Whiskey and Angelfire

by A. A. Chamberlynn

  I tried not to think that these demons had been humans only half an hour before. It didn’t change the fact that now they were demons, their humanity irretrievably gone. We had tried to stop Lucifer and we had failed. Innocent lives had been lost. They were lost the moment they became demons. This second death, if you could call it that, was immaterial. But the taste of defeat sat at the back of my throat, burning like acid.

  My blade channeled all the rage, all the injustice, all my pain and all my sorrow. My magic was good and well spent now, truly, but my katana never lost its power. It was the one steadfast thing in my life, the one unfailing friend. I became my sword and we cut through demon after demon, fighting our way to the head of the square.

  When we broke through, I cut my eyes to the other three entrances. Riley, in wolf form, had also broken through on his side, and a familiar panther was tearing the throat out of a demon on his side. The fourth side still fought beyond the square, but I could tell Gus’s team was close since the demons there had their backs to the square as they fought. Angels dove in and out of the fray, shooting white light that burst the demons into piles of ash. Scorch was a flash of red amongst them, casting balls of flame down onto our enemies. Ash mixed in with the falling snow so that you couldn’t tell which was which.

  It didn’t last much longer. The demons were being fought on both sides now, and when their numbers had dwindled down to a couple dozen they began to vanish, jumping back to Hell where they belonged. I doubted Lucifer would give them a warm welcome since they’d failed in their mission, but they didn’t know their master yet. They would soon enough.

  A roar rose up from the square, but this time it was one of victory. All around me, supes were clapping me on the back and squeezing my shoulder, but I couldn’t join in their revelry. I felt empty, as if someone had scooped out my insides and left me hollow.

  Eli landed beside me, covered in soot and ash, blood dripping down his cheek. His eyes echoed the sorrow in mine, and this time I stepped into the circle of his arms. The battle was won, but we had lost. Quinn was dead, and nothing was ever going to be the same again.

  A resounding thud next to us brought our heads up. Michael stood in the ash and the snow, glorious and lethal, his green eyes bright in the coming dawn. He cast a look of disgust on Eli, then turned his gaze to rest on me.

  “This isn’t over between us, Zyan Star,” he said, his words a deadly promise.

  I stepped away from Eli, meeting his laser beam eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Michael.”

  His eyes blazed and he launched into the sky, shooting off over the city.

  I turned to Eli. “Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  It was the most glorious of sunny days, the kind of day you rarely saw in Seattle. Of course the earth and sky would present the most perfect of tapestries for Quinn’s memorial service. I smiled to myself, sadly. She would be pleased.

  Hundreds had shown up, both human and supernatural, to the Gas Works Park overlooking Elliott Bay. The rolling green fields seemed their most verdant, the expanse of water brilliant azure. I stood at the apex of one of the hills, Riley and Scorch at one side, Eli and Donovan at the other. Familiar faces peered at me from the crowd: Dan, Will, all the regulars from Noir, even Pan had shown up.

  “Today is a day we all wish had never come to pass.”

  I turned my attention to the Holy Representative of North America, who had come forth when we returned from Dublin and asked if he could perform Quinn’s service. While I was beginning to doubt some of Heaven’s operatives, this man wasn’t one of them. His dark hair and olive skin shimmered in the sun, and he cast a sad smile out to the attendees.

  “Quinn Devereux was a wholly unmatched individual. I’ve met few people in all my life with as pure and kind a soul as hers.” He bowed his head, hands clasped together in front of his long saffron robes. “A stranger to no one, a fierce friend to those close to her. I had a unique experience with Quinn that few have with another, when we were taken against our will to the realm of Faerie. Life and death situations like that show someone’s true spirit, and hers was unfailingly good and strong. A rival to any angel that walks the Earth.”

  A few murmurs rose up at this comment, but he continued, unfazed. “Today, this fittingly gorgeous day, we honor the amazing being that Quinn was, and know that she will continue to live in our hearts forever.”

  He said a few more things, and then others got up and spoke, but their words didn’t reach me. I had gone within, fallen into the emptiness that had captured me in its talons up on that rooftop three nights ago, when everything had changed. A fog settled over me, a numbness sweet and safe.

  Minutes later, or it could have been an hour, I felt pain in my fingers. Riley was squeezing me, repeatedly. I broke from my stupor, looking at him dumbly as he pulled me toward the HR, who handed us the urn with Quinn’s ashes. Riley reached within the urn and lifted his fist high into the air, letting the wind carry Quinn up, up, up into the clouds. I followed suit robotically, feeling the cool interior of the marble jar, the silky softness of the ash on my fingers. More ash released into the sky, spiraling around us as if dancing.

