Rebel Angels: The Complete Series

by Rosemary A Johns

  “Wait, it stops Mischief shifting?” I clenched my hands. Forcing Mischief to transform and humiliate him had been a violation, but to trap him in that form stole every shred of his control. Had Mischief known? “You’re messed up. How could you…?”

  “Turn around.” Gabriel commanded. Reluctantly, I twisted, as Gabriel pointed at the elf, who was sobbing and hiding wedged into the corner beside a column. “Shepherd was my friend when we were Diniel’s age, or as much of one as Istafil ever allowed me.” Drake shot a questioning glance at Gabriel; his expression softened. Drake had been my brother’s only friend in the Legion of the Phoenix. He knew what it was to care for imprisoned and lonely royalty, and how solitary confinement could twist you into the monstrous. “Until one day I was insufficiently grateful for her correction, and as punishment Shepherd was transformed into that…weak creature. Those in ruby collars can only be freed by Istafil’s will or death. Thank His wing that Mischief’s punishment is only temporary.”

  “If Shepherd’s your friend and whipping boy,” Drake said, his voice vibrating with a pain that I understood because I shook too, remembering Drake as Anael’s whipping boy, “then I propose that you refrain from insulting him and instead, respect his sacrifice. Ensure the safety of your brother first, then your friend. Maybe after that, you’ll at least start to look like a true Archduke.”

  Hell, Drake had just invited Swirly Eyes to the party…

  Yet Gabriel only studied Drake for a long moment. “I like this one. He reminds me of the spirited Halfling.”

  I turned to Mischief, before I could snigger at Drake’s spluttered outrage. I ran my hand down Mischief’s nose, wincing at the flecks of blood wherever the sharp edges of the sapphires on the bridle or gag had sliced into his flesh. Gently, I eased them off his brow and out of his mouth.

  If I hadn’t removed them, Mischief would’ve been stuck as a unicorn permanently.

  All those in red collars and leashes were Istafil’s slaves.

  I hurled the bridle across the dance floor, as Mischief changed into his angelic self, stumbling into my arms.

  “Back with us, Sparkly Pants?” I stroked my fingers through his hair, whilst he steadied himself. “No unicorny thoughts still? Urges for glitter, horns, or shiny hairclips for your mane?”

  “Do kisses, blood, and painful death to the Damned count?” Mischief arched his brow.

  “You’re both hot and freaky right now, you know that?”

  “Aren’t I always? I must try harder.” He turned to Drake, who held his hand over his wounded shoulder. “We’re separated for a short time and already the golden child is injured.” Mischief sniffed, but I didn’t miss the affection underlying his jibe.

  “And you’ve already been a gagged unicorn, so I win.” Drake’s pout reminded me of his clone: why hadn’t I seen this hidden side of him before? Why hadn’t I allowed myself to see it?

  “It’s not a bastard game.” I glanced across the room at the shaking elf, before nudging Gabriel. “Get your arse over to Shepherd.”

  Gabriel nodded, even as he rubbed nervously at his sapphire pendant. Yet before he could turn, a Damned took shape behind him in a haze, raising her arm.

  “Brother…” Mischief yanked Gabriel to the side.

  “Mischief…” I hollered, reaching for him, whilst my ancient powers howled in terror.

  Crunch — the spear sliced through Mischief’s neck, snapping his spine.

  Bastard, no… Please, please, please… Don’t let him be…

  Frozen, I couldn’t even move to catch the body.

  No, not the body, never that… Mischief, Mischief, he’ll always be…

  The corpse’s vacant eyes stared up at the ceiling.

  “Be warned, Firstborn, the prize can change.” The Damned vanished, even as Gabriel launched himself on her with a roar.

  Arms and wings were around me, holding me: soft curls and gentle touches. Salt wet on my cheeks and someone else’s. Words, words, words… fractured, broken, and meaningless.

  What the hell did anything matter now?

  Dead.

  I hadn’t saved… There was no way…. He couldn’t be dead.

  My powers burst from me in red-hot rage and grief, until everything burned.

  9

  No one should ever have to cradle their brother’s corpse in their arms.

