Sons of Angels

by Rachel Green

  “Sorry.” Memories of the kill last night flooded back and she clenched her eyes shut against them. “What did he look like?”

  “Tall, black suit, black hat.” Meinwen’s voice changed. “Look, are you okay? You don’t sound altogether there.”

  “I just woke up.” Felicia ground the heels of her hands into her eyes in an effort to dispel the tiredness. “I overslept.”

  “You’re telling me. Can we meet up? I haven’t seen you for days. I feel like you’re edging me out of your life.”

  “Sure.” Felicia smiled. “I’ll meet you for lunch, shall I? I’ll bring the hummus.”

  “I look forward to it.” Meinwen sounded happier as she closed the connection. Felicia yawned again and swung her legs out of bed.

  She took down an old nylon robe from the back of the door and drew it on, knocked on her sister’s door and walked in, expecting to find Julie in bed.

  She was.

  What Felicia wasn’t expecting was the sudden flurry of flying sheets and the shape of a second figure lying very still under the crumpled duvet.

  “Sorry.” Felicia backed rapidly out of the room. Whether Julie had still been a virgin was now a moot point. She went into the bathroom to shower, taking particular care over her nails.

  By the time she went downstairs Julie sat at the kitchen table eating scrambled eggs.

  “Good morning, Felicia.” Jasfoup was scraping carbon from toast. “Would you like some coffee? Toast? Rawhide chew?”

  Felicia glared at him and sat at the opposite end of the table to her sister. “Where’s Harold?”

  “He’s at the shop already.” Jasfoup began buttering the toast. “There was an attempted break-in last night.”

  “Oh, dear.” Felicia looked up. “The shop or the gallery?”

  Jasfoup shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re both on the same alarm system.”

  “I’d better get down there.” Felicia rose.

  “He said attempted break-in.” Julia picked up her coffee. “I’m sure Harold can deal with whatever needs doing. It’s not like he’s short of resources, is it?”

  “I suppose not.” Felicia slumped back into the chair as Jasfoup put a cup of frothy coffee in front of her and toast in the middle of the table. Wrack, reaching from his usual place around Julie’s neck, took two pieces.

  Jasfoup sat. “Look. About this morning...”

  Felicia held a hand up. “I don’t want to know. You’re both consenting adults and it’s none of my business.”

  “I was going to tell you.” Julie toyed with her cutlery. “That was the first time.”

  “You lost your virginity to a demon?” Felicia shuddered.

  “Well, no.” Julie raised her blank eyes heavenward. “I wasn’t blind until I was sixteen, remember? Were you still a virgin at sixteen?”

  Felicia coughed. “That’s beside the point. And, actually, I was.”

  “Why?” Jasfoup took a piece of toast. “Did you look like a chamber pot?”

  “Yes she did.” Julie grinned. “A full one as well.”

  “Thanks a bunch. After all I’ve done for you too.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. You had a shag last night, so why begrudge me one? It’s not like I’m going to marry him or anything.”

  “Of course not.” Jasfoup took a piece of toast and began to smear it with marmalade. “It was just a one-off to get her back into the swing of things.”

  “A four-off, actually.” Wrack dropped off the pendant lamp. “Do you know how difficult it was to sleep through that?”

  “Imps don’t sleep.” Jasfoup narrowed his eyes and Wrack coughed.

  “We were watching a film on the telly.” Julie took the buttered toast from Jasfoup. “Then when Gillian came in, she and Harold went downstairs to her suite. After that it was either shag his brains out or watch Springer.”

  “You two aren’t an item then?” Felicia sipped her coffee but refrained from trying the toast. The scrape marks looked like crop circles in the carbon.

  “Dogs, no.” Jasfoup buttered a second piece. “It’ll probably never happen again.”

  “Not for hours, anyway.” Julie grinned.

  “All right.” Felicia held up both hands palm outward. “I really don’t need to know any more. “ She turned to the demon. “If you hurt her, I’ll send you back to Hell with a pickaxe.”

  Julie crunched the toast. “Talking of which, what did you arrange about Mother?”

