The Death Skull: Relic Defender, Book 2

by Cassiel Knight

  His green eyes bore into hers as if he were seeking to look deep into her soul. Obviously, he’d decided that the stoic male routine had lost its audience. As comforting as his presence was, she pulled back, an unreasonable fear tightening her muscles. His eyebrow lifted but he didn’t say anything. A blessing because she had no idea what she would say to him if he asked.

  And why did she suddenly feel as if the skull priest’s face was superimposed over Jackson’s?

  “I apologize for resorting to such extreme measures to show you the proof of what I speak,” Michael said, his tone low and soothing. “You had to understand just how dangerous the skull is. If Beliel and his human find the skull, not only will they be able to take human souls, but the souls of immortals.”

  Like her soul. Something she hadn’t believed she possessed. That no angel, Fallen or otherwise, possessed. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Her mind felt battered. Bruised. Torn. Not quite the same as it was before.

  She looked up at the tall Archangel. “You couldn’t have just told me?”

  He tilted his head. The ever-present, slight smile curled on his lips. “Would you have believed me?”

  “Sure,” she began, then stopped.

  Would she have believed him if he’d simply told her she had a soul she was in danger of losing it? She’d never trusted him before. What did that say about her, anyway? That she wouldn’t trust the mighty Archangel Michael to tell her the truth?

  His smile widened. “Yes, so you understand. As distasteful as it was, you had to see.”

  Oh, she definitely saw. “Okay, so I believe you. Now what?”

  “Now you and Jackson will go to Canada to the house of the woman who owns the skull. Buy the skull and bring it back here, where it can be kept safe from Beliel and anyone else who would use it to claim lives and destroy the world.”

  She had one more question. “Why me?”

  “Return the skull. You will understand then.”

  Damn Michael and his crypticness. Why couldn’t he have responded with a straight answer?

  His smile widened. “Go to Canada and retrieve the skull.” A gleam of something mischievous entered his brilliant-blue gaze. All her senses went on alert. “And Marisol? Travel there as the mortals do.”

  Mari felt her mouth drop open and eyes widen. Travel as the mortals? She knew of only one way mortals traveled long distances or over vast bodies of water in a speedy manner. A flicker of apprehension shifted through her.

  Before she could protest that, by his words, there wasn’t enough time, Michael lifted a brow at her, then went to the center of the room. “God be with you, Marisol Asheni and Jackson McKay.” He bowed and, in a burst of dazzling light, disappeared.

  Shit, she thought, using a common expression she’d heard from Jackson. It seemed appropriate.

  Mari glared at the spot Michael had stood. He asked much of her to expect her to get into one of those metal tubes. When she’d made the choice to follow Mikos after he decided to leave Hell and follow the Light, she’d chosen to obey Michael. This though… He was asking too much.

  Mari sighed. Yet she would do it. She would hate it but she would do as Michael requested. After all, she had made the choice and she would abide by it, no matter how much her skin crawled at the idea of being in a plane.

  She sensed Jackson come up beside her.

  “Damn, Mari, is he always like this?”

  She turned her head slightly. Jackson’s eyes were shiny with moisture, and he blinked rapidly. The angel’s light was definitely blinding. Frown lines creased his forehead.

  She took a deep breath then answered on an exhale. “Yes, he is.”

  With a wobbly push, she propelled herself out of the cushions. Testing to see if her powers had been returned, she dampened the fire with a murmured command and turned to leave the study.

  “Where are you going?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m going to Canada.”

  He put his hands on his hips and grinned. “How do you propose to do that? I heard the angel clear as day say for you to travel as the mortals. I’m thinkin’ that means an airplane. I’m also thinkin’ you know nothing about booking flights.”

  She growled. “Of course I do not. I have never ridden in one of those ridiculous contraptions and I don’t intend to.”

  “I suspect you don’t have a choice, darlin’.” The grin stretched into a full, bright smile. “Wouldn’t want the Archangel to be angry with you, would you? No telling what he might do.”

  Mari growled again, low and long. Jackson kept his chuckle internal, knowing that if he laughed outright at the mesmerizing fallen angel, she’d likely rip his heart from his chest. And he was rather fond of the beating thing.

  Under the glamour she wore to keep her demon appearance hidden, a spark of hellfire flickered in her gaze.

  What in God’s name had happened to her? He wasn’t kidding when he told her she’d screamed and turned white. What he hadn’t told her was that he’d seen some kind of light pulsing from her body like a busted artery. The scream had been filled with pain and pure terror. What had the angel shown her that would terrify the lethal woman?

  Granted, he’d only known her for six months but in that time, he’d never seen her express fear of any kind. She handled the missions and her life with an abandon he envied. No worries. No expectations. Just abandon.

  He, on the other hand, had enough concerns to fill the Grand Canyon.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “You will book the flight to Canada. I will ride in one of the contraptions.”

  “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll get us set up first class all the way. You’ll love it.”

  She cocked her head at him, one hand on her curving hip. Clearly, she doubted his promise. “Let me know when you have made the arrangements.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find a demon, or a few hundred, to fight.”

