Sons of Angels

by Rachel Green

  “Why?” Felicia asked through the lump in her throat.

  “So she can be interred?” Harold patted the bag. “She deserves that, at least.”

  “Thank you.” Gillian pulled him into a brief hug.

  “The fetiche!” Felicia jumped up. “Did anyone find it?”

  “The one you threw at Raphael?” Jasfoup shook his head. “I don’t think so, unless one of the firemen stepped on it.”

  “I’m not going back to Hell to set another one.” Meinwen wrapped her arms around herself.

  Harold clicked his fingers. Delirious was the first imp to respond. “Go into the garden and find the lost fetiche. It’s the size of a marble.”

  “You want me to find a marble in seventeen acres? You must be joking.”

  “It should be between the herb bed and the stables.” Felicia pointed in the general direction. “That’s the area I was throwing in.”

  “Oh, joy.” Delirious opened a gate. “At least that narrows it down.” He reappeared moments later. “Easier than I thought. He dropped the fetiche into Harold’s hand. “I tracked it by scent.”

  “My scent?” Felicia looked at her hand.

  “No. The scent of a monkey’s shuttlecock. Of course, your scent.”

  “What does my scent smell like?” asked Julie.

  The imp frowned. “Like a fluorescent light buzzing.”

  “Good work, Devious.” Harold returned the fetiche to Felicia, who placed it back in the ring box.

  Chapter 46

  Felicia slept in until well after seven, when the racket of two cats fighting outside her window woke her. She made instant coffee in the same cup she’d used the night before and put two rounds of bread into the toaster. The sun hadn’t hit this side of the house yet and she shivered. When the toast popped she buttered it and searched the cupboard for toppings, settling on a thin layer of Marmite. Her mug in one hand and the two pieces of toast wrapped in kitchen towel in the other, she went out to the terrace where Harold was examining the remains of his herb bed. “Look at this.” He pointed at the burned plants. “Anything the bloody angel didn't ruin, the fireman and police trampled over with their great muddy boots.”

  He gave a half-hearted wave at the shed, which had fared worst of all. What had originally been a windowed summerhouse was now a blackened hulk, marked by the twisted skeleton of the lawnmower.

  “It can be replaced.” Felicia put her coffee on the wrought-iron table. “Everything can be replaced. I’m sure Meinwen would help you re-plant the herbs.”

  “I suppose. I’m sorry about Jenna. She seemed nice.”

  “She was.” Felicia righted the other chair and sat, wrinkling her nose at the stink of burned wood and plastic. “I didn’t love her or anything, though. It's not like your love of Gillian. You do love her, don't you?”

  “Of course.”

  “How can you love a vampire?”

  “How can anyone love anyone? She treats me with respect, listens to my ideas, gives me fantastic sex. What more could a man want?”

  “Children? Don’t you want heirs?”

  “And graces.” Harold grinned.

  “I’m being serious. Wouldn’t you want children if you could have them?”

  “It’s academic. Gillian can’t bear kids, so why even worry about it?”

  “Was that a yes?”

  “Yes.” Harold laughed. “My mum would be happy to have some grandchildren to adore her.”

  “Good.” Felicia touched his arm. “Maybe there’ll be a way, like there was for Julie.”

  “She can’t. She’s a vampire. Vampires have a bit of a problem in that area. Atrophied wombs and the like.”

  “Surrogacy is popular these days.” Felicia looked past the destruction to the green hills to the east.

  “How did we get onto the subject of children?”

  “Sorry.” Felicia forced a smile. “All this death, I suppose. It’s on my mind. Not to mention Julie’s motherhood.”

  “Of a giant chicken!” He looked at his watch and stood. “It’s time I went. I’ve got to open the shop at ten and I want to drop in at Mum’s on the way.”

  “Do you want company? I haven’t met your mum, have I?”

  “You’ve been lucky so far. Sure, come along if you like. I don’t think she’s met a werewolf before.”

  “Does she know about...” Felicia hesitated. “Everyone?”

  “Mostly.” Harold held out a hand to help her up. “Not about you and your sister, but everybody else. She summoned Jasfoup long before I did.”

