Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3)

by Killian McRae

  “Shit!” Jerry kicked the stool, sending it toppling over. “Well, isn’t this just dandy?”

  Anwen’s eyes went wide. No doubt, she could feel it: the molasses-thick blanket of evil oozing over the crowd, seeking the souls whose auras were touched with a distinctive light.

  Cautiously, Dee lowered his hand, keeping his voice soft, hoping to buy a few more seconds of anonymity. “Just stay close to me. I’ll protect you.”

  “Are they...?”

  “They’re probably here for us.” He put his finger over her lips, stilling her words. “But now that they’ve seen us together, that means you too.”

  Chapter 9

  “Gerhard Schroeder in a tutu. Are you still moping?”

  In the blink of an eye, anger chased the residual sorrow from Marc’s soul. He was sick of the Grigori’s indifference and apathy to his pain caused by the angel’s fucked-up idea to give Marc the ability to love. He took the plunge and offed himself in order to save Riona, and for what? If he were cursed for an eternity, and serving damnation as a fallen, at least, they could have given him the VIP package of emotional debasement.

  Marc leapt to his feet. “Sorry, oh dark one. I didn’t realize my sorrow over being cast as a pawn was so inconvenient for you.”

  Azazel didn’t do sympathy, and he certainly didn’t take other people’s shit. “Yanking demon chains is one of the only forms of entertainment we get. Was that part not clear in your orientation?”

  He felt the tears wetting his cheeks. Crying for reasons besides corporeal torture: another damned side effect of his Demon++ status.

  Marc shrank into a ball on the floor. So far, Azazel managed to hide him from the rest of the demons, concealing his delicate condition; and no doubt, his master could never live down the embarrassment of having created a weepy minion of Hell. As it was, Azazel sighed, rolled his eyes, yet again, and stepped around the disappointed creation he had wrought.

  “Isn’t it enough that I let you sneak into her dream last night? You know, that’s serious magic to pull off, even for an angel, right? You think that whole Joseph and the twelve stalks of grain thing would have been so miraculous if we could pull that shit off like clockwork?”

  Mark shook his head. “She was already dreaming when I got into her head. All I could do was participate in what she was already doing.”

  One of the Grigori’s perfectly arched eyebrows rose. “Which was what?”

  “Going at it with Jerry Romani, the lying bastard.”

  Azazel ground his teeth. “Watch what you spit out, newbie. Romani may be a traitor, but he’s corrupted more souls and done more damage to Big Boss’s precious mortals than you’ll ever have a chance to conceive of. Respect his legacy.”

  Marc looked back over his shoulder. Respect the turncoat who not only betrayed Azazel and Lucifer, but stole away the woman he loved? Was he serious?

  The knock on the door jolted both of them. Marc’s eyes flashed up to his mentor. Azazel pressed a finger to his shushing lips and jerked his head. The broom closet lay at the end of the posh kitchen and Marc still couldn’t get over how the Grigori lived like kings. They had luxury bachelor pads that would have challenged a billionaire to bust out his checkbook just to one-up them. Marc bit his tongue. A crack in the door provided a line of vision for him as he heard one of Azazel’s minion slaves opening the front door. His mentor stationed himself at the kitchen table, reading a copy of some existential, psychobabble crap in the flickering midday firelight that poured in from the windows. A moment later, the bastard with the butchered British accent he well remembered marched into the kitchen.

  The devil knew how to throw a tantrum, that was for sure. Yelling, screaming, flailing his fists, he sought a target for his rage and caught a display cabinet holding figurines. It stood no chance as he overturned it onto the floor with a shove and subsequent rapturous crash.

  “Those were Hummels. They’re collectible.” His sire pointed to the remnant shards of porcelain on the floor. “Something must’ve worked you into a tizzy.”

  “Riona Dade and Jerry Romani, that’s what.”

  “Really?” He put down the book and feigned amusement. “I knew you had a thing for Riona, but I didn’t think Jerry was your type. Did you give him your Lucy treatment?”

  “No, I don’t mean that!” Lucifer barked. “Intelligence is reporting they’ve gotten married.”

