Speaking of the Devil

by Meg Collett

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Clark’s Notes on the End of the World

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  speaking of the devil

  a days of new serial

  volume I

  meg collett

  Speaking of the Devil

  Copyright 2015 Meg Collett

  www.megcollett.com

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Image from Snezh

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Editing by Elizabeth Phelps

  The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.

  To you reading this,

  Thank you for loving Clark and Michaela.

  This is for you.

  Welcome to the Days of New.

  Clark’s Notes on the End of the World

  The Angel Civil War: A short but brutal war that broke out when the Aethere choir framed the Archangel Michaela and took control of Heaven. Plagues and death marked the history pages of this short confrontation. The war also almost ended the world. Like, for real.

  The Apocrypha: A book that is said to contain all the ancient secrets of the Watchers, one of the most powerful choirs of angels to exist. Their secrets are ones of magic and lure, dangerous and lethal. Everyone in Heaven and Hell assumed the book to be a myth until Lucifer found it decades ago. Clark stumbled across the book and opened it. Much to his cursing dismay, the words left the book and inked themselves onto his arms. Talk about a tattoo you regret the next morning.

  Choirs of Angels: A categorization method to distinguish between the different breeds of angels.

  The Aethere: Every human, upon their untimely end, must have their soul judged. Those who judge the soul righteous or…ah…not so much...are a choir of angels called the Aethere. They were led by Abel, an angel with an over-evolved sense of purity and idealism. He made a deal with Lucifer to frame Michaela so that the Aethere could take control of Heaven. Basically, top notch assholes.

  Archangels: The most powerful choir of angels and the previous leaders of Heaven before the Aethere took control. They are warriors and overall badasses. List of Archangels, including their status: Michaela (Angel of Death/holy-ish), Gabriel (General of Hell/holy-ish but mostly fallen-ish), Zarachiel (holy), Uriel (holy), Simiel (holy), Ophaniel (holy), Raphael (holy), Asmodeus (fallen/dead), Cassius (fallen/dead), Molloch (fallen/dead), Emim (fallen), and Irin (fallen).

  Throne Angels: While the Archangels were created to be warriors and leaders, the Throne angels were created to be soldiers. They were the front lines of every battle. Their lives were full of endless war and endless fighting, which could account for their general surly, bitchy attitudes. Of course, Clark had only met one Throne angel—Camille—but he figured it was safe to make a general assumption of the whole.

  Clark St. James: Self-professed man candy and saver of the world. He was also a very bad Descendant of Enoch before he found out he’s not exactly human, which explained some things about his odd life. His mother, Iris St. James, is a Nephil, which meant Clark is whatever percent angel. After helping Michaela prove her innocence and restoring Heaven back to its rightful leaders, Clark has retired to peaceful, serene existence—just kidding. That’s someone else’s life. Clark is now the leader of Nephilim and works alongside the Keeper of the Descendants of Enoch to restore order to Earth.

  Clark’s Sojourn to Hell: Not highly recommended as a vacation destination. Allergies could be irritated by the ash and suffering floating in the air. Clark himself only went to learn how to control the magic he’d inherited from the Apocrypha. Lucifer was a good teacher, if not a little impatient. An uneasy friendship was formed between Clark and Lucifer until, of course, Clark accidentally killed Lucifer.

  Descendants of Enoch: An order of humans descended from Enoch, a man who once walked amongst the angels. His tales are recorded in the Book of Enoch. The Descendants act as the earthly protector of angels, which is like saying they are mice guarding lions. There is a seated council of Descendants, who represent the society as a whole. They are led by one man, called a Keeper, at all times. In the post-war world, they are the only form of government left. Survivors come to their compound to seek shelter and aid. In the absence of angels, the Descendants will restore the world. Or try to.

  Gabriel: Once an Archangel, Gabriel was condemned as a traitor and sentenced to Hell by the Aethere. Never before had a holy angel been sent to Hell. For a while, he was Lucifer’s pet and was forced to fight in gladiator-style tournaments for the entertainment of the lost souls. When he killed Lucifer’s second-in-command, Lucifer named Gabriel his new Lieutenant. After Lucifer’s death, Gabriel was next in line to be the General of Hell. He used his new fallen angel army to help Michaela reclaim Heaven from the Aethere.

  Holy Fire: Magic that Clark learned from the Watchers’ secrets. When called forth by a few words, the holy fire is fatal to humans and powerful enough to permanently maim an angel. This was the best method to kill Lucifer’s hybrids.

  Hybrids: A Frankenstein-like combination of human souls inserted into fallen angel bodies. It was an experiment that went very, very wrong. The hybrids were powerful beings driven by the desire for blood. Hybrids were Lucifer’s failed attempt at making immortal angels for his army.

  Iris St. James: Mother to Clark St. James. She was a full-blooded Nephil with the most powerful ability of an entire generation of Nephilim. She can see bits of the future, a power that she passed down to Clark in the form of dreams. Her powerful talent meant she was the leader of the Nephilim community until she named Clark her successor.

