When Spell Freezes Over (All My Exes Die From Hexes Book 4)

by Killian McRae

  “Practiced celibacy?” Ramiel asked.

  Any other old woman might be insulted, but Ramiel knew his audience. Molly Dade threw back her gray-haired head and belted out laughter. So hard, in fact, that a moment later it proved too much. As she bogged down into a wet cough, Ramiel focused on the joy sparking about in her aura.

  “That’s what I love about you. You see my spirit, not my body. But seriously.” She inched up on the edge of the bench. “I prayed. All day and all night, for two days straight. And that’s when you showed up.”

  In his mind’s eye, Ramiel recalled that moment almost thirty years ago. The angels had been in a panic. Michael had disappeared without a trace. An investigation led to one of the Pure Souls from that era squealing on the prince’s unsanctioned relationship with a Boston-area witch.

  “You’d already had your memories altered, and I was forbidden to tell you anything more than what you volunteered. I remember her name came to me right away—Riona. Usually it’s the parents who mark the child, but she came to you prepackaged as it were. I knew she was one of ours at that moment.”

  “But do you know what the meaning of the name Riona is?”

  “Of course I do, it’s Celtic, derived from the word that means queen.” His backbone straightened. “Queen? Holy shit.”

  “Ah, you finally realized which way the horse is taking you, huh?”

  He jumped to his feet, but paused to turn around and plant a kiss on Molly Dade’s cheek. “Thanks, Molly. I think we can make all this right.”

  He was about to walk away into the woods to port out of sight when Molly called him back. “Ramiel!”

  “Yeah?”

  It took three scrapes of the match over the backside of the matchbook to light the thing. Molly’s shaking hand negotiated touching the flame to the tip of the cancer stick. She took several in and out huffs before relaxing the cigarette in the crook of her left middle and index fingers.

  “How much longer?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and attempted coyness. “Come on, Moll. You know that I don’t know that kind of stuff.”

  “You know roughly.” She blew a funnel of smoke out in a long stream. “Come on, I’ve been main lining these goddamned things for months now. What you guys need me to do, slice open a vein?”

  “Shouldn’t take too long now, Molly. I promise, it won’t hurt.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “Yeah? That’s what he said.”

  Chapter 7

  Oh, God, her kiss... It consumed him, made him feel more alive than he’d felt since reawaking as a demon. It woke up parts of his body that were supposed to be dead. It had him heated and dizzy and wanton.

  And it was wrong and one hundred percent fucked up, and it needed to end now.

  With a shattering yawp, Marc threw the princess of darkness from his lap and shot to his feet. He ran full speed at the bars, screaming, wailing. Hoping that a sinner could still receive mercy and the bars would melt away. As quickly as the heat of desire had consumed him, the torture of his damned soul constricted. He wished for water, so he could wash the taste of the devil from his tongue.

  “What are you doing to me?” he demanded, running his fingers through his hair. “I love Riona.”

  “Oh, my goodness. Don’t be such a goody two-shoes, priest. I know you love our precious Riona. You forget that I fancied her too.”

  That comment baited his fury. In a moment, Marc had crossed the cell and pinned Lucy to the wall. Her feet dangled, trying to find purchase on a ground just out of reach.

  “She’ll never be yours,” Marc lectured, pulsing Satan into the mortar for good measure. “Riona Dade will never be yours.”

  Her words were resoundingly clear, despite the fact that Marc’s hands clutched her throat. “I know. But here’s the rub, stud, she’s never going to be yours either.”

  “I had her. She’s told me she loves me.”

  “Your little tryst was just itching a scratch. Her heart wasn’t in it and you know it. Besides, she’s wed to another, with an archangel presiding over the vows, no less. I’m sorry to tell you this, but Riona and Jerry—well, assuming they’ve consecrated their marriage now, and knowing Jerry as I do they probably have at least three times a day—are forever bonded to each other. They’re binary souls.”

  “They’re what?”

