Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) (29 page)

Rose stumbled forwards, wild. “Japheth, hold it together. You’ll kill us both!”

He screamed between gritted teeth, and wrenched his wings around him. Clenched them tight, shivering, static arcing bright. And with a snap, the light died. The air cleared, cooling. The wind subsided, leaving only a broken window and the smell of rain.

He relaxed, shuddering, and his eyes flashed open.

Rose shivered. Wetness glistened on his icy cheekbones. He was weeping, shaking, on his knees at her feet, and yet, she’d never felt so…threatened. Raw. Exposed…

She swallowed, hot. She wanted to go to him. Run her hands through those golden feathers, let him stroke her hair, take comfort in his embrace…

She crossed her arms, defiant. “I suppose you think I asked for it, huh?”

He didn’t speak. Just stared.

Humiliation swelled her belly warm.
Damn him.
She wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. “Right. Thanks for that vote of confidence—!”

Twin blue flashes,
boom-boom
like deafening drums, and he stood upright, buckling on his silver armor. His expression was stony. “Stay here,” he said coldly, yanking the buckles tight. “I’ll come back for you when I’m done.”

“What do you mean, ‘done’? Where are you going?” Frustration nipped like rats. He never talked. Never explained himself. Inscrutable as a fucking iceberg.

But her stomach twisted. She didn’t want to be alone. Not now. Not with that horrid memory torn afresh in her mind…

At last, he faced her, and his chilly gaze froze her spine. “Central Park. Bethesda, to be exact. I’m going to do what I came here for. And you’re not coming.” He strode to his fridge and yanked the door open. Light spilled. He grabbed a bottle—iced water—and drank it dry. Crushed it, tossed it in the garbage. “When I’m done, I’ll take the mark off, and you can go.”

“No!” She blocked his path. Useless, she knew. He could
flash out anytime, leave her here alone. “You can’t leave me behind. You need me!”

He took her by the shoulders. Yanked her close, pinned her with his cold stare until she shivered, and tensed, ready to fight…

“Do you really think I’d take you down there?” He cupped his warm hand on her cheek, and his unexpected gentleness undid her. “After what he did to you?”

Her throat stoppered. Disgust, she understood. But this… “I—”

“Not a chance.” He stroked her unruly hair back. Just one fingertip, the lightest of touches. His gaze flicked over her mouth. Back up to her eyes. Her pulse skipped warm.

And then he effortlessly picked her up, gently by the shoulders like a child. Turned. Set her down, out of his way.

His eyes hardened, green ice, his frosty barriers crashing down. “I work better alone,” he said, chilly as ever. “Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back for you.” He flexed his wings, a rain of gold, and vanished.

*   *   *

Japheth flashed into the Park, dark and silent. Stones crunched under his boots. The long paved Mall stretched before him, a dark tunnel through threatening elm trees. Smoke coated his tongue. Here and there, flames cackled like witches, and shadows crawled, closing in. Twilight had swamped the city quickly, thickened by gathering storm clouds, and the hungry darkness muttered and shifted.

Leaves whispered on a hot, malicious breeze. Rows of stately statues loomed. Some artistic crazies had taken their liberties, and the bronzes were splashed with paint and blood, their faces twisted. Someone had drawn fangs and a horrible green leer on Christopher Columbus’s upturned face.

Stinking heat stifled him, his shirt and feathers already soaked with sweat. A solitary moan creaked from the trees. He didn’t chase it. Ever since the first sign, the Park was a refuge for muties, virus-mad zombies, people driven crazy by the portents and the heat. Whoever lurked here was already prey…or predator.

He’d been right not to bring Rose.

His heart still hurt for her, alone with her terrors. But this place dripped with hunger and fear. An ugly battle zone, temptation versus will. She’d faced enough torments for one night.

And soon, he’d be rid of her. The thought laced his blood with a sharp honey-sweet ache.

He hopped the metal fence and crouched beside a tree trunk, dimming his wing glow to a pale shimmer. In the distance, a fire roared. He could hear the threatening crackle, the hissing smoke. At the top of the Mall, through shadows that writhed and fought like living creatures, orange flames flickered. Not just a smoldering trash can. A bonfire. A monstrous inferno, sucking in air low and fast, and when he listened hard, he caught shrieks of laughter.

Sickening images of blood and flesh raided his mind. Rose, sobbing, the horrible metal taste of gore… He flared his feathers, impatient. Dive in at full speed, tear the asshole’s face off…

But Fluvium was insane, not stupid. Not like he wasn’t expecting an attack. No need to take chances.

