She knew now. It made her chest tight and her stomach feel sour. She didn’t like that feeling. She didn’t like it when Sister cried, when Sister was sad.
A gentle hand shook her by the shoulder. She was in a body, but it wasn’t her own.
“Anyone home, little gal?”
That voice. She’d heard it before, long ago, or maybe not. Time never meant much to her when she was in her body, and the Others told her time was different in the place of afterlife. But she’d heard that voice in the place of darkness with the man in white—and with Sister.
She opened her eyes and saw the man who was not a man. Spirit. Yes, he was a spirit like her, but he could make a body. The Others told her she could make a body, too, but it would take time for her to learn how to make a body that was right. Her body wasn’t right, not like other bodies. Her body was…different, not in her control. This body was under her control. She lifted her hands to his face and felt the wiry hairs of his beard. Her lips curled into a smile. His beard tickled, like the hair over Father’s lip had tickled. She liked the sensation.
“I know you,” she said. The words still felt funny in her mouth—the mouth that came with this body. Strange and wonderful, it was good to speak. So many thoughts had flooded her mind after she first left her body.
The Others had taken her in, pleased that she brought so many spirits from the place of darkness with the man in white. She’d seen glimpses of him from the place of the Others. He helped Sister.
Sister…
Sister was here, in her mind, urging her to do…something. What? How could she help Sister? Sister had never been in her mind before, no one had, except the Others.
The man smiled. Sister, somewhere in the back of her mind, growled. Sister didn’t trust this man—spirit. That’s right. This spirit wanted to steal her from Sister, wanted to make Sister do his bidding and had…betrayed sister? But this spirit had come to the place of darkness with her to free the spirits there.
The spirit leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “Tell her I’m sorry for making her doubt me,” he whispered. “And that I knew you’d come. You’re going to have to save us again, little doll. You’re going to be doing a lot of saving from now on.”
Saving…she liked that. She would save the spirit and Sister from the one who meant them harm.
The Archangel, the small spirit, is the one who means us harm. Save Briggs, the beaten, burned, and bloodied man, and the old woman who let you speak before.
Sister didn’t ask her to save the bearded man—Ezra. His name was Ezra. But that was okay. Sister got mad a lot, but Sister was good and kind and always took care of everyone. Sister was good, even if Sister didn’t always believe it.
Ezra helped her to her feet. She stood on wobbly legs and smiled in wonder. Sister’s legs worked, her mouth worked, and she could see so far, so many things. She looked at the beauty all around her, things she’d only seen in glimpses before with the eyes in her own body. Green things were everywhere, visible as far as the dim light of night, and bursts of color from flowers that also smelled sweet and lovely. Cool air chilled skin and blew through hair.
How marvelous. She stumbled toward a flower with Ezra’s support, wanting to touch, to smell deeply, to experience. Living things sang in the night, their songs so much richer heard through Sister’s ears.
Sister sobbed in the back of my mind. Sister was sad. Why?
Because you were cheated in life. You never got to see, hear, smell, and experience all of this. People like me take it for granted, but not you. You see the beauty and the wonder. You should have been like the rest of us, taking it for granted because you were too busy living a full life.
“No, Sister. You and the rest of the living should be like me of now, me of then. Taking in everything. It is a gift.”
Ezra chuckled. “It surely is. Now then, I need you to play along with me. Don’t go striking out right away, no matter what your ornery sister says, and don’t get your feelings hurt. It’s all pretend.”
A sound came out of her throat, her sister’s throat. It’s called a snort and it’s totally appropriate. Sister was right.
“I am not stupid.” The words were louder, angry. Some people said she was stupid, retarded, not worth being alive—those people made Mother and Father angry. They made Sister angry, too, even when Sister wondered if they were right. She was glad to show Sister that those people were not right.
I’m glad, too.
“Of course you’re not stupid, darlin’. You’re a good girl, and you’re going to help us make some people who’ve been stupid do the right thing.”