  “Didn’t you get an invitation to the wedding?” Azazel managed to sound conversationally sarcastic. “Me neither. You’d think after thousands of years together, I’d at lease get a save-the-date notice. I can understand how upset you are, but I sired the groom, and I don’t even know where they’re registered.”

  Lucifer’s hands pulled at his hair. Collapsing into a chair at the table, curls of smoke rose from his hands. “My prize, my pet, married the traitor? How could she do that to me?”

  “If I recall, you were the one who first sent Jerry on a mission to seduce her, so I’m not really sure why you’re surprised. I met the keystone; and she’d reduce any angel to a pulp if she put her mind to it. I’m surprised Ramiel managed to resist her, working as closely as he does with her. But let’s review other facts as they stand.”

  Azazel crossed a stockade of liquor. Another demon explained to Marc that angels couldn’t become intoxicated, but they still developed a token appreciation for the sinful elixir that helped keep their quotas up. The two tumblers filled with amber liquid caught the firelight when Azazel turned around. He pressed a glass into Lucifer’s hand before drawing a sip from his own.

  “One,” Azazel said, “she was never yours. Just because you presented yourself as a woman and played a little tonsil tennis with her doesn’t mean shit. Two, what the fuck do you care if she’s married? You’re the Prince of Hell. If you want the woman, take her. It’s not like you care what the Council or Big Boss thinks of you.”

  Marc’s fist clenched as his instinct to defend Riona’s honor and desirability dared him to bust out of the closet and separate Lucifer’s chin from his face.

  “If only I weren’t vanquished.” Lucifer pulled a draw of his drink. “I don’t think I could force this one though. There’s something about her... She just has an energy, or something that calls to me. I want her so badly, I can taste her on my tongue. I know Jerry’s had her before when he was working for me, but this is different. This is sanctified.”

  “Could her appeal be because she’s one of us? Been a long time since we had any fresh angel prospects.”

  “Could be, but she’s also got such a feisty spirit. Such tempting lips...” Lucifer’s face grew long as his voice trailed off. After a moment, he shook his head and turned back to Azazel. “At least we took the priest. I want Marc Angeleti the moment he’s ready. Show that bitch a thing or two about messing with me. He should come out of the fires today, right? I want him dispatched ASAP.”

  Azazel tapped his fingers on the table, seemingly unable to reflect Lucifer’s eager spirit. “Sorry, brother, but that simply cannot be done.”

  Lucifer drew back, his face screwing up. “Haven’t you molded him yet? I could have sworn I heard you had.”

  “No, I have, and he’s...”

  Marc felt a throbbing in his gut, a momentary flicker of Azazel’s eyes moved to the closet where he was trying his best not to make any noise.

  “Exactly what I hoped he would be,” Azazel continued. “And I, too, really wanted to be there to see the look on Riona’s face when she saw Marc, but sadly, that wasn’t how it all worked out.”

  “You already sent Marc into the field?” Lucifer’s ire stirred the air, making it thick and sticky. “Without any training? Without asking my leave?”

  Azazel brushed off the comment with a flick of his wrist. “He was a Pure Soul, so the magic comes naturally to him. And as for combat, that wasn’t really the mission I sent him on. I only meant for him to deliver an FYI, both to the Pure Souls, and the Council of Seven as well. And the message was delivered, li
ve and in living color.”

  Lucifer’s face reddened. “I am the devil. I am in command. How dare you!”

  Nonplussed and a little annoyed, Azazel raised the volume of his voice. “My Lord, I believe the time has come to make yourself known.”

  “Known?” Lucifer paused. Marc could see the anxiety growing in the fallen angel’s features. “But I’m right here!”

  “Not you,” Azazel hissed. “Him!”

  Like heat radiating off the blacktop of a street in summer, Marc could only watch in amazement as the air began to shimmer in the corner to which Azazel pointed. Opaque clouds soon took on definition, revealing arms, legs, a torso, and finally, a smug mug.

  “Oh, hello, Luc. It’s been awhile.”

  Slack-jawed and gasping, it took a moment for Lucifer to register the truth. When he did, he fell to his knees, groveling. “My Lord. You are most welcome to our humble... ow.”