  “Binary souls,” Lucy repeated as her back slid down the wall, finally letting her take a stand. “It’s the angel form of marriage. When two angels fall in love and dedicate themselves to being a couple, their souls become bonded. It hasn’t happened in thousands of years because, well, frankly, of the archangels remaining, none of us have really had a thing for each other. Other than Kochab, but Michael hates her.”

  “Jerry Romani isn’t an angel.”

  Lucy’s grin curled into a coquettish snarl. “Looks like your dear old Da really has been holding out on you, huh? Doesn’t tell you that you are his, and doesn’t tell you that you have a big brother.”

  Marc stumbled. A whole season of Gossip Girl didn’t have as many revelations as he’d had in the last hour. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell the devil to suck it. But on some level, deep in his soul, he felt the truth of the statement. “That asshole demon is my brother?”

  “Half-brother, technically. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the resemblance. The ebony locks, the high cheekbones, the olive skin, the ego the size of Jupiter. If not for your eyes and the fact the he’s a better kisser, I’d think the two of you were twins. Paternal, maybe, but still.”

  Marc’s face twisted into a mask of disgust. “You’ve kissed Jerry Romani?”

  “Kissed him, screwed him, made him paint my toenails. I’m the lord of Hell, Marc. I pretty much get whatever I want. If that means taking on my female incarnation and being fucked senseless by a maestro of the art form, then it is done.”

  “And so mighty is the power you command, that now we’re both fucked. This time, by your brother.” Marc’s forehead fell against the cold steel bars. “Not really sure the fringe benefits of your former position are paying dividends these days.”

  “When you were human, finance wasn’t really your thing, was it?”

  Marc coughed a laugh. “Vow of poverty, remember?”

  “Ah, yes. And chastity too. Until that became... inconvenient. A man of faith, past tense.”

  Marc whirled on the devil. “What makes you think I’ve lost my faith?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the pitiful series of events that led to your current reality? Let’s start with you giving years of dedication to the church, an institution which sentences its holy men to deny themselves the very thing that makes all the closest to God they’ll ever be: the ecstasy of creating life with a partner. Then the universe, surprise, gives you magical abilities, and an even higher mission: oh sure, serve the poor and help the needy and do all that on a miser’s budget and with a smile and balls bluer than Papa Smurf’s left teat, but while you’re at it, could you please vanquish the occasional imp or demon for us? And then, enter Riona Dade: a woman who is perhaps your polar opposite in every way, and so of course, you fall head over heels in love with her, so much so that, even knowing it will damn your soul, you tossed your vows and your pants on the floor the second she said do you want to see my willow tree.”

  “Only it turned out to be you.”

  “Irrelevant. It was the intent that damned you, dear boy, not the use of my body. Even then, if you had repented, you still might have had a chance. Instead, you decide to off yourself to save her from her true enemy.”

  “Which also turned out to be you,” Marc interrupted.

  Lucy continued unabated. “Thus sealing your southward bound itinerary. Then you become the plaything of a fallen angel who uses you like some cattle prod to corral his daughter right where he wants her, and your sweetheart immediately runs away with her ex and marries him, who, it turns out, is actually your long lost brother. Then, when you finally are rewarded with a u
nion with the woman you love, you end up thrown in jail for it.”

  “With an arrogant blowhard who, for the third time, turns out to be you.” Marc steeled his arms across his chest. “And all this, being true, has only made my faith stronger.”

  Lucy’s face blanked. “How is that possible?”

  “Because it puts me in a position I might not have had otherwise: one where I can help protect her from inside enemy ranks.” Marc reached a hand under his shirt, summoning the blade from wherever it was it went when he dismissed it. He watched with irrational pride as Lucy took in the object with ever-widening awe. He brandished it before him, feeling power thrum in his veins.

  “You have an angelic blade.”

  Lucy’s fingers slowly rose, as if she wanted to pet it. Moments before she made contact, Marc pulled it out of her reach.

  “You know she gave it to me, asking me to kill you, right?”

  To her credit, Lucy didn’t seem the least bit upset by that. “I’d be dead already if you really meant to do that. You could have impaled me when I straddled you, and not the sexy way.” Her head tilted to the side. “The question is, why didn’t you?”

