Sons of Angels

by Rachel Green

  “I don’t know of any dragons.” Harold looked at Jasfoup. “Do you?” He looked down at a tug on his trouser leg. “Thanks, Devious.” He pushed his tea to one side and opened his spell book, turning the pages until he came to the spell for remote viewing. “Here we go. I need something of Jenna’s.”

  “Here.” Felicia handed him the broken tooth.

  Harold ran his fingers down the page. “Right.”

  “Not yet.” Julie stared at the far wall and held out her hand, palm upward. Her eyes blackened as a small dark vortex appeared in her palm, twisting until it resembled the glassy marble Felicia recognized. “Now! Cast it with the fetiche as the recipient.”

  There was a flash as the broken tooth disintegrated and the fetiche went clear. “There.” She grinned. “All done.”

  Harold picked it up. “I can’t see anything.”

  “No.” Julie went green. “It connected to me somehow. That shouldn’t have happened.” She gulped. “I feel sick.”

  Chapter 32

  Her sister’s eyes were squeezed tight shut, as if the orbs beneath were capable of witnessing whatever Julie was seeing directly. Felicia could only imagine how she must feel. When Julie had gone blind on her sixteenth birthday, Felicia had spent hours walking around with her eyes closed, trying to imagine what it was like for her sister. She never could. All she’d got for her trouble was skinned knees and a smacked bottom from Patricia, who’d thought one blind child was enough.

  “Here, have a bowl.” Jasfoup was all heart. His compassion would have been more endearing had he emptied it of dirty crockery first.

  Julie put her head to the table. “I’m seeing through Jenna’s eyes. She’s eating... Oh God! She’s eating a rabbit...raw...with her bare hands.”

  “Eww.” Harold made a face like a five year old asked to eat dog food. “I’m glad the spell attached to you and not me.” He glanced across at Felicia. “Perhaps we should have thought about this more carefully and attached it to you instead. You’re not freaked out by that, are you?”

  “Freaked out?” Felicia smiled. “How old are you? Ten?”

  “I don’t care whether you lot are freaked out or not.” Julie’s tone was terse. “What I do care about is how I stop this. It’s not like I can close my eyes and it will go away. The images are wired directly into my brain.”

  Jasfoup shrugged. “Magic doesn’t come for free. You have to expect to pay for it somehow.”

  “Why did that happen?” Harold took a biscuit from the packet. “I was expecting something like a crystal ball we could touch to get the image feed.”

  “How should I know?” Jasfoup recovered the biscuits. “I’ve never dealt with this sort of magic before. My best guess is that the spell required to be set to a specific person and chose the strongest link of magic it found.”

  “That doesn’t help.” Julie sounded ill. “This needs to stop.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  Julie groaned and pulled the bowl toward her, retching. A thin stream of bile cascaded among the tea cups and dishes.

  “Eww.” Harold turned away. “I’d rather have the dismembered rabbit, thanks.”

  Felicia picked up her coffee mug and slammed it down onto the marble-sized fetiche. There was a flash of light and Julie groaned.

  “What did you do that for?” Harold gestured at the remains with the end of his biscuit. “Now we can’t keep an eye on her.”

  “Then you try doing it.” Felicia pointed at Julie. “Look at her. She’s sick. That must have been worse than the biggest rollercoaster ride in the country. How would you like it if you could see things that your body couldn’t feel? It was sending her balance haywire. Let’s not forget that she’s actually blind.”

  “I can only cast for glimpses.” Harold finished the mouthful. “I can’t make a permanent link like she can.”

  “We could try using a second object to fix it to someone else.” Jasfoup handed a cloth to Julie so that she could clean her face. “That might stop it attaching to Julie.”

  Harold shook his head. “Wouldn’t the new person just have the same side effect? I don’t want to be sick all over the place.”

  “But it’s all right for me to?” Julie raised her head. Her cheek had the imprint of several cornflakes left over from breakfast.

  Harold stifled his smile. “Of course not. But having seen the result, I don’t think anyone is keen to repeat the experiment.”

  “Just the movement of her walking was enough. All that bobbing up and down.”