  “Oh.” Felicia reached inside her jacket and took out a notebook. “That reminds me. I have an appointment with the funeral home to arrange the commemorative plaque. The house insurance and sale details should come through shortly”

  “Did you ask about the policy for me?” Julie asked.

  “Yes.” Felicia put the book back in her pocket. “The solicitor’s looking into it.”

  “Good.” Julie pushed her plate away and searched for her glass of fruit juice. “I could do with some money. I can’t keep on borrowing clothes.”

  “You could always go without.” The demon licked his lips. “Nobody here would mind.”

  “That’s not an option.” Julie’s tone was acidic. “I may be blind but I’m not stupid.”

  Felicia laughed as the prickly atmosphere dissipated and she picked up her car keys. “I’ll see you later then.”

  “Will you be all right?” Jasfoup half stood. “I know that geezer hasn’t attacked during the day before but there’s always a first time.”

  “I’ll be sure to stay near people.” Felicia picked up her bag. “The threat of being seen has been enough to drive him off twice so far.”

  “Ah! The old ‘proof denies faith’ argument.” Jasfoup nodded. “I like that one.”

  “So do I at the moment.” Felicia opened the door. “I’ll see you both later.”

  “’Bye.” Julie waved without even looking in her direction.

  Jasfoup followed Felicia out. “Look, about last night...”

  “As far as I’m concerned, there are no apologies needed. As long as Julie was consenting, I don’t have a problem.” A thought struck her. “You did use protection, didn’t you?”

  Jasfoup acted shocked. “There’s no need. There are no bacteria that could survive in my body unless I consciously cultivated them. She won’t catch anything from me nor I from her.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about STDs.” Felicia unlocked her car and swung herself into the driver’s seat. “I was thinking about the patter of tiny hooves.”

  “Pregnancy?” Jasfoup laughed. “You can’t get someone pregnant on the first date.”

  “Where did you hear that load of crap?” Felicia closed the car door and wound the window down.

  “A pamphlet.” Jasfoup reached into his pocket and pulled out a printed document. “Look. Government advice, revised edition.”

  Felicia took it from him and looked at the back. “Printed in Dis, nineteen sixty-eight? Is that where you come from?”

  “Norfolk? You wound me, madam.” He tapped on the roof of the car. “Drive insanely.”

  “Why? Do you want me to die?”

  “No.” Jasfoup leaned down to the window and smiled. “But every driver that you cut up will be carving out a little plot in Hell.”

  Felicia shook her head and drove off down the Elm Avenue, turning right onto the road once the gates had opened and closed behind her. She thought about her sister. Would she have bedded a demon if it were the first unattached male she could physically see in fifteen years?

  She shook her head.

  Probably.

  She soon wished funeral directors were as agreeable as demons.

  “There isn’t a body, Mr. Briggs. There’s no point to a funeral.”

  “But surely, for the sake of those wanting to send her on her way...” Briggs paused and put his elbows of the faux marble desk. “It’s important for her friends and relations to get closure.”

  “A memorial service would be more than adequate. I can make the
arrangements myself.”

  “But the symbolism of the coffin...”

  Felicia’s jaw clenched. “Watching a coffin slide into the crematorium won’t bring closure to anyone.”

  “We prefer ‘casket.’” Briggs smiled. “A funeral is more than just the lowering of the casket. The re-affirmation of our mortality brings us closer to God.”

  “I’ve been as close to God as I ever want.” Felicia reached across the desk to close the catalogue. “The only reason people like funerals is so to say ‘I’m glad it’s not me.’”

  “That’s a very cynical view, Ms. Turling.” Briggs tut-tutted. “However, moving on, have you given any thought to the memorial stone?”

  Felicia looked at the funeral director, his pen poised over papers. “Would you give me a minute?”

  Briggs inclined his head. “Of course. Perhaps you’ll be inspired.” He left, closing the door behind him.

  Felicia bit her lip. What epitaph would suit her mother? She had no idea exactly when she’d been born. What constituted an epitaph for a nephilim that had very probably gone straight to Hell as a devil?

  She glanced through the illustrations of gravestones. An angel, depicted on one in four of the carved marble plaques, gave her inspiration.

