by Sandra Hill
Slowly, and carefully, he moved, holding onto the rail. They were steep steps, and his legs were still weak and his soles not completely healed.
There were several people standing about, or sitting on stools at the long island. He had eyes only for the one whose cinnamon scent swirled about and hit him like a cloud of welcome. She wore a long dark blue gown, plain, with no adornment, belted at the waist, but loose, and her red hair hung down her back in a thick braid.
“Why are you dressed like a nun?” he said, coming up behind her.
She turned quickly and almost spilled the glass of juice she held in one hand. “You’re awake, finally,” she said, ignoring his remark about her attire. “Everyone’s been waiting for you. Michael will be here soon.”
Ah, so that was the reason for the modest attire. Trying to impress the big guy. Little did she know, but her restrained appearance could not compensate for her recent actions in rescuing him. She might as well be wearing Wonder Woman tights with a winged W on her impressive bosom. “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.” Or something like that.
“Stop looking at me there,” she sniped.
“Okay,” he said and continued looking.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Almost human,” he replied, and they both laughed at the irony of his remark. He would never be human again, and he wasn’t sure he would want to be.
She glanced at his groin area. “Are you ready for me to remove the stitches?”
He grimaced at the prospect. “Doctor Sig came in last night. He already did it. With a topical anesthetic.” Sigurd Sigurdsson was an accomplished physician who maintained a vangel headquarters on a Grand Key island, which also housed a pediatric hospital.
“Great!” Regina said, but appeared disgruntled. Had she wanted to take on the task herself? Probably. Not because she wanted to handle his goods, but she was a woman who wanted to be in control of everything. Fat chance in a castle full of men! Including a physician.
“By the by, did you have to use red thread?”
He could tell that his question caught her off guard. She even blushed. “It was all I could find.”
“Before Sig removed the stitches, every vangel in the house insisted on viewing the spectacle so they could mock me. Some said I looked like a candy cane.”
“I didn’t think about how your precious part would look. I was more concerned about saving your fool life.” She raised her chin defiantly.
He should have stopped provoking her, but he was on a roll. “With your cinnamon breath and cinnamon body odor, I have to wonder if you were putting your mark on me.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” she said and gave him a shove, which caused him to grab for a nearby stool and sit down. She sat down next to him.
He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed prodding Regina so. He just did.
A serving girl vangel came over and placed a mug of coffee and plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him. She gave Regina a cup of coffee, as well, and took away her half-empty juice glass.
Regina motioned toward a sugar bowl and creamer with a raised eyebrow, but he shook his head. He liked his coffee black. She did, too.
“Where is everyone?” he asked. Those in the kitchen were mostly lower-level vangels. None of the VIK or warrior vangels he’d come to know in the past. Nor their families.
“Everyone has eaten already, in shifts. There are so many here. The children and their mothers are in the family room watching cartoons or playing video games or reading with ear plugs in. Mostly the vangels are either in the weight rooms in the basement or outside in the fields practicing their fighting skills. Still others are dipping weapons in the symbolic blood of Christ. In truth, everyone here is doing some kind of work to help in this war effort.”
Except her, apparently. “Dare I ask about the Crazy Coven?”
“Locked in one of the dungeon cells. Thor is with them.”
“Who’s Thor?”
“My traitorous cat. He’s developed a love connection with Grimelda.”
“Oh boy!” he said. Then, “They have dungeons here?”
“Onetime dungeons. Never used for that purpose, I’m sure. But now they’ve been renovated into dorms and training rooms.”
“They must be climbing the walls, or planning some mischief.”
“The ‘cell’ they’re in has padded walls for Close Quarters Training.”
“Good. Just in case they revert to demonoid form and try to fight each other,” he guessed. It was a real possibility.
“My thoughts, exactly.”
“Are you sure they won’t teletransport out of here? They helped you bring me here. So, they haven’t lost that ability, like I have.”
