Crushed Seraphim

by Debra Anastasia

  The angel stepped away so she couldn’t be touched. The two held a second conversation completely in body language.

  “Gabriel, you pretentious bastard, I need to get moving.” Jack began stepping backward, hoping those two had too many of their own problems to worry about him.

  “Jack, you need to stay put. Maybe we should take him back up and put this to counsel. I’m very curious to see what the law says.” Gabriel stretched his huge wings and held out a hand to Claudette.

  “The law? Really? That’s all that interests you?” Jack interjected. “What kind of evil are you, Gabriel? A courageous woman stood up to defend Claudette when you wouldn’t, you flying pansy, and now you’re too stupid to help her?” Jack wanted to pick his words carefully, but his temper was too hot. Every second Emma was down there, Everett was doing God knows what to her. He decided just to go for it and add more flames to the fire.

  “I’ve seen a lot of nastiness in my day, as you can imagine,” Jack continued, finding his rhythm. “And what you’re doing right now? It would score some serious points in Hell. This is evil, angel. I know it better than I know my name. I hope your God is proud of the spineless wimps He has running the joint.” Jack punched his own hand. “All I’m asking is for you to give her a shot. Leave someone alive who can try to help her. Crap, throw her a rope, you bastard. You already pushed her off the ship in the middle of a hurricane.”

  The trio waited in the woods — each for the other to choose a path or make a move. Then the former Devil did something he’d never imagined. He prayed.

  God,

  This overgrown monkey doesn’t know his ass from his wing. I know Emma’s good. She made even me have hope. She’s like a miracle-maker. Let the punishment fit the crime. Hell, let me take her place. She believes in You. She trusts You. Don’t put her through horror just because she loves me.

  Jack

  He opened his eyes and found that even though he’d said the words in his head, the angels looked shocked. He didn’t give a rat’s ass. He’d do anything for her.

  Seraph Gabriel nodded. “Very well, former Devil. You can keep your memories of her, though I can’t imagine what good they will do you now that you’re human.”

  Then he turned and gave Claudette a direct order, because she wasn’t responding to his overtures of affection. “We fly, angel.”

  They were gone in a swirl of glitter, light, and brilliance.

  “Fucking angels,” Jack said, looking skyward. “So pretty, but so damn useless. Tossing their best to the wolves like chumps.”

  He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, thinking of her hand patting the box into existence in his pocket.

  I’m coming, Emma. Hang in there.

  Emma waited because she didn’t have a choice. Everett had commanded her to stand still. He was so close she could smell his musky, gluey odor. She hated him, yet she was still as a statue as he began licking her neck. She shivered with revulsion.

  “Did Jack have you here too? I bet you bent over in a quick the minute when you saw his handsome face.” Everett was talking at her, to her, and into her. “I guess I’ll take you here first then. Make my mark. Whore.” Everett picked her up and tossed her roughly onto the lounge.

  She couldn’t talk. He’d taken that from her. He pranced around her like a proud turkey, ridiculous in his excitement.

  “Panties off.” He snapped his finger, and she closed her eyes.

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  She heard it then, while she was trying to be anywhere but in her body. Overlapping prayers. She couldn’t smile, but she wanted to as she heard Jack’s horrible — yet apparently effective — prayer twirling in and out of Jason, Seriana, and Dean’s combined Our Father.

  She realized that despite Everett’s commands, her ruffled panties had not budged. She opened her eyes to find him snapping and pointing and snapping. Nothing was working. She felt the thrill of victory and the tremendous relief of being clothed in front of this horrible man, even if it was just for a few more seconds.

  The panties were so stubborn that even when he tried to pull them off, they stayed put, as if she was a doll with her delicates painted on. When he commanded her to take them off herself, she also had no luck.

  Thank you. Thank you all for praying.

  “Speak. Do you know why this is happening?” He got up in her personal space again.

  She started laughing at him then. She couldn’t stop herself. “You’re the worst Devil. You can’t do anything right, assbag.”