  “So she’s nephilim too?” Felicia took his cup and headed into the house.

  “No. She’s Fae on her mother’s side.”

  “If you’d told me that a week ago I’d have thought you were having me on. Now though–” She shrugged. “It doesn’t surprise me a bit.”

  Twenty minutes later, Harold pulled up outside twenty-two, The Terrace. “I lived here for most of my life. This is where I met Gillian.”

  “Really? Was she selling suntan lotion door to door or something?”

  “Something like that. She dropped off the roof and tried to rip my head off.”

  “Didn’t she like your aftershave either?”

  Harold grinned and opened the van door. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Mum.”

  Despite not having a relationship with Harold, Felicia felt like she was meeting the in-laws for the first time. She shuffled on the step as Harold opened the door, wondering if her skirt matched her blouse and if they were modest enough.

  The front door opened directly into the lounge, where a cheerful fire sent light coruscating over an expanse of chintz. Harold led her through it into the kitchen where a young woman sat drinking coffee.

  “Hello, Mum. I’ve brought a friend with me. This is Felicia.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Waterman,” Felicia began then faltered. Before her was a woman in her sixties.

  “It’s all right, Mum. She’s one of us.” Harold busied about putting the kettle on. “You can drop the glamour.”

  “Call me Ada.” She waved them forward. “Forgive the old lady appearance. Habit, you know. They expect you to look your age around here. Take a seat.”

  “Do you want coffee?” Harold stepped forward and kissed Ada on the cheek. “Felicia’s a werewolf, Mum.”

  “Really?” Ada smiled. “That’s a better prospect than the last one. I’d never had got grandchildren from a vampire.”

  “Oh! Harold and I aren’t together.” Felicia glanced from one to the other. “Not in that way. I rent the gallery beneath his shop.”

  “I see.” Ada looked toward her son. “I’ll have a fresh one, if you’re making it.” She turned back to Felicia. “I’ve not been in. Do you make any money there? I would have thought art was a bit posh for Laverstone.”

  “It pays the bills, just about.” Felicia answered a barrage of questions about art while Harold busied himself making the drinks and brought them to the table.

  “You’ve been up all night, I see.” Ada accepted her fresh coffee.

  Harold swallowed a mouthful of tea and grinned. “Does it show? I suppose I’ve got bags under my eyes.”

  “Shopping trolleys, more like.” Ada sniffed. “What trouble are you in now? Louis said there are angels abroad. You just be careful of them.”

  “Louis is my dad, Felicia.” He turned back to his mother. “It’s not me, Mum, it’s them. They’re trying to kill off all the nephilim.”

  “Whatever for? You don’t harm anybody.”

  “It’s something to do with the apocalypse.” Felicia leaned back, shaking her head. “They think the dragon is about to be reborn.”

  “An angel killed a friend of ours last night, Mum.”

  “I bet she wasn’t best pleased about that.”

  “Not really, no, seeing as she was reduced to ash.”

  “Oh, dear.” Ada added sugar to her coffee. “Did you bring her back?”

  “She was a werewolf, Mum, so I can�
�t.” Harold sat back in his chair. “It’s not like she was a vampire like Gillian.”

  “Well, I think you’d be better directing your energies elsewhere.” Ada sipped her coffee and glanced over at her imp, who sat on the edge of the sink doing the washing up, his hooves trailing in the soapy water. “You have a perfect opportunity with this new girl.”

  “Mum!” Harold raised his eyebrows. “She’s just lost a friend and her mother. I think it’s a little soon for her to be thinking about potential husbands. Besides, she bats for the other team.”

  “Well, she could have had children with you.” Ada’s pursed lips filled in the rest of the story.

  “Oh, is that what all this is about? You want a grandchild and I can’t have one with Gillian. Perhaps we could adopt. How would that suit you?”

  “That would go down well with Social Services, wouldn’t it?” Ada mimicked holding a telephone. “‘Hello? I want to adopt a baby. I’m the son of the Devil and my partner is a vampire, but that’s all right because we live with two ghosts, a demon and a werewolf and my mother is a disinherited Faery princess.’ You’d be lucky not to get put away.”

