Uriel's Descent (Ubiquity #1) (7 page)

In the distance, a large shadow of a wall loomed over it all. A sob echoed inside her skull. Great, what now?

“It’s all… It used to be so… No. What happened?”

Her vision danced and swam. She still saw the cars and bikes lining the streets and the stone structures climbing toward the sky. But she also saw what was there before. The rolling hills, a smattering of adobe huts—

She shook her head to clear away the images, but they didn’t vanish. How did she know what was here before? It almost felt like a memory. Instead of drawing her out of the vision, it spiraled her further into the sensations and emotions. Her heart fluttered, and she turned down a side street without questioning where she was going.

“This past isn’t yours.”

Something irritating buzzed in her skull, but she needed to be somewhere. Of course it was hers. She grabbed more strands of the memory and tugged.

“No.”

There was no power, no resistance, behind the protest.

Ronnie wove through an alley, turning without knowing why or where she was going. She strode past a large brick structure, blocked off by a gate, and kept wandering. Fences and walls circled large portions of the area, but it was a simple task for her to shift to an ethereal form long enough to pass through.

Even in the middle of the night, warmth radiated from the sand, and caressed her skin. A hint of cool ran through it all but only enough to tease.

A tiny portion of her mind asked if being here, seeing this
other
past, was the key to unlocking her memories, but she couldn’t grasp the thought long enough to consider the truth of it. The flutter in her chest grew as she strolled farther from the structure, and her surroundings looked more like crumbled stone buildings. Still, fragments of
what used to be
superimposed, and amid the ruins, she saw houses and vendor stalls.

She turned another corner, and in her mind, saw the temple that once stood there. An abrupt stop, feet frozen, a sob rose in her throat. It wasn’t a sacred house of worship anymore. The decrepit walls barely reached her waist in some areas. Time eroded so much. The landscape was desolate. Empty. Abandoned.

“Leave. I don’t want to see this.”

Ronnie sank onto a nearby step—or what had once been one. Loss dug a hollow in her chest. Confusion churned in her thoughts, and doubt clenched in her gut. Nostalgia, joy, and agony rose inside. She dropped her face into her hands. What did she think she’d find here? And why did this place and its state of ruin grab at a jumble of emotions she didn’t understand?

Something vibrated against her leg, jarring her from the dreamlike state. She shook away the haze and grabbed her phone from her purse.

A text from Ari.
Ice cream?

Ronnie rattled her head to clear away whatever was going on, and the present seeped back in. Right, she was there to find a cherub. Did she really wander that long? The stars faded from the sky as dawn crept in. She needed to get back home. There was nobody here. She’d wandered far enough off track that whatever registered in the queue was somewhere else, and she wasn’t knocking door to door or looking in windows for it. Apparently, she was about to have her first failed capture. She sent back a quick,
Be there soon.

“It’s beautifully tragic, isn’t it?”

She jumped to her feet and whirled at the intrusion. The unexpected newcomer stood just inside the crumbling walls. He wore a black jacket and matching slacks with a white button down shirt, and topped with a
kippah
and
tallit
—skullcap and prayer shawl. In the predawn light, without the disruption of city lights, the faint glow surrounding him was distinct. Apparently she didn’t have to knock on every door near her GPS coordinates after all. She’d found her cherub. What she couldn’t find was the motivation to do her job.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, demon.” He tipped his head in a bow. His Yiddish was flawless. Wait, she understood Yiddish?

She stepped back, too much surprise cluttering her thoughts to decide what shocked her most. The cherub she took a few days ago knew what she was as well. That didn’t make sense. Supposedly, a cherub who popped into existence outside heaven or hell didn’t know anything except the basest survival instincts and a desire to experience everything.

“How do you…?” She trailed off, feeling silly asking her question aloud.

“Know what you are?” The corner of his mouth tugged up. “Your aura glows brighter than any one of the stars. I walk out here during the early hours when no one is around to stop me or care. You’re easy to spot in a ruin like this. I don’t suppose…” He turned his gaze to the sky. “No. That’s not appropriate to ask.”

She wasn’t surprised he saw her aura, but she didn’t expect him to be articulate about it. This wasn’t some random cherub who just hopped into the nearest body a couple of hours ago. He knew too much about living life in general. Like Claire in Gabe’s coffee shop, he was acclimated to his surroundings instead of rampantly licking everything that looked interesting.

Ronnie’s Ubiquity training tried to butt in and whisper she needed to take him, send him to hell, and move on. She was too captivated by the unexpected conversation. “I’m not easily offended. Ask away.”

His smile returned. “I don’t suppose you’re old enough to remember this place in its original glory.”

“I am. She’s not.”

More memories tickled her thoughts. Of waiting for someone. Of her heart hammering against her ribs and her stomach fluttering. It all vanished with a growl and a flash of nothing, and she blinked at the rapid shift in her mind. “No, probably not.”

