Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  “Break out the bitch, destroyer or… Bring your beastly self back to me,” the Undeserving begged.

  I hesitated.

  Monster…?

  Wait, what in the Nine Realms of Zombie Angels was bastard going on…? I shook my head like that would clear my mind faster. Why was I about to raise my very own mind-wiped angel, whilst…Mischief, hell that was his name…ganked me with his death glare?

  Rahab’s grip on my back became firmer. “Call him.”

  I hesitated.

  “Nat,” Rahab’s reminder was a telepathic kick up the arse.

  I flinched; the fire inside sought to burn higher again, even as I fought against it.

  I trembled: Mischief, Mischief, Mischief…

  “Nat,” Rahab repeated, out loud this time; his jaw clenched. Then he coaxed, “Don’t you wish to become a mage and see your brother? Save him? Just say the name once.”

  I blinked, yet the world bled to scarlet. My blood bubbled, even as the blood fizzed on the ring, snaking in shadowy coils back into my palm through the gash.

  My knees buckled, whilst my shoulders shook at the Phoenix blood surging through my body and bonding with mine.

  It was too late: Rahab had created a hidden world where everything rested on purity of powers and blood. An angel had already been called back to life. If I didn’t call for him — claim him — now, I’d leave him in limbo.

  I knew myself that the only thing worse than bad parents, was to be abandoned and unwanted. I’d never allow my Phoenix to start that way.

  “Nat,” I whispered.

  “You truly are a monster,” Mischief growled.

  I jumped at the sudden burning flash and shock like the strike of lightning to the side of the hall. When the stink of ash and burning bonfires assaulted my nostrils, I lurched.

  I imagined Lucifer dead. Resurrected. My own slave.

  Please, hell, not my own dad…

  But why then had I been calling for Nat…?

  Whimpering.

  I startled, crouching down to stare at the naked angel, who was huddled in a terrified ball underneath the plinth. His golden wings were wrapped around himself, and he peeked from beneath his feathers at me with leonine eyes, which were framed by long black lashes.

  My Phoenix.

  The blood still surging through me screamed that I’d birthed this angel, and I tremored with the desire to protect him, even though I’d betrayed him already.

  Gift…? Yeah, but only if a child was a gift because he was part of me. I dropped to my knees, reaching out my hand.

  I’d expected him to flinch, but instead he edged towards me, allowing his wings to fall away from his face: he was a teenager with sharp cheekbones and short silver hair.

  I remembered then: Rebel, Ash, Drake, Mischief…all of it.

  Also, how I’d freed Barakiel, who’d lightning fried Mischief’s younger brother: the brat member of the Legion who’d tormented Drake and ambushed me: Nathanael.

  The slave angel whose memories had now been wiped, and I’d resurrected. Who was staring at me with awe like I was a bastard god. “Mother?”

  My breath hitched. “Call me Feathers, yeah?” Mistress might’ve been cruel, but why had I given the Phoenix my nickname? I’d hated the assassin mage back on Angel World, yet now Nathanael had no memories and gazed at me with such innocence that I didn’t know how I felt apart from it was big on the conflicted. “We’re fam, and you’re safe now.”

  “Brother…?” Mischief keened.

  How had I forgotten Mischief? Or that he didn’t know his brother was even dead?

  When I glanced at Rahab, his slow smile was predatory. He hadn’t bastard forgotten; there’d been a reason that this was a coronation ceremony for only us four. “I imagine like all boys, Zophia, you think that your perversions are hidden. I have academies throughout the human world; my apprentices wank to fantasies of witches sweaty in their desires, as if they’re secret. So, play as much as you will with your unnatural magic, but when you infect the Legion’s queen with it…?” He trailed his hand along my shoulder, and my skin rose in goose bumps. “Let me offer in return a reminder of how I saved you, Och, and your little brother: Phoenix 28.”

  Mischief roughly wiped away the tears tumbling down his cheeks. Then in a sizzling spray of sparkles, he transformed into a tiny silver unicorn. Tears still wept from Mischief’s eyes, wetting his fluffy face, as his pink muzzle mewled. Then he trotted across the hall, dwarfed by its gloom, towards Phoenix 28.

  Because Phoenixes weren’t allowed a name, only a number.

