say.”

  “So before you appeared at Ronan’s, Lucifer really thought you were dead?”

  “Yes.”

  She slumped to the deck of the wooden bridge and crossed her legs. Shelving her elbows on her knees, her wounds smarting. He slid down beside her.

  “I can’t believe Ronan killed her father,” Jordan said. Antsy, she curled and uncurled her fingers, but it only made them hurt more.

  “Actually, Veronka killed him. Asa used his blood to desecrate the house for Lucifer to inhabit.”

  Shutting her eyes, she shivered, thinking of Mr. Beckman. “What’s going to happen to Ronan?”

  “May I?” He held out his hands, and she let him take her injured hands. He cupped her palms together and covered them with his own. A radiating sensation, like streaming hot liquid, flowed the length of her arm and shoulder. He then carefully removed the gauze.

  The jagged wounds were healed, along with the stinging ache.

  “Suffering is an exemplary ointment for a wounded world, but I think you’ve done your fair share for now.” His compassionate expression comforted her. “You’ll always carry the mark, though.”

  Jordan followed his gaze, flipped her hands over, and perceived a whitish welt on each hand. “Tiny crosses.” She marveled at the scars. “After all this time, you could’ve healed me?” She continued to contract her fingers and touched the wounds on her arm and shoulder without flinching.

  “I did heal you, from your death on the cross.” His composure shattered, and his eyes filled with liquid. “Afterwards, I too weak...” He looked down, hiding his weakness, and with balled fists, pressed his brow.

  Staggered by the information, she stared at him.

  “One way or another,” he said, equanimity restored, “Lucifer was bound and determined to set the scales straight.”

  Jordan was still pondering his words. Your death on the cross. “I... died?”

  Markus’s eyes darkened to the darkest purple. “You were consecrated before you were born. Lucifer’s arrogance in claiming your spirit is unfounded. The devil was restrained, licking his wounds, at the exact moment that he could have enslaved your spirit. And my Father forgave my defiance.”

  “How did you defy Him?”

  “I wanted revenge.” Overwrought fingers covered his face, which flushed in his fury. Agitated, he scraped tendrils from his forehead. “I wanted to rip Asa’s beating heart out of his chest. Kill him.” He paused. “If it wasn’t for you telling me he wasn’t worth it…” He didn’t finish.

  “I was too late to save you,” he said. “My Father answered my prayers with His breath of life.”

 
“Thank you,” Jordan responded, shaken by his testimony. “He must want me here for some unexplainable reason. Does my mom know about this?”

  “Ezekiel.”

  Easily picking up a pebble in her healed hand, she threw it into the lake below. She watched the ripples lap to the shore.

  “All actions have consequences that ripple outward,” he said.

  “Everyone’s ignoring my questions about Ronan.” She peered at Markus. He wore his standard poker face again.

  “The house burnt to the ground, and her body was not recovered. The remains of Mr. Beckman have been retrieved. Authorities believe Ronan died in the fire along with her father.”

  Reeling from the bombshell, she didn’t know how to react. The girl was messed up, but burned alive? Markus gently took her to his chest.

  “Is she…dead?” she poignantly asked.

  “Whether she’s dead or alive, Ronan’s not in heaven.”

  “I never wanted her to die. Oh my gosh, Markus.”

  I’LL MISS YOU THIS WAY

  DELIRIOUSLY ECSTATIC, SEELEY prepared for her upcoming marriage to Declan. Since the paper had a policy against spouses working together, Declan insisted that Seeley pursue her dream of writing a novel. He even offered to add some of his sarcastic nuances.

  At a private ceremony at Saint Mary’s of the Holy Angels Church, the Reverend Father James Waite celebrated the marriage of Seeley Frances Chase and Declan Gregory Donavan.

  Jordan was the maid of honor and Declan’s friend, Virgil Detroit, was the best man. Henry walked Seeley down the aisle, ineffectively trying to curb his brimming eyes.

  It was an intimate reception, and an instrumental ensemble metered the ambiance. Jordan took turns gliding around the floor with Declan, Henry, and Thrill. She couldn’t keep her eyes off her joyful mother, whose lilting laughter filled the room. It made Jordan happy to see her so blissfully content. It’s about time. She deserves happiness.