by Elise Marion
Micah shot him a glare before tipping back the first glass, swallowing the overly sweet Jager mixed with Red Bull. Without missing a beat, he downed the second one right behind it. Slamming the glasses down, he reached for the beer and chugged, chasing the liquor with the brew.
Arching an eyebrow at the boy, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Got any more cockamamie questions?”
The boy’s nostrils flared in irritation, and for a moment, he wondered if Elian wanted to punch him in the face. The scrawny packaging the kid came in often made him forget his power. Elian could be as strong as twenty grown men when he wanted to be.
Instead, he shook his head and turned his attention to the other side of the room.
“Looks like Antoine’s reeling them in.”
Micah spared a glance for the Oracle, who sat in the middle of the taproom at a table swarming with half-dressed strippers and waitresses.
“You think they’re all succubi?”
Elian gave him a look that clearly said ‘no duh, dumbass.’ “I know they are. One of the good things about being a Naphil—if you get good enough at it, you can spot them through their disguises.”
“Good to know,” he muttered, silently counting the number of women fawning over Antoine.
With his swarthy skin, dark hair, and pretty face, he proved the perfect bait for succubi. It helped that he’d been chugging from a glass all night—which Micah knew contained only water—and feigning lowered inhibitions. The girls swarmed him like a cluster of wasps, hands touching his arms, chest, a few even running fingers through his hair. Pretending to enjoy all of the attention, Antoine kept their attention trained on him and away from anything that might attack. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to strike, but then …
“Three blondes in the back,” he murmured, jerking his head in their direction. “See them?’
Elian snuck a covert glance. “Semangelaf, Sanvi, and Sansanvi?”
“Smart boy. Let’s go take ’em out.”
To his credit, the kid didn’t even bat an eyelash. Falling into step behind Micah, he trailed him around the perimeter of the room, where the three identical fallen angels stood, watching the scene with Antoine and the succubi play out.
He’d never come in contact with Lilith’s three lovers/bodyguards, but had heard the rumors of their beauty. The males were so pretty they looked downright feminine, with angular features, sharp cheekbones, delicate chins, full lips, and pale, almost translucent eyes. Their white-blond hair and fair skin caused them to appear delicate and fragile. Assuming them to be weak could be a fatal flaw, one Micah didn’t intend to make.
Reaching beneath his shirt, he found the double-knife holster strapped to his belt. Closing his fingers around the gold hilts, he edged toward them, keeping his steps light.
Elian stepped right in front of them, head inclined as if in curiosity.
One of the three glared at him. “What the hell do you want?”
The kid’s nostrils flared as he glanced from one to the other. In a blink, the dark brown of his eyes melted away until only white remained. A bright glow emanated from them as he fixed his gaze on each one in turn.
The three demons screeched and cowered, covering their eyes against the bright light and shrieking as if in pain.
“Now, Micah!” he bellowed.
Without hesitation, Micah plunged his knives into two of the demons’ backs at the same time. When he withdrew, white beams of light shone from the wounds, just before a bright burst like a firework took them both out. As they disappeared into thin air in a flash of light, he turned and dispatched the third, jamming the blade of one knife into the side of his neck.
“Not bad, boy,” he drawled, sliding the knives back into their sheaths.
Elian shrugged. “That was nothing.”
By now, they’d captured the attention of most of the inhabitants of the room. One would think a guy with glowing eyes, and another using knives to make people disappear, would slip under the radar on Bourbon Street—especially when naked girls danced on stage. It would seem that was not the case as several pairs of eyes bored into them, portraying varying degrees of shock, awe, and fear.
“I’ve got this,” Elian mumbled. Eyes still glowing white, he scanned the room, seeming to lock gazes with everyone present. Silence filled the taproom, and even the music stopped as they fell under his thrall one by one. “You didn’t see anything. Get out, and don’t come back. Temptations is closing for the night.”
His voice had been no more than a whisper, yet, everyone seemed to have heard him. On top of that, they obeyed, turning to leave the club in a surprisingly orderly fashion. Silently, they herded out onto the street, steadily streaming out into the night—bouncers, waitresses, dancers, and bartenders included.
Silence fell over the taproom and Micah glanced up to find Addison emerging from backstage, a T-shirt thrown on over her stage ensemble. She still wore the shiny black boots. Alice edged toward them from her side of the room, a ball of fire igniting in one hand.
The succubi, realizing the change in the atmosphere, began letting their human disguises slip, revealing the deformities their kind were known for. Rough, reptilian skin covered their lithe bodies, transforming them from something appealing to something repulsive. Lizard-like tails flicked behind them, and forked tongues hissed from between jagged teeth.
“That’s what these things look like in real life?” Addison murmured, edging her way toward them. “To think you had sex with one.”
“Not exactly the best time to bring that up, cher,” he growled, reaching for his knives again.
Red eyes glowed menacingly as the creatures spread across the room, surrounding them. Some climbed the walls, others hung from light fixtures, while more crouched low and circled them, ready to spring.
Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he found her calm, reaching down into one of the thigh-high boots and retrieving her golden .22 caliber pistol. It had been made from the same gold as his knives—blessed by the angel Phanuel and endowed with his power to dispatch demons back to Hell. Alice’s weapon—a pouch full of golden spheres she lit on fire and threw like hand grenades—had been made from the same gold.
Hissing and snapping their jaws, the creatures closed in slowly, seeming to savor drawing out the moment before lunging for the kill. The five of them came back to back, each prepared to do their part against the rapidly advancing horde.
He twirled his knives by their handles and cocked his head, leveling a glare at one crouched just at his feet.
“Bring it, bitch,” he muttered.
She uncoiled like a spring, lunging at him with arms outstretched, sharp nails aimed at his throat.
Throwing one arm up in defense, he took the talons in his forearm. Bellowing in pain and annoyance, he swung his other arm, burying one of his knives in her chest. Prying it loose, he shook her off, barely batting an eyelash as she exploded in a gory spray of black demon blood and a burst of white light.
Then, the rest of the mass converged as one and all hell broke loose.
Addison closed her eyes as three of the succubi converged on her at once, hissing, growling, and tongues flicking.
Conjuring the memory of Jack’s serene gray eyes, she experienced the now-familiar tingle and warmth that signaled the light coming to life inside her. She opened her eyes to the white glow, finding that she’d surrounded herself in an orb of glittering radiance—which kept the female demons from getting to her.
Screeching, they clawed and banged their fists against her force field, rage emanating from their red eyes.
Holding her arms out to her sides, she fixed her gaze on them one by one, pulling on the warmth growing in her chest and causing her mark to glow. A beam shot from her, making a beeline for one of the creatures. Two more followed, and one by one, she dispatched them in showers of black gore and crackles of light.
At her side, Micah had foregone the force field, preferring
to get up close and personal with the demons. One leapt over a table to get to him, sending glasses flying in every direction and overturning two chairs. Reaching up, he grasped it by the throat, halting it mid-flight. After slitting its throat with his knife, he tossed the body aside just before it disintegrated, covering his hand in its blood and disappearing in a flash.
Another dropped from the ceiling, sinking its claws into his back. Grunting, he reached back, attempting to dislodge it. Dropping her shield, Addison leveled her pistol and fired, showering him with even more black goop, but effectively destroying the demon.
Turning to face her, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but then snapped it shut again, reaching back to retrieve one of his knives from its sheath. Without preamble, he hurled the weapon, sending it blade over hilt above her shoulder. She whipped around just in time to see it sink between one of the beasts’ eyes, causing it to disappear with an inhuman, high-pitched screech.
She picked up his knife and extended it to him. As their hands met in the middle, she spied another one taking a running leap at him.
“Behind you!”
Grasping her hand tighter, he pulled, turning her and swinging her in the direction of the attacking monster. Reflexes honed in a way they never had been, she used the momentum to raise one leg in a roundhouse kick. Landing her foot in the center of its chest, she sent it flying into another table, splintering it. Raising her gun, she shot it between the eyes.
On the other side of the room, Alice lit her golden spheres on fire, throwing them with all the strength and speed of a pro-baseball pitcher. They shot through the demons like cannon fodder, tearing them to pieces. Making the weapons even cooler was the fact that they operated like boomerangs, arcing back to their owner after dismantling their targets, ensuring she never ran out of ammunition.
Antoine possessed no weapon, but his power as an Oracle ensured he went unscathed. One look or touch, and his prey became immobilized and incapacitated, leaving them to be picked off by one of the others present.
Elian, despite not being a Guardian, seemed to possess the power to dispatch them, as well. The unnerving white light beaming from his eyes seemed to set the demons on fire from the inside just before they would burst into white flames, screeching and falling to their knees, clawing at their own skin. Burning away into black dust, they would then vanish.
She and Micah went back to back, using their weapons to pick off the demons lunging at them from every direction, even overhead. Addison’s finger squeezed the trigger rapidly, shot after shot. Her eyes and ears honed to every movement and sound, she reacted seemingly before things happened, her every sense trained to counter with swift and precise action.
The entire fight must have lasted at least twenty minutes, but when it ended, she felt surprised to realize it had felt like no time at all. Standing in the midst of the carnage they’d caused, she turned in a slow circle, marveling at how much damage had been done in what had felt like the blink of an eye.
Shoving his knives back into the holster at his back, Micah stepped over a broken chair, stomping toward the last remaining demon. Crawling and sniveling, she scrambled to get away. Gaze locked on the open back door, she sprouted a pair of black wings and lurched as if to take flight.
“Not so fast,” he growled, reaching out to grasp a fistful of her hair before she could escape.
Screeching, she struggled in his hold, kicking and flailing. Giving her a rough shake, he pulled her back against his front, locking one massive arm around her. Unsheathing one of his knives, he swiftly pressed it against her jugular. She went still, eyes wide with fear.
“That’s better. Now, I’m gonna let you go, and when I do, I want you to go straight back to that slutty bitch you call ‘mama.’ Tell her she’s gonna have to try harder if she wants the ring bearer. Tell her to bring the pain … I’ll be waitin’ for her.”
