Sons of Angels

by Rachel Green

  “Of course he’s another imp. Quite good with his hands too.”

  Felicia shuddered at his wink. “Could you help me find my sister? She went missing from the hospital yesterday.”

  “Is she a werewolf too?” Jasfoup unfolded the map again. Now she was close enough, Felicia could see that he’d colored two of the houses in red, one of them her mother’s. Another house was circled but not colored. He put his finger on the hospital and Felicia moved it to the psychiatric ward, almost surprised his skin felt normal.

  “No. She has one of those imps, though. It tells her what it can see.”

  “I’m surprised it didn’t warn her about being kidnapped.”

  Harold looked at the map. “You have no clue who might have taken her? What about this Raffles chap you mentioned the other day?”

  “I think it was. He was looking for her, certainly, and he was there on Sunday with this Elizabeth, although Mother said it was a woman, not an angel.”

  “Well, your mum wouldn’t have seen an angel, would she?” said Harold, sitting back in his chair. “Not if she was a mundane.”

  “She was Changed too.” Felicia tapped her mother’s house. “She was a nephilim.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, for one, I saw her scales and secondly, her dad told me.”

  “Hang on.” It was Jasfoup’s turn to frown. “You met her dad?”

  “Yes, I was as close to him as I am to you now.” Felicia rubbed her eyes. “He could alter his appearance. He said his name was Taliel and he was an earthbound angel.”

  “Taliel? One of the ninth.” Jasfoup stood and began pacing.

  “The ninth?” Felicia raised her eyebrows.

  “A grigori.” Harold pored over the map. “One of the ninth rank of angels. It was they who came to teach the people of Adam to farm and cook.”

  “And shag,” added Jasfoup. “If you’ve got a grigori for a grandfather, that means that you’re half-nephilim as well, as is your sister.”

  “Wait a minute.” Harold stabbed at the map “If her mum was nephilim, that explains why an angel killed her. Was Carol Goodwin a nephilim too?”

  “I could find out.” Jasfoup took out his phone. “If so, we could predict where it strikes next.”

  “Wait.” Felicia’s chair scraped across the stone floor. “What about Julie? Does this mean she’s already dead?”

  “Quite the opposite.” Harold smiled brightly. “If she was, the hospital would be a smoking pile of ash as well.”

  Chapter 15

  Julie could feel the pass of sunlight–her skin warm then cool as clouds occluded the sun until it set, leaving her with just the memory of its warmth.

  Wrack shifted around her shoulders, his tail coiling tighter around her neck. “It’s gone cold. How long do we have to stay here?”

  Julie shrugged, the gesture reflected in the branches above as the leaves rustled in the evening breeze. “I don’t know. Until my sister comes for me, I suppose.”

  “She doesn’t know where you are. How will she find you up here?”

  “She will.” Julie tried to sound more confident than she felt. “She’ll find me somehow.”

  “A little help might not hurt.” His weight left her shoulders. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Julie felt the minute implosion of warm air as the imp’s portal gate opened and then he was gone. She shook her head, and above her, the moon rose over trembling leaves.

  * * * *

  Felicia started as a gate opened above the pine table and an imp dropped out, its hooves clattering across the pine as it fought for balance, its tail swinging madly to compensate for its forward momentum. It was smaller than Devious and had a torn ear. “Who’s this?”

  Harold looked up from his map. “Delirious. Say hello to Felicia, Delirious.”

  “Up yer bum.” The imp shuffled to the larger one and whispered something into its ear. Devious cuffed him.

  Devious clouted it around the head. “You’ll have to tell him. It’s no use telling me.”

  “Tell me what?” Harold glared at them. “What have you done, Delirious? I promise that telling me will be the least painful of your options.”

  “I ain’t done nothing. There’s another imp at the manor and he’s looking for someone, only he don’t say who.”

  Harold sighed and put down his pen. “Did he give any indication?”