  It was only as I stood, shaking with adrenaline and the silver high, which had burned the remaining Damned to charred ash, beside the clouded glass gates through to Court Three and the Holy Audience Chamber, that I realized how much taller Gabriel was than Mischief, as Gabriel held his brother to his chest.

  Than Mischief had been.

  I furiously swiped at the tears on my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop them falling. A rosewater fountain tinkled in the high walled courtyard like a gushing firework, masking with its scent and noise anything beyond. My mind was lost in a fog of pain and loss…and this couldn’t be real.

  It had to be an illusion.

  Please, hell, let this be another test.

  Yet Gabriel’s red-rimmed eyes, his slumped shoulders, and the way that he clutched Mischief like he’d only just understood how precious he was told me that it wasn’t.

  This was real, it wasn’t a test, and I wouldn’t wake up from this nightmare.

  I’d craved to have an audience with Jahael: my creator. But not like this, carrying his dead son. If Mischief’s death was the price of admittance to the Inner Court — the sacrifice — then I’d never have paid it.

  But I hadn’t been given the choice.

  Hold your thing together, Feathery-honey. I’m here.

  J, I couldn’t… I tried to… I’m sorry.

  Don’t you dare apologize to me, girl.

  My son fought at your side and he chose to save his brother. He’s been screwed by skank Glories and asshole mages, but he died a hero.

  You don’t go taking that away.

  I need him.

  You need to slap yourself back to Sense Land because you’re about to meet Jahael, and he’s the snake with his fangs in the temple’s sweet throat.

  You don’t want your biteable ass to be next.

  Then don’t abandon me.

  I can’t risk the Emperor controlling me.

  I’m the free and fabulous diva who he never intended to create, rather than a shadow, and you’re the bitch who helped me blossom into Divahood.

  You’ll have to face Jahael alone.

  Remember, the end can be the beginning, and the beginning can be the end.

  I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself. The way that J had fought to hide his own mourning and be strong for me, only made me want to wail louder. My vision blurred through the stream of tears; I couldn’t blink them away quickly enough, as I shivered with uncontrollable chills.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t bear anyone touching Mischief.

  Why was Gabriel holding the body? Not the body, I meant Mischief…his name was Mischief.

  I growled, before I could stop myself, barging Gabriel into the gate.

  Clink — the sapphires woven into Gabriel’s hair smacked against the glass; I winced.

  Gabriel, however, only studied me with an understanding gaze. “By all that’s holy, I’m grieved that—”

  “Don’t.”

  He blinked at me. “What?”

  “Say his name. You don’t get to say his name, when you only called him bastard to his face.”

  Gabriel flushed. He looked unexpectedly young and lost, whilst he stared down at Mischief like he’d never seen him before, or bothered to. “I don’t deserve anything, after he saved my life, and I treated him like…” His eyelashes matted with wet, as he took careful breaths, before continuing, “You have no concept how hard it was to see a new son, who could challenge my hard fought for position at court, waltz into the temple with so much…freedom. He’d lived outside. Yet I’ve always been caged, since my mother’s death. She was the Emperor’s wife, the only one he’s ever t
aken, despite Istafil’s deluded dreaming. After that, I’ve known nothing but the Gilded Cage.” He hugged Mischief closer. “Why would he save me?”

  “Because that’s the legend he is… I mean, was,” I burst out, unable to hold back the sobbed grief any longer. Gabriel had hurt Mischief out of jealousy for an imagined life that hadn’t even been real; my chest ached at their lost opportunity because they couldn’t ever discover the similarities of their childhoods, or a sibling bond: Gabriel had left it too late. “Is it my turn to tell you about your brother? Mischief was as trapped as you in the Legion of the Phoenix; they kept him like a servant. How envious are you now?”

  Gabriel paled. But his sorrow didn’t lessen mine. Somehow, I needed him to share my hurt: to know just how special Mischief had been and who I’d lost, so that he’d live.

  “I d-didn’t know—”

  “Did you know that Mischief led a rebellion in the Under World? Helped me depose Lucifer? Or that he took on Rahab, the most powerful mage in the Legion to free the slaves… Yeah, and the Children of the Seraphim…that’s your people, who Mischief always put first. Did daddy not tell you? Because he saw all of it. You’re the Firstborn, but it seems to me that you’re being kept in the bastard dark.”

