“It’s killing him to do this to me. I wish he could stop. I wish Azazel didn’t have power over him.”
“Like he said, Marc cannot deny what his maker commands.” Ditter shook his head. “People often think of the Underworld as a melee of sin and debauchery, and Heaven, its opposite. The truth is, they both are worlds unto themselves, with both good and bad to show for it. And that’s why it also has a leader. One who is imbued with the ability to control all of its power. But sometimes, even the mightiest king needs aid to vanquish a powerful foe. Sometimes, they must even reach out a hand to the one who would otherwise be their mortal enemy. This new devil, he needs help from his counterpart in the Heavens.”
Riona looked down at the blade in her hand and turned it over once. “But Larius isn’t going to do anything.”
As though she’d said nothing, Ditter continued to ramble. “My son, Lucifer, chose his replacement well, did he not? I afforded him the ability to pass on his role to whomsoever he deemed worthy. When it comes to the rules of the Heavenly Realm, however, that decision still remains mine. Not to toot my own horn on that selection, but...” Ditter improvised blowing into an invisible instrument as he held his hands up before him. “Though in your case, it’s pro tem. Very pro tem.”
Riona turned to Ditter. “Sir?”
Ditter’s eyes fell down to the blade in her hand. “I never understood why the popular image became the devil holding a pitchfork. The blade is much better. Do you understand what I’m saying Riona?”
Wordlessly, she nodded. The blade was for the devil. Her job was to give it to him.
“Good.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Then good luck. I’ll be watching.”
The place where Ditter’s lips had landed began to pound, a rhythmic, building tempo that echoed through the rest of her body. The feeling became a noise, and the noise became her pulse in her ears.
One moment she was looking at herself from the outside, and the next, she was looking at Marc’s tears through her own eyes, with Jerry’s wail reverberating in her ears. Suddenly, she was back. She felt the ground rise to meet her fall, but now, there was no pain. Instead, there was strength, and a dagger’s hilt clasped in her hands.
Chapter 25
Duty and desire threatened to cleave Ramiel. His duty: to aid the side of good, of which Persephone had just allied against. His desire: to fly her away from all this, to a distant world, a distant realm, where they could love and live assured that the gridlock of their lives would no longer clash. For the moment, however, he settled on just getting her away from the battle.
All good and well for a plan, until her foot swung and managed to deliver a wallop right to his bomb bay doors.
“Oh, God damn—... Jesus Chr—... woman!”
As he subdued a myriad of profanities, he somehow managed to land them deep in the forest of her own creation. Persephone took to her feet as he worked away the pain with a series of manly groans.
“You fool!” she spat, her fingers working her own special kind of magic through the air. With each twiddle of her thumb or flick of her index finger, the foliage around them thickened, eventually making a solid barrier around them. “What have you done?”
He looked at her, one eyebrow quirked up to maximum level. “What did I do? You were about to kill Jerry. I’m just supposed to stand by and let you?”
“Dee and I had it all worked out. You were so focused on me, you didn’t notice him inching back from Samuel and Armaros. He was going to push Riona and Jerry out of the way so I could take Marc out of the picture. Then he was going to grab the heavenly blade and together, we were going to kill all the Fallen.”
He threw back his head. “You actually think that would have worked?”
“Of course it would have. Dee would have told Riona that I wasn’t going to harm Jerry, and the Grigori were expecting me to throw lightning. I’d do one bolt as a distraction. Meanwhile, Dee would have gotten the heavenly blade and started killing.”
“Except that for the blade to have magical power, it needs to be given to the angel who wields it intentionally.”
She stared blankly at his comment. “But Molly Dade... She used it to vanquish Michael.”
He approached with tender precaution. “Molly was an anomaly. She was carrying an angel’s child, meaning there were trace amount of angel blood in her body. Being vanquished was always part of Michael’s plan. But you didn’t know that, and I didn’t know what you were actually doing.” Ramiel’s hand settled on Persephone’s forearms, breaking her from her revelry and drawing her confused gaze. “And then I capped the fuck-up by getting you to admit you still love me in front of everyone.”
