by ML Guida
Raphael! He could do it.
She closed her eyes and prayed. Raphael, Archangel of Healing, please hear me. Have mercy, I beg you. Punish me, but please heal my angel-mate.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. He was their only chance. Raphael was the only angel brave enough to challenge Michael.
Holding her breath, she opened her eyes to disappointment. Raphael had ignored her pleas.
Balthazar took a step back but braced his right foot forward and his left foot back, as if he were going into a fighting stance. He clenched his fists. So, even Balthazar feared Michael. He’d be a damn fool if he didn’t. You messed with Michael and you were likely to be a squished ant on the bottom of his sandals.
She inched in front of Ringmaster’s trembling body. “Michael, I beg you, please don’t hurt him. He’s my…”
“I know what he is,” Michael snapped. “And so do you—an abomination.”
He lifted Excalibur as if to strike. Poison stared at his sword. No weapon in heaven or hell could defeat it. “Raphael, please.”
“There’s no need to ask for Raphael,” Balthazar said. His voice sounded steady, but she detected his fear. He wasn’t the only one scared shitless.
The fire burned hotter, or the two bigger than life beings radiated heat. Either way, sweat trickled between Poison’s breasts, and her shirt clung to her like a sticky plastic bag. She could barely breathe. Michael had never directed his wrath toward her, but he was pissed. Any minute, he’d swing his sword and cut off her head.
Michael glared at Balthazar. “I suggest you leave.”
Balthazar glanced at the board in Michael’s other hand. “Give me that, and I will.”
“No.”
Balthazar pointed at the floor. “It belongs to hell.”
“Not anymore.” Michael gave him a cold smile. “Why don’t you try and take it from me?”
“Not with Excalibur in your hand,” Balthazar said.
“I’m holding all the cards—the spell board, Lisa, and Ringmaster.” Michael swung Excalibur.
Balthazar jumped back and glowered. “At least let me take Ringmaster. You hate demons. You’d never allow him to live in heaven.”
Michael twirled Excalibur in a circle. “True. Now. Go.”
“Soon, your soul will be with me, Ringmaster.” Balthazar kicked Ringmaster in the arm, and he collapsed on the floor. “And you’ll pay for your failure.” With that, he laughed and disappeared. The flames in the fireplace roared, lighting up the room again.
Michael held up his hand, and the fiery blast returned to the fireplace. “How contrite, Balthazar.”
Poison’s traitorous stomach stopped swirling, and she could breathe, but fear still pumped through her veins. Balthazar was right. Michael would never allow a demon to grace heaven.
Despite the tremors running through her body and every instinct screaming for her to bend to Michael’s will, Poison forced her quaking legs to move and stood in front of Ringmaster. “Michael, leave him alone.” Had she just said that? Given Michael an order?
Michael narrowed his eyes and clamped his jaw. He pointed Excalibur at her chest. “Did you just order me to do something?”
“Ahem, yes, she did, dear brother,” a musical voice said.
Poison took a deep breath. Finally. Raphael.
Michael looked at him warily. “Raphael.”
“Hello, brother,” he said as he strolled out of the same dark corner Michael had emerged from. Was there a portal there? Poison couldn’t sense one, but then again, she wasn’t an archangel, either.
Raphael was a sharp contrast to Michael. He had long blond hair that shimmered in the darkness, and his presence reflected laughter and merriment, not fear and arrogance like Michael’s. He wore a tight red shirt and tight blue jeans and high black boots. He wore his sword, Magic, at his side. Magic was two-folded—it could be deadly, or he could touch an angel or a human and heal them. “Still not following the rules?”
Michael stiffened. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Raphael pulled out Magic. “Don’t play games. It’s not becoming of you.”
Michael slid Excalibur back into its sheath, but still held the spell board in his other hand. “I never play games.”
“Maybe you should,” Raphael said. “It might bring a smile to your sour puss face.”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here? I thought you were still in Scotland.”
“I was, but…”
Michael turned around and stared at Poison. “You prayed to him, didn’t you?”
