Connor's mother's cancer has returned. Jake Baxter has disappeared under possibly suspicious circumstances, and Anna Norris committed suicide. Tears blur my eyes, so I can't read to see what's become of Bailey Rutledge.
I’m a fool. A terribly pathetic fool to think I can do anything against Lucifer. To him, I’m merely a bug he’s waiting to stomp underfoot.
Chapter 26
Ignoring Lily and her curses, I fall to my knees, hugging my hellhounds to me tight, and then I teleport us away. Lily can deal with the guy, making him forget or sucking his soul or killing him outright, whatever she has planned for him.
My hellhounds try to cheer me up, but I can’t be appeased with chocolate or other baked goods from the bakery they lead me to, not bothering to buy myself anything. My stomach twists into knots just looking at the display in the window. Undeterred and still trying to make me happy, the hellhounds shove me along until we reach a bar.
Legally, I can't have a drink yet, but that doesn't stop me from heading inside. The list of drinks available, though, is overwhelming.
A man walks up to me and hands me a drink. “You look like you need a little pick me up,” he says with a leering grin.
I sniff the drink and then hand it back to him. “I’ll take a sip after you do.”
He holds up his drink. “I already have one.”
“Yeah, I’m not drinking that unless you do.”
The man laughs a bit uneasily. "Why are you acting like this?"
“Did you poison it?” I ask, my voice growing louder, loud enough that others are looking over at us.
“Poison? No! What are you talking about?”
“Then why won’t you drink it?” I ask suspiciously.
The guy working behind the counter waves for the man and me to approach, but the man dumps the drink onto the floor, slams his drink down onto the nearest table, and stalks out of there.
A few people clap, but the others just turn back to their parties, ignoring me, but I still head over to the bar.
“Can I get you something on the house?” he murmurs. “I’m sorry about that, but it was smart of you to ask him to drink it first.”
I blow out a breath. “I’ll have… I’ll just have iced water.”
“Whatever you want.”
He gets me a tall glass, and I drink. It actually hurts my teeth because it’s that cold, but it does go down pretty smoothly. It actually makes me have goose bumps for a few seconds, which I’ve hardly ever experienced before. Maybe I had at that place with all of the snow and ice. Otherwise, nope. Sweat, not goose bumps.
Once I finish the water, I nod to the guy working the bar, and I head outside.
My hellhounds immediately rush up to me, but I’m not in a much better mood, not at all.
Honestly, all of this seems so utterly pointless. Lucifer is just destroying everything I’m trying to build up, and…
This all started because of Bethlehem, because of Clarissa.
How is the detective anyhow? Lucifer better not have gotten his claws into her at all…
I call Clarissa.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks as she answers.
“What? It’s not nighttime.”
“No, but it’s dinnertime.”
“Oh.”
“We literally just sat down to eat.”
“Tell your husband… What’s his name?”
“You don’t need to know his name, and you don’t need to tell him anything.”
“You’re pissed at me. I get it.”
“I never wanted Anna to—”
"I didn't either. Whether or not you believe me, that wasn't me. Or maybe it was. She was… I don't want to speak ill of the dead. I tried to get her to walk toward the light, but not that light!"
There’s a long, awkward pause.
“Do you think we could meet up soon?” I ask. “I… I don’t know. I just feel like Lucifer is tampering with everything, and I want to see with my own eyes that you’re all right.”
Because talking to me on the phone isn’t enough.”
“No, honestly, it’s not,” I say bluntly. “I don’t know for certain that I’m talking to you or someone who can do an amazing impersonation of you.”
“Demons aren’t a trusting sort, are they?”
“No. Especially when your father is…”
“I get it. Fine. In an hour, we’ll meet at… La Dolce Vita. It’s an Italian bakery.”
“Not in Bethlehem.”
“No. In Allentown.”
“Okay. I’ll be there. Um… if I wanted to show up early, what should I order?”
“You can’t go wrong with anything, but you could try the rum babba. Or the cassatelle. Or the French cannoli.”
“See you then.”
She just hangs up, and I exhale through my nose. Between the fight with Lily and learning that Lucifer’s sabotaged everything, I’m nervous for Clarissa, so nervous that I almost call her right back up to cancel. I don’t know if she should leave the safety of Bethlehem.
But I don’t want to ruin her dinner any more than I already did, and she’s not worried, and I might not have talked to her anyhow, so my worry might be misguided. But would that mean Clarissa is already in harm’s way? Or just that she changed her phone number and someone else confiscated her old phone?
I don’t know, but my hellhounds and Clarissa both want me to eat junk food, so I head to the bakery, and man, is it impossible to pick something out! The man working there informs me they’re closing soon, so I just pick out a few things by pointing at them, unsure of their names, and I head back outside, waiting and watching the road for Clarissa to arrive.
She pulls up a few minutes later, and right when she’s parked, there’s a terrible crunching sound, a loud bang that echoes in my mind.
Another car had gunned for hers, and that car is backing away and fleeing the scene of the crime, and my heart sinks.
And I hate myself.
This is all my fault.