  Isaac St. James: Father to Clark St. James. He was once the Keeper of the Descendants of Enoch until he died from a fatal hybrid bite in Charleston. He named Liam as his successor. He’s buried in the Descendants’ cemetery in a position of honor along with the other Keepers of old.

  Lucifer: One-time leader of the fallen angels and General of Hell. Most folks assumed him dead. You know what they say about assumptions and speaking of the devil…he will appear. Much to Clark’s dismay.

  Michaela: Once the leader of the Archangels and the General of Heaven. She was framed by the Aethere and banished to Earth, where she was hunted and condemned as a traitor and sellout. After a very interesting twist of events, she became the new Angel of Death. Now she spends her days ferrying souls from their bodies to their judgment.

  Michaela’s Bones: Michaela’s wings contain the only known power to kill an angel. When Lucifer cut off her wings, he took the bones and made an assortment of weapons from their powder. Those weapons are now scattered across Heaven, Hell, and Earth. It isn’t exactly known why her bones can do this, but it is believed that since she was the first angel ever created, and the purest, that her bones are almost toxic to lesser angels.

  Nephil (singular)/Nephilim (plural): A race of half-angels born from the union between the Watchers and human women. Until very recently, the Nephilim were hunted down and believed to be mostly extinct. But
they have a knack for survival, even if their methods of doing so is a little…creepy. Most have some magic ability passed down from their forefathers, the Watchers. But the magic has dulled from one generation to the next. It’s rare to find a powerful Nephil, although Iris St. James is one of the most powerful in existence.

  Pennsylvania Clan of Nephilim: An Amish community of Nephilim, who hid from notice for hundreds of years. Lead by Iris St. James, the Pennsylvania clan is the most prominent Nephilim community in the United States.

  Watchers: A group of angels who spent a little too much time watching the human woman. Soon, just watching wasn’t enough, and the Watchers went to Earth to lay with the women and share their secrets of weapons and astrology to the humans. The Nephilim were the children of the Watchers and the women. Learning of this transgression, Michaela sentenced the Watchers to life deep underground, chained in water, where they couldn’t perform magic and were cursed to waste away eternity. The women who slept with the Watchers were turned into Sirens, cursed to forever long for a man’s touch but never to be satisfied.

  Chapter One

  It had been six months since the Archangels reclaimed Heaven, but Clark still jolted awake, as if he was falling from one nightmare into another.

  When the temporary flash of fear cleared, Clark cursed and swatted away the feathers tickling his nose. The alarm clock blared next to him and echoed through the drafty apartment. He slammed his hand onto the snooze button, sending the clock crashing to the stone floor covered in musty old rugs.

  Camille, an angel from the Throne choir, didn’t even stir as Clark shoved her pure white wing off him and rose from the bed. The sheet was bunched around her sprawled legs, exposing her bare ass and the smooth, porcelain skin of her slender back.

  Running his hand over the scruff along his jaw, Clark walked over to a large window framing an entire wall of the bedroom. Outside, the sun was starting to illuminate the gray earth. His breath condensed against the window, the winter air crisp beyond the heated confines of his apartment. From his vantage point, he saw the entire south side of the estate, where refugee tents littered the front lawn.

  Clark caught his reflection in the glass. His pink Mohawk was flat and faded, his blue eyes much the same, making him look more tired than his twenty-four years warranted. Farther down his reflection, he glimpsed the tattoos on his arms and had to look away, even though the unwanted marks called to him like little whispers.

  “Get your shit together, man,” Clark mumbled to himself as he turned away from the window. He couldn’t deny the crushing pressure he felt staring down at the refugees, knowing they were looking to him for survival.

  Jeans, work jackets covered in dirt, and torn rock band T-shirts were strewn about the floor at his feet as he crossed the small apartment and set a metal pot on the wood-burning stove. He filled it with water, numbly watching as it began to boil. He knew the coffee would be bitter if he dumped the grounds in too early, but he did it anyway.

  He drank his coffee quickly before venturing back into the bedroom to dress. Camille was in the shower, the ancient pipes thundering to life behind the walls; thankfully, the compound had a solar powered pump to maintain the water pressure. He couldn’t find his old leather jacket that had once belonged to his father, so he settled on a faded plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up unevenly, a stained white undershirt, and jeans with more holes than material. He closed the door quietly behind him and set off down the hall.

  As Clark hurried to his office, he kept his head down and his eyes on the well-trodden stones of the Descendants of Enoch’s compound. Entire wings and halls had been added to the estate over the centuries, making it sprawl before him like a damp, cluttered maze. People shuffled about behind their rooms’ doors, preparing for another long day of work and cold. The place was coming alive, waking with the grudging acknowledgment of a new dawn.

