“Wait, are you saying my husband is human again?”
Marc nodded. “Which means, he’s weaker, slower and a lot more killable. Imagine my joy. Now, about that blade...” His eyes began roaming around the folds of her toga. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll run my hands all over you, looking for your sword, and after I find it, you can return the favor and look for mine. Here’s a hint, I’m wearing my dagger low, around the hips.”
“It’s going to be a cold day in hell when I sleep with you, Marc,” she said.
His sardonic laugh gave her epic chills. “The irony of that statement... I just really wish you knew.”
She let the cryptic comment make an exit without questioning it.
“Tell me, keystone, if you can’t even get close enough to want to jump me, how do you expect to trust me with an ancient weapon powerful enough to kill angels? Make war, not love?”
All efforts at a poker face fell. She felt sincerity, longing, and trust creeping into her expression and her aura. “No matter how much of an asshole you may act like, I still think you can do the right thing.”
“You forget, I’m a minion of Hell now. If my maker commands me, I have no choice. I must obey, no matter how I feel.”
She shook her head with steely determination. “A man who could go through Hell and still love me as much as you do... A man like that is a slave only to his own heart.”
Reaching inside the folds of her toga, her fingers felt the cool metal and rough-cut jewels of the hilt. She pulled it out with unmasked reverence. Marc’s eyes went as wide as if she were undoing her bra rather than brandishing the armament.
She stepped forward, and using only her outstretched hands, balanced the blade between her two palms.
His nostrils flared, locking his eyes on the prize before him. “I could kill you right now.”
“You won’t.” She lifted the blade a little higher. “You love me too much.”
Tentatively, and almost fearfully, his hand rose, dancing first across the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist before accepting what she offered. Riona had flashbacks to afterschool cartoons, and a certain gargantuan prince on a foreign planet who could transform himself into an undefeatable warrior by invoking the power of a magic sword. As she watched Marc reveling in the hum of power the blade teased its possessor with, she had one thought: animators were absolutely psychic.
“Damn it.” Marc’s curse did not match his amused expression. “Why are you torturing me like this? I want you, and I can’t stand to think of you being hurt. The devil helped me win you, and God struck me dead before I could.”
“I think you beat God to the punch on that one.” She felt a connection between them returning, and a glowing warmth between their auras began to brighten.
Marc laughed, turning the blade on himself in mock self-mutilation. “Guess so. Kinda went like this, right?”
She laughed too, but more out of discomfort and awkwardness. When Marc looked up at her again, there was an unfocused, yet driven intensity, which struck her as odd.
“No, I could never hurt you.” His hand wrapped around the blade’s hilt, and he cocked his arm back in preparation. “But him I’ll gladly fuck up.”
A silver streak rocketed toward her. There wasn’t time for her to port before her human fight-or-flight instinct took over, demanding that she get out of the way as quickly as a human could. Riona’s legs gave out from under her, tracking the blade with her eyes as she fell to the ground. At the entry to the terrace, a lone figure stood, with wide eyes and his death plowing toward him with unnatural velocity.
Riona called out for Jerry at the same time a blue light erupted from the end of Jerry’s fingers. The blade halted, and pivoted before propelling back towards its source. Instead of diving to avoid a collision, Marc threw himself forward, artfully gripping the blade from the air before he disappeared off the edge of the terrace.
A crumpled heap on the ground, she felt like all her bones had either shattered or were turned to jelly. Jerry was on her in a flash, the buzz of energy from his repellent charm still electrifying the air.
“Riona! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
It took her a moment to adjust to the sound of his voice. “No,” she huffed. “He’d never hurt me.”
“Baby, come here.” Jerry plopped on the ground beside her, pulling her into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. “You got to stop believing in him. He’s a demon. He has no choice.”
Her eyes turned gray as she sat up, locking gazes with him. “We all have a choice. Even Marc.” Her resolve crumbled when, of all things, he looked at her with pity. Hot tears streaked down her face, burning her skin, like the memories of kissing Marc in the Underworld. “Jerry, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t you dare be, babe. I know you better than that. You did the right thing.”
“I did?”
His hand cupped her cheek. “You did. Believe me, I know the power of demons. You couldn’t use your wicca to vanquish him in this realm, and you did the only thing left: hand-to-hand combat.”
She understood suddenly what Jerry must have seen. From his perspective at the door, it would have looked like Marc was aiming for her. Jerry must have assumed Marc wrested the blade from her in a struggle.
“Only now, he has Michael’s blade and that’s probably not a good thing. Come on, up with you. We should find Dee and Ramiel and let them know what happened.”
Guilt churned the pit of her stomach. Jerry’s trust in her better nature twisted her gut with an accuracy far more precise and deadly than anything the Angelic Blade could ever have done to her. He believed in her and their love so much, she would always automatically be the victim in his eyes, manipulated by a demon.
“But at the wedding, I wanted to vanquish Marc, and you stopped me,” she reminded him.
