by Danae Ayusso
He got to his feet, and while continuing to glare at me, he stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
That had to be the most ridiculous thing I had ever seen; a grown ass man, an angel at that, acting like a spoiled little kid. Was it so hard to say he needed help, or say thank you or please? No. I hadn’t heard him use any of those phrases when it pertained to me. I had honestly never met anyone that was the epitome of rude as Angelus is in my entire life. It had to be some kind of record. There was no way it wasn’t. The man was the rudest creature that had ever walked the planet. Or fell out of Heaven. Whichever, not that it mattered, but still. He was a rude asshole.
Then again, if I didn’t help him, and this was his only shot at getting High Priestess Symphonia, then he would forfeit his soul because he turned in a partial batch since he was unable to complete one of his appointments. That would suck and entirely be my fault. Even though he was a total dick and deserved to get his ass handed to him simply because of his attitude, I couldn’t let anything happen to him. Just the thought of him losing his soul caused a pain to flare in my chest.
Oh holy hell, I am back to the dating an angel that I’m not actually dating again.
“Damn it!” I groaned and stomped my feet in frustration.
Reluctantly I headed back to my bedroom and found the sullen angel staring out the windows with his back to me. “Are you done throwing your little fit now?” Angelus asked, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me.
“Funny,” I sneered, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I am not throwing a fit,” he informed me. “Do you not find it odd,” he started, cutting me off when I started to open my mouth to argue with him, “that we both have questionable batches that supposedly have a high priority target in them and yet the paperwork for both is stuck in Contracts still? I find that extremely odd and disquieting. Not to mention that we both have assignments of the cloth from opposite religious spectrums, and not from our respective sides, in our batches. I find it extremely strange, and I do not like it. I feel as if something is going on, but I do not know what.”
I was thinking the same thing.
“Did you confirm that High Priestess Symphonia’s soul was actually claimed, and the contract has been notarized?” I asked the obvious.
“Yes,” he said, his tone belittling. “I got a copy of the contract even because I did not believe Dispatch. Apparently she traded her soul for a century of beauty. Some women are very frivolous,” he informed me, finally turning to look at me. “Would you not agree?”
“You’re the one with a hundred lairs, not me,” I reminded him.
“You are the one with three-hundred and seventy-five pairs of shoes,” he countered.
It was a pair shoes for every day of the year and a couple reserve pairs in case something was damaged or out of style. It was totally normal.
“Why were you in my stuff?” I asked.
“I put back the mess the winged midget left in his hasty exit. You are welcome,” he said, but for some reason I wasn’t buying the empty sentiment.
“Angelus,” I said softly and sat on the edge of the bed, “why can’t you admit that you need me?”
His eyes narrowed. “I do not need anyone.”
“Everyone needs someone,” I informed him. “Sometimes it’s the person we least expect it to be, but it’s that person that we need more than anything because they make us feel things inside that we’ve never experienced before. Not to mention, we think about them all the time, even when you’ve told yourself a million times not to think of them, and we for some reason we feel safe around them. And because of that, we would drop everything in order to help them, to keep them safe, and they don’t even have to ask because it’s automatic and natural, but it is nice to know that you’re needed and appreciated.”
“Are you saying you are in love with me?” he sounded completely disgusted.
“No.”
“Then get dressed, I am running out of time.”
And he can go fuck himself.
“No,” I said. “Have fun. Keep in mind, some friendly advice from the friendlier side of this, whatever this is that we have between us; Symphonia’s minions are everywhere and they are never as they appear and never leave her side. Have fun.”
“Stupid girl,” he mumbled under his breath then vanished.
“Stupid indeed,” I agreed and stretched out on my bed and looked up at the ceiling. “Stupid for many reasons, I suppose, but mainly stupid for caring about you and possibly loving you.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Why am I doing this again?
Oh yeah, because I think I’m in love with the rudest sonuvabitch to ever live.
That’s why.
The shit I get myself into. I really need to talk to my shrink about this. She would have a field day with it. I can hear here now! ‘Zion, you are just projecting your need for companionship. Zion, you are running to the only arms that are in the vicinity, but are those arms open and inviting you to them? Zion, you first must love yourself before you can expect someone else to love you. Zion, this one isn’t reciprocating your sentiment, and that is why you think that you are in love with him. Zion, you need to get over yourself and realize that you aren’t the perfect specimen of a woman and that you are nothing more than a snobby, spoiled, self-centered, bitch.’
I was perfect in my own mind, and apparently the only imperfection I had was that I was worried about an angel that couldn’t give a damn if I lived or died.
Why was I doing this?
Without giving it a second thought, I switched spectrums then grabbed the arm in front of me and pulled him back from the mouth of the alley across the street from the temple of the Children of the Black Rose.
Instantly he was slamming me against the wall and a blade was pressed against my throat.
“Really?” I asked annoyed.
Angelus glared at me and lowered the blade. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Saving your ass,” I said and pushed him off of me then straightened my June Clever inspired dress out.
“I do not need your help,” he hissed and turned his attention back to the entrance of the temple where worshippers were lingering around the outside, smoking and talking. “Something is wrong,” he said to himself then turned to look at me. “Why are you dressed like that?”
