Angel Tormented (The Louisiangel Series Book 3)

by C. L. Coffey

  “Yet you were the first to take on the role and help. You were the only one to do so,” Michael pointed out. He ran his hand over his blonde hair. “The goal is for you to one day have your own House. I had been considering handing over the Old Ursuline Convent to you.”

  “You had?” I asked in surprise. I knew that he did want me to have my own House, but I’d always assumed it would be somewhere else in the country. “What about you?”

  “New Orleans is a,” he frowned. “A hot spot for the Fallen, it would seem. Leaving you this House would be setting you up for failure.”

  “Not if we manage to take the Fallen out of the equation before I become an archangel,” I pointed out.

  Michael sat back, turning to me. “They are good angels and will follow instructions. They will be lucky to have you leading them.”

  I frowned. “Have I missed something? Are you going somewhere? Am I close to becoming an archangel?”

  Michael shook his head. “Becoming an archangel is both simple and complicated. There are certain actions you must complete, and they are simple enough, but they must be completed with no help from me. But that is not what I meant.”

  Michael: expert at giving vague statements and advice with no tangible substance. “Then what did you mean?” I stared at him, chewing at my lip as I tried to work out what he was saying, when I realized he had changed the way he was looking at me. His expression had softened and there was something in his gaze that wouldn’t allow me to look away.

  Michael leaned forward. “Is it not obvious?” he asked, quietly. I was about to shake my head when I realized just how close he was to me. My mouth dropped open, but before I could say anything, he closed the distance and kissed me.

  His mouth was soft but firm as it moved against mine, but I was too in shock to reciprocate. Instead I sat, frozen, my eyes wide. When Michael pulled away, he looked puzzled. “This surprises you?”

  Yes… No… A little?

  I knew he liked me. Past tense. He’d kissed me once. Then he’d called it a mistake, apologized and claimed it would never happen again. When Cupid was living up to his reputation and playing matchmaker, I thought it was Cupid’s doing, rather than Michael’s. Memories suddenly flooded my brain: this wasn’t just Cupid. I was just as much at fault here: I had worked out what Cupid had been doing but not once had I told Michael that wasn’t how I felt about him – that Cupid was trying to create something that wasn’t there.

  “This can’t happen,” I blurted out as my cheeks heated up.

  “It can’t?” Michael asked, his voice low, as hurt and confusion filled his eyes. “You don’t feel the same way?”

  “I do,” I blurted out. “That’s the problem.”

  “You…” he hesitated. “You love me?”

  Love? Woah… “No, I don’t,” I said, carefully. There were probably more tactful ways to handle this, but thinking first and acting second was never my strong point. “But neither do you; not in that way, anyway.”

  “You cannot presume to know what I feel,” Michael snapped, getting to his feet and storming away.

  I took a breath and hurried after him. “But I do, Michael,” I said, trying to keep up with his determined pace. “I don’t deny you care for me. I know you do.” I stumbled over the uneven ground and let out a cry of frustration. “Can you please stop running off and face this like a man.”

  He whirled on the spot so quickly that I barely had time to avoid him. “I am not a man,” he snapped at me, the anger not quite covering the hurt. “I am an archangel. I am a principality, a virtue and a seraph.”

  “That has nothing to do with anything,” I shot back at him. “Just…” I took a deep breath. “Michael, if you could change something about me, what would it be?”

  “Your vessel,” he said, instantly.

  I knew what his answer was going to be before the question had even left my mouth, but it didn’t make his words sting any less. “And that’s how I know,” I responded sadly. “You shouldn’t want to change someone you love because they should already live up to your expectations.”

  “Angel,” Michael said, the anger dissipating, to be replaced with pleading.

  I shook my head. “This is partly my fault,” I added. “I knew what Cupid was doing weeks ago, but I said nothing. When our lessons had stopped, I assumed this had too. I should have just said something sooner instead of letting it get to this.”

  “Angel,” Michael tried again.

  “I think that I’m just the first person to come along who you could have a relationship with and you’re thinking of that, rather than the fact you actually want a relationship with me,” I finished.

  I waited patiently for Michael to say something, but whatever it was never came. Finally, he looked away, staring through the trees. “We should get back.” He didn’t wait for my response, instead continuing in the direction he had been heading, back to the SUV, although his pace was somewhat more subdued.

  I watched his back, how he was keeping his head up, and dropped my own. I hadn’t lied – I really did care for Michael. I just wasn’t the one for him. As he got further from me, I started to feel even worse: there were dozens of ways I could have put that, but I went for the one that ultimately left us both feeling hurt. He was going to find the right girl for him, I could feel that, and I suspected it would be when he wasn’t expecting it in the near future. But she wasn’t me.

  And now I had to figure out how to tell Joshua this, as well as figuring out what was going on between us. How on earth could life be this confusing when you were dead?

  With a deep sigh, I hurried after Michael.

  * * *

  The ride back to the convent had felt like it had taken three times as long as it had to get to the park. Awkward silence had filled the car, and Michael was not one who liked to drive with the radio on.