She shook her head. “They’d never be able to break through the shielding around this place. The only reason we got in was Vikar ordered an opening so that Cnut and Trond could return.”
“You should still keep an eye on them,” Zeb advised. “They can create trouble inside the perimeter, too.”
“We will. Well, not me precisely. I’m on a kind of in-house parole until Michael makes a decision about my fate.”
Ah, so that’s the reason for her idleness.
“You, too, I suppose. On parole, I mean.”
At least!
“But anyhow, if they were let loose, I suspect Beau would shoot off to Cajun land the minute he got an opening, to enact some Cajun vengeance on that woman he blames for his becoming a Lucipire. And Grimelda is dying . . . ha, ha, ha . . . to test out one of Lizzie’s cauldrons, and as for Patience, she will be . . .”
“Off to model swimsuits,” Zeb finished for her, “or plant herself in the Playboy Mansion, but, no, that doesn’t exist anymore, does it?”
They smiled companionably, knowing they were responsible for the oddball witches. In a way. Until the Lucipires’ future was decided, too.
As Regina talked and sipped at her coffee, he began to realize that she was a very attractive woman, when she wasn’t being sarcastic or downright mean. Odd that he’d never noticed her on his earlier visits to the castle. Did she deliberately try to make herself invisible? Yes, he was sure that was her ploy. Except that her true nature came out in her witchy outbursts of biting observations and constant threats of curses on male parts. Trond had told him one time that Regina had at least fifty different, inventive curses for the male vangels who taunted her, including knotting one man’s penis into a pretzel and not the salty kind.
In any case, her skin had that creamy glow some redheads had, and as he’d observed before, only a few freckles, one of them on her right earlobe, which fascinated him. Another to the left of her mouth. Her fangs were hardly noticeable, except when she smiled, which was rare, and even then, they did not detract from her beauty. He especially liked her lips, which were full and bruised looking.
Enough! No more on Regina’s appearance! He was ravenous and soon consumed every bite on his plate, and was sipping at a second cup of coffee. Cnut’s wife, Andrea, came over and placed a warm, iced cinnamon bun in front of him. Maybe that’s what he’d smelled when he entered the kitchen, and not Regina’s spicy scent. “For good luck,” Andrea said. “We’re all rooting for you.”
They were?
Who did she mean by “all”?
It didn’t matter. He would find out soon enough. Besides, he reminded himself, he had hope.
And then he took his first bite of the sweet bun and almost swooned with pleasure. “Now, this is heaven.”
Regina laughed. “Close to.”
When he’d scarfed down the whole thing and was licking frosting off his fingers . . . to Regina’s fascination, he noted . . . he asked her, “And the brothers . . . the VIK . . . where are they?”
“In the war room . . . the dining room, actually.”
“Why aren’t you there . . . or somewhere working? Oh, I remember. You mentioned parole.” Something occurred to him then. “You’re being punished for your efforts to save me,” he concluded.<
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She shook her head. “No doubt there will be punishment, but not yet. Not until Michael arrives. In the meantime, I’ve been waiting for you. They’ll send word when I’m to bring you to the meeting.”
He listened to what she said, and what she didn’t say. “They’re still suspicious of me, aren’t they? That’s why they’re meeting now . . . to decide if they can trust me?”
“Something like that.”
He drank his coffee slowly, savoring the strong brew. Time enough for the serious business at hand. He could help in the upcoming fight with all his inside information, if they’d let him, but first he wanted to address an issue important to him.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
She didn’t ask for what. She knew. “You’re welcome, but, as you know, I did it for myself more than you.”
“Doesn’t matter to me. You got me out.” That must rankle some of the male vangels who hadn’t, or couldn’t, do what a mere female vangel had accomplished. Even if it had been against protocol, aka Michael’s wishes. “Kudos, babe.”
“Thanks, babe,” she said and shared a smile with him. She had a very nice smile when it wasn’t coated with biting cynicism. “You smell good,” she added.
“The rain crap again?”