  Against my side, 28 stiffened, before curling his much smaller hand into mine like the unicorn was the threat. I didn’t pull away.

  Mischief nuzzled against his brother, however, resting his warm head on his lap, and I was flooded with an unexpected image of them both when they were younger: Nathanael had suffered a nightmare, and this had been how Mischief had comforted him. Mischief would’ve been a live soft toy to make up for the Victorian workhouse bleakness of the Iron Barracks. As a kid, I’d have sold every computing minute owed to me in the children’s home for Mischief to have cuddled me at night. And no way was I admitting that to Mischief…ever.

  Only, when Mischief tried to crawl further onto his brother’s lap, 28’s brow furrowed, and he quivered.

  Because 28 didn’t bastard remember.

  28 sneaked a glance at me, before swiping the unicorn skittering across the straw-covered floor with a shy smile at me like I’d be proud.

  When 28’s tentative smile wavered, I hurriedly grinned back at him.

  Mischief lay, dazed, before shaking his mane with a soft squeal. Then he stared back at us in shock.

  Rahab soared up to the roof of the hall. “You made her your queen, yet she’s mine, Zophia: The destroyer who’ll always put her brother before yours. Look what she’ll sacrifice to save him, yet we both know how little my cunning monster needs saving. She even freed her brother’s Tainted lover, Barakiel, who murdered 28. Now 28 is her slave. Tell me, do you love your brother more, or your queen…?”

  Mischief’s eyes sparked silver, as his gaze met mine.

  Hell, Rahab had set us up against each other. This was the final test. And Mr Reason had taken a vacation because here was Mischief’s brother, not simply dead but raised as a slave.

  Yeah, I understood Mischief’s grief and rage because Rahab had walked me through the dress rehearsal with Rebel at his execution.

  So, when Mischief shifted from toy to killer unicorn, growing as large as a war horse, I knew that I was screwed.

  I either tamed a unicorn, or I died beneath his hooves. Mischief lowered his horn and charged.

  20

  A flare of metallic light, like liquid mercury, shot from the killer unicorn’s twisted horn. I threw myself to the side, but it singed my wing; I howled. I’d seen Mischief decapitate a vampire with the move before, but I’d never thought that he’d turn his unicorn god-out on me.

  Yet Mischief and I had both been incited to monstrous rage over brothers. I was battling to save mine, and Mischief to avenge the Phoenix who now cowered, mind wiped and terrified, underneath the plinth, looking to me for comfort.

  “Stay there,” I ordered, wincing at the puppy dog command and knowing that if 28 had remembered who he truly was, he’d have knifed me. “Feathers has a naughty unicorn to go…spank.”

  28’s eyes widened, and his lip trembled, even as he nodded dutifully.

  Hell, he thought that I meant it. From now on, I was dialing down the Violet-o-Meter.

  “No spanking, just a calm little chat.” I glanced across Phoenix Hall: our calm chats had already splintered the trestle tables to fire wood, burned the benches, and shattered the stained-glass windows.

  Mischief and I had messed up Phoenix Hall legendary style: let the tapestry shadows weave that into the bastard story.

  Yet Rahab still only hovered above us, coolly watching.

  I stumbled, for a moment imagining that I
was back in the Under World’s Cages, forced to fight as their Champion.

  That I’d never escaped…

  I blinked down at the golden angel. 28 cocooned his wings around himself as he peered at me uncertainly.

  In the Under World, I’d fought to defeat my opponents, yet here I fought to save mine.

  When Mischief shook his mane, spittle flew from his foaming mouth. He pawed at the stone ground. He was both hot and terrifying. Because despite the stakes, I knew that I couldn’t return to the beast of the Cages. I’d fought Mischief there too, when he’d hidden his magic and had his arse kicked: I’d plucked a feather from his defeated wing, wearing it in my hair.

  Never again.

  Then Mischief lowered his head to charge at me once more.

  A roar of rage.

  I shivered at Mischief’s furious scream, as he thundered towards me, striking out with his front legs. I soared up, swinging around at the last minute to land on Mischief’s back. Startled, Mischief reared to throw me off, but I snatched his horn, wrapping my wings around his flanks like a saddle. He squealed; his eyes were wild, as his nostrils flared.

