Angel Slayer

by Michele Hauf

  “The place where they put those out of their minds?” He looked her over again. She seemed quite sane. But then madness often cloaked itself in beauty.

  “It was a stupid threat, but it brought me down from a weird place,” she said. “I was just so tired of people not believing me that I flipped out. And well, you know how teenagers can be.” She sighed. “Probably you don’t. So now here you are, a man who actually slays angels. You believe me, right?”

  “That you’ve seen them in your dreams?” He glanced at the painting. She’d seen something, that was for sure. Parts of the figure were not exactly right, but other parts were right on. “Where did you learn this?” He pointed to the sigil she had painted on the angel’s shoulder, a wavy line with one dot beneath the middle wave. “In your dreams, as well?”

  “Sort of. Not really. That’s the last thing I put on a project before I call it finished. It’s not like I see what the symbol looks like, but more that I touch my fingers before the screen and just follow my heart. I know it sounds weird. Delusional. But heck, maybe I am a little crazy. I mean, how many girls actually have an angel chasing after them to get them pregnant? You ask me, a person would have to be insane to accept something like that.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Six had somehow created this image by drawing from a greater collective consciousness. Yet she was unaware how close her depiction was, or that the sigils were dead-on.

  Was it possible an angel had visited her previously?

  “You going to recommend a nice quiet place with strait-jackets now?” she wondered.

  “No, I want to know more.”

  Chapter 6

  Eden liked to study the reaction on people’s faces when they viewed her work. She especially liked the extremes of joy or disgust. Ashur had looked at the painting and hissed.

  Had she actually created an angel he recognized? It was self-indulgent to think she could depict an angel accurately. But she had painted exactly what she’d seen in her dreams. The angels she painted were like her friends; she felt comforted by them.

  Angels who didn’t want to have sex with her, that is.

  Ashur’s gaze soared out the window and across Central Park. She’d touched some part of him, and that surprised him more than it did her, she suspected.

  “Just dreams?” he asked.

  “As I said, they started after my mother’s death.” She joined his side and said, “At first, I thought they were a message from her. But there were so many. I’d see a new one every night, it seemed. If I painted a different angel every day, I don’t think I’d ever put them all to canvas. They are innate to me, and yet, I can’t tell others about it if I want them to think I’m sane.”

  “Mortals have a difficult time with the supernatural.”

  “Yep. I started sketching in my teens, but I really became passionate about recreating my dreams after I found my first halo.”

  Ashur’s eyes flashed. They were so colorful, fathomless, with pinpoints of light centered in each. It was as if a piece of a Maxfield Parrish painting abided on his face.

  “You found a halo?”

  “Yes, an angel’s halo. You must be familiar with them.”

  “I am,” he said cautiously, “but mortals are not. The only time the halo is separated from an angel is when they fall to earth. It falls away and is lost to the angel ever after. If they should ever find their original halo, it can be wielded as a weapon no man or demon can defeat.”

  “Cool. I was never sure how the halo ended up here on earth.”

  “It also holds their earthbound soul,” he said. “If an angel reunites with its halo it can take the soul and become human, but I can’t imagine a Fallen choosing to do so, to become merely human.”

  “What about you? Would you take a soul?”

  “You know nothing about me, mortal. Do not pretend you do.”

  Duly chastised, Eden strode across the room to the freestanding coatrack that held three circular disks on its curved hooks. “I found the first one at a flea market my father took me to when I was twelve—that was two years after my mother’s death. Dug it out of a box full of scrap tin. I knew immediately what it was. It didn’t bother me the seller thought it was nothing. I knew.”

  “More dreams?”

  “No, just an innate knowing,” she offered casually.

  She removed the first find from one of the coat hooks. It was dented and yes, it did look like tin, but she couldn’t bend it, nor had her father been able to. She displayed it to Ashur. “See?”

  He took the circle. It was exactly a foot in diameter and the metal was two inches wide all around. It was thin as a CD and the center was an eight-inch void. Ashur inspected it briefly. “It is what you say it is.”