  He reached his office door and silently slipped inside. The wood-paneled room overlooked the western fields, a view familiar to Clark. He’d spent hundreds of hours playing in front of this very desk while his father had worked.

  He sank into the leather chair behind the desk and poured himself a glass of whiskey before he turned on the stereo in the corner. The Clash spilled out and filled the room as light from the sunrise trickled through the windows. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, watching the bright colors leech into the clouds. The whiskey did the trick and burned away thoughts of the war, Sophia, and Michaela.

  Because if he thought about Michaela, then he thought about Sophia. And if he thought about Sophia, he remembered his father’s death. And his father’s death brought on memories of hybrids and Watchers and plagues and Lucifer and Hell and unwanted tattoos and running through the woods, counting down the seconds before death. He couldn’t think of any of that or else he would be halfway through the liquor bottle before the sun had fully risen.

  Because all the people he missed were all the people he’d lost, and they were gone and far away. And he needed to focus because he had to save the world today.

  He heard a knock on his door. “Come in,” Clark called and took a sip.

  Zarachiel limped in, his back twisted beneath his heavy coat, the pain in his warm caramel eyes evident. “We have a slight situation.”

  Clark groaned and quickly swallowed the rest of his whiskey. “What now?”

  “It’s nothing like that. A Nephil arrived this morning. She’s demanding to see you,” Zarachiel said. He shoved his hands into the worn pockets of his work pants, which were a little too short for his long legs and tall frame.

  “Who is it, Z?” Clark asked.

  “You should know—”

  Just then, the door banged open behind Zarachiel, and the Nephil in question charged inside. At the sight of her, Clark sprang to his feet, dropping the whiskey glass to the floor. It shattered on impact, sending shards across the rug. His heart was somewhere in his throat, squeezing the breath out of him.

  “Sophia?” he choked out.

  “No,” the Nephil said. “But I think you knew my sister.”

  Clark wavered, his head spinning. For one horrible moment, he thought he might actually faint, but guys like him didn’t faint. He reached for his humor, for any badass comment that could save him from this moment, but he floundered in a sea of horrible, wrenching pain.

  “You look just like her,” he whispered, his eyes sweeping over the girl’s light colored hair and eyes.

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen my sister in a very long time,” the girl snapped. Her tone was brisk, her words clipped, but her hands trembled, and she had to tuck them into the simple coat she wore that was much too thin for the brutal Kentucky winter the compound was currently enduring.

  “Why are you here?” Clark asked, still drinking her in. His heart kept sputtering, like a worn-out car in winter. He had to remind himself over and over that this wasn’t his precious Sophia.

  Because Sophia was dead.

  “This is the Descendant of Enoch’s compound, is it not? You all are the protectors of the angels, their saintly guardians on Earth. An order of humans passed down generation after generation from the great Enoch himself, right? Or did I take a wrong turn somewhere?”

  The girl talked a hard game, but her lips trembled and her gray eyes were much too wide.

  “I see you found the brochure,” Clark commented dryly. He sat back in his chair because his knees were growing too weak to hold him. His eyes traveled down the girl’s slender neck to the lapel of her coat, which revealed the tiniest glimpse of creamy white skin. Suddenly, images of Sophia beneath him in the darkness came to mind. He heard her moan, felt her nails digging into his ass as he moved inside her. The crotch of his pants tightened, and he had to pour another drink into a new, unbroken glass.

  “The Descendants don’t do much protecting these days, not since the end of the war. The plagues didn’t leave much behind, but we take any survivors who can make it here. We’re more of a refugee cam
p now,” Clark added, sipping from his drink. The amber liquid burned him back to life, lit a fire to his numbness.

  The girl came forward, squaring her tiny shoulders. “I came here for—”

  “Look,” Clark interrupted. “It’s really early in the morning, and I don’t even know your name.”

  “I see I interrupted your coffee.” The girl’s eyes flickered down to his drink, but they caught on his arms. He saw the flash of fear in her eyes. She was a Nephil, which meant she’d heard the rumors about his tattoos. “Are those the marks of the Apocrypha?”

  The ink on his arms danced and itched at the name, his skin twitching under her fervent gaze. Holy shit, Clark thought. He had to get her attention back to his face. Her enraptured attention on his body was messing with his head. Though her light brown hair was darker than Sophia’s strawberry blond color, she still looked much too similar to Sophia.

  “Your name?” he snapped.

  She jumped at his harsh tone, but her eyes met his again. “Maya.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maya. I’m Clark St. James, but apparently my reputation precedes me. As it should. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got shit to do—”

  “Wait! I need to talk to you. I came a very long way, and I—”

  “Z,” Clark said, turning to the angel, who stood very quietly in the corner. “Don’t we have very important shit to do right now?”

  “Uh,” Zarachiel paused. Normally, they just worked in the greenhouses until lunch. As the leader of the Nephilim, Clark was in charge of growing the food for next year, which meant lots of tedious planning and prepping in the greenhouses now. “Sure.”