Fallen Angels 06 - Immortal (43 page)

“Jim!” She scrambled to her feet. “Jim…”

He held his free arm out to her, and when she got to him, she didn’t know who was holding on harder.

“You saved me,” he said into her hair. “You saved me.”

“No, I—”

“It was you, all you. I saw you and you were talking to me and…” Like there were too many words stuck in his throat, too many things to say, he just kissed her deeply, and—

“Holy shit!”

Both of them jerked back and looked over at Eddie and Adrian. Ad was getting to his feet slowly, both hands out like he expected to have to catch himself from falling over at any moment.

“Holy … mother
fucker
.”

He began to move his body all around, arms and legs going this way and that—and for a moment, she had no idea what he was doing. Then she realized … he was hitting the Running Man?

“Oh, my God, he’s lost his mind,” she whispered, thinking three exorcisms in as many days was a little bit much. Even by their standards.

“I’m cured! I’m cured!”

With a quick shift, Ad bolted across the floor, did some cartwheels, pulled some kung fu moves, looked like he was going to try a split—only to think better of that one.

“I can see!” He ran over to them, jabbing his own finger toward his now-clear eye. “I can see! It took what I took from Matthias—the injuries went with the Devina shit!”

“Oh, my God,” Jim breathed. “That’s … awesome!”

“I know, right? And you know what thiiiiiiiis meeeeeans! Hellllllllo, ladies.”

Sissy had to duck her head into Jim’s pec as Ad’s hips rolled up and back and then he broke away and ran around again.

“Unbelievable,” Jim said with a laugh. “We win the war, and all he cares about is the fact that he gets his love life back.”

Sissy tilted in her man’s arms and looked over his head. “Your halo’s gone.”

“Really?” He patted at the airspace above his skull. “Guess this really is over.”

“You did it.”

“No, we did it. I was going to kill her, I really was … but all I could see was you. All I could hear was your voice. Without that? God only knows what would have happened.”

Eddie came over and smiled. Then offered his palm to Jim. “Well done. I’m proud of you.”

Jim grunted and got to his feet, taking her with him. And then he accepted what was offered. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“You got that right,” Ad said as he cha-cha’d over, one hand on his flat belly, the other held up at a right angle. “But I gotta say … it ain’t been no pleasure.”

Ad didn’t offer a palm. Instead, he grabbed Jim and hugged him hard. “But I wouldn’t have wanted to do this with anyone else.”

Sissy’s eyes got watery as Jim clapped his friend on the back. “That’s a two-way street, buddy.”

As they separated, Ad cleared his throat like he was flushing the emotion out of himself. Then he pointed both his thumbs to his chest and said, “Who’s got two thumbs and is about to be laid?
This guy
.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You know, we don’t have to—”

Ad’s stare got shrewd. “I can find you a redhead. You knooooow how much you like a good ginger.”

Eddie’s brows went up into his forehead and he gave the waistband of his jeans a tug. “I, ah…”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want some if you could get it.”

There was some shuffling. A little throat clearing. And then Eddie’s libido apparently made up his mind. Glancing over at Jim, the angel said, “Well, here are the car keys. You guys okay to go home?”

“I think I can handle it,” Jim said dryly.

“Good. That’s good.”

There was a long moment between the three men, as if there were too much to say even if they had all night to talk.

“Go,” Jim whispered roughly. “Enjoy yourselves. You deserve it.”

“Don’t leave without saying good-bye,” Ad said.

“You have my word.”

And then the angels were gone, disappearing into thin air.

Jim put his arm around her waist, and the two of them fell into a stroll across the emptiness, their footfalls echoing all around. “You hungry?”

She had to laugh. “I don’t know. I can’t … everything is almost too much.”

“I have an idea.”

“And what might that be?” She craned her neck to look up at his face. “Something along the lines of what Adrian is so excited about?”

“Well, yeah.” Her man blushed. “But, ah, something else first.”

“Pizza.”

“No. I was thinking … how ’bout you get on the back of my bike and we, ah, go riding?”

