“Aye. Prithee, I still go by Dion. It’s been a while, Tony. Many thanks for coming on short notice.”
“Not a problem. But I’d appreciate it if one of you would let us know why we’re here.”
Dion turned to the Guardian Angel. “Tor, if you’d be so kind as to take Ms. Harris home?”
Tony didn’t miss how Donovan’s scowl deepened. Hell, no one did. If it grew any more pronounced, Donovan would look like a ginger haired gargoyle. It was as clear as if a blinking neon sign sat over his head—Donovan didn’t want True out of his sight. Whether it was because he wanted to be with her or that he didn’t want her leaving with Tor, Tony couldn’t be sure. Mayhap both. Either way, at least Donovan didn’t argue. Tor and True exited out the back door.
“We have a situation,” Dion said. “An item in Cressida’s collection has gone missing.”
Tony’s gut clenched and he recalled the way his steady and reliable core reacted to Cressida’s phone call. He’d had this reaction before. Whatever went missing was important. Very important.
“What item?” Donovan asked.
Cressida worried her hands, wringing them furiously. At her side, Dion placed a steady hand over hers and she immediately calmed. Tony didn’t miss the subtlety of the action.
Master of Practitioners. Lots of secret skills.
“How much do you know of sorcery and charmed or cursed objects?” Dion asked Tony and Donovan.
“Enough,” Tony replied, his tone short and flippant. Fates, but he was tired of getting the runaround. “Just get to the point and tell us what’s missing. If either one of us has a question, we’ll ask.”
Dion’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed, which gave away how irritated he was by Tony’s lack of respect. Well screw you. I knew you when you were a gawky, acne-ridden kid. Besides, Tony wasn’t a practitioner and Dion wasn’t his Master. He’d get Tony’s respect the same way everyone else did, by earning it. Aye, though Dion did earn quite a bit of respect for his part during the Great Battle, the arrogant male who stood next to Cressida was a far cry from that nervous lad. In truth, he was kind of a jerk. So far, it didn’t look good for the rude and pompous Master.
Cressida couldn’t hold her tongue any longer, and thank the Fates for that. Everything burst from her in a torrent. “It’s a stone from the Underworld.” Her eyes bugged out and she slapped a hand over her mouth. No, she hadn’t planned on saying it so bluntly.
Donovan tensed and Dion glared at Cressida for her lack of finesse. Tony didn’t have it in him to give a shit about niceties, because at the mention of the stone, once more, his life-force went absolutely berserk. Three sets of eyes turned toward him as dark blue electricity crackled throughout his body, shockingly large bolts engulfing every inch of his Earthly form, causing him to burn up in a blazing hot fire. Tony let out a pained cry as everyone looked on in horror.
A moment too late, Tony recognized exactly why his core was disturbed.
“Don’t touch him!” Dion shouted, mayhap to Donovan. It would be natural for an Angel of Protection to give assistance. “You must needs allow his life-force to finish its process. None of us can control it, and it’s best to let it run its course.”
“No! Do something, Master. I refuse to stand here and watch Tony suffer.” Donovan’s angry shouts penetrated the haze of pain as tendrils of energy continued to lash out from his soul.
“No,” Tony croaked as he absorbed the information relayed through his spasming core. Weaker than he’d felt in a long time, he held up a hand, urging Donovan to back off. “I must needs listen. It’s… it’s telling me something.”
After a few minutes, the dark blue which sparked and zapped its way through Tony’s battered body retreated, sucked up by his glowing core and just like that, he was back to normal. Tony exhaled in relief and shuddered. His Earthly body was calm but his mind was left alive and buzzing, information bouncing about inside his head, dozens of scattered pieces which must needs be put together like a mental jigsaw puzzle.
“Gods, Tony, are you okay?” Donovan was at his side in a flash to help steady Tony’s footing. Still a bit out of breath, Tony swiped back his hair to find it soaked with sweat.
“Yeah, good. I’m good.” He wiped his slick palms on his jeans.
