Addictive Paranormal Reads Halloween Box Set

by Nana Malone

  Azrael’s hands trembled as he slid back the hood. To her credit, Gazardiel did not flinch. The Emperor had prepared her for what to expect.

  “Kiss me goodbye, brother.” Gazardiel reached one shaky IV-laden hand towards the sleeve of his robe. “As you used to do whenever you went off on one of your grand adventures when we were both still young.”

  Hastily wiping his tears lest a destructive black drop cause her mortal shell to dissolve before he’d finished what he’d come here to do, Azrael pressed his lips to her forehead. Touch. He relished the simple physical sensation of touch as he gave his beloved sister the kiss of death. Gazardiel’s soul slid from her body, still bearing the form of an elderly woman, but free of the infirmary which had been the cause of her passing.

  “You were right!” Gazardiel rose from the bed, only glancing once at the body she was leaving behind. “There was no pain. Only that lovely song.”

  Gazardiel danced a joyous waltz around him, her sparse feathers filling out and visage growing younger until she appeared as she had when she'd still been a young mother raising kids. It was the form she wished her loved ones to see once she was reunited with them.

  “It’s the Song of Creation,” Azrael said. “Not even Gehenna can hold me so long as I hold that song in my heart.”

  Gazardiel traced the outline of cheekbones the Regent had spent all afternoon coaching him to hold. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers across his face, remembering what he had once looked like, and stood on tiptoes to kiss his forehead. Her touch was as wispy and insubstantial as the kiss of fog, a life-spark without physical form.

  “It’s not the shell which defines a soul,” Gazardiel opened her eyes. “But the measure of the man who dwells within. You’re as beautiful to me now as you ever were. Now take me to see Mama so I can share the good news.”

  Holding his sister's hand, he carried her to the gateway of the realm She-who-is had created to shelter life-sparks between the physical and higher realms, the Dreamtime, the place the humans called heaven. Only spirits of the dead could go there, not an undead creature such as himself.

  “I cannot enter,” Azrael said mournfully as he stood on the threshold. “But know I shall always remember you.”

  “The Emperor promised I could be one of the first souls to come back,” Gazardiel said excitedly. “I shall be a pioneer in one of his new scientific experiments. She-who-is will allow our entire family to come back close in time and place so we can find one another, although our memories of our past lifetime will be erased so we have a chance to start over. Perhaps someday my spirit will jump out of some strange, alien creature and shout boo?”

  “I would like that." Azrael kissed his sister goodbye.

  Gazardiel paused, one foot over the threshold.

  “Perhaps you should consider doing this for work? Your touch is much more pleasant than gasping for each breath until your body finally grows too exhausted to breathe!”

  “I’ll consider it.” Her suggestion brought a smile to Azrael's face. Gazardiel still knew him better than any creature in the universe.

  For the first time in nearly a thousand years, his heart felt light as his sister stepped across the threshold. Although he could not see the loved ones she reunited with, he could sense them. He knew she related word to their heartbroken mother that he still existed and that news of his continued research would bring her joy.

  “Goodbye,” Azrael said, wishing not for the first time he’d died the day he’d taken on Moloch. Although then his spirit would have been trapped in the fiery purgatory of Gehenna until it had either become too damaged to exist or food for a malignant god. Not a pleasant prospect.

  He had a new job to do. New scientific theories to test. And a cloak that, thus far, appeared to effectively dampen his destructive tendencies. It was time to return to Earth.

  * * * * *

  Part III

  My soul waitith for the Lord,

  More than they

  That watch for morning,

  More than Watchmen

  Wait for morning..."

  Psalm 130

  * * * * *

  Chapter 10

  Son of Man,

  I have made thee a watchman …

  Therefore hear the word at my mouth,

  And give them warning from me.

  Ezekiel 3:17

  Earth: AD 1992

  Karaman House, Foca, Bosnia (Modern era)

  Azrael…

  Azrael’s head jerked up from his latest scientific journal where he furiously jotted down notes about the wolf pack, the void-reinforced tally sheet slipping from his fingers. It dissolved before it hit the ground as it brushed against his deadly wings.

