Ashes of Angels (8 page)

“Just because our sigils match doesn't give me a license to attempt you without first getting to know you. I want to know you, Cassandra.”

“And then you'll have your way with me.”

“And then
you
will have your way with me. Or so I can hope.”

She got caught in his sexy smile and managed one herself. If he was speaking the truth, then she could get behind his crusade against the other Fallen. But trust him? That was still up for debate.

“Your hope will win you a kiss.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “For my champion. Selfless in the face of danger.”

“Ahem. Don't mind me.”

Startled, Cassandra, wobbling against Sam's chest for support, turned to the man who stood over the angel ash. Dark, and dressed all in black, he held a palm high over the ash—and something amazing happened. A swirl of twinkling lights rose from the ash pile, twirling, floating as if by magic, and affixed to the stranger's hand.

“The soul bringer,” Sam whispered reverently. “Just doing his job. The Fallen keep the souls of mortals in their hearts.”

“I know.”

The Fallen had taught mortals all crafts. Samandiriel had taught mortals silversmithing. Yet in Biblical times, those crafts had been deemed immoral and sinful, so when those
craftsmen died, their souls did not go Above or Beneath, but instead were trapped within the Fallen's glass heart.

It sounded romantic, but when she thought about it, Cassandra was saddened the mortal souls had been kept in stasis for centuries. “Do you have souls in your heart?”

“Some. I can feel them flutter on occasion, as when I look over your silver work. I am not proud of keeping innocent souls imprisoned, and will gladly relinquish them upon my death.”

And just like that, the soul bringer shifted into a dark blur and disappeared. In his wake, a wind stirred the snow into a blizzard and gushed the Fallen angel ash into the air toward the heavens.

“No, we can use that!” she shouted. “That stuff is not mortal souls, but angel…ash.”

The ash was carried away. Gone.

Slapping a hand over her heart, Cassandra whispered a prayer for her sister and that she and her boyfriend could locate Ophelia before it was too late.

“There will be more.” Sam nodded at the imprint the ash had left on the snow. “The Fallen are apparently being summoned to Berlin.”

“Do you think the vampires know I've had the muse brought here? That I planned to bring others here?”

“I feel sure they do. You've brought other muses here?”

“It was supposed to be a means to organize and teach one another. I hadn't expected all this to happen now. They're on their way here as we speak. I've got to send them away. Berlin is too dangerous.”

“Indeed. Nazariah will not be the last. The vampires will summon as many Fallen as they've names and sigils for. The Fallen will come and they will not relent.”

Cassandra gasped. What had she done? Lured all the muses into a trap? She glanced to the ground where not a trace of angel ash remained. “I've no weapon against the Fallen.”

“What am I?” He patted his hip and the halo glowed briefly. “You've already named me your champion, Cassandra. Come, all ye Fallen! Bring your mightiest, your fiercest. As long as I am capable, I will let no Fallen bring harm to a muse.”

His declaration brought a tear to her eye and Cassandra plunged forward to hug him. That startled him, and he didn't immediately embrace her in return. But when he did, she thought she felt his warmth, the flow of his blood and the beat of his heart segue with hers.

It wasn't possible. Not without his earthbound soul. Something he didn't want to claim, yet wore at his hip as a weapon.

She could trust he would stand alongside her in this battle, even stake out the vanguard to protect her. That gave her confidence. “You say you have no purpose here on earth? What about rescuing all the muses from their destined fate?”

“I will do what I can. But you imply our destiny is not favorable.”

“No, I—” Yes, their destiny did seem that way. If one believed in destiny. “I will accept your offer to champion me.”

“And what will you grant me in reward?”

“Uh, what do you want?”

He nuzzled his nose beside her ear and whispered, “Only that you will hold my hand when I ask.”

Hold the guy's hand? That sounded simple enough. She could do him one better. “I think I owe you a kiss.”

“You had mentioned something of the sort earlier.”

“If you want it,” she said, allowing her inner tease careful reign, “take one from me.”

“Ah?”

Sam bent to meet her mouth with his. And Cassandra melted against his body, wanting and willing to surrender to his protective embrace, and knowing it was not so wrong as she'd once believed.