  “The wolf girl, he said.” Delirious stuck a claw in his ear and tweaked it, pulled out a gobbet of sticky yellow wax and sucked at it. “I told him there weren’t no wolf girls but he was insistin’. He reckoned he could smell her.”

  “He means me.” Felicia reached out to grasp the creature’s arm. “Was his name Wrack?”

  “How the bleedin’ ’ell should I know?” Delirious pulled away from her touch. “He was clanless.”

  “My sister’s imp is called Wrack. It has to be the same one. He must know where Julie is.”

  * * * *

  In other circumstances, Felicia would have enjoyed the walk. The track wound through beeches and oaks, the occasional willow coming into sight as it passed near the bank of the river Laver, sluggish at this time of year as it meandered to the lowlands with all the urgency of a letter with insufficient postage. She could imagine Samuel Palmer coming here to make sketches for his pastoral etchings. He probably had. Some of the prints she’d seen bore a striking resemblance to the manor. Harold was terribly unconcerned about the art he owned right up until the time he was asked to part with it.

  Felicia was third in the party, unless one counted the imps. The three of them constantly appeared and disappeared, gating to a point twenty yards ahead then waiting, puffing on foul-smelling cigarettes until the rest of the party caught up.

  She nudged Harold. “How many have you got?”

  Harold laughed. “Just the three, though they seem like a lot more when they’re darting about like this. Devious is the eldest and the other two, Delirious and John, are his offspring.”

  “I’ve not met John, have I?”

  “No. Just imagine Delirious without the torn ear, and that’s John.”

  “How did you wind up with them?” Felicia looked ahead and smiled, her sense of smell alerting her to the presence of Gillian, twenty yards to her right. She was more of a shadow than the trees themselves. On her left ran the river, audible in its lazy scramble over rocks.

  “I made a deal with Devious. A pact. His children were born in service.”

  “What sort of pact? The sell-your-soul kind?”

  “Sort of.” Felicia watched him grin in the dark. “I traded him the hand of a hero for lifelong service.”

  “Eww. Sounds horrible.”

  “It was.” Harold sighed heavily. “It was a classic from the sixties, still in its box and everything.”

  “It was a toy?”

  “Not at all. It was a limited-edition superhero.” Harold guided her over a series of surface roots. “I ended up with a bit of a reputation for shady pacts, though I still think I overpaid.”

  Felicia laughed. “So you’re a magician then?”

  “You make it sound sordid.” Harold paused as the path became steeper. Felicia could hear the sound of a waterfall in the distance.

  “I’ve never been up here before. Is that a waterfall?”

  “Yes.” Harold raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got good hearing.”

  “I would, wouldn’t I?”

  Gillian appeared beside them, silent as a tiger. “You’ll have to keep your voices down. The imp said they were near the stone at the top of the falls. The water will mask most of the noise but I don’t know what we’re facing yet. I’ll scout ahead when we’re closer.”

  “Thanks.” Harold reached out to touch her, the gesture revealing more of his love for the vampire than a thousand words. She flashed him a smile and faded back into the darkness. He lowered his voice. “The waterfall is called Lover’s Leap. You’ll see it soon.”

  “Do people jump from i
t?”

  Harold shook his head. “Not generally, since it’s a fatal drop. When my grandfather built a footbridge over the falls it became the Laver’s Leat, then Lover’s Leap.” He shrugged. “A bit of local history.”

  Felicia felt the ground beneath her begin to rise.

  “We had a suicide last year. The priest from the village. He was engaged in some less than priestly activities and chose to jump instead of bringing his church into disrepute. You’ve got to admire him for that, though they never found his body.”

  “How do you know he jumped then?”

  “They found his arm wedged in the rocks half way down.” Harold chuckled. “The trout were good last year.”

  The roar of the waterfall grew deafening and Felicia paused to look over the edge. Hundreds of gallons of freezing water cascaded past her into the depths below. It was hard to believe they had climbed so high with such little effort.

  The imps waited for them to catch up.