  “Drat!”

  Azrael!

  Azrael closed his eyes, listening to the faint song which sang beneath the mortal wind which blew through this high, desolate forest. Ki’s voice was the softest whisper of butterfly wings against his mind, but the Song grew stronger whenever she communicated with him. The Song eased the hunger growing within his consciousness, forever clamoring to be fed. Azrael needed the Song to survive the way others required oxygen, or he’d have no choice but to feed upon matter to fill the aching void.

  Women. Injured. No … violated! Agents were trying to breed genetically suitable host-bodies again to facilitate the escape of Moloch’s larger Agents.

  “Yip!”

  Azrael’s attention was drawn back to the wolf-pack he’d spent the past seven generations studying to collect data on non-human social structure. The creatures did not fear him, having gotten used to his observations, but they had enough sense to avoid brushing up against the black-winged Angelic who perpetually shadowed them, furiously scribbling scientific data into his great black book. The alpha-male’s tongue lolled from one side as he cocked his head to one side as though he was listening to the Song of Creation as well. Perhaps he could hear it? Wolves were relatively evolved social animals for not-quite-sentient creatures. A topic for future study? Azrael scribbled a quick note in his ever-growing list of future scientific experiments and snapped shut his journal.

  “Time to go!” He tucked his journal into his cloak pocket and wrapped the hated garment around his non-physical form.

  The alpha whined as he flared his wings, a most dog-like sound as though the wolf regretted the master leaving him behind while he went off to work. Azrael had shadowed the pack so long they considered him one of them, the closest thing to family Azrael had now that everyone he’d ever loved was dead and gone. Behind the alpha-male its mate and several ‘aunties’ also whined, a wolf-farewell to another going out on a hunt. Azrael whined in answer, the closest he could approximate the beast’s crude, not-quite-sentient language that he’d be back as soon as he could.

  With a flash of darkness, Azrael teleported between the dimensions to the scene of the crime.

  Martial-sounding music blared from a speaker connected to an ancient turntable, Mars na Drinu, March on the Drina: a Serbian fighting song. Oblivious to his presence, an Agent-infested Serbian soldier raped a Bosnian-Muslim female. Janko. A particularly nasty Agent who Azrael had been trying to corral. One of several dozen responsible for inciting genocide against thousands of innocent Bosnian-Serbs. The woman’s damaged consciousness floated above her cigarette-burned body, trying to escape the violation of her flesh.

  ‘Her name is Kadima. I wish for her to bear witness…’ Ki whispered into Azrael's mind.

  Kadima spotted the tall, black-cloaked visage which had suddenly appeared in the room.

  “Our Lord,” Kadima reached towards him as though welcoming his presence as he stepped towards the Agent he’d been sent here to reap. “Grant me death.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Janko hissed, realizing he had an audience. “Guards!!! Who let this asshole into the room!” Janko leaped to his feet, shoving his cock back into his pants.

  Kadima curled into a fetal position and clutched her clothing to cover her shame. Human legend of
ten depicted Azrael as being a tall, silent creature, incapable of speech. Truth was, he rarely possessed words adequate to express his disgust at what Agents did to those they tortured and fed upon. Why speak at all when the mere sight of the Angel of Death appearing in a room conveyed all that needed to be said?

  He lifted one arm and pointed at the Agent he’d been sent to reap, slipping his hand from the cloak which prevented him from accidentally killing someone with an inadvertent brush of a feather. He waited for Janko to do what stupid Agents of Moloch always did whenever confronted by the Angel of Death. Try to collect the bounty Moloch had placed on his head.

  The bodies Agents inhabited were little more than articles of clothing, puppets seized to facilitate their movement through a realm which was otherwise hostile to their existence. What mattered was how powerful a consciousness a non-corporeal being could evolve, how well fed it was compared to Azrael's seemingly slight footprint.

  “Moloch has promised a seat at his table for any Agent who can defeat you!” Janko leaped at Azrael.