I looked down at my ugly, secondhand East Village consignment store purchase: navy polyester, empire waistline, knee-length, A-line dress from the early-fifties, white high heels, and matching white gloves and headband that completed my fifties inspired flip.
“Are you serious?” I asked and looked up at him; his expression told me that he was. I grabbed the back of his neck and forced him to look at the temple. “Tell me, oh wise and brilliant angel assassin asshole, what do you see?”
Angelus ignored the pressure I was exerting on his neck and looked over the crowd. “Why are they dressed like that?” he reluctantly asked then looked at me.
I smirked. “You mean like its nineteen-fifty and they’re a group of Jehovah Witnesses getting ready to knock on your door?”
“Yes.”
I rolled my eyes. “In case you didn’t realize, they are über conservatives. Like fanatical conservatives. Women are meant to be heard and not seen, divorce is forbidden, being single isn’t acceptable if you are over eighteen, the only meat you can eat on the weekends is fish, and goat or virgin blood is the only acceptable crimson life force worthy of ingestion....the list is pretty long.”
“I do not understand,” he admitted and swatted my hand away.
I shoved the paper bag I had with me at him. “Do you honestly think that the angels know everything? Your dossier was compiled by an angel. Angels don’t know dick about demons and our religions and practices. Get dressed.”
To my surprise, Angelus didn’t ask and dropped his pants and started putting the pleated dress slacks, white button
down dress shirt and black tie on.
Not to self: Angelus doesn’t believe in underwear, and I’m a huge supporter of that one.
Angelus turned his nose up at the brown dress oxfords.
“Have you ever worn shoes?” I asked.
“No.”
“Holy shit, seriously?”
Angelus looked up at me, cringing as he slid his foot into the shoe then hissed. “Why would I jest about that?”
Good question, but an easy answer. “Because you’re a rude bastard,” I said as if it was obvious.
Of course he wasn’t amused and ignored me.
“What is your opinion on drinking demon blood?” I conversationally asked as I studied my nails; I already knew the answer but I had to ask.
“I am avidly against.”
“Do you trust me?” I asked, confused by the look of pain and discomfort washing across his face.
“Unfortunately,” he spat through clenched teeth.
“Whoa, really? That’s all you can say?”
“That is what you asked,” he pointed out so I punched him in the arm, smashing him into the wall. “Ow. Obviously this is an abusive marriage.”
I glared at him. “You have no idea. Turn around so I can mark you, it will-” I stopped in mid-sentence; something didn’t feel right. It felt as if…
I snapped my hand out and a throwing dagger flew from my outreached hand and slammed into the wall.
Angelus spun around, pushing me back against the wall, an angelic blade appearing in his hand, and he protectively stood in front of me.
We looked at the blade that partially disappeared into the wall of one of the buildings lining the alley.
“In nomen of atrum procer, EGO solvo vestri occult.” I chanted under my breath and the stone rippled. The distortion in the spectrum of light solidified into a woman. Blackened blood dripped from her lips and down her chin, her hands weakly tugged at the demonic blade sticking out from her chest.
“Naughty, naughty,” I scolded and stepped around Angelus. “Spying isn’t nice.”
“You will die for this,” she hissed.
“Maybe,” I said, completely uninterested, as if my demise was nothing more than a trivial matter. “But at least I won’t die alone,” I said then twisted the blade. Her body jerked as the blade tore through her heart. “Filthy strigoi,” I sneered, pulling the blade from her body, and once freed, it turned to ash, the ashen form crumbling into a pile at the base of the building.
Angelus pulled me back, slamming my back against the other wall. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded.
“You’re welcome,” I sneered and pushed him back. “I warned you that Symphonia’s minions are everywhere. Do you honestly think that she was just going to let us walk through the front door as if it was nothing?” I jabbed my finger into his chest. “Pull your head out of your ass, angel-boy. You are on my turf now and in my world, so you better pay attention because you are about to get a crash course in the world of the demonic.”
And as usual, my words and threat didn’t faze him.
I grabbed his hand and sandwiched it between mine. “EGO dico vobis Adramelech, audite meus voluptarius. Commodo vestigium is angelus mihi. Redimio meus animus inter suus, parumper permissum nos futurus ut unus, gratia perficio calx substerno pro nos. Commodo Adramelech, audite meus voluptarius, vestri fidelis discipulus quod vernula postulo vestri bona huic vicis of postulo,” I chanted and pleaded to the only person that could help Angelus and I at the moment. “I call to you, Adramelech, hear my pleas. Please mark this angel for me. Bind my soul around he, for a moment let us exist as one, in order to achieve the goal set out in front of us. Please, Adramelech, hear my pleas, your faithful disciple and servant needs your blessing in this time of need.”
Patiently I waited, but nothing came; no fluttering of power, no tingling sensation of strength, nothing that would confirm that Adramelech heard and answered my call. Frustrated, a tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek then fell on our hands. Suddenly Angelus’ hand was ripped from mine, and he was thrown across the alley, smashing into the wall across from me. My eyes were wide and I looked at him, trying to figure out what just happened and why.