  Given confirmation, Eden clutched her hands to her chest. She’d always known, but somehow it was more real when someone in the know confirmed it. All the years she had lived inside her head, fighting to keep her secrets. She was not crazy.

  And who else would know such a thing but an— She wouldn’t say it out loud after he’d chastised her. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to reveal his origins to humans.

  “And the others?” he asked.

  “I have four,” she said proudly. “But I should be getting another in the mail any day now. I found one on a trip to Egypt with my father, and another in Spain. The one on its way, I won on eBay. Some sellers actually know what they are selling. The most I’ve ever paid is a couple hundred thousand for one.”

  Ashur whistled. “You certainly are rich, because I discerned last night the average household income is less than half that.”

  “Trust-fund baby. But don’t judge me.”

  “I have no need to judge you.” He handed the halo to her, reverently, then admired the rack of halos. “But you’ve not hung or displayed them as something of value. Isn’t that what mortals do? Display their symbols of wealth?”

  “No, mostly it’s the new guys come to earth.” She looked over his leather jacket. Designer, for sure. “Sorry, couldn’t help that one. As for displaying the halos, I tried once. Had this first one mounted, framed and displayed under halogen lights. The thing fell off the wall two hours later. Glass cracked, and the halo rolled under the couch. I tried once more with another. Same thing happened. I figure they don’t want to be fussed over. This coat hook works great. And it’s cool working in this room and knowing they are so close. They inspire me.”

  “I am without words.”

  She grinned. “Maybe you need to hold it longer. It gives hope to hold one. I’ve actually got one packaged up to send to a woman I met online a few months ago. She needs hope, so I’m lending the halo to her.”

  He shook his head, refusing the offer. “Hope is not an emotion I require.”

  His dismissal made her sad. Everyone could use hope. Truly he was different than her, and she probably would never understand him. But she wanted to. Heck, if he intended to stick around and protect her, then they had time for getting to know each other.

  “So maybe this is some kind of weird serendipity?” she said. “Me knowing about angels and collecting their halos. And then one day I’ve got a Fallen angel chasing after me for some sexin’.”

  “Do not casually dismiss what the Fallen one intends.”

  “Sorry. Right. This is serious.” She slapped a palm over the angelkiss. She’d tied a blue silk scarf around it this morning after dousing it with more aloe vera, but the soothing effects were wearing off.

  “Please.” Ashur took her hand and clasped it in his. “It is imperative you wait until I’ve decided it best to call the angel to us.”

  She nodded. “So I’m bait.”

  “That is the correct word.”

  She did not pull her hand away from his. He was overwhelming in all ways. His height. His size. His deep voice echoed in her head. She liked his voice.

  The sheer intensity of his presence had her thinking what it would be like to press her bare flesh against his, just to take all of him i
n. To know the feeling of a man’s skin against hers again, intimately. To close her eyes and sink into trust. And to trust whatever happened between them would not flip her life upside down as intimacy once had.

  Eden tugged her hand from Ashur’s and pressed it to his chest. The action made him flinch, but he didn’t push her away.

  “I need to touch you like you did me earlier,” she said. “It’s overwhelming standing next to you, knowing you’ve come to me like some kind of supernatural warrior. I want to feel grounded next to you. Not so small.”

  “I…” He lifted a hand, and when Eden thought he would place it over hers, he dropped it to his side. “Had forgotten about touch. You are bringing it back to me.”

  “What does that mean? You were not on the earth for almost a thousand years, so you forgot everything?”

  “Yes. As I sat upon my throne, the memories of this world slowly receded. And other means stole memory from me. I’m sure it happened over centuries. I released all knowledge of the world as I could not grasp it tight enough to keep. Touch was one of the last things to leave my knowledge. Although…”

  “Yes?”

  “I never lost one emotion. In fact, I clung to it as a sort of life preserver in the vast black sea which surrounds my throne.”

