She sent him back a sincere Thank you. We on for tonight? I’d like to talk.
Don’t know. His reply came through seconds later.
The ache in her chest grew.
MICHAEL DIDN’T KNOW how it was possible for one little encounter to wreak so much havoc on his thoughts. One nice thing about being an angel was that when he got an order from above—and it didn’t happen often—he didn’t need to draw on faith; he knew it was real. That didn’t stop him from feeling guilty when Ronnie turned that wounded look on him. He didn’t question his orders, just her reaction to them.
Which he shouldn’t do. This was the reason he put distance between them in the first place. He never wanted to have to choose between her and duty. He could have done a better job explaining to her why he had to kill their own kind, though.
And speaking of playing the executioner—the word rang in his head with bitterness—he wanted to talk to the person who sent him to Russia, and he wouldn’t settle for a phone call. He didn’t want to believe Abaddon set him up, but from the moment she stepped back into his life, he knew there was a chance of that. A breath later, he stood in front of a tiny beach cottage in Ostia, Italy. It was early evening, just past five. He had no idea if she’d be there, but he’d call if he had to. He hoped for the element of surprise.
When she answered the door, he couldn’t hide his shock. Her glow was barely visible in the evening light, and dark circles lived under her eyes.
“Abaddon?”
“At least that answers the how bad do I look question.” She gave him a flat smile. “Do you want to come in?”
The cherub she carried for so long, the additional source of power she insisted she’d think about giving up when this was all over, was gone. He stepped inside but hovered in the doorway. “Did you...?”
“Give up my cherub? Technically. I told you when I gave you the Red Square information it was a bad time. I’m still recovering. Do you want something to drink?”
“No. Thank you.” Curiosity nagged him. He wanted to find out what happened, but he wasn’t sure he could cope with more stories.
“I suppose not.” She leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “How’s Vine?”
“Banished.” He studied her in the dimly lit room. Why did she have the curtains drawn? She didn’t radiate enough of a glow to see her face clearly.
Her eyes grew wide, and she shook her head. “He... What...? You don’t— What happened?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.” He expected a more guarded reaction from her. Less stunned.
She raked her fingers through her hair. “He told me he wanted to talk to you. And I knew he was probably lying, but when you called, I was having an off day, and it was easier to pretend he was being sincere. I’m guessing he wasn’t? I figured you’d handle him either way. But banished? What happened?”
She looked shocked, but he wasn’t ready to give her the whole story. He didn’t know if it was because he didn’t trust her, or because the details of what happened in Moscow bothered him. “He brought a friend, and Ubiquity got to him before I did.”
“Ubiquity sounds less than ideal. I promise I thought his intentions were good, but I’m sorry I sent you there without warning you.”
It would be easy to let her take the blame. He’d known from her vague description something was up, and he went in anyway. Maybe he was looking for the excuse to destroy another agent, despite his promise to try and talk things out. He wasn’t sure anymore. “What made you give up the cherub?”
“An old friend inspired me.” Her aura flickered, and she wobbled.
Her comment tugged at their conversation from the art gallery, but he couldn’t place why.
“I need to lie down. You’re welcome to stick around and grill me after. I won’t have any more answers for you, but if it convinces you I’m sorry about Moscow, make yourself at home.”
He didn’t question her sincerity. He wanted more, but she didn’t have it for him. “Get some rest.”
He wasn’t sure what his next step was, but it nagged at him that the encounter with Ronnie had him second-guessing himself. Or perhaps he was already doing that. The incident at the garage, letting Azazel escape the first time... A subtle prompting from above to remove those who violated life this way was a different matter entirely from a detailed chart of how to accomplish it. He didn’t have the latter, and he didn’t like this feeling of floundering.
Chapter Fifteen
Someone knocked on Ronnie’s office door.
“Yeah?” She didn’t turn her attention from her screen. It turned out throwing herself back into work was a fabulous way to block out the rest of the world, and with the clock rolling past five, soon she’d have the building to herself to catch up on a backlog of messages and requests. And at the same time, she could ignore that Irdu had decided he wasn’t free after work after all.
“So you are here.” Samael stepped into the room. “Are you ignoring everyone, or am I a special case?”
“You’re next on my list.” It sounded like a weak excuse, but it was true. She was staring at his latest note, detailing what information he needed to hand over to auditors and reinforcing how critical it was.
“Great. Then I’ll have that before tomorrow morning? Or will you cut the tape, so I can do this without having to wait on your schedule?” Irritation and disdain ran through his every word.
The way his words echoed Michael’s stuck in her head and made her falter. No, she wasn’t thinking about that. “I’m getting to it. This is for your—” own good. The words died on her lips and looped in her thoughts, in Lucifer’s voice. The number of times he told her that... The information he kept from her that could have helped her or destroyed her, because he had to have his secrets.
And now he had her doing the same on his behalf. It pushed away Irdu and Izzy, and it was preventing Samael from keeping Ubiquity out of hotter water. Lucifer had his reasons, right?
