by Janni Nell
“You know I’m forbidden to—well, what you’re hinting at.” His expression was serious. His wide brow puckered.
Lowering my expectations, I said, “I should at least get a kiss for helping you.”
“Unfortunately the Powers-That-Be haven’t relaxed my Rules of Conduct.”
Every angel had a different set of rules depending upon the bad stuff they’d done during their lifetime. Since Casper’s crimes involved the usual barbarian occupations of warring, raping and pillaging, he was forbidden to fight (unless he was protecting me) or have sex (even with me). Kissing, proper passionate kissing, was also out of the question. Casper didn’t complain about the rules. He was deeply ashamed of what he’d done and figured he deserved the punishment.
“You know we can’t kiss,” he said, “If you decide to help, all you’ll get out of it is knowing you’re on the side of the angels.”
I caved. He was so serious it wasn’t much fun teasing him anyway. “How can I say no to being on the side of the angels? Find me a hammer, I’ll go back to the villa right now and smash it to pieces.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Well, it wouldn’t be, would it?
He went on, “The witches knew that a prison would be no good if it could be destroyed by a large hammer and a strong pair of arms. They cast a spell to make the obsidian indestructible.”
“So how am I going smash it?”
“I’m not finished. Angels have discovered a means of giving anything—that chair, your purse, even that umbrella in your drink—the strength to break apart the prison.”
As if. I opened and closed the paper umbrella, showing him how fragile it was. “You’re just being silly.”
“There’s nothing silly about a choir of angels. Once an object, any object, has been imbued with the strength of their song, it will smash the obsidian.”
“Must be some song. I’d love to hear it.”
“It’s for angels’ ears only.”
I snapped my fingers. “You see you do have something to give me as a sweetener. You can let me hear the angels sing.”
“I don’t think…”
“It’s either that or a kiss,” I said, thinking he’d go for the latter.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
Pucker up, big boy.
He sighed. “Okay, I’ll talk to the angels. Considering what’s at stake, they might, if you’re very lucky, let you hear their song.”
Bugger.
Chapter Three
I preferred to fly Air Casper. My guardian angel has the most beautiful pair of golden wings, which can move him along very fast when needed. Of course, there are pros and cons to everything including this form of transportation.
Disadvantages:
No seat belts.
No flight attendants with little snacks and drinks.
No chance of snoozing. I had to hang on tight.
Casper could become invisible, during flight but the downside was I couldn’t, which meant we usually had to travel at night, when there was less chance of being seen.
Advantages:
Getting up close and personal with Casper.
Inhaling the scent of angel, which in Casper’s case was a mix of mountain streams, rugged earth and hot male warrior.
When I fall off (don’t laugh, it’s happened) being caught in Casper’s arms.
On balance, I was convinced the advantages outweighed the disadvantages, which was just as well because I was about to embark on an Air Casper flight. Destination: to hear the angels sing. I hooked my arms around his neck—not too tight, didn’t want to choke him—and hung on as he took off vertically. Once he was airborne, he leveled out into a horizontal position. Peeping over his shoulder, I looked down on dark plains, the pinprick lights of towns and rivers glistening in the moonlight. We flew mountain-high then cloud-high. I wondered whether we’d touch down on Cloud 9. Fat chance. Casper had told me I couldn’t see his home unless I was dead. Call me chicken, but I was happily prepared to put off visiting his home for a long time.
The air was getting thinner. “Hey, Casper, I need some oxygen back here.”
He laughed.
“No, really.”
“There’s enough oxygen to sustain human life,” he called over the rush of wind. “You can conserve it by not talking.”
I pinched his shoulders. “I do not talk a lot. In fact I positively hate small talk.”
We flew on in silence. Well, not complete silence. His big wings made quite a racket as they beat the air. I thought I heard his muscles groaning with the effort. Occasionally a joint cracked.
Our smooth flight ended abruptly when he yelled, “Hang on, turbulence ahead.”
He swooped down so suddenly I lost my grip. My heart missed a beat. I slid forward until I was staring at the ground far below. He swooped upward, stopping my forward momentum before I fell. He leveled out, flying smoothly until I caught hold of him again. When I was securely in place, he swooped up and down a few more times, making my stomach churn before he leveled out again.
I said, “You so did that on purpose.”
“Wasn’t it fun?”
Hmm. Well, maybe a little. But I wouldn’t admit that. “Next time how about giving me a warning when you plan to play aerial roller coaster?”
He hadn’t heard. “Uh-oh. There’s thick cloud ahead. Hang on tight.”
“Is this another stupid game?”
“No, I’m serious. It’ll be difficult to see you if you fall off.”
“Then you’d better not do any more swooping.”
“My job is to protect you, Allegra.” His voice was soft like a vow. “I’d never risk your life.”
I tightened my grip around his neck. At first the cloud was ragged, tattered flags across midnight blue. Soon the blue was gone and all I could see was sludgy gray. It was no longer pretty, just boring. We flew on. I yawned, struggled to stay awake.
At last Casper said, “We’re going down.”
It was a relief to feel solid rock beneath my feet. I jumped up and down, shaking out my cramped muscles.
