To Hell and Back (Mel Goes to Hell Series Book 4) (11 page)

"Mel?" Patrick said quietly. He approached her, cupping a mug between his hands.

Luce wondered what had happened to the drinks Patrick had volunteered to get for them. It looked like he'd decided to cater for just himself.

To his surprise, Patrick held the mug out to Mel. She took the frothy milk without saying a word, but she didn't lift it to her lips.

"Please permit me to read your soul," Patrick continued, his hands hovering over Mel's. She nodded once and his hands wrapped around hers even as she held the mug.

Jealousy raged in Luce's guts like a demon trying to wrestle its way out. Mel had given her permission, but he didn't like the saint touching her one little bit.

Patrick released her. "Mel, you should be in Heaven, not here." He looked straight at Luce. "You should take her there. Help her conserve the precious little she has left."

"No," Mel murmured. "I have too much to do to waste time in Heaven right now. When this situation is resolved…"

"Let me. Let Raphael. Let someone else handle it. If you keep going like this, you'll be forced to do it anyway and you won't be able to choose when you go."

Luce felt his irritation build at the angel's perpetual riddles. "Let you what? No one's forcing Mel to do anything and I'd love to see someone try. I will do whatever she says I need to do, and if Mel says she doesn't want to go to Heaven, I'm not taking her anywhere."

"Does he know?" Patrick pressed. Mel made no movement or reply. He turned his eyes on Luce. "Do you know how exhausted she is? Even her soul is drained of energy, almost to the point of not being able to maintain that body. She desperately needs rest."

Mel drank deeply and Luce felt her body move with each swallow.

"I know she's tired," Luce replied. "More tired than I've ever seen her. I thought it was just the flight, but –"

The mug smacked down on the coffee table. "I'm fine. Tired, yes, but not so decrepit that I'm going to disintegrate before your eyes if I so much as take a deeper breath than usual. Luce is taking care of me. Today was…very draining…but I'll rest until we leave London. I have time to recuperate before our flight home. I'm sure I'll…you don't need to do that!" Startled, Luce eased up on healing her. He'd only been trying to restore her body – he didn't know where to start with healing a soul. He would if he could, though. "But thank you," she finished softly.

"Do you want me to take you to bed?" Luce asked.

Mel shifted and winced. "Probably for the best," she admitted.

Luce didn't wait for her to say more. He lifted her easily in his arms and carried her to their room. He shoved aside the covers to lay her on the bed before pulling the quilt up over her. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Melody?" He couldn't keep the worry out of his voice.

Mel moved beneath the covers and her fingers reached for Luce. "A goodnight kiss would be wonderful, my love."

Luce grasped her outstretched hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, not wanting to tire her out any more.

Mel laughed weakly. "Not like that. I'm not so tired that I can't tell the difference between a kiss and some archaic courtly gesture. I want a goodnight kiss where your lips mould to mine and our tongues dance between them to a song we both know and love."

"Beethoven's Ninth," Luce breathed, dropping to his knees. Mel sighed in pleasure as their lips met and Luce did his damnedest to give her a kiss with dancing in it, though a fair bit dirtier than the stately stuff of Beethoven's time.

Luce felt Mel's second sigh and her contentment, so he gently broke the kiss. Much more and he'd be in for an uncomfortable night.

"Patrick's waiting for you in the kitchen with a glass of that lovely aged whisky you boys were drinking last night. If only I wasn't so tired, I'd join you. But as it is…" She smiled. "He doesn't blame you for the shape I'm in. He knows I have a tendency to do too much. He was just shocked. If you have questions about angels or souls or anything at all, you can ask him. If I were to suggest a mentor for you, the first one I'd recommend would be Patrick. He truly does want to help you, my love."

Help him back to Hell, just like every other angel, Luce grumbled to himself but didn't dare say aloud. "I'll be back soon," he said instead, giving her one final kiss before heading back to the kitchen for the promised whisky.

To Luce's irritation, Patrick was waiting for him in the kitchen, but he was mollified by the scent of two aromatic glasses of whisky on the bench beside him.