  “What, you mean she walks funny?”

  “No. Just normal walking, but my brain couldn’t compensate for my body being still.”

  “Oh.” Harold raised his eyebrows. “I wonder what you’d have felt if she shape-shifted.”

  “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to even think about it.”

  Felicia leaned back in her chair. “This does rather put us back at square one. We’ll have to send the imps to keep a close watch on her.”

  “And Gary Hughes, of course. He’s a target now.”

  Harold’s mouth was a grim line. “Actually, we’re back at square zero. We don’t have her tooth anymore.”

  “Damn.” Julie touched her sister. “Can I have a glass of water, please?”

  “Sure.” Felicia rose. “How will we know if either of them is attacked?”

  “The imps can gate back. At least we’d have warning quicker than a burned-down house and greasy spot.” Jasfoup rubbed crumbs from his hands.

  Julie grimaced. “Nice image, Mr. Demon. Thanks.”

  Harold clicked his finger.

  “Yes, sir?” Devious had half a bacon sandwich in one hand and a flask of tea in the other.

  “Devious, I want you and the other imps back on watch duty–one following Jenna and the other this Gary Hughes chap. We need some advance warning if an angel turns up to terminate them.”

  “Why imps, master?” Devious said through a bite of his sandwich. “An imp would be vaporized by contact with an angel.”

  “That’s a good point. Jasfoup? How easy would it be to replace one of the imps if it got vaporized?”

  “Easy enough. You just have to make a new contract. You might even get cheaper rates than you did last time.”

  Devious grumbled. “It was virtually free as it was.”

  “Don’t be so mean, Harold.” Felicia squeezed his arm. “The poor imps.”

  “It’s all right, miss.” Devious took a bite of his sandwich. “Don’t you worry about us. When we die we go to imp heaven.”

  “What?” Felicia frowned.

  “Imp heaven, miss.” Devious smiled and patted her on the knee. “Where there are forty square meals a day and no wizards to interrupt you.”

  “How can you believe in a heaven for imps when you’re a denizen of Hell?”

  “It’s a people hell. People don’t go to imp heaven.” Devious smiled.

  “What if you go to Imp Hell?”

  Devious laughed. “Don’t be daft. We have the worst lives in all the planes. How could a hell be worse than what we have already?”

  Felicia shrugged. “No food?”

  “That’s just sick.” The imp’s eye ridges lowered as he glared at her. “You are a twisted individual.”

  “Who is?”

  Felicia looked up at the new voice and smiled. Gillian looked good enough to eat in her leather-and-lace ensemble. Of course, it would be her who did the eating, but still...

  “Darling!” Harold stood to kiss her.

  “Good morning, Harold.” Gillian allowed her cheek to be kissed and looked to the two women. “Good morning, ladies. How nice to find you all here.”

  “Hello, Gillian.” Felicia kissed the back of her proffered hand and barely caught the murmured ‘good girl.’ She glanced around the room to see if anyone else had heard it too, but the others appeared oblivious.

  “Felicia. Julie.” Gillian nodded to each of them in turn. “Are you joining me to hunt tonight?
”

  Felicia shook her head. “I don’t need to. I pretty much gorged myself last night.”

  “Fair enough.” Gillian turned to her sister. “Julie? Fancy a graveyard trip to suck up stray spirits?”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” Julie stared at her. “Did you know you have a presence in the metaphysical? I can actually see you.”

  “That’s interesting.” Gillian sat. “Who else can you see?”

  Julie looked around the room. “Jasfoup, of course, tentacles and all, and Fliss when she uses her wolf abilities. I can’t see Harold, though.”

  “That’s because you’re trying to see an aura you’re inside. Harold’s probably the greatest nephilim of all, save Cain.”

  Gillian took a bag of blood out of the fridge and poured it into a Pyrex jug. “The only way of getting through this is if we stick together.”

  She slammed the jug into the microwave and set the timer for a minute. “We can be the Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all.” She opened the oven door after forty seconds. “That’ll do.”

  She poured the blood into a mug. “Who’s watching the other two?”