Luckily, Japheth knew someone who never said no to a fight. But his phone slipped in his sweaty palm as he fumbled it out. Dash saw through him like glass. If he asked about Rose…

“Japheth, my good son. What’s the rumpus?”

“Some killing for you,” Japheth whispered. “You up?”

“Actually, I’m…kinda busy. Can it wait?”

“Say again? Who are you, and what’ve you done with the real Dashiel?”

A sigh. “I hate to brush you off, kid, but I’m in sort of a one-off situation here. Try the others?”

“Sure. No problem. I’ll, uh, call you later.” Japheth ended, perplexed.
One-off situation, my ass.
Probably making out with some little baby doll…

But his damp feathers prickled, uneasy. Dash’s voice had sounded forced. Like he was covering something…

No time to figure it out now. He tried Ariel’s number. Voice mail. Likewise Trillium. Maybe they were all in Bhutan, with no cell service.

He sighed, frustrated, and texted all five of them, just in case. Trill, Jaz, Iria, Ariel, Lune.
If you’re bored, come down to Bethesda and slice up some vampire butt. xx JJ

He switched the phone off, and peeled his nerves to chilly awareness. Slicked his feathers sharp. Filled his lungs, stretched his limbs for fighting flexibility. His body sprang alive, every muscle poised for motion, every instinct yearning for prey, and ice-cruel delight shimmered in his veins.

Here, now, in the velvety blackness before battle, the truth about Rose Harley’s making didn’t matter. His bleeding obsession with her didn’t matter. He was made for killing hellspawn, and he’d wouldn’t stop until every last one was slaughtered.

And when I’m done? Will I kill her, too?

He sniffed the wet black shadows for scent—so piquant, this black and bloody air—and drifted on ghostly golden wings towards the fountain.

*   *   *

Bugger it.

Dashiel sweated in the over-stuffed leather armchair, his jeans sticking to his ass. His bones itched for the fight, the glory hit, sensation’s sweet rush to fill the emptiness…

But he flicked his phone to silent and stuffed it away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Kids are acting up. What can you do?”

Gabriel just stared, hard and gray like rain.

Dash shivered, and tried to hide it. He hadn’t seen Gabriel for what, two hundred years? Still looked like a fucking Ivy League gangster. Immaculate dark suit, silver tie, storm-gray feathers spread behind him in his massive office chair. His face was remote, commanding, and his crisp steely hair rumbled with threatening shadows. The brothers archangel, all freakishly identical. But if Michael was ice, Gabriel was thunder.

Twitchy son of a bitch, too. Michael was an asshole, sure, but he was an angry, bloodthirsty asshole with a sword. Dash got that. Gabriel, au contraire, was the Plan in a sharp Italian suit, making him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Even this office was right out of
The Godfather,
with its antique sofas and dim green lamps bent low over the leather-bound desk.

Late California sun poured through the open French windows, shedding golden shadows on the heavy-pile carpet. Warm frangipani perfume drifted in from the garden, and distant Los Angeles traffic hummed and wailed. Gabriel didn’t like Babylon. He liked to stay spotless, and L.A. was a bit less edgy, despite the dengue quarantine, the armored barricades, the trigger-happy PD.

If Gabriel even visited earth at all. Half the goddamned problem, if anyone ever asked Dash, which they didn’t. The hierarchy had their heads in the sand up to their feathered asses. Gabriel had only agreed to see him because Dash exchanged a few sly words with one of his minions. Nice girl, legs up to here, flirty blond wings. The words had included
fuck me
and
harder
and
oh, God, more.

Probably he’d go to hell for that, eventually. But hey, you played the cards they dealt you, and in their wisdom, apart from demon slaying, they’d made Dash good at only one thing.

“You were saying?” Gabriel glanced at his silver wristwatch, impatient.

Like an archangel didn’t always know innately what fucking time it was. Dash folded his arms, bracing for a face full of thunder. “It’s about Michael.”

Gabriel’s mouth twitched. “What about him?”

“When’s the last time you spoke to him about this vials business?”

“Recently.”

“Recently enough to know he’s not taking any heavenly host to Bhutan?”

