Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Two hours later, the bellhop arrived at her door with several enormous clothing boxes. Jason was a godsend. He’d managed to track down a formfitting skirt and jacket in lilac pin-striped silk, and a gorgeous white lace bustier to match. The color was incredibly flattering against her gold tan, and the shoes he’d purchased to match were a leather of the same lilac color with a high but firm heel and a rounded toe.

  In a separate box were a small purple and gold handbag, a lavender-scented silk scarf, and a single amethyst-encrusted hairpin in what honestly looked like gold.

  Juliette gingerly fingered the items for several minutes before taking them out of their boxes and laying them on the bed. Then she donned the clothing with an almost ritualistic kind of care. The material was so expensive, so soft, she was terrified of ever seeing the bill, which she was certain Jason would happily tack on to her credit card.

  Except . . . that she hadn’t given them her credit card. They had Lambent’s instead.

  Oh my God, she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was gorgeous. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had looked so good. The suit fit her like a glove, accentuating everything in a way that she’d never experienced. She felt like she was looking at a newer model of herself—one that was taller, sexier, and more confident. She looked radiant.

  I have to make sure Lambent doesn’t pay for these things, she thought to herself. She made up her mind to talk to him about it at lunch. But despite her trepidation over the bill, for the remainder of the morning, every time she passed a mirror in her suite, she would find herself smiling. It had been a while since she’d smiled so much. Amazing what a good set of rags could do for a girl.

  When twelve forty-five rolled around, Juliette headed for the elevator. She got off on the third floor and made her way across a massive open area replete with fountains and a pianist. The restaurant’s giant double doors were wide open, and a maître d’ stood ready behind his reservation podium.

  Several yards away, Juliette paused and took a deep breath. She was trembling. I can’t do this, she thought. What if I blow it? What if I say something stupid? What if he’s pissed at me for not having anything substantial yet? What if I trip all over myself before I even reach the table?

  “Miss Anderson?”

  Juliette turned to see the concierge that had helped her earlier coming toward her from a door in the wall to her right. She instantly blushed, knowing he was now seeing her in the very clothes he had chosen for her.

  “Well, how do I look?” she asked, deciding to own it. She knew her cheeks were pink, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Jason’s smile told her everything she’d wanted to hear, and that admiration was matched by the twinkle in his blue eyes. “You look stunning,” he said as he reached for her elbow and gently took it with his hand. “Why are you waiting out here?”

  She returned the smile and shrugged nervously. “Just trying to pump myself up.”

  Jason nodded his understanding, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “So long as you don’t psych yourself out.” With that, he led her to the restaurant’s doors and the maître d’ came out from behind his podium. “Miss Anderson is here for lunch with Mr. Lambent,” Jason announced softly.

  The maître d’ nodded knowingly and turned to gesture toward the restaurant’s interior. “This way, Miss Anderson,” he said with a smile.

  Juliette allowed him to take her inside, and tried with all her might not to stare openmouthed at her surroundings as she was led through more amazingly rich architecture. Finally, Juliette’s attention was pulled from the beauty of the decor as she neared the back of the restaurant and the private tables.

  She turned to see where it was exactly that the maître d’ was taking her, and found herself pointed in the direction of an incredibly elegant table with two incredibly gorgeous men seated at it. Juliette stared at them and felt her legs grow heavy.

  No . . . way . . .

  One of the men she recognized instantly. He was the wickedly handsome actor who had played the evil vampire on the movie Comeuppance, opposite Christopher Daniels. His name was Lawrence McNabb, known by his adoring public as simply “Law.” The blond-haired, violet-eyed movie star was only slightly less drool-worthy than Daniels himself.

  But more impressive yet was the man seated across from the movie star. Juliette had never seen anyone like him. She recognized him, of course, as Samuel Lambent, because she had seen vague, blurry profile photos of the man in newspapers over the years. But to say that they didn’t do him justice would be a gross understatement.