  Harold pushed his tea away and stared at her. “I do not live with Jasfoup.”

  “You may as well, the amount of time you spend together. I’m surprised you didn’t marry him instead.” Ada looked shrewdly over the rim of her mug. “Have you got a menage-a-trois going?”

  “Certainly not! Jasfoup and Gillian don’t even like each other.”

  Ada chuckled. “There’s a fine line between love and hate. Both require passion to remain enflamed. Believe you me, there’ll be tears before bedtime if you don’t get the two of them settled with each other.”

  “Gillian can take care of herself, Mum.” Harold smiled. “She gives as good as she gets.”

  “That's what I mean. Poor Mr. Jasfoup.” Ada reached across the table to pat Harold’s hand. “He’s a sensitive soul.”

  “Are we talking about the same demon? I don’t think I’d ever apply the word ‘sensitive’ to Jasfoup.”

  Felicia laughed and covered it with another sip of her coffee.

  “Be that as it may.” Ada passed her empty mug to the imp and rose. “Do it to them before they do it to you.”

  “Thanks, Mum,” Harold replied, putting his own cup and bowl in the sink and receiving a glare from the imp. “I can always rely on you for television-inspired motivation.”

  Felicia rose. “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Waterman.”

  “I said to call me Ada, love.” Harold’s mother opened a cupboard. “Have a bottle of last year’s strawberry wine. That should please the spirits when you send your friend on her way.”

  “It’s not worth wasting, Mum. She was burned to ash and blown away on the wind. She’s probably all over Mrs. Parkes’s washing by now.”

  Ada raised her cheek for him to kiss. “Do it anyway.”

  “If you like.” Harold obliged. “By the way, if you happen to come across a dragon.” He held out his hands in an indication of size. “You’ll let me know, won’t you?”

  “Didn’t you say that’s what the angels were looking for?” Ada held the front door open.

  “Sort of. Azazel got us a decoy.”

  Ada frowned. “You be careful about dealing with that sly little bugger. I never did trust him.”

  Chapter 47

  Felicia thought the building looked disapproving when they pulled up in the tiny car park at the back of the shop. The two upper windows were reminiscent of eyes above the stroke-twisted mouth of Harold’s back door. “I’ll just check on my place.” Felicia took out her keys and crossed to the heavy wooden door of the gallery. “It’s been closed all week. I dread to think how much business I lost.”

  “It was out of respect for your mother’s death.” Harold unlocked the shop door. “People understand that sort of thing.”

  Felicia shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Is that sorted out yet?”

  “My mother?” Felicia gave a tight smile, the memory of her death still painful. “The solicitor’s dealing with it. You know what insurance companies are like, it could take months. I still don’t know where to site the memorial plaque.”

  “Sponsor a bench in the park. The council likes that sort of thing.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You could sponsor my new shed when I build it.”

  Felicia laughed. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  She went downstairs to the gallery which was exactly as she’d left it, albeit dustier. She picked up the pile of letters and sorted them into exhibition proposals, bills and invitations to other shows. The junk mail she consigned to recycling.

  She picked up the business card left by Mr. Raffles, wondering why an angel would leave a calling card. She tapped it on the desk while the computer booted.

  A beep called her attention to the screen. The anti-virus software had picked up something. She frowned as she saw the warning message.

  Angel detected: Fight, Run, Die?

  Someone was playing silly buggers. Felicia clicked Fight.

  The hard drive clicked several times before another message appeared on the screen, innocent pixels that made her heart grow cold with fear.

  Fatal Error. System resources insufficient. Closing.

  The gallery spots went out, leaving her in darkness, the only light coming from the gallery doors where a darkening shadow diminished even that. She shivered and stood, flicking the light switch several times, dithering between looking for the fuse box and using her mobile to call for help.

  The light from the doors faded altogether and she partially shifted to bring her wolf sight into play. A scent of titanium pervaded the gallery–white with the memory of hoar frost.