  In Living Memory

  Patricia Turling

  Sweet child of angels

  “A beautiful sentiment.” Briggs’s breath smelled of coffee. “Shouldn’t that be ‘loving’ though?”

  “No.” Felicia put the pen down. “My mother will only be remembered through the memories of those still living. Once we are gone, she will be too.”

  Briggs nodded. “A very pragmatic viewpoint. Did you pick out a stone?”

  “No. I agree with what you said about funerals being a re-affirmation of our mortality. I want a brass plaque that will tarnish and age, just as she did. I’ll screw it to the side of the house like one of those ‘Famous Guy lived here’ things.”

  “Do you really think that’s appropriate?”

  “I could go to an engraver’s instead?”

  Briggs nodded, defeated. “Will that be cash or card?”

  Chapter 29

  Felicia stopped at the minimart and bought a feta cheese salad and two pints of milk. Lunch was, in part, an apology to Meinwen, whom she’d pretty much ignored since Monday. She needn’t have worried. Meinwen was delighted to see her, with or without lunch.

  “Where have you been?” She gave Felicia a fierce hug. “Wow.” She stood back and ran her hands down her friend’s arms. “You’ve developed muscle tone.”

  Felicia laughed. “Just a bit.” She glanced around the shop to check they were alone. “That’s what being a werewolf does to you.”

  “As well as other things.” Meinwen held a hand to Felicia’s cheek. “Your diet’s changed. You’ve been eating a lot of meat.”

  “I need the protein.” Felicia drank milk from the bottle. “How have you been?”

  “Same as ever.” Meinwen smiled and went to the back of the shop. “I researched what you told me about last time.” She returned with a stack of papers. “You really don’t want to mess with angels.”

  “You’re telling me!” Felicia took the sheaf and began skimming through them. “Most of this I know. Taliel told me about the grigori and the nephilim. That’s what werewolves are, by the way. Nephilim.”

  Meinwen frowned. “Which means one of your parents was an angel.”

  “Grandfather, actually. Julie’s one as well, though not a wolf.” Felicia looked up, excitement in her eyes. “She can cast spells and talk to the dead.”

  “Spells?” Meinwen sat down. “What sort of spells?”

  “She can make water turn to ice, summon a creature of shadow and throw a ball of fire.” Felicia laughed. “I’m telling you, it’s like being in a role-playing game, only the stakes are more than having to spend three hours rolling up a character.”

  Meinwen sighed. “I suppose that makes my witchcraft a bit of a joke.”

  Felicia’s smile faded and she reached out to touch Meinwen’s knee. “Not at all. You’re the link between your Goddess and the mundanes. You do a great job.”

  “Mundanes?” Meinwen fingered the pentagram around her neck. “Is that what you people call us?”

  “You people?” Felicia frowned. “I’m still the same person, Manny. I’m still Felicia. I’ve just had to adjust to a lot of changes recently.”

  “One of them being that ordinary folk are inferior.”

  “No. That’s not true at all.”

  “It certainly sounds like it.”

  “No.” Felicia took hold of Meinwen’s hand. “No one thinks you’re inferior. Nephilim have no hope of redemption but you at least have an afterlife, whatever your theology. We are hell-bound. You are blessed.”

  “That’s horrible.” Meinwen put her salad to one side. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Think kindly of me when I’m gone.”

  “Always.” Meinwen hugged her, cheeks damp with tears.

  * * * *

  The shop looked deserted as Felicia crossed the road but her new-found knowledge of Harold made her think otherwise. He confined himself to the office or the kitchen, only responding to a customer if they actually rang the bell for assistance, leading her to wonder why people didn’t just walk in and steal his stock.

  She shifted slightly, just enough to see through wolf-sight. The shop was filled with hues and scents she couldn’t yet identify but, on top of one of the bookcases, was a small creature highlighted in the mustard-yellow of boredom.

  She dug into her pocket for a mint and passed it up. “Delirious, isn’t it?” She nodded toward the torn ear.

  The imp took the sweet. “Up yer bum.”