Ezra patted her hand. He wasn’t speaking to her now. He was speaking to the small man with power, the Archangel. Uriel was his name. She was confused. Angels were good.
No, the Others told her that some angels were corrupt, like the angels from long gone times, those who defied the Good. She was supposed to defend the Good, like the Others. Sister asked her to save them from the Archangel. Sister didn’t lie.
The Archangel came closer. Ezra helped her stand on her feet, steady. She set her legs wide as he did. It was easier to stand. The Archangel looked strange, but she wasn’t used to looking down at people. He smiled at her, but it was a wrong smile, the kind of smile people used to give her when she was in her own body. They talked to her like she was stupid.
He thought she was stupid.
Let him think that, Mae. If he thinks you’re feeble and weak, he’ll let his guard down. When he does, you hit him with all the light you’ve got.
“When Ezra says?”
“When Ezra says what, my lamb?”
She had spoken out loud instead of in her mind. That was stupid. She would not be stupid again. She would be clever and sneaky, like the reaper. Like Sister when she was tricking the angels and guardian spirits so she could help the Good.
“When Ezra says, I can smell more flowers? I can eat good food and see pretty things?”
The Archangel laughed and it was wrong. He was not happy. He did not think she was funny. He thought she was stupid. Good. She would show him. Later.
“Of course, lamb. And when you are comfortable, you will work with us, yes?”
She curled her lips into a smile. “Yes, I will work for the Good.”
“Most excellent. Your energy will help so many, dear Mae.”
She froze. The Archangel knew her name, knew who she was. But he was not afraid? He had not been there in the place of darkness where she unleashed her energy to bring the many souls home. He thought she was stupid. He thought she was a tool for him to use. She was not his weapon.
Ezra’s grip on her arms tightened. That was good. She must not show anger. She must pretend that she was stupid, foolish, and willing to do what the Archangel wanted.
“Now then, what shall we do with your wayward descendant?” Uriel said, turning his attention to the small woman seated in an outdoor chair. She was old, older than Mother, and she was filled with the soul of another. That soul, that loa, was the one who’d called her forth to speak with Sister and had brought her into Sister’s body.
The broken and bloodied man on the ground was hurt badly. His spirit would leave his body soon if not healed. Sister could heal him.
Yes, I can. I will. But first we have to destroy the Archangel.
Destroy. The Others did not destroy. The Others worked for the Good. Confusion filled her. She had never destroyed before.
Oh, Mae, I’m so, so, sorry. I don’t know what the consequences will be with your…Others, but if the Archangel gets away, he’ll destroy innocent souls and the ones who protect them.
A funny feeling filled her. It was cold, unpleasant, a roiling sensation in her stomach worse than hunger, worse than sickness. She’d experienced it when Mother took her to the doctor, when she had trouble breathing in her own body, and when Sister became angry, the night Sister went away to the place of darkness the first time.
I’m sorry.
She’d f
orgiven Sister long ago. Sister came back and cared for her, made her well, kept her safe, brought another spirit who filled her with warm light and happiness.
Zeke.
Zeke was a good guardian. Sister loved Zeke. Zeke and the man in white, the Reaper, were both in Sister’s heart, but she could not hold them both.
Don’t worry about that for now. Worry about the Archangel. If you can’t destroy him…disable him so one of us can.
She didn’t want to destroy, didn’t want Sister or other spirits to destroy. The voice from the old woman, the mambo, came. The loa spoke. He was a trickster, like the man in white, like Ezra. He did not like the Archangel, did not like what Uriel had done to the bruised and bloodied man who was his kin.
The loa inside the mambo laughed. “His Daddy won’t do. Never was good for much this side of life, let alone the next. There’s an old friend that might do.”
Uriel smiled. “You’ve done well with the woman. I trust your judgment with this man.”
She smiled. That would be the angel’s second mistake. His first was putting her into Sister’s body.
“Careful what you wish for.”
Chapter Thirty
Before the Archangel’s wicked smirk fell, Briggs rose. The black marks on his face shrank into nothingness, leaving smooth skin behind as broken bones popped and snapped into place. Vivian saw through a haze, looking out through her own eyes, but through the lens of Mae. Her sister’s soul surrounded her, full of love and hope and so much power.