  Azrael grabbed Janko by the throat. The Agent’s human host-body fell to the ground as the now-disembodied consciousness struggled to get the better of him. Light-energy to dark-energy, Janko clawed at Azrael and failed to get a grip on a consciousness comprised entirely of silt-fine dark matter. In a flash, he deposited the Agent into Lucifer’s care before teleporting back to where Ki wished him to recruit her newest Watchman.

  “Allah be praised.” Kadima's consciousness tugged against her violated body, trying her hardest to will herself to die.

  Azrael paused to tuck an ace of spades into Janko’s pocket, a message to Moloch that yet another bounty hunter had failed. He liked to remind the malignant god who had murdered his friend that he was still here. Settling his ebony wings against his back so the cloak covered them once more, he slid back his hood. Kadima gasped as Azrael revealed the face he only showed to the purest of the pure. Not the grim expression he donned when reaping Agents of Moloch, but an ebony-black version of his own face, deliberately aged ten years so people would stop mistaking him for a boy.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get here soon enough to spare you this indignity,” Azrael's black eyes glittered with compassion above his high, chiseled cheekbones, “but you must bear witness to this wrong. You must let others know what happened so these men are brought to justice.”

  “Malak-al-Maut,” Kadima wept. “Please shepherd my spirit into the bosom of Allah.”

  “It is not your time, Watchman,” Azrael nudged her spirit back towards her body. “But you have my word no seed shall take root from this violation.”

  Azrael averted his eyes and pulled her torn skirt down to cover her bloodied lower body, careful to avoid touching her skin. Lately he'd developed the ability to touch inanimate matter without dissolving it, though the gift was erratic depending upon his emotional state. He lay a hand over the fabric covering her abdomen and focused, his concentration intense as he accomplished one of the few helpful uses he’d discovered he could put his talent for destruction. Kadima gasped as he absorbed the foreign life energy Janko had implanted into her body before it could take root.

  “Allahu akhbar,” Kadima whispered. “God is great.”

  Others. Village. Safety. U.N. patrol. Images touched upon Azrael’s mind as Ki communicated what she wished for him to do.

  “Sleep,” Azrael said. “When you awaken, the Agents of Moloch will be dead. Lead the others to the next village. There’s a woman in a house with a thatched roof barn who will shelter you until Peacekeepers come through. Within the year, a war crimes council will be convened to prosecute those who did this to you. It would please Allah greatly if you would testify.”

  “Yes,” Kadima agreed. “I will facilitate Allah’s will.”

  Azrael held his hand above her face, careful not to touch her flesh. Sleep, Watchman. Ki has chosen you to bear witness. Kadima’s eyes fluttered shut as merciful sleep overcame her. Another ‘gift.’ The Regent had taught him to convey images into another's mind to encourage a desired emotional state, an ability which pleased her to no end although Azrael could never understand why.

  “Thank you,” Kadima whispered as she drifted off. A peaceful sleep restored her as a faint, distant melody permeated her dreams and made her smile in spite of all that had happened. The Song of Creation. So long as Kadima did as Ki asked, she’d be able to hear the same beautiful song which kept him here. Ki’s carrot to entice her Watchmen to forever strive to become more.

  Azrael covered her with a blanket, careful not to dissolve non-living matter so long as he kept his emotions in check. He moved through the rest of the house, dispatching the other Agents. Agent-infected Serbians weren’t the only ones committing atrocities, but those he left to human justice. Still … he couldn’t leave them to pursue his now-free charges. Herding terrified soldiers into a room, Azrael devolved into his more versatile black tentacled form and melted shut the door.

  After Kadima testified, the international community was finally horrified enough to get off its ass and intervene…

  * * * * *

  Chapter 11

  And I saw an angel come down from heaven,

  Having the key of the bottomless pit,

  And a great chain in his hand.