“What was that?” Donovan growled. His hand tightened on Tony’s biceps, face twisted with rage. Tony didn’t take it personally as he knew the angel wasn’t angry, but frightened by Tony’s episode. Joan knew about them, having seen several before. It never occurred to Tony to warn Donovan, as they hardly ever occurred. After gently extricating his arm from Donovan’s crushing grip, he turned to Cressida Summers, who stood gaping.
“Cressida, mayhap I could bother you for some water?”
She flinched then blinked. “Of c-course, Tony.” Cressida disappeared in a flash.
“I must needs sit,” Tony announced. The others followed him to the back room and they took seats at the table. Cressida handed Tony a glass. “My thanks.” By the time he gulped down every last refreshing drop, his head cleared enough to explain. It didn’t escape his notice that Dion’s eyes were rigidly fixed upon him, the Master more than eager to hear what he had to say. Tony saw just from looking in Dion’s eyes. He knows what just happened. “What you saw has in truth, occurred before, but it’s been over a century since the last time.”
“Fuck, Tony, I thought you were dying or something,” Donovan growled.
“No. That was…” Tony sighed, deciding where to begin. “So, you all know I’m the Patron Saint of Lost Items.” The three nodded, each watching him intently. “What you witnessed only happens when something of great significance goes missing.”
Cressida gasped and shared a look with Dion. Dion shifted to angle his body toward Tony. “The stone. Does this mean you know where it is?”
Tony met Cressida’s hopeful eyes and wondered how much he should divulge.
HOPE OPENED her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She blinked several times, and it took what seemed like a while for things to come into focus. Puzzled, she attempted to figure out what was wrong, because without a doubt, Hope knew something was… off. The white. That’s what it was. Everything was too white. The ceiling above her bed in her apartment was more of a cream color, not such a glaring shade of white. She was surprised she could tell the subtle difference. But she could.
Hope sat, and noticed her movements were unnaturally graceful. Almost fluid. So much so, it felt as if she didn’t need to command her muscles to respond to direction. Moving just… happened. One second she lay flat, the next, she sat upright.
Weird.
She swung her legs over the bed with the same strange detachment from her body. Maybe she should wave an arm to see how that felt, but before she could try, Hope got a real look at her surroundings. She blinked again. Then ground her knuckles into her eyes. Nothing made sense. She was in some kind of hospital… maybe? To both the left and right stood a row of beds, each exactly the same as the one she sat upon. The rows stretched so far, she couldn’t see the end, like they went on into infinity. Across from her stood another row of identical beds, those facing hers. That row also continued to the very edges of her vision.
It was weird, but the strangest part had nothing to do with infinite rows of perfectly aligned beds, or her effortless non-movements, or the never-ending room painted white on white on white. What she found odd were that some of the beds were occupied, people representing all genders and ethnicities. There were hundreds of them, maybe more, and every single one slept peacefully. Yet not a single bed had any kind of equipment next to it, no IV’s, no monitors, no tables or charts, nothing.
What kind of hospital is this?
“It’s not a hospital, my dear.”
Hope squeaked when a female about her age, maybe a few years older, appeared next to her bed, seemingly out of thin air. She wore a kind expression and wore white robes. Reflexively, Hope put a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart,
only…
“Your heart isn’t beating, I know,” the female said, answering the unspoken question.
“How?” Hope croaked. She held her breath, waiting for the panic to set in, only it never came. All she knew was a calm, comforting warmth. It surrounded her like the softest blanket. In fact, Hope had never felt more content.
“Let’s converse elsewhere, shall we?”
She glanced down, expecting to see her usual sleep tank and underwear. Instead, she wore a long white gown identical to the female’s, the silky material draped over her limbs.
“Where are my clothes?”
The female smiled and took Hope’s hand. They walked through a door and the endless room with the beds disappeared, replaced by a spacious office. The same shades of white carried over, everything in the room white, only this room had tiny, almost unnoticeable accents of the lightest of gray.
“Is that better?” Hope gave the female a puzzled look so she pointed at Hope’s clothes.