“Oh, yeah! Summer rain on a fresh mowed lawn. Autumn rain on leaves. Slashing rain. Gentle rain. Fresh. Clean.”
“That’s me. Mr. Clean. I thought I smelled your cinnamon spiciness again, but then I realized it must be those sweet rolls Andrea baked. No lifemate nonsense from my end.”
“You don’t have to look so happy about it.”
“Regina, I have enough troubles as it is without a woman. And you don’t even like me.”
“I don’t dislike you as much as I did before, but, God forbid, I have no use for a man. It would cramp my witchy style.”
Zeb laughed. “Anyhow, I’m thinking about becoming a priest.”
She was the one to laugh now. “Get serious.”
“I am serious. Here’s my thinking. Michael is already on the fence about me becoming a vangel. Not just because I was a demon, but I’m not a Viking and so far, all the vangels have been of Norse descent. I’ve been practicing Viking, though. Truly, it would be points in my favor if I could show him that not only have I been a double agent for him, and not only did I give myself up for Cnut, and not only can I be devout and celibate, and—”
She put up a halting hand. “You’re overthinking this. Besides, Michael has probably already made up his mind.”
“Oh,” he said, his shoulders slumping.
“Besides, do Jews become priests? Shouldn’t it be a rabbi, or something?”
“I didn’t think of that. Are Vikings ever rabbis? Probably not.”
“I hesitate to ask, but how do you practice Viking?”
He straightened and grinned at her. “Well, before my recent incarceration, I tried braiding my hair and walking with my shoulders thrown back, like I owned the world.”
“That’s a start.”
“Arrogance comes easy, but I’m not too hot for boats. I get seasick.”
She shrugged. “Modern Norsemen rarely go a-Viking these days. No need to ever step foot on a longboat. Besides, plundering is against the law.”
“I developed a taste for wild boar, even though we Jews are supposed to avoid pork.”
“Too gamey, if you ask me.”
“I like mead, but it’s a bit sweet for my taste buds. There’s nothing like good old Bud Light.”
“I prefer Diet Pepsi myself.”
“I would even wear a horned helmet if that would convince Michael.”
“Vikings never wore horned helmets. They would have given their enemies a handhold during battle. No, that’s a myth that started with Wagner’s opera about Beowulf.”
“Thank God! A helmet would probably chafe my bald head. Oh, and I’ve been practicing dance steps to the Michael song.”
Regina smiled at that.
The vangels had a fondness for the movie Michael in which John Travolta played a rather unflattering, cigarette-smoking Michael the Archangel. In particular, they’d learned the dance Travolta did in that movie to the song with the lyrics “chains, chains, chains.” It was a sight to see when the seven brothers did their unchoreographed version.
“I’d like to see that.”
“I’m not ready for prime time,” he said. “Anyhow, that’s about it for practicing Viking, or vangel. I’m open to other suggestions.”
She rolled her eyes. “You got the ‘dumb as a Norseman’ down pat.”
“See.” He winked at her.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Wink.”
“Why?”
“You have such long eyelashes.”
“And . . . ?”
“Your wink gives me flutters.”
Zeb had no time to ponder that amazing revelation because the young vangel Armod came moonwalking into the kitchen, wearing a red jacket and short black pants that exposed his white socks. Zeb knew from previous visits that the boy fashioned himself Michael Jackson reincarnated. He must have healed from the Lucipire bite he’d gotten last year on a Montana ranch where ISIS terrorists and Lucipires were engaged in some devilment. The poison of a Lucipire bite was normally fatal, even for a vangel. “The boss wants you,” Armod said.
By “boss,” he assumed that Armod meant Vikar, and not the musician, which wouldn’t have been a stretch with the young music addict.
When Zeb entered the dining room, he saw that all of the brothers were there, even though Sigurd and Ivak and their families and vangels were staying on Grand Key Island. They must have left them behind to come here. In addition, there was Karl Mortenssen, two other higher level vangels, Svein and Jogeir, as well as Trond’s wife, Nicole; and Harek’s wife, Camille; who were female SEALs. The five or so others he did not know.