A steely glare. “Michael’s war games are his own concern. I don’t presume to tell him how to run them—”

“Well, maybe you should.” Dash pretended not to see Gabriel’s left wing flaring in irritation at the interruption. “He did the same thing in Babylon last month when Vorvian was spreading the zombie virus. And when we caught Quuzaat at the blood sabbat? Michael’s demon thrall was right there in the middle of it.” He paused. “You do know he’s got a demon thrall, right?”

“I expect he has several,” Gabriel said coldly. “I’m not my brother’s keeper.”

“Including a skanky little redheaded painmuncher who lives in a cage under his bed?”

“Michael has hot blood.” Impatient storm clouds darkened around Gabriel’s wings. “We all have our flaws. God forgives us.”

Emphasis on the
us
. Asshole. “Really? Did I miss the mercy bus? Shit.”

“Don’t be flippant.”

“Then don’t be so damn stubborn, Gabriel. Fact is, Mike’s not taking this Apocalypse seriously, and neither are you. With all due respect, Seraph,” Dash added silkily.

Code for
you’re a fucking idiot, Gabriel.

Due respect, my ass. What’s he gonna do, Taint me again?

Gabriel swooped to the gilded mirror behind the desk, and glared a hair-crackling rebuke at Dash’s reflection. “And with all due respect to you,
angel
—” He salted the word with sarcasm. “Don’t question my brother’s authority. Especially since it was he who saved you. If it were up to me, you’d be screeching skinless in hell right now.”

“Like Lucifer, you mean? That one was up to you. Michael wanted to fry his sniveling innards on egg bread and eat them for lunch. How disappointed do you think he’ll be if the prick gets sprung from the pit for a second go?”

Gabriel’s eyes blackened, and icy breeze flung Dash’s hair wild. “‘Thou shalt not bear false witness,’ Dashiel. I trust you’re not dragging your charming Tainted friends into your seditious delusions.”

“My Tainted have the goddamn sense to figure it out for themselves,” Dash growled. “Tell me, why did you hide the vials away with Guardians, instead of just keeping them yourself? Could it be because you wanted to keep them away from Michael?”

“Watch your pride, minion. It betrays you.”

Dash clenched his fists to still them. God, he wanted to punch some bloody sense into him. “You’re not
listening
to me. I was there, on the ground in Babylon. We watched these demon princes in action. This threat is real—”

“Are you sure?” Storm clouds roiled in Gabriel’s feathers, swelling him to half again his size. Dash’s hair prickled in
static-charged breeze. For a guy who supposedly didn’t fight worth a damn? Gabe was fucking scary. “We’ve lived through ‘signs’ before. They were never real. You think a bunch of upstart demons can pervert the Plan? Polish up your faith, soldier. I believe it’s tarnished.”

Dash lit up, landing with a thump. “Have you met Azaroth, Seraph?” he demanded. “I stood on the burning walls of Gomorrah and watched him drink twenty thousand souls in a single night. His thirst can’t be quenched. And he doesn’t get off on it. He doesn’t have a weakness like the others. He just
consumes
. The fucker keeps right on drinking, and with every soul, his strength grows. If he gets his hands on the rest of those vials? The suffering will be beyond even your nightmares, Gabriel, and don’t tell me you don’t dream some shockers when the witching hour comes.”

Gabriel’s thundery gaze stabbed deep. Agony jolted Dash’s bones. A massive weight crushed down on him. His muscles strained, tendons popping, but like an invisible, mighty hammer, the archangel forced Dashiel to his knees with nothing but will.

Blinding voltage crackled around Gabriel’s fingers. Outside, lightning split the summer sky, and his voice resounded in thunder. “Michael has my full confidence. Don’t mention it again.”

And darkness swept Dash away.

Burning desert sand crunched under his knees. Sunlight scorched. He blinked, watery. A sandy plain, the desert horizon shimmering with haze. Rocks scattered, soot-scarred remnants of some ancient brick ruin. Gulls crowed. Down the slope, in the distance, a mirage flashed…or a lake.

An inland sea, its shores marked white with rocky cliffs. Salt crusted the surface, a sparkling crescent. He could smell the toxic tang of sea water.

The Dead Sea. Gomorrah. No one could say Gabriel didn’t appreciate irony.

Standing on the endless sand, Dash shielded his eyes from the blasting sun. He tried to flash out. Nothing. Just blank darkness. A sharp archangelic slap on the wrist for his attitude. And it was already morning. He’d lost hours.

He laughed, parched. It wasn’t the first time. The glory would come back. Always did. But for now…