“But…?” The white robe was gone. Hope now wore gray pants and white blouse. She glanced at the female to find her dressed the same, her robe gone as well. “I don’t understand.”
“I know, dear. Have a seat.” She walked around a large, glass topped desk and sat in a white leather chair. Hope lowered into one of the pale gray chairs opposite the desk while taking in everything, which admittedly wasn’t much. The office was as sparse as the room with the beds. Nothing on the pale gray walls, the carpet the same matching color. There was the desk, the chair behind it, the chair Hope sat on along with one next to it, and a white door to her left. That was it.
“Who are you?”
The female smiled and her perfect white teeth gleamed against her dark skin. “My name is Thea. I work for Azrael.”
“Azrael?” Hope felt so confused, she thought her head should be aching. But she felt perfectly healthy. In fact, she didn’t really feel much of anything except that sense of warm and fuzzy tranquility.
“Let me be frank,” Thea said. Hope nodded, eager for an explanation for everything she’d seen since she woke. “Good. You’re dead.”
“What?” She jerked back in the gray chair, or she thought she did as she felt nothing. “I-I can’t be dead.”
Thea pursed her lips as if hiding a smile. “Why ever not?”
“B-because!” Hope said indignantly.
Thea chuckled. “Most who pass through here are happy.”
“Happy to be dead?” She scoffed. “Why would anyone be happy about that?”
“Because now they know there is an afterlife. Death isn’t the end.” Hope gaped at Thea, unable to think of anything to say. No, no way. Dead was bad. Thea folded her hands on the glass and leaned forward. “You are in the Hereafter.”
“Like Heaven?”
She shook her head. “No, there is no heaven or hell, at least, not by human definitions. The Hereafter is where good souls spend eternity, so in a way it’s similar to the heaven humans believe in, only in the Hereafter there is work to be done.”
“Wait a minute. Are you telling me that after busting my butt on Earth to scrape together enough money to put food on the table, I’m supposed to continue working even after I die?” Hope huffed and muttered, “Nice afterlife.”
“Not everyone works, that is truth, but you…” Thea smiled again. “You have been chosen.” She rose from her seat and circled the desk to take the chair next to Hope. Serious dark eyes met hers. “What I’m offering is an honor, Hope. A privilege. There are many who would jump at the chance. All you must needs do is say yes and it’s yours.”
Hope took a minute to think it over. “What kind of job?”
Once Thea finished explaining, Hope’s entire view shifted and the possibilities were now endless. As great as everything sounded, she still wasn’t sure if she wanted the burden. What Thea offered was an enormous responsibility and Hope feared failure. She told Thea as much.
“Let me show you something.” Thea took her hand and once more the surroundings changed. They stood in a stark white room, which contained only a single, wall-sized, television not-quite-a-television viewing screen.
The screen flicked on and Hope saw a huge library. Not done in shades of white, the picture provided the only real color Hope had seen since waking up. After so much white, it was shocking to see. Stacks of shelves three stories high lined the walls, each packed with endless amounts of books. In the center of the library sat a table, the entire surface covered with books and papers. A man in a disheveled suit with his back to the screen sat and flipped through one of the thick books.
“I don’t understand,” Hope admitted.
Thea gave her a sympathetic look and the picture narrowed, closing in on the man. Oh! Hope gasped and a strangled sound came from her throat. Thomas. Her lover’s bright blue eyes looked dull and purple crescent moons shadowed beneath them, the shade stark against his pale skin. One of his eyes sported the telltale yellow remnants of a shiner. The roguish scruff on the face she loved and adored had been neglected, the stubble allowed to grow into a sloppy beard. His hair was a mess and looked greasy and unwashed. He was so familiar her heart hurt, yet she hardly recognized him.
“Thomas?” The screen went blank and Hope cried out. “No! Bring him back! Or bring him here so I can talk to him.”
Thea blinked them back to her office and Hope found herself back in the same gray chair. She didn’t know what to think, only that her mind reeled and her world rocked off its axis. Seeing a strong, confident man like Thomas, reduced to… to a man defeated, sliced her to the core. It physically hurt to know Thomas suffered so.