In my desire to reach Clarissa immediately, I teleport over to her. Before I even open the car door, I can smell blood. She’s slumped over, her left temple covered in blood. She’s out cold, and I just stand there, uncertain what to do.
Heal. She needs to be healed.
I can’t do that. I can’t heal or do anything angelic.
The man who served me rushes out of the shop and says something, maybe about calling an ambulance, but I’m terrified. That driver had been human, yes? Possessed by my father? A vampire or werewolf or demon or any paranormal creature wouldn’t have used such a mundane and possibly non-fatal way of going after her.
Unless this is only a warning.
But all of the blood… There’s glass everywhere, and I just know this is a lot worse than it appears.
A car races up, tires squealing, and I can’t help it. My hands hold tiny orbs of magical energy. I will blast anyone who comes near her.
But the man who rushes over has me stumbling to get out of his way. He’s an angel. He can help her.
I collapse into a heap on the sidewalk. “Please,” I murmur. “Please help her.”
Another man hurries over. He has short, curly blond hair and blue eyes, and for some reason, he makes me think of a cherub even though he’s not a baby at all, and he’s not fat either. Solid. Muscle.
Another angel, only I’ve never seen an angel with fire in his eyes before, and he looks furious enough that he could deck me.
“This is all your fault,” he snaps.
I jerk to my feet. “I didn’t drive the car that hit hers!”
“Christopher,” the first man says. He’s so calm, too calm.
“Do you need help?” I ask, trying to rush over, but Christopher shifts to block me.
“You aren’t a help to anyone.”
I narrow my eyes. “And you know me so well because what? I’m not an angel. Yes, that means I must be terrible, right?”
“We need to get her out of the car,” the first
angel says.
“So angelic of you to hate me,” I shout at Christopher as he stomps around me to reach the first angel.
“You two fighting isn’t helping any,” the first remarks idly. “Be careful with her head.”
“I can help,” I offer again.
“You’ve done enough, don’t you think?” Christopher snaps.
I scowl. “No wonder demons and angels hate each other. You’re so prejudiced against me that you can’t even look at me long enough to realize I’m not just a demon!”
“Everything you touch becomes corrupt, damaged,” Christopher says. “A smidge doesn’t mean anything. You aren’t a valkyrie.”
I flare my nostrils and do my best to ignore the infuriating angel in favor of the other one. “Will she be all right?”
The first angel glances up at me once they’ve laid Clarissa on the sidewalk. “Why don’t you reroute the ambulance away from us? And have that man from the store not worry about this? Maybe suggest he close up shop.”
Dully, I nod, and I talk to the man in the bakery first and then call up dispatch until I’m able to be patched through directly to the ambulance driver, and I get him to think there’s no reason to come to this location.
Which I’m almost ready to pray isn’t a lie.
Who am I? How can it be that I might be willing to turn to someone I've never met, someone I've never felt before, someone who can't possibly be willing to help me but might be willing to help Clarissa?
“Is she… I don’t think… The driver was human, I think…” I’m wringing my hands. Where are the hellhounds? I’m not even sure, but they have to be okay. They’re okay, right? Lucifer wouldn’t dare go after them, would he?
Of course he would. He’s killed his own sons and daughters. Why wouldn’t he slay a few hellhounds to try to teach a rebellious daughter to get in line or else?
Lucifer doesn’t feel any love, and he said he wants to be proud of me, which means he isn’t yet.
And he won’t ever be. I’ll never align myself with him. Lucifer and I… we’re enemies through and through, until the bitter end.
I lift my chin and catch Christopher’s gaze. Hate shines in his eyes, and honestly, I hate him too. Hate at first sight. Angels and demons never get along, and if he thinks the blame can be pinned on me, he better think again because he’s wrong.
But he would also not be wrong.
Chapter 27
“She’s not going to die, right?” I can’t help asking.
Christopher huffs and straightens from being crouched over Clarissa. He grabs my elbow, his fingers almost like claws digging into me as he forces me to step away from her.
“You’ve done so many terrible things,” he hisses. “That serial killer?”
“That wasn’t me,” I say, my throat dry.
“The rise of burglaries, of arsons, of vandalism—”
“Okay, a few pictures here and there is hardly equivalent to—”
“You honestly think it’s all right to damage or disrespect someone else’s property?” he demands.
“No, I didn’t mean to suggest that. It’s only—”
“There’s no only about it. Wrong is wrong, and right is—”
“There’s nothing that you think is morally gray, huh? What if a man doesn’t have health insurance, and his daughter has cancer, and he can’t afford the operation or the medicine or whatever it is that she needs. Is it wrong for him to rob a bank?”
“Yes, it’s wrong.”
“Even if he robs it in such a way that no one gets hurt?”
The other angel glances over. “Wasn’t there a book or a movie with that premise?”
“Probably.”
“Marlon, you aren’t helping any,” Christopher huffs.
“I like you better, Marlon,” I call.
“Stop changing the subject!” Christopher glares at me, his blue eyes flashing.
“You really should see someone. Anger management classes—”
“You can’t tell me that you had nothing to do with the Lakewood Hospital fiasco.”