  He looked like some superhero figure or manga drawing: an impossible representation of the ideal male. His hair was thick and so blond it was white, like the down of a dove. His stature was incredibly tall and well built, filling out what she could see of his expensive dark gray suit with delicious perfection. His bone structure was that of a model; he was nearly so handsome, he was uncomfortable to gaze upon.

  And she hadn’t even seen his eyes.

  And then the maître d’ was bringing her up to his table and both men were looking up at her. She thought she would die right there as two sets of eyes fell upon her face and she became the sudden object of both men’s attention.

  “Mr. Lambent, may I present Miss Juliette Anderson.”

  Samuel Lambent had charcoal gray eyes that seemed lit from within, as if statically charged with lightning. Juliette’s breath caught in her throat as those eyes trapped her in their thrall and Lambent gracefully stood. McNabb stood as well.

  “Juliette. We meet at last.” Samuel’s voice was beautiful, smooth, and deep and reminded her of chocolate. She was right about him being tall. He was as tall as Gabriel Black, if not taller.

  Black . . . For the briefest of instants, Gabriel’s face flashed before her mind’s eye and her mouth watered at the memory of his kiss.

  And then Samuel was coming around the table and taking the place of the maître d’ beside Juliette. As he drew nearer, the air around Juliette heated up. It was a familiar sensation, charged, electric, and heavy.

  Lambent took the back of her chair and pulled it out for her, his smile warm and inviting. It was a killer smile. “I’m so glad you were able to meet with me,” he said, his voice continuing to pour over her like satin. “I know how busy you must be.”

  Juliette smiled back at him and took the seat as gracefully as she could. She was so nervous, so self-conscious, that she was afraid she would make some horrible mistake just by sheer power of suggestion.

  “Please allow me to introduce one of my clients,” he continued as he returned to his seat and sat down, smoothing his tie as he did so. Everything he did was practiced and easy. It was like watching a well-choreographed dance. “This gentleman is Lawrence McNabb, a very talented actor. I do hope you don’t mind that I’ve asked him to join us today.”

  “N-no, not at all,” Juliette stammered, feeling her cheeks grow pink again. McNabb seemed to notice, but instead of thinking ill of her for her nervousness, he seemed to be charmed by it. His strange, violet eyes glittered and his lips curled into a sincerely amused smile. She was almost surprised, and admittedly a touch disappointed, not to see fangs peeking out from behind his lips. “I know who you are, Mr. McNabb—”

  “It’s just ‘Law,’ please,” he chuckled, leaning forward conversationally. “And I know who you are, too. Mr. Lambent has been telling me all about you. He was quite impressed with your knowledge of the history of Scotland.”

  Juliette blinked, felt herself tremble with shock, and chanced a glance at Lambent. His storm gray gaze was too powerful. She saw admiration in its charcoal depths, but to look closely almost hurt; it was too intense. She felt as if he could read her mind—possibly her soul. She fought to cover up her fumbling thoughts. “Mr. Lambent is too kind.”

  “Not at all,” Samuel insisted calmly. Something dark flickered across his handsome face and was gone. He leaned forward, pinning her to her seat with his attenti
on. “And please call me Sam, Juliette.” His tone had lowered, and his words wrapped around her like a silk cord, binding her before him. For several seconds it felt as if they were the only two in the room.

  “I have to admit, though,” McNabb continued, breaking the spell, “that Sam didn’t tell me how lovely you were. I was expecting a spinster in black with a graying bob.”

  Juliette somehow managed to pull her eyes from Samuel’s long enough to meet McNabb’s gaze again. “I already wore all of my black clothes this week,” she softly joked. When the actor chuckled, she cleared her throat. “But thank you.” She found herself looking down at the tablecloth, distinctly uncomfortable beneath their scrutiny.

  “Juliette, may I get you something to drink?” Sam asked as he waved the waiter over.

  Double Scotch, she thought recklessly. “Yes, please,” she said. “I am a little thirsty.” In truth, her mouth had gone dry with apprehension. Samuel ordered a bottle of wine for the table and water for each of them and then he focused on Juliette once more.