“What?” Her eyes fluttered, her nostrils flared. “I said no such thing.”
“As good as. You refused to kill me.” He pulled her to him, enthralled by the feel of her pulse against his chest. “Wasn’t the way I was hoping to get you back, by you revoking your divorce to Hades, but I’ll take it.”
“You stupid angel, if you think for one moment you’re just going to stand there and say I love you and that changes my mind about everything, then you...”
He cut her off with a kiss that would make cupid blush. One second of resistance was all Persephone could muster before she became liquid in his arms. Her hands reached up to weave through his hair, pulling at the blond locks. Ramiel increased the pressure of his lips to hers, and felt his body begin to distract him from the moment. He’d make love to her, if given the chance. But no sooner had he began to work away the buckles securing her breastplate than the ground beneath their feet trembled.
She pulled away from him in an instant.
“Must be the realms starting to merge,” Ramiel said, looking at a series of fissures that had begun to web across the ground under their feet. “In the mortal realm, this is all streets and houses. Wait an hour and we’ll be buried in cement and bricks right where we’re standing. We have to end this.”
Persephone, however, shook her head. “This isn’t because the realms are merging.”
“What is it then?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer before the ground beneath their feet fractured. Two blinks later, a blast of energy strong enough to knock even Ramiel off his feet sent bits of earth and rock flying. When the dust settled, the two lovers found they were no longer alone.
“Wife.” Hades ran hands over his leather armor, clearing soil and bits of vegetation from it with the ease of a man flicking bread crumbs from his tweed lapels after a business lunch. “And yet, after rushing back to the arms of my darling queen, I find her with another... You’re not quite a man, are you, Ramiel? In fact, if I recall, angels don’t really have a gender.”
“And neither will you when I’m finished.”
Ramiel reached to his waist, feeling for the hilt of his heavenly blade. Only, it wasn’t there. He felt deeper, thinking he was simply having a hard time conjuring it because the shifting reality of the realms made his standard cloaking charms fuzzy.
Until he remembered throwing it to the ground and inviting Persephone to use it in carrying out sacrificial murder.
“Oh, shit.”
“Don’t worry, angel,” Hades sneered. “I don’t have the power to kill you. But she does.” He pointed at Persephone. “And, given that under the laws of our restored marriage contract, I have the rights to demand the use of her talents, by extension, so do I.”
That was settled, he’d have to kill Hades the old-fashioned way. Yes, Nephilim were immortal, but anything that relied on a singular body couldn’t survive without a head. Ramiel prepared himself for battle, squaring his shoulders and crouching, ready to leap, until a fan of flaxen hair blocked him.
Persephone threw her arms out wide, her fingertips crackling with sparks. “Under the modern laws that I conduct my life, I have the right to tell you to go fuck yourself. Touch him, and you die a quick and painful death. Touch me, and it will be slow and gruesome.”
C
ONFUSION BROKE OUT on all sides. As Ramiel carried away Persephone, the Nephilim splintered, some attacking the Fallen, while others gave chase to their queen. The angel flew much faster than any of them could manage to run, but that fact didn’t deter them as they weaved back into the forest.
Vengeance seized control of Jerry’s body. He couldn’t even bring himself to fall to the ground and hold the corpse of his wife. He’d seen the wound, and knew no one ever survived an encounter with an angelic blade. He was going to kill Marc, brother or no. And after that, he was going to kill his dad.
But as Jerry turned to attack, he found himself paralyzed by the sight. Marc glared at his own hand, covered in Riona’s blood, glowering. His body convulsed as his tear-stained eyes looked next to Riona on the ground. Any color he had had bleached. Jerry knew from experience how odd the reaction was; Marc almost looked human again.
“I killed her.” The self-accusation rent the air as Marc pivoted in place, setting eyes on Azazel. “How dare you! How dare you make me do such a thing.”