“I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” I say honestly.
“A man forced a doctor at gunpoint to operate on his wife.”
I gape at him and then gesture toward Marlon. “He knew I was playing off a movie! I had no idea… When did this fiasco happen?”
“How long has your family been causing havoc here on Earth?”
“Do you honestly think my family would be involved in some kind of health issue like that?” I contend.
“Considering that man lost his job because of being too proud but also too lazy… Pride… sloth… that does sound like your family, doesn’t it?”
“Not everyone who is proud or who is lazy is that way because of my family!” I protest. “Clarissa and I… We had an understanding…”
“What I understand,” Christopher says evenly, “is that you called Clarissa away from dinner with us and now look at her.”
I yank my arm away from Christopher and teleport over to Marlon’s side. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing,” Marlon says, leaning back.
“Nothing?”
Clarissa blinks a few times and sits up. The blood is gone. Her face isn't pale or anything. She's glowing in a way that makes her look far more angelic than I've ever seen her before.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I’m sorry,” I burst out. “It’s… It’s my fault. Indirectly,” I hasten to add. “I shouldn’t have asked… I just wanted to see…”
Clarissa rubs her forehead. “I still don’t know what happened.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Marlon asks.
Clarissa glances back and forth between the angel and me. "Marlon, do you know Lydia?"
“Somewhat,” Marlon says wryly.
“Lydia.” I make a point of ignoring Christopher. Clearly, they know about me enough to know my family, so I continue, “Daughter of Lucifer with a valkyrie for an ancestor somewhere up there in the family tree.”
Why did I bother to include that tidbit?
“Marlon Price,” Marlon says. He jerks a thumb toward Christopher. “Christopher Barrett.”
Clarissa rubs the temple that hadn't hit her window. "I came here to see Lydia."
“Yes,” I say. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t just come to the border, or I should’ve just trusted that I spoke with you. I… L…My father’s been undoing everything I’ve done, and I thought… I was worried about you… I wanted to make sure he hadn’t found a way to get his claws into you. You should head back to Bethlehem. Now.”
“I agree,” Christopher says firmly.
“Did your tongue swell when you said that?” I ask.
Christopher ignores me, which is probably for the best.
Clarissa stands. She doesn’t seem to have any lingering effects from the hit, thankfully, moving easily and without any wincing or overt signs of pain. “Did you hit me?” she asks me.
“No, but if you stayed within Bethlehem—”
“It was my choice to leave.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t have left if not for me.”
“Actually, I lost a bet to Diego, so I was going to come out here anyhow to get him some pastries, so… With or without you, I would’ve been coming here tonight.”
“Do you come here often?” I ask.
“Not super often, no. Not with any regularity.”
I grimace. So much for that idea.
Christopher crosses over to her car. He holds out his hand. I have no idea what the angel’s up to, but I’m not going to concern myself with the likes of him, the bigot.
“You’re okay,” Marlon whispers to Clarissa, reaching toward her but not quite touching her arm.
There’s something there between them, something tender and sweet. Loving maybe. I don’t understand it. She’s with that Diego guy.
Clarissa pats Marlon’s arm and comes over to me. “I’m fine,” she
murmurs.
“Fine’s a code word for I’m lying,” I inform her.
Her lips curl into a wry smile. “We can talk later if you want. We shouldn’t have been surprised by any of this.”
“My father is going to pay—”
“We don’t know for certain he was behind this.”
“Who are you that you have two angels zoom to your rescue when a human—a potentially possessed one—hits you with his car?” I ask, wonder coloring my tone. “The hit shouldn’t have hurt you that badly. I mean, you aren’t a human…”
“I have some amazing friends,” Clarissa murmurs.
“But you shouldn’t have been hurt that badly…”
“I’m more than fine,” Clarissa says. “Tomorrow, okay?”
Christopher steps away from Clarissa’s car, and I’m amazed to see that the window has been repaired, and any blood from the shards that have been put back together again is gone too. How in the world had he managed to do that?
Clarissa murmurs something to him, and she climbs in. With a wave, she drives off.
“She didn’t get her baked goods for Diego,” I comment to myself out loud.
Christopher rolls his eyes, huffs, and stomps over to their car.
Marlon nods to the angel, and Christopher takes off.
I eye the older angel. He appears to be about the same age as Clarissa.
“You’re more level-headed than the other one,” I remark.
“He’s younger. He doesn’t see the world as anything but…”
"He sees it like my father does—all darkness or all light. No in-between."
"I've been around enough to know that there are layers to everything. Nothing is clear-cut. Nothing at all. Things are messy and complicated and trying."
“How do you know Clarissa?”
“We work together.”
“You’re a cop?”
“We’re detectives, and we work on crimes specifically committed by supernatural beings.”
“Oh, wow,” I murmur.
“Not that many people outside of the department knows that bit,” he says.
“And you and her…”
“I’m her angelic guardian angel.”
I furrow my brow. “Why are you phrasing it that way?”
Daughter of Flames: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (A Girl and Her Hellhounds Book 1) Page 17