With a rough shove, he sent the demon stumbling forward. Without hesitation, she took flight, hurtling through the open back door and into the night.
Putting his knife away, he turned to eye each of them as if to assure himself everyone was accounted for.
Elian crouched to right an overturned chair and pieces of a shattered ashtray. “Remind me not to pick a fight with demons in a bar again,” he muttered. “Too much potential for messes we have to clean up.”
“Do we have to?” Alice griped, rolling her eyes.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Antoine retorted, giving her a disapproving look. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re supposed to be the good guys.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, joining Elian in righting overturned chairs.
“There’s a janitor’s closet in the back,” Addison said. “I’ll get some trash bags and brooms for the broken glass.”
On her way, she passed Micah, who had reached behind the bar to retrieve a bottle of beer. Cracking it open on the edge of the bar top, he turned it up and took a long swallow.
Pausing, she glanced up and put a hand on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “If you hadn’t helped me this afternoon, I might not have been able to do that. And hey, we fought well together. We make a pretty solid team.”
For a moment, he simply gazed down at her, his stare moving from her to the hand on his arm. Then, his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as he shrugged her hand off.
“It was nothin’,” he muttered, turning his back to her and finishing off the beer. Leaving the empty bottle on the bar, he crossed the room to help Elian.
Frowning, she stared after him, confused by his behavior. Just when she’d thought they were making headway, he started acting like a jerk again. Shaking her head, she made her way to the janitor’s closet, putting Micah out of her mind. She didn’t have time to try to figure out the reasons behind his shifting moods.
Still, she couldn’t help but think that if Jack had been here, there would be someone to celebrate her achievement with. Which only reminded her why he wasn’t here in the first place. She didn’t deserve reassurance or celebration. She certainly didn’t deserve Micah’s friendship after she’d caused him to lose his best friend.
And, just like that, she arrived right back where she’d started.
Self-loathing, table for one.
Chapter Eight: Naked Truths
Jack didn’t even bother to stand when Michael entered his chamber. Seated on the lounge, head buried in his heads, he continued staring at his bare feet, dark against the pristine white floor. At this point, he’d stopped caring when the angel came and went. His motivation had dissipated, as he’d begun to realize he’d likely never get out of this place.
After several failed attempts at answering Michael’s question—despite his best efforts—he’d come full circle. He remained uncertain of why he’d been made to suffer in this endless chasm of loneliness after his death. He’d begun to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to just die and pass on to Heaven. At least there, he would have been happy.
“Jack.”
He shook his head, refusing to look up when Michael spoke his name.
“Do you not wish to speak to me today?” the angel asked, his shadow falling over Jack as he approached. “It is quite all right if you don’t.”
He scoffed, running his fingers over the bristle of scruff covering his head as he lifted it, glaring up at Michael.
“Is it, really? I mean, what else can you do to punish me more than you already have? Keep me here against my will? Cut me off from everyone I’ve ever known or loved? Cause my family and friends to suffer while I’m stuck here, dead but not really dead? Oh, wait, you’ve already done those things!”
As usual, Michael’s expression remained passive, betraying not a single thought, feeling, or emotion.
“I have told you before that this is not a punishment.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” he retorted. “If it feels like a punishment—”
“I can see that you are not in the mood to talk
to me,” Michael interjected. “Which is why I’ve brought someone else to take my place for the day. Perhaps with them, you can discover the truth.”
Jack’s pulse raced and he came to his feet, forcing himself to swallow past the lump in his throat. Tears stung the back of his eyes at the thought of human contact—any contact. He’d been so alone.
“Someone else? Who?”
The air around them seemed to shift, and a portal like the one Michael had arrived in opened. Beyond it, he could see Heaven, as usual. Yet, he couldn’t focus on that when he caught sight of the person stepping into the white room. The face was familiar; yet, different than he remembered it. More innocent, and less cynical. Far more beautiful.
“Hi, Jack,” she said with a shy smile.
His chest burned at the sound of her voice, the familiar Cajun accent. Her hair fell in a dark brown tumble of loose curls to her shoulders, blue eyes sparkled bright, and her mouth had turned up into a smile.
Despite his effort at holding it back, a lone tear escaped, racing down his cheek. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been lying in a casket.
His throat constricted, causing his voice to come out raspy when he finally spoke.
“Tracy.”
Michael disappeared without a word, travelling through the portal Tracy had arrived in.
The moment they were alone, Jack stepped forward, reaching out to touch her. His hands cupped her face, then trailed down to her shoulders and arms. He stopped at her hands, holding them tight.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to be sure you’re real. I’ve been alone here for so long I feel like I’m losing my mind. You are really here, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes, Jack. When Michael came to me and told me the situation, I was happy to come talk to you. It’s good to see you again.”
He couldn’t stop himself from tracing the lines and planes of her face, committing the changes to his memory. This was how he wanted to remember her—not her ashen complexion on the day they’d discovered her body, with the gaping slash across her throat and blood spilling over her neck and chest. How he wished Micah could be here to see his sister, whole, healthy … alive. Maybe then, the pain of losing her could be less acute for them both.