Her angel had finally come for her.

“A
re you hungry?” Sam asked Cassandra. “Want me to run down the street and pick us up some schnitzel? I haven't tried it, but it sounds like an interesting meal.”

“I am hungry.” They had rented a room at the Radisson Blu across the river Spree and close to the bustle of the city. Cassandra could eat an entire produce department, but she wasn't keen on meat. “We could order room service.”

“If you want.” He opened the door. “I'm still going out, bunny.”

She tugged off her fur hat and tossed it onto the bed. “What for?”

Sam shrugged. “Angel stuff.”

Narrowing her gaze at him, Cassandra said, “I think you just lied to me.”

His smile wasn't practiced enough to hide the truth. He closed the door behind him, leaving her clinging to wonder. She hadn't thought angels could lie.

What was he up to? She should follow him but she was tired, and right now the easy chair felt like a big ol' hug.

She tugged out her cell phone from the backpack near her feet. Time to check in with Coco. The phone rang and rang, and when Cassandra expected it to switch over to message, a male voice answered.

“Cassandra?”

“Uh, Zane?” She'd never spoken to the boyfriend. He had a nice, deep tone. British, too, but with a Welsh brogue. “Where's Coco?”

“She's…occupied at the moment. How are you, love? You see the snow swirling out your window? It's storming something fierce here in Hamburg.”

“Zane, where's Coco? Is something wrong? Did you guys find the muse?”

“What's that? Oh, the muse. Right.”

Cassandra did not like that Coco hadn't answered the phone. She always carried her cell phone in a pocket or a hip holster, so she must be in the vicinity. Zane was not telling her something.

What was with the evasive men in her life lately?

“Zane, tell me exactly what is happening right now. And do not lie to me. I will find you and kick the shit out of you if I sense you are lying.”

“Don't get your britches in a bundle, love. Coco said you were a tough one.”

“You're stalling, Zane.”

“Right then. Uh, Coco is…how shall I put this?”

“Put it exactly as it is. What is going on?”

A heavy sigh preceded a rapid flow of words. “Your sister is cleaning evidence from the room.”

Shooting upright from the chair, Cassandra paced before the bed, phone clutched fiercely. “What sort of evidence? What room?”

“We found Ophelia in a motel along the Twenty-four. Dead.”

Cassandra slapped a palm to her forehead. “How?”

Zane's heavy sigh rippled through her tense muscles. She understood this was difficult for him, but out with it already.

“It appears she's given birth. I suspect the birth is what killed her. She's been dead about three hours.”

“Mercy. Where's the baby?”

“Yeah, that's the disturbing part. Coco, love.”

Cassandra heard her sister's sniffles in the background and Zane told her who he was talking to on the line. “Put Coco on, Zane, please.”

Leaning over the bed, Cassandra pressed her elbows on it and bowed her forehead to the counterpane. This could not be happening. Why had Ophelia taken off on her own?

I'm not handling anything well. I should have been there to accompany the muse
. And she'd abandoned Coco for Berlin two years earlier.
Way to keep the family together, Cassandra.
Granny would be so disappointed.

“I'm sorry, Caz. We were too late.” Coco sucked in a long sniffle. She sounded as if she'd been crying and her nose was running. “I think she ran off because she knew it was coming. She kept saying she didn't want to burden us with her problem. I don't think she understood we only wanted to help her. Oh, it's so awful.”

“It's not your fault, Coco.” She summoned strength by inhaling through her nose and closing her eyes. Time to stop kicking herself for what she couldn't affect, and summon courage. Coco would need her to be strong. “You did the best you could. There are forces greater than you and I at work here.”

Hell, she wished she could be there to hug Coco and to kick Zane's arse for allowing the muse to disappear in the first place. But really, no one was to blame. Angels and vampires? No mortal could ever prepare for that.

“Make sure she gets a proper burial.”

“We will. Zane's got that under control. But, Caz…”

“It's okay, Coco. You don't need to say any more. We'll figure things out. As long as you're safe.”