  Felicia grinned and headed toward the kitchen. Through the open door she could see Harold sat at the table, talking.

  “I don’t know.” His hands were clasped around a mug, the fingertips almost white. “I suppose I’m not really evil enough yet. I don’t deserve to be the son of Lucifer.”

  “Of course you do.” Jasfoup’s voice rang from the direction of the kettle. “Lucifer knew what he was doing when he shacked up with your mum. Hell needs new blood now and then, if you’ll pardon the expression. I mean, think about this security system you installed. We’d never have thought of that on our own. You’ve taken the ideas of two separate cultures and mixed them into a blend of techno-wizardry. It’s impressive.” He appeared at the door carrying three mugs. “Felicia? Do you want tea? I can put it in a bowl if you like.”

  Harold grinned at his back. “Be nice, Jasfoup. She doesn’t know you well enough to see you’re joking.”

  “I was being nice.” The demon pushed open the office door. “Morning, John. Nice dress.”

  Felicia went in. The third imp was dressed in a long sheath of tiny brass links.

  John stood and did a twirl. “You do? Thanks. I got the material for it on Camden market and spent the night sewing it up.”

  “Very retro.” Harold held his paw in a mock waltz “You’d be a hit at the social club disco.”

  John grinned. “You call it retro, I call it avant garde. Hell still thinks chain mail is sexy.”

  Harold’s eyebrows rose. “Isn’t it? I usually see it on half-naked ladies, and it always looks sexy to me.”

  “Try looking at it on a spider-legged minion. It’ll really give you the get-up-and-go.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Not after you’ve gone, no.” John grinned. “I’ll see what people think when I go for cocktail hour.”

  Felicia nestled into a straight-backed chair. “I didn’t know you had cocktails in Hell.”

  “Oh yes.” John perched on top of the photocopier. “Cock tails, cat feet, rat noses. You name it. We have it all.”

  Felicia shuddered “You certainly live the high life.”

  “High life. Low life. There isn’t a party in Hell I’m not invited to.”

  Harold pin
ched his lips. “How well do you know your way around Hell?”

  The imp considered it. “Pretty well. Most imps can get anywhere from anywhere else instinctively but I’ve actually been to most areas.”

  “What about the Land of the Dead?”

  John shrugged. “No parties over there. It’s a bit of a no-go area for those of a demonic persuasion.”

  “Why’s that? Are there angels there?”

  “No.” John dropped back to the floor. “It’s because they’re a bunch of stuck-up buggers.”

  Jasfoup laughed. “It’s not our jurisdiction, anyway. It’s mixed pantheon.”

  “Meaning anyone could end up there?”

  John nodded. “Non-Christians, anyway.”

  Felicia took a sip of her tea. “What was this break in? Jasfoup couldn’t give me any details.”

  Harold shrugged. “They tried to get in through the back.”

  “What happened to them?”

  The demon grinned. “Let’s just say Gillian won’t go hungry tonight.”

  Harold shifted to face Jasfoup. “I know the angels have ranks and choirs and what have you, and demons have their pits and circles and armies, but what do nephilim have? We seem to be out on a limb and forsaken by both sides.”

  “Sucks, doesn't it? That's what you get for being abominations.”

  “Why are we though? Whatever our parentage, we’re free-willed beings with souls. We’re the descendants of angels. Why don’t we have any organization? Do we even have a leader? Someone to be concerned about the killings?”

  “I suppose there is. Azazel, Lord of Artifice. Technically, he’s the duke of War so devils, and by extension nephilim, are his concern.”

  “Send him an invitation, would you? If we’re up against angels, I want all the back-up I can get.” Harold leaned back and put his feet on the desk.

  “No.” Jasfoup leaned forward. “You can’t precipitate a war between Heaven and Hell. Both sides like the status quo. If someone’s killing off nephilim, it’s not to precipitate a war.”

  Felicia shook her head. “It’s an angel doing the killing. I fought him, remember? It wouldn’t be us starting the war.”

  “I know. It doesn’t make sense.” Jasfoup massaged his temples. “We’re missing some pieces of the jigsaw puzzle.”