  Everett hauled off and slapped her. She stopped laughing.

  “Really? Would you like to see effective? Come with me then.” He grabbed her arm and she had no choice but to follow.

  When he opened the door she knew where they were heading, and she hated that she started shaking. The tears that sprang to her eyes were Pavlovian — the sight of the cement had brought them without her bidding.

  He held her arms and shook her, spittle escaping his thin, angry lips. “I know how to hurt you — your sharp tongue and disobedient ways. Don’t forget to thank your Jack. He’s got a real knack for design.”

  She tried to hang onto him — and that was saying something. It was as if he was tossing her off a cliff, except this was much worse. He gave her one last shove and she fell backward into her greatest fear.

  Jack didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t knock. Which in hindsight was a crappy idea. Three half-breeds versus one even tremendously bad-assed human was shitty odds.

  The three were standing and ready for trouble when he burst into their home, and they quickly surrounded him. They’d been preparing for their grandfather’s surprise invasion for years, so they moved fluidly together, and the intruder was treated to a brutal restraint. His protests didn’t faze them in the least, but they relaxed slightly when they heard Jack’s loud, demanding heartbeat. They had nothing to fear from a mortal.

  “You were the Devil,” one of them finally said, peering carefully at his face.

  The female — Seriana, if he was remembering correctly — recognized him. Jack pulled his arms from their grip and straightened his jacket.

  “The ladies find it hard to forget me,” he said, nodding. “You’re welcome.” He lit another cigarette, thinking he should pace himself. These stupid things were his last gift from Emma.

  “Emma has been sentenced to Hell, and we need to bust her out,” he said, hoping he sounded authoritative. “I don’t have a clue how we’re going to do this, but we have to.” He inhaled the tainted air and exhaled a tiny cloud.

  Jason looked puzzled as Dean filled him in on Jack’s role — as far as they knew. Jack grudgingly supplied a version of the drama from Heaven, which left out huge events, such as the fact that he’d screwed Jason’s girlfriend. The half-breed would fight harder for a girl who hadn’t cheated on him. Jack was sure of that.

  Dean nodded and seemed to want to take the leadership role. “Okay, great. Well, thanks for dropping by. We’ll do our best. Do you have a number where we can call you if we free her or need any more information?”

  Jack shook his head and tossed his butt on their living room carpet. He considerately stomped out the burning end, but Seriana’s mouth dropped open when she saw the burn mark his random vandalism had wrought.

  “No, you’re helping me. Not the other way around. I’m stuck as a freaking human, but I’m more devious than all of you put together. Let’s roll.” Jack headed for the door and was surprised when none of the half-breeds followed.

  He rolled his eyes and tapped his wrist as if he were wearing a watch.

  Jason had been quiet — too quiet, Jack now realized — through the whole encounter, and finally he had something to say. “Jack, I have such a burning hate for you right now I want to pop your head off and drink you like a cheap beer. Can you tell me why I want to kill you? Because I haven’t a clue.”

  Truth or dare? Jack wasn’t sure how to make the half-breeds follow him, factori
ng in their considerable brawn. He walked back and stood on top of his burn mark as if it was a stage marker.

  “Assholes and pretty vampire, did she tell you about the Hallway in Hell while she was with you?” He scanned their faces. The brother and sister looked genuinely clueless, but Jason had a shadow of knowing he was obviously trying to grasp more firmly. “I designed it, and I was incredible at what I did.”

  Still seeing doubt in their eyes, Jack laid out the plagues, and Seriana held a hand to her mouth. “If you think it sounds horrible, imagine living in it,” Jack said. “That’s where I believe he’ll take her. That’s where I think she is right now. I have to get to her.”

  Jason was pensive. “You didn’t answer my question, and none of us is coming with you until you do.”

  Jack could feel the time ticking away. Seconds alone with Everett — he could melt Emma’s brain, kill her spirit.

