Ashes of Eden

by Mandi Konesni

  Perhaps he was like them... unable to touch these items without potentially corrupting their goodness and sending out an energetic beacon which was like relic GPS. Except in his case, he wouldn't call his brothers or other angelic beings now as he wasn't one. He was now 'other', so his touch had called them. Damn.

  There was nothing else to do, he had to fight through them no matter how many were there. He couldn't risk the lamp getting into their hands, not when he hadn't been told what its powers actually were or what they could use it for. Deftly, he slid it from his pocket, tucking it beneath an overhang where it wouldn't be noticed now that it was wrapped in his dark t-shirt.

  Turning to face the hordes, he pulled his blades from his sides, a grin teasing the edges of his lips. He wasn't allowed to harm an innocent, but these fuckers weren't innocent. He could slaughter them all and he'd be doing the world a favor.

  As the first group rushed him, adrenaline kicked in. Raziel could almost feel the change in his vision as the crimson bled through the green again, hunger and rage taking control of his mind. The darker urges he'd been fighting to keep at bay rose to the surface, teeth elongating into sharpened points. He wasn't sure if the blood that covered him was his own or theirs, or some mixture of the two.

  Hell, he couldn't conclusively say all of it had come from the blades, and not teeth or bare hands. As before, once the darkness swept over him, he became a prisoner of his own mind. Shoved into the empty recesses while something else held the reins. He wasn't aware of what he was doing, his body truly seemed to be moving and reacting on its own, without any input from him.

  He fought until they stopped coming, until there were no others left to take down. Until he became more certain at least some of the blood running in rivulets over his skin was his own. Until the bricks under his feet ran red, stained scarlet from the battle. Chest heaving, he wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket, trying not to notice the pain as he moved.

  He didn't have time to see how long it took him to heal. He needed to leave this place. Now. Taking a few staggering steps towards where he'd left the lamp, he dropped to his ass unceremoniously. Clutching it against his abdomen, he leaned his head against the brick facade. He'd get up. Eventually.

  Chapter Nine

  "What in the hell happened to you?"

  The female's voice woke him from the haze he'd found himself in. His instinctive reaction was to growl, shrinking away from the noise, cradling the precious package in his hands tighter. After his last fiasco getting close to a woman, he had no intentions of allowing another anywhere near him.

  Forcing his eyes open, he spotted a curvy woman bending over him, forehead creased with worry as her blue eyes roved over him as if attempting to figure out where the blood was coming from. When she reached out, he hissed, inching backward again, further out of her reach. He paused momentarily at the hurt expression that crossed her face before he pushed it aside. She was an unknown female which meant, at this moment, she was dangerous.

  Unfortunately, he was in no condition to fight her as she began patting his arms and chest, searching for wounds. Even as he shoved ineffectively at her, she simply pushed his hands away. Blasted woman. Couldn't she see he was trying to wallow in peace until his system managed to heal somewhat? He would get up on his own time, under his own steam. When he could, which wasn't right at this moment.

  "Get away from me. Stop touching me."

  Her lips pursed into a frown as she glared at him with pure annoyance in her eyes. "I will not. You may be happy to have your blood all over the place, but in case you didn't notice Hercules, whatever you got yourself into summoned a whole bunch of assholes. You're in no condition to handle any more. Lucky you, I live just down the way and my apartment is warded. You can clean up there. I am not taking no for an answer, so you might as well let me help you to your feet."

  No human had ever dared to speak to him in such a manner. He'd gone to turn down her impertinent demand, before something she'd said caught up with his train of thought. She knew he'd summoned the demons somehow, and her apartment was warded against them. Clearly that meant she wasn't human. All the more reason to be wary of her.

  Except when he tried to stand by himself, he stumbled. Her quick reaction to grab and steady him was the only thing that kept him on his feet. She was correct in her assessment. If more demonic entities came, he was in no shape to fight them. It could potentially mean the loss of the relic, which was something he couldn't allow to happen. Given the choice between one bad situation or another, Raziel would take the one bound to suck less. He could handle one non-human at the moment if necessary. He couldn't handle another battalion.

  Reluctantly, Raziel allowed her to wrap one arm around his waist. He knew he needed help with his balance whether he wanted to verbally admit it or not. Carefully tucking the small parcel into the opposite pocket again after ensuring it was still fully wrapped in his shirt, he allowed her to guide them one step at a time down the street.

  At the corner, a large Gothic style building stood out from the rest. Gargoyles flanked the entrance, and a large black sign read 'Arcane Affinity' in bright red calligraphy print.

  It definitely caught his attention. To his surprise, she led him to a fire escape at the side of the building, with the stairs bolted to the wall in a permanently extended position. On the platform above, he could see small potted containers overflowing with blooms and greenery.

  "You live... here? Is this really the best place for me at the moment?" He tried to hide his incredulity, but if he was supposed to be in hiding from demons, an occult shop was an odd place to lay low. Truth be told, it was an odd place for him in general even without needing to be incognito. He was an angel. Well, former angel. He didn't tend to lurk around shops with blasphemous intentions.