  When we arrived back at the convent, Michael had left the car and disappeared inside before I could unbuckle my seatbelt. I slid out of the Yukon and leaned back against the hot metal. It was getting to the time where I really needed to be in the kitchen, finishing up dinner, but I really didn’t want to go inside the convent right now. Or at all….

  I raked a hand through my hair and then let out a frustrated grunt. I’d left my cap in Couturie Forest. Great. The kitchen it was. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up the App Store. Joshua had given me the phone so that we could get hold of each other, and he was one of three contacts in it (the other two being Sarah and Ty). I wasn’t sure if angels were supposed to have a phone, but I hadn’t advertised having it to anyone in the convent.

  I had been contemplating downloading the various social media accounts so that I could delete all my profiles, but I was supposed to be dead. Or I assumed I was supposed to be dead – I wasn’t sure what the media exposure made me now. Seeing as I didn’t want a repeat visit from Zachary and Savannah, I closed the app and instead opened a new message to Joshua.

  R U free this evening? For real – not dream? I need 2 C U. Xx

  Joshua’s response was almost instant: Pick you up @ 9pm. X

  Well this was turning out to be a great day, why not end it on the same note? I slipped the phone back in my pocket and headed back into the convent.

  The cooking experience was much more fun than it had been for a long time. Thanks to my aunt’s cooking skills, there hadn’t been a single complaint about the food. As an added bonus, she also ensured that all the angels not only returned their plates to the kitchen, but that they loaded them into the dishwasher as they went.

  I was amazed that the whole experience, including washing the remaining pots and wiping the kitchen and dining room down, was over with before six. Sarah suggested I could join her in the library – she had been exploring the convent, apparently – but reading was not my thing, and I wanted to work out what I was going to say to Joshua without my aunt suspecting there was something wrong.

  Thankfully the sun had set by then. Aside from the
fact it meant this day was nearly over, it also meant that my hair would not stand out as much. I slipped outside and left the convent grounds via the side gate.

  I hadn’t gone far before I sensed something following me. I glanced back, but the street was empty. I chewed at my lip, wondering if the best option was to head to a more populated street – I was only a block away from Bourbon – where, should anyone (thing) be considering attacking me, the public would put them off, or whether I should go somewhere quieter so that I could stop whatever it was without drawing another crowd.

  I didn’t get a chance to make a decision. A shadow stepped out from behind a parked truck and grabbed my shoulder.

  Some form of instinct kicked in. I seized the arm on me, bent over, and flipped the person over my head. As he landed with an ‘umph’, I pulled my dagger out of my boot. It was already at sword length by the time the tip was pointed at my assailant’s throat. “Ty?” I cried in surprise as I finally looked at the attacker.

  “I guess I deserved that reaction,” Ty winced in pain, holding his hands up.

  “What the hell do you want?” I demanded.

  “I came to give you some information,” he replied.

  “Which is?”

  He winced again. “Can I give it to you from somewhere other than the street?” he requested.

  I glared at him, but pulled my sword away, shrinking it back down in size. Instead of helping him to his feet, I stood back and waited for him to get up.

  He spared a couple of seconds to brush himself down and then turned his attention to me. “You’re obviously still upset with me.”

  “Well yes,” I agreed, folding my arms. “But you did also try and sneak up on me.”

  “Both fair points,” Ty nodded. “So,” he said, drawing out the word. “How have you been?”

  “Since I saw you this morning?” I asked, not even bothering to rein in the annoyance I was feeling. “Well, my aunt has had to abandon her house because reporters are camped out on her lawn, and the virtues have me as their top example of what an angel doesn’t look like, so all in all, I’m pretty pissed off.”

  “I deserve that too,” Ty sighed. He took a couple of steps back and leaned against the wall. “I split up with Claudia.”

  “Gah!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms in the air. “I swear to God, if the next words to leave your mouth are ‘I love you’, I’m going to punch you.”

  “What?” Ty asked, pulling a face. “No offence, but hell no.”

  “Good,” I grunted.

  “Is that a problem for you? Guys declaring their love for you?” Ty asked with a grin. The grin quickly disappeared with the death glare I sent in his direction. He cleared his throat. “Claudia and I got into a huge argument about how she shouldn’t have released your personal information. She told me that the story was more important, which I get, but I realized that actually, I didn’t agree with her,” he shook his head. “Either way, we split up. Which means if any more information ends up in the news, it didn’t come from me.”

  I relaxed fractionally. “I didn’t want you to break up with her.”

  “It was a long time coming,” Ty shrugged. “But that’s not why I came to see you. Asmodeus joined us for dinner this evening. I was in the other room, so they don’t know I overheard this, but they were talking about the Port. They’re planning something and it’s going to happen there.”

  “And did they happen to indicate what that something was, and when it would happen?” I asked, skeptically. “Or where at the Port, considering it stretches both sides of the Mississippi?”

  Ruefully, Ty shook his head. “West Riverside. They were talking about someone called Ramsey. I know it’s not much to go on, but I wanted to show you that I’m on your side.”

  “My side?” I repeated. “You do realize that the sides you are talking about are angels versus Fallen, right? That when it comes down to it, Beelzebub, your father, is a fallen angel and my job is to destroy him?”