  “How are you liking Scotland?” Sam asked, folding his hands neatly before him.

  Juliette thought of the castles and the moors and the forests, and she smiled. “I love it. It’s everything I thought it would be and more.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” Sam told her, matching her smile with one that made Juliette’s insides melt a little. “I do hope that you haven’t done too much research already on the folklore of Caledonia, because I have some ideas about the show that I would very much like you to hear.”

  A wave of relief washed over Juliette at those words. She tried to hide it, but was unsuccessful. Her smile broadened and she relaxed a little in her chair. “Not too much,” she said.

  “Fantastic.” Sam nodded. The wine and water came and conversation was put on pause for a few seconds. Juliette hurriedly grabbed her glass and swallowed several long pulls of ice-cold water. When she set it back down again, Samuel was filling her wineglass with a wine so dark it looked like blood.

  “I understand that you most likely already have a strong sense of what you need to learn for your thesis while you are here,” he told her as he set the wineglass down in front of her. “However, as far as your work for me is concerned, I would like to narrow the field a bit.”

  “Oh?” she asked, eyeing the wine warily. She wanted to drink it; it would burn going down and settle her nerves and temporarily clear her mind. But it was still relatively early in the day, and if she drank it now, she’d be hungover by six.

  “There is a specific legend in Scotland that originated on the Western Isles, where your family is from,” Sam told her. Juliette glanced up at him, a little surprised that he knew so much about her family. But then, her adviser had most likely filled him in over the last few weeks. “It has always intrigued me,” said Sam.

  “The legend tells of a warlock who walked this land two thousand years ago,” McNabb picked up, his handsome face alive with the kind of expression that only an actor could manage. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? The dorcha draíodóir: the Black Wizard.”

  Juliette frowned. Technically, dorcha would mean “dark,” but she was assuming that in this case, “dark” had been translated to “black” long ago. “I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I’ve never heard of the Black Wizard. But your Gaelic pronunciation is amazing.”

  McNabb grinned, obviously pleased that she’d noticed.

  “As legend would have it,” Sam continued, “this wizard achieved long life by absorbing the powers of young women through . . . a certain ritualistic behavior.”

  Juliette’s blush was back. Her attention, however, was rapt.

  “He would take them into his bed and by morning, the woman would be dead—and he would be twice as powerful as before,” McNabb went on. “He only chose certain women, apparently. They had to be special.”

  “These women were referred to by villagers as archesses,” Samuel explained.

  Juliette’s blood ran cold. Her heartbeat pounded in her eardrums and her vision tunneled ever so slightly.

  As if he didn’t notice, Samuel continued. “They were purported to possess certain abilities, not the least of which was the ability to heal.” Sam shrugged then, lifted his glass of wine, and casually took a drink.

  Juliette watched him with waning sight. Everything had gone blurry. Her chest hurt and her mouth was once more dry. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It wasn’t possible.

  “This legend of the dorcha draíodóir is too good to pass up,” Sam said. “I’ve decided to take the story and turn it into a miniseries, which is why Law has joined us for lunch.” He nodded toward the actor. McNabb’s grin stayed put. “He will be playing the part of the wizard on the show, and I felt it important that he be in touch with you personally so that he can get a good feel for what the part entails.”

  Juliette heard herself talking and wasn’t even sure how she’d formed the words. It was as if she were watching herself in a dream. “You want me to research this legend for you?”

  “Absolutely.” Samuel smiled. “If anyone can come up with the information, you can, Juliette.”

  Juliette fell silent beneath his all-seeing gaze. She was suddenly afraid she might faint.

  “I can’t wait to get started,” McNabb admitted as he, too, took a drink of his wine. “Of course, I don’t look anything like the wizard was supposed to look. Apparently, he had black hair and his eyes were a different color, but that’s what makeup artists are for.”

  * * *

  “Gabe, have a seat, man. You’re making me nervous with all that pacing.” It was late Monday afternoon and Michael was lounging on one of the three sofas in the mansion’s living room, his blue eyes locked on Gabriel’s tall figure as the former Messenger Archangel moved restlessly around the room.

