Uriel's Descent (Ubiquity #1) (9 page)

“No.” There was no hesitation in his words. He raked his gaze over her and shifted closer on the bench. “I don’t want you to be her. Besides, judgment is really more Gabriel’s flaw.”

Did that mean he saw Ronnie when he looked at her? She liked that. “But what if me being myself destroys her?”

“We’ll have to figure out a way to keep that from happening. Has she been there as long as your memory loss?”

She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation seriously. She didn’t know which of them was crazier, but she was grateful someone supplied answers other than
wait and see.
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Since…” Had it really only been a few days? “It started a day or two before I saw you in Lucifer’s office. Metatron started talking to me—arguing really. Since then, she’s figured out how to take over my body, and she really wants you dead.”

“I see.”

Ronnie’s gut sank at the lack of anything substantial in his response.

He wrapped a hand around her wrist before she could stand, and another surge of want filled her. His actions, the touches, the looks, the way he brushed his fingers over her skin, made her believe it was for her. A childish fantasy? Maybe, but he knew it was her here, and he didn’t pull away or flinch.

Ronnie shouldn’t stay, but for the first time since she woke up with no memories, someone was answering her questions directly and not just paying her lip service. Insecurity about whether he was here for her or Metatron kept her from holding his gaze. His palm was warm against her skin, sending longing to join her already jumbled emotions. What would it be like to kiss him? To let him press her against a wall, his mouth against hers, tasting him, and falling into the moment?

She plowed the thoughts aside. “What do you know that might help me?”

“A lot of things, probably. At the beginning of creation, while there were only angels, Metatron and Lucifer were close. As in, he treated her like a sister. It was scary sometimes how in sync they were. If any of us were actually related by more than just a creator, they would have been twins.”

“You’ll never know what it feels like to have that kind of bond—or worse, to lose it. Lucky bitch.”

Ronnie inhaled a shaky breath at the sensations, and pushed Metatron back. “Did he call her sis?”

“I think the literal translation back then was little sister, but close enough. When he left to form hell, she stayed in Heaven. He didn’t plead with her, but the hurt at her betrayal on his face… Even I recognized it.”

“If I have one regret…”

That bastard.
Lucifer looked Ronnie in the eye when she said Metatron’s name and never told her the voice tormenting her held the same nickname Ronnie did. What else was he keeping from her? Suddenly, her suspicions from earlier felt more founded in reality.

She rested her palms on the bench between them. “Was that when she was destroyed? Did Lucifer have something to do with it?” Metatron blamed Michael, but Ronnie had a hard time believing he was capable of it, unless he was the best fucking actor in the universe. Even Lucifer didn’t hide his feelings that well.

“Lucifer’s rage when he found out she was dead… He destroyed entire sections of hell, and it took him decades before he spoke to anyone. He wasn’t responsible.”

“Because
you
are.” Metatron forced the words past Ronnie’s lips. Ronnie kicked her back, but couldn’t suppress Metatron’s mottled emotions anymore.

At the outburst, Michael stiffened. He
did
know the difference between Metatron and her, helping to cement the idea his gestures
were
meant for Ronnie. Hearing Metatron set him on edge. “Gabriel did it. He found out… He said she was trying to ascend. While it’s true we’re all supposed to become more, her plan involved destruction—of the creator, of everything around her. She wanted the world for herself. When Gabriel confronted her, he gave her a chance to atone, and she didn’t take it.”

Thoughts and feelings that weren’t Ronnie’s surged inside. Michael didn’t have the story right. That wasn’t true. It was so very far from reality, she might burst at the seams with fury. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep herself intact, but Metatron wasn’t pushing her aside. She was shattering, and it ached deep in Ronnie’s heart and gut. “That’s not right. No. It can’t… I— She wasn’t…” She looked up at him, trying to smother Metatron’s emotions and find her own.

“I didn’t want to ascend. I was willing to give up eternity for you, Michael. How could you doubt that?”

Ronnie couldn’t do this. Metatron was falling apart and threatening to take her along for the ride. Metatron wanted to believe Michael, but the rage had been with her for so long, forcing her love to contort and twist. Her conflict knocked about in Ronnie’s skull like an avalanche, and she couldn’t find her mental footing long enough to come up for air. Ronnie wasn’t going to lose it here. Not again. Metatron wasn’t taking control.