He steadied her, examining her from head to toe. “Until I was able to confirm something, which I did. Lucifer didn’t make Marc as a demon, Azazel did. Believe me, knowing what that signifies, I fully endorse you toasting his ass on the next available opportunity. But we’ll talk about that later. Right now, I have something else I have to tell you.”
“What?”
He placed both his hands on her face, using the pads of his thumbs wiping away the tears. “I’m here.”
Chapter 37
“Dionysius, my darling! Come give me a hug!”
The queue formed to the right. Dee inwardly groaned, but outwardly smiled as he wrapped his Aunt Hestia in his arms and picked her up off the floor.
“Hessie, it’s been awhile.”
“Certainly has. How’s your health?”
With a thunderous smack, Dee hit himself in the chest. “Hearty as an ox.” He switched away from Greek and slipped into English as he motioned to Anwen. “Aunt Hestia, may I present Anwen Yates, descended from the Mayan House.”
“Really? I thought all the Mayans had gone into the sunset.” Hestia’s eyebrow bounced. “Welcome to Olympus, my dear. So good to see our Dionysius with a companion again.”
“Oh, we’re not companions,” Anwen replied. “I’m just along for the ride.”
“Well, yes, of course. Sad that, he’s quite a catch.”
As the Welsh beauty at his side flapped her jaw while thinking of an appropriate response, Dee spotted his sister across the room. She was emerging from the hall, which led to his father’s throne room. He waved to her and pulled Anwen along, excusing himself. As soon as Persephone caught sight of him, she bolted in his direction, throwing up her arms.
“Hello, little brother,” she sighed as he spun her around. “You’re home at last.”
“Just for a little while,” he replied. “Steph, I want you to meet Anwen Yates.”
Dee watched in baffled befuddlement as his sister stretched out a hand and grinned like the cat that got the cream. “So this is the woman Dad predicted?”
Dee’s mind raced back to Mortimer’s loaded comment. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. You know how he gets sometimes.”
He did, unfortunately, but preferred not to tread down that potholed road at the moment. “Steph, can we talk? You know, somewhere private?”
“How about your old room?”
His old room. Yes, it would be private, all right. Zeus possessed enough insight when Dee came to live on the Mountain decades ago to respect both his son’s and his own privacy, probably for the same reason. It was far enough away from other’s quarters to assure acoustic privacy.
He bobbed his head. “Yeah, let’s head down.”
“And what about Anwen? Shall I have a cerebus assigned to her? Or is she invited to mingle?”
Instinctively, his arm wrapped around the redhead’s waist, pulling her roughly to his side. Anwen yelped, but not in an unpleasant way. After a moment of confusion, she relaxed against him, sliding her left hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
“I get it, caveman. Anwen yours. No touchy.” Persephone rolled her eyes. “Come on. Let’s be quick then.”
UPON ENTERING ZEUS’ palace, they found throngs of partygoers wearing togas, and Anwen declared that the jig was up. Here was the Greco-Roman, frozen-in-time civilization she always pictured under the heading “Olympus,” she told them. As the hallways narrowed and the cacophonous roar flattened to a dull, buzzing hum, however, another of her fantasies went up in smoke. The residence resembled an advertisement she’d often seen in magazines for the Ritz-Carlton. On side tables along the hallway, wooden picture frames held glossy photos and shining memories. Dee deliberately ignored the flood of fond recollections the images evoked. Not even a trip down memory lane could delay his departure in anyway.
“Oh my goodness, is this you?”
Anwen gawked at a black-and-white photo that made him wish he were born prior to the invention of modern photography.
“Yup. Glad I outgrew that hairstyle.”
“Yeah, afros don’t really suit you. Look at how young you were. What year are you in this? Six? Seven?”
He laughed, lacing his fingers over her stomach as he encircled her waist from behind. “That’s my secondary school graduation photo, actually. See in the corner.” He pointed to faint gold Greek lettering she knew he wouldn’t understand except for the date. “Class of 1973. Lot of us had the Welcome Back, Kotter ‘do back then.”
“The what?”
His eyes rolled. “Never mind.”
It took a moment for what he actually said to permeate her brain. “Wait a minute, class of 1973? You graduated in 1973? How is that possible?”
“Simple, I’m going to be sixty-nine in February.” The sexiest of all numbers brought a rosy blush into her cheeks. “I’m not being suggestive. I’m literally turning sixty-nine.”
“You’re more than twice my age.”
Echoes of another woman with similar concerns plagued him. “Yeah, but I make up for it with general immaturity and a puerile sense of humor.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip as her mouth opened into a laugh. “You’re a quartergod. You age slower than mortals too.”
“I know, I just...”
Anwen’s voice trailed off when she spotted another picture near the back of the table. In it, Dee, a few years older to the mortal eye, had his body pressed against a blonde beauty while he looked at her as if she were the only thing in existence.
“Clare.”
Dee swallowed hard. He could hear the emotions in his own voice, and wondered which one he labored over the hardest to repress. “Yes.”
“You loved her so much.” When Dee’s face filled with confusion, she continued. “I can tell by the way you’re looking at her, like nothing else exists, but her. She was beautiful, Dee, truly beautiful.”