But Marc needn’t worry about exacting revenge. Michael already had Azazel on the dangling end of his arms, both hands circling the Grigori’s throat.
The fallen prince roared, each word, a growing crescendo. “You killed my daughter. Everything was riding on her, and she’s dead. All this, for nothing! I fell from Heaven, for nothing.”
“We can make... another,” Azazel choked out. “Another of the Council will sire a prophet.”
“None other can sire a child like Riona, and you know that. Only my child—my child—could breach the heavens. We are doomed now, Az. These realms will merge, and we’ll be stuck here.”
“Well, you’re wrong on one thing. You’ll both be dead long before that ever happens.”
When they turned, Michael dropping Azazel in the process, they knew there was no saving themselves. Riona’s shirt, ripped down the front just under her ribs, still glistened with blood, but the skin that peaked through the holes showed no damage, no infliction. Behind the Pure Souls, wings wide, bright, and strong expanded to their maximum. In her hand was a weapon pulsing with a power calling out to them to surrender.
Jerry turned to run to his wife, but only had taken two steps when he discovered Marc trying to do the same. He grabbed the demon by the upper arm and threw him down to the ground.
“You don’t even get to look at her,” Jerry declared, kicking dirt into Jerry’s face.
“No, Jerry.” Riona’s voice somehow sounded crisper, stronger. It was only then when he paused to look at her—really look at her, that he realized her wings weren’t the only things that was prominent. Her aura had exploded, a multitude of colors dancing around in the spiritual glow that emanated from her physical being. She was... connected. Connected to everything and every realm. And the weapon in her hand, so like a heavenly blade but its metal cast in a dark hue, fed from the energy flowing off of her.
Riona’s eyes narrowed on the conspirators. “None of Hell shall act unless I order so.”
Azazel hit Michael in the arm. “Your child has taken command of hellfire? It was meant for mine! My child was meant to be the next devil.”
The corner of Riona’s mouth flickered. “Not hellfire. The other one.” She bent over and picked up the heavenly blade Marc had used on her. Like the dark blade, the light blade appeared to become energized in her grip. She turned both weapons outward, the sharp edges threatening to slit her skin, as she offered each of the begotten of Azazel his own weapon. Jerry, the dark blade, and Marc, the light.
“Um, Riona,” Jerry said, “I think you got those backward.”
“No, I don’t,” she assured them. “You are both born of the lineage of Hell, but every man is judged by his own actions. Jerry, your soul clings to the light, and your power is there. This weapon will allow you to fight the dark, for one may fight fire with fire, but only water can overcome it. And Marc, though hellfire feeds your soul, you are a man of goodness and faith, and you can still choose to fight for the light when your soul seeks justice.”
Marc looked at her confusedly. “She’s not talking like Riona.”
Jerry nodded, but added, “She’s been talking to The One, to Big Boss. He has that effect on people. It’s temporary.”
The priest turned to his brother. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Take the blades and kick ass, is what I’m thinking.”
Riona beamed at her husband. She reached out to him first, resting her hand on his shoulder, then mirrored the movement with Marc. Pulling both men to her, they ended up in a hug.
“We can win,” she whispered in their ears, her face between both of their heads. “But there’s a price.”
“Don’t...”
“Shhh...” Riona hushed her husband’s concern as she drew back. “Take it, use it, win.”
Both brothers jolted when Riona’s power filled them both. Instantly, the two men, each bearing his new weapon, turned to face the angels. Like the Keystone, the children of Azazel, filled with the power of both heavenlight and hellfire, and bearing weapons which counterbalanced their inherent strengths, took on their angelic forms.
“What the fuck?” Marc reached behind him, goosing himself. “Okay, wasn’t expecting to evolve into a bird.”
A slow-building clap drew their attention back to the angels. Michael mocked them with a cocky grin.
“Nice theatrics, baby angels, but you seem to have forgotten....”