Every inch of Metatron struggled to leave, and Ronnie refused to let her drive them away.

“Please. We need to go now. I can’t deal with this.”

So Ronnie wasn’t unstable, the voice in her head was. Great. She was staying. But so many questions remained unanswered; she didn’t know what to ask first. She needed to sort her thoughts before putting them into words. Her stomach chose that moment to grumble, reminding her she’d been up for a while and hadn’t eaten yet. “Do you want to go get breakfast?” she blurted out.

His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.

She didn’t know what to do with that response, or lack thereof. “Unless you have places to be.”

“Not at all. Not for a couple of hours anyway.” He relaxed, and the creases in his forehead vanished. “You’d think living as long as I have, I’d have learned to keep up with shifting social trends. But I’m still getting used to things like women asking men out.”

He thought… Her cheeks flamed at the realization. “I wasn’t— I didn’t mean like a date.” Oh geez, that sounded rude. “Not that I wouldn’t. But I know angels don’t… Not with demons.”

“Shut up. Go home.”

“I just meant—”

He covered her hand with his. “Breakfast sounds great. We don’t have to define it as anything else.”

She wrapped her fingers around his. “I know the perfect place.”

“Let’s go, then.”

The implied trust wiped away more of her tension, and his touch was nice. Izzy’s chapel blinked from view and became a city street just a couple of blocks from her apartment.

He shot her a glance.

Did he expect something more extravagant? Isolated? Something else? They were in a historical, restored part of town, so the buildings were all brick with wrought iron wells and aluminum awnings. “It’s not super high class. I bet you’re used to nicer places.”

“It’s perfect. There’s a lot to be said for simplicity.”

Michael let Ronnie lead. She seemed to know where she was going, and he enjoyed the heat of her fingers as they intertwined with his. He was still focused on how quickly she brought them here. A blink of an eye, with no obvious strain on her part.

It took a lot of power to do that. More than most agents had.

He stowed the thought for later reference and tried to focus on what she was saying to the hostess. They seemed to know each other. Ronnie grabbed a menu and nodded at Michael. “It’s for him.”

The woman looked at their hands, still linked, and laughed. “Make sure you let go of him long enough to let him look.”

Pink raced across Ronnie’s cheeks. She was a wonderful combination of naïve, forward, and bashful.

She led them to a booth at the back of the restaurant and dropped onto the bench seat across from him before sliding him the menu.

He looked between it and her. “You’re not having anything?” He’d never met an agent of heaven or hell who turned down a meal. Especially from a place she seemed familiar with.

She chewed on her bottom lip, brow furrowed, before saying, “Waffles, extra strawberries, and lots of whipped cream and butter.”

He couldn’t help his smile as he flipped open the menu. He should have known she’d have a favorite, and it would be sweet. “Is that what you recommend?”

She rose and leaned over the table, and pointed to things as she spoke. “If you like fresh fruit, yes.
God
, the strawberries? I swear they grow them out back. So good. But the grilled cheese is epic, and the soup is so yummy, and the scones are to die for.”

He wasn’t looking at the menu. She was far more captivating. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she enjoyed. The tiny smile that never left her lips. It was a sharp contrast to the frustrated demon in the chapel.

Her gaze met his, and she dropped back into her seat. “What?”

“Apologies.” He pulled his attention away. “It’s just been so long since the world was new to me, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to appreciate things so much. It’s incredible to see.”

“What was it like?”

He couldn’t find a point of reference for the question. “What was what like?”

“Your first time out. Having a body. Experiencing the world.”

“It’s been a long time.” So long, he hadn’t thought about it in hundreds of years. Watching her experience the world around her gave him a new appreciation for the physical form he took for granted.

She stuck her tongue out. “I figured, you being older than humanity and all that.” Her voice was all teasing, no implied insult. Not that he minded. Vanity didn’t lie to him about how old he was.

Her question dredged up memories he rarely touched. He reached back for an answer to her question. He wanted to be honest. He shook his head and focused on her again. “It was wonderful. The sun on my skin, the scent of flowers, and cherries. Oh, the first time I had cherries. And the sand between my toes. Not a lot of shoes way back then.”