Sissy leaned into his strength and laughed. “That’s a line from a Prince song, you know that?”

“Is it?”

“Yes. And my answer … is yes.”

Over by the elevators, he pushed the
up
button, and she had to frown.

“What is it?” he asked.

“There was someone like me here, wasn’t there. Someone sacrificed to protect her mirror.”

“Yes, there was.”

“I didn’t see them.”

“I took care of the remains as I came in. And I’m going to make sure that he’s taken care of.”

Part of her felt like she should help that process. The other half … she wasn’t sure she could handle seeing what she herself had looked like.

But she wasn’t a wimp. Damn it, she needed to help whoever it—

“Sissy.” Jim took her hands and put them on his chest. “Let me deal with him, all right. You don’t need to see that. Besides, I have to believe he’s free now.”

“Can you find that out for sure?”

“Yes, I promise. But we won the war so I’d imagine that anyone righteous goes to Heaven. It’s the only thing that’s fair.”

“Just … find out for sure.”

“I give you my word.”

Sissy exhaled as the doors opened and the two of them stepped in together. There was a mirror mounted on the wall, encased in a stainless-steel frame. Leaning into the glass, she saw … no halo.

It truly was over.

“Will you stay with me?” she heard herself ask roughly. “Will you … I mean, I can’t go to Heaven, right, and I don’t want to be here alone.”

As they began to rise, Jim turned her in his arms and stared down at her, brushing her hair back from her face.

“I love you,” he said. “So where else would I be than with you for eternity?”

Putting her arms around his neck, she smiled and teared up at the same time. “That … sounds like Heaven to me.”

It was the fall that lasted forever.

At first, Devina thought she was stuck in a suck zone, but as the walls of her Well of Souls appeared on all sides of her, she realized she was actually descending into Hell on a dead drop.

This was going to hurt.

And she was right.

The impact was soul-shattering, the kind of thing that made her lose breath, sight, heartbeat … as well as the illusion of beauty that required her conscious support. But she didn’t die. Even as all the pain receptors she had screamed in agony and her rotted flesh contorted and twisted against the onslaught, she was still “alive.”

So when the flickering began high above her, she was able to witness it.

At first, she assumed that it was stars dancing in front of her eyes from a head injury, but then she realized … no.

It was a kind of shimmering snow.

Except … no.

It was her collection. Filtering down through the stagnant air of the well, all the pieces of metal she’d collected over the millennia drifted in a descent, as if they sought to stay with her even though she was in some kind of eternal prison now.

Sitting up, she held out her arms, ready to catch the beautiful shower as it rained—

None of the objects reached her.

From out of the viscous walls of the prison that was now her jail as well, the tortured hands of the damned reached out and retook whatever was theirs, claiming the objects, grabbing them back, reestablishing ownership.

Stealing from her.

That was when the loss of the war hit home. And the demon wept tears that became black diamonds that skipped and jumped on the ragged stone floor by her worktable.

She let the emotion have its way with her because she had no choice. She had lost her shot at domination. She had been cheated of an eternity that was rightfully hers. Her collection was gone. God only knew if she had any minions left to listen to her.

Cupping her skull in her hands of bone, she wept so hard she thought she would shatter all over again, just as her beloved mirror had.

But she did not.

Eventually, the heaving and the tears stopped, and she sniffled and tried to mop herself up—although that was hard to do with the raw bones of her arm.

Marshaling up some strength, she called on the illusion she had been relying on to make herself beautiful, thinking that at least that would cheer her up.

Nothing happened. Her flesh did not reknit and rekindle its color and warmth. Her luxurious brunette hair did not sprout from her bald skull. Her legs did not magically appear smooth and luscious.

She cried again at that point.

Except then the sound of something clattering next to her brought her head up. It was a shoe. It was … one of her sparkling—

The other half of the pair of Louboutins dropped right beside her.

Sniffling, she reached out and brought them close, wiping off black smudges from the creamy-colored crystals … all of which were in metal settings.

