This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dark Angel, Shadow and Light, Book Six
Copyright © 2019 by Kim Richardson
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction
in whole or in any form.
Cover by Kim Richardson
Text in this book was set in Garamond.
Printed in the United States of America
Summary: As Rowyn continues trying to make sense of the changing events and relationships in her life, she discovers the truth behind Lucian’s plans, plans that could tear the world apart.
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Demonology—Fiction.
Magic—Fiction].
CONTENTS
BOOKS BY KIM RICHARDSON
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 1 6
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
DARK STRIKE
SPELLS & ASHES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY KIM RICHARDSON
SHADOW AND LIGHT
Dark Hunt
Dark Bo und
Dar k Rise
Dark Gift
Dark Curse
Dark Angel
THE DARK FILES
Spells & Ashes (Coming soon)
TEEN AND YOUNG ADULT
SOUL GUARDIANS
Marked
Elemental
Horizon
Netherworld
Seirs
Mortal
Reapers
Seals
THE HORIZON CHRONICLES
The Soul Thief
The Helm of Darkness
The City of Flame and Shadow
The Lord of Darkness
MYSTICS SERIES
The Seventh Sense
The Alpha Nation
The Nexus
DIVIDED REALMS
Steel Maiden
Witch Queen
Blood Magic
1
Trying to get in touch with an angel wasn’t as easy as I’d first thought it would be.
No, I’m not talking about summoning one in a circle because I would have if I had a name. But without the name of an angel, I couldn’t just summon up a random name on a whim, hoping I’d land an angel. I might conjure up a dead thing, or worse, a demon. Gabriel, Raphael, Luriel, Raguel were all archangel names known to me, but after what happened with the archangel Vedriel, I decided I was going to go down the corporate celestial ladder and summon just a regular angel.
And to do that, I had to go through the proper channels—the angel-born ones. It was a painstakingly long and torturous method of asking and then waiting. I’m not the most patient person in the world, but I could do with the waiting, for a little while.
However, the asking had me mulling it over in my head for about three weeks.
I hated asking for anything. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just didn’t have it in me. I wasn’t wired that way. Even when I was broke, I always managed to find ways to get work and find some money. Maybe I was too proud, but the idea of asking the angel-borns for anything at all had my skin crawling and bile rising up in the back of my throat.
It was one of the reasons I’d never asked the angel-borns for soul blades or other weapons. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask. Asking made me look inferior, weak. I wasn’t.
There was also the nauseating factor that I would owe them. If they did me a favor, I would be indebted to them, probably for the rest of my life. I would owe them big. Fantastic.
I had promised Tyrius I would give the angel-borns a shot before I reverted to my own ways of getting things done—by force, lots of pain, and a few deaths—which would probably end up being disastrous. The usual in my life.
Granted, even though asking the angel-borns for help had me feeling sick, I was running out of options and time. Lucian would be back. And if he got word of Layla, I had even less time.
I sat next to Father Thomas in matching wooden chairs carved with intricate designs and archangel sigils before a long table, decorated in winding silver and gold patterns. The massive table could seat at least twenty people comfortably, but just the two of us sat here now. We were in the great hall where the angel-borns convened for council meetings. It was just one of the many chambers and rooms belonging to Hallow Hall—the angel-born safe house in Westchester County, thirty miles north of New York City.
Hallow Hall was massive. Everywhere I looked, I was met with lustrous marble floors, polished wooden doors, gleaming windows, and sweeping oak staircases that led to the upper floors. Even more remarkable was that each tile in the floor had its own brilliant sigil of an archangel house painted in the colors of precious jewels. As I looked, the sigils were everywhere—on the drapery, chairs, and sofas, even carved into the handrail of the grand staircase.
It was glorious and majestic, like a grand hotel somewhere in Europe. But even its magnanimous presence couldn’t make me shake the cold and relentless feeling of dread crawling up my spine. I didn’t want to be here. It was all I could do to sit and not bolt through those doors. I was restless, like an animal trapped in a pretty cage with lots of toys and food. I had to get out of here soon.
I let out a sigh and slumped in my chair. “How much longer are we going to sit here like idiots before he comes back?”
Father Thomas looked up from his phone, his posture shifting to one of irritation. His dark hair glistened in the light of the room, making me want to run my fingers through it. Yes, he was a priest, but perfection deserved a little attention. “Patience, Rowyn,” he answered, looking calm and collected in his chair, the white square of his collar stark against his black shirt. “These things take time. You can’t rush it.”
“You can when lives are at stake.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “We’ve been sitting here for over an hour.”
“I know.” Father Thomas shifted his weight in his chair and flicked a finger across the screen of his smart phone. “I’m right next to you.”