“She was.”
Her finger outlined the image of the woman, tracing her blonde locks, which twisted down her back and out of the frame. Her eyes focused on Clare’s earrings, two large pieces of gold made to look like interweaving chains, snaking around themselves to form a circle.
Anwen pinched her earlobes, feeling the pull of the jewelry worn once upon a time in another place. “Those are beautiful, but they were so heavy.”
“Yeah, I remember she ripped them off right after someone snapped the photo. Said she’d end up looking like one of those natives you see in National Geographic if she didn’t get them off right then and there.”
As he recalled, the earrings hadn’t been the only things she ripped off. It also wasn’t the only photo they took that day, but the other poses were hardly appropriate for frames, much less, being displayed in the hallway.
“Do you want to talk or not, Dee?”
He lowered the frame to the table as they both turned to see Persephone tapping a foot and leaning against the doorframe of a room on the left.
Dee took Anwen’s hand in his, pressing a kiss on the back of it. “Can you give me a minute with my sister?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Inside the room, the décor was set to the Thatcher era and left to simmer. “I see everything’s been kept just the way I left it.”
“The sheets were washed. Bleached, actually.” Seated on the edge of the mattress, Persephone smoothed her hands over the edge of the comforter. “Okay, brother mine, what’s the huff?”
He wasn’t quite sure there was a good way to say what had been plaguing him since Thanksgiving. “Riona has an Angelic Blade, and she’s half-angel,” he started.
“Oh, God, you dragged me all the way back here to tell me that?” Persephone asked. “Um, I was there when she tried to hack the turkey with it; and she told me about the angel thing a while ago.”
Dee blinked, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m getting at.” He scratched the back of his neck. “What if, and hear me out on this, what if I were able to convince her to take care of your problem?”
“My... problem?” Persephone repeated the term like a foreign phrase.
“You know, your spousal problem.”
Understanding dawned on Persephone’s face. The goddess remained silent for a moment before saying decidedly, “Riona would never do that. It would be a death sentence for her, not to mention, something likely to send her soul south.”
“I’ve been practicing charms on her. Little stuff, like getting her to do the dishes when it’s my turn, or to put a different shirt on. I’m able to control her for a few minutes. I could...” He sighed. “I could enchant her long enough to strike him down. She wouldn’t be at fault.”
“No, but you would.”
Dee nodded. “I’ve thought about it long and hard.”
“You realize that it’s within my power to have you killed for merely suggesting that, don’t you? What makes you think I won’t?”
“Because without Hades, you can be with Ramiel.”
Persephone went whiter than an Icelandic Christmas.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one’s looking,” Dee continued. “Please, Steph, I hate seeing my big sister imprisoned.I want him to be happy too. He’s one of my best friends. I love you both. This place has already taken away my one chance at happiness, I can’t stand to see it do the same thing to you.”
“As it turns out, that’s unnecessary.”
“Why?”
“As of ten minutes ago, I’m no longer married.” Persephone announced as she stood, her face beaming.
“You’re...? Thank goodness.” Suddenly, the tension drained from him. He didn’t realize how wound up he’d become over the execution of his plan if Persephone had agreed. Now, he had his life, as well as his future back. A future that might even include a certain redhead who was probably standing on the other side of the door with her ear pressed against it.
“Not that I’m not flattered by your willingness to commit deicide on my behalf, mind you. But if I can say something to you, Dee?”
“Mmm?”
“I see the way you look at her.” Her gaze turned toward the door. “The lov
e of your life? That’s only a human construct. You’re such a catch, little brother, and you’ll endure longer than any human who ever lived. Don’t limit yourself to their expectations. You’re a god. Take advantage of it and love like a deity, whenever and however many times it comes along.”
Chapter 38
Finding Ramiel in the crowd proved easy. As Riona and Jerry rounded the bottom of the stairs into the main hall, they could see the blonde-headed angelic figure seated on a chaise at the far end of the room. Despite the packed venue, a bubble of nothingness radiated around him at least six feet in all directions. Riona knew the Olympians would keep their distance, their fear and loathing of the archangels a natural deterrent. The humans in the room could feel his otherworldliness, she guessed, and took their cue from the nephilim.
“Oh look, the lovers are reunited.” Ramiel pulled a drink from a glass of something that smelled like lighter fuel. “How... lovely for you.”
“Are you drunk?”
Ramiel chuckled at Riona’s question. “Not an option. Don’t have the genetics for it. I’m just pretending very hard.”
Jerry squeezed his wife’s hand. “Marc was here.”
That sobered the angel, and he shot to his feet. “What? Where?”
“He’s gone,” Riona confirmed. “Taking my dad’s Angelic Blade with him.”
The archangel blinked thrice. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I’m sure I misheard something for the first time in my life. Did you just say a demon has one of the Angelic Blades?”
Fighting back a stupid, naïve, inner voice that urged her to confess, Riona nodded.
“And how did he get it precisely? I thought it was back in Boston.”
Jerry scratched his head. “I didn’t even think about that.”
Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3) Page 24