Poison braced her shoulders back. No point in lying. “Yes.”
“You just sealed your fate.”
Chapter Eight
Poison shivered at Michael’s harsh words and hoped the poker hand she played was the right one. You never knew with archangels. Blade said you couldn’t trust them, while Scythe said to always trust them.
Raphael looked at Poison and gave her one of his charming smiles, which never failed to lighten her heart. “Begged was more like it.”
He touched her, and the nausea vanished. She stood, ready to fight.
He motioned toward Ringmaster. “About your request.”
Michael tapped the spell board with his finger. “You can’t be serious, Raphael.”
Each time Michael rapped on the board, Ringmaster moaned. Poison frowned. Were the board and Ringmaster connected somehow?
Ringmaster was still on all fours. His arms were trembling, and he gasped for breath. Any minute now, he’d collapse, but he was fighting it.
Raphael shrugged. “Oh, but I am. You know both of their names are already written in the Angel-mate Book.”
“It’s got to be mistake.” Michael pointed at Ringmaster. “He’s a filthy demon.”
“So you want to go against the Big Man himself?”
Michael lowered his arm. Not even Michael would go against Saint Peter, not if he didn’t want the Wrath of God to come down on his head—literally.
He glared at Poison. “You’re off my team.” He flashed out of the room.
Poison sucked in her breath. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to cry. At least Michael hadn’t killed Ringmaster. He’d just fired her. Now what was she supposed to do? Shoot arrows? How could she show her face in heaven?
Raphael walked over to Ringmaster. He unleashed Magic from its sheath, and then laid it on Ringmaster’s shoulder. “Heal.”
Magic turned bright white, and the same light shot around Ringmaster. He threw back his head and cried out. His body convulsed.
Poison wept at his moans. Healing didn’t always mean pain-free. She slumped down next to Ringmaster but didn’t dare touch him. “I’m sorry. It will be over soon.”
Raphael pulled the sword away. “It’s done.”
Ringmaster lifted his head. His shirt was gone, but his skin had returned to normal.
Her hand shaking, she caressed his skin. It was still hot, but beneath her hand, it cooled. He shuddered.
She studied him. “Your eyes. They’re no longer glowing red.”
“I healed him like you asked.” Raphael returned Magic to its sheath. “I didn’t say I’d let him keep his demonic powers.”
Ringmaster’s eyes widened. “I’m human?”
Dejection radiated in his voice. As a human, he’d be puppy fodder for any demon.
“No, humans are mortal,” Raphael said slowly. “You’re an angel-mate and now immortal. You’re more like a wizard.”
Ringmaster gritted his teeth. “What?”
Poison gripped Ringmaster’s arm and helped him to his feet. She hoped he wasn’t going to do anything like attack an archangel. Raphael might look like a sixteen-year-old boy, but he was a sixteen-year-old boy on mega-trillion steroids.
“You wanted to be with your angel-mate, correct?” Raphael sat down in one of Lisa’s black chairs.
Ringmaster held Poison’s hand. “Yes,” he answered warily.
Poison squeezed his
hand, trying to send him reassurance. She hoped Blade’s prediction wasn’t going to come true and she’d just jumped from the frying pan into heaven’s fire.
Sadness mirrored in Ringmaster’s eyes, and he kissed her hand. “I’m sorry Michael banished you from the Angels of Death.”
“Let’s not worry about that,” she said, hiding the disappointment in her voice. “You’re alive, and that’s all that matters.” She hoped she sounded cheerful, and not ready to burst into tears.
“The Angels of Death aren’t the only game in town,” Raphael said.
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
He pointed two fingers at them. “I want you both to work on my team.”
Ringmaster shook his head. “You want me? You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not,” Raphael said. “Hell is making weapons, and I need to be sure how I can counter their effects. You two would work in a lab where you can create weapons to help angels counter evil created in hell. Do we have an agreement?”
Ringmaster didn’t answer.