Patrick raised his glass. "To a braver man than I am, for filling the hole in Muriel's heart."

He drank, but Luce didn't. "Why do you say that?"

"It's a brave man who'd agree to share a bond with an angel as high as Lady Muriel. I couldn't do it. I'd be terrified that one day I'd let her down, because it's inevitable that I would." He closed his eyes as he took a large sip.

Luce tasted the whisky, relishing the smooth burn as it coated the back of his throat. "Stop being evasive. Tell me what you know about angelic bonds that I don't."

Patrick nodded. "I only know what I've heard and what I've seen, as I've never been close enough to anyone to form such a powerful bond. Have you ever been bonded before? I mean, before you…became the Lord of Hell?"

Luce shook his head, gesturing for the saint to continue.

"I only ask because I've heard that demon taint is one of the ways such a bond can be severed. It's not easy, I've heard – it takes a fairly powerful angel to form or break one. Of course, it goes without saying that Mel could. But she never has. Not until now."

"She offered to dissolve it," Luce said. "If that's what I wanted."

"Did she say that's what she wanted?" Patrick asked shrewdly.

"No. She seemed sad at the thought, to be honest. But she offered. She said she could break the bond and find me a better mentor. She suggested you." Luce drank deeply.

Patrick choked. "Me? A better mentor than Mel? I'm honoured at the compliment if she thinks so, but she's wrong. If you were to search Heaven and Earth for a better mentor than she is, good luck finding one. She's the kindest, most patient angel I've ever met and she knows more about Heaven and Earth than any angel alive. Hell, too, now, I imagine. I wish she'd offered to mentor me, but she was busy at the time and I didn't even know her then, or I'd have begged her. Instead, I worked with Uriel. He's the archangel bonded to Gabrielle, and he's been handling the situation in Russia and the Ukraine for a long time now. What I know about angelic bonds is from him."

"And that is?"

"You share everything with your partner. Every thought, feeling and emotion, even on the other side of the world. It's as if distance doesn't matter. It's a deep connection, joining two souls across some sort of dimension in space that only the most powerful angels can negotiate safely. He said that Beelzebub and Mephistopheles had had a bond like it once, before they fell, but it was broken when their souls were corrupted by darkness. Through it you feel everything. So if you ever disappoint her…you'll feel her pain as acutely as if it were your own. And Mel, well, she's heartbroken whenever she loses a soul. You'd think she'd be used to it by now, humans being as wilful as they are, but she's so incredibly optimistic that she goes into every negotiation convinced that whatever power-hungry politician she's dealing with is a paragon of virtuous, selfless leadership. And she's shattered when they demonstrate that they're as dodgy as the next bloke." He set his empty glass down. "More whisky?"

"Please." Luce waited until Patrick had finished pouring. "So you're saying I'll share her pain, but also her joy and everything else? And that she's the best mentor there is? She wants the best for me – she said so. Why would she ask me to give her up?"

Patrick's eyes stayed firmly on his drink. "She always wants the best for others. And usually she'll issue orders to that effect without giving you a choice in the matter. I've learned to trust her on things, because when she's considering the repercussions of a decision, her visions are so detailed that she doesn't miss a thing. If she offers you a choice, it means the future isn't clear to her." He winked. "And you know what that means."

Irritated, Luce slammed his glass on the counter a little more firmly than he'd intended. "No, I damn well don't. Time travel sounds like a fiction humans created. Just tell me instead of dropping maddening hints!"

Patrick shrugged. "Suit yourself. I thought you would know, but I guess you've forgotten, being a demon for so long and all. A future she can't see is one that's dependent on her decisions. She can evidently see a clear, successful future for you if you decide to leave her to pursue your angelic career with another mentor. Even one as inexperienced as me. My God, I personify everything you stood against in the Heavenly Battle. Humans with souls good enough to enter Heaven to become angels, and even rise through the choirs to outrank older, more experienced angels. If you chose me as your mentor over her, that'd be one of the most ironic pairings ever. Maybe even more unusual than you and Mel herself." Luce opened his mouth to defend Mel's choice, but closed it again as Patrick continued, "I'm sure she has her reasons and they'll be good ones, though she chooses not to share them with me. Can I offer you some advice, though?"

