Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  Slap — Rahab cracked his hand down onto the top of the statue.

  Rebel caught my eye; his gaze was soft and concerned.

  “Harahel will be tossed in the oubliette to be forgotten.” Rahab’s violet eyes were considering. “You cannot be a shadow to my boys. You must be their light.”

  A tiny cell in the dark. How could I let that happen to Harahel again…?

  “An oubliette?” I forced myself to smirk like it wasn’t tearing me up inside. “What’s with the Labyrinth vibe, Bowie reject?”

  When Rebel groaned, hugging his arms around himself, I knew that I’d made a bastard mistake. And this was why I needed J’s diplomacy…

  Rahab’s grin was all teeth. “Then since you still have punishments owing, little apprentice…” Now it was my turn to groan. Why did he have to remember that? “…I’ll just have to work at making them more personal.”

  “Don’t strain anything,” I muttered.

  Then I shrieked, as a golden tentacle whipped out, wrapping around my ankle and yanking. I slid out from underneath my sheet, worm wriggling, as I was tugged backwards, reeled in. I cringed, my pulse thud — thud — thudding, whilst I booted at the solid gold, but then wailed at the jolt through my naked heel.

  I stared up at the — alive — statue that peered down at me in turn.

  Rebel’s eyes widened. “Sweet Christ, sir, whip my arse but don’t—”

  “Generous of you to offer yourself for chastisement.” Rahab kissed Rebel’s hair lightly, before nodding at the sculpture.

  Clank — Gold Beard shrugged the globe off his shoulders, straightening with a sigh.

  He seized me by the hair, hauling me to dangle on tiptoe: lucky me to have come into conflict with the top boy of the statue world.

  Rahab leaned over me; his sandalwood scent, like fragrant trees, wound around me as closely as the gold tentacles. “This is Atlas.”

  “Cheers for the blind date,” I panted, “but I don’t think that it’ll work out. He’s loaded and hot, but call me picky, the tentacles are a turn off.”

  “Atlas was condemned for eternity to hold up the skies as punishment because he and his brother sided with the Titans against the Olympians,” Rahab continued, as if I hadn’t replied. “Sometimes, I imagine that I’m the only one holding up the skies.” Rahab chuckled, low and musical. “Nothing but the Legion to stop worlds falling. Yet now that we have your brother and you…?” Atlas shook me by my hair, wrenching strands out by the roots; I squealed. “If you choose the right side, then we can all fly. But if I don’t teach you like a good father, and instead you choose wrongly….? Well…” Rahab balanced on the fallen sphere; his majestic wings swept out, as if he was a rare beast performing a circus trick. “I’m certain that I can be more imaginative than Zeus in my punishments.”

  “Then get with the punishing,” I growled.

  Mischief cast a careful glance at Rebel. “May I request—”

  “Nothing, Underserving, unless you’re spoken to.” Rahab’s glare swung to me. “I shall decree tomorrow the Day of Initiation. You shall pass or fail in a single day. I’ll tell the Legion of your kidnapping, but there’ll be no more refusals or that lie shall die, along with your Harahel.”

  “Bastard fine,” I gritted out.

  “When the morning breaks and the bell tolls—”

  “All bad little boys will be turned into trolls…?”

  I didn’t expect Rahab’s gentle smile, as he stooped to kiss Rebel’s forehead. Sweat prickled across my shoulder blades; my healing wings flapped feebly. “Two good little boys — one brother and one lover — will suffer for the Queen Apprentice.”

  I stared at him in shock.

  This was my punishment. How the hell had Rahab worked out that hurting my family punished me far more than hurting me ever could?

  Rahab had once said that he could see me. It looked like he’d been right.

  “I’ve got the memo,” I swallowed. “They’re my whipping boys. I promise, you want me tamed, this is me, sitting up and begging.”

  Atlas cocked his head at Rahab.

  Rahab tucked a stray ruffled feather down on my wing. “You’re not tame. Can you feel the weight of the skies yet?” Then he leaned close to my ear as he murmured, “Are my punishments personal enough now?” I hissed, twisting away from him. “See? Not tame.”

  At another flick of Rahab’s wrist, Atlas dropped me in a yowling heap.