“Oops,” I offered with a cringe.
Angelus’ solid eyes narrowed as he pulled himself out of the slight indention in the brick wall his body made. “That is the understatement of a lifetime,” he hissed, his upper lip snarling upward, exposing a set of fangs.
“We don’t have much time,” I said. “That should allow you to pass through the doorways and go undetected, but I don’t know for how long. Your angelic blood will fight it so we may only have minutes,” I explained, trying to shake how disturbing this was. Angelus as a demon wasn’t nearly as hot as Angelus as an angel—I obviously had many, many questionable issues.
I straightened his tie out then he took my hand in his and we emerged from the alley and headed towards the temple.
When we reached the doors we were stopped.
I nodded obediently. “May my master and I enter?” I asked as meekly as possible, keeping my eyes on the ground.
“Why doesn’t your master speak for you?” the demon snarled.
Dramatically I sighed. “My master has taken a vow of silence in order to gain a better understanding of the power of a whisper. We are visiting from New Orleans, and Azazel suggested that we attend the services with the Children of the Black Rose in Chelsea. He said that it would be a spiritually enlightening experience and would hopefully unsilence the tongue of my stubborn husband.”
Angelus grabbed my upper arm and snarled.
I winched. “Sorry, master.”
The demon smiled smugly. “Mind your tongue in the presence of men and remember your Ps and Qs.”
I nodded. “Yes, m’Lord.”
And with that, he waved us inside.
The doors shut behind us, and we slowly walked through the light and bright pastel wallpapered waiting room. When we ducked through the stone archway into the gray stone and brick temple, Angelus stopped and I had to practically drag him along behind me.
“You are making a scene,” I hissed under my breath, digging my nails into the top of his hand.
“This is not going to work,” Angelus hissed in return, eying the large congregation gathered, all of which were staring at us.
“What do you suggest?” I mumbled, sliding into one of the emptier pews in the front row.
“I am thinking,” he spit through clenched fangs.
“Well think faster, I’m the cute one here, not the brains behind the operation,” I informed him and the corners of his mouth twitched—please tell me that was a contained smile and not his demonic appearance starting to falter already.
The altar bell rang and I silently counted out the rings: nine.
Damn, church is in session.
The congregation started chanting, “Bagabi laca bachabe Lamac lamec bachalyas Lamac cahi achababe Cabahagy sabalyos Karrelyos Baryolos Lagoz atha cabyolas Samahac et famyolas Harrahya.”
And was one of the major reasons why I didn’t do churches or religion; it’s all theatrical bullshit.
An explosion of red light flooded the area, and thick billowing clouds of black smoke rolled from the center of the altar before High Priestess Symphonia slowly floated up from the middle of the solid black granite floor.
Angelus started to get up, but I pulled him back down and shook my head.
“That is an astral projection,” I mumbled under my breath, looking around for the person we needed to see.
“We don’t have time for his,” he mumbled back.
No shit.
In the corner, hiding in the darkness, was the person we needed to see.
“You are going to have to offer me up,” I whispered.
His head snapped towards me. “What?”
“You are going to make an offering,” I repeated and leaned into his ear and whispered what he was going to say and do. Of course he was pissed, w
hen wasn’t he, and he so owed me some pie after this, but it was the only way to gain private access to the High Priestess.
Angelus shook his head so I stepped on his toe as hard as I could with my high heel, and he jumped up out of his seat.
Everyone turned and looked at him and the projection of the High Priestess snarled. “Who dares disturb our service?” she demanded.
Angelus bowed his head slightly. “I have with me one who repents her past heresies and craves to be accepted into the grace of our Master,” he said.
The High Priestess’ solid red eyes darted between us many times.
He grabbed my arm and jerked me to my feet. “Azazel commissioned me with seeking you out in order to bless and accept my spiritually confused wife into our Dark Father’s welcoming arms. For much too long she has been straddling the beliefs of two worlds, and finally she has found the dark path. Will you not honor the wishes of our Master and bridge the dark waters of her heart to our Dark Father?”
The High Priestess snarled in perverse pleasure. “Enter, Penitent, that you may abase yourself before the only true God.” She waved her hand and the mage hurried over to us and motioned towards the black granite door left of the stage.
We followed the black cloaked woman down the long corridor of a hallway and waited for her to open the door at the end of the hall.
“Wait here for the High Priestess,” the woman whispered, motioning us inside the darkened room.
Angelus walked in front of me, and I wrapped my hands around his and blindly followed him into the darkness.
A weird sense of déjà vu hit me, and I shook my head trying to clear it. I couldn’t figure out why that kept happening, and it was really starting to piss me off.
I jumped, startled, when the door slammed shut behind us.
Two strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me tight against his chest. “Everything will be okay,” he whispered, “you will be safe.”
My eyes fluttered and I sighed, resting my head against his. “Not likely, but it is a nice thought,” I whispered.
Slowly, one by one, candles flickered to life; dancing red and black flames illuminated the large ceremonial chamber. From the tapestries of black velvet covering the walls, ten beings stepped forward and surrounded us.