She grinned. “I love the beach. I wish I lived closer. Maybe I can get a transfer. Was it weird that there weren’t a lot of people?”

With each question, he tried to step back and see where she came from. It gave a new perspective to his experiences. One he liked a lot. “Not really. If there were that few people now, all of the sudden, it would be odd. But considering we watched humanity grow, it was stranger to see people than to not, at least back then.”

When she was like this, her aura calmed. The fractures vanished, and the light he recognized as hers shone bright.

He ordered the same thing she was having. They talked as the food came. Swapped stories about all the places he’d visited that she insisted were exotic. They finished their meal as she shared stories of her limited travels.

He’d been to each and every place she mentioned, but saw them in a new light from her perspective. It was true, several of them changed in the eons since he was there, but many were still the same.

The sun crested the skyline, rays of bright light peeking through the windows. She yawned and tried to stifle it. Despite the exhaustion in her eyes, she never stopped smiling. He couldn’t take his attention from her for more than a couple of seconds at a time.

“I have to be at the office soon.” She sounded as disappointed to say it as he was to hear it.

And she wasn’t the only one. “I understand.” He paid the bill and escorted her outside. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, it felt natural to take her hand. It was an intimate gesture, but it felt right. Essence sparked between them. Ice and sugar. Something he was starting to distinguish as Ronnie, rather than Metatron. “Maybe next time we’ll call it a date.”

“Maybe.” The morning sun flashed in her eyes, adding to the shine. “I hope so.”

Something shifted between them, and he was caught off guard when a blast of heat rushed between their clenched hands. She tightened her grip, and her aura flashed, muddy and fractured at the same time. She wasn’t completely herself anymore.

“Ronnie?” He didn’t know if he could stop whatever happened by calling her name, but giving her the anchor of an external sound should help. She wrenched from his grip and backed away before he could reach for her again. “I’m sorry. I need to go.” With the apology, she was gone.

His chest ached with sympathy for the chaos he just witnessed. If she lived with that every day… How was she staying sane?

* * * *

Ronnie reappeared in her apartment, her thoughts a rampant mess. More emotions than she knew existed swirled through her simultaneously. Things she couldn’t identify but made her heart bleed and her soul weep and her skin hum. Even worse, she was almost certain most of the feelings weren’t hers. She understood Michael’s impact on Metatron—they’d shared something she couldn’t begin to comprehend. But why did it hit her so hard? Tears stung her eyes, and electricity pricked her palms, searing them with the memory of the twin blades Metatron summoned, making Ronnie itch for the sensation again.

“
Stop.
” Ronnie barked the single word out loud. It echoed off the bare walls and swirled with the chaos in her head.

“I can’t. I don’t understand.”

That made two of them. This wasn’t Ronnie’s memory. Whatever happened back there didn’t have anything to do with her. Except it did. What Ronnie shared with Michael was him and her. The rational part of her didn’t question it.

“Sleep. Please? I’m tired. I need to understand. I need… Please?”

Fuck that. Ronnie focused on thoughts and feelings she could say with certainty were hers, and turned toward the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes as she walked. The last thing she would do was surrender control over the things that belonged to her. She was going to take a cold shower, jar herself awake, and go to work. Metatron could sleep. Forever, for all she cared.

A new thought nudged the corner of her mind, and she shoved it away before it formed. She didn’t know if it was hers or not. Water cranked to icy, she stepped under the stream and let the drops bite into her skin. The external discomfort gave her something to focus on. She was the one feeling it, not someone else. It wasn’t a misplaced vengeance from thousands of years ago.

She stayed under the water until her teeth chattered. Her every thought on the world around her. The sensation of the terrycloth gnawing her frozen flesh and bringing warmth back. The tile against the soles of her feet. The rush of morning traffic outside her window.

“What else is Lucifer lying to you about?”

The thought made her stumble. But it wasn’t hers. She could ignore it.

“But it is yours. You want to know as much as I do. You heard Michael. The girl in Gabe’s shop wasn’t a fluke. Neither was the rabbi. Or Izzy.
Izrafel
for hell’s sake. You think he’s been flying under the radar since he fell? Not with that church. Gabriel knows what’s going on with us, and so does Lucifer.”

Three hours ago, Metatron wanted Michael dead. Now she was quoting him?

