Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) (8 page)

Michael gripped his wrist, stony. “Not that. I’ll take care of that personally.”

Japheth yanked free, striding a few steps away. “Getting your hands dirty? Spare me. You’re just trying to weasel back into Gabriel’s good graces.”

“None of your damn business.” Michael’s eyes stormed, black discontent.

Japheth laughed, savage. “That really sticks in your throat, doesn’t it? Beholden to big brother’s rules? You messed up the last demon vial, and Gabriel’s pissed at you. Good thing for you Lune and his girlfriend saved your butt—”

“And yours,” reminded Michael coldly. “I haven’t forgotten you disobeyed me. I wanted Dashiel dead. Seems he’s still here.”

Heaven, he wanted to crush that beautiful face to blood and bone… But wrath was a sin. He gritted cold teeth. “I told you, I won’t betray my friends. You want him dead? Go do it yourself.”

Angry white sparks showered from Michael’s wings. “Don’t test me. I could kick your rebellious ass straight to hell right now and no one in heaven would blink. Fuck, maybe I’ll do it just for fun.”

Japheth flashed, snapping right into Michael’s face. “Do it, then,” he challenged hotly. “Cast me down. You don’t need me. Plenty of other suckers to stroke your massive ego.” He flushed. That came out wrong. Damn it.

A satisfied smile. “Thanks for the offer, babe. But my massive ego aside, I really do have a job for you. You interested, or are we going to flirt all night?”

Japheth edged away. “Say on.”

Idly, Michael flicked a dirty fleck from one feather. “This Prince of Thirst. Demonscum stinking out the West Village. Ringing any bells?”

Oh, yeah, it sure did. Sweet ladyflesh, sultry vampire eyes, a kiss that burned in more ways than one… Japheth coughed. “What about him?”

“His name is Fluvium. Manic little asshole with a costume fetish. I believe you’ve met?”

Michael knew damn well they’d met. A snowy seventh-century battlefield, dim with fog, rotten with the fearful stink of death and the Dark Ages. A golden era for demons, who preyed on ignorance, fear, isolation. Entire villages succumbed to curses and plagues, driven mad with hunger or rage, willing disciples for the demons’ ugly desires. The people—illiterate, short-lived, lied to by greedy monks—simply didn’t know any better.

Not heaven’s finest hour.

But that day, they’d won a stirring victory, Michael and Japheth and the heavenly host. His last battle before he fell. They’d hunted down the snake-hearted demon in charge, and Japheth had sliced his laughing head from his neck, thrust fiery angelsteel through his heart and watched him crumble to ash. Fluvium—just a sniveling minion with a sharp-toothed blade then, jostling to get noticed by his masters—Fluvium had gotten away. But not before he’d soaked the ground with poisoned angels’ blood.

The screams still resonated in Japheth’s nightmares. Fluvium didn’t just enjoy killing. He liked it to hurt.

Japheth nodded, cautious. “Sure. I remember. Didn’t know he was a prince.”

“Yeah, well, they promote any mad motherfucker with a grudge these days. Word is he and Azaroth are tight.” A slick smile. “Pity you didn’t waste him when you had the chance.”

Japheth ignored that one. He’d killed so many that day, crimson rivers had soaked deep into the melting snow. Glory had burned his blood alive like never before. He’d lived by the sea in heaven then, deep blue water to the horizon, salty air, the musical squawk of gulls. Simple but comfortable.

He’d even had a friend, a pretty copper-winged warrior who’d teased him, sparred with him, watched his back. Back then, friends were uncomplicated. Innocent. It never occurred to him to want more from her. When carnal desires tempted him, he killed hellspawn. When that didn’t suffice, he chose strangers, and got it over with quickly. Humans, or angels he barely knew.

Or sultry archangels with ice-blue eyes. That was a mistake he’d never gotten over.