Standing erect, Michael pulled his arms in front of him before throwing them back like a warrior’s defensive maneuver. As he did so, an eruption sent wavelets of power shooting through the air until they fell into the earth, burning the soil. Michael’s wings must have been twelve feet, measured tip to tip. He rolled back his shoulders, putting on a display that would have made a peacock roll its eyes.
Jerry huffed. “Yeah, size ain’t everything. It’s what you do... Fornox tierna!”
Their hexes weren’t going to work on an angel, so what he hoped to accomplish by using a demon-slaying spell on a fallen archangel who was already in Hell, Riona wasn’t sure. But when she saw the power pile into her dad, and observed as he stumbled back, his stance shaky, she realized it was a tactic. Marc pounced, using the weight of his body, knocking Michael from his feet. The angel disappeared from view, but reemerged a moment later a few feet away, smirking.
“Consider that a freebie, boy. I was the prince of Heaven. You cannot outmaneuver...”
Jerry’s voice rent the air as he cast out a plethora of ancient words and moved his hands in motions that reminded Riona of a snake charmer. She rushed forward, not really knowing what she could do to help. Three steps from Jerry, however, and she grimaced. It felt like she’d just hit a brick wall.
Jerry turned, his hand flattening against the air in a move reminiscent of a mime.
“A Morgana Box?” she asked, her fists pounding on the barrier between them. “Jerry, what are you doing?”
“We’ll take care of Michael. Help Dee. He looks a little overwhelmed.”
She turned to look over her shoulder. A few hundred meters away, the demigod was in the midst of a fist-to-fist battle with Snap and Crackle. They’d have taken out any other Nephilim easy, but Dee wasn’t just any other Nephilim. He’d spent two decades fighting demons with both magic and brawn. Still, it was easy to see, even at this distance, that he couldn’t get the upper hand. She’d given most of her angel magic to Marc and Jerry, but she still had her wiccan abilities, and a nasty right hook.
She got two steps towards the melee when she felt her body go in the opposite direction of her feet. Her back hit the ground, knocking the wind out of her.
“Now, now, witch...” Azazel waved an admonishing finger through the air. “You made me a vow, or don’t you remember promising me I would reach Heaven? If you don’t, I can revive the memory. It’s my talent you know, memories... Played with your mother’s often. Gave that one’s boner-bate du jour,” he jerked his chin in Dee’s direction
before looking down on her again, “a complete copy of someone else’s.”
“Let me go.” She finally managed words, but they turned out to be useless. Azazel had her pinned.
“Or I can give you back memories,” he said. “Someone’s been playing with yours too, or didn’t you realize it? Open the portal to Heaven for me, or I’ll show you just how evil you really are.”
“No!”
“Fine, Riona. Just remember, I’m only showing you the truth, but you are the one who committed the deed.”
With teeth bared, Hades glared at his wife. “You’re defending him? But he’s the reason your father is dead. How can you forgive that?”
“You’re the reason my father is dead,” Persephone retorted, still covering Ramiel’s body with her own. “You’ve been working with the Grigori all this time. There was no deal with The One, that was all a lie.”
His arms dropped to his side. “Wife, we are on the edge of regaining our throne in the Underworld, and you are Queen of the Mountain. Why do you want to mar this moment when we finally seize what is rightfully ours and sully it with this pabulum? The man—if you can call him that—behind you is who killed your father. And hundreds more of our kind, or don’t you remember?”
“My father died an honorable, proud death, even if it was all based on your lies.” She swallowed. “How, Hades? How could you do this? You twist my love around in circles, turn it in on itself, making me renounce my own values and those I care about, and then you expect me to, what, just get with the program?”
“So do you no longer love me, wife?” Hades asked. “You so fervently pledged your heart when you thought I was about to die.”
“I did love you... once. But you took advantage of a young woman’s blind pleasure, wove me into the knots of your conspiracy to gain the throne, and kept me shackled long after I’d outgrown you.”
When Spell Freezes Over (All My Exes Die From Hexes Book 4) Page 20