I let my arms fall on the table with a loud thump. “I can’t believe I skipped dinner for this.” I checked my phone. It was ten past five. I didn’t know why they chose to see us so late in the day, but I bit my tongue and said nothing on the drive here. I was trying to be a good girl.
“I could be doing something else,” I said. “Something important. Something a lot more useful than breathing in their expensive decor and sitting on their fancy seats.” Like figuring out a way to summon an angel myself. What the hell am I doing here?
“How’s Layla doing,” asked the priest, and I knew he was just trying to change the subject. “Are she and Danto still a thing?”
“She and Danto are a lot of things .” I grinned. Then I grinned some more at the obvious discomfort on the priest’s face. “What? You asked.” God, this was too easy.
The priest’s shoulders lifted and fell. “It’s nic
e that she has someone looking out for her. Someone in her life. After all, she lost her entire family only recently.”
“An entire family of schizos doesn’t count.” I might have felt a drop of sympathy after Ethan’s death if the bastard had an ounce of decency in him. He didn’t. My feelings for Ethan were the exact same ones I got when I looked at a rock.
I didn’t think Layla was all that troubled either at the loss of her siblings, but I wasn’t about to bring it up with the priest. I didn’t think he’d understand.
Father Thomas looked up from his phone and met my gaze. “You think the archdemon Lucian will come after Layla too?”
I gave him a pointed look. “No doubt in my mind. My working theory is, it’s not if he finds out about her now. It’s only when.” The archdemon might even try to force his gift on me again. I couldn’t rule that one out. But I was more worried about Layla. It was like Tyrius had said, she might not resist the darkness as much as I did.
And that would be bad. I couldn’t let that happen.
“She’ll be safe with Danto,” said the priest after a short silence, as though trying to convince himself.
I leaned back into my chair. “I have to agree with you on that.” I knew how fiercely protective the vampire was of Layla. He’d give his life to keep her safe. I had no doubt about that. Tragically romantic, that vampire.
I reached down and pulled out my elf stone necklace, rubbing my fingers along the warm stone and enjoying the prickling of elf dust. It gave off elf magic like tiny sparks of electrical currents.
“You and Gareth are spending a lot of time together,” said Father Thomas, his dark brown eyes traveling over my face.
“We are,” I breathed, wishing I was in his bed with him, preferably naked and sweaty, instead of here wasting my time with a group of pompous, angel-born asses. I let my necklace fall. “I finally have some stability in my life. It feels… it feels great, actually. Better than I ever thought it could to have someone to share my life with. I never thought I could have a serious relationship in my line of work. I was wrong.” Boy, was I ever.
The priest’s honest face split into a wide smile, transforming his features from handsome to uber-sexy. “That’s wonderful to hear, Rowyn. I want you to know that I’m still here for you if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I know.” I was still living above him in his rental. But if things kept getting more serious with Gareth, who knew how long I’d be staying there. My lips pulled into a smile, touched by his concern. “You’re doing it right now—”
The doors to the hall swung open and a man stepped in.
He was tall with long wisps of white hair. His face, creased with age and wisdom, was covered in a ferocious-looking white beard. Though he seemed in his late eighties, he carried himself with vibrant energy. His piercing blue eyes were alert and thoughtful behind black-rimmed spectacles. He wore a brown tweed suit with a bow tie and looked like a mix of a college professor and Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings movies.
A small t-shaped birthmark marred his temple, the sigil from House Ramiel. These angel-borns were gifted with clairvoyance, divination, and telekinesis. They were also the only ones who communicated with angels.
I pushed my chair back and stood. “Took you long enough,” I mumbled, recognizing him as the angel-born who’d greeted us an hour ago. His blue eyes got narrower as I sized him up.
Father Thomas got up slowly and slipped his phone into his pocket. “Edgar,” he said, in way of greeting. “I hope you have good news for us.”
“I have news, whether it’s good or not is up to you,” said Edgar as he stepped towards us. He had the resonant voice of public speaker.
I rolled my eyes. Great. One of those . “Well, tell us so we can decide for ourselves and get the hell out of here.”
Edgar’s face pinched at my comment. “One does not simply pick up a phone and call an angel. Divination is a power of its own, and one even more elusive and difficult to control than magic. It requires deep meditation and expert focus of the mind. Communicating with the angels is an art that takes great effort, talent and concentration, Rachel.”
“It’s Rowyn,” I informed him, though he didn’t seem to care or notice.
“The more the prayer resonates with the angels, the stronger the connection,” said the old man as he rocked back on his heels clearly pleased with himself.
“You’ve been praying?” I raised a skeptical brow. “Is that how you make contact? By praying?” Even the biggest fools could pray. I could pray, though I wouldn’t even know where to begin. There must have been something here I wasn’t seeing.