  “Because I don’t think you’re the biggest threat to her. Not anymore. You ask how I still have faith? It’s because, when Riona came to tell me she was giving me this blade, even though I’m damned and even though I tried to cause her to fall, she still trusted me. Everything I’ve suffered, has been leading up to this. And now, I’ll kill her true enemies: the Grigori and Michael.”

  “And what? You’ll just walk up to five ancient archangels—Fallen or no—and slicey slicey, boom, they’re dead?”

  Doubt introduced itself into Marc’s plans. Which, of course, upped his bravado. “I’ve been helping to slay demons for the last six years and I rarely got more than a scratch from it.”

  “Problem: Azazel is your creator in Hell, and as such, you are obligated to obey when he gives you an order. All he has to do is say ‘Now, give me that knife before you hurt somebody,’ and you’ll pass it right over.”

  His teeth ground nearly to sand. As much as it pained Marc to admit it, Lucy had a good point.

  “But...” she continued in a singsong trill, “I know something you don’t know.”

  “Other than how to be a complete prick, what?”

  “Now is no time for flirting,” Lucy admonished. “I’ve been able to figure out what they’re planning. Therein, Marcello, lies the solution to your problem.”

  The blade pulled a drop of blood as Marc pressed it into Lucy’s chin. “Dish or die, devil.”

  For the first time, Satan took a fright. Her voice waivered as she threw both hands into the air. “Azazel is the one who’s really behind this. He wants back in Heaven, and he doesn’t care how he gets there. Big Boss is all about checks and balances, right? Think about it, where did Riona find her father?”

  “I don’t know, I was busy at the time, stewing in a pot on Hell’s brazier.”

  “Nirvana,” Lucy informed him. “Someone tipped her off to the location of one of the old, closed portals, and she reopened it, without even knowing she was doing anything special.”

  “She’s an angel, she could have ported. After all, she got into Hell that way.”

  Lucy seemed to consider this with a side nod as Marc’s blade began to drop. “True, but the trip to Nirvana required her to first go to a very specific location. I think that was because she hadn’t learned how to port yet. Even now, I bet she doesn’t realize the difference. Which is dangerous. She can create a portal to the heavenly realm, and not even know it.”

  “There are no portals to the heavenly realm. Only archangels in good standing can go or escort anyone there.”

  “True, but a daughter of Michael, one of the two angels with the ability to do portalcraft, who’s also the keystone witch? Come on, priest. You’ve read the New Testament. You telling me you don’t recall a story of a certain someone who could perform all kind of miracles, and managed to ascend into Heaven?”

  “Are you saying Riona is Christ?”

  “Did you hit yourself over the head when you were doing all that bible thumping, Marc? Do you really think the messiah would have a rack like hers? No, Riona isn’t Christ. But I do think she’s someone who’s going to shake the shit out of the status quo. We have to get out of here. Time to make that happen, but I’ll need your help.”

  “Okay, fine, what do you want me to do?”

  The devil dropped to her knees, robbing Marc of his breath. His mind’s eye filled with images of what was surely to come: him. Immediately, he stumbled back, feeling himself harden at the prospect. When, after a moment, he still hadn’t heard his zipper growl, he turned wide eyes to Lucy. She glared at him with exasperation.

  “Not that kind of party here, Marcello,” she said, placing balled fists on her waist. “You say your faith is even stronger than before?” Her hands clasped before her and she bowed her head. “Prove it.”

  Chapter 8

  Jerry’s first time being human had been so very long ago, he couldn’t recall if he’d had delusions then. Perhaps there’d been a lot of late night fantasies involving skin and sacrilege, but nothing he hadn’t willed into his own mind’s eye. This couldn’t be real. There was no way they were actually standing in front of their Boston home after having been trapped in a god-made cave atop Olympus five seconds ago. No. Freaking. Way.

  Dee, who had never met an unbelievable convenience he didn’t like, bounded up the stairs, leading Anwen by the hand. “Perfect. The sooner we’re inside, the better.”

  “She can’t follow us. You know that, Dio.”

