by C. L. Coffey
“Do you even know who it is?” he asked me.
“Do I need to?” I shot back. “Maybe I just really love the lyrics.”
“Really?” he asked, smirking.
As his lips quirked up, I found myself frowning. What exactly was I declaring my love for? I focused on the words and blushed as I realized that the singer was telling the world about a guy she liked but was forbidden from seeing so she resorted to running away with him for her happily ever after. Of course that was what she was singing about – it was never going to be the standard heartbreak country song that I actually couldn’t stand. “Yes!” I said, firmly sticking with the lie.
“Interesting,” he said.
“What is?” I asked, suddenly curious.
“Your sudden love for Joleen Hazelwood,” he grinned. “You know, she’s playing here soon and I have an extra ticket if you want to come?” With the way his thumb was tracing circles, I was almost ready to agree to just about anything with him at that point. But a date was probably not a good idea. I opened my mouth, ready to politely turn his offer down, when he shrugged. “Unless, of course, you’re too much of a chicken to spend an entire evening listening to country music?”
“Of course I’m not,” I snapped at him. Looking at the grin he then gave me, I had to groan inwardly. He’d only gone and tricked me into going. “But it’s not a date,” I quickly added.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “Of course not, darlin’,” he said, although his tone told me he believed the exact opposite.
We finally started moving again and Joshua kept his eyes focused on the street in front of him. A smirk stayed firmly planted on his face, while his hand kept hold of mine. I did nothing to try to get him to release me.
Eventually, he pulled over, finally letting go of my hand. “Wait here,” he told me. Before I could question where he was going, he disappeared from the car and into a nearby store.
I sighed and settled back into the seat. I was busy people-watching when the bells started ringing. I shook my head, trying to ignore them, but it was no use. The Bells of Michael were summoning me back to the convent, and experience told me they wouldn’t stop ringing until I was in his presence.
Thankfully, Joshua returned to the car moments later. He frowned as soon as he looked at me. “I need to go back,” I explained.
“Well it’s a good job I got you this,” he said, handing something over to me.
I took it, turning the item over in my hands. “A mobile phone?” I said, confused, running my fingers over the bright red case.
Joshua smiled, either at my confusion, or the fact I still had a habit of referring to certain things in an English way. “I’m not letting you go back into that convent without some way of being able to contact me in an emergency.”
“I don’t need a phone,” I told him. “And I certainly can’t accept this.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“It’s an iPhone,” I pointed out, tapping on the red protective case. “It’s not exactly a dirt-cheap flip phone with a whole $10 worth of credit on it.”
“Are you planning on running up a huge bill on it, darlin’?” he asked me, his eyebrow disappearing up under his fringe.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not planning on using it at all,” I told him, trying to give it back. “Besides, it’s not like I’m in danger in the convent. I live with two archangels.”
Joshua suddenly looked smug, settling back into his seat and folding his arms. “Well what if I need to get hold of you?” he asked me. “What if I am in danger?”
I stared at him, unable to come up with a reasonable argument for that. However, “Dirt-cheap flip phone?” I suggested.
“Maybe the apps will come in handy?” Joshua shrugged.
“Yes, I can see Candy Crush being a huge help,” I responded dryly.
This time it was Joshua’s turn to roll his eyes. “Let me put it this way: I’m not returning it. So you either use it, or it lives in back of a cupboard and I’ve wasted my money. And before you say anything, I’ve already picked up my replacement,” he added, lifting up the bag.
I was tempted to try that on him, but the look in his eyes told me that the phone would end up in a cupboard and somehow, that just made me feel guilty. I glanced down at the dress, and then sighed. There were no pockets. “Fine,” I relented, and tucked the small phone into the bra of the dress. Joshua’s eyes widened, and then his all-too-familiar smirk appeared. I rolled my eyes. “You gave me an outfit with no pockets,” I pointed out.