“Michael will be here this afternoon,” Vikar said.
And Zeb’s heart dropped. That would be a life-changing moment for him.
“But in the meantime,” Vikar continued, staring directly at Zeb, “we would like your input on some of our plans.” Vikar motioned Zeb to enter the room where maps and charts covered every surface of the long table and all the walls. Harek sat before a high-tech computer that looked as if it could do everything except fly a jet, or maybe even that.
“So, you have decided to trust me,” Zeb stated. It was not a question.
“Somewhat. We took a vote,” Vikar responded. In fact, a few of the vangels stared at Zeb with outright hostility, and he could guess how those vangels had voted. Clearly, it had not been a unanimous decision. Somehow aware of Zeb’s conclusion, Vikar added, “You had advocates speaking on your behalf.”
“I did?”
Vikar nodded. “Trond and Cnut. And Regina, earlier today.”
Zeb glanced to his side where Regina stood, apparently staying for the meeting. She ignored his gaze and stared straight ahead. So, I have one more thing to thank her for. Zeb did not like being beholden to a woman, to anyone, really. And he did not like the bond that seemed to be growing between them. Happily-ever-afters had died for him with his wife’s passing. And he hadn’t totally put aside the priest idea.
“Let’s start here,” Cnut said, motioning for Zeb to come to the middle of the table. “How does this look? It’s a map showing the various command centers for the Lucipires and their haakai leaders.”
Zeb took one look and shook his head. “Out of date.” He picked up a marker and showed them the changes. “Heinrich is in Siberia at Desolation, which had been Yakov’s headquarters. Hector is still in Rome under the Vatican at Terror. Yakov took over my old territory in the Greek volcanic caves called Gloom. Ganbold the Mongol took over Haroun’s old stomping grounds in the Arab lands. Red Tess the Pirate, a new addition, handles the northern United States, from Maine to Washington State, up to and including Canada. I have no idea if Jasper replaced me in the southern United S
tates yet. I was assigned last year to a territory running from Virginia to California and Nevada. I can’t imagine that he hasn’t. Or even added more commanders with all the extra demons you say have come in. Oh, I can’t forget. Jasper still maintains Horror, his castle in the north.”
Everyone in the room gathered around to view the changes. While they did, Zeb gave them background information on each of the Lucipire commanders, past and present.
“Was once a Silk Road merchant active in the slave trade . . .”
“She loved snakes, so much that . . .”
“A Russian cossack who still has a taste for horse blood . . .”
“Serving under Genghis Khan, he was partly responsible for a million deaths . . .”
“Liked to feed Christians to the lions . . .”
“Looks like an angel but made 300 or more victims walk the plank . . .”
“A Nazi general who has a close bond with Satan . . .”
“Jasper has to suspect that you’re with us and sharing information,” Sven said. “Wouldn’t he have changed all those dynamics by now? I mean, those headquarters may be empty and relocated.”
“Eventually, he would have, but not yet. You have to understand the order of Lucipires. Haakai, mungs, hordlings, and imps. The majority of Jasper’s forces are in those lower orders, the foot soldiers of Satan, and they love unruliness and disorder. They thrive in it. Nothing happens quickly with imps, and hordlings aren’t much better.”
“And you were a haakai?” Vikar asked.
Zeb liked that Vikar had used the verb “were.” He answered truthfully. “For my sins, I was. For almost two thousand years. Almost as long as Jasper himself.”
The fact that he was older in demon/vangel years than any of them did not go unnoticed. Regina was practically gaping at him. Hadn’t she known that about him? Obviously, not.
“Well, let us hope your experience can help us,” Trond said. He was the brother who’d had the most association with Zeb. Almost a friend, you might say.
Zeb nodded his thanks at Trond.
Then, while everyone sat down in chairs on both sides of the huge table, Harek stood and updated them on all the happenings around the world the past few days that were believed related to the Lucipires.