Angeli Trilogy: Angeli Books 1-3

by Amy Vansant

  I just need to let go…

  That’s when she felt Michael’s grasp release. The walls of her apartment, her furniture and the windows all folded back into existence as if the “real” world was a giant origami puzzle. Gently, he eased her back to her place beside him on the sofa.

  She felt abandoned. She didn’t want to let go. She’d been complete, and now she was broken, a tiny shard of what she’d been. She was Anne Bonny, alone in her skin, disconnected from the core. Adrift.

  “What was that?” she asked. The sound of her voice sounded strange and disruptive. Everything on this plane of existence was…inelegant.

  “It’s my life. My joy and my sorrow. It’s why I can never express to you in words how I feel when you ask me if something is wrong. And it’s all the talking I’m prepared to do.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t bear to hear them. The chasm between them seemed greater than she could have ever imagined.

  Apricot, the Soft-coated Wheaten terrier jumped on to Michael’s lap and he stroked her, his face devoid of emotion.

  Anne sat back.

  Speechless.

  Chapter Six

  There was a knock on the door and three dogs burst from the hallway, yapping and falling over each other. Apricot remained on Michael’s lap, seemingly unimpressed. Still in a daze, Anne walked to the door, shaking her head to rid herself of the negative thoughts swirling through her mind.

  My feet are ugly. I walk too loudly. The door is rough. Chairs are weird.

  She peered through the peephole. The hall appeared empty, but a strange film blurred her view, as if someone had rubbed grease on the lens.

  She stepped back.

  “What is it?” asked Michael, sitting straighter. The elderly terrier on his lap didn’t move a muscle.

  She held up her index finger, motioning for him to wait.

  “Hello?” she called through the door.

  “Annie, it’s me.”

  Very few people called Anne Annie, and only one of them had an Irish lilt to his voice.

  “Con?”

  She opened the door to reveal Con’s grinning face. The muscular Irishman wore jeans and a simple white t-shirt stretched taut across his pecs. After reclaiming most of his corporeal form from Seth, he’d gained several new talents. He had the Angeli-like ability to siphon energy from humans and Sentinels, he could fly, and he was able to manifest clothing. She was most grateful for the latter ability. He’d been naked during his original battle with Seth, and if forced to appear naked now, might enjoy it a little too much.

  Though not forced to run around naked, he still possessed traits that set him apart from mortal men. His wavy, dark hair brushed his shoulders in the most sublime manner. It would take a lesser man days of effort and multiple jars of hair product to achieve such imperfect perfection. His eyes twinkled in a most singular shade of cerulean. And most unique of all, Anne could see the wallpaper pattern in the hallway behind him through his chest.

  He was a walking layer of digital artwork set to ninety percent opacity.

  “Come in!” she said, opening the door wider.

  Con swaggered in as the three guard dogs did their best to take him out at the knees. The Labradoodle tried to jump on him, only to fall through his ghostly form, repeatedly.

  “I love that dogs don’t find the strangest things odd,” said Anne. “You could come in here spitting flames and juggling tea cups and they wouldn’t think twice about it.”

  “I think I’ve done that before. Hell of a night. Hey, Gordo,” he said, solidifying his hand enough to rub the Labradoodle’s ears. As his hands solidified, the other parts of him grew paler. “I think this is the first time the dogs have ever seen me in the flesh, so to speak.”

  “Yet they act like they know you. I wonder if they can smell you? Maybe when you possessed the room service kid the last time you were here they could smell you inside of him.”

  Con stood straight and spotted Michael on the sofa.

  “Oh, hell.”

  “Hello to you, too,” said Michael.

  Con took a deep breath, expelled it loudly, and sat in a chair across from Michael. Apricot’s nubby tail wagged as she watched him. She slid off the Angelus’ lap and walked over to Con to collapse at his feet.

  “Can I get you anything?” asked Anne.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any donuts?”

