Dark Angel

by Kim Richardson

  Edgar screwed up his face, his thin lips disappearing under his beard as he regarded me with open disdain.

  “How long until our number comes up?” asked Father Thomas with tension in his voice and posture as he tried to change the subject. “Perhaps we could wait here?”

  “No. No. No.” Edgar moved his tiny eyes onto the priest. “You can’t stay here. A priest and a Hunter? Oh, no. That simply will not do. This establishment is reserved only for the angel-born. No humans…” his eyes landed on me. “And especially no Hunters.”

  “Bite me, jackass.” I pressed my lips tightly and crossed my arms over my chest to keep them from clobbering the old man. I was going to do it… I could feel it in my bones.

  Edgar’s mouth dropped open, showing the bottom part of his stained and crooked teeth. “I will ignore your rude behavior solely on Father Thomas’s good standing with us,” he said, deep color creeping over his pale face. “Insolence is not acceptable, but I will look past it this one time.”

  I bit down on my snarky comeback as I felt Father Thomas’s eyes on me. The guy was a jackass, but I needed that jackass to communicate with the angels.

  Sighing heavily, I unclenched my teeth before I gave myself a headache. “How long until we hear back from the angels?” My voice was rough but I couldn’t care less as I saw his eyes narrow further until they were almost slits.

  Edgar raked his fingers into his beard, pulling them all the way down through it. “Two days, maybe three—”

  “Three days!” My heart sped up. “Is this guy for real? After all this?” I shouted, loudly enough to make sure everyone in Hallow Hall heard me.

  “Rowyn,” cautioned Father Thomas in a loud whisper. “This isn’t helping. Remember, we came here to ask for their help.”

  “No one in this damned building wants to help us.” Anger slowly burned in my gut and the priest shot me a look to shut up. If I wasn’t so desperate, I would have walked away and figured out a way to speak to an angel myself. I thought I could manage a prayer or two, but I had no assurance that my way would even work. And I was running out of time. Exhausted in mind and soul, I looked at Father Thomas, wanting to believe this hadn’t been all for nothing.

  “Thank you, Edgar,” said Father Thomas as he reached out and shook the other man’s hand. “Please call me as soon as you hear back from the Legion.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Edgar inclined his head politely. His eyes flicked to me, his jaw setting stubbornly. “We take each case very seriously. Even though some are not appreciative nor do they deserve it.”

  Me, of course . It all came back to me—why I hated to come here, why I despised the angel-born.

  “Thank you,” I said, forcing the words out of my mouth. The relief on Father Thomas’s face was almost palpable.

  But Edgar wasn’t buying it. “Never in my…” The rest of his words were lost to me as the man turned on his heel and walked out the door.

  “Well,” sighed Father Thomas. “That went marginally better than I’d hoped. It’s progress.”

  “Ya think?” I said, following the angel-born’s exampled and marching towards the door.

  “They could have refused us,” confessed the priest as he walked alongside me, his stride confident and somewhat relaxed, though I couldn’t share his enthusiasm.

  “Maybe,” I said with false brightness. “But waiting three days isn’t exactly what I’d hoped for.” I’d really been hoping the Legion would do something about it today.

  “It’s all we have for now.” Father Thomas held the door for me.

  “Right,” I answered as I stepped through the door.

  But it wasn’t good enough. Not even close.

  2

  After I’d dropped Father Thomas off at his place, I made a small detour and grabbed Tyrius so I could rant before getting a bite to eat in Mystic Quarter. The priest was siding with the angels, of course, and that just put me in a fouler mood. I wanted to hear what the baal had to say about the three-day waiting period from the Legion of angels. Turns out, the cat felt the same as me.

  “You know… I’m not surprised,” he said as he turned from the window, sitting on the front passenger seat of my Subaru. “You forget you’re dealing with a bunch of halo douches. You can’t expect better. I hate to break it to you, Rowyn, but apparently… you’re no better than a number.”