  “I love her. Emma and I love each other, and it broke your heart. But you still acted like a stand-up guy even though you knew she’d been with me.” Jack looked at the ceiling. He had to give Jason his due, but he had hated the kiss he’d witnessed between those two. “You took her wings off very kindly, when Everett had been ready to cause her some serious damage.”

  There was silence as Jason registered this information.

  Jack covered his eyes because he hated to beg, and he knew he had to. “Please help me. I’ll do anything you want. You can kill the crap out of me when all is said and done. Whatever you need.”

  Jason stood. “We’ll help.” His voice turned slick and deadly as he smiled a hunter’s smile. “And I might just take you up on your offer. I have a feeling Emma is a woman worth fighting for.”

  Jack walked to the door and flung it open. “On that happy note, let’s make tracks.”

  They all clamored into Dean’s SUV. He started it up and turned on the headlights. The night was electric with their determination, but the vehicle didn’t move.

  Seriana turned to face Jack. “Um, where we headed?”

  Jack lit another cigarette and took a long pull before answering around his exhaled smoke. “There’s only one person I can think of who might be able to help, and I’m not even sure she’s alive anymore.”

  Her screams were music to his ears. Why her pain had always been a soothing balm to his soul, Everett didn’t know. He honestly didn’t care.

  He sat on the couch amidst the empty bottles and thick smoke. He’d left the door open so he could hear her beautiful suffering. And it was beautiful. Hearty even. He tried to gauge which plague she was facing now. He lifted his glass of wine to the Earth, silently toasting his predecessor. What a masterpiece the Hallway was.

  She was choking on a scream and he tilted his head, concerned for a moment. He nodded when the bloodcurdling noise began again. Everett pretended to hold a conductor’s baton as she hit a particularly excruciating high note.

  His plans for her were vast. He could give a rat’s shit about the rest of his Satanly duties. All his prayers had been answered, and God was indeed good. Emma had been right about that after all.

  Chapter 19

  Violent checked her mailbox. It was stuffed with nothing but advertisements, and she closed the door without removing them. She hated the sight of all the printed paper. Really they were tree corpses.

  Violent ignored the blisteringly beautiful sunset and walked through her front door. She’d seen way too many to get excited anymore. She poured herself a tall glass of water and went into the living room. Her blue denim couch was waiting for her, and she sat on her side. In her mind, Giovanni still sat next to her.

  When she’d pulled herself up to the soil from Hell all those hundreds of years ago, love had spurred her on. She hadn’t been wrong. Her painter had recognized her from his dreams when she found him in Italy.

  Violent took a long gulp of water. Her eyes flicked from one of the paintings on her wall to the next. She liked to follow the progression of the art from their dream meetings to the joy of their first actual embrace. She closed her eyes and relived the moment for the millionth time.

  Violent had waited, standing in Giovanni Fontina’s line of vision and blocking the landscape he was attempting to paint. He’d been focused on the canvas, smearing and blurring the lines in front of him to match nature, so she was able to take him in while he worked. His strong forearms were splattered with paint and his nails were dirty. He looked grubby in this reality — and perfect.

  Violent had spent enough time standing there to begin to doubt. Would he think himself mad when he saw his dream come true? Would her purple eyes scare him? Would he somehow know she was a creature from Hell?

  She curled her hands into fists, and Giovanni paused as if he heard something. He turned his head slowly, and his smile spread when he saw her. She bit her lip with worry. He tossed his brush to the side and sprinted. When he gathered her in his arms she almost knelt in relief, but his mouth was too frantic — kissing her and offering beautiful Italian words in praise of her beauty.

  Giovanni’s gorgeous dreams had been an excellent gauge of his character. And his art had lived in his soul as well.

  She smiled now, sitting on her couch as her eyes filled. They’d been so happy. He had delighted in her every word, and at night they’d escaped together into his dreams. His art was already full of her, but now she could hold still and pose for him. Giovanni had grumbled often that there was no purple pigment to truly capture the light in her eyes.