  “Stop making yourself look even more foolish than your standard, Luc.” Michael’s foot connected with Lucifer’s shoulder, making him fall back. “Sit down, we have business to discuss.”

  “Business?” Lucifer’s eyes alternated between Michael and Azazel as the latter two angels took a seat at the table.

  “Business,” Michael repeated, “starting with my daughter. Riona’s not for you. She will never be yours, understand? She’s got a lot bigger role to play than just being jelly-rolled by an archangel apostate.”

  Lucifer bit his lip. ”Such as?”

  Azazel pulled himself up straighter. “She’s more than just a witch. She’s even more than just Michael’s daughter and half-angel. She’s an advendavi.”

  “A scribe?” Lucifer shook his head. “But that would mean the Accords are going to be revised. That can only happen if...”

  “We know how it can happen.”

  Azazel’s comment cut Lucifer off, and Marc had to wonder if he did that specifically to keep him in the dark.

  Michael leaned forward. “The question is, for whom will she be advendavi?”

  “At least, we can rule out the nephilim,” Azazel said before adding, “though we have a check on them. We’ve already made a deal that will ensure we have a sympathetic character on the Mountain, if needed. The question is, who will represent our side?”

  “I’m the ruler of Hell.” Lucifer stared disbelievingly at the table. Something about all this had him thinking aloud and filled with dread. “If there is to be an advendavi for the Underworld, it must be me.”

  “It will be no one,” Michael said, pounding his fist on the table and making a handful of empty shells jump. “We are not going to allow another conference to occur, and Riona is the key to that.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Though Marc hated having anything in common with Lucifer, at least, he wasn’t alone.

  Azazel looked at Michael with a begging expression. Michael dipped his head to give him leave. “There will be no more raptures,” Azazel declared. “It was painful enough to see the nephilim slain because He decided He messed up. Then, when we came to their aid in battle, He decided we messed up. It’s only a matter of time before the humans suffer the same fate. How much imperfection to you suppose a deity can tolerate?”

  “Big Boss has been growing steadily disappointed,” Michael picked up. “He thought he put a system of balances in place, and learned enough the first two times around. Unlike us, mortal bodies are not eternal, and unlike the nephilim, they have souls. He even set up a merit system, with the righteous ascending to Heaven, and the wicked, coming here. Now he questions it. Can we stand by and watch Him wreak such havoc again and again?”

  “But what you’re suggesting,” Lucifer interjected, dry-mouthed, “is bringing about the apocalypse, and merging the realms. I know we talked about it long ago, but remember: it requires the advendavi from each realm to agree. Mortals are fickle, and their advendavi stands no chance against corruption. But the nephilim will be a challenge, and we’ll never sway the Council of Seven. Why would they dismantle Heaven?”

  “I know, if only we had an archangel whose heart could be manipulated and coaxed into doing what we want.” Folding his hands on the table, Michael stared, starry-eyed, at nothing in particular. “I did well creating my progeny. Riona’s troubled childhood affected her as a woman who does not always trust her own heart, although she can’t she deny its angelic ability to love and sacrifice. Even now, when I looked into her soul, I saw so many conflicts I could twist and turn, just so she acts out my will. She loves no less than two men: the resurrected demon, and the priest you corrupted.”

  Marc felt his dead heart return to life and quicken. She still loved him? Michael saw that inside her heart? God, if only he could hear her say it to him one more time.

  Michael continued, “One problem we have is that my daughter’s resolve weakens in matters of the flesh. She’s denied her spark too long, and will take a lover soon to sate it. Romani is the only option that will not spoil my plans. Call off the demons you have pursuing him.”

  “Already taken care of,” Azazel confirmed. “I only have one team out right now, but they’re only assisting Sam in tracking down a potential Pure Soul. The last thing I want is another flower popping up in Riona’s place if she transitions to one side.”

  Lucifer remained silent a moment, then began throwing his head from side to side. “This won’t work. We can’t chance the fate of humanity like that. If we can’t defeat Big Boss, he’ll do the same thing he did to the nephilim: snub out the share of them with one big execution order.” He examined the palms of his hands, flexing his fingers. “I still see their blood on my hands sometimes. So many slaughtered, so much horror...”

