Azazel continued. “I’m pretty sure another archangel took up his post, now that the news of his defection toward our cause has probably spread. Michael has my loyalty however, and that’s all that counts.”
“But what about Lucifer? I thought he was the sovereign of Hell?”
“That hack?” The fallen’s peal of laughter reverberated off the cavern walls. “As if. We’ve made him believe for eons he was in control by letting him play his little temptation games Earthside. Among us, though, he’s never been anything more than a figurehead, a red herring for humans to focus on. And, as it happens, he’s currently feeling slightly deposed.”
“Lucifer was overthrown? Then who’s the devil?”
“No one, at the moment.” Slowly dragging his eyes up and down her body, she felt an odd sense of exposure. “Nature hates a vacuum as much as we do. You never know what might get sucked in with the dust. I guess whoever is best prepared when the moment comes, we’ll see. Ta-ta.”
Azazel stepped around her, making his way toward the exit.
Riona heard her heart beating in her ears. “Teach me what I need to know.”
He paused. “Need to know... to do what?”
“To defeat my father,” she said.
Azazel’s sneer was all the confirmation she needed to deduce she hit the nail on the head. “Why should I?”
“Because you want to get back into Heaven. Jerry said you’ve never gotten over falling, that you want to go back. Whatever my dad’s planning to do, it must not include a return ticket for you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping me. So help me, then. Help me beat him, and I guarantee you’ll see those pearly gates again.”
“You do realize there are no actual pearly gates, right? That’s just Greco-Roman hogwash.”
“Do you want back in Heaven, or don’t you?”
“Well, well, look at this? You’ve got a bit of a devious side to you, don’t you?” He considered a moment before sashaying the rest of the way across the room. “You get that from my side of the family. Fine, let’s see what you can do, Keystone. But we’ll need someone for you to practice on. Give me a few minutes and I’ll round up a minion.”
Chapter 17
The smoke from the pipe would have chocked him if he were human. Luckily for Ramiel, breathing was merely a recreational activity. The smolder scratched his throat and clawed at his lungs, and for a moment, he could close his eyes and pretend there were no divine protocols, angelic duties, or Accords that delineated whom he could be with.
After a few moments, and sensing the café manager’s eyes growing heavy with worry over him not exhaling, he opened his airways and let the toxic, sweet tobacco cloud filter out, watching the edges of the haze dissipate.
“It is to your liking, sir?” the slick-haired, Lebanese man asked in Arabic.
“It will do.” He tossed a small note on the table. “That’s for the tobacco and the tea.” And then three more notes in increasing value. “And that’s for the privacy.”
The manager took up the bills and crossed one arm over his chest, bowing as he backed out of the curtained booth at the rear of his establishment. Through the heavy cloth, the sounds of the portside town filtered in. Out on the street, grocers tried to pawn off their last goods before closing up shop. Children begged their mothers for ice cream, or a toy, or a few more minutes with the friends they were playing with. As the sun descended, the souls who left behind their mortal coils during the day gathered in the streets, drawn into the collapsing columns of light, stepping toward their next destination.
Lucky bastards, Ramiel thought. They got to move on, and transition, whereas all he did was constantly move left and right, from side to side.
Lately, that included backwards.
A cuddle of coy, feminine voices tickled his ear. Ramiel felt his temporary mortal shell growing excited at the prospect of tracking down their wares and partaking of their merchandise. Not that he ever would. Not that he ever had. No two ways about it, angels plus mortals equaled absurdly magical, and potentially dangerous, offspring. But the temptation to eschew thousands of years of discipline and submit to that temptation festered as always, intensifying the longer he remained flesh.
He closed his eyes and blocked them all out. Focus. He must focus. He’d been spending far too much time lately in flesh. Ramiel could feel the pulse in his bones that told him he needed a release. If he didn’t go home and refresh, his control would make a fool of him. The need to make that connection with another burned deeper than the smoke from the hookah. It burned in his soul. He wished any random body would do, but no. He wanted her.