  Gabriel frantically shook his head. Had I pushed him too far? “B-by my w-wing, I had n-no idea...”

  When the fountain shutoff, I glanced at the gate, expecting it to swing open. Instead, the ground tremored.

  Rumble.

  I crouched in the archway. Gabriel continued to stand, however, as if nothing was happening.

  Slam.

  I clenched my jaw at the jolt, which was followed by a shrieking roar, like the entire temple had picked itself up and then had set itself down again with a bump.

  I gaped at Gabriel. “What in the Space Dragons MC world of freakery, was that?”

  “We’ve moved.”

  “Try again, bro, because that sounded like—”

  “The Burning Temple: it teleports.” He swallowed, unable to rub the fresh tears from his eyes because his brother’s body was in his arms. “I may be trapped, but the temple moves freely from place to place because it’s hunted…we’re hunted. It senses plots, assassination attempts, and threats. What do you imagine triggered it this time?”

  I sprang up, thrumming with fury at the sarcastic bastard, but his lips were pinched, and his mask was back in place but fragile: I could shatter it with a word.

  I hesitated, uncertain whether I wished to be the one to shatter Gabriel or to protect him so that he never broke again. At last, I said, “It must’ve sucked as a kid never knowing if you were safe.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened, as if he’d been expecting a clout, rather than sympathy. “It was simply the truth. The Emperor’s sons aren’t shielded from harsh reality. But that’s better than playing pretend.” I knew what someone sounded like who’d spent years convincing themselves of a lie: I’d done it myself. “No one can move the pawns about the board, if in blissful ignorance, they don’t even know that they’re in the game.”

  I stared at Gabriel, as something about the attack nagged at me. The way that the Damned had spoken to Gabriel, and how he’d commanded her… “You knew the bitch who stabbed Mischief.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened even further. “How could I? She’s one of the Damned: brigands who plague the burning love of our majestic—”

  “Enough of the adore the Holy of Assholes spiel. She at least knew you. What do these buttercup bandits want?”

  “To return from exile.” Gabriel glanced at the gate behind us warily. “To butcher my father and steal his Crown. Isn’t that how the game is played? Doesn’t every enemy hunger for power?”

  “Freedom,” I whispered, stroking Mischief’s cold cheek with the tips of my fingers. “Sometimes you rebel for freedom.”

  I staggered, as at last the great glass doors behind us creaked open, through to Jahael’s Inner Court and Holy Audience Chamber. I caught Gabriel’s eye, before he gave me a nod, and we walked in together, to meet for the first time the most powerful god in the Realm of the Seraphim, bearing the corpse of his son.

  I choked on the sweet clouds of incense, which fogged the immense silver domed Holy Audience Chamber in potent clouds: my head spun, and my legs became heavier on each clattering step down the diamond and pearl encrusted center of Court Three. My eyes stung, as I peered through the haze at the chamber, which swam in and out in blurred visions of grand murals and tiles. The walls glittered like snake-skin; I shuddered.

  Jingle, jingle, jingle.

  My beaded belt rang out like wedding bells, whilst Gabriel cradled Mischief in a bridal carry: together, we made up a freaky wedding party.

  The Acolytes were both guests and choir: naked, they ranked on either side of us in worship, as Gabriel and I walked down the aisle between them. They knelt on the hard floor (and hell, it must’ve been more agonizing than kneeling on rice), with their heads bowed; crimson whirls like the realm’s savage sun had been daubed on their backs and wings. They held out their arms, which trembled with the effort of holding up a flickering firefly swarm of candles in the fog.

  Holy, holy, holy.

  I shivered at the beauty of their chant, which echoed up to the high roof. The adoration plucked at my new godly powers, until I vibrated, thrilling on their devotion: thirsting for it.

  Slam — the Acolytes cracked their four wings against the floor.

  Their shoulders tensed, but they didn’t make a sound.

  Slam, slam, slam.

  I cringed, whilst Gabriel grimaced.

  The red on their wings wasn’t paint: it was blood from their repetitive slamming in devotion for their god.