  Jasfoup, his wings half unfolded, squatted on the track. “The leech has gone ahead. Give her a few minutes.”

  Harold punched him on the arm. “I’ve asked you time and again not to call her that. Her name is Gillian and she’s the woman I love.”

  Jasfoup winked at Felicia. “Right. Noted. All leeches are bloodsuckers, but not all bloodsuckers are leeches.”

  They waited while the waterfall thundered to their left, Felicia itching to move. She murmured to Wrack. “Are you certain my sister is up there?”

  The imp nodded “I was there with her. She was unharmed when I left. Of course, I could have got there a lot quicker if I’d been on my own and not having to wait for you lot.”

  “And she still wouldn’t be rescued.” Jasfoup picked up a leaf and twirled it. “Who’s holding her?”

  “An angel. A fallen one, anyway. Not a demon, though. The earthbound kind.”

  “What?” Felicia stood up. “Why didn’t you tell us that earlier?” She began to run up the rest of the slope.

  “Felicia! Wait!” Harold called after her.

  Felicia burst into the clearing at the top of the hill and stopped. The circle of trees was empty but for one huge stone in the center. “Julie?”

  “She’s not here.” Gillian jumped from the top of the stone. “There’s no one here. It’s a wild goose chase.”

  The imps arrived, closely followed by Harold and Jasfoup. The demon dropped into a defensive crouch. “I smell an angel.”

  “That will be Taliel.” Felicia looked up. “Taliel! I’ve come for my sister.”

  One of the trees shifted form, its branches shrinking as the angel took on human appearance again. He bowed. “Grand-daughter, I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Where is my sister, Taliel? I’ve been worried sick about her.”

  “She’s safe.” The earthbound angel waved a hand and another tree changed form.

  Julie stumbled as she developed feet for the first time in more than a day. “Felicia? I can hear your voice.”

  Felicia wrapped her in her arms “I was so worried. I thought you’d been taken by the angel.”

  “She would have been, had I not intervened.” Taliel stepped forward. “Raphael hunts you all, though I do not yet know why.”

  Jasfoup stood over the two women. “It’s your legacy. Heaven has always hated nephilim. Why now, though? Why has a seraph suddenly decided to hunt now?”

  Taliel shrugged. “I don’t know. There are many nephilim in the world, each part of their clan, each separate from the other.”

  “Clans?” Felicia helped her sister up. “What clans?”

  Taliel frowned. “The six tribes of nephilim. Surely you know of them?”

  Jasfoup shook his head. “That’s an old tale. Nobody believes in that now.”

  “Why not? It was written in the Book of Cain.”

  “Book of Cain?” Harold stepped forward. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It no longer exists.” Jasfoup caught his friend’s arm. “The last remaining copy of it was destroyed during the sack of Byzantium in twelve-oh-four.”

  Harold looked crushed.

  Julie stepped forward. “Why does an angel want to kill me?”

  Harold waved a hand in dismissal. “I wish I knew. This Raphael will come after me one of these days.”

  Gillian stepped forward. “Much as I think this reunion touching, I have to point out we’re wasting time. We’re too out in the open to stand about and chat.”

  “The leech is right.” Jasfoup earned a glare from Harold. “Let’s go back to the house.”

  They began walking back, Julie and Taliel with them. Gillian nudged Felicia as they approached the manor. “I don’t know about you but I was itching for a fight all the way up. It was a bit of an anticlimax.”

  Felicia laughed. “I suppose you’re right. I’m still full of energy. I’m just glad we found my sister.”

  “As am I.” Gillian pulled her toward the stable yard. “Let’s work off some of our aggression.”

  * * * *

  Gillian let out her breath and slammed her fist into the werewolf, tilting her pelvis to add extra power and sending Felicia flying twenty feet into a brick wall. She didn’t know if the crack she heard came from the wall or the werewolf’s bones and, frankly, she didn’t care.