  “I have muffins…”

  Con shook his head and turned his attention to Michael.

  “I suppose the only person who wants to kill me more than I want to kill myself is you.”

  Michael blinked. “Why is that?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Jaysus. Now I actually have to say it out loud.”

  Con leaned forward, his ghostly elbows balanced on his transparent knees.

  “Seth escaped.”

  “What?” screamed Anne and Michael in unison. Alarmed by the commotion, Apricot jumped up and trotted out of the room.

  Michael stood. “How? How could I not know this? When?”

  “I thought one of your minions would have called you by now. It happened a couple of hours ago.”

  Michael felt his pockets and pulled out his phone.

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, don’t blame it on the blonde one. She’d just left her shift when it happened. She had nothing to do with it.”

  “Who? Cynthia or Beyla?”

  “The cute one with the heart-shaped arse…”

  Con glanced at Anne and winked at her. She rolled her eyes.

  Michael glowered at him. “That doesn’t narrow it down. All the Angeli are attractive and I’m not going to even try and guess what constitutes a heart-shaped ass.”

  Con cocked his head. “Do you even hear the things that come out of your mouth?”

  “Okay you two, don’t start,” said Anne.

  “All the Angeli are attractive…” Con mimicked. “I can tell you Seth isn’t winning any beauty pageants any time soon…gangly, sneaky bastard…”

  “Tell me what happened,” said Michael through gritted teeth. “How could Seth escape from an escape-proof cage surrounded by guards and your own committed vigilance?”

  “Well that’s just it. Your opinion of your cage is as lofty and overshot as your opinion of your looks.”

  “Just tell me how he breached the cage! We house Perfidians in that facility as well. If there is a flaw in the security of the cage we need to know.”

  “Well it’s simple, really…” said Con, leaning back in his chair as he stretched his arms to the ceiling. He tilted his head to the side, avoiding eye contact with Anne and Michael. “All someone needs to do is have me reach through the cage to touch them, and then they can slip inside me and use my body as a shield from the bars…”

  “Oh no,” mumbled Anne, placing her hand over her eyes. “You didn’t…”

  “He took human form,” said Con, his voice bordering on whiney. “What was I supposed to do? He formed and I panicked. It could have been my last chance.”

  “You tried to touch him? I specifically told you to alert us if he reformed. I can’t believe you could be so stupid!”

  “Really? Do you know me at all?”

  Michael pounded his fist into the cushion beside him, his eyes flashing with blue flame.

  “Calm down,” said Anne, holding up a hand to ward off Michael’s wrath.

  “Michael, in all honesty, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’m so ashamed. I really am. I tried to grab him. He pushed me away. He took off through the ceiling and I followed, but by the time I reached outdoors, he was gone.”

  “Did you talk to him? Did he say anything?”

  Con looked at Anne and for a moment she thought his eyes appeared glassy, as if brimmed with tears. She wasn’t sure that was physically possible.

  The Irishman sighed.

  “He said I was dead. He said that w
as why he couldn’t give me back the rest of my body.”

  “We should be so lucky,” snapped Michael.

  “Michael!” scolded Anne.

  “No, you’re right. I’ve ruined everything and I only have myself to blame. Maybe I deserve to be dead…”

  “You’re not dead,” said Anne. “You’re here talking to us, how could you be dead?”

  “I’d agree with you except I myself have talked to the dead, remember? So…I’m a little unclear on the what-makes-dead bit.”

  Anne huffed. “I’m getting sick of the both of you. You both need to sack up.”

  “Hey now…” said Con.

  “I don’t know what that means,” mumbled Michael.

  “She’s talking about our clackers.”

  “Our what?”

  “Our plums, the family jewels!” Con grabbed his crotch for emphasis.

  Michael shot Anne a look.

  “What kind of talk is that?”

  “It’s the kind of talk you need when you’re surrounded by a bunch of men feeling sorry for themselves.”