  We drove through the quiet residential area, my eyes ranging over the small houses and tidy front lawns. I gritted my teeth as I took the next left, strands of my hair lifting in the warm June breeze coming through my open window. The warm air did nothing to help settle the chill I felt inside my core. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Bad and big.

  “It was a complete waste of time,” I said, my tension rising with my temper. “Here I was… thinking I was doing the right thing for a change. Well, the less reckless thing.” I pressed my lips together. “I took the priest’s advice. I went to see the angel-borns to ask for their help. It was humiliating, but I did it—for Layla and for me. We’re both in danger of becoming something dark. And what did I get in return? A freaking number.”

  Tyrius curled his tail around his feet. “You forget that most of the time… they just don’t care.”

  I shook my head. “Isn’t it their mandate to care about the wellbeing of the living? The mortals?” My hold on the wheel tightened. “I expected better. Hell, we’re talking about an archdemon. Not just any regular demon minion. The guy said he was older than Lucifer. How can this not be a priority?” Anger tightened my gut. Damn these angels ticked me off.

  “Guess they have a different definition of what a priority is to them,” said the cat, and my head whipped around at the incredulity in his tone. His eyes fixated on me.

  “What?” I asked after a moment, shifting in my seat. There was something he wasn’t telling me. “Spit it out, Tyrius. What?”

  “Does this mean you’re going to do something stupid?”

  I pulled my eyes back to the road in front of me. “Maybe,” I answered, my lips curling into a smirk.

  “Damn it, woman,” said the cat as he jumped up on the seat. “You are not going to summon another angel. You hear me! I won’t let you. You’ve only just recently gotten the Legion off your ass. Why would you risk it again? You like being hunted by angels? Are you psychotic?”

  I let out a sigh. “What choice do I have, Tyrius? I have to do something. And that something is summoning another angel.” Yes, it was stupid. Yes, it was reckless. But I had no other choice. “You said it yourself,” I added, seeing the cat’s fur rising over him in anger. “Without an archangel sigil marking my body, I’m open to the influence of other archdemons. Not just daddy dearest, but any other archdemon.” I swallowed. “I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

  An iron-cold band of fear slithered through my insides as I remembered what the archdemon’s gift felt like—the seductive darkness, the pleasure of killing, and of the demon I would have become if the archdemon hadn’t taken it away when he did.

  “Demon balls,” cursed the cat, as he shifted in his seat. “Three days is a very long time. Long enough for him to discover Layla. And that’s if he hasn’t found out about her already. He might have.”

  I stopped my car at the red light. “So you see? I can’t wait for the Legion anymore. I have to do this myself.” Going to the angel-borns had been a bust, but I still had time to turn this around.

  “Summoning an angel is the only way.”

  The cat arched a brow. “Do you have a name, oh wise one?”

  I frowned at his tone. “I’ll just name all the archangels I know of… one at a time. I’m bound to get one right—”

  “You’re going to summon an archangel! Are you mad?” cried the cat. “They’ll obliterate you on the spot just for occupying the same space.”

  “Not if they’re summoned in a circle they won’t.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “Maybe. But
I’m going to make the Legion listen to me one way or another. Even if I risk having them come after me again. It’ll be worth it.” I let out a sigh. “Look. This gift, this curse, it’s got to be celestial. So the only way to stop it is with the angels’ help.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” grumbled the cat. “We are speaking about cosmic morons. I wouldn’t trust anything that smells like lemons and glows in the dark.”

  The light turned green and I drove off. I took the next exit and sped down Interstate 87 heading south. We drove in silence for a while, both deep in thought. I welcomed the silence. We knew each other well enough that silences were not uncomfortable.

  I also had a good sense of Tyrius’s moods and patterns of thought. My instincts told me he was tense, pulled as tight as guitar wire.

  “The witch won’t let you steal another of her grimoires,” intoned the cat. “Not after the first time. It’ll be cursed. Or worse, she’ll kill your ass. Is that what you want?”

  Without a grimoire, I couldn’t do squat. I didn’t remember the incantation to summon an angel. I wasn’t Evanora, and I wasn’t a witch, though I had been really impressed at her witching skills when she’d tried to remove Lucian’s gift from me with her blood magic ritual.