  “The imps.” Harold smiled. “Devious is watching the bloke and Delirious and John have gone to find Jenna.

  Devious reappeared with his flask.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be watching Gary Hughes?” Jasfoup asked.

  Devious shrugged. “No need. His girlfriend just arrived and we know the angel won’t attack if there’s a witness.

  “True.” Jasfoup nodded. “Good work.”

  “Ta.” Devious put the kettle on. “Someone ought to check on the dog-girl. She’ll be the prime target now.”

  “I can do it in a while.” Gillian tossed the remains of the blood bag in the bin. “I have to hunt first and then I have an errand to run.”

  “An errand?” Harold looked up. “What sort of errand?”

  “I’ll visit Azazel. See if there’s any help he can give us.” She shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

  “True.” Harold frowned. “Why you, though? Wouldn’t the request be better coming from me, seeing as I’m the boss’s son?”

  “Trust me.” Gillian put her hands on his shoulders. “It’d be better coming from me. I’m far more diplomatic.”

  “I resent that.” Harold laughed. “I’m the most diplomatic person I know. I’m so diplomatic I should have been a diplomat.”

  “I’ll mention it,” said Gillian with a laugh. “Perhaps he can make you the Ambassador of Hell to the Catholic Church or something.”

  “Oh no.” Harold shuddered. “Nothing that kinky. Anglicans, maybe. They like adultery.”

  Jasfoup laughed. “Plenty of time to be an ambassador when you’re dead. Assuming you live that long.”

  “Har-de-har.” Harold turned up his nose.

  “Right.” Gillian picked her jacket from the coat rack. “I’m off. I’ll let you know when I’ve found out what Jenna’s up to.”

  “All right.” Harold kissed her on the cheek as she left.

  “I wonder how Gary’s getting on with his girlfriend.” Jasfoup looked into the distance. “I saw a photograph of her when I checked him out. She’s got avarice and lust down pat.”

  “Good looking, was she?” Harold licked his lips.

  “I’ll say.” Jasfoup coughed. “By some standards, anyway. You know what they say about redheads.”

  “Redheads?” Devious stopped eating. “She’s not a redhead. She had long black hair.”

  “Black hair?” Jasfoup frowned. “That wasn’t his girlfriend.”

  Harold snickered. “Lucky man.”

  “Unless it was an angel in mortal from. Then he’s a very unlucky man indeed.”

  Chapter 33

  If Gillian had a heartbeat, it would be pounding now. She was far from home, far from moral support and in the presence of a being so powerful, he could end her existence with a whisper.

  She watched the demon Azazel turn from the window overlooking Regents Park and close the white cotton drapes. The room was decorated like the inside of a Moroccan palace, the walls hung with heavy brocade curtains and gathered to a central point in the high ceiling. The floor was soft with Persian rugs and carpets and scattered with cushions and low-seated stools. A hand-carved mahogany table graced the area between them. He lit a censer of incense and sat cross-legged behind the low table, his simple white djellaba spread around him. He rang a small brass bell, and within seconds, his aide slid a tray of green tea unobtrusively in front of him.

  He stayed immobile for a further three minutes, then opened his eyes and smiled, the white teeth a stark counterpoint to his nut-brown complexion. He reached forward to lift the lid of the teapot, filling the room with the aroma of green leaf tea and cinnamon.

  “I find exercise more conducive to well-being.” Gillian’s voice was calm, a feather on the waters of contemplation. She was certain he knew how much it galled her to ask for his help and yet he played the part of the generous and indulgent host, which served to infuriate her further. Azazel looked up, the merest flicker of his crimson eyes betraying his displeasure. “I hadn’t forgotten you.” He poured out two tiny bowls of green tea and passed one across, cupping his own and draining it in one go.

  Gillian picked up the cup and rotated it a quarter turn. She too drank it down in one swallow before returning the cup to its original position and orientation.

  Azazel brushed a speck of dust from his robe. “The one you seek is Puriel, the Hammer of God.” Gillian nodded. “Why he does what he does I can only guess, but it will not be a sanctioned action.”