  Felicia growled and struggled upright, holding her right paw up. Gillian smiled, thankful that she wouldn’t have to re-point the wall. “It’s all a matter of respect.” She dropped one hand to the ground to deliver a double kick to the wolf’s snout. “You need to realize you can’t beat me no matter what you try.”

  The wolf snarled and leaped, catching Gillian’s wrist in its jaw as she moved to block it. Bright blood made an arc in the moonlight. The vampire dropped to one knee, sandwiching the snout between an iron hard fist and the concrete. Felicia yelped and let go.

  Gillian dropped into a crouch and waited for the next attack. “You might think I’m being hard on you but there’s no point in pussyfooting around. I don’t want you if you’re going to stay soft.” She ducked under the next leap, rising in time to catch the wolf’s back leg and snap the bone.

  “Heal.” She stood over the wolf and nudged the broken leg with the toe of her boot. “You’re doing too much thinking. Act, don’t react. Forget your wounds and let them take care of themselves.” She drew her saber and cut a foot-long gash in the wolf’s side. “You might have graduated from the school of life but this is the dojo of the undead.”

  Chapter 16

  Gillian was enjoying the constant look of awe on Felicia’s face as she was given a guided tour around the manor. She took particular delight in her astonishment at the art. Though Gillian had done none of the sourcing or purchasing, she could still take pride in Harold’s collection.

  “Do you really live here?” Felicia stared up at the classical edifice.

  “Yes.” Gillian led her around the house to the kitchen door. “It’s been in Harold’s family for generations.”

  “Your fuel bill must be bigger than my mortgage. I’ve never seen a house this size that’s actually the private residence of someone without armed guards.”

  Gillian paused as she opened the door. “Actually, we don’t pay fuel bills. Harold has an arrangement with the power company.”

  “What sort of arrangement? The ‘they give you power and you don’t send your friends to drop pennies in the reactor chamber’ sort of arrangement?”

  Gillian laughed. “I doubt he thought of that. Do you see those barley fields over there?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s enough land there for thirty wind-powered generators, enough to supply the whole of Laverstone with virtually free, unlimited power.”

  “Why don’t you build them then?”

  “This is the clever bit. If we built them, the power company would lose thirty grand of revenue a year, so they provide us with free power as long as we don’t build the windmills.”

  “Clever. But windmills cost a lot
of money to build and maintain. How are they so certain you’d really build them?”

  “We’ve built one already, over on the other side of the house,” Gillian explained. “It runs all the stables and greenhouses, and still sends enough electricity back to the national grid for Harold to receive a quarterly rebate.”

  She stepped into the hall and Felicia followed, still talking. “If you could do that, you could build them all over the place and solve the world energy crisis.”

  Gillian shrugged. “Then thousands of people would lose their jobs and thousands more would stop being so poor. It would provoke an energy crisis.”

  She led the way into the east wing, Felicia trying to keep up and look at the antiques and paintings at the same time. She seemed impressed by the portraits on the east corridor, where the windows overlooked the gardens and greenhouses.

  “Are all these real? They should be in a museum.” She indicated the Vermeers and Rembrandts with a sweep of her hand.

  “Of course they’re real.” Harold appeared behind Gillian and gave her a peck on the cheek. “But why would I give them away? If you paid a photographer to take your photograph, would you offer it to a museum afterward?”

  Felicia shook her head. “I suppose not.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t, you’d keep it.” Harold indicated the works of art. “All these paintings were commissions by members of my family. It’s a family album, if you like, just without the tedious naked baby on a sheepskin rug.”

  Jasfoup stepped out from the shadows. “Your mum’s still got that one, hasn’t she? She showed it to me when she thought I was your boyfriend.”

  “Talking of which.” Harold led the way to the kitchens. “You still haven’t shown me that one Fuseli did of you as an incubus.”

  “I won’t, either. It’s a painting of me with a foot-long penis. I’ve never been so embarrassed.”

  Felicia laughed. “Most men would be proud of that.”

  Jasfoup huffed. “I was a laughing stock for years. I kept telling them that the studio was cold, but they were having none of it.”