  I moved my gaze over to the Siamese cat. “Look, I’m being responsible this time. Okay?”

  Tyrius snorted. “How so? With your stellar ability of self-control?”

  “I’m not going to steal her grimoire,” I said, flicking my eyes back onto the road. “I’m going to have Gareth ask her to borrow it.”

  Tyrius let out a dramatic laugh. “You don’t borrow things from dark witches, Rowyn. Haven’t you learned anything? They don’t like to share. Trust me. I know. You get your hands on that grimoire and you’ll end up with no fingers. It’ll be cursed. I’m telling you.”

  “Not if Gareth asks for it. She likes him. He saved her life.”

  Tyrius’s tail flicked behind him. “She’s a dark witch. The only thing she likes are the warts on her ass.”

  Agitated, I focused on the minivan ahead of me and slowed down so I wouldn’t unintentionally hit it. “I can’t just sit here and wait for three days. I might not make it. Layla might not make it. Right now, this is my only chance of actually communicating with the Legion. I have to try, Tyrius.”

  The cat shrugged. “I know,” he sighed heavily. “Three days is a colossal amount of time for an archdemon, and who knows what the Legion’s answer will even be by then.”

  I looked at the cat, my pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s not like they said they were going to solve our problems, did they?” he said with an irritated acceptance. “That angel-born told you he’d come back with the Legion’s answer in three days’ time. What if they decide not to help?”

  Damn. I hadn’t thought about that. “It’s possible. Everything’s possible when it comes to angels. You see? It’s why I have to do something.”

  “And you think Gareth’s going to help you?” asked the cat.

  “I do,” I said.

  “And you think the dark witch is going to lend him one of her precious books. Do you?”

  “Evanora likes him,” I responded, knowing it to be true. “I’m willing to bet that if he asks to borrow her grimoire, she’ll say yes.”

  “Demon balls,” cursed the cat again, turning from me. “You think you’ve got this all figured out. Don’t you?”

  “Possibly.”

  The car’s motor sounded incredibly loud in the otherwise oppressive silence that followed. We drove for another twenty minutes until we hit Mystic Quarter. I pulled my car over to the curb, killed the engine, and got out.

  My stride grew stiff with anger, my boots clunking hard on the pavement as I trudged down Goblin Avenue in Mystic Quarter with Tyrius balanced on my shoulder. He whispered nasties in my ear like the devil cat he was.

  The warm air was strong with the familiar scent of sulfur and demon magic. The sun was down, but I knew this was when the district came alive. Mystic Quarter was colorful and strewn with the bizarre assortment of vampires, werewolves, gnomes, trolls, witches and other half-breeds. I even spotted a few faeries, who avoided me like the plague. I hadn’t seen any of the fae in the district for the past three weeks since I killed one of the Dark Arrows with my gift. They’d scattered after I’d killed their dark queen. It seemed they were only slowly returning to their city.

  “There goes the neighborhood,” exclaimed Tyrius as a growl escaped his throat.

  “Where else do you want them to go?”

  “In the ground. With worms in their bellies.”

  I hated faeries just as much as he did. But I’d prefer the fae stick to Mystic Quarter as opposed to roaming freely in the other human neighborhoods and cities. Here, I could keep my eyes on them.

  “You need to calm down, Rowyn,” commented Tyrius as he shifted around my shoulders trying to settle himself into a better position, “or you’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

  “I. Am. Calm,” I seethed through my teeth, my anger tightening my gut until I thought I would scream.

  “Like hell you are,” Tyrius huffed. “You’re swinging your arms like a soldier and I can see the steam shooting out of your ears. You need to relax your ass, woman. I know this sucks—”

  “No. Really?” I shot back, my temples pulsing like my head was about to explode. “I never would have thought.”

  “Smart ass.” Tyrius released a long and loud sigh, his grip tightening around my right shoulder.

  “Don’t start with me, Tyrius.”