  The weight of the skies was on my shoulders because by dawn I’d have to take on the terrors of the Day of Initiation, when I was barely recovered from broken wings and a drowning. If I didn’t win, I’d be made Drake’s slave and I’d have no chance to take on Rahab and destroy his cult. If I refused, he’d kill Harahel.

  Plus, because of the escape attempt, both my brother and one of my family would be punished. Yeah, Rahab had made it bastard personal: by going after my fam, this had become a battle between titans and gods.

  9

  Once, as a kid growing up on the Utopia Estate, I’d been suspended from school for fighting. At least, that was the time they’d caught me with the shank in my hand.

  It hadn’t mattered to them that I’d been the only bitch brave enough (teachers included), to stand between a bleeding kid barely tall enough to peer over my shoulder and the gang of top boys from the Estate. I wouldn’t have cared but the top boys had machetes and the kid was armed with nothing sharper than braces.

  The newbie hadn’t known the code: how to avoid a knifing. I’d protected him and been punished for it because life…? It boots you where it hurts and it isn’t bastard fair. But does that mean you should stop acting the Protector?

  Blazing, clamoring rock music blasted through the cave: Mischief’s secret grotto.

  The Ghost Caves beneath Castle Drake.

  I threw back my head, losing myself in Lower than Atlantis’ thick bass lines and snarling guitar riffs. Tiny luminescent glow-worms swarmed the walls, lighting us spectral. Mists lifted from the sea, which was feathered with the birth pangs of dawn, shrouding my face. The crash of the waves against the rocks, which blocked the entrance, broke hypnotically against “Here We Go’s” mythic soulfulness that sang from Mischief’s iPod speakers.

  Squelch — I slipped in a seaweed pool, wrinkling my nose at the stink.

  White ghost crabs scuttled from their disturbed home; their stalk eyes wagged at me in accusation.

  I shook out my boot, spraying water across the wall: at least I wasn’t naked anymore, even if I was dressed in my Legion uniform again.

  Mischief reached out to steady me, before snatching my shoulder and spinning me. Ceri laughed. He sprawled on a boulder like a merman who’d shed his legs, wiggling his toes in the water.

  I grinned: rocking out to this beast of a song on a hidden island in the middle of the ocean…hell, yeah. As I dragged Mischief closer to dance, rubbing my thigh against his, for the first time I felt free.

  Or could imagine that we were.

  I closed my eyes, resting my head on Mischief’s shoulder.

  Half an hour until dawn and your wizarding showdown…

  Cheers for the reminder. There I was finally coming down from the pissing myself terror of the Statue of Horror Ride.

  You’re always welcome, Feathers-pie. Why do you think you’re safe just because you’re outside the castle?

  You’re a fish, flipping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  These are no trout lips, bitch.

  Then you’re the fire, girl, and that’s your choice.

  I startled, as Mischief roared — regal as the King of the Fae — twirling me around to the thunder of electric guitars.

  Addictive, buzzing, swaggering: I shivered, whilst the music soaked down to my bones, beneath the magic curling around my neck and the shadows clinging under my skin.

  My soul screamed.

  I snapped open my eyes, staring into Mischief’s desperate gaze; he clung to me like he’d already lost me.

  A
s the song died, I pulled back, until only the tips of our fingers touched; I could still feel Mischief’s silver magic sparking against my violet.

  Suddenly, I remembered the pool beneath the Invisible Bridge with its eerie emerald glow and Rahab’s calm: This is where my mother tried to drown me…

  Hell, Rahab had been abandoned in a cave like this…alone.

  How powerful must he be to have survived?

  “The Mage is batshit,” I said, flatly.

  Mischief snorted. “Certainly not the opener that I was hoping for. With your colossal wit, you’re only arriving at this understanding now…?”

  “He was a kid trapped in these caves.” I stared into the foggy ocean spray, rubbing my boot across the seaweed encrusted rock. “So, he dreams up illusions to be his mates. This whole world with codes, rewards, and punishments, where the sky won’t fall in. All because he needs to be in control…safe.” And hell did I get that. “Does he even know what — who — is real?”

