Murder The Light: The Demon Whisperer #2

by Ash Krafton

  Mack's face appeared, like a break in the clouds.

  It took all the courage he owned to envision Mack. His pale countenance filled Simon with sorrow, knowing how he betrayed the angel by wrecking his alliance with the Light. His intention had been to save a life but, in the process, he'd done terrible things.

  Mack's face floated in his focus, dimming the other images. His lips moved, as if speaking. No sound, just the movement of his lips forming a word.

  Relic.

  Simon blinked. The relic. He saw it in his mind. Grabbed it. Held it in front like a shield. The barrage of images dissipated, all the badness forced back by the power of faith in something good. The world returned, and with it the wretched angel that stared down at him like a predator.

  "No…more." Simon clutched his chest, feeling the raging of his heartbeat, gasping for breath. The treacherous angel smiled, confident. Simon slipped his fingers beneath his jacket, raising his other hand, warding him off. "No more."

  "I appreciate your cooperation." The angel reached down and grabbed his collar, pulling him up. "It keeps things cleaner."

  Simon used the motion to thrust his hand into his inside pocket, grasping the bundle.

  "You think?" With a smile, Simon thrust the bundle up between them, just hoping to land a solid connection. "In the name of the Light, I command thee—"

  The ragged bundle made the briefest contact with flesh, and everything just went—

  Boom.

  A soft, gentle explosion. A burst of expansion and motion. The man crumpled and went down sideways. Smoke-but-not-quite-smoke lingered a moment before it was swept away by a pump of air.

  And Simon found himself staring at an actual angel, a figure of translucent pearly glow hovering over him, with the boniest, blackest wings he'd ever seen. The wings were ragged, black feathers sparse, looking like the spokes of a naked umbrella.

  Bleak. That was the only way to describe it.

  This angel—he wasn't Fallen. He was just…locked out. Heaven was closed to him. The only place for him was Purgatory. And if the stories about angels in Purgatory were true…Simon swallowed hard. A fight was coming because this guy had nothing left to lose.

  How he managed to stay aloft with those wings, Simon had no clue. But one thing he knew, thanks to Mack’s tutelage, was that winged angels, no matter the color of the feather, cannot touch the earth.

  Cannot was not exactly the right word. May not would be more accurate.

  The angel fluttered desperately, his damaged wings unable to keep him constantly aloft, and he drifted down. When his feet touched down, he cried out in pain. Smoke sizzled from his feet, burned. Wrenching away from the ground, he pumped his wretched wings harder. Once, twice, then a lunge—

  He spiral-dove straight at Simon, wings tucked tightly to his body, like a divine drill. A last bid to take on a new host.

  The amulet warmed again, all the way to screaming hot, and repelled the invasion. When the angel recoiled, Simon reached up and grabbed him, gripping him by the wrist, hanging on with every ounce of strength he possessed.

  IMPOSSIBLE! The angel sputtered with outrage. Its voice was a cacophony, not meant for human ears. I CANNOT BE TOUCHED BY MORTAL HANDS!

  "Yeah, well. Today is a day for all sorts of surprises." Simon yanked down and threw his weight onto the angel, body-slamming it to the ground. Pinning it by the throat, he pressed the relic to its forehead. "So, surprise!"

  The angel's face froze in an expression of terror, a grey cast creeping over its once-translucent skin. Simon snatched back his hand, releasing him just as the flesh beneath him solidified. He scrambled off and away, watching in curious horror, unwilling to discover what would happen if he maintained contact.

  The angel turned to stone, all motion grinding to a stop as if he were cast in super-quick drying cement. And then—over.

  Scrutinizing the now-still figure, he nudged it with his foot. It was rock, all right.

  He glanced at the host, knowing immediately there was nothing to do for him. The body looked like a discarded larva casing, split in half, a bloody hollow. His had been a tragic, unnecessary loss of life, all because of a greedy angel. The only comfort in it was knowing that this was the last life that angel would take.

  Simon spoke a prayer for the dead over the body, hoping that he'd found his peace long ago, that he'd been spared the torment of living with an angel inside him.