“I can hear your thoughts. Even the ones you hide from yourself. You want answers too.”

All Ronnie wanted was her memory and life back, and to know how to evict the long dead angel from her skull.

“That makes two of us, but it was my life first.”

Whatever the petty struggles of a couple of higher-ups, thousands of years ago, weren’t her concern. She didn’t care.

“Liar.”

Maybe. But that ought to make it easier for her to fit in. She dressed on autopilot, grabbing random things from the closet and dresser. Work would provide another distraction. Besides, it didn’t matter who pulled strings on her behalf. Something told her if she missed one more day of work, Raphael would find a way to fire her. Then she’d be out of a job, possibly out of a body…

Tears pricked her eyelids. She dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks hard enough to cause friction. Why was she crying? Frustration welled inside her. She couldn’t lose her job. If she got sent back to hell, she might never find out what was going on.

“If you get sent back to hell, you lose your right to shift to a physical form. If Lucifer’s telling the truth, don’t you think you’d get your memory back at that point?”

If
Lucifer was telling the truth. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“My point exactly.”

Ronnie took a deep breath, and when she exhaled, tried to compel the chaos out of her brain. It didn’t work. She gave her bed one final, mournful glance, phased out of her apartment, and seconds later appeared in front of Ubiquity. After a short stop at the coffee shop on the main floor, she forced her feet to carry her to the elevator and then to her desk. She logged into the cherub queue with less than a minute to spare before her shift started. At least Raphael couldn’t bitch at her about being late.

“Cutting things a little close, aren’t you, demon?” Raphael’s sharp voice sliced down her spine.

She ground her teeth until her jaw ached. She wasn’t going to turn around. He wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing her annoyance. “I didn’t realize we could be penalized for
almost
breaking the rules.”

The lack of sleep, combined with the jumble of Metatron’s confusion sluicing through Ronnie, threatened to push more past her lips, but she bit back any further response.

“You can’t be.” The threat didn’t vanish from his voice. “But I’m not worried about it. You’ll do something by the end of the day.”

“Slit his throat.”

The idea was more tempting than it should be. Her fingers itched against her keyboard, not depressing any letters, but
clacking
enough to make noise. “I need to get to work.”

The next few hours dragged by, minutes ticking away like centuries. She scanned one flagged set of search results after another. Nothing, nothing, nothing. She rested her chin on her hand. More nothing, a little bit of not even close, and a dash of nada.

Her eyelids drooped shut, and she pinched her cheek to snap herself awake. But she was so tired. Her eyes dragged closed again. Black ribbons swished through her, and a hiss of victory, not hers, flitted into her thoughts. Her chin slipped from her palm, and the combination jarred her awake.

She needed something to keep her conscious. Coffee. She set her queue to
Away
and wandered into the breakroom. The numbness of exhaustion was pleasant—it kept her from living the chaos—but she couldn’t give into the drowsiness.

She snarled at the empty coffee pot.

“Make more.”

Ronnie might have, except defiance kept her from agreeing with anything Metatron said. Instead, she slid a bill into the soda machine and pressed a green button. She exhaled a grateful sigh when she pulled the frosty can from the machine. Its chill soothed as she trailed it along the inside of her wrists, and after a minute, over her cheek. The cold snapped more alertness into her. She popped the top and then chugged half of it. The icy sugar hit her stomach with a thunk.
Right, skipped lunch.

“Afternoon.” Michael’s greeting drifted from behind her.

When she spun to face him, he was studying her with concern in his gaze. She almost choked on her next sip as the muddle of emotions surged inside again.
Not now.
She couldn’t deal with this. Maybe later. She pasted on a smile and turned to leave. “Hey.” She was already brushing past him as she talked. “Can’t chat. Have to get back to the cherub mill. Later.”

“Ronnie, wait.”

She couldn’t. She wasn’t going to listen to the command or promise of comfort in his request. And she couldn’t stay there and have that conversation.

“What? You don’t want to stick around and chat and swoon?”

Ronnie didn’t
swoon
over Michael. And she
did
want to chat. She just wasn’t sure she could handle it right now.

“Please?”

“I thought you wanted him dead.”

“I thought he killed me.”
Metatron’s response carried another wash of confusion with it.
“I need answers. We need to talk to him, if you won’t let me sleep.”