  “We think that he and Raphael are searching for the Lost Tribe.”

  Azazel poured more tea. “Why did you drink the tea? I know your nature.”

  “It seemed polite.” Gillian didn’t move.

  “As you wish.” Azazel shrugged, his wings unfolding once before disappearing from view again. “As for the angels, the last time this many nephilim were on the earth was before the Flood.”

  He poured them both another cup. Gillian gave a single nod of thanks.

  Azazel raised the tea, a slight smile just visible behind the porcelain.

  Gillian sipped at an identical bowl, understanding the tea symbolized the forfeiture of her power to the fallen angel’s. “The Lost Tribe hasn’t existed since. Are we being slaughtered just to rid the earth of nephilim before God notices that their numbers are increasing?” She shook her head. “It seems excessive.”

  Azazel rose and crossed to the window, motioning Gillian to join him. “Tell me what you see.”

  Gillian gazed out onto the London cityscape. “Regent’s Park leading out to the city and Canary Wharf in the background. Why?”

  Azazel put his hand on her shoulder. “The nephilim are my people. Much as I love them, if God were to discover their presence he would send another flood. Everything you can see would be destroyed. Even the South Bank with its tallest tower in Britain would be submerged in water for forty days. My people would be destroyed again.” He returned to his seat, leaving Gillian to wonder whether to return to her own or remain standing. “I love this little world and my people love it too. That’s why we try so hard to fit in with the mortals by restricting the size and habits of the nephilim. I can see the point of view of the angels perpetrating these murders. They probably like the earth as it is as well.”

  “You’re on their side?” Gillian was surprised. “A duke of Hell siding with the angels against his own people? What does this have to do with us?”

  Azazel said nothing for a moment, sipping the remains of his tea. He drained the liquid and upturned the bowl on the saucer, turned it three times then righted it. “What do you see in the leaves?”

  Gillian snorted. “Is this really the time for parlor games? All I see is wet tea leaves.”

  The fallen one laughed. “You are truly the pragmatist, Ms. Du Point, despite every wonder you’ve been shown. It doesn’t matter what the tea-leaves say
. We make our own futures here. I merely said I could understand the angels, not that I was on their side. For the nephilim to survive, we must adapt even further. Still visible to the eyes of Heaven in their pure form, they must breed further with the mortals to remain unnoticed. It is easy to kill the son for the father’s crimes, but what if the son were more human than nephilim? Would they kill a mortal because his grandfather was a nephilim? His great-grandfather?”

  Gillian shook her head. “How could I answer that? I would like to say no. Isn’t God the one with the compassion?”

  “That’s a case of good press if ever I heard it.” Azazel chuckled. “Who threw his precious mortals out of Eden? Who threw his angels from Heaven when they disagreed with him? Who invented Hell?”

  “God, of course.” Gillian sighed. “I would still like to stop the killing.”

  “As would I.” Azazel smiled. “God once made a promise that he would never again flood the Earth. Do you remember?”

  The vampire nodded. “The rainbow, yes, or so the story goes. I haven’t seen one for many years.”

  “Quite, though he may yet break his promise. The polar icecaps are melting in a staggering rate. Puriel has managed to destroy nine hundred and thirty seven of the three thousand, two hundred and twelve nephilim on the Earth. I cannot afford to lose more.”

  Gillian narrowed her eyes. “How are we supposed to stop an angel bent on genocide?”

  Azazel held up his hands. “You must give them what they’re looking for.”

  “A giant?” Gillian frowned. “I don’t follow.”

  “Not just a giant. You must give them a dragon. Only then will they leave, confident they have averted the disaster they foresaw.”

  “I cede the point, but where would we get a dragon from, let alone convince the Brothers Grimm it was the one they were looking for? I’m assuming papier-mache won’t do the trick.”

  Azazel laughed. “No, but I can arrange for you to come into possession of a newborn. You should be able to handle that.”

  “Good.” Gillian smiled for the first time. “Will they leave us alone then?”

  “I can’t promise, but there’s a good chance. If not...” He shrugged. “We’ll think of something else.”