She stared at him. Blade had turned rogue and killed people with the Xanadu drug, hell’s newest invention. Xanadu gave humans an incredible high, but then they became psychotic—killed someone and then themselves. Had Ringmaster created it?
“If you’re wondering, dear angel, if he created the drug Xanadu, the answer is yes. Your mate was the inventor of every foul thing created in hell. Having him on our side will be a festering thorn in Balthazar’s side.”
She should hate him for what he’d done, but Raphael was giving him a way to redeem himself, to prove to Michael he wasn’t abomination. She held her breath, hoping he made the right decision.
Ringmaster ran his hand through his hair. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really,” Raphael said. “You’d be under my protection.”
“Protection from whom?”
Neither Raphael nor Poison answered. The clock ticked behind them. The wind blew outside and sent chills up and down Poison’s back. Terror seized her pounding heart. Michael would definitely order his assassins to kill Ringmaster.
“Answer me,” Ringmaster said. “How bad of trouble am I in?”
The blood drained from her face. “From Michael’s assassins.”
He scanned the room as if they were hiding in nooks and crannies, ready to spring out and cut him down. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Michael keeps them secret. Not even Saber, the new Angel of Death’s leader, knows.”
Ringmaster frowned. “Scythe is no longer the leader?”
“Not since his brother fell,” Raphael said.
Ringmaster stood straighter. “So, Blade’s in a heaven cell?” Fear dipped into his low voice. Demons didn’t fare well up in heaven. Michael was ruthless.
“No.” Raphael smiled. “I have him tucked away someplace safe.”
“The assassins are after him, too, aren’t they?” Ringmaster asked.
Raphael picked up a photo from Lisa’s dresser. “Of course.”
“Is he a wizard like me?”
“No.”
Ringmaster’s temple throbbed, and he squeezed Poison’s hand hard. “You made him human? Do you have any idea what Balthazar will do to him? Do you even care? He was one of you for Christ’s sake.” Anger swept into his voice.
Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Do not ever use the Lord’s name in vain again.” He held the picture in his palm and it turned faster and faster and faster.
Poison sucked in her breath. She was afraid he’d launch it at Ringmaster’s stubborn skull. She punched Ringmaster’s in the arm. “You idiot. Don’t piss him off.”
Ringmaster ignored her. “Do you know who they are?”
“I have no idea.” The picture stopped spinning, and Raphael put it back down. “But in my realm, they wouldn’t dare enter—unless, of course, Michael wants to face St. Peter.”
A crooked smile spread across Ringmaster’s face. “Ah, so it’s true.”
Raphael raised his eyebrow. Poison frowned.
Ringmaster looked between them. “We heard rumors that Michael and Peter didn’t exactly see eye to eye.”
“That’s an understatement,” Raphael mumbled. He stood. “It’s time to leave.”
Poison glanced over at Lisa, who sat still on stone as her loveseat. Throughout the whole ordeal, she hadn’t moved a muscle. Her eyes remained dull. A piece of drool slid down the corner of her mouth. Lisa’s ambition had started all this, but if it weren’t for her, Poison wouldn’t have found her angel-mate. She nodded at Lisa. “What about her?”
Raphael’s face hardened. “She must pay for what she has done.”
Ringmaster frowned. “Then why didn’t you just let Balthazar take her?”
“He had plans to use her as another weapon by turning her into a mindless zombie. The spell board made her too powerful.” He stared at Lisa. “Purgatory.”
Lisa’s lifeless figure tumbled to the floor and landed with a thump. Her eyes stared up at Poison, but no light shone in them. One arm was over her head and the other behind her back. Her mouth parted as if she wanted to say something, but she never would. Poison shook her head. “Why can’t humans appreciate what they had?”
No one answered her. She wished humans would be thankful for what they had, but they never were.
Raphael disappeared.
Ringmaster scanned the room. “He took her to Purgatory himself?”
“Yes,” she said.
Ringmaster wrapped his arm around Poison and hugged her. They stared into the flickering fireplace. And waited. What else could they do? Raphael had promised them both sanctuary.