It was Luce's turn to shrug. "You can offer." Didn't mean he had to take any of it.

"Ask her what she wants, because to me it's pretty clear that she wants you. Breaking a bond will be even harder on her than forming one, and she wouldn't have created it lightly. Bonding isn't common and the angels who do it don't willingly break them. She's asking you to choose between promotion through the angelic choirs and an uncertain future with her. I think it's because she doesn't want to make the wrong decision for you, so it's your choice. She's already made her preference clear: she wants you to stay with her. But she'd never force you to do it. And there's nothing more precious in this universe than her. Hell, if I were you, I'd take the bond and the beautiful mentor and count my blessings." He eyed Luce. "But if you don't want her…there are plenty of us who do."

"Sounds like sound advice, saint," Luce drawled, upending his glass to catch the last few, fiery drops on his tongue. "My thanks for the chat and the drink, but I have an angel waiting for me in bed. One I won't be letting go of before this world ends."

Patrick raised his glass in salute. "Take good care of her, devil."

The flat smelled of bacon. Not quite Heaven, but enough to make Luce cut his shower short and head for the source of the appetising aroma.

Mel's laughter bubbled over the sizzle of what promised to be the best breakfast ever. Luce glanced around to see the source of mirth, but he only met the eyes of an equally puzzled Patrick, who shrugged.

"Good morning, sweet Melody," Luce said, moving in behind her to kiss her neck.

"Good morning, Luce, and Patrick, too," Mel responded. "Bacon's better than any alarm clock, right boys?"

"You bet." Patrick opened the fridge. "You want me to make some toast to go with that?"

Mel jerked her head at the shopping bag on the bench. "No, I picked up some fresh bakery rolls from one of the shops downstairs. I forgot how expensive food is in London. I'm used to things only costing half as much in Australia – I didn't take enough money for eggs, so I hope you don't mind."

Who needed eggs when Mel was making bacon?

"I'll make coffee, then." Patrick clicked on the kettle and rummaged through the cupboard until he pulled out the dreaded jar of instant coffee.

"NO!" Luce hadn't meant to shout so loud, but the thought of having to politely swallow instant coffee took all the pleasure out of the morning. "I'll go downstairs and buy some. I know I saw a coffee shop on the way here. Patrick, how do you take your coffee?"

Mel and Patrick both glanced at the steaming teapot.

Luce faltered. "So neither of you want coffee?" At Mel's gentle head-shake, he stomped off to get his wallet.

"Ah, Lucifer? You might want to put some pants on," Patrick suggested. "The neighbours are likely to call the police if they see you walking down the street without any clothes." He gave a sheepish smile. "I'd bail you out, but Mel wouldn't like it if you got arrested."

Luce yanked on a pair of pants, added shoes and socks, stuffed his wallet in his pocket, and strode back to the kitchen.

"Are you sure you don't want a coffee, Mel?" Luce leaned in close, pulling her body against his.

"No, I'm fine. Really, my love." She stretched up for a kiss that he was only too happy to give. "Best be quick, though. The bacon's nearly ready."

Luce took the stairs two at a time, all the way down to the street. He dodged through the dopey office workers who evidently needed a coffee more than he did, unable to stop grinning as they stared. They'd probably never seen muscles like his in the flesh, hence why they kept their flabby bits under their buttoned-to-the-collar shirts.

He darted across the road to the first coffee shop he saw and ordered his usual to take away, which he did, five toe-tapping minutes later, along with a box of pastries that he figured he'd share with Mel.

Barely out of breath by the time he reached Patrick's building, Luce decided to take the lift so he wouldn't spill his coffee. The doors slid open and he swept across the hall to Patrick's front door and up the final flight of stairs to the flat. He arrived just in time to see Mel set two plates on the table. Patrick was squeezing some sort of sauce onto his rolls in the kitchen.

They all sat down and silence reigned until every plate was empty.

"Thank you,
Mel meum
," Patrick murmured, kissing Mel's cheek as he stood to clear the plates.