Just then, as though the home office picked up on his afterthought, Ramiel felt the familiar tug in the pit of his stomach. If he still had a sense of humor regarding his own situation, he’d have called it a divine sign. Finishing off one more cycle of inhale, burn, exhale, heal, he put down the pipe and sat up. Clearing his thoughts he let his need strip him, pulling his corpe d’anima into the heavenly realm. He felt his flesh thinning and evaporating as his ethereal being returned to its naturally buoyant state. His mind became the only body he owned, and he saw his self-determined projection standing before his newly enthroned prince.
“You rang?” His stale words lacked their usual humor.
Larius grimaced. The angel was younger than Ramiel, although the difference of a century in a lifespan ten thousand years long seemed too petty to compare. No accounting for haughtiness, though. Larius adamantly refused to be a mortal herder or nephilim mentor since the get-go, and was the least corrupted by terrestrial realm matters of all the archangels. That made Ramiel dislike the guy just a little bit. Typical high-ideal, low-experience, administrative hack.
“I haven’t heard a peep from you in three days. Is there any news?”
“If I had something to peep, I would have trotted home and peeped away. Nothing’s changed. Looks like Michael’s bunkered down in Hell. No reported Grigori sightings; no demon activity outside the normal riffraff.”
“And is there any news of Michael’s bastard child?” Larius’s face screwed into disgust. “I wish you had all listened to me when we first learned that Dade woman was pregnant. Nothing good ever comes from halflings. We should have smote her then, and maybe we wouldn’t have gotten into this cluster fuck.”
Ramiel felt wind heat against his back. His soul boiled with contempt, and he couldn’t prevent the air from sparking with his frustration. “That woman was an innocent, sir. Maybe meaner than cat piss and lacking in any human compassion, but there was no sin in her loving an angel, or carrying his child. And for certain, Riona isn’t to blame for any of the crap her father pulled. If you want someone to blame for the consequences of Michael’s actions, how about Michael?”
“He was our prince.”
“He was a traitor,” Ramiel retorted. “Why am I the only one who can come to terms with that? Maybe you’ve had your head up in the clouds for too long, or bought into the idea that mortals believe and we’re all lily white. The Grigori revolted and betrayed Big Boss; why is it so difficult to believe Michael would too?” Now he remembered why he’d been avoiding Heaven. He hated it there. Eternal bliss was overrated. “I don’t have time to listen to anymore of your self-important, woe-are-we displacement of fault. Tell me why you called me.”
Larius examined his brother with a wary eye. “You’re becoming too... physically oriented. You forget your true nature.”
“My nature is to guide mortals, and be a liaison for the Pure Souls, Larry. I find I do that better with flesh. And let me remind you, we’re on high alert. The real question is: why aren’t you, Gabriel, Uriel and the rest of the Council down there preparing to kick some ass if the Grigori strike? You think what you like, but I’m staying in the mortal realm as much as possible in case I’m needed. If you require nothing further from me...”
“Thanks for summoning him, Larry. I see he’s still the dramatic blowhard he always was.”
Ramiel turn
ed when another soul transcended their shared consciousness. “Sariel?”
“Ramiel.” Sariel dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Michael’s daughter, the keystone, is in the nephilim realm.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ramiel said. “In Olympus. I haven’t exactly been able to check on her, seeing as in flesh, I’m still terribly allergic to lightning. How did you know though?”
Larius grumbled his displeasure. “It certainly wouldn’t have been from Ramiel reporting anything to us. Same guy who kept the plague off our radar for a decade, right there.”
Sariel took no notice of the prince’s comments. “I ran across her when I was there last time. She thought I didn’t know who she was, but I figured it wasn’t any of my business if she wanted to keep it that way. I don’t get why, but I know you care a lot about her.” His eyes twitched, momentarily landing on Larius, but so briefly, it was nearly imperceptible. “Would you like to visit her?”