  Revelations 20:1

  Gehenna: Earth AD 1992

  It was a typical day in hell…

  Azrael flung back the hated cloak as soon as he finished materializing. Two Sata’an-human soldiers nodded greeting as he stepped towards the enormous carved doors. Someone had spray painted the words ‘abandon all hope, ye who enter here’ across the lintel. It was a fitting epitaph for those forced to do the dirty work of keeping the worst of the worst interred here. Azrael’s passing was silent, his corporeal shell nothing but an illusion, but the footsteps of the guards who escorted him echoed in the enormous, empty hallway. Azrael paused before the second set of doors to enter the main processing chamber as they were opened for him.

  Things were exactly as he expected…

  “Take this scum off my hands.” Azrael held out the squirming consciousness of the scumbag he’d just reaped. He pretended not to notice the sexual foreplay taking place upon the raised dais.

  “You should pay more respect to the Emperor of Earth!” Lucifer waved one arm in an overstated display of showmanship. “Shouldn’t he, ladies?”

  The females twittered as Lucifer spoke, reaching up to caress his snowy wings, his perfect body, his handsome face. One ran her hand up his inner thigh, earning a hiss of pleasure. Touch. While Azrael hadn’t experienced mortal touch without killing someone for 2,300 years, Lucifer reveled in an excess of it every single day.

  “Naughty, naughty!” Lucifer's voice indicated he wished to reward the female's bad behavior, not chastise it. “Can’t you see my brother is too uptight to appreciate three such splendid roses in my garden?”

  The females murmured and sighed, reaching towards Azrael in an open invitation to join them.

  “No, no, my sweets,” Lucifer took first one's hand, then the other, and then the third to kiss the back of each hand and, in one instance, place ones finger into his mouth to suck on it. “Don’t you know who this is? This is Azrael. The Angel of Death.”

  The females backed away from where he stood, arm outstretched, his latest quarry dangling by the throat as he prevented the squirming soul from escaping. Azrael knew such un-evolved creatures could not see the incorporeal consciousness dangling from his fist, only the dark Angelic standing before them with outstretched arm as though pointing in judgment … but Lucifer could.

  “You wouldn’t want to invite him into your bed,” Lucifer told the women with a knowing smirk. “It would be a sexual experience to die for.

  “But he’s so beautiful,” one whispered to the other. “Almost as beautiful as him.”

  Humph! If only they knew it was fake! After 2,300 years of trial and error, he’d finally learned to shape a facsimile of his former physica
l form. Beautiful, or not, he was still a creature of the void. His ebony skin sucked the light, the energy, the life force from everything it touched and composted it back into its base elements. Dark energy and dark matter. Leptons. Quarks. Higgs-bosons. And the ever-smaller particles which made up 96% of the mass of the universe.

  “Off you go now!” Lucifer playfully slapped one in the ass. He stood, causing the female parked upon his lap to tumble onto the floor in a fit of giggles, and flared his snowy white wings as though he were a bird of prey.

  “Rargh!!! We’ll finish this later!”

  The women squealed and scurried down a side-hall to Lucifer’s personal quarters, where Azrael knew he had a bed large enough to entertain a small army of females. The one who had whispered she found him beautiful paused, dropping her robe to give an uninhibited view of her breasts. She ran her hand down her abdomen and mouthed an invitation before disappearing after the others.

  Angel-groupies! Even if Azrael could mate with such creatures, he wouldn’t touch one with a ten-foot pole!

  Azrael looked at Lucifer with disgust. Lucifer had let slip during one of his all-too-frequent benders that he hadn’t merely been Elissar's ancestor, but her actual sire.

  The Fallen son of the Eternal Emperor felt it was his goddess-given duty to exercise his ‘power of persuasion’ to impregnate every female he chose to ‘honor’ with his DNA. Like a cuckoo bird, Lucifer sought the wives of movers and shakers, including General Hanno's wife, to give his offspring the best possible chance of achieving positions of influence. His mortal progeny numbered in the millions, but in all that time, not a single one had ever been born with his quasi-ascended powers … or his wings.

  “What?” Lucifer's demeanor changed as he assumed the persona Azrael had come to realize was his true one.