It was daylight on the mountain, which was kind of weird since my watch clearly stated the time was only 2:00 a.m. I looked down, trying to see whether lights glimmered far below, but the mountain was wreathed in mist. There were pockets of snow amongst the rocks and tufts of grass. I was wearing shorts, a T-shirt and flat sandals, but despite my bare limbs I wasn’t cold.
“Where are we?” I asked. “The Pyrenees?”
“Somewhere a bit higher than that.”
“Mt. Mulhacén?”
“Higher than that.”
“Mulhacén is the highest mountain in Spain.”
“We’re not in Spain anymore,” he murmured. “This place is beyond countries.”
I peered into the mist. “Where are the angels?”
“They’ll be here,” he said.
Great. I had time to explore, but I’d taken only a few steps into the mist when he said, “Don’t wander off.”
“No, Dad.” Why had I said that? I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late to hold back the word. Dad had disappeared years ago on a trip to Australia. Officially he’d been declared dead, but Casper had told me he was still alive. I liked knowing that but it still hurt that Dad hadn’t cared enough to get in touch with us. I put him out of my mind as he’d no doubt put us out of his.
Casper was moving around deep in concentration. Not sure what he was doing. Maybe some kind of telepathic summoning of angels. Ignoring his warning not to wander off, I climbed across the rocks. I hoped the mist would thin, giving me a glimpse of this special meeting place, but it got thicker until I couldn’t see the ground beneath my feet.
A voice drifted through the mist—a singer doing warm-up exercises. I stood still, wondering whether this was really the voice of a flamboyant lead singer who had died too soon. The exquisite tones surrounded me, filling my ears as though I had the best seat at a very exclusive concert. I could almost hear the roar of the crowd begging for more.
“Allegra.” It was Casper. He sounded as though he was miles away. Had I really walked so far?
“Over here,” I called, moving to the place where his voice had come from.
“Allegra.” His voice was now behind me.
“Stop moving around, dammit. I can’t find you.”
“I’m not moving. It’s a trick of the mist. Stand still. I’ll find you.” The sound of his voice was closer. Just to my left, if I wasn’t mistaken. I turned, stretching out my arms, but I felt nothing.
“Casper?” I swept my hands around, searching the mist. “Aha.” I closed my hand around what felt like biceps.
Walking my fingers upward, I came to a muscular shoulder. Shame it was covered by a T-shirt. Sliding my hand down over pecs to die for, I learned the T-shirt was skintight. Call me cautious, but I really couldn’t be sure this was Casper. Okay, he had been wearing a tight T-shirt when we took off, and the height of his shoulder was where it usually was—roughly in line with my nose—but I couldn’t be sure, could I. My hands were on a slippery slope, they slid right down to a masculine waist and, gosh, all the way around to a darn fine…
“Stop squeezing my butt,” he said.
“Oh, it is you. I wasn’t sure.”
“Come on. The angels are ready.” Taking hold of my hand, he guided me to the group of figures in the mist. I thought there were twelve, but I couldn’t be sure. They all had a kind of golden aura, but the mist was so thick I couldn’t tell whether they were male or female. Their faces shimmered and distorted as though they were underwater. Except for one that was clearer than the rest. He had dark hair and a longish face. Was he the guy I’d heard before?
Casper said, “Do you have the object for the angels?”
I’d considered carefully, when Casper had told me the angels could sing strength into any object. Whatever I chose had to be light and easy to carry so I’d settled on the cocktail umbrella, figuring that something from a piña colada, even if the drink hadn’t been perfect, was just the thing to defeat evil. But when Casper instructed me to put it in front of the semicircle of angels, I wished I’d chosen something less frivolous.
“It’s best if you don’t hold that while they’re singing,” he said. “Put it on the ground.”
When I entered their semicircle, I felt as though I’d stepped into sunlight. Beams of pure joy shot through my body. All the colors of the rainbow dazzled me. The scents of all the flowers in the world filled my nostrils.
Casper’s strong hand latched on to my arm. “Drop the umbrella.”
I let it fall from my fingers. I felt as though I was floating, soaring above the world on gusts of warm air.
“Come on.” Casper dragged me out of the circle. “That’s enough.”
I felt groggy, totally wasted, but… “That was amazing.”
“Apologies. I’d forgotten so many angels could have that effect.”
“No need to apologize. I’m going in for more.”
He grabbed me before I could enter the circle again. “You’re going to stand over here. Or sit if you’re feeling woozy. And don’t move, if you want to hear the angels sing.”
When he remained beside me, I said, “Aren’t you going to join them?”
“I don’t think so. Now be quiet if you want to hear.”
I doubted their singing would be better than the amazing energy I’d felt in their semicircle, but you never knew with angels. A flicker of anticipation tickled my belly. The angels stopped warming up. The mist swirled. There was a deep silence. Then the song began. They chose neither a hymn nor a Gregorian chant. Nor even Barry Manilow’s “Could It Be Magic.” Sweet and pure, their voices rose in perfect harmony. Then one voice soared above the rest and I knew why the dark-haired angel’s voice had sounded so familiar.
“‘We Are the Champions’?” I whispered to Casper. “It’s not very angelic.”