Perhaps Ramiel nodded a little too aggressively. He told himself it had nothing to do with a certain goddess. “Of course, but the only way Zeus would let one of us on the Mountain would be if one of the nephilim...” Realization struck him and he muted his voice. “Oh.”
Sariel dipped his head, acknowledging his brother’s conclusion. “I asked Larius to call you up, to see if you might want to take my place this time. You could check on Riona while you’re there.”
Impossible things ran through the southern border of his brain and headed for his chest. Yes, of course, he’d like a chance to see Riona, though he had no doubt she was holding up just fine. If there was one advantage to growing up with such a cruel, dispassionate mother, it was Riona’s tough exterior that couldn’t be scratched with a diamond blade.
“Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.”
Larius sent out an energy that broadcast his amiable contentedness. “Don’t forget, your primary purpose there is to fulfill the obligation to deliver death upon any requesting nephilim. Save your tea time and girl talk for afterwards.”
“Yes, my prince.”
He almost said the title without choking on it. Almost.
“Take your blade and go then,” Larius continued. “The other two — Gaius and Dionysius? Are they on their way as well?”
“Last I knew,” he answered. He was already starting the process of recalling his form from the heavenly plane and becoming flesh, this time, outside Olympus. “They haven’t summoned me during their journey, so I’m sure everything is just fine.”
Chapter 18
Through the steamed-up back window, Jerry witnessed Dee talking with the attendant of the gas station. His sleepy eyes struggled to focus on their lips as he pulled the seatbelt over his chest, and tried to read the conversation. To his surprise, it wasn’t in English.
“Greeks, Greeks everywhere, but not a Copt to drink.” Jerry spouted the old vampiric play on words he picked up in Hell before even bothering to think that Anwen might be asleep.
Her scratchy, little voice told him she wasn’t. “He turned the radio on for a while, lip-synched every song. Seems he holds a secret fetish for Greek pop tunes.” She turned to him. “I’ve never seen anyone work so hard at not being in the moment. Wound up tighter than a timpani, that one.”
Jerry wasn’t stupid, and he certainly wasn’t blind. He watched those hooded eyes sizing up the piece of cherry pie in the passenger’s seat. And it wasn’t as though he could blame the guy for noticing the quartergod. Anwen was just the kind of unopened present Jerry, himself, would have been delighted to find on Christmas morning.
Instinctively, he found himself twisting his wedding band around his finger.
Jerry shrugged. “Dee’s got a lot on his mind.” You, probably, and all the things he’d like to do to you. “I think this is his first trip back home in a while.”
At that moment, the driver’s door opened, bringing with it a chill, Dee’s blushing face, and a dramatic pause in their conversation. “I’m going to run inside and get a cup of coffee. The attendant says there’s a town about fifteen kilometers up the road with an inn. I figured being horizontal for a couple of hours would do us some good. Jerry?”
Jerry thrust the golden band on his finger into view. “Married.”
“Asshole.” Dee turned to Anwen, and even in the dim light, he could see her expression as straight as her hair. “What about you?”
She squirmed in her seat before answering in a voice as small as grain of rice. “Not really in the mood tonight, thanks.”
“I’m not asking you if you want to sleep with me, just if you need some sleep.”
She clicked her tongue. “As if. But I suppose a little lay would do me no harm.”
That statement stopped Dee’s tongue. Jerry saw him hesitate and blanch before he slammed the door closed, stuck his hands in his coat pocket, and ran into the mini-mart.
His neck stretched so he could capture the eyes of the redhead. “How much experience do you have with your own kind, Anwen?”
Confusion filled her features. “Tech geeks? The Welsh? Fans of Dr. Who?”
“Yeah, because that’s what I’m so talking about,” Jerry ground out. “I mean nephilim.”
“Scarcely any,” she said in a tone that made it all too obvious her answer didn’t sit well with her. “I lived at my granddad’s place when I was small, but he went into the sunset. I met a handful of cousins through the years, but I’m not close to anyone in particular.”