But that night, he and she lay on the beach, flushed with celebration and laughter. Drunk on wine and the waves’ hypnotic crash, heaven’s enormous stars spinning fire bright overhead. He’d gazed across at her, those dusky wings scattered with sand. Her laughing gaze met his, twinkling. Subtly, his heart quickened. His skin tingled alive. All the air sucked from his lungs, replaced with her soft sweet scent, her laugh, the silky slide of her hair…

Impulsively, he’d leaned over, and kissed her.

Just a gentle kiss, done in a second or two. But the surprised sweetness on her lips thrilled him like nothing else.

He laughed. She wrinkled her pretty nose at him, affection brimming in her eyes. Secret warmth stole into his heart. And they lay, fingers and wingtips entwined, gazing at the shimmering stars.

The next dawn, Michael cast had him down. No warning. No explanation. Just dirt thudding into his back, wing bones
cracking, fiery angelsteel aimed at his throat.
I know what you are, Japheth of the Tainted.
Michael’s razor-blue hair sliced Japheth’s cheek bloody.
I know what you’re doing. Think you can hide from me? Think again.

In the alley, reddish moonbeams savaged Japheth’s eyes. She’d loathed him, once he fell. Held him in contempt. Seen him at last for what he really was…

What was he, then? He’d been all confusion. It wasn’t as if Michael cared what he did, who he saw. But whatever he’d done, he surely must have deserved it…

“Hello?” Michael snapped bright fingers, inches from Japheth’s eyes. “Still with me?”

“Uh. Yeah. Fluvium. What about him?”

“His head. On a spike. Preferably with an expression of excruciating agony frozen on his face.”

Japheth’s wings glittered, eager. Demon slaughter. Excellent. And if he put an end to a certain crafty bloodsucking whore while he was at it? Purged her from his darkest fantasies, carved those evil memories from his flesh? Even better. “Okay. I can do that. What do I get?”

“Excuse me?”

“I think I mentioned we’re not friends anymore. I work for you, fine. What’s it worth to you?”

Michael considered, an amused diamond glint in his eyes. “Depends what you want.”

“You know what I want.” Japheth shrugged coolly, but his heart skipped. “That’s one of Azaroth’s demon princes you want dead. Won’t be easy. I bring you his head, I want my soul back. And I want to be free of
you
. Deal?”

A crafty smile. “Well, well. Look who grew some balls. You know I like that.”

“Believe it or not, Michael, for once in my life, I don’t give a damn what you like. Yes or no?”

Michael measured him with a stare, ice-blue, all his amusement faded. “I want the demon prince dead. I want the vial, empty or not. And…” He leaned closer, enveloping Japheth in hot glitter-sweet silence. The city’s sounds faded, mere distant echoes, but Michael’s whisper zinged like crystal. “I want your promise that when the questions start from upstairs—and
they’ll come, I assure you—you’ll keep your mouth shut. About this. About the vials. About everything.”

“You want me to lie to Gabriel.” Not a conniver like Michael. A holy man, with tough morals and tougher justice. A pure, unsullied archangel, who’d surely skip the Tainted part and hurl Japheth straight into the pit…

But his blood sparkled warm. Redemption. His soul returned to him. A way back into heaven…

Michael wrinkled his nose, affectionate. “Bless your sweet little heart. Gabe will never know.”

He didn’t like that indigo gleam in Michael’s eyes. “And what exactly will I be covering up?”

A glassy laugh. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Relax. Think I’m gonna rat on you? There’s more at stake than your cute golden ass, believe me.”

Japheth hesitated. He wouldn’t put it past Michael to betray him to cover the lie, once he’d gotten what he wanted…

Michael folded massive arms. “Your soul, for a lie and a murder. On any other day, you’d be headed the other way. It’s a good deal, Jae. Yes or no?”

Ancient longing for home ached in his bones. Where everything made sense, and the last fourteen hundred years of guilt and sorrow faded into a bad dream…

Fierce conviction frosted his heart. Killing demons wasn’t a sin. As for the lie…well, it wasn’t lying unless he knew the truth. Michael’s real plans didn’t matter a damn to him. Better not to know.