“What a shame. It was gorgeous, I promise you.”

He was talking as if he’d been there. That made no sense. Cherubs didn’t start popping into existence on Earth until the last century or so. This wasn’t right. Except he knew things. He knew why she was here. And he was talking to her.

“Nice. You’ll spare him if he’ll give you answers? If not, then what? You’ll pout in a corner?”
Venom filled Metatron’s words, but hurt and anguish lay underneath.

Ronnie shouldn’t know what Metatron felt, but emotions rocked under her skin, as if they were her own.

Ronnie’s fingers twitched at her side, and indecision pummeled her thoughts. She left Claire alone, but the queue didn’t send Ronnie to her. Then again, this stranger… What could he tell her? Was one failure really a big deal?

He nodded at Ronnie’s hand. “Please don’t.”

More ambivalence taunted her. His request didn’t make it any easier to take him.

He took a step back. “I know you’re supposed to eliminate us, but I’d rather stay here. You don’t have to tell anyone you found me.”

None of what he said made any sense. She knew on an intellectual level what the words meant, but couldn’t piece together why he said them. She could only think of one response. “It’s my job.”

“It is. But I’ve already chosen my path.” He gestured to his clothing. “Do you think taking that from me will change who I am?”

She swore she was missing a key piece of information in this conversation. At the same time though, he was right. The traditional clothing, the way he wore his hair. He already sought enlightenment and helped others find it. From his outfit, his preferred method of education was religion. Sending him to hell wouldn’t change that. “How do you know why I’m here?” she asked.

He closed the distance between them, stopping less than a foot away and locked his gaze on hers. “You should probably ask the person who sent you. I stopped doing training centuries ago.” He grasped her fingers between his and kissed the back of her hand. “Just promise me you won’t tell them asking was my idea.”

“I—” What was she doing? She had hold of him. A couple of seconds, and she could extract the stray cherub. Except the desire wasn’t there. Whether he spread the word with his followers or was a really horrible priest, he was doing more to help people delve into themselves than any angel or demon could. Was taking that from him worth getting a certificate of recognition at the end of the month? “I won’t.”

“Thank you.” He turned on his toe and strolled back into the ruins of the temple, across the dirt-strewn floor. He disappeared from sight past a wall on the far end.

What was that?

Her phone vibrated in her purse again, and she fumbled for the device.

You on your way or not?
Ari asked.

Be right there.
As Ronnie phased back to Ubiquity, she tried to stash the onslaught of questions but couldn’t. What was going on?

“I’m wounded you didn’t remember me.” Gabe’s low voice rumbled against Ronnie’s neck as his chest pressed into her back. He rested his hand at her hip, holding her close.

With every new touch, desire pulsed through her veins. How did she forget something like this? She leaned into him, memorizing the texture of his shirt against her bare shoulder blades. Her skin burned with exquisite agony for each new touch. It thrummed through her, beating in time with her heart.

“If I had a choice, you’d be the last thing I forgot.” Why did she say that? This moment, each sensation—it was all incredible, but there was a lot implied in that statement.

“Hmm…” The vibration tickled her skin. “You do have a choice.”

“If that’s true, why hasn’t someone told me?” She didn’t want to talk. She wanted him to roam her body. Glide under her clothes. Caress every inch of her.

“I’m telling you now.” He slid his hand under her tank top and rested it on her stomach.

A few inches higher, and he’d brush her breasts. Her nipples hardened at the nearness. “You could have told me before.”

“I didn’t feel like I had your full attention.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, rough and demanding, and spun her to face him. Dark hair, clean-shaven, Michael stared back, not Gabe.

Shock rolled through her. That hadn’t been Michael’s voice, though. She’d only talked to each of them once, but she knew… Didn’t she? She didn’t. She’d forgotten what each man sounded like. This had always been Michael. She only loved him. Only desired his touch. Need filled her. To sink back into him. To run her hands over his entire frame.

He rested a hand on the small of her back, the other cupping her cheek. “I swore I would move mountains for you if I had to.” He sought her mouth with his, and the feather light kiss rushed through her, making her head swim. It was gentle, undemanding, and all-consuming.

He broke away enough to trace his thumb over her lips. Each new caress tingled under her skin.

“That I would surrender everything—eternity, glory—all of it. For you… I lied.” His voice shifted to a quiet snarl.

“What…? No.” The words cut deeper than she expected. Were those tears pricking her eyelids? Why did that sting so much? Sharp agony tore through her gut. A physical pain, it might as well have been rending her in two. She gasped and choked on a thick liquid. Stepping back, she looked down. His sword was buried to the hilt in her stomach, dark red pooling around it and spilling over his blade and hand.