  It was then that I broke, that the weight of the last few days came crashing down around me. Anna, Alexander, Lucifer, Olga, Michael. Our failure to save the people of Dublin. The battle, the death. But none of it was anything compared to losing Quinn. I would have suffered a thousand betrayals, fought a million battles, sacrificed countless innocents if it brought Quinn back. I would confront Death itself.

  Riley caught me as I sank to my knees, sobs taking my body. I sat there on the hill, on the perfect day, and I grieved.

  Hours later we sat at Noir. We’d closed down the bar to the public to have a good and proper wake to celebrate Quinn’s life. Liquor flowed, and we shared our best stories of Quinn. Of her bravery, and her kindness, and her many, many lovers. There were tears and there was laughter, and not a single one of us was the slightest bit sober. Well, except for the kid.

  “Remember when Quinn was practicing one of her banishment spells, and she accidentally blew up the living room?” Riley gasped with laughter, slapping my knee.

  “Except the explosion was pink, so it looked like—like a bubble gum factory had gone nuclear!” I snorted, tears streaming down my face.

  “Don’t forget the time she tried to duplicate herself so she could go on two dates at the same time,” Donovan said with a chortle, taking a long pull on a bottle of whiskey.

  Scorch said, “I wish I had known her for longer. You guys all had years to spend with her.”

  “Me, too,” Eli said, placing a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I didn’t know her much longer than you did.”

  Dan, who sat next to Riley holding his hand, said, “Same here. But Quinn was one of those people that you felt like you’d known forever, even if you’d just met her. An instant friend.”

  “Hear, hear,” Riley said, raising his glass. “To Quinn!”

  “To Quinn!” the room responded, and glasses clinked together.

  I looked over at Riley and Dan as a look of belonging passed between them. The intimacy of the look shook me, even in my inebriated state. My eyes grazed over both Eli and Donovan. I had something with each of them, and nothing at the same time. I’d barely spoken to either since Dublin. I’d been hiding in my emptiness.

  “I’m going to find a way to bring her back,” I announced, quietly, mostly to myself. Nonetheless, they all turned to look at me.

  “What are you talking about?” Riley asked.

  “The realm of Death is a place just like any other, and I’m going to find it and get Quinn back,” I said, my words growing bolder.

  “Can you do that?” Scorch asked, his gaze shooting between me and Riley.

  “I’m Zyan Star,” I said. “And if anyone can face down Death, it’s me.”

  Eli’s brow furrowed and Donovan looked at a loss for words. I opened my mouth to argue my poi
nt, but beyond them, the lights in the bar started to flash. The air shimmered, and something materialized in the midst of us. Something silvery and opalescent and translucent that flickered in and out. It formed into a shape not quite solid, but recognizable.

  My heart stopped and my voice came out ragged as the ghost stared at me.

  “Quinn?”

  Read on for a teaser of Vengeance and Vermouth, Zyan Star Book Three!

  

  “Am I to understand that if I lose this challenge, I not only lose my sword, but your assistance in my quest?” I said.

  “That is correct, Zyan Star,” the purple-robed monk said.

  I’d figured as much, but even so I couldn’t and wouldn’t say no to the challenge. With the dingo shifters an epic fail, I needed the monks to confront Lucifer. Not to mention I wouldn’t take the coward’s way out and decline Takeshi’s right to a rematch.

  “I accept.”

  The purple-robed monk nodded, and Takeshi locked eyes with me, a feverish gleam in his expression. He’d nursed his loss for almost eighty years, waiting for the day to challenge me again. It was odd to see yourself reflected in a gaze like that, to know that you were someone’s all-consuming mission in life. Was that what Alexander saw when I looked at him?

  “The tournament will begin in one hour,” the purple monk said. “Please use that time to prepare yourself. Someone will escort you to one of the training dojos, Zyan Star.”

  One of the monks in royal blue robes led the way to a large training room off the courtyard, with bamboo flooring and walls. Prayer flags and paper dragon lanterns hung from the ceiling. When we entered, the monk crossed the room and took a katana down from the far wall.

  “You will not be permitted to fight with the dragonfire katana. I suggest you spend your time practicing with this.”

  I nodded and took the sword from her before she bowed and exited the room. Carefully, I unfastened my shoulder sheath and handed it, along with my own katana, to Riley.

  “You may not let me drive the Porsche, but this is much better,” he said, slightly breathless.

  “Well, hopefully you’ll be handing it back to me in a little bit here.”

  “You sound unsure,” Donovan said, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard doubt in your voice before.”

  I looked over at him. “Yeah, well, I barely beat this guy the first time. Now he’s had almost a century to build a grudge and practice his swordsmanship among the sea dragons. Even I can’t be cocky going into this fight.”