  “Aye, you’re right, Annie. But in all fairness he said I was dead… It’s kind of upsetting.”

  Michael looked at Con with something other than utter distain.

  “First of all, you’re not dead. I would know if you were dead.”

  “One of the lights would flicker out?” asked Anne recalling the beautiful human web. She closed her eyes to try and see it again, but found only darkness. When she opened her eyes, Michael was glaring at her.

  She blanched. Maybe I’m not supposed to tell anyone about the pretty light world…

  Con perched on the end of his chair. “I’m not dead? You know that for sure?”

  Whew.

  Luckily, Con was too wrapped up in his own drama to ask her what she was talking about.

  Michael grudgingly pulled his agitated gaze from Anne and turned back to the Irishman.

  “Yes. I know that for sure. You’re alive. Now, did Seth say anything useful? Anything to give you an idea of what he’s up to or what he plans to do?”

  “Hmm. Well…when he first noticed me there, staring at him, he said I shouldn’t be there. He said I should be looking for Leo’s replacement who’d just arrived.”

  “You didn’t think that might be important information?”

  Con shrugged.

  Anne felt the blood drain from her face at the sound of Leo’s name.

  “Leo’s replacement…? Does he mean the boy in the park?”

  Michael grimaced. “It can’t be…”

  “What can’t be?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. A fairy tale.”

  “Oh, and he said two and a half down, eighteen and a half to go unless I got my act together,” added Con.

  “How could you get your act together if you were dead?” asked Anne.

  Con jumped in his seat. “Yes! Ha! Got him! Lying sack of—”

  “Twenty-one,” said Michael. “There are twenty-one arch angels. We’ve lost Leo and Meili…”

  “And Seth,” said Anne. “Sort of. Seth is the half. He isn’t gone but he isn’t whole.”

  “And of course, Meili was there,” added Con.

  “What? Where?” asked Michael.

  “In the room with me and Seth. Sometimes. Not all the time, but a lot.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re saying he’s back? Did he escape as well? Did he escape Seth?”

  “No, no it wasn’t Meili proper. It was his ghost. Meili residue. He stood in the corner of the room and stared at me, gaping like a loon. He looked like that painting you showed me once, Annie, remember? The Screamer?”

  “The Scream? By Edvard Munch?”

  Con shrugged. “The guy on the bridge who looks really surprised, with his mouth hanging open.”

  “Yes, that’s it. So you’re saying Meili’s ghost was there? Was he still there when Seth left?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t go back once I chased Seth. I was afraid they’d put me in that cage.”

  “That is still an option,” said Michael. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about Meili before? You’ve been in that room for a month.”

  “No one would believe me. No one sees him but me. I asked the cutie about it just today.”

  The door opened and Jeffrey entered with a bag of groceries. He spotted Con and put his hand on his chest.

  “Con! You scared me. You look like a weird shadow.”

  “Hell of a way to greet someone. You look like a weird fleshy thing to me. How ‘bout that?”

  Michael pulled out his phone and stood. He slid open the glass door to the porch and stepped outside, shutting it behind him.

  Anne turned to Con.

  “Is that everything?”

  “Isn’t finding out I’m dead enough? I started thinking I was dead and trapped, a miserable demon, doomed to wander the Earth forever.”

  “You can’t believe a thing Seth says. You’re not a doomed demon.”

  “Though, you’re the closest thing to a ghost I’ve ever seen,” said Jeffrey, putting juice in the refrigerator.

  Con’s gaze drifted to Jeffery, eyes staring deep from beneath his lowered brow.

  Anne knew that look.

  Con stood.

  “Whatcha got there, Jeffrey boy? Is that whiskey on the counter?”

  “Con…” warned Anne.

  The glass door slid open and Michael reentered.

  “It’s confirmed. Seth is gone. There is no sign of Meili in the room or on the video backlog—”

  Michael paused and looked around the room.