His soul, for a killing and an innocent shrug when Gabriel asked what was going on. Worth it?

Absolutely.

“You got it,” he whispered, and flashed out.

CHAPTER 6

Michael stretched glacial wings, and laughed.

Snotty little fucker had finally grown a pair.

He could live with that. Hell, maybe he’d even make good on his promise, when the time came. He’d missed the little bastard, so help him.

Michael raised his gaze to heaven, calling on his servant. Unlike the Tainted, his closest heavenly host could use a mental link to communicate. It was quicker, and saved messing about with cell phones. “Esther, get your feathery butt down here.”

A second later, Esther flashed in, coppery wings aflutter. She bowed, fulsome, her smooth brown ponytail flipping over her shoulder.

Michael sighed. His new minion was prissy, but hot. She’d totally rock fishnets, or one of those tight rubber dresses. “Always with the suit and heels? You look like a fucking accountant.”

It was a sharp suit, he had to admit, silken gray and meticulously shaped. Her dark-skinned face was calm. Observant. Showing proper deference, her gaze downcast a few inches from his face. She clasped her hands behind her, waiting. “As you say, Seraph.”

Probably, she’d say that to whatever he asked. One day, he’d test it.
Bring me the moon, Esther,
or
I’d like a mammoth-tusk burger with a side of dodo fries
, or
me and these chainsaw-wielding painwraiths are going to gangbang you three at a time now, Esther, is that okay?

“Get down to the West Village,” he ordered. “Make sure Japheth does the right thing. I don’t want him holding out on me.”

“Yes, Seraph.” Another bow. Not a fleck of dust on her feathers. The perfect corporate minion.

Michael sighed. At least she was obedient. If he said it, she did it. But Jesus fucking Christ on a barbecue, heaven bred them timid these days. Back in the day, His messengers had fire in the blood. On the other hand, Esther was a chiseler to the core. Cunning, desperate to get ahead, and quite evidently stomped on anyone who got in her way. Including old friends like Japheth. Handy.

“Don’t let him smell you,” he warned. “He’s Tainted, not stupid. And Esther?”

“Yes, Seraph?”

“If he screws up, kill him.”

Her expression shadowed, but swiftly cleared. “As you say, Seraph.” She fidgeted, clicking rose-painted fingernails. “Gabriel…”

“What about him?”

“He’s asking questions. About you. That Manhattan virus thing last month, he’s…curious.”

Michael scowled, and the sidewalk groaned, the brick wall beside him cracking. Ever since the first vial set off a zombie plague in Babylon—which Michael had let carry on, just to see what the demon’s plan was—Gabriel had been in a bitch of a mood. “Don’t tell him anything. Hear me? Not a damn thing.”

“But, Seraph—”

Michael backhanded her. Her jawbone crunched, satisfying, and she stumbled to her knees. “Listen to me, you little greaser. Gabriel is nothing. He’s a fucking bean counter. For five thousand years, I’ve killed and bled and stained my soul rotten for heaven’s sake. What did Gabriel ever do, besides kick a pair of horny monkeys in fig leaves out of the garden?”

Yet Gabriel was set above him. Gabriel would always be above him.

Well, screw
that
for a shitty idea.

Esther spat blood. Her broken jaw healed with a blue flash. Baleful glitter coiled in her copper-brown feathers. At last, defiance. It just made her look petulant. “Seraph—”

“Not a damn thing, that’s what.” Michael raked his hair, vicious. Soon, when this was over, he and Gabriel would have words. Yes indeedy, they would. “So don’t give me crap about questions. Just do as I say, when I say. And if I say ‘fuck Gabriel,’ you say, ‘how hard?’” Now there was an image he’d keep for later. “Understand?”

“Yes, Seraph.” Still on her knees, Esther kept her head down. Dirt and blood smeared her suit. Her fragile body trembled. It didn’t turn him on. It just made him wish he had Japheth back. Frost-fire defiance, challenging smile, spectacular ass. What a fucking waste.