  “He can’t, Mike. Believe me, you’d be doing the same thing.” Uriel spoke up from where he sat at the dining room table through the open archway.

  Gabriel stopped and turned to glance at Uriel. It was no secret that the two archangels didn’t always get along. But now there was a knowledge in Uriel’s green eyes that was separate and new. He understood what Gabriel was going through at that moment. He’d gone through the same with Eleanore.

  Gabriel gave him a slight nod. It was enough.

  “Well, you were right,” said Max as he came from the hallway that led to the other wings of the mansion. He was pocketing his cell phone, and his expression was grim. “Sam is involved. He’s the reason she disappeared so readily from the train station.”

  Gabriel’s vision flashed red. “Bloody son of a—”

  “How the hell did Sam get involved in this?” Michael asked as he came to his feet, his blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. “She isn’t even in the US!”

  Max sighed heavily, took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I never used to get headaches.”

  “Max,” Michael growled, obviously wanting answers as badly as Gabriel did.

  “I just got off the phone with Lilith,” Max began, replacing his glasses and moving to the liquor cabinet. “Christ, I never used to drink either,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Max!” Gabriel barked. Lilith worked for Samael—more or less. She was as old as the archangels, and in fact older. Eons ago, the Old Man had created her and then tossed her to Earth to be punished for the crime of wanting to live a free life. Since then, she had attached herself to Samael, in a way, and also managed to aid the archangels here and there. She was the softer side of Samael, and their relationship was a strange and complicated one.

  “I’m getting to it,” Max assured him with a hard glance. He unstopped a bottle, poured himself a drink, then took a big swig. “Apparently, Samael has known of Juliette’s existence for some time. Lilith couldn’t give me details.” He shrugged, his brown eyes reflecting something private and painful. Gabe guessed it had something to do with Max’s love for Lilith and his silent, desperate desire for the woma
n to stop working for Samael. “But she did say Juliette is staying in a luxury suite in the Glasgow Trinity Hotel and that no one could get to her there.”

  Gabriel’s teeth clenched together.

  “The only way we wouldn’t be able to get to her would be if she was inside of Samael’s fortress,” Uriel said, also coming to his feet and placing his hands on his waist. “But she’s in a hotel in Glasgow and Sam’s fortress is in the top half of the Sears Tower in Chicago.”

  “Former Sears Tower,” Max corrected before swigging a drink. “It’s the Willis Tower now.”

  “Not to anyone in Chicago, it’s not,” Michael muttered.

  “Besides the point,” Uriel continued. “Max, what’s going on? What else about Samael don’t we know?”

  “Obviously, his fortress shares properties akin to the mansion’s,” Max guessed. “His territory may cover a lot more ground than we thought. And there are a lot of things about Samael that we don’t know, Uriel.” Max took another drink from his glass of liquor and looked at Uriel thoughtfully. “Speaking of things we don’t know, where is Eleanore?”

  “With her parents,” Uriel replied. “They went out to dinner.”

  “I think you should bring her back and keep her and her parents at the mansion until we have a better handle on this,” Max said.

  “What aboot the Adarians?” Gabriel finally spoke up. His entire body felt like one rigid, electrified mass. His muscles wouldn’t relax and his heart rate wouldn’t calm. Juliette was with Samael. It was Uriel’s nightmare all over again.

  “You were right about them, too. There is more than one involved. Apparently there were several waiting for her at the train station,” Max supplied.

  “I assume Lilith filled you in on this as well?” Michael asked.

  Max nodded.

  “Well, tha’s fucking grand,” Gabriel ground out through gritted teeth. “The entire bloody supernatural world knows aboot her.” She was a wanted woman in every sense of the word, and to make things worse, Juliette didn’t trust him. He knew he had gotten to her with that kiss; he’d seen it in her eyes and felt it in the way she melted beneath him. But she’d run from him. And his power over her wouldn’t do him any good if she was firmly in Samael’s grasp. The bastard was probably adding to the misgivings she already had about Gabriel.