  He was such a good, true man that Violent had trouble remembering that she herself was evil. He called her “il mio Cielo” or “my heaven.” She let him believe she was his personal angel, never revealing the truth.

  Soon enough, she was expecting his child. He spent nights crooning to it within her belly and throwing excited hands in the air when its movements under her skin were visible. Violent had to hide her fear. She was petrified of what they might create together. When the pains came, late one night, she touched sweet Giovanni’s eyes gently so he would remain in a dreamless slumber while she gave birth.

  Violent met her offspring under the stars, deep in the woods. She’d chosen the spot because it could serve as a burial ground, if the need arose. But Celeste was too beautiful and too wanted by her father to come to a murderous end at her mother’s hand. Instead Violent found room in her heart for her daughter.

  Giovanni woke in the morning to find their child suckling from his love’s breast. Violent would never forget the softness and pride in his eyes. His dreams were true and touchable, and he said often how greatly he was blessed.

  One week after Celeste was born, Violent grew concerned when she saw a tickle of blood from her daughter’s mouth. After a close inspection, she determined her daughter was not injured. She leaned over the girl, puzzled, until she saw a dot of blood on the white bed sheet, then another, then another. Violent looked for the source and cringed when she realized the crimson came from her breasts. Instead of mother’s milk, she was feeding her newborn with blood.

  She tried having a wet nurse for Celeste, but the girl rejected all other types of sustenance. Violent should have handled the situation herself, but she’d been weak and sought advice from Giovanni. He looked from his listless daughter to his love and back again. When he lifted his daughter to be fed, she could deny his trusting eyes nothing. Violent knew everything was changing as her daughter sucked eagerly and her skin pinked up. She felt a shift in the world as she held Celeste’s warm body.

  Violent looked across the room at the picture Giovanni had painted a few weeks later. Celeste was the tiniest little thing, and she was also a vampire. There had been no words for it then. When her breasts had dried of their nourishing blood, Violent had fulfilled her daughter’s need by killing and dragging bodies back for her little one to feed on. It was grisly business, but Violent’s experiences in Hell had given her much to draw from. The hardest part was keeping the feeding schedule — and precise method — a secret from Giovanni.


  She just wanted to love him, but they had to spend more and more time apart because of Celeste. He seemed to have put the fact that his offspring had suckled blood instead of milk far from his mind. His feigned ignorance kept him happy, though Violent knew it was a charade.

  Violent still lost her worries in his arms at night, and soon she was pregnant with twins. The staggering responsibility of more little vampires forced her decision. She could not do this alone. Giovanni was going to have to help her and understand what they were creating.

  It was this cowardice that had killed the only man she would ever love. She told him then of her actual origin. She had scared him with her strength and shown him some of her vast powers. When she was done, he believed. He knew she was from the depths of Hell.

  Violent’s heart clenched into a ball again remembering his screams as he fled their house. Instead of chasing him down to keep him safe, she let him go. She was too heartbroken at his instant fear to do anything but weep.

  Two weeks passed.

  When one of Giovanni’s friends finally revealed that her love had been murdered for being a wizard, she didn’t believe him. The friend insisted Giovanni had claimed to have lain with the Devil and said his child drank blood. They had no choice, the man said. Giovanni was crazed and dangerous.

  So she’d gathered her little monster baby and found her love lying in a ditch in town, covered with a blanket. When she uncovered his form, he had a knife in his chest, piercing his beautiful heart.

  Violent pulled out the knife and set her daughter down. Rage consumed her, and she let her minion strength take over. She killed every single bystander. They wanted crazed and dangerous? They got it. When no one else was moving, she looked for Celeste. The girl was hugging her dead father’s chest.

  Tears fell as she went to comfort her daughter, but her compassion quickly turned to revulsion when she saw that Celeste wasn’t hugging her dead father, but drinking his leftover blood.