The smirk grew as Joshua held out the charger. “And where are you going to put this?” he asked me. I leaned over and backhanded his bicep. “Ow,” he grinned, as I snatched the charger from him.
“Just take me home,” I grunted as the ringing started up again.
“I can’t wait to see your reaction when I buy you flowers,” he muttered as he pulled away.
* * *
After assuring Joshua I would call him from the new phone later and then watching him until he had left, I gave up on putting off walking into the convent. I gave the front of the white building one last look and pushed the main double doors open.
Despite the fact it was the middle of the morning the main entrance hall was deserted. Even the reception desk which was usually manned by Cupid was empty. I frowned – partly from the incessant bells ringing in my head, and partly because once again, the angels were too trusting to lock a door. I knew that I could open any door within this building, including the convent’s armory, and walk in without anyone ever stopping me.
Admittedly, Cupid normally covered the front desk, fielding any calls and looking out for stray tourists wanting to view the historic building, but I just wasn’t convinced. There was trust, and then there was just asking for trouble. I sighed and shook my head. It wasn’t my call. Instead, I decided to focus on something I could change: the ringing bells.
I made my way up the beautiful cypress wood staircase which lived in the main entrance, then went up another set of stairs to the attic. Up here was Michael’s domain.
On the other side of the dark wood door, I could hear voices although I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open without bothering to knock: if Michael didn’t want me to enter, he wouldn’t have been calling me for the past twenty-eight minutes. The room fell silent as I stepped in and I was met with four pairs of eyes watching me.
The first, a set of hazel eyes, were full of relief. I gave Cupid a small smile which was returned tenfold in a wide grin. The tall, yet skinny, archangel with shaggy brown hair met my gaze, before studying my overall appearance. When his eyes found the red cowboy boots, he arched an eyebrow at me. I gave him a small shrug, knowing he would question my outfit later.
I was also hyper aware of the intensity radiating from a set of chocolate brown eyes which were making me feel uncomfortable even from ten feet away. From behind his desk, Michael tilted his head. The only way I could describe this archangel was ‘an Adonis – the Adonis’. He had chiseled good looks, a strong jaw, and muscles that would have made my heart skip a beat – if it still beat normally. “I’m glad to see you finally left your room,” he told me. “This is Raphael and Paddy.”
My attention switched to the other two people in the room, and I glanced back at Michael before doing a double take. Every angel I had encountered so far looked like they belonged on a catwalk so it didn’t surprise me that these two newcomers were just as good looking. Raphael was another beautiful creation. He was just as tall as Michael and Cupid though his frame was more like Michael’s muscular one than Cupid’s slimmer one. While both Michael and Cupid looked to be only a few years older than me, Raphael looked to be in his early thirties. His auburn hair was kept long, tied back at the nape of his neck, although several strands had broken free and had to be tucked back behind his ear.
It was Paddy who had surprised me. Unless he had been to an exceptionally good plastic surgeon, he was actually a sh
e. She was the shortest in the room by several inches, even with the high heeled stiletto boots she wore. Her hair was a mass of natural red curls which hung down her back, almost to the bottom of the mini skirt she wore. “You’re female,” I blurted out, earning a bark of laughter from Raphael, a look of horror from Cupid, and a disapproving scowl from Michael.
Before Michael could vocalize his disapproval, Paddy grinned at me. “I blame the Catholics,” she told me, with a rich Scottish accent. “Patricia,” she added. “But everyone calls me Paddy. I’m a Saint,” Paddy added, a twinkle in her green eyes. “As an English girl, I’d like to think you’ve heard of me anyway, but I’m pretty big over here too.”
Saint Patricia? I gave Cupid a helpless look and he winced. “We haven’t covered saints yet,” I admitted, sheepishly.
“Stop teasing her,” Raphael chided Paddy, as he bumped her with his hip. Unlike Paddy he had an Irish accent, but his voice was deep and rich. “While there is a Saint Patricia, Paddy here hasn’t been called Patricia since the 4th century. And don’t let that Scottish accent fool you. You’re looking at the Patron Saint of Ireland.”