Proof positive that if you buy quality, it’ll last through everything. Including the portal into Hell.

Looking them over, watching as the ambient light caught on those minute facets and reflected back to her, she prized them all the more because they were the last of her life up above, the final dredges of her precious collection. As it was now? All she had was that stained worktable of hers and this busted, rotting body.

She stretched out and put one on, then the other. The fact that they were a size too small worked well now that there was little to no meat on her feet.

As she turned her ankles this way and that, the shoes gleamed in spite of how ugly she was, the red soles still vibrant because she’d barely worn them.

But soon she lost interest in admiring them.

It turned out that therapist—who she was now convinced hadn’t been a human female at all, but rather the Creator Himself—was right. The stilettos were just objects. And anything that had truly mattered was out of reach now: her work doing evil, her love for Jim, her freedom to roam where and when she wanted.

Just shoes.

The Creator had been trying to get her to see a truth she had learned too late.

The things? Were not the thing.

But come on, she was evil. What else was a girl to do?

Leaning her head back, she stared up, up, up … and wondered what Jim was doing. Probably celebrating with that Sissy.

God, she hated him; she really did.

Maybe someday, if she ever got out of this place … she could find herself a real man, someone who appreciated her for who and what she was. Someone who was sick and twisted, but had good traditional values, a nice bank account, and a sense of humor.

And could go for hours in the sack.

Probably nobody like that existed. But considering she had nothing else to do for … well, shit, maybe forever … she might as well live in fantasy.

Memories and her mind were all she had now.

Up in Heaven, Nigel rolled the tea cart over to the knoll by the walls of the Manse of Souls. Typically, the table was willed into being, but with naught to occupy himself, he wanted to do things more manually.

He was the one who flipped free the damask tablecloth from its careful folds, and he set the plates out, and the cups and saucers. He arranged the teapot and the caddies of sugar and cream and also the rounder that held the assortment of scones and biscuits.

All right, fine, he had conjured the edibles—but he was no baker.

Leaning down, Nigel lined up the silverware precisely along with the napkins. Adjusted things so they were perfect. Fiddled with the flowers—

“That for me?”

He hid a small smile as he turned around and saw Jim. “You are welcome to join us, savior.”

The angel seemed awkward, as if he didn’t know how to handle having done his job well. “You don’t have to call me that anymore.”

Nigel inhaled deeply. Straightened his white suit. And walked around the table.

Without preamble or artifice, he hugged Jim and said roughly, “I do believe we shall call you that forevermore.”

Jim returned the embrace and they stayed there for a moment. Then they both stepped back. By that time, the other archangels had appeared with Tarquin—who bounded up to Jim and nearly knocked him down.

As the group spoke of victory and praise, Nigel stood on the periphery and witnessed the exchange of congratulations: Byron and Bertie threw their arms about the savior as much as their dog did, and even Colin joined in, the warrior archangel going so far as to pop a smile that reached his beautiful eyes.

Unable to bear the sight of that, Nigel glanced up to the parapet. There were seven flags waving in the breeze, Jim’s final win laying claim to all the rounds, even the ones Devina had prevailed in. The colors were varied and looked as a rainbow up in the sky.

“—Nigel?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, shaking himself back into focus. “What was that?”

“Mind if I ask you something in private?” Jim repeated.

Nigel glanced over his table. The three archangels had sat down, Byron and Bertie chatting like songbirds in a spring tree, their innate energy boosted by the fact that the fear was gone, the stress was gone, and all that remained was the place and the job they loved best.

“There is no need,” Nigel murmured. “Your answer is yes.”

Jim’s eyes closed and he weaved in his boots.

“You okay, mate?” Colin asked.

The savior nodded and rubbed his face. Then he looked at Nigel. “You sure?”

“Do you think I would do aught to jeopardize the souls of the righteous?”

“Okay, then. Thank you.”

“Not my doing, but your own.” Then he relented. “But I am … so happy for you. So very happy for you both.”