  Hell, why had I craved that?

  Shaking my head, finally it was clear again; my powers settled.

  Had the incense been intoxicating me?

  I was here to meet my creator, but that no longer mattered. Mischief had died because of Jahael’s divisions and battles with other Seraphim: Divine or the Damned. Who decided and what did it mean, except death and loss?

  “Don’t fight,” Gabriel muttered. “It’s worse if you fight.”

  “What…?”

  A white cloud rushed towards me: a multitude of butterflies. Their wings glistened like polished metal. I gasped, as they alighted onto every amethyst inch of my skin, until I glowed like the moon. Then they lifted me off my feet, propelling me forwards.

  “Let go, freaky Snow Whites.” I struggled, flapping my arms, until sharp nips, like pin pricks, forced me to still. The flitty bastards were biting me: now I knew why Gabriel had told me not to fight. “What are you, Vampire Butterflies?”

  If insects could snicker, that was a bastard snicker.

  At last, the Vampire Butterflies dropped me in a yelping heap at the foot of a lime green divan, before flying up to the roof. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the Seraphim who was lounging along the divan in a diamond robe — or was it a dress? — that was slashed to reveal his hairless thighs: The Emperor, Jahael.

  The Fire God was more transcendently beautiful than any angel or vampire I’d ever seen.

  And they were all beautiful bastards.

  Yet now my pulse thundered, and my mouth dried. I clenched my hands to hide their shaking because I was already swept along by it — the adoration — even whilst the black inside rebelled, spitting in rage at the subjugation.

  Was this why I craved to cherish Jahael’s Firstborn?

  An Acolyte with curly silver hair knelt beside the divan over a bowl of woodchips; he lighted each one individually, throwing up a musky scent. He risked a glance at me with a small smile; his eyes twinkled, despite the pain that he must’ve been in. Mr Twinkly had a J stuck to his chest in pearls: Jahael liked to mark his property.

  I took ragged breaths, whilst Jahael studied me. His silver hair was as long as Istafil’s, but Jahael wore it loosely caught up; iridescent strands fell around his face, which was sharp and calculating, despite
the childlike way that he toyed with his hair.

  My mind buzzed with the desire to kneel just like Mr Twinkly Acolyte…

  “Don’t you recognize, worship, and love me, my Violet-darling?” Jahael leaned forward. He sounded like J, but also colder and crueler.

  I shoved myself onto my arse, battling down another sickening wave of divinity worship. Why did it feel like this was finally home? “One out of three, bitch.”

  I expected fire, lightning, another round with the Vampire Butterflies…and I welcomed it because then there’d be pain that I could fight, instead of one that pummeled my insides at Mischief’s death.

  Instead, Jahael smirked, waving his hand airily. “You can’t lie to the most fabulous of holy ones, girl. I’ve seen everything: that’s omniscience, darling. I’ve watched you since you were a baby; I know you’ve cried out to me to save you. Here I am, answering your call.”

  I jolted, trembling.

  I had called out to the angels to save me in Jerusalem Children’s Home. I’d always desired parents, a family, and a home.

  Could Jahael be what I’d needed all that time?

  I bit my lip, refusing to let Jahael see my distress, but his smile was knowing. “You’re too late, bro, I saved myself. Then my fam and I saved the bastard world.”

  Jahael thought that he’d seen everything but he was wrong. J had hidden behind the mental shields that I’d built from Drake, the Matriarch, Lucifer, and then Rahab. Now he was blocking Jahael altogether. Jahael knew me before the supernatural had birthed within me, as the orphan on Utopia Estate, the geek gamer pretending to be the tough girl, so that her sister and she survived, never trusting anyone…or loving them.

  Abandoned by everyone.

  The bitch thought that he knew me? Then the surprise would bite him in the arse.

  Finally, Gabriel joined me in front of the divan; Jahael’s gaze flickered to Mischief but then away.

  What the hell…?

  Gabriel and I had arrived with the Emperor’s dead son, yet Jahael hadn’t even yelled, wailed, or howled…?

  Couldn’t Jahael have bothered with at least a fake sad face and trite condolence?