  As an afterthought, he squatted and used the relic to draw a cross on what remained of the man's forehead, anointing him. It only seemed right to give him the best possible send off.

  As for the other "body"…

  Simon went back to the stone angel and stood over it. There would be no such anointing.

  "I suppose I should say some sort of last words. You were an angel, after all." After a moment of deliberation, he reached down and snapped off one of its fingers, palming it. "Waste not, want not. Amen."

  Turning to the door, Simon stood in front of it for a long moment, knowing what lay beyond probably wasn't as easy as exorcising a Lost angel. Hefting the angel's finger, he pressed it to a panel on the door. The locking mechanism slid and whirred and snaked its dead bolts open, purring like a mechanical cat.

  Stepping back, Simon tucked the stone finger into his front pocket, waiting. The door shifted and slid open, without even enough time to congratulate himself for his cleverness.

  Sunlight poured out of the room beyond, a long slender silhouette stretching from floor to ceiling. He squinted into the glare.

  Chiara. Bound. Hanging by her arms.

  His view was suddenly obscured by another figure. A woman slid between them, hand on her hip, a smile that only made her eyes look like chips of ice. Cold, sharp, deadly.

  "Ah, Zophiel." Luminea walked over to him and kissed him, hard on the mouth, before murmuring breathily against his ear. "It's about time."

  "Let's have a look at you." Luminea stepped back from Simon, looking him up and down, appraising, measuring. She pushed his jacket down off his shoulders, letting it drop onto the floor, all the while making tiny appreciative noises.

  She was practically salivating. Holy hell. She looked at him like he was a piece of meat. Simon stood absolutely still, following her with his eyes while she continued her assessment. Which, apparently, included a solid grab on his backside. He resisted the urge to jump forward, out of her reach.

  Standing behind him, her breath hot and deep, she rubbed her cheek between his shoulder blades and spooned him. "Oh. I knew it would be worth it."

  A protest on his lips, he flicked his eyes over to Chiara. Her eyes looked wide and tight, her lips a thin, desperate line.

  His amulet warmed, reminding him it was still there. Smart little bugger. He touched his chest and circled the edge of the pendant through his shirt.

  Chiara nodded once, ever so slightly, and blinked a long, hard blink.

  She knew it was him. A signal, then. Keep quiet. Play along.

  Luminea completed the rear view assessment and stepped in front of him, smoothing his shirt with a lingering touch over his pecs. "Well, Zophiel?"

  Well, what? Did she ask something? What did hench-angels say to their bosses? He had no clue. Maybe just agree and play along?

  "Yes," he said, flicking his gaze quickly toward Chiara in a bid for help.

  Chiara mouthed a word behind Luminea's back.

  Simon jiggled his head, not following.

  She did it again, more emphatically. Two syllables. Over exaggerated M's at each end.

  Oh. Duh. "Madam," he added.

  Chiara lowered her eyes just as Luminea turned around.

  "Oh, yes, this will do." She ran her palms over his chest, down his sides, lingering near his hips. Turning, she pressed her back up against him, rubbing like a cat against a post. "Am I not a terrific judge of appearance? I knew this was the right body for Zophiel. What do you think, daughter?"

  Chiara eyed Simon with something more than suspicion. "I think he
's…nice."

  "Nice? That's it?" Simon frowned in protest and lifted the bottom of his t-shirt. "Did you see these abs? Obviously, this guy kept fit. Probably ate organic, too. Nice is too weak. I was thinking…hot. Yeah. Totally hot."

  "Yes." Luminea cast him a side glance. "Well, I'd hoped you would have been a little bit more enthusiastic, Chiaroscuro. After all, you're going to get to know him rather…intimately."

  Oh, no. Simon hid a grimace. Intimately? That can't be good.

  First of all, that woman had just been pawing at him. Didn't take a huge load of brain matter to figure out what definition of intimate she was using.

  And B, Chiara looked like she'd just swallowed a caterpillar. The kid knew exactly what she'd been getting at and didn't appear to be what a guy would call happy about it.