“I wouldn’t want to be in Purgatory,” Ringmaster murmured. “It’s desolate and lonely there.”
Poison snuggled closer to him. “I wouldn’t either. She’ll relive her sins over and over again, wishing she could go back in time. Only Saint Peter, in his Book of Redemption, will know how many prayers it will take for her to earn a place in heaven.”
Ringmaster snorted. “Try a zillion.”
Raphael reappeared. He wiped his palms on his jeans. “That’s all done. Ready?”
Without waiting for an answer, he snapped his fingers. They vanished.
Chapter Nine
The roaring wind whirled around Ringmaster and whistled in his ears. He held on tight to Poison’s tiny waist. With his demon powers stripped from him, he had no wings and had no idea how he’d protect his sweet angel. Who was he kidding? She wasn’t the vulnerable one. He was.
His hair slapped his face. Cold gripped him. His teeth chattered. As a demon, he’d never felt cold or warmth. No wonder humans could freeze to death. He hated being defenseless.
The wind ceased. Ringmaster staggered, and Poison grabbed his arm. Damn! This sucked.
He stood on grass mixed with long daisies. Aspens grew tall and proud and swayed, their leaves golden. The bright sun warmed his chilled skin. He inhaled the fresh scent of spring. A three-tower, whitewashed castle with a blue roof loomed in front of them. Double oak doors opened by themselves. He cocked his eyebrow. What? Was he just supposed to waltz inside? Did he look stupid to Raphael?
“Shall we?” Raphael asked as he bowed slightly and gestured with his arm.
Ringmaster glared. He wanted to wipe the ‘I-dare-you’ look off the archangel’s face, but he wisely clamped his mouth shut. Why tempt fate? The last thing he wanted was to be back in Balthazar’s clutches. No telling what the bastard would do to him. Not that he wanted to find out.
Poison rubbed his arm and tilted her head toward the castle. “Come on. I promise he won’t hurt us.”
“Yeah, right,” he mumbled. “Where have I heard that before?”
Ringmaster clasped Poison’s soft hand and allowed her to lead him inside the castle. He might not trust an archangel, but he held faith in her. As they wandered inside, he sighed at the great hall where there was an oak table and six tall, wooden chairs with red-cushioned backs. Flag
s of every nation hung on the stone walls. Four armored knights stood against each wall. A large fireplace roared at the end of the hall. A cherry wood staircase led upstairs. He felt like he’d gone back in time to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.
As if reading his mind, Raphael shrugged, “What can I say? I like medieval times, especially the story of King Arthur.”
“I’ll say,” Ringmaster muttered.
Poison frowned and elbowed him in the ribs.
“What?”
She caressed her hand over the wooden railing. “I happen to like it.”
Ringmaster held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Forget, I said anything.”
“Your new home,” Raphael said.
Ringmaster scanned the room. “Who else lives here?”
“No one,” Raphael answered. “All your needs will be taken care of. Just call me, and a servant will appear and attend to you.”
“So, now what?” Ringmaster asked, waiting for the proverbial boot to kick him in the ass.
Raphael’s eyes turned serious, and his smile disappeared. “You were working on a second board?”
“Yes. The zombie board. How did you know?”
Raphael shrugged. “There are not many secrets in hell we don’t know about.”
“Zombie board?” Poison shuddered. “Ew. You were making zombies?”
Ringmaster nodded. “Balthazar loved the idea. People would think they were buying a Ouija board. Each time they played, part of their soul would be sucked into the board until they were nothing but an empty shell, or should I say hungry shell? They would crave souls and attack each other.”
Poison scowled. “You mean eat each other?”
He stared into her horrified face. Did she regret branding him already? “Balthazar has a thing for zombie movies and wanted me to create a board to summon zombies.”
“Tell her everything,” Raphael ordered.
Poison looked at both of them. “Tell me what?”
Ringmaster lowered his head, not able to confront the regret in her eyes. “Once a human starts using the board, they unknowingly pledge their soul to Lucifer.”