His gaze bored into her. “There is no redemption for what you’ve done. Never forget that.”

The edges of her vision blurred and faded, blackening as she sank to her knees. She didn’t know which hurt more, his words or his blade. Though the pain in her middle faded, the one in her chest throbbed harder.

Ronnie opened her eyes wide in shock, every inch of her screaming in pain. She struggled to catch her breath, but she couldn’t gasp, despite her need for air. Sit up. She had to sit up. Except she couldn’t do that either. Her body wasn’t responding to her instructions.

“Wow. That must suck.” Her own voice drifted to her ears. But she hadn’t said anything.

“You’re a bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you?” Ronnie’s voice said.

“Metatron?”

“Suddenly I’m not
the voice
anymore? Tell me, how does it feel to be the one stuck on the inside? Oh wait, you can’t talk.
Ha
.”

Ronnie needed to wake up. Knock herself out of this dream. Get back control of herself.

“Not necessary, not happening, and fuck you.”

Her body was moving—rolling out of bed, tugging on a pair of shorts, wandering into the kitchen for coffee—it was all familiar. But she wasn’t doing any of it. She watched as someone else drove her. She didn’t know how Metatron gained control. Was it because Ronnie let her guard down to sleep? Because she was distracted by the dream?

“What should I do today?” Metatron mused aloud in Ronnie’s voice. “Maybe watch a little TV, have some tea, devour your soul.”

“What the hell?”

A laugh rumbled through her. It shook her chest, made her smirk, but emotionally, Ronnie wasn’t amused. “I’m kidding, of course. I know you’re a coffee girl.”

Fuck this.
Ronnie didn’t care how Metatron wrested control. Apparently, whatever she’d struggled to hold back for the past few days was more serious than she realized. There was no way she was surrendering her life to a disembodied voice with some long-dead angel’s name. Ronnie’s determination rolled under Metatron’s wicked amusement.

“You’ve lost your say in this matter.” Ronnie’s fingers flicked on the stereo. She closed her eyes as the rhythm flowed through her, and the carpet caressed the soles of her feet as she danced.

Something flickered behind her eyelids. It was a visual of the electric web filling her body. Ronnie wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was certain the power wasn’t hers. There was a good chance it belonged to Metatron, and while it was a shot, Ronnie hoped it connected the two of them. Either way, it was going to go. She would’ve smiled if she could.

“Stop.” Metatron said.

“No.”
Ronnie was taking her body back.

“Oh, come on. Really? Who says it’s yours?”

Ronnie was done negotiating with the stowaway. She focused inward on the black strands, the way she extracted a cherub from a human. It might not be the right thing to do, but her knowledge was limited, so she went with what she knew.

The pieces Ronnie thought of as
the voice
ran far and deep in her veins.
Shit.
She’d never dealt with cherub so integrated with a human host. She grasped at loose wisps and pulled them toward the center of her being. She tugged mentally, and searing pain rippled through her. As the invading threads receded, invisible razors sliced across her back and legs.

The pain snapped Ronnie from the excruciating ritual. Metatron’s presence raced back in, chasing away the oppressive pain. Metatron’s threatening electricity rocked Ronnie’s entire frame.

“Mine,” Metatron taunted her. Ronnie knew what cherubs did to their hosts; training said the host persona eventually ceased to exist. If Metatron was a cherub—and really, what else could she be—was Ronnie about to lose herself forever, inside her own head?

“For the last time, I’m not a fucking cherub.”

No.
Ronnie wasn’t going to let that happen. Anger fueled the vow. Whatever Metatron was, Ronnie wasn’t going to let her glide in here and steal what little life she remembered.

Whether it was Metatron’s temper tantrum or something else, Ronnie anticipated the pain this time. She focused on the wisps threatening her.

She grasped the strands weaving through her body and mentally yanked.

Agony sliced her, and her entire body felt as if it was shredded an inch at a time. Heavy breathing reached her ears. Panting, but she didn’t feel it. And then she did. Breathlessness accompanied the pain. She gritted her teeth, and her jaw responded, enamel grinding on enamel. Ronnie was winning.

“Please don’t. I’ll be good. I’ll behave. I’ll let you stay in control. Please?”

The begging made it easier to stick to her decision, and not hearing someone else use her voice pushed her past the mounting agony. She wasn’t going to lose herself to a hitchhiker…or whatever she was. She steadied her breathing and pictured the web as it tangled with who she was.

She grasped the last bits of Metatron, fighting back a scream as the ethereal pain threatened to consume her. She wound the foreign strands into a ball, and then boxed it into a back corner of her mind.

“Please don’t. Please. I can’t.”

A soft sobbing echoed in her head. She reined in the voice. Metatron’s crying grew into panicked hiccups, making her wince. Why did Ronnie feel so bad about fighting her back? Was the entity already that integrated with her? She didn’t know how much time passed, but the eviction left her drained.