  “I was kinda hoping that there may be a compromise with that,” Ty asked, hopefully.

  “Compromise?” I laughed. “I would love a compromise, Ty. I would love for there to be no more bloodshed. You tell me, if I give your father the option of staying alive provided he basically doesn’t commit anymore evil for the rest of eternity, what odds would you give that?”

  “I know it doesn’t look good, but he’s my dad. Maybe I could convince him,” Ty said. At the look of disbelief I shot him, Ty straightened his back. “I could convince him,” he said, more resolutely.

  I shrugged. “Good luck.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  My Immortal

  I left Ty and returned to the convent, heading straight for my bedroom, where I sat down on my bed, bringing my knees up in front of me. What exactly was I going to do with that information? It wasn’t exactly descriptive. I also wasn’t ready to face Michael. I was such a wimp.

  With a frustrated grunt, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I could wait for Ty to come back with more information, but what was the likelihood of that? He’d only overheard by chance, and how soon would it be before Asmodeus returned to his house?

  Alternatively, I could head on over to the port and have a nosy around myself. I had a couple of hours until Joshua was coming to get me… that sounded like a better option. It was dark, and it was late, which meant there would be minimal people around, and the cover of darkness to be able to do some snooping. I could see if there was anything substantial to Ty’s claims before I reported in to Michael.

  I’d never mentioned to Michael who or what Ty was. Despite everything, I didn’t want to see anything happen to Ty, and I was certain that by telling Michael he was a nephilim I would be signing his death sentence – I didn’t want that guilt on me too. I was still getting flashes of pain whenever I thought about Lilah, not that they were ever going to disappear.

  No, a little recon was definitely in order… As was a change in outfit. I quickly changed into a pair of shorts, a vest top and jacket, and a different pair of boots which I could hide my sword down the side of. With a quick detour to collect some keys to an SUV, I was on my way.

  To say there was something happening at the port was vague enough, but the Port of New Orleans essentially stretched around the curve of the Mississippi and had both cargo and cruise ships. I wasn’t sure what two fallen angels could be up to with ships, but my guess was that they weren’t having a dining experience on the river. If I was going to get up to some nefarious scheme, it would probably involve some form of illegal goods or contraband, and I would be using shipping containers to hide it – they all looked the same and thousands of them lined the banks of the river.

  As soon as I parked up, I knew I had made both the right choice, and the wrong choice. Ty had been right about the name – I was staring at an area of the Port being used by A.R. International. The area was quiet, and the moon was covered by clouds which would never drop their load, creating a more eerie darkness. The Port loomed behind a tall wire fence which had swirls of barbed-wire looping over the top, and at least one row of train carriages. From here, I couldn’t see the water – just the odd crane from over the top of the train.

  Seeing it in front of me, deserted and barely visible in the dark, I knew I shouldn’t have come by myself. I blew out a breath. Now was as good a time as any to see just what the range on the psychic connection with Michael was, even though I didn’t want to drag him out here.

  “Michael?” I called, hesitantly. Part of me was hoping I was out of range because surely tackling this by myself would be a better experience.

  “Angel?” Michael’s voice responded, still crystal clear. Just what was the range on this psychic connection?

  “Are you busy?” I asked as I stepped out of the vehicle and locked it behind me. Michael was standing in front of me instantly. “Okay, that’s freaky,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Why are we here?” Michael asked, looking at the large wire fence be
tween us and the port.

  “I had a tip that Asmodeus and Beelzebub were up to something at the port. I was going to have a look by myself and wait until I had more to go on before I came to see you, but then I decided I should probably let someone know what’s going on first,” I told him, feeling sheepish. Now he was here, I felt like I’d made the wrong decision again.

  “Where did this information come from?” Michael asked.

  “I can’t say,” I said, scrunching up my nose.

  “Very well,” Michael nodded. With no warning, he took hold of my hand and then we were standing on the other side of the fence. “What are we looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, blinking rapidly as I got my bearings. Michael fell silent. I couldn’t tell if he was humoring me, or genuinely trusted me. We crossed the train tracks and we walked around the area in silence.

  This particular section of the port consisted of rows upon rows of stacked shipping containers in front of several long warehouses, belonging to A. R. International. Opposite was the port itself, only one enormous ship docked at the far end, and a handful of boats dotting the water behind. Aside from the not so pleasant smell of the water, combined with the lingering traces of diesel, the area smelled strongly of coffee: The Port of New Orleans was actually the country’s major coffee handling port.

  Finally, Michael broke the silence. “This may go quicker if we split up.” I looked up at him in surprise. “You stay on this side,” he said, indicating to the warehouses beside me, half hidden by the long freight trains, parked for the night. “I will take the area by the water.”

  I couldn’t say I blamed him for not wanting to be with me right now. I nodded my agreement and stepped out from behind one of the containers. To avoid the sharp ballast, I followed the natural path alongside the train tracks so shiny they glinted in the few security lights which were dotted around. I continued in silence, scanning the area, catching Michael’s silhouette every so often as we both crossed a gap between the containers.