  Then I rode the untamed bastard, holding onto his mane, whilst he bit, kicked, and galloped around the hall in circles. High on the thrill, I laughed; magic vibrated through me, boiling away the last of Phoenix’s blood.

  The Bitch of Utopia was back.

  I turned my head to the side, catching Rahab’s eye, before leaning over Mischief’s neck and sniffing at his scent of sweat, horsehair, and sweet popcorn.

  Then I bit.

  Mischief stilled, quivering under my soothing hands, whilst his pain-trembling blood — his silver magic questing out and stroking mine — burst onto my tongue.

  Taking Mischief down had been a hunt, just as my dad had hunted Mischief with me.

  How had Rahab known to tempt me with this? Yet this time, it’d been all about hunting Mischief, without harming him (even if the bite had hurt).

  “Stop trying to gank my arse, My Little Psycho Unicorn,” I whispered to Mischief, whilst licking over the bite. “I’m just putting on a show. You were the one who told me to lead. Maybe you can hide in the shadows, but I’m the Champion of Light. You know that we can’t talk about any of this here, but I can’t lead, whilst I’m hidden away; I have to be in the light. I’m still your Silver Queen, though. Trust me.”

  I held my breath. I didn’t want Mischief tamed: I just wanted him at my side, trusting me. Why should he, however, now that his brother was my slave?

  Yet, at last, Mischief lowered his tail, blowing gently out of his nostrils. I stroked down his heaving flanks.

  Clap, clap, clap.

  I forced myself to look up into the smug face of Rahab, who applauded the conquered Mischief.

  Newbie mistake to see the puppet and not the strings.

  “Brotherly love has its uses.” Rahab’s smile was too wide: my insides fluttered with fear. “You’ll discover this when you train 28 in the arena. Phoenixes are not our children but our weapons; we simply need to know how to sharpen them.”

  “You promised that when I became a Lazarus Mage, you’d free my brother. Pay up.” I peered around Phoenix Hall, as if the glass box would appear any moment with my brother still trapped inside.

  Rahab’s smile widened even further. “If he could only hear your devotion… I’ve been father to innumerable mages, yet I’ve loved every one. Work with your Phoenix, and you have my word, your brother will come to you.”

  Mischief trembled, shaking his head.

  Why had Rahab’s words sounded less of a promise and more of a threat?

  I peered over the ledge of the gallery, which ran high above Neptune’s Courtyard. The stone crumbled under my fingers, painting my palms chalky. Above, the bronze-faced disk of the sun beat down through the open roof. Beneath me, weathered wooden masks of the forbidding god of the sea grew out of craggy walls. Their mouths hung open as if about to unleash the Kraken.

  28’s amber eyes peeked back at me from the gloom. He knelt on the courtyard floor, shivering. He was dressed in gold silk harem trousers and his silver hair had been shorn into the same buzz cut as all Phoenixes sported. I’d hated forcing him to stay in kneel, whilst the only thing he’d had left from his past life — his appearance — had been stolen. When I’d abandoned him at the bottom of the courtyard and flown to the top of the gallery, he’d trembled.

  But what could I tell him? All the god faces freaked me out too.

  Mischief stood on one side of me with his hands smartly behind his back. He was as stiff and fragile as glass; he’d shatter if he moved. Drake stood on my other side, clutching his arms across the healing wounds in his stomach and eying Mischief warily.

  “Do begin,” Mischief sounded as if he was munching on glass as well, “after all, you’re an angelmancer: not merely a slaveowner but bonded to your slave. The ultimate control over life and death. Why not savor it?”

  “Be silent,” Drake’s command was ice-cold.

  Mischief blinked but didn’t reply. Hell, I didn’t need a gag; I only needed Drake in Commander mode.

  “Good. Now, I propose that you remember you’re talking to our queen.” Drake raised his brow. “And she’s important, whereas our feelings are irrelevant. It appears the stories about you are true: An Undeserving who doesn’t know his place.”

  Mischief’s hands clenched behind his back. “Now what was it that I always believed about the golden son of the Mage…? Arrogant, spoiled, and entitled.” He cocked his head as if in thought. “Check, check, and check.”