“Zane is here. I am always safe with him. Oh, Caz…” New sniffles echoed on the connection. “In the bathroom, where I think she gave birth…there are tiny, bloody footprints.”

“Footprints?”

“From the baby nephilim. It…it walked away.”

Cassandra slapped a palm over her mouth. Heavy, gasping breaths kept her silent save for the pound of her heartbeat in her ears.

The nephilim was supposed to grow to maturity over seventy-two hours. It was too hideous to imagine, and she'd never quite believed that part when Granny had taught them the lore.

The newborn had walked away after the birth?

“Where are you, Coco?”

“We're at a cheesy little motel on the east side of Hamburg.”

A good three-hour drive from where Cassandra and Sam stayed.

“We're going to try to track the…the…you know. I'll call you in a few hours.”

“Yes, do that. Do not forget to call. I'm at the Radisson Blu with Sam.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah, er, he's this guy I met. Not sure how long we'll be here, but let's make this our base. Room three twenty-one, all right?”

“Got it. Three twenty-one.”

“I'll leave a key card for you at the reception desk. Check in every hour, Coco. Or I'll worry.”

“Will do. I love you, Caz, but please, be careful. If you could see this. Oh…”

“She'll be keen in a few,” Zane's voice said, claiming the
phone from his sobbing lover. “We'll stay in touch. But we've got to see if we can pick up the monster's trail. I hope it's headed away from the city.”

Monster
hit her brain like a swift strike from a tire iron. She unkinked her clenched fingers. A monster walked the earth. What Sam had hoped to prevent, what she had wanted to prevent, had become a reality.

“Thank you, Zane. Take care of my sister. And the muse.”

“Will do.”

Cassandra tossed the phone onto the bed and ran into the bathroom to splash her face with cold water. Tears mixed with the water and she sobbed loudly.

 

Sam stalked across the midnight snow, marveling at the sight of streetlamps glistening on the surface of white. Tucked within utter violence and strife, the world possessed indescribable beauty. One could not exist without the other. Such a delicate balance.

Even Above balanced in such a manner. It made sense. How could one recognize and label beauty if they had not known ugly, as well? Same with love and hate, good and evil. Desire and disgust. Truth and lies.

He hadn't lied to Cassandra about his intentions when leaving the hotel room; he'd only avoided giving her all the details.

He shrugged up the sleeves of the blue sweater she had purchased for him in the hotel gift shop. She kept insisting he wear a coat outside, but he could not feel the cold. Perhaps he should, so as not to raise curiosity.

Nah. He did not care what others thought when they looked upon him. Though he understood that as people matured they did develop a self-conscious habit of concern for other's opinions. He was a newborn on this earth, and glad for it. The only opinion that mattered was Cassandra Stevens's.

He found a clearing amongst the spruce trees, just behind
a park bench. Bowing his head, he bent to one knee on the snow. Spreading out his arms, he opened his palms upward and briefly wondered what the chill air would feel like against his skin. It would bring him too close to mortality for comfort.

And yet, Cassandra's innate warmth felt great upon his skin. That part of the mortal condition he enjoyed.

But he wasn't here on earth for holiday.

Reciting a few words to conjure the one he wished to speak with, he then waited, unsure how, exactly, the archangel would arrive.

Raphael was not the archangel who oversaw the Fallen. Their leader, Samyaza, either currently walked the earth or was still trapped in the Ninth Void—or had been slain. Actually, the Fallen were more freelance than an organized crew. Once their feet had touched earth, they'd dispersed.

Raphael oversaw the Sinistari, which should make little sense, until a person realized the Sinistari were forged from the Fallen. And where the Fallen did not possess divinity because their feet had touched the earth, the Sinistari had been taken before touching earth and forged into demon and sent Beneath, where they waited for a summons to track Fallen.

Summoned by Raphael, or so Sam suspected.

Someone cleared his throat behind Sam. He swung a look over his shoulder. A thin, well-dressed man in striped trousers sat on the park bench, one ankle propped over a knee. He had forgone winter wear as well, and tilted his head in question at Sam.

“You going to ignore me all day, Outlaw?” Raphael inquired in a British accent.