  “What emotion is that? Love?”

  Why she offered that one surprised Eden. Love was one of those easy yet complicated emotions. Eden had touched love a few times, but it never lasted. Or else it devastated. No matter the result, it always left her feeling slightly tarnished.

  Ashur shook his head. “No. Joy.”

  “You don’t say?” A refreshing replacement for love. Truly joy was untainted, and the most inspiring emotion to cling to. “Tell me about the joy that stayed with you for so many years. I want to get to know you, Ashur.”

  Now his hand did spread across hers. His skin was not warm, but also not cold. His hand was simply there, enfolding her. Perhaps, learning her.

  Nice. She liked his slow approach.

  “If you must know…”

  “I must. I’m curious. Blame it on the artist in me.”

  “I once witnessed a woman giving birth,” he explained. “The actual birthing process is not joyful. It was wretched. She was in pain and agony, mixed with moments of determination and fortitude. But the moment the babe was born and placed in the weary mother’s arms, joy suffused her. I felt it in my being. And I knew the babe experienced the same as it was swaddled and placed against the warm, tender breast. Joy. It was exquisite.”

  Eden tugged her hand from Ashur’s chest and stepped away, stumbling as her thighs hit the desk behind her. Memories flooded her brain. She could not push them away. The room wavered. She stumbled toward the door and ran down the hallway, aware Ashur followed silently.

  When she reached her bedroom and collapsed onto the plush comforter, she buried her face in the pillow and cried.

  Ashur pressed his hand to Six’s bedroom door, but didn’t push it open. Her sobs were soft. He didn’t know how to approach her, and felt odd standing this close to her even with a door separating them.

  Women confused him. He’d learned that much overnight. And he felt sure, though the memories were dim, the women he’d previously encountered had been as baffling.

  Six’s touch had conjured up memories and soft dreams of past encounters. Such power she had, for it had brought his memory of joy instantly to the fore.

  Could Six give him joy? Did he want it again?

  What was it about mortal women he still could not remember? And the woman he’d watched giving birth…who was she? They must have been close to have witnessed so intimate an event.

  He searched his memory but though he’d gained much knowledge last night, his actual life experiences were still difficult to recall. And for reasons he knew well.

  Ah! This charge to protect the muse was not for him. When Six decided to come out from her bedroom, he would tear away the scarf and scratch the angelkiss himself. Then he’d wield Dethnyht in preparation for Zaqiel.

  Striding down the hallway into the kitchen, he met the maid, who was packing up her cleaning supplies in a rubber-handled tub.

  “What did you do to her?” she demanded hotly in Spanish. “I hear her crying!”

  “I didn’t touch her.” She’d touched him first. “I told her about a memory I had, and then…” He splayed his arms and shook his head.

  The maid slammed a hand to her hip. “Men.”

  A terrible crash sounded at the end of the hallway. Glass clattered.

  Ashur dashed down the hallway, aware the maid followed. “Stay back!” he shouted.

  Six’s scream erased the tenderness that had teased at his burgeoning emotions. Her scream had come after the crash. That could only mean his hopes to slay the angel would soon be fulfilled.

  He quickened his steps toward the closed bedroom door. Another scream sped him to a run.

  Reaching for Dethnyht, he unsheathed it.

  Thrusting out his other hand, Ashur aimed his will at the door. It broke from its hinges and slammed outward with such force the wall cracked.

  Inside the bedroom, upon the bed, stood Zaqiel.

  Chapter 7

  Zaqiel held Six pinned to the wall behind the bed by her throat. Her legs kicked and arms beat at the laughing angel.

  Ashur lowered Dethnyht, knowing the weapon would be futile. The blade could only be utilized against the angel in half-blood form—half his angelic shape, the other half human. It was the form it required to impregnate the muse, for angels were without sex organs.

  So what was wrong with this picture? Was the Fallen here merely to tease? Or was he simply slow on the draw? Transformation could occur in the sweep of a hummingbird’s wing.