“For my what?” Samael asked. He tapped his foot hard enough his entire leg bounced.
Fuck this. Even if she couldn’t get a handle on work, on her personal life, on what was up with this onslaught of very public, very destructive agent displays of power, she could take control somewhere. She shut down her computer and grabbed her purse from her desk drawer. “You know what? Let’s go get dinner.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back, blocking the door. “I think you missed the bit of my email where I said how critical this is. All I need is your signature. You can eat when you’ve signed off.”
“This is a business meeting.” She didn’t want to have the conversation here. Not because she was worried about someone eavesdropping—though maybe she should be, she hated the thought—but because she was tired of being on the outs with everyone. It would be nice to make things right with Samael.
He liked good food. He was an aficionado. And she wanted him in a better mood when she gave him the choice about whether or not to hear what she knew about why the SEC was investigating them. She definitely wasn’t looking forward to telling him why she kept it to herself.
“Which is a shitty way of saying you’d rather expense your meal than pay for it.”
Fucking accountants. The thought almost made her smile. “The meal’s on me. No expense reports. No company card. You can pick anywhere you’d like.”
“Anywhere?”
Was she mumbling? “Yes.”
“Breakfast in Japan?”
“Do you speak Japanese?” Unless they learned on their own time, agents only knew the languages relevant to their jobs.
He smirked and uncrossed his arms. Of course he did.
“I assume you have a place in mind,” she said.
He closed the distance between them and held out his hand, palm up. “Of course I do. We’re not wandering Tokyo aimlessly at seven in the morning.”
She and Irdu would. They had. She needed to make things right with him.
The seconds dragged on as Ronnie’s off
ice faded and became a crowded street, as if they were stuck in a slow-wipe animation on a poorly edited film. Sammy wasn’t as powerful as the angels and demons she’d run into lately. It was a nice reminder the entire world wasn’t off kilter and looking to rule something.
As she surveyed their destination, her grumbles evaporated. Awnings stretched in both directions, lining the walkway and covering an assortment of shops with fruit, books, sunglasses, and everything she would have scrimped and saved for, in order to splurge when she was in retrieval. People chattered and shouted. Cool morning air found its way between the buildings, but the sun couldn’t. The smell was the best though. She caught ginger in the air, half a dozen types of meat, and so many spices it almost made her drool.
“Over here.” Samael led her toward one of the stands with curtain draped from the top and a series of stools next to a bar. There was no one there this time of morning, except the man and woman cooking.
“I told you anywhere, and you picked this?”
“You’re complaining? Trust me. Best miso soup you’ll ever have.”
She she settled on the stool next to his. He chatted with the woman, Japanese rolling off his tongue like a first language. He wasn’t kidding. The guy was full of surprises. Then again, she’d made it a point to keep her distance from almost everyone since she was promoted. Not because she thought she was above them, but everything that happened with Ari and Gabe and Michael made her edgy about trusting again. For all she knew, Raph was interesting outside the office.
“Your Japanese is really good,” she said when Sammy turned back to her.
“You speak it?”
“No. I understand it. Apparently, there are a lot of languages like that. I know what I’m hearing, but I can’t make my tongue and lips form the words. I think it’s a side-effect of the whole having-two-sets-of-memories thing.”
He furrowed his brow and studied her. “So it’s true.”
“Of course it is.” She couldn’t keep the defensiveness from her voice. She was so sick of defending herself from everyone who said she was nothing more than a little demon intern.
“Whoa.” He held up his hands in a surrender posture. “I’m not trying to be mean. See it from my perspective. I’ve never seen this happen before, and I’ve been around a long time.”
The woman set two bowls down and poured them each tea. Ronnie inhaled the vivid scent from the pale-green soup and sipped the hot tea. She’d have to get more dining recommendations from Sammy... if they made it through this conversation and managed to be on vague speaking terms after. Ronnie let the heat sear down her throat and forced herself to back away from the ledge of defensiveness. “It’s true. I was a demon, housing Metatron”—she didn’t want to go into the details—“and we became one.”
“Fascinating.” Samael sounded like he meant it. He sipped his soup and studied her for a moment. “So you have all her memories?”
“Technically, they’re mine.”
“Okay, but... that means you remember all those sensual nights we spent together.”
Whispers of memories spilled through her. Both of them with Lucifer. The nights that faded into days and back into night again. The intensity in it all... “I remember it was never just you and me.”
Sadness flashed across his face and vanished again. “No. But I always liked having you there.” He trailed a light touch up her arm.
She shook her head. “So you haven’t become a total dick over the years. I was starting to wonder if you left your personality in heaven when you followed Lucifer to hell.”
“You do remember.”
“Of course. You would have followed...” She trailed off, leaving the Lucifer anywhere unspoken. It was her day for unfinished sentences.
His grief lingered longer this time. “Things change. Look at you.” The teasing in his voice sounded forced. He cleared his throat. “Anyway. This is a business dinner.”