Edgar tapped his foot. “Prayer. Meditation. Reflection. It doesn’t matter what one calls it. It’s the same thing.” The angel-born’s jaw tightened belligerently, and I forced myself to relax. I knew better than to walk out of here with him mad at me, but it was really difficult when he was looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to squish with his foot.
“Only a select few have this ability. It is a battle of the mind,” said Edgar, touching his temples to give his words more emphasis. “You must seek out a quiet place in your consciousness, somewhere shielded from pain and guilt, from fear and anger. You must push out every sensation, every thought. The mind must be empty to receive the voices.”
I frowned at his condescending tone, like somehow speaking to angels made him superior to everyone around him.
“Sounds like fun,” I said, hands on my hips. “Where do I sign up?”
“Sign up?” Edgar’s voice dripped disdain, and my tension spiked. “You must be born with the gift. You must be blessed by the archangel Ramiel and have the marking if you want to converse with the angels. Females rarely have this gift.” Oh, no. He. Didn’t. His eyes rolled over my face all the way to my neck, making a show of looking for a sigil while knowing perfectly well I didn’t have one.
“What’s the news?” I demanded, feeling like this was a giant waste of time. My hatred for this old pompous bastard increased the longer I stood there.
Edgar regarded me with an expression somewhere between annoyance and contempt as he let out a puff of breath. “I was able to put your case ahead of two others,” he said proudly, like that was supposed to mean something to me. “Your case number is 1036.”
“Excuse me?” I looked askance at him to see if he was joking. “What does that mean?” My gaze flicked to Father Thomas, who answered me with a shrug.
Edgar scrunched up his face and cleared his throat. “It means exactly that. You, or rather, your case… is number 1036.”
My face went slack. “Number?” I said aghast, my temples thumping at the first sign of a headache. “We have a freaking number?”
Edgar’s eyes twitched as Father Thomas sighed through his nose. “Each case is assigned a number. We can’t have different claims all thrown in together,” argued the man as he stroked his long beard. “It would be madness. Madness! We would go insane. All these random thoughts all jumbled into one’s mind. No. We need order. Without order, it would be chaos. We would be lost.”
My tension rose, pulling my shoulders straight. “So, what you’re telling me is you’ve never even spoken to an angel yet? They still don’t know about me and what’s been going on with the archdemon?”
“We’ve left a message with the oracles,” said Edgar, the expression on his face empty as he looked at me.
I raised a brow, a sliver of anger sliding under my skin. “You left a message ,” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. “Are you kidding me, old man? Don’t you know who’s after me!”
“What Rowyn is trying to articulate,” interjected Father Thomas, speaking quickly. “Is that we were hoping our case would have been awarded a little more urgency, seeing its delicate and dangerous nature with the archdemon.”
“Exactly,” I confirmed, clenching my jaw. “What he said.”
Edgar’s eyes were pinched. “That is up to the oracles to decide,” he said, waving his hands around d
ramatically. “It is out of my control. Though there is a waiting list. Yes. The angels are sympathetic to the petitioners’ claims. Rest assured, your case will be reviewed, but it’s on a first-come first-serve basis.”
“This is a matter of life and death,” I said through gritted teeth. “Not a ‘God please help me win the lottery.’ This is serious. Do you even realize how serious this is? Do you? I don’t have time to play these games.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Edgar’s face, fleeting and almost not there. “We take every claim seriously, Rhonda. Believe you me, we don’t waste the time of the angels. You think listening to our petty lamentations is all they have to do with their time? They are working to save lives. To keep us, you, safe from demons.”
“I can take care of my own demons.” I looked at Edgar’s mocking expectancy with my barely contained anger and took a breath. “I can’t freaking believe this.”
Edgar looked skeptical. “When your number comes up, I will be asked to speak to an angel so we can further discuss your case. The Legion will advise me on how to proceed. It is how it’s done. In a timely fashion and with order ,” he informed me, hammering in the last word.
My mouth went dry. I was going to punch him in the face. “So all this time we’ve been waiting here,” I said, my voice high as I imagined different ways to rip off his beard with my own hands. “Was only to get a number? A number?”
Edgar made a disgusting sound in his throat, looking at me with haughty disdain. “I can see why you were never blessed by the angels,” said the old man, making me glower. “You obviously cannot handle celestial instruction. But I suspect it is because of what’s inside you as well. The demon essence. Demons are evil by definition. The archangels could never bless you with their mark, Rosy.”
“It’s ROWYN,” I growled, and I felt Father Thomas’s shoulder brush up against mine as he moved closer to me, probably to keep me from punching the lights out of this old man. Gandalf or not, he was really ticking me off.
I scowled at him, pissed. “I have just as much angel blood as any of you. And just because I have demon blood too doesn’t make me evil. Not all demons are evil. And if you and your holier-than-thou religious zealots would pull yourselves out of your collective asses and actually think about that, you might figure it out!”
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