Sam stood and slapped a hand to his chest. It always startled him to meet a fellow angel on earth. When Above, they did not resemble the human shape, but rather took the form of a feeling. It amused him to see the mortal form each angel as
sumed. Apparently, Raphael wasn't into machismo and might, but rather wielded a sly sense of fashion.

“Raphael, thank you for coming.”

“Get on with it. You obviously want something. Everybody does. Mortals, demons, even the rebellious Fallen. Walking the earth again, I see. And to no good end. I cannot and will not pull rein on my Sinistari, so do not ask.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. I can handle the Sinistari.”

“Do you still have the last one's blade?”

“I do.”

“Hand it over.”

Sam slid a hand over the halo at his hip. The blade he'd tucked in his boot. If he were to step up to the vanguard properly armed… “I'd prefer not to.”

Raphael gestured with his fingers and the blade slid out of Sam's boot and slapped into the archangel's grip. A blue glow surrounded the weapon and it dispersed to nothing but a shimmer.

“You are aware the mix of Fallen and Sinistari have been joined by vampires,” Sam stated. “And we're not all fighting on the same side.”

“The Fallen started it all.”

So the archangel would accuse? Interesting. “I suspect it will matter little to you I've reversed my decision regarding Falling.”

“You suspect correctly. But I do adore that your brethren name you Outlaw. Strangely ironic.”

“Will slaying my fellow Fallen, those bent on tampering with mortal females, restore me in The Most High's good graces?”

Raphael crossed his arms and harrumphed. It was a good ol' British gesture that Sam noted with curiosity. “I sense you want to return Above?”

Sam nodded. “I made a mistake Falling.”

“You Fell with purpose!”

Head bowed, Sam accepted the truth. “But I have seen the world through compassionate eyes. And now I wish to redeem myself in His eyes and return to a job that gives me satisfaction.”

“He has no say, one way or another, who goes and who returns.”

“I cannot believe that.”

“The Arcs keep a tight rein on the gates now. But look, you lot Fell on your own, so what makes you think He has any control?”

He'd never thought about it that way. The angels did not take direct commands from The Most High, yet their reverence for Him went beyond all imagining.

“Much has changed since your Fall, Samandiriel the Outlaw.”

He winced at the Arc's apparent delight in using that title.

“You and your brethren forced us to create the Sinistari race to police our own. It was quite a slap in the face, if you ask me.”

“I don't wish to see the day nephilim walk this earth.”

“You should have thought of that before you Fell with lust in your eyes. Lust breeds nasty nephilim.” The Arc shuddered. “There's one walking the earth right now. I can feel it.”

“Then slay it!”

“So simple as that? You, who used to smite upon command, are too quick to your guns. It is not my judgment call.”

“But the creature is your miss. Had your Sinistari slain the responsible Fallen…” Sam let the condemnation hang.

He should not be so bold. He revered Raphael. And indeed, his way of taking care of a problem involved a proper smiting, which certainly had no place on earth—unless the smitee was a vicious vampire or one of the Fallen.

“Whatever calamity this child of dark divinity visits upon
the earth is now for the mortals to suffer,” Raphael said sharply. “I am surprised you are not pleased. It is what will occur when you mate with your little muse. Bunny, isn't that what you named her?”

That was an endearment only he could use for Cassandra. It gave him a sense of closeness to her, and she seemed to take to it. And anything she took to pleased Sam, as well.

Sam noted he did not care for Raphael so much now. “As I said, since walking amongst the mortals, I've had a change of heart.”

“Your glass heart does not understand the ways of change. It does not evolve—it only exists in the time in which you land. You take on the morals and motions of the world around you, but you don't truly understand them, do you?”

Giving him no time to respond, Raphael continued, “And since when does an angel care about mortals? They are but creatures put here to live and die. They believe God Himself controls their destinies, that they live and die because of his hand. It is ridiculous! Yes, he gave them life. But he does not predetermine their deaths, nor does he reach down to force an untimely death. Yet always he is blamed for taking the young ones, the frail and disabled ones. A mockery, I tell you.”