  “Well, it’s not as if you haven’t been practicing your swordsmanship, too,” Eli said. “You get into a fight practically every day.”

  I snorted. “With demons and such. Huge, oafish things that have no style whatsoever. Child’s play.” I paced the room, arms crossed, drumming the fingers of one hand on the opposite arm. “Before the tournament in the 40s, I practiced with a master swordsman for over a century. It was after I separated from my maker, Olga. To distract myself from my magic and take away the temptation to use it, I focused all my energy on a physical discipline. I shut off my magic entirely and used the goal of the tournament as basically a rehab program from…from the things I did with Olga.

  “After the tournament, I started bounty hunting and lost touch with the sword master. She didn’t approve of me using my skills in that way, she was a purist. Swordsmanship was an art form to her. I can see her point—doing what I’ve done the last eighty years hasn’t honed my skills. It’s dulled them. I haven’t met a truly skilled opponent since my battle with Takeshi.”

  Donovan glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Well, you’ve got forty-eight minutes to do some honing.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”

  Taking the new sword firmly in my grip, I went through a series of movements to warm up, getting a feel for the balance and weight of the blade. Unsurprisingly, it was nowhere near so fine a sword as my own. It felt bulky and shifty in my hands. After a few minutes, my muscles felt warm and I stopped.

  “Who wants to fight me—or rather, who can fight with a sword?”

  Riley shrugged and Donovan said, “The only weapon we need is claws and teeth.”

  “I’ll fight you,” Eli said.

  I raised a brow. “You know how to use a sword?”

  “Yes. But I’m even better with this.” He strode to the wall and pulled down a long metal staff. It was thin and silver, covered in markings from end to end. The tips narrowed to sharp points for stabbing.

  “Interesting,” I said, and we began to circle each other. “I’ve never seen you fight with anything but your angel mojo power.”

  He smiled. “You don’t know everything about me, Zyan Star.”

  And he lunged, a blur of movement, wings tucked tightly to his sides. The staff rang against my blade as I parried his attack, a quick staccato like gunfire. We separated, our breathing accelerated, and began to circle again. I blew a strand of hair out of my face.

  “Apparently not.”

  I attacked this time, coming in fast and ferocious, my blade lightning. Eli blocked each blow expertly, then spun around and cracked me across the back with his staff. I went with it, moving into a forward roll across the floor and springing to my feet when I was a safe distance away. We met again, rapid-fire streaks of energy. I swept the flat of my blade behind his knees, knocking him flat on his back. He did a kip-up off the floor and was at me again in the blink of an eye. Our weapons whirred through the air like the wings of a metallic moth, too fast to see.

  We moved across the room, back and forth, neither yielding. Sweat beaded up along my skin, and I could smell Eli’s too, a musky scent mixing with his smell of sunshine and sage. My blade locked with his staff and our bodies pressed together, each one trying to force the other to give way. The song of his soul spiraled around us, and I forgot that anyone else was watching. All I wanted was Eli, both body and soul. His lavender eyes met mine and I could see the same thing in his gaze. We devoured each other, a silent exchange, hearts pounding, muscles straining, heat rising between us.

  I dropped to the ground, breaking our lock, and swept his legs out from under him. He went down hard and I was on him in a moment, straddling him, the tip of my blade at his throat.

  “Looks like you’ve got me,” Eli said breathlessly, a small smile on his lips.

  “Do you admit defeat?”

  “I’m all yours,” he said.

  Read More of Vengeance and Vermouth

  The Zyan Star Series

  Reading Order

  Martinis with the Devil (Book 1)

  Whiskey and Angelfire (Book 2)

  Vengeance and Vermouth (Book 3)

  Black Magic and Mojitos (Prequel Novelette) (Book 4)

  Sorcery and Sidecars (Origin Story Novella) (Book 5)

  The Quinn Chronicles (A Zyan Star Spin-off Series)

  Death and Dating (Book 1)

  Death and Promises (Book 2)

  Death and Eternity (Book 3)

  Zyan Star Book 6 Coming Soon!

  www.AlexiaChamberlynn.com

  Other Books by A.A. Chamberlynn

  Of Blood, Earth, and Magic

  The Timekeeper’s War Series

  Huntress Found (Book 1)

  Huntress Lost (Book 2)

  Huntress at War (Book 3)

  www.AlexiaChamberlynn.com

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  About the Author

  ___________________

  Alexia Chamberlynn lives in Florida with her son and a menagerie of animals. When she's not writing or reading, she can be found playing with horses, drinking wine, traveling to the next place on her global wish list, or maybe doing
yoga. Dr. Who, unicorns, and katanas make her very happy.

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  www.AlexiaChamberlynn.com