“The song isn’t important,” he whispered back. “It’s the unity of voices that matters. ‘We Are the Champions’ nicely sums up our attitude to defeating evil.”
Chapter Four
I returned to the villa to find a sliver of light beneath the door of my room. There were small sounds within, shuffling followed by a feminine sigh of exasperation. I pushed open the door, revealing a stranger on her hands and knees. At first I thought she was cleaning the floor then I realized she was searching for something. She sniffed like a dog on a scent and dug her hands into one of the boxes containing Consuela’s possessions.
“You looking for something?” I demanded.
She startled and leaped to her feet. She was younger than me—late teens, maybe early twenties. Her dark hair was cut in a shaggy style. Thick-rimmed glasses hid her eyes, but her lips were fashionably plump. She was slim beneath her black skirt and blouse. Her feet were bare. To make less noise when she was creeping around?
“I am Emilia,” she said. “New maid. I clean your room.”
“At dawn?”
“Good maid start early.”
Her pretended innocence pissed me off. She was snooping. I should know. I was an expert snooper myself.
“Get out,” I said, “and don’t come in my room again. Not even to clean. Got it?”
“Señora Hampton not be happy,” she said, shaking her head mournfully.
“Leave her to me.”
“Sí. Sí. Sorry to make bother.” She scurried away.
I bolted my door from the inside. You couldn’t lock it from the outside, which was a bit of a bummer. After going through Consuela’s things twice, I was convinced that the only thing missing from the boxes was the obsidian. That was okay. I’d taken the precaution of hiding it before I’d left for Madrid.
Pulling up the loose floorboard, I made sure the black rock was still in the small space beneath. I longed to smash it right away, but Casper had told me to wait. Apparently releasing an evil soul shouldn’t be done in a populated area. Possession of any bystanders was a real danger once the soul was released. Casper was currently searching for just the right place. He’d let me know when he found it.
After replacing the floorboard and rug, I took the cocktail umbrella from my pocket and put it in the drawer of my nightstand. Hard to believe the fragile pink paper and tiny wooden ribs were strong enough to shatter rock. I tried not to think about it too much. If I did, I’d begin to doubt.
I lay on the bed fully dressed. Too wired to sleep. But what do you know? I was soon pushing up zzz’s like a champion. Along with sleep came dreams. Bugger.
My homespun clothes were ragged and stained with blood. My wrists were bound behind my back. A boy, maybe nine or ten, piled bone-dry kindling around my bare feet. The savage sun drew sweat from my pores, giving me a taste of the burning horror to come.
I knew this was a dream, and dreams couldn’t hurt you, right? But the burn on my thigh had already proved that theory wrong. Whatever injuries I suffered in this nightmare would be with me when I awoke. I could burn to death. And there would be no eleventh-hour appearance of an angel to save me.
I twisted my wrists in a futile effort to break free, but these torturers knew their stuff. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless I could escape by sheer force of willpower. Was that possible? This was a dream after all. I wasn’t bound by the logic of the real world. I closed my eyes, visualizing myself in bed at the villa. Wake up, I screamed silently, wake up. But when I opened my eyes, I was still the featured dish at the medieval barbecue.
Ignacio stepped forward, flaming torch in han
d. As he moved toward the dry kindling, hatred flared in his black eyes. He licked his lips, making the sign of the cross before he plunged his torch into the kindling at my feet. He met my eyes across the flames and said something that probably translated as “Burn, witch, burn.”
But I wasn’t a witch and I had no intention of burning.
“Piss off, asshole,” I yelled. And just like that I was no longer in the flames. I hovered above. Safe. Very pleased with myself until I saw the others. Dozens of them. More than a hundred. Some not much older than Little-A. Bruised and broken. Bound and doomed. Ignacio moved among their pyres, plunging his torch into kindling, cursing them with words I was glad I couldn’t understand.
The screams of his victims were terrible, but the smell of burning flesh was worse.
I awoke punching Ignacio. I tried to strangle him before I realized “he” was my pillow. The faces of his victims were fresh in my mind. I had no doubt they had been real women, but I wasn’t sure whether the mass burning had been a single event or a dream image of all the witches he’d killed over the years. Didn’t really matter. They were all his victims.
I leaped out of bed. Retrieving the obsidian from its hiding place, I yelled, “Are you in there, Ignacio? Do you like this, you piece of shit?” I shook the lump of rock until my arms ached and the sharp edges drew blood from my fingers. I hoped Ignacio was bouncing around inside, hurting.
Outside my door, I heard Little-A crying. Lily said, “Come away from there, honey.” Then called louder, “Are you okay, Allegra? Little-A’s freaking out.”
After returning the obsidian to its hiding place, I opened the door. Little-A was in Lily’s arms.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just a nightmare.”
Little-A kicked her foot against Lily’s hip.
“What’s up, sweetie?” I rubbed her soft plump foot. When that didn’t soothe her, I scratched her toe—the big one on her right foot—and immediately she settled down. “Did you have an itch?” I asked, but Little-A couldn’t tell me.
Lily said, “She’s probably been bitten by some nasty local bug.”