  When Drake paled, I hurriedly rested a hand on each of their chests like a posh kid had been dropped into my school in Hackney, and I’d suddenly become the one separating him from the Jerusalem orphan.

  Except, I wasn’t certain that it’d be the posh kid getting shanked.

  I didn’t miss the way Mischief had attempted to close his tunic to hide my purpling bite on his neck, nor the way that Drake’s gaze was drawn to it with more longing than concern.

  “Snarky and spoiled: you’re both brats, Undeserving, and my fam. Plus, we’re here to train my new Phoenix who’s in the courtyard, alone.” Both angels had the decency to look down, chastened. I stroked their shoulders in reward. “So, how do I start boot camp? Push ups or…?”

  “Was I not clear?” Mischief bit his lip. “It’s a bond: you control my brother. That’s what I meant…” He shook his head. “He shall never be closer to anyone than you.”

  I understood Mischief’s sadness then: what had been wrenched from him, only to be gifted to me. His brotherly bond had been erased, and now I held something even deeper. Yet I couldn’t help the thrill, which ran fizzing through my blood at Mischief’s words (and I knew he’d seen it), because 28 felt like he belonged to me, even as I belonged to him.

  I nodded down at 28 in the arena, and he rose to his feet with feline grace. His delicate golden wings spread. I concentrated on our connection. I mapped it, as it spread in crimson tendrils between us and in the blood that we shared.

  “Are you picking up my frequency?” I sang telepathically, lifted on the joy of the bond, before pinking. Maybe I should’ve rapped something more hardcore?

  But when 28 grinned, blushing too…? It was worth it.

  “I can hear you in my mind, my Feathers,” 28’s voice — so much softer than I remembered it and heartbreakingly similar to Mischief’s now that I knew they were brothers — lit up my brain like it’d always been meant to be there. “Are you safe with those creatures beside you? One with the melancholy gaze and the other so cold?”

  “They’re called angels. Fam: your fam. How about you have some fun and show me what a badass you are?”

  28 frowned. “I don’t believe that my ass is bad. Do you wish it to be? Or will you spank me if it is?”

  Yeah, dialing down on the Violet…

  “You and your arse are both good,” I reassured 28. “We’re just going to test out our powers.”

&n
bsp; 28 straightened his shoulders. “I shall make you proud, my Feathers.”

  I couldn’t hold 28’s serious, sincere gaze. How many times had I been desperate for someone to be proud of me? Yet no one ever had been. I’d have given anything for someone to say those words. Yet I didn’t want my slave to earn my approval through pain and sacrifice on the battlefield.

  The mages took the Phoenixes’ innocence and warped their trusting loyalty. No way on his bristly silver head was I doing that to Mischief’s brother.

  “I’m already proud of you.” I shot warmth through the bond, winding my Firebird (because he wouldn’t merely be a number to me, even if that was breaking the Code, and I couldn’t call him by his real name), closer. He grinned, spreading his wings further, as if basking in the sun. “You’re my epic Firebird. Let’s see your moves.”

  I reached through the bond, spinning Firebird up into the air. I gasped: he was fast.

  Thunder — all of a sudden, water spat out of the Neptunes’ mouths in gushing torrents.

  Firebird laughed in delight, even as the power of the waterfalls drove him down, soaking him. Trenches opened in the floor, sluicing away the floods. I sniggered too, leaning further over the rocky ledge and shooting more power through the bond.

  Firebird dived side to side, splashing through the foaming spittle like a kid at bath time.

  I staggered back from the ledge: hell, he was a kid. Firebird had only been a teenage assassin under Rahab’s control, who Barakiel had killed, and I’d resurrected.

  Drake caught my elbow, pulling me into his side. “My Queen, calm yourself.”

  “You see now?” Mischief said, gazing at his brother, who was fluttering in between the streams of water. Firebird’s wet wings glistened like he was a fairy slave. “His only reason for existence is to battle, hurt, and die for you. Then he’ll be raised again, so that it can all be repeated.”

  “Not a chance,” I snarled. “What happened to the Trust Train?”

  “It left the station, unlike your obsession with the Butcher.” Mischief gave a shaky laugh, raising his hand, as if in apology. “You’re working to release an ideal that doesn’t exist. If only you’d—”