  “No such thing as real in Castle Drake.” Ceri stretched on his back, running his hand down his chest as if by habit. “You’re all just figments in my dreams, isn’t it, and naughty ones at that. You should see what you’re doing right now…”

  I arched my brow. “Dream Me had better not be starring in a porn show or—”

  “Hmmm,” Ceri purred, running his thumb down his prick with a smug grin, “Dream You is adventurous…”

  Ceri gave a delighted yell of laugher, as I dived for him, splashing into the pool. When I hauled him out like a damp lion cub, his arms wound around me. He nipped kisses down my neck; I breathed in his spicy ginger scent.

  “Children,” Mischief huffed, “I rather think that we’ve passed the point of playing.”

  “There’s always time to play.” Ceri licked up my neck, and I shuddered. “And I’m no kid. I haven’t been since…” When Ceri’s expression darkened, I knew what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

  Since they’d chopped off his wings.

  “I’ll find a way to pay Rahab back for what he’s stolen,” I whispered, nuzzling Ceri’s bronzed cheek in comfort. “I’ll steal what’s his. Then my blood—”

  “Don’t get started on the power of your blood, or I fear we’ll be here all day.” Mischief feigned a yawn, and I bristled. “Not one of us is flying out of here with the wards guarding us, so although your blood grew wings on the Broken of Angel World, if you attempt it here, you’ll just ensure that their guillotine works overtime.”

  I blanched.

  Whish — thud.

  The crimson pool, child-sized guillotine, and the wing lying in the basket…

  I doubled over, dizzy at the horror of the memory. Ceri lowered me to the floor with his arms around my middle. Mischief petted my head.

  “The Discipliners are pricks,” I rasped out.

  “Seconded.” Ceri wound his fingers in my scarf like a comfort blanket. “Want to know the twenty-two things Dream You can do with warmed chocolate sauce and an ice cube…?”

  I wetted my lips…interesting…then glanced up at Mischief.

  Mischief’s haughty expression had softened. “The Discipliners are almost as large pricks as Mage Drake himself.”

  I patted at my temples like my mind had short-circuited: my magic slept damp and cloying around my throat. It didn’t even stir. I waggled my fingers at my neck. “How come there’s no hot magic shanking me for disrespecting Rahab and breaking the Code?”

  Ceri smirked. “Because out here there’s no…” He waggled his hand in the universal sign for wanker.

  I sniggered because how often did you see an angel slave do that?

  “What my wildly rude friend means,” Mischief rolled his eyes, “is that these Ghost Caves were here before Rahab: raw, natural, and unmolded by his will. Just like us. Maybe you should cling to that truth and not forget it. Although, it is amusing to see you flounder between the pretty magic and your prettier lovers.”

  I struggled to hold back the ancient powers that burst fire sizzling to my fingertips. Why did Mischief always know what buttons to push? “Are you looking for a slap?”

  Mischief tilted his head. “And there she goes: threats. You may have noticed but Rahab is much better than you at Godfather intimidation. So was Lucifer. What do I have to truly fear from you…? Oh, I remember now, being rescued against my will.”

  I gaped at him. “You’re still having a hissy fit that I saved you?”

  “You can’t save everyone,” Mischief howled, clouting the wall. His knuckles shattered in a spray of scarlet, but he didn’t notice, panting. “Am I to be indebted that you’ve brought down Rahab’s notice on you? Harahel? Rebel…even Drake?”

  He bit his lip to hide its tremor.

  Guilt.

  It was so hard to remember now he was reduced to Undeserving that he’d been the leader of our rebellion in the Under World and how he tried to save us, as much as I tried to protect him.

  I’d allowed Mischief to think his freedom had led to his mates’ suffering…and mine. I knew it hurt far more to see others’ pain than to suffer your own.

  Yeah, I bastard hated the undercover gig.

  Ceri stroked his hand across my lower back. When I glanced over my shoulder, his gaze was as anguished as mine. “Look you, we have to tell him.”

  “I assure you, I already know.” Mischief clenched his jaw, although his shoulders hunched. “I’m the only one who won’t take the knee before Your Highness. Not a single Legionnaire will raise an eyebrow when you return me to my punishment in the Lower Vault, and Rahab’s smug head will quite explode.” His eyes gleamed, but he fought not to let the tears fall. “You shall be rid of my sarcasm and the punishments. The world will rejoice.”