  “Where’s Con?”

  “I’m right here,” said Jeffrey, throwing back a shot of whiskey.

  Michael frowned and looked at Anne.

  “Jeffrey’s been, uh, appropriated,” she said.

  “I’ve got to give myself a proper wake,” said Con, lifting another shot of whiskey and offering cheers to Michael. “And it tastes much better with a whole tongue, even if it isn’t mine.”

  “But we’ve already established that you’re not dead, Con,” said Anne.

  “To Con Patrick Carey! May I be in heaven a full half hour before the devil knows I’m dead!”

  “Don’t let him get drunk,” said Michael. “We have to catch him up on the new creature. I need to get my thoughts together, but then we have things to discuss.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about him,” said Anne. “It’s Jeffrey who’ll pay the price.”

  Chapter Seven

  Rathe drove. He felt better. Not only was his physical body healed thanks to the power he’d drained from the owner of the car, but he felt like the pieces of his puzzle were beginning to fit. It was no coincidence he’d seen evil in the human. No coincidence that he possessed the power to devour that evil. He knew now that he needed to kill the Angeli because they protected humans. One of his brethren would replace every Angelus until the old guard fell. He even knew the name of the Angelus whose place he’d taken.

  Leo.

  He’d screamed the name at Michael as they fought in the apartment building, and it had struck his enemy like a punch.

  When the Angeli were gone, he and his people could remove vermin like the owner of the car.

  It would take time.

  He had time.

  Rathe drove, his gaze darting from the road to the light glowing on the car’s dashboard panel. It took a few minutes for him to realize the meaning.

  Gas.

  Why would humans create a vehicle that ran out of power? It didn’t seem practical.

  He passed a sign with the picture of a gas pump on it and followed it to a station, easing the car to a stop in front of a pump that mimicked the glowing image on his dashboard. Stepping out of the vehicle, he pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt, revealing his long blond tresses, now clean. There were no remaining traces of the previous night’s beating. His nose was sharp, his eye sockets complete and his once-mushed cheekbones high.

&nb
sp; There were two other cars gassing at the station, both driven by men who appeared older than himself. Michael, too, had appeared more adult.

  Rathe approached the older of the two men.

  “Hello.”

  The man flashed a tight smile as he fiddled with his credit card.

  “Hello.”

  Rathe smiled back. “How old would you say I was?”

  The man stared at him, his brow furrowed.

  “What’s that now?”

  “How old?” he gestured to his face. “If you had to guess.”

  The man shrugged. “Seventeen?”

  “How about him?” He pointed to a dark-haired man at pump three.

  “Maybe thirty-five?”

  “How old are you?”

  The man chuckled. “Fifty-six. What’s this all about? Is this a survey or something?”

  He nodded. “Thank you. You’re a good man.”

  The man laughed again and Rathe’s arm shot forward. He grabbed the man’s shoulder with his right hand, clutching him tightly. The man’s gaze darted to Rathe’s grip and then to his face, the whites of his eyes growing larger with every second.

  “Don’t be afraid, but also, don’t take my words lightly. When I say you’re a good man, it matters. More than you know.”

  He released him and returned to his car. The man removed the nozzle from his car and scurried to his seat to leave, his eyes flicking in Rathe’s direction as he locked his door. Rathe watched him go. A gust of wind ruffled his hair and a cloud of particles swirled around his knees. He patted down his jeans, releasing more human ash to the breeze.

  After studying the pump, he reached into the passenger side of the car and grabbed the wallet the car’s previous owner had left in the center consol. He pulled out a credit card and ran it through the slot in the pump.

  Do you want a car wash?

  He pressed no.

  There is a discount on car washes with a fill up…

  No.

  Do you want a receipt?

  No.

  Do you have bonus points?

  No.

  He stepped away from the pump and took a deep breath to compose himself. He wanted to lift the annoying machine out of the ground and throw it across the lot.