  She inhaled, a strained breath between pursed lips. "What are you saying?"

  "I told you this was an empire that needed family to run it. You are going to give me that family. I want my progeny. Your father ensured I would never have other children."

  Despite the fact that she'd been hung from a hook like a side of beef, Chiara's expression downturned with compassion. Her voice was tiny, apologetic, sympathetic. "He left you…barren?"

  "He left me erased." Luminea whipped a look at her daughter, her tone scalding. "Altered. Scarred. Your birth took my womanhood. I am as sexless as an angel. It wasn't enough to leave me bereft and abandoned. He made sure that he would be my last."

  The woman stalked around Simon, running her finger across his shoulders, toying with the back of his neck. "Well, Zophiel won't hurt you the way your father hurt me."

  "No." Chiara kicked backwards, swinging helplessly from the chain. "You can't do this."

  Simon held onto his poker face with every stitch of power he possessed.

  "I don't have to do anything," Luminea said. "And, really, neither do you. This one will do all the work and give me what I've wanted for so long. Finally. Children. I cannot remove your father's traits altogether, but it will be well-diluted by pure angel."

  "That is a human body, Mother. What you want cannot happen. It is physically impossible."

  "Is it? Are you certain? Are you absolutely certain?"

  Chiara’s face went completely blank. "You mean, you've done this before?"

  "Not me, silly. But Zophiel has proven himself to be quite the stud. His children are everywhere. And they possess his qualities, not his donors’. And now, you will bear ours. Mine and his." Luminea took up Simon's hand, entwining it in both her own, and gazed up into his eyes. For a moment, a brightness, an actual warmth lit them, softening the edges of her mouth. It lasted only a moment. "Well, technically, yours and his, but they won't know you. They will know me. And they will stay with me and they will rule with me and then…"

  She shrugged. "I can erase the last remaining stain of His cruelty."

  Chiara's voice was little more than a whisper. "Whose cruelty?

  "You know damned well whose." Luminea pulled Simon's hand to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. "I will stay right here, with you, my love. I want you to see only my face when you complete this. It will be only me you think of when you seed her."

  He tried not to make a face. What was worse, the thought of looking at her or her use of the word "seed"?

  Or that she expected him to force himself onto Chiara?

  "You should not be here." He did his best arrogant angel impression and shook his head, firmly. "This is an act between a man and a woman. She must be cooperative if she is to…conceive. It's just science."

  Luminea looked at him askance.

  "It is an act of parents creating children. And I am the mother." She huffed. "Would it be easier if you laid her down? We can chain her to the bed, if you prefer." Luminea thought a few moments in silence, stroking her lower lip with a slender finger. "If I recall, you do prefer that. I will look for the leg irons."

  "No, madam," he said hastily. He stepped closer to Chiara, who trembled on her chain so violently that he worried she was going into shock. "This will suffice. If your wish is to watch…Stand back, at the window, so I may see you."

  Luminea slid into place, wearing a hungry smile. Shit, this lady was super excited about watching. Something creepy about a chick that was into porn.

  "Perhaps, that other window." He jutted his chin at the far side of the room and twisted Chiara around a quarter turn. "There, where I can see all of you, all at once. It will urge me on."

  "Please," Chiara whispered, unable to lift her chin to look up at him. Her eyes shone with desperate tears. "Don't do this."

  "I must," he murmured. "I have come too far and sacrificed too much to stop now. This will last but a minute."

  "My God." She kicked at him, swaying backwards. "You don't actually mean to do this?"

  He reached up and caught her wrists, examining her bindings, the hook they draped over. "This will be easier if you cooperate."

  Her eyes went wide with unrecognizable terror.

  "Keep your arms up," he said, his voice gruff. Using his knee to separate her legs, he dipped and scooped her up by her thighs, planting her around his hips. He'd never touched her like this, not even with the softest of intentions. It was naked and abrasive, the act of holding her becoming an act of abuse. "If you want to survive this, you will so as I command. Up, I said!"

  She blinked again, then did as he told, stretching her arms straight overhead. He hoisted her, once, as if to settle her more firmly around his waist.