  In the space of a blink, she was geared up, her long sword held before her. Silver flashed, gleaming bright enough to make him want to shield his eyes. The only thing she didn’t have were her wings. His head canted. Come to think of it, he hadn’t ever seen the things.

  As if in rebellion to Michael’s proclamation she was to travel as a human, Mari disappeared, apporting to only God knew where. Jackson pitied the poor demon, or few hundred, that crossed her path.

  As for him, he had a stop to make before he went on another mission. A visit to a place he hadn’t been in far too long.

  The being dressed as an old man waited. It wouldn’t be long before his guest showed. Even as the deadly storm whipped around him, he was untouched. With a mere thought, he could make the storm cease, but found he enjoyed its wild beauty.

  He knew the moment his visitor arrived.

  Asher Dakeni, Lucifer’s Slayer, stood before him in all his lethal glory. Despite the freezing temperatures and cutting wind, Asher remained unaffected. The old man calmed the storm as Asher bowed his head.

  “My appreciation,” he said.

  “All is well?” the old man asked. Even with all that he was, there were still limitations to what he could do. And where he could see. Which was why the Slayer was so important to his plans. A deadly game the old man played, he knew.

  “Marisol Asheni and the human will seek the skull. Michael has also set the task before them.”

  “Yes, Michael,” the old man murmured. “He watches closely.”

  “Will he interfere?”

  “Only if it becomes necessary.”

  Asher lifted a brow. “Then I suggest his participation not become necessary.”

  Without waiting for a reply, the Slayer disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived. The old man called the storm back and watched it rage around him.

  “Indeed.”

  As the old man knew all too well, free will, when exercised for the wrong reasons, for the wrong cause, could mean the difference between life and death. Even angels, created to obey, had fre
e will. He only hoped that when Michael exercised his, he’d choose the right path.

  Otherwise, everything the old man had planned would fail. And Earth would become Hell.

  Chapter Five

  While the arrangements were being made, Jackson took a quick hop to Texas and now stood before the ramshackle cottage nestled snugly in the straggly copse of Eastern redbuds not far from the seasonal creek that cut through the property. The hot Texas sun beat down on his head, the heat burning through his hat. Sweat trickled and was caught by the brim. A stiff wind blew through the Panhandle, bringing the sweet scents of sun-warmed fringed sage and Texas bear grass with it.

  Home. Where he grew to the ripe age of sixteen before he left it all behind. Until two years later when his father died and left his mom alone. Then Jackson had come back, only to discover his useless father had spent his last years drinking his way into deep debt.

  Jackson had thought for sure his mom was settled with the insurance money before he took off again but it wasn’t until, by chance, a couple of years ago, he’d found out how bad things were or how fast the insurance money was depleted leaving the farmhouse forfeit to the bank. Further, he learned, all of the money he had sent to his mother during the years after his father’s death went to pay off the less than savory characters his father owed in addition to credit card debt.

  Hell, she’d done a good job in keeping things buried that, in less than a month, his mother would be kicked out of her home with nowhere else to go. Unless Jackson came up with the money to get her into an exclusive retirement center in Houston.

  And it wasn’t just about finding any old place. His mother had suffered enough in the middle of the desert, far from anyone but her husband. No, Jackson wanted the absolute best for his mother. Wanted her to have all the food she wanted, a home that wasn’t constantly draped in dust, and others to wait on her. Jackson had scouted the perfect place; however, he needed more money to ensure his mother would never want for anything again.

  There were a lot of benefits in working on the side of good, but one of them wasn’t the money. And there’s the rub. Sure, he wore a white hat now, but he missed the black money.

  Rubbing his face with a handkerchief, he contemplated his childhood home. Yeah, he was stalling. Not quite ready to face his mother after being gone the last six months.

  A couple of the shutters had broken hinges. Looked like the porch could use a replacement step. He had an older couple come out twice a week to see to his mother’s basic needs and do light maintenance around the place. Wasn’t much—he couldn’t afford much. At least she wasn’t alone.

  Jackson straightened his shoulders and smoothed the legs of his jeans. Might as well get this done. She would not understand his leaving as soon as he arrived, and he didn’t relish the scene she’d make when he told her. Couldn’t be helped. Each time he went on a mission, he never knew if it would be his last one. Nearly falling to his death in the Himalayas on account of that little bastard idol made him realize he didn’t want to die without seeing his mother at least one last time.

  As he strode down the dirt driveway, he scuffed the dust, kicking it up into a low cloud at his feet and knees. He’d left his car at the mailbox, not wanting it too close to the house. Sometimes he wondered if his mother would insist on coming with him. The closer he got to the house, the more dilapidated it looked. Termites had done more damage than he’d initially thought. The boards at the structure’s base were pitted with long, insect-bored gashes traveling along their length. Bedraggled flowers, dry and mere shadows of their former bright selves, littered the railing in their faded and cracked pots.

  Jackson frowned. Maybe the old couple he hired to keep an eye on his mother was too old for her and the place. He climbed the stairs slowly, his eyes on the front door. After he replaced the original door a couple of years ago during one of his infrequent visits, the entrance was now the brightest thing about the ancient place. He lifted his hand to knock. As his knuckles contacted the hard surface, he froze. Could he do this? It wasn’t that he didn’t love his mother or want to see her. Could he tell her what he did? Would she understand why he couldn’t come around as much as he wanted?