  She reached for a black umbrella from the lost property box, holding it like a club as the wooden floor of gallery two creaked, casting the figure of a man across the paintings. Felicia grabbed her mobile and hit speed dial and one.

  “Mr. Raffles?” The saliva in her mouth dried, leaving her barely able to speak. “How did you get in here?”

  “You were thinking of me, Felicia. I came because you called.”

  “Harold!” She hoped her voice could be heard upstairs, but all that she managed was a whispered squeak.

  Raphael stepped closer until that she could feel the heat of the angel’s body. “There is no need to fight, Felicia. I came to save the earth, not to destroy it. If I do not complete my work, all will be drowned in the second flood.”

  “What’s he doing here? He can’t come in here.” Harold stood at the open doorway. “There are wards against his kind.”

  “I came to teach.” Raphael gestured and the door slammed and locked. “Can you imagine how it feels to drown, Felicia? To have your lungs fill with water and not be able to breathe? To feel your heart beat faster as it tries to pump oxygen-starved blood around your system, your lungs burning and the pressure threatening to explode your eyeballs?”

  “Actually, no.” Felicia circled to bring a supporting pillar between them. “I have a very under-active imagination. I prefer what I can see.”

  “Then I will show you.” Felicia had never imagined angels might have a sense of humor. Raphael’s mocking laughter proved her wrong.

  Water began to rise from the floor, quickly covering Felicia’s feet. She shifted, glancing away from the grinning angel to look for a spot that remained dry, but finding none. “This is stupid. I get the point.”

  “Felicia?” Harold called through the closed door. “What’s he doing? There’s water coming in. It’ll ruin the carpet.”

  “He’s proving a point.” Felicia glanced at the doors, moving clear of the pillar now the water was up to her knees. “He wants me to experience drowning.”

  “Leave her alone. She’s just trying to help people. Isn’t that supposed to be your job?”

  “He has a point, Mr. Raffles.” Felicia was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her balance, though the a
ngel seemed completely unaffected. As the water reached her waist the chill settled into her groin. “Why are you, an angel, committing genocide whilst I, a nephilim, am saving them?”

  Raphael chuckled. “You know why, Felicia. It’s for the greater good. What are the lives of a few nephilim compared to the lives of seven billion mortals?” A flash of his hand and Felicia’s redundant umbrella was pulled from her hand to splash somewhere in the darkness.

  The room was now lit with the eerie reflections of Raphael’s spirit dancing on the surface of the water and Felicia was getting confused between the flickering figure of Raphael himself, the glittering ripples and the dancing reflections on the ceiling. The flood was now up to her chest, her clothes dragged on her arms and she was in danger of losing her footing altogether. “I get the point!” she shouted. “You can stop this now.”

  “And would you stop interfering?” Raphael laughed. “I think not. Therefore, you can have a taste of what you sought to bring about by meddling.” The flickering light of the angel vanished, leaving Felicia in the darkness of the rising tide.

  “Harold?” She lurched and overbalanced, kicking off her shoes as she fought to regain equilibrium. “Do something. It’s still rising.”

  She felt rather than saw the banging on the front doors. As her feet left the floor, she was forced to tread water to keep her head above the flood. The ceiling was only a few feet above her, the cables carrying the spotlights threatening to strangle her if she wasn’t electrocuted first.

  “Felicia?” Meinwen’s call came from outside. “The doors won’t open and the window won’t break. I’m sorry.”

  Felicia shivered. “Go and fetch Jasfoup or Julie. They’ll think of something.”

  “I’ll try.” Felicia felt her leave. There was a tug on her ankles and she began to panic. What else was in the room with her? She sank below the waterline, desperately holding her breath as the cold liquid pulled her toward the final sleep. Lungs burning, she reached down to find out what had caught her, feeling the soft, malleable texture of wool. It was the rug Harold’s great aunt Lydia had made, a gift for her office when she’d opened the gallery. She pulled it from her feet and kicked off, swimming upward and finding a layer of air still between the ceiling and the surface of the water. She gasped for breath. Where were Julie and Jasfoup? She was going to die!