  She shot him an annoyed glance as she shoved at him, trying to push him to get up the stairs. "Yes, I do live here, and I suggest you get moving, the wards only hold inside the place, not standing around on the street. If it's not good enough for you, King 'Tude, you can stay out here and bleed to death, fine by me."

  As she attempted to move past him, he groaned in irritation before starting up the stairs as gently as possible to not jostle any of his aching wounds. Why did he always manage to find the females that were either evil or mouthy and didn't just do as they were told?

  His brothers found nice, polite females when they desired female companionship away from prying eyes that would report them. He was cursed, he had to be. There was just no good reason why every woman he came across was a sniping harpy who wanted to sink her claws into him in some fashion or another.

  Once they were safely inside, he had to at least concede trust on the warding promise. He'd felt the warmth envelope him as he'd stepped over the threshold, the flare of heat on his skin as he breached her home's defenses. Hearing her whispering something behind him, he stopped moving until the sensation eased, knowing she was doing some sort of counterpoint to the wards to allow him entrance.

  When she moved into the small kitchenette and motioned to a dining room chair, Raziel dropped into it gratefully. He wasn't about to admit it, but his reserves of strength were quickly dwindling. He knew he'd heal, but what would take a few hours as an Archangel could possibly take days as whatever he was now.

  He'd be a sitting duck with a target on his back until he was back in fighting form. Whoever she was, at the very least, he owed her for providing him shelter and protection. Assuming she didn't attempt to kill him in his sleep. Jury was still out on that possibility.

  Pressing a warm mug into his hands, he sniffed it suspiciously. Some kind of herbal tea, possibly. Noticing that she had one as well, he took a tentative sip. Earthy, but not terrible. The hot liquid was soothing, warming him from the inside out, allowing the tension in his limbs to slowly dissipate as he relaxed.

  "I suppose you’re more of the punch first, ask questions later type? Perhaps next time, can I suggest at least counting how many are there bef
ore proceeding with the punching? Look, I have no intentions of harming you. I can tell you're a non-human of some sort, but I won't pry as long as you give me the same courtesy. Something told me to go to the church tonight and I never ignore those feelings, thankfully for you. I'm Baylin St. Claire. This place is owned by Lenore Noemi, a white witch, so you're safe here for the night."

  The tea was making him drowsy, pleasurably so. Focusing on her words was becoming harder with each sip, but he didn't mind. A side effect was pain relief... something in it dulled the pain to a low ache instead of the severe agony it'd been earlier. If that was all it took, he'd drink a few more mugs of the stuff. Blinking blearily at her, he struggled to open his mouth, to be polite and at least tell her his name in response.

  Nothing came. She smiled with understanding, moving to help him to his feet. He felt weak as a babe and just as helpless. It was infuriating, but she made no mention of it as she helped him remove his jacket, placing the wrapped lamp next to the couch where she settled him. He protested about the blood feebly, but she waved off his concerns before laying a blanket over him. That was all it took, he was out like a light.

  Chapter Ten

  He woke to a pleasant humming, the smell of cinnamon heavy in the air. Forcing his eyes open, he frowned. He'd expected to find blood still caked on his skin, cracking as he moved. Instead, as he glanced down at his arms and chest, he saw bare flesh.

  Bruised and injured, yes, but no blood. Some kind of thin layer of ointment had been carefully applied after the wounds had been washed, and the deeper ones had clean bandages taped securely over them.

  How in the world had she managed to tend to him while he slept without waking him? It defied logic. He had a sneaking suspicion there were drugs in that tea. He couldn't be angry, though. He doubted he would have allowed her free reign to take care of him awake. Had he been woken up, the beast may have taken control and harmed her without him even realizing it happened. No, it was safer this way.

  Checking to make sure the lamp was still where she'd left it, he moved into the kitchen, watching with a bemused expression as her hips swayed to whatever beat existed exclusively in her own mind. The gauze skirt she wore brushed her ankles, and if he wasn't mistaken, he could hear the faintest tinkle of bells as she moved.

  She was dressed in what the humans termed 'Bohemian' style, but it reminded him more of home. Where clothing was loose and comfortable, and jewelry was meant as adornment for the body, not as a status symbol. Unlike the white, ivory and more natural colors he was used to, hers were dark in tone.

  The skirt was black, with thin gossamer threads of silver woven throughout that looked like stars glinting as the light caught it just right. The top was the same, but the sleeves fell down to her arms, leaving throat and shoulders bare. She was beguiling, he could admit that.

  He wasn't fool enough to step into this trap again, though. Chasing a woman had caused enough damage already. He had no intentions of allowing another to get any closer. Clearing his throat, he couldn't help the faint ghost of a smile as she jumped, eyes widening as she whirled on him, spatula in hand like a weapon. "I apologize, Ma'am. I should have announced my presence before entering."