Ronnie dropped back against the nearest wall and slid to the floor. She opened her eyes, forcing herself to recognize the apartment around her—the battered kitchenette, the orange easy chair, the mattress on the floor. She held her arms stretched out in front of her. How did they look so clear when they were on fire?
Right. It wasn’t real.

She should do something about the pain. She should… Her mind didn’t work. A portion of it was ripped away. What should she do? Go out. That made sense. If the pain was in her apartment, she’d go somewhere else. Donuts. She liked those. She’d go get donuts.

She slipped on a pair of sandals and phased out of her apartment. Milliseconds later she landed in front of the convenience store.

The doors slid open, and artificial air rushed over her skin. She nodded at the clerk but didn’t make eye contact. It took concentration to remember who she was and what she was doing while maintaining some picture of sanity. The donut case was empty. Despair pricked her eyelids, and she blinked back the abrupt and irrational desire to cry. They were just pastries, not worth getting worked up over.

“Prepackaged works in a pinch.”

She nudged the taunt aside, wishing she could eliminate the pain with a simple thought as well. She refused to hear Metatron mocking her failure, or experience her glee at her minor victory. She grabbed a plastic-wrapped package of something frosted and cream-filled. Her throat ached, and her eyes burned with unshed tears she couldn’t explain as she made her way back to the counter. She swallowed and forced a smile while she paid.

“Miss, are you all right?” The cashier’s question was distant compared to the chaos assaulting her mind.

“Let me out.”

Violent sparks pulsed in time with the demand. Shaking her head, Ronnie phased out of the store. She barely found the presence of mind to cloud the cashier’s thoughts and make her disappearance seem inconsequential as she vanished. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t stay there.
Fuck. Where was I going?

The nothingness of being intangible soothed her burning flesh in a way she wasn’t used to, filling the invisible cuts. She needed this to stop now.

It only took a second of deliberation to settle on a destination. Hell.

“No.”
Metatron’s command rang in Ronnie’s ears and rattled her skull.

“Shut up.”

Ronnie appeared in the ethereal realm and wrapped herself in the soothing energy. Too bad she wouldn’t be there long. Lucifer would drag her somewhere they wouldn’t be overheard, to drown her in a lecture disguised as sympathy, and things would go back to normal.

“At least you’re realistic.”

“Shut up.”
She told herself the voice wasn’t there. Metatron didn’t exist.

Unlike Earth, a physical place, hell was ethereal at its core. The plane of existence didn’t have any shape or form outside what its inhabitants assigned it. A lot of the older demons kept a permanent home there, even if they were allowed to spend their time on Earth, because it was easier to bend things to their will. Rumors suggested some of them shaped their corners of hell into beautiful places with forest groves, sweeping fields surrounded by mountains, and glorious castles.

Ronnie didn’t know if it was true—or at least she didn’t remember—but any of those spots must be better than the sterility of the main offices. Tile stretched as far as the eye could see, meeting off-white walls broken up by the occasional door.

At least that made it easy to find Lucifer’s office. She had no idea where the other doors led, but unlike the rest of the flat, beige boredom, his door was textured, stained a rich maple color, and sported a gorgeous tree carved into the oak. No other like it in the endless hallway. She knocked on the worn wood and waited. She tapped her toes on the tile, and drummed her fingers against her leg.
Nothing.
She knocked louder, and irritation crept over the tentative calm settled around her.

She growled at the lack of response. She needed answers. Now in hell, the comfortable power pouring over her helped her clear her head and wrap her thoughts around what happened.

She didn’t know what caused Metatron’s takeover, but sleep kept Ronnie from actively trying to block Metatron from her mind. Could the odd dream be related? Whether that was the case or not, she didn’t dare sleep until she figured things out. If there was a chance of it happening again—

The door in front of her swung open, and she jumped in surprise.

“Ronnie?” Lucifer studied her, brow furrowed. “It’s the middle of the night in Nashville.”

“I know, but I had this dream, and then the voice…” She clamped her mouth shut. He didn’t know what happened over the past few days. If she wanted to appear sane at all, especially since she was about to complain about problems with the voice in her head, she should at least try to be coherent. “I couldn’t sleep. The details could take a while to explain.”

“Let’s go get coffee, and you can tell me about it.”

Her neck loosened at the concern in his tone, and some of her tension ebbed. “I want to, but no.” Ronnie hovered in the doorway. She wanted to be in his office surrounded by the familiar. He told her once that before she became a full-fledged demon—before he gave her the name and the job that allowed her to manifest physically—she served
him
exclusively. She spent a lot of time hanging out in this small room. He said her loyalty was why he gave her special attention. Her paranoia, courtesy of Metatron, wondered if that was the whole truth. “Can we just stay here?”