  “We’re not the world, cariad.” Ceri slunk to his feet, winding around Mischief, who linked their hands. I didn’t miss either the way Ceri stroked his thumb over the back of Mischief’s hand or the cariad: darling. “And you and your sarcasm are needed here. Who else can I grope, or get to spank me?” I coughed at the sudden image: hell, that wasn’t going away anytime soon. Ceri winked at me. “That’s free for your wank bank.”

  “Placing spanking in a galaxy far, far away, maybe you’re not the King of All-knowing.” I met Mischief’s confused gaze. “I’d never put you back with the snakes and I care about you kneeling to the power of nothing. The only time that I’ll be rejoicing is when the Brotherhood no longer rules as the power behind Angel World. But Ceri’s right: I should’ve already told you…”

  Stranded on the boulder by myself, I stared up at Mischief and Ceri, who curled around each other like they fitted: how many centuries had they been mates? Cariads? Escaping together to the Ghost Caves to comfort each other and plot?

  I’d wandered into this magical world, where I understood so little. Why did it burn that I was still the outsider, when I craved to be loved by both these gorgeous angels?

  “Are you awaiting a drum roll or a bolt of lightning perhaps?” Mischief inquired.

  “I’d prefer a swarm of fairies kicking your unicorn arse but failing that…” I took a deep breath, then rushed out, “I yanked you out of the Lower Vault not simply to save you…” Mischief’s hand curled tighter around Ceri’s. “…Or to piss off the Mage, but because I needed to set things on fast forward once I’d seen the Broken Nursery…”

  Ceri had taken me past the kitchen, sneaking down spiral staircases and into the bowels of the castle. There at the end of a dusty corridor had been a locked room.

  Ceri had told me that he was the castle Carer. I’d wondered what he cared about beyond sex and snuggling. Yet the way his usually cheery face had become haunted with a despair and melancholy that’d chilled me, had been all the persuasion that I’d needed to follow him.

  Even isolated from my blokes and reduced to an apprentice, I was a Protector still.

  Ceri had hesitated outside the rusted door. “I’ve spent my life charming the mages to keep them out of here but now I’ve charmed you
to let you in, seeing as you’re different.” He’d chewed his lip. “I hope that I’m opening the Nursery to the rebel and not the beast?”

  Then he’d unlocked the door.

  “…All those cots in the dark,” I whispered, clasping my hands around my knees hard enough to bruise. “Tiny faces peering up and so bastard scared. The ones who could toddle all thronged around Ceri to be picked up, as if he was their dad…” I licked my dry lips, forcing out the words, which I’d barely been able to think ever since that morning seven scratches on a post ago. “I’d never thought about where the Broken kids were kept before they were five and taken for the Ritual of the Wings or trained after to be chosen by Glories on Angel World: the ones we missed who didn’t get my super juiced blood to become Blood Angels. The ones who I left behind as slaves. And they’re here in the castle still with the Discipliners and only Ceri to look out for them.”

  “And me,” Mischief muttered.

  “When she crouched down, Fynchan crawled into her lap.” Ceri grinned. “My queen has a new suitor now: one who’s a mess of black hair and a thousand whys?”

  Mischief’s mouth was tight. “And what did the queen do? Spank the child for its insolence?”

  That bastard hurt.

  I curled more tightly around my knees.

  Ceri squeezed Mischief’s hand reprovingly. “She made fire unicorns gallop around the nursery, until the kids all giggled and called for their Uncle Mischief.”

  Mischief flushed, shifting from one foot to the other. “I apologize. But you don’t understand…”

  “That in a week Fynchan turns five and loses his wings?” I tilted my chin in defiance, even as my stomach turned to say the words. Fynchan’s soft wings have been so fragile rubbing against my arms: how could the Discipliners steal them? Yet they’d taken Ceri’s at the same age and my Broken slave, Gwyn’s, on Angel World. “I have to step-up now, I get that.”

  Mischief nodded. “So, you rescued me out of love, simply for someone else?”

  My chest ached; I blushed.

  But what could I bastard say? I didn’t want Mischief to think that I didn’t love him, but it was the truth: I’d saved him in order to save the Broken kids.