A succession of pops cracked the air as Jerry interlaced his fingers and pushed his hands out. “Well, then, let me give you a crash course. The women tend to be pretty classy, but the males? Ha! Like talking erections with biceps, in my experience. Oh, the women have quite a libido too, but they’re so much more coy about it. Dee’s no exception, remember that. Don’t worry, he’s a gentlemen and he ain’t going to do anything without permission. But you give him the smallest opening, even an innocent innuendo, and he can find ways to be very, very persistent as well as persuasive.”
Her lips became tight as she turned her head towards the front. “I can handle things on my own, thank you very much.”
“No, you don’t get it. I’m not saying be careful for your sake. I’m saying, be careful for his. Believe me, he doesn’t want to be an ass and seduce you, but it’s hard for him to resist. Being this close to you in the car is probably driving him nuts.”
“Oh? And what if I want a little attention? After all, I ain’t exactly a prude. I’m a quartergod too.”
Jerry exhaled. “If that’s what you want, ain’t no skin off my scrotum. Do whatever the fuck you please, literally. But also remember this: if all you want is a shag, you’ll have plenty of valets once we get where we’re going, who are more than willing to validate your parking. But if you want Dee, make sure he knows that upfront it’s just physical, or vice versa. I don’t need him getting all caveman and mopey when I get Riona and it’s time to leave Olympus. He’s going to have a hard enough time on the Mountain.”
“Why? Is there some sort of danger?”
He thought about that for a moment. “Naw, just tension. He has some unresolved business involving his dad and his wife.”
The blood evacuated Anwen’s face. “His wife?”
“She’s dead.” That revelation, the scant bit he knew about Dee’s wife outside of her being a Pure Soul that he lived and breathed for, only made Anwen look sadder. “It was a long time ago. And don’t ask. I’m just giving you a head’s up that he’s got a lot more baggage than your trunk might be prepared to carry. I’m not saying to go frigid on the guy, but I am saying don’t get his mind – or any other part of his body - whirring in a way that’s going to come back and bite either one of us in the ass, okay? He’s a prick to me at the best of times, and the last thing I want is for him to get all PMS-y and decide not to help me save Riona.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
A moment later, a hulking shadow fell over Anwen’s body. She rolled her window down to see the demigod’s musc
ular arms wrapped around a cholesterol-filled package. He had enough snacks cradled next to his body to start his own chain of Kwik-E Marts.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, lowering his arms into the car and depositing the small mountain of chocolate bars, potato chips, and crackers on her lap.
“Jerry thinks I want to sleep with you.”
Perhaps, a professional surveyor and a complex set of algorithms could have determined whose jaw dropped further in relation to the size of his mouth. Jerry was the first to recover, however, sputtering a “I never... I didn’t...”
Anwen lowered her gaze. “What? You said to be direct.”
Dee licked his lips and shied his eyes. “Do you?”
“Giving me the option right here and now, are you?” Her eyes rolled. “Sorry, Dionysius Zitka, but the locale’s not really doing anything for me. Oh, and I’m not the slightest bit interested. Now that’s sealed up, so Jerry can get his lace panties out of a wad by thinking you and I want to be secret shag buddies, let’s be off, eh?”
He plastered on a smile and slipped his self-respect into his back pocket. “Actually, I’m relieved you said something. Takes away that awkward ‘I wonder what that would be like’ train of thought. Not that I actually believed it would turn out all that great.”
Both Dee’s body and Anwen’s jaw dropped. Anwen’s fell to the floor, and Dee’s, into the back seat. Jerry sighed as they pulled away into the night, noting how Anwen stared out the window on the left, and Dee kept his gaze firmly fixed on the view to the right. Never crossing the beams, as it were, they thought they could avoid mutual destruction. The ex-demon wasn’t fooled however. If there was one thing he knew about mutual destruction, it destroyed mutually.
Chapter 19
“Wait!” Riona threw up her hands. “Not another Grigori, I hope.”
Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3) Page 13