  Anwen chastised her—husband, Jerry guessed? The Greek lovebirds situation was almost as complex as what he and Riona had going on before he’d been officially reincarnated, what with him all possessing Marc’s body, and therefore, a smaller endowment and all. Dee and Anwen fell into a pattern of familiarity like an old married couple, which Jerry supposed they were in a way. Dee went to town tracing a pattern of invisible letters over the locks on the door, disarming the charm he and Jerry had placed upon it before they’d left a mere two weeks ago. With a hiss and a click, the enchantment yielded letting the door swing open. Dee filled the frame in moments, turning out and urging on the others with a wave of his hand.

  When Anwen pulled back her hand and regained mastery over her own steps, forcing the demigod to go slack jawed, Jerry supposed that there were some things about the woman that were distinctly non-Carol and threw Dee for a loop.

  Dee pleaded his case from the threshold. “Baby, please. There could be hellbeasts or even Grigori nearby on the off chance that we show up here. We need to bunker down and figure out our next move.”

  Anwen seemed perplexed, as though Dee had started talking Swahili.

  “It’s sanctioned and sanctified,” he further explained. “A safe house. Ramiel placed the charm himself. Anything belonging to the Underworld can’t get farther than the front stoop.”

  Anwen looked over her shoulder, squaring eyes on Jerry. “And that?”

  The ex-demon dared to look insulted. “Look, Winnie, I get that you don’t like me. But, trust me, my hell’s bells days are over. Besides, we have bigger worries.” Jerry turned on his wife, who still stood at the bottom of the stairs, like a wary preschool teacher making sure all her kids got safely in before she headed to class. “You know that’s not normal, right? Popping from one realm to the other like that, I mean.”

  Her face blanked. Maybe it wasn’t an act, and she actually was clueless. How cute. Riona was so goddamn unique, but still hadn’t a clue just how much of a white elephant she truly was.

  “All angels can port, Jer. You know that.”

  He pointed at himself with gusto. “Duh. Gnosis demon, remember?”

  When Anwen glared suspiciously, he rolled his eyes, and clarified.

  “Ex-gnosis demon. Baby, what I mean is this: porting is something only a soul can do. The angels have a unique exce
ption that lets them adopt flesh in the realms where it’s needed. But even archangels can’t carry fleshy passengers. It would kill a mortal man to port; he’d leave his flesh behind and have his soul sucked out of him. That’s how ghosts are made.”

  All three of the others turned when a sharp whelping thwack hit their ears. Anwen’s expression didn’t include a single drop of regret as she stood, her hand still at the level of her eyes after giving Jerry a high five on his cheek bone.

  Jerry rubbed the sore spot. “Why?”

  “Testing to see if you were a ghost, of course. No such luck,” she explained. “So spill, why is this unique?”

  “Because my wife could port from here to Timbukutu with non-stop service continuing to Charles de Gaul five times a day if she wanted, but she couldn’t take anyone along. Even if we were in flagrante when she did it, it’d kill me. Or, at least leave me a little less manly than I was before. What she just did a few moments ago—it wasn’t porting. And yet, here we are.”

  “Jerry, if there’s a point, you should make it.” Riona looked back over her shoulder. “Gotta go with Dee on this one, I’m not exactly feeling safe out here in the open like this.”

  He diverted, wanting to wait until his suspicions were confirmed before he unleashed the truth on his already overburdened wife. “Anwen’s right; Steph can’t follow us, not the way we came, anyways. To get back here to Boston, she’d need to cross into the mortal realm in Greece and get her butt on a plane. As pissed off as she probably is right now, we’re not really a concern.”

  “And tell us why that is, oh wise ex-gnosis demon.”

  Jerry fixed Anwen in a diagnostic glare. “I can’t tell if you’re mocking me, or insulting me.” He shrugged. “What just happened there on the mountain wasn’t about us. Persephone is queen now; of course she had to lash out when my wife and your husband decided to call her out in front of her new subjects. She’ll need to do some damage control. She’s not going to risk anything until she has her base solidified. So for the moment, let’s focus on the fact my wife is apparently an advendavi.”