Vivian hoped she could shield Mae from what needed to be done. Mae’s soul was pure, innocent, beautiful, and using her power to kill—if that was the right word for the destruction of an Archangel gone bad—would destroy that. That first taste of darkness in the reaper’s realm, and in her own soul, had changed Vivian forever, and she’d been far from innocent.
Concentrating on her body, she flexed her fingers experimentally.
What are you doing, Sister?
“Don’t worry,” she said in her mind. “I might need to sit in the driver’s seat if things get as bad as I think they will.”
Driver’s seat? We are not in a car.
She fought back a chuckle. This was no time to laugh, but being able to talk to Mae, listen to her, share her knowledge in a big sister kind of way, was a wonder and a miracle.
“What I mean is, let me have control of this body when the fighting starts. I’ll keep us safe.” And she would keep Mae safe from killing.
Mae’s presence…faded. Her sister was still there, seeing, listening, feeling, but she’d given Vivian control. Vivian stood straight and jerked out of Ezra’s grip, turning to shoot a look of pure murder at her former mentor.
Ezra’s gaze narrowed, but he let go, nodding. He didn’t want Mae harmed or forced to harm, either.
Clearly nervous, Uriel took a step back and clenched his fists, power surging beneath his skin. Briggs, or rather, whoever had hopped into Briggs’ body, turned his neck back and forth with popping sounds, rubbed his hands together, and smiled at Uriel.
“Uriel, Light with the Fiery Sword, it has been long since our paths crossed. When last I saw you, you guarded the only gate to the afterlife and denied the first souls entrance. I see you have not changed.”
Uriel frowned, his gaze narrowed in thought or calculation. “With whom am I speaking?”
The thing inside of Briggs laughed. “You don’t remember me? You once bowed before me as Queen of the Underworld.”
Waves of shock rippled across the angel’s face, his true form showing beneath the veneer of the corporeal form he’d chosen. Light and power surged beneath his skin, melting it away to reveal his true form. No white wings or gentle, benevolent protector, this angel was a warrior, his hair flaming as red as his fiery sword and crimson wings. He was tall, terrifyingly beautiful, and the most frightening creature she’d ever seen. His glowing gaze fell on the creature wearing Briggs, that of the reaper who’d claimed Briggs on a faraway battlefield and the same reaper who’d once claimed Darkmore.
That creature smiled through Briggs’ eyes, red light glowing as bright as the flames from the Archangel. A flaming sword emerged in Briggs’ palm, shorter than Uriel’s, but long and gleaming in the low light, edge sharp, as runes in a language she’d never seen glowed and sparked. Magic, soul energy, spirit light—whatever it was matched the Archangel’s power, making the creature within Briggs a formidable warrior.
Vivian took a step forward, but Ezra held her back, as did Mae’s presence within her. “Easy now, Miss Vivian. It ain’t the right time and this ain’t your battle. You’ll know when to strike. You and Mae.”
The pair of powerful entities circled one another, swords whooshing and swinging, showing deadly skill and the reach of weapons as they sized one another up. At last, they stopped, feet apart, while still moving to find weight and balance, and the fighting began. The angel moved his sword from a straight, shoulder level to, in a quick slash, forward, moving to meet the thing occupying Briggs and crossing blades. Fire spilled from the point of contact as a shrill, unearthly clang echoed.
Uriel pushed, sliding his sword across the Queen’s in an attempt to stab her—Briggs—in the neck. The Queen bent Briggs’ body at an unnatural angle to avoid the strike. Twisting the body she inhabited, she swept at the angel’s legs, then kicked Uriel between his legs. The Queen fought dirty.
So did Uriel. The angel brought the sword down on Briggs’ head with a skull-splitting crack. Vivian screamed, but Ezra held her to the spot. Blood gushed from the head wound, but the Queen still managed to push her sword up and through the angel’s torso. Uriel cried in pain as he stumbled back.