  "I think I liked you better when you were dying. My name is Baylin, not ma'am. I am not old enough to be a ma'am, thank you very much. And stop with the old-world politeness crap. You're in modern day America, speak like it. I'm making cinnamon pancakes. If you don't like them, tough, I don't take special requests. We got milk, orange juice, apple juice, water, tea, or soda. Pick your poison, glasses are on the top shelf. I'd like apple juice, if you would."

  Raziel stared, slightly open-mouthed. She'd said all of this without taking more than a breath or two, while flipping the pancakes on the griddle at the same time. Her free hand pointed towards the cabinet where he assumed the glasses were located, and she never once turned to face him.

  The irreverence was something he was not used to, but the smell of food was making his stomach cramp in hunger. He'd intended on leaving right away, but he supposed it would be only polite to stay since she'd already cooked for him.

  Dutifully collecting glasses, he poured apple juice in both before putting them on the tile coasters helpfully located on the table. Taking the chair he'd used last night, he kept quiet as she worked, not wanting to distract her. As she sat across from him, he thanked her before bowing his head to give thanks. He may be Fallen, but he wasn't completely lost yet.

  Glancing up, he spotted Baylin eyeing him curiously. For the first time in a long time, a flush heated his cheeks. She knew he was something 'other', but as she'd caught him fighting demonic factions, she'd likely assumed he was aligned with a different one of theirs. Seeing him praying was likely unexpected, given what little she'd managed to ascertain about him since she'd given him shelter only a few short hours ago.

  He supposed he should come clean, somewhat. She couldn't know everything, of course, but he could at least give her something in thanks for her help. "My name is Raziel. I am... was an Archangel. Obviously some habits still hold sway. I have a mission to accomplish. What you stumbled into last night was the aftermath of it. Or, a part of it. I won't be taking up much more of your time or generosity, though I thank you for your hospitality. It is appreciated."

  "An Archangel. I don't think I've ever met one of those before. You guys aren't really well represented on Earth, you know. What do you mean 'was'? Are you Fallen? Did you break a vow? Something worse? Is that why you have a mission to do? You don't have to worry about taking up my time. I already talked to Lenore first thing this morning and explained the circumstances. She gave me a few days off to look after you and make sure your wounds were tended to."

  Raziel's lip twisted into a grimace, but he covered it by quickly shoving a forkful of the pancakes into his mouth. He couldn't answer those questions without revealing his deepest shame, that he hadn't Fallen. He'd been changed against his will. His absolution depended on finding these artifacts and bringing them home. That she'd already requested time off work didn't bode well for him getting rid of her easily. She seemed determined to see him through the healing period. Something which he did not need.

  Noticing she'd gone quiet, he glanced up, spotting her toying with her food. She'd eaten only a few bites, compared to his plate, where half the stack was gone. "You okay?"

  Shaking her head in the negative, she pushed the plate aside. "I suppose I should tell you a bit more about myself as well. So you don't find out some other way. I'm a Cambion. My mother was human, but my father was a demon. They were killed when I was just a child. I don't remember much of them. Just bits and pieces."

  "I promise you, I have no ties to the demonic beings here. This place is warded because they came after us. My dad dared to love a human, for that, we all had to die. Since I lived, they've hunted me ever since. I have no allegiance to those murderers and monsters. Anyone who takes a life is foul and deserves to die. You'll come to no harm here."

  Raziel couldn't stop the sneer that briefly flitted across his face, though he gained control of his expression quickly. Another demon. Of course she was, it was his rotten damned luck. Being chased by demons as well, why not? Worse? He'd killed. He was now just as foul as those she berated.

  If she knew that, he'd likely be no more welcome here than they. He needed to leave this place. Immediately. No harm would befall him here, according to her, but he was quite certain nothing good could come of this either. One crimson-eyed moment and he'd be outed. It was a delay he couldn't afford.

  Finishing his plate, he thanked her once more before returning to the living area. Accepting a towel she silently handed him, he wrapped the lamp in it carefully so he could pull his stained shirt back over his head before tugging on his jacket. It was too warm for it even though the sun was barely peeking over the clouds, but the extra material would help to camouflage the bloodstains. At least, he hoped.

  He didn't bother with goodbyes or platitudes. It was more impor
tant to get out of here and get this to Gabriel before he was found, or he accidentally touched the damn thing again. He just wasn't sure how he was supposed to summon his brother. Just one of the many things he should have questioned about this mission, in hindsight.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took some time, but he eventually found a church garden that was unused, and wasn't facing any homes or church windows. Hallowed ground. No one could look outside and see the two of them here, so they'd be relatively protected from view. Closing his eyes, he focused on the image of his brother, before speaking the name 'brother' in Enochian, the Angelic language.

  "Esiasch!"

  Opening his eyes, he sat on a concrete bench to wait. Occasionally it could take some time before a summons was answered. Angels didn't exist to come to every call. They had their own duties, and with Gabriel, one could never assume he wasn't indisposed and unable to respond at all at any given moment. Raziel wasn't sure how long this might take.