  Come on, Jackson. You know you rarely come here. Too many memories and you hate to see your mother so lost and lonely. Which is why you are trying to get her into a fancy retirement center. So that someone else can take care of her.

  “No,” Jackson snarled. That wasn’t true.

  “Hello?” Even through the solid door, the soft voice could be heard and he would have recognized it anywhere. Through anything. “Is anyone there? I have a gun.”

  His eyes widened a bit at that last pronouncement, and then he smiled. Of course she didn’t have a gun. But a stranger wouldn’t know that.

  “Ma, it’s me. Jackson.” He turned the knob and entered into the cool foyer.

  Last year, he’d invested in air conditioning, despite his mother’s assertions she didn’t need it. He’d told her it was more for him. She’d accepted that explanation although he could tell she didn’t believe him. Still, it was good to see her using it.

  “Jackson, honey, come on in.” Her warm tones flowed through him, embracing him in memories of hugs, soft kisses and quiet laughter as she read him a story.

  When his eyes adjusted to the dark interior, he saw his mother standing at the end of the hallway. Petite, where he and his father were tall, she had a fragile air about her. However, he knew from experience Maggie McKay was as strong as a Ponderosa Pine.

  The wooden floors creaked as he made his way down the hall. A warm smile stretched his mother’s lips while tears hovered in her blue eyes.

  “Hey, Ma, how are you?”

  He stopped about a foot from her and did a quick scan. She looked good. A bit tired, maybe, lost some more weight, for sure, but looked mighty fine for a seventy-five-year-old woman.

  He could tell she was taking a gander at him as well. What did she see? He’d inherited little in his appearance from his mother. He’d gotten his looks from his pa. In fact, most everything he was came from Taylor McKay. Did his ma see his pa every time she looked at him? Is that why sadness lingered behind the bright gaze?

  She reached out and drew him toward her into an embrace that was only a shadow of its former strength. That saddened him—seeing his mother so much less herself. All the more reason he had to get her into that retirement center.

  Ma wrapped her arms around his middle, the top of her head coming just to under his jaw. Her floral perfume curled around him, the same scent she’d worn since he could remember. His nose compared it to the vibrant, exotic scent of Mari. No floral softness for the fallen angel. Just like the woman herself. He shook off thoughts of Mari and focused on his mother.

  “Honey, it’s good to see you. It’s been so long,” Ma said and pulled back. She cupped his cheek with one cool palm before stepping out of his embrace. “What have you been up to?”

  “Let’s go sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Which he wouldn’t. He’d only tell her what she wanted to hear. That her son was doing great out in the wide world. That even though he was not yet married or raising a passel of kids to bounce on her knee, he wasn’t alone. He’d tell her everything, despite the lies.

  An hour later, after his mother was tucked into her bed for an afternoon nap, Jackson stood on the porch and looked out over the land. Storm clouds hung in the distance. Might be just rain. Might be something more. Despite his earlier plan to leave immediately, he decided to stay the night just in case.

  During their chat, she’d told him about some strange man coming by the house. Not stopping to visit, just standing and looking at the house with a clipboard in his hand. She thought she’d even seen him taking some kind of measurements. When she’d called the sheriff, he’d assured her there was nothing to worry about. That the guy was some kind of government official doing a census on the place.

  Jackson knew otherwise. It was the bank ch
ecking out the property that would soon be theirs. He’d stop by their office on his way out of town. Convince them that disturbing his mother was not a good idea.

  Then he’d go back to Chicago, fly to Canada, get the skull and then figure out how he could get the money to get his mother into a home by the end of the month. Two weeks was more than enough time.

  Right.

  His momma was fond of saying the quickest way to double your money was to fold it over and put it back in your pocket. He aimed to prove his momma wrong. He’d get the money and her into that center. No matter the cost.

  The airplane bucked, a strange thud coming from underneath her feet. Mari’s teeth bit into her lips hard enough to draw blood. Her fingers gripped the armrest, her knuckles whitening. The back of the seat in front of her seemed to press in, moving in to crush her. She swallowed heavily.

  How much more torture was she expected to take? She’d already suffered the indignity of removing her Jimmy Choos and placing them in a dirty plastic bin, then being searched as she tried to pass through security and alarms sounded. Jackson had found her predicament extremely amusing when she’d been selected for special screening by having to go through an x-ray machine. How humans stood the humiliation, she didn’t understand.

  It took every piece of her will not to incinerate the humans as they subjected her to their pat-down, as Jackson later named what she’d suffered.

  Her row shook, and she looked up to see Jackson settle into his seat and reach around his hips. When he brought his hand back, he’d snatched up some kind of belt with metal ends then pushed the two together with a sharp click. He looked up at her and smiled.

  “You all set? All buckled in?”

  “Buckled?” she managed to croak the question. Fires of Hell, she hadn’t felt this uncertain for a long time.

  Jackson’s head dipped. “You okay?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m fine.”

  “Mari, have you flown before? At all?”