My jaw hit the floor. “But you’re...” I spluttered off into something incomprehensible as I tried to wrap my head around this one. “You’re a Patricia, not a Patrick,” I tried again. “Can you even do that?” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Cupid face palm, and I found myself cringing in embarrassment. It was a pretty stupid question.
Paddy took it with another laugh. “I take it you’re not clued in to why I have a day celebrated after me either? That’s kind of refreshing,” she gave me a grin. “Firstly, I’m Scottish, not Irish. When I was child, I was taken from my home and over to Ireland as a slave. Then one day I had a dream where God told me to run, so I did. I escaped back home to Scotland. When I had another dream in which God told me to return to Ireland, but disguised as a man, I didn’t question it. I was free thanks to him.”
“Why would he make you go back there?” I asked, wondering if I would have been able to return to a place which had made me a slave.
“Raphael needed my help to banish the Snakes from Ireland,” Paddy replied with a shrug, like the answer was obvious.
I looked at Raphael, arching an eyebrow at him. “That’s one of the reasons we’re here,” he explained.
“You’re going to banish the snakes from New Orleans?” I asked, cynically. “Good luck with that one,” I scoffed. It wasn’t like they lined the streets, but there was more than one species of snake indigenous to Louisiana. Banishing them from the city wouldn’t take anything less than a miracle. My eyes narrowed at that thought.
“The Plague of Snakes was a faction of men,” Paddy informed me. “They thought they could raise Luc-”
“The Plague of Snakes is nothing you should worry yourself with,” Michael said, cutting Paddy off.
Paddy’s cheeks reddened as she frowned at the same time as she bit her lip. I shook my head and stared down at her. “They thought they could raise who?” I demanded. “Lucifer?”
“Angel,” Michael said in a low, warning tone.
I ignored him, keeping my attention focused on Paddy. “You’re here because you think that Lucifer’s back,” I said, staring her down. She stared back at me, her green eyes unwavering, but she refused to either confirm or deny my accusation.
“Angel,” Michael snapped. “This is none of your concern.”
I pointed myself in his direction, my hands finding my hips as I glared at him. “How is it not my concern?” I snapped back at him. “Like I told you before, what I did – it unlocked something. Lucifer-”
“Enough!” he bellowed, silencing me. His brown eyes suddenly seemed molten as he glared back at me. A muscle in his jaw twitched and I knew I was crossing into dangerous territory. As the archangel in charge of the House I resided in, I was well aware that he seemed to have some power over the angels he oversaw. If he commanded me to walk off a bridge, I would have to do so. As it happened, his order was much more frustrating: this conversation was over – whether I liked it or not.
I folded my arms over my chest and glowered back at him, knowing full well that I was acting like a petulant child. I didn’t care. “Then why did you summon me back?” I growled out at him.
“I’m beginning to question that myself,” he told me, the anger still evident in his tone.
It was Raphael who interrupted our glaring competition by clearing his throat. “Perhaps we should have this conversation later this evening. Over dinner?” he suggested, although the emphasis on ‘dinner’ hinted that had been the plan all along.
Michael’s eyes flicked over to Raphael before returning to mine. He nodded, releasing a breath. “Dinner will be at eight o’clock.”
I accepted the dismissal, glad to be able to leave, managing to close the door behind me without slamming it.
CHAPTER SIX
Bad Influence
I had taken a couple of steps down the narrow staircase when the door opened behind me. I carried on walking, trying to ignore the footsteps as someone hurried to catch up with me. “Angel?” Raphael called after me. I sighed and turned back around. He was a few steps above me, but he towered over me. His muscular frame seemed to take up all the available space around him. “Michael filled me in on what you said happened.”
“You make it sound like I lied and made it up,” I told him.