  “Don’t make me cut you, Rowyn. ‘Cause I will. Just listen. Okay?”

  A frown came over me, my gaze sliding around the cramped buildings in the district. Now that the charges of murder were reprieved and my name clear of all other accusations, I didn’t have to hide behind a hoodie or a guise. I strolled through the streets of Mystic Quarter with my usual Hunter prance—which was an I’ll-kick-your-ass-if-you-look-at-me-the-wrong-way kind of stroll.

  I wanted to kill something, and it had my adrenaline spiking through my body.

  Half-breeds walked past me, some giving me a wide berth, but most were just careful not to make eye contact. A male vampire leaned on a parked car. He was watching me like I was next on his dessert menu. His face broke into a smile, just enough to show off his pointy teeth.

  I matched his smile, my fingers brushing the hilt of my soul blade. He turned around. Oh. Well.

  “Okay, so the Legion is a bust,” said the cat, stifling my murderous thoughts as I pulled my attention away from the vampire. “We can work around that. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

  “Right,” I answered, tense and edgy but moving my legs faster. “I’m not even sure I want their help anymore. Even if they offer it, I think we’re better off without them.”

  Tyrius moaned. “Stop being so overdramatic,” breathed the cat. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Says the baal demon who lives for drama.” I winced as the cat’s claws pierced into my skin.

  “Will you just shut up for a second and listen?” Tyrius growled.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No,” snapped Tyrius, his voice high with anger and irritation. “I know the only reason you came here was because you’re hoping to get into a fight. Am I right?”

  I made a face. “No, it’s not.” Damn that baal demon. This was the time when I wished he didn’t know me so well.

  “Yes, it is,” said Tyrius. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I know when you’re lying. I know you, Rowyn Sinclair. You did the exact same thing to Mike Skiroski when you were thirteen. You picked the first dude who looked at you the wrong way—and wham! Down he went. The poor bastard’s only crime was he had a crush on you. Still, you kicked his ass. This isn’t going to help anyone. If you start beating up half-breeds… hell… you just got your life and reputation back. Don’t screw this up.”

  “I won�
�t.” I threw my gaze around, looking at the adjacent buildings to make sure I was going to the right way. Once I’d confirmed we were, I walked faster.

  I needed to reel in my emotions and think of something else. I needed to focus, to put all my attention on what really mattered right now, which was how Layla and I were to survive Lucian without the Legion’s help.

  And I knew just the remedy to make me feel a hell of a lot better.

  My boots clanked as I walked past a tangle of buildings all strewn together as though from lack of space. A sign over a decrepit two-story building that looked like it had seen many fires read THE WICKED WITCH BREWERY. STOP IN FOR A PINT AND A SPELL!

  Perfect.

  “You think they’ve got chicken wings in there,” questioned Tyrius. “I’m starving.”

  “They’ve got wings,” I commented with a tight smile as I made my way towards the pub. “Just not sure they’re chicken.”

  I felt Tyrius shrug against my neck. “Who cares. If it tastes like chicken… it’s chicken.”

  My boots thumped on the cement entrance as I walked up to the heavy wooden door with a doorknocker in the form of a screaming witch’s head, her face screwed up in pain and torment. Nice.

  I pulled open the door and stepped into the pub.

  3

  The witch pub was like all other pubs in Mystic Quarter—packed with all matter of half-breeds. Vampires, werewolves, faeries, trolls, gnomes, gremlins, and leprechauns were strewn about the space. I even spotted a cluster of pixies who took turns sipping out of a straw from an orange-looking substance at the bar.

  Though this was my first time stepping inside this particular pub, it had the same stink of beer, piss, and sulfur mixed with the lingering aroma of old vomit. But if you excluded the vomit, it was just dandy. Perfect for a quick meal and a pint of their own brewed beer.

  “Nothing like the smell of piss and beer to get your appetite going,” said Tyrius, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “You think they have pie?”

  I tried hard not to laugh. I didn’t want to draw any misguided attention to myself right now because first, well, that would be bad. And second, I was still resisting the urge to kill something.