  The punkish Zaqiel cocked his head and sneered at Ashur. A sigil circling his left eye flared bright as the mysterious blue flames spotting the Carpathian hillsides. His sigil was not a match to Six’s mark—the greedy bastard.

  Ashur charged, leaping for the bed. With Six clutched against his chest, the angel soared backward toward the shattered floor-to-ceiling window. He stopped, his back to the gaping space. Wind whistled like a banshee through the thirty-second-story window.

  “Ashur!” she cried.

  “Release her!” Ashur demanded.

  He jumped from the bed and slowly advanced on Zaqiel. Holding Dethnyht out in surrender, he loosened his grip, yet did not drop the weapon. He was not foolish.

  “Since when does your job entail protecting mortals?” Zaqiel shouted over the wind.

  Yes, since when?

  “Stop struggling.” Zaqiel squeezed Six’s gut and slapped a hand across her throat, clenching. “You’re late, slayer.”

  “I’d say I’m early. What’s the delay? Take a while to get it up, Zaq?”

  Flipping Dethnyht dangerously through his fingers, Ashur stilled the need to plunge it into the angel’s skull. That would not serve as a kill shot. Only shattering the angel’s glass heart would do. But Ashur needed to be in demon form to wield enough strength to do so. He could shift shapes as quickly as the angel could.

  “She is mine,” the angel declared. “I have claimed her.”

  “Ash—”

  “She belongs to no man,” Ashur protested. If the Fallen held his hand too tightly over Six’s mouth he would crush bones. Merely touching her too long would burn her skin.

  “And yet here you stand, in her home. Claiming the right to protect her. Interesting.”

  Zaqiel stepped closer to the window. The wind swayed him so he had to plant his feet. Six’s long, dark hair whipped across his face. He would not risk jumping with her, Ashur guessed, for the mortal would not survive the fall no matter how tightly the angel held her. How then would he transfer his diabolical seed to her womb?

  “Tell me.” Zaqiel slapped Six’s face so she looked at him. “Who do you prefer to fornicate with? An angel from Above—” he twisted her jaw to look at Ashur “—or a demon from Beneath?
”

  “D-demon?” Eden sputtered.

  “That is enough!” Ashur charged.

  Zaqiel thrust Six out of the window, his grip only about her neck.

  Ashur stepped double-time to avoid colliding with the arrogant angel. Six clung to Zaqiel’s arm, both sets of fingers clawing, desperate to maintain hold.

  “Don’t kick, love,” the angel chastised. “You’ll loosen my hold.”

  “You would sacrifice your only chance to procreate?” Ashur asked.

  “She’s not my only chance, and you are well aware of that fact.” Zaqiel shook her. Six screamed. “I find this one pretty, is all.”

  Ashur knew if the Fallen found his muse dead or after he’d mated with her, he could then go on to another. If Zaqiel dropped Six, it would serve little to vanquish his quest to procreate.

  Six’s life should mean little to Ashur. But he could not stand to witness the senseless loss. Humans were so fragile. She collected halos. She painted angels. There was something special about her, and it wasn’t because she dreamed about angels. And though mortals appealed to him on no level, he would not allow her death today.

  “Set her inside, Zaqiel,” Ashur demanded.

  The Fallen one contemplated the idea. The steel ring piercing his chin wobbled as he did so. “I am fascinated you show concern for the woman. Sinistari have no concern for protecting mortals. I suspect you defy orders by doing so. And my own fascination intrigues me. I do like this one. She’s a fine specimen, and she knows things, yes? Her hips are wide enough. She would produce an excellent nephilim.”

  Zaqiel pulled Six inside and drew his tongue along her neck in a wicked, slow trail. Another angelkiss. “I look forward to the challenge, slayer.”

  The angel threw Six toward Ashur. He caught her flailing body against his chest and stumbled backward to land on the bed. Zaqiel jumped out the window.