The translated Latin clicked in Luce's head: My Mel. Luce's jealousy boiled over at the sight of Mel's answering smile. "You're his? You let him call you his?"

Patrick met his angry gaze with placid calm. "It's a pun, or play on words.
Mel
is honey in Latin, and you can't deny Mel's a sweet angel. She's as much mine as she is yours, bond notwithstanding. No man owns Lady Muriel and you'd be crazy to think you could. I don't jump down your throat when you call her Melody, though I know she can't stand the nickname. Haven't you noticed the way she winces when you say Melody Angel?"

"What?" Luce stared at Mel. "You never told me that!"

Mel's eyes dropped to the table. "I don't like being called Melody Angel. It sounds like a cartoon character and it was only meant as a joke – a name Raphael put on my resume when I applied for the job at the HELL Corporation. But the way you say Melody, your voice caressing every letter as if you wished it was my body and not just a name…I…I can't help but like it."

"I'm sorry, Mel." Patrick beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen with the dirty dishes.

"It's fine," she replied in what Luce thought was the closest she'd ever come to lying.

Did that mean he was corrupting her, despite how impossible she said it would be? Asking her to admit her innermost desires and then taking pleasure in granting them? Or was it her exhaustion that was allowing him to taint her like this? He shouldn't…couldn't…do this to Mel.

Fine. He wouldn't call her Melody ever again.

"Say it," Mel said.

"What?"

"Go on. Say my name. The way you always have."

He fixed his eyes on her. At the slightest sign of the wincing Patrick had referred to, he'd call her nothing but Lady Muriel until the world ended. "Melody," he breathed.

She closed her eyes as her blissful smile spread wide. "I love you, Luce. And to you, I will always be your Melody." Her eyes snapped open. "But Patrick is my dearest friend. I understand that you may feel some jealousy over a friendship we've shared for more than a thousand years. Since the day I apologised to a traveller for having nothing to soften the stale bread that was all I had to share, and he said my smile was honey enough for him. You're going to have to learn to control it, like any other desire. It's part of being an angel." She nodded to Patrick, who tilted the teapot to fill her mug. "Patrick sees me sharing a bed with you every night and he's been nothing but kind to you from the moment we arrived. Tell Luce what you're hiding behind your easy grin, Patrick."

"Only for you, Mel." Patrick sprawled on the sofa with his steaming mug of tea. "I may be a saint, but when I see that bedroom door closed and I know she's chosen you over me for another night, part of me wants you to slip up and disappoint her. To revert to your old, dark ways just like you're worried you might. And then I could destroy you, put you out of your misery for breaking Mel's heart." His grin turned rueful. "I'd try to make the end as painless and quick as I could, because I wouldn't enjoy your suffering, however righteous it might be. But then I hear the joy in Mel's voice and I know you make her happy. She's been lonely for a long time and nothing I can do will help fill that gaping hole for her, no matter how much I'd like to. And if you're what the angel I love needs to be happy, then I hope to God you have the strength to be everything she needs you to be and never disappoint her." He gulped his tea. "Now, we can all sit around and discuss our feelings and finish off with a big old sob and a hug, or I can tell you what I've found out about Mel's cousin Persephone and her adventures in Ireland."

Luce jumped to his feet. "You've been hunting that damned nephilim, too?"

Patrick waved his hand airily. "Mel called me to ask if I'd seen or spoken to Persi lately, because your personal assistant – a demon, but we won't hold that against her – seemed to think I'd been calling her at your office. It's been years since I saw or spoke to little Miss Persi, so I did some investigating. Turns out she's been visiting one of my favourite haunts – a place I found when I was still human."

Mel emerged from the kitchen with a mug in each hand. "You're a wonder, Patrick. Let's take this to the lounge room where we can be more comfortable." She carefully linked one arm through Luce's and towed him down the hall to the room where early morning sunlight streamed through the windows. Setting both mugs on the coffee table, she sank onto the sofa, gesturing for Luce to do the same. "That cup's yours, Luce. Tea, not instant coffee."

Luce nodded and took the tea as Patrick strode to an armchair. Setting his back to the sun, the saint faced them. "Story time," he said.