Raphael shook his head, taking another step down towards me. He leaned against the wall, his hands stuffed into the pockets of the dark trousers he was wearing. “I don’t think you made anything up,” he assured me. “But Michael doesn’t lie: Lucifer is dead. You don’t need to worry about anything other than getting yourself...” he trailed off.
“Better?” I snarked in suggestion.
He gave me a sad smile. “He’s been worried about you, you know?”
I knew he was talking about Michael. I felt myself deflate slightly. So much had happened, in so short a space of time. For weeks all I had been able to think about was what happened that night. Everything else had been pushed back, deep into a dusty corner of my mind – including Michael’s feelings for me.
He had kissed me, admitted he had feelings for me, and then apologized for it. He’d also confessed that he resented me for causing these feelings which was why he was hard on me. Was that why he was being an ass with me now? I mentally shook my head. This was not something I wanted to think about right now. “There are more important things to worry about,” I muttered.
“But Lucifer isn’t one of them,” Raphael told me. His tone was firm, but there was sorrow in his gaze.
Lucifer had been his brother too, I realized. Cupid and Veronica had explained to me the three tiers and the nine different types of angels which were split amongst them. Essentially, they saw each other as family. And every time I mentioned Lucifer I was bringing up the fact that Michael had killed his brother. Although it didn’t have me doubling over, a flash of guilt shot through me. “I’m sorry,” I told him quietly. “I just... I saw it in Lilah’s eyes. She believed in what she was doing.”
Raphael leaned forward and rested his hand on my shoulder. “Half the population doesn’t believe in angels. It doesn’t make that true, does it?” He gave my shoulder a squeeze, and then retreated back up the stairs to Michael’s office.
After spending weeks holed up in my bedroom, I had no desire to go back there. I did, but only to get changed into my own clothes. I replaced the dress with a pair of denim cut-offs and a long, black tank top, but kept the cowboy boots on. They were growing on me. I slipped the phone into my pocket and rummaged amongst my things to locate some money. Finally, I grabbed an old copy of the Times Picayune which had probably been left in my room by Cupid, given that it was left open at the horoscopes, and tucked it under my arm.
My intention was to leave the convent and pick a place to read. Instead I found myself at the corner of Bourbon and Dumaine, staring at a yellow two storey building. The building was home
to a bar called Bee’s. Downstairs was themed to resemble someone’s idea of hell – red walls, dark lighting, and during the later hours, deep pounding music. Upstairs, with soft lighting, and a cloud theme, was heaven.
Bee’s was also the bar Lilah had worked in after leaving the convent. As I gnawed at my lip, staring at the unremarkable building, my gut was telling me there was more to this bar. It was closed now, with big black shutters pulled across the windows on both levels. I really wanted to believe Michael and Raphael when they assured me that I shouldn’t worry about Lucifer, but I couldn’t.
I glanced around. The streets were reasonably quiet. I was at the end of Bourbon Street, which was tapering off into residential buildings, and the number of bars and shops here meant that fewer tourists headed this far down during the day time. Behind me was one of the few bars that were open. The sign in the window announced that they served coffee and homemade crêpes. The upper balcony also had a direct line of sight to Bee’s.
I headed inside, blinking momentarily as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. There were a handful of people seated inside, and one guy behind the bar busy wiping the surfaces down. I headed over and ordered some chocolate crêpes and a drink, and headed straight upstairs to the empty balcony.
The fans were spinning lazily above me, doing little to combat the muggy air. I commandeered a corner table and positioned myself so I had a clear view of Bee’s. I pulled the newspaper open without really looking at it, and settled in.
I’d had some sort of romanticized notion that stake-outs were fun. I was wrong. I sat there for hours and not a single person even looked at Bee’s as they walked past. Around me, the bar filled up for lunch, though people mainly stuck to the air conditioned inside, before emptying out again afterwards. I let out a frustrated grunt and turned an unread page with more force than was necessary.