  Michael examined Lucifer with a critical eye. “You’re showing yourself to be a sizable humanitarian, Luc. An odd position for one who’s spent that last two eons tempting mortals to evil. Or is that the title you’re fighting for?”

  “Don’t make me out to be the villain here. I work to see that no single undeserving soul gets to enter the place from which I’ve been eternally forbidden!” Lucifer shot to his feet, the chair flying out behind him. “Perhaps the Prince of Heaven has forgotten why the fallen dwell here. While your Council tracked the nephilim down and murdered them in masses, we refused to be part of it. We refused to have the blood of the innocents on our hands. And how was our compassion rewarded? You purged us from Paradise.”

  Michael conjured a drink for himself. “And so filled with compassion were you, that your first act in the Underworld was to overthrow the nephilim prince who controlled it.”

  The table cracked under Lucifer’s fist. “He was not fulfilling his mandate.”

  “Hades has his own punishment for his shortcomings,” Azazel added.

  Michael swallowed down a laugh. “And yet, he still gets to have conjugal visits with Persephone six months a year. May we all be so ruthlessly punished.”

  “Point is...” Lucifer stole back the drive of the conversation, “I may have a dark role to play in Big Boss’s plan, but I will play it, because it is what He gave me to play. I won’t defy his will again. I will stand against any who would do so.”

  In a blur of motion far too swift for Marc’s eyes to follow, Azazel stood behind Lucifer, locking him tightly in a bear hug. Instinctively, Marc plastered his body as far back into the closet as he could, wishing he could walk through walls the way he once saw Riona do.

  “Big Boss’s plans are what got you into this mess, brother. Perhaps you just need some time to decide whether you’d like to keep dealing sin as the devil, or come home as the hero who refused to be a pawn of an ancient, self-proclaimed deity.”

  Azazel swept his hands in a motion that reminded Marc of the Tai Chi movements he’d often seen the elderly Chinese women practicing in Harvard Square. A single word fell from Michael’s lips, and Lucifer vanished, leaving Azazel gripping the air.

  Azazel straightened his shirt. “Well, that didn’t exactly turn out the way we hoped. And normal
ly, Lucifer’s resistance to anything wouldn’t matter to me. Only, you do realize, we will need to have Hell on our side. Right now, for better or for worse, that means him.”

  “We talked about it. It was your job to stir up mistrust in Lucifer’s reign, so that we could wrest power from him if we needed to. Don’t tell me you didn’t see to that.”

  “It was going better before someone fell in love with your daughter.” Azazel pointed over his shoulder at the closet.

  Marc felt a pull in his chest, a tug with hidden fingers: the manifestation of Azazel’s summoning. Finally. He sighed his relief and opened the door. He met Michael prior to crashing Riona’s wedding, but it was only to be briefed on the plan of action. Once he learned who his mission commander was, his sheer awe made it difficult for him to concentrate. You could take the priest out of the seminary, but sometimes the seminary couldn’t get out of the priest.

  Michael gave him a thorough examination. “You molded this one?”

  “I knew this one couldn’t be left under Luc’s aegis,” Azazel confirmed. “Marc’s loyalty and will belong to me.”

  Inwardly, a rebel spark fused, and Marc called out from the confines of his own mind that he belonged to no one, least of all, a fallen angel.

  His heart affirmed if he belonged to anyone, it was only to Riona.

  Chapter 10

  Adrenaline pushed his pulse to the max, but he managed to keep a cool head outwardly. Dee sized up their opponents. If they’d been men, he could have twisted their limbs off, slapped them with their own hands, and tossed their carcasses into the river. Demons weren’t so easily quartered. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give it his best shot.

  The spawn of Hell lowered their sunglasses in the dimly lit pub. Idiots. Ever since The Matrix, some of damnationals bought the “aviator look” as the definition of evil. Never mind that wearing shades at night tagged you as either suspicious, or a Comic Con enthusiast. Then again, same difference. The crowd would buy them a few more moments, and Dee intended to use the opportunity.