Right. Now that the impulse to spill her guts had settled, she wondered if this was a good idea. She couldn’t think like that. This was Samael’s decision. That didn’t make it any easier for her to summon the words.
She took a few more sips of her food, savoring the flavor and building her confidence. “I’m willing to tell you everything I know about the mess at work. The investigation. What we’re not saying. But you have to understand it’s one of those things you won’t be able to unknow.”
“That’s most things.” His usual disdain was gone. “Why now and not before?”
She didn’t want to second-guess her delivery but couldn’t help trying to make it sound as bland and nonthreatening as possible. Apparently this management thing was sinking in. “We felt it was best to not put you in that position. That way, if someone asked you something, you could honestly tell them you didn’t have the answer.”
“We felt?” He scoffed. “You’re good.”
She pursed her lips. “I know what it’s like to be stonewalled, and it sucks. So it’s your choice if you want the truth or if you’d rather your denial continues to be honest.”
He slurped his meal. Drained his tea cup. Had more soup. Then he looked at her. “This information—does Ubiquity crumble if the SEC finds out?”
“Unless you convince them we’re beings placed here by a higher power, to keep humanity safe so they evolve as individuals.” She tried to force out a laugh, but it ended in a sigh. “And even then, this information isn’t legal.”
He wiped his palms on the legs of his jeans, rubbing to the point of obsession. “I wondered. I hoped this wasn’t the case, but I was afraid it would be. Yes. Tell me everything you know. I’ll use my super-accountant sleuthing powers to uncover more if I need.”
She spent the rest of the meal telling him about questionable sources they got investment capital from, that no single employee’s ID held up to deeper scrutiny, and everything else she’d gleaned over the past few months in her position. He sighed a lot, shook his head almost as much, and pinched the bridge of his nose every couple of seconds.
“So who talked?” he asked when she finished.
“Talked about what? To whom?”
“Think about it. I work with our books and records every day. I had no idea this was going on. Lucifer buried this in a way only he could. So who told the SEC?”
Ronnie hadn’t considered the possibility of an inside informant. “I don’t know if anyone did. Ubiquity is growing. There are always anti-trust rumors. We’ve got corporate competition, like any business. The dart hit our name when they spun their random-audit wheel?”
“Remind me never to play darts with you, if you think that’s how the game works.” Samael hopped from his seat. “Walk with me?”
“Yeah.” She fell into step beside him as they strolled the shops. So much beauty and fun. She and Irdu needed to come back here. Maybe resetting their environment would help them talk things out.
“Their charges are specific.” He paused to sift through a stack of T-shirts before moving on again. “When they came knocking on our door, it wasn’t a you-might-need-a-slap-on-the-wrist kind of thing. They asked up front about diverted funds, and falsified employee records.”
She hadn’t considered someone would sell them out. Ronnie didn’t know what this was, but the way Samael phrased it sounded a lot more malicious than she thought her colleagues capable of. Then again, a couple of them were destroying city blocks for fun lately. This was tame in comparison.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now that I know—thank you, by the way—I can minimize damage. But you have to stop babysitting, and let me take care of this.”
“Minimize damage how?”
He shrugged. “I’ll figure it out as we go. You, Ms. Public Face, need to worry about your own damage control. Like those explosions you’ve been tracking, and making sure they don’t get linked back to us.”
She didn’t know how they would, but it was a good point. “I’m going to catch up on work. Do you want a lift?”
“Nah. I’m going to wander here for a while. I’ll see you in the office.”
That went better than Ronnie expected. Could she make a similar apology to Izzy, but with a lot more begging and groveling on her part? She’d make another face-to-face plea with Irdu.
She watched Sammy walk away as she dialed Izzy’s number. Two rings, and then to voicemail. She frowned.
“It’s Ronnie. I miss you, and I’m more sorry than I can say. Call me, please?”
Chapter Sixteen
The way Michael’s mind raced thousands of miles a minute over every random thought, he’d rather spend a few hours meditating in the chapel downstairs. Except the First Angelic Non-Denominational Church of Faith didn’t hold the same presence it had for the last century. It was as if the place was in mourning. Then again, it underwent serious reconstruction a few months back, after Ariel tore portions of it to the ground in her maddened rampage.
He knocked on Izrafel’s apartment door, on the second floor, and adjusted the laptop bag on his shoulder while he waited.
The man who answered barely resembled the Izrafel Michael remembered. With dark shadows under his eyes and gaze downcast, Izrafel looked a lot like Abaddon had, but without the telltale glow of a celestial being.
“Are you certain this is a good time?” Michael asked.
Izrafel managed a weak smile and opened the door wider. “Now is fine. I’m sorry about the mess.”
That didn’t sound right. Michael stepped inside and stalled. He was used to seeing books lining the walls, piled in stacks on the floor, and filling all available table space. Now it seemed as though more than half of them were gone, and the remainder lay open, pages rippled and warped. “What happened?”
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