“I cannot bring him here,” Thea said. “He has his own work which must needs be done upon the Earthly plane. Work he cannot do because he is in too much pain.”
“What happened?” Tears blurred Hope’s vision, more and more falling until the room turned to smudges of gray and white. When Thea didn’t immediately answer her question, Hope sniffed and pressed on, needing to understand. “Tell me, why does Thomas look so neglected? What is he doing?”
Thea wrapped her arm around Hope’s shoulders. Oddly enough, Hope couldn’t feel the embrace, not the weight of Thea’s arm or the heat of her skin. It was strange, but Hope was still grateful for the support. Feeling or not, Hope leaned into the comfort offered. Thea held her as she cried, her sobs so loud she almost missed Thea’s soft voice whisper in her ear.
“He’s mourning your death, Hope.”
CHAPTER 19
F aith scowled at the enormous angel currently sprawled out on her couch, occupying almost the entire thing with his oversized, over-muscled body. “You can go. No one can get in here. I created the wards myself.”
Ronin laughed, his wide shoulders shaking. “I have no doubt your wards shall hold.” His faint Irish accent made the words sound almost musical, even though they were a bit patronizing. “But I can’t leave.”
“Ugh. I’m just as much your boss as Dante. And I don’t need someone here sitting with me all day. I’m not a child.”
“Aye, you’re not a child. But your husband signs my paycheck.” Ronin grinned, satisfied he won the battle. Faith folded her arms across her chest and huffed.
“Dante is my soulmate. We’re not married.” The fallen angel’s eyes popped and his brows winged up.
“Why ever not?”
She opened her mouth to answer and snapped it shut when she realized she had no good reason to give. “Whatever. I’m not discussing my personal life with you.” Again, Ronin laughed, this time tossing her a wink as his rich baritone rang out.
“I like you. You’re a feisty one.”
With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Faith stood and stalked to the kitchen to make some tea. Stupid angel. Then she sighed, feeling like a jerk for blaming Ronin. It wasn’t his fault she was annoyed. It was Dante’s. And whoever was out there trying to kidnap her. Ronin just happened to be the easiest one to take out her frustration. She dropped tea bags in two cups and filled th
em with hot water. Back in the sitting area, she handed one to Ronin. His face expressed surprise at the gesture.
“Many thanks.” The simple words of appreciation sounded so out of place rumbling from such an intimidating male. The tiny teacup looked even more out of place in his massive meat paws. Ronin almost appeared… cute as he fumbled to fit his finger in the too small handle of the dainty cup. He failed and simply wrapped his hand around the entire thing.
“I’m sorry I was rude,” Faith mumbled. “I’m just so tired of being stuck in the house. I have a life, a job, friends… and I can’t enjoy any of it.”
Ronin finished an awkward sip and nodded. “I understand. Don’t think I’m not just as bored sitting here watching you be bored.” Faith glanced at his dark eyes and caught a spark of humor in them.
“Jerk,” she said playfully. He smirked, accepting the insult for the lighthearted comment it was.
“Nothin’ I haven’t heard before. Mild, actually. Usually, if I’m being insulted, it’s much worse than jerk.” For the first time since Faith met the fallen angel, he grinned. To her shock and surprise, twin dimples popped on his cheeks, forcing her to blink as her face flushed from the sight. Such a simple feature took the big, intimidating, badass angel and made him look positively, boyishly handsome. The contrast was amazing.
“You have dimples.” She lifted an arm to point at his face. If Faith didn’t personally witness Ronin’s cheeks flush red, she’d never have believed the male knew what embarrassment was, let alone sport the dark blush that crept clear as day across his fair skin.
He ducked his head and waved a hand, brushing off her observation.
Wow. That’s… positively adorable. Ronin Kearney, big bad fallen angel, embarrassed by his dimples.
Maybe it won’t be completely awful to be stuck inside if she could get Ronin to loosen up. He was actually pretty charming when he wasn’t scaring the crap out of people. Probably. Huh. Faith realized she didn’t actually know anything about the guy she’d already spent so much time with.
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