  The loop that held her bindings slipped free of the hook. Her arms sagged down between them and she gasped for breath.

  Luminea looked unsure. "Zophiel—"

  "You know, madam." Huffing in exasperation, he let Chiara slide to her feet before stepping in front of her. "I can't do this if you're talking. I said, I preferred privacy."

  Luminea stalked over to him, evaluating him. "You always did like your toys. Almost as much as I like mine."

  Reaching down, she pressed her palm to the front of his jeans and stroked. Her lewd smile faltered.

  The angel's finger. He still had it.

  She knew he wasn't simply packing a good time.

  She pressed her lips into a thin smile and kneed him, hard, dead in the center, missing Zophiel's finger completely.

  Paralyzed, he went down with a woof. Holy fricken…

  The sensation was like a total abdomen cramp and all the wind knocked out of him simultaneously. Kind of transcended pain.

  He drooled and rolled over onto his face, and tried to do a systems check. Legs? Still there. Arms? Yep. Lungs? Everything was still there. None of it was happy.

  One last thing. He slid a hand beneath him, gingerly scouting his piece. The angel’s finger was still intact. Not so sure his balls were. But, he was breathing and at the moment, that was a victory.

  "I don't know what you thought by trying to outwit me." Luminea sounded perfectly reasonable, not at all like the worst ball-shattering bitch from hell. "But, as we can see, you're incapable of thought right know. Typical human man. You should really try keeping your brains in your skull."

  Cupping himself, he rolled onto his side, his knees to his chest, wanting to wrap his hands around her throat. He lifted his other hand and gave her the finger.

  She laughed and made a shooing gesture with her fingers. Looked like a flick. Felt like a bulldozer.

  He was swept across the room, hitting a side table with his ribs. The crack sounded too much like bone. The lancing stab in his chest said at least there was nothing wrong with his ears.

  The cramping pain was still there, bringing with it the feeling that he was going to vomit and crap his pants, pretty much at the same time. He tried to swallow it down and dragged himself to his feet, sucking air past the pain that seemed to come from everywhere.

  But a knee to the balls was a knee to the balls, no matter how tough a guy was. His stomach decided things would be better if he hurled. He leaned and vomited, a thick stream of
coffee regular that scratched his throat on the way up.

  Wiping his eyes, listening to Luminea's laughter ricochet through his skull, another sensation started, dwarfing the pain, the cramp, the pressure. It was a weirdly familiar sensation. It felt like fog.

  There, in the puddle at his feet, lay the delicate parchment. The textual amulet.

  The binding spell had been broken. The sensation that filled him wasn't pain.

  It was power.

  He looked up at her through a glare that briefly glazed everything with a glint of silver. Things were going to get good and ugly, now.

  "You just don't give up, do you, human?" Luminea stood between him and Chiara, her arms crossed. "I must say, it would have been very nice to have your body, your stamina, and your imagination at my behest."

  Simon rolled his shoulders and stood upright, surveying the room, watching Luminea slink back to circle her daughter. The pain had been banished completely, replaced by the Darkness. Another damnable bonus. He should have been in for an afternoon on the couch with a heating pad. Or an ice pack. Didn’t matter, not after a knee in the balls. Point was: he should have been down for the count.

  But not this guy, not with this power. It would take more than testicular obliteration to make him stand down. "You will release her and you will never contact her again."

  "What is she to you but an oddity, a uniqueness in a pretty wrapper?" Luminea stroked Chiara's tear-streaked face. "She's all you will never be and you can't stand that. You can't stand knowing she's so much better than you."

  "That's not true. Sure, she's better but—"

  Luminea's eyes were so fierce they could have thrown sparks. "So you do the only thing you know how and you steal her and you seduce her and to try to learn her secrets and when you've gotten all you wanted you break her so not even she can have herself—"

  "No! I am not Him!" Simon roared, knowing that, at this particular moment, it was a little bit of a lie. The binding spell disabled, Lucifer's power was seeping back into his blood, bringing with it an intimate knowledge of who Luminea was and what she had been. But that wasn't all.