Angels bleed red, too, Vivian thought with horror.
The battle continued, brutal, ugly, and faster than her human eyes could track. Somewhere in the process, the pair began casting spirit light at one another. Shots that didn’t find their targets hit shrub and tree foliage, flowers, and the elegant lawn furniture in Bijoux Briggs’ backyard paradise. Small fires burned in patches of grass, sending up billows of acrid smoke.
Olive, to her credit, ran out and covered Bijoux’s body with hers, and Ezra put himself between Vivian and the stray blasts of light. Minutes passed like hours with no signs of the battle stopping. Blood splattered as the combatants moved, struck, dodged, and charged.
How long could they keep going before one or both expired. And where would they go? God, what if they simply rebuilt corporeal bodies and fought for eternity? No, they couldn’t—the Queen couldn’t. Not unless she discarded Briggs’ body.
The angel was bigger, much bigger, than the Queen of the Underworld in Briggs’ body. This was bad. She’d survive the damage to the vessel she occupied, but that could and likely would leave Briggs mortally wounded or dead.
“What’s her name?” Vivian asked, trying to pull her body out of Ezra’s grasp. He pulled harder, using his supernatural strength to immobilize her.
Mae stilled within her, reading her thoughts and knowing what she meant to do.
“Damn it, Ezra, I’m not going to strike! I need the Queen of the Underworld, dark angel, demon, goddess, or whatever the hell she is to leave Briggs’ body before he gets hurt!”
Ezra swore, which was a shock to the system. She’d never heard the old coot swear. He’d always admonished her against swearing, blasphemy, and other unbecoming words. Good. He realized the stakes now.
“She has a whole slew of names—Ereshkigal, Irkalla, Hecate, Hel, Isis, Kali—”
“Pick one!”
The reaper’s voice called out, flooding her heart and soul with hope—at least until she remembered how vulnerable he was. God, was he still on good terms with his former mentor, or captor?
“Eloah. Hear me, your first child, your loyal one, the one who serves you.” Darkmore appeared, flanked by Jeanne, Zeke, and the souls from the asylum.
Crap, why had he brought them? They were supposed to stay out of this battle and flee if and when it went to hell, wh
ich it had. Ezra smiled, the crazy old coot, clearly pleased by this turn of events.
“Hold!” The loa’s voice boomed from Mrs. Briggs. “Let the reaper speak.”
The angel and the queen lowered their weapons with inhuman grace and faced the reaper. Darkmore removed his hat, a sure sign of reverence and respect, and bowed low to the Queen of Darkness. “I see time has not diminished your power and warrior’s grace.”
“Flatterer. But you always were, my Damu. You were once a god. What name have you in this time and place?”
“Lazarus Darkmore,” he said with a small smile.
The feminine laughter was so odd and disturbing, coming as it did from Brigg’s mouth. It was even weirder to see Briggs saunter over to Darkmore with a sensual, feminine gate. If she kissed Darkmore with Briggs’ lips, it would be too much. Not that she had a problem with two guys, but how did one reconcile consent when an entity takes over the body of another?
Briggs deserved a say in whether or not he was okay with his body being used in a deadly battle.
“It suits you,” she said. “Resurrected, yet still reaper. Her doing?”
The thing inside Briggs gestured to Vivian, turning a fiery gaze upon her. Damn it, was this creature—Eloah—curious, jealous, or simply irritated? Vivian held no more significance to the ancient and powerful reaper than a speck of dust, no matter her soul broker powers. Darkmore had been intrigued by her, but this creature? No, she had nothing to offer and no way to defend herself from this potential threat, or to prevent the creature from claiming her.
“Yes,” Darkmore said. “It is a rare and wonderful gift for one such as I.”
“I gifted you more. You ruled the underworld as my consort for untold ages, and I shared my kingdom with you, a god to my goddess.” The creature’s gaze returned to the reaper, cool and…sad? Crap. She was jealous. No good could come from earning the jealousy of a goddess.
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