Rebel Angel: A Sainted Sinners Novel

by Vivian Wood

  “Ves, please,” Mercy said, starting to look panicked.

  Vesper was already reaching into her back pocket, pulling out the three twenties she’d tucked away earlier in the day. She handed them over with obvious reluctance.

  Mercy beamed at her, throwing her skinny arms around Vesper’s neck to hug her. Vesper was on the thin side herself, willowy since childhood, but Mercy was skin and bones by comparison.

  “Shit, Mercy,” Vesper whispered, feeling tears prickle at the corner of her eyes.

  Mercy didn’t hear her, though. Her sister was already turning away, secreting the money somewhere under her shirt, heading back to the house.

  “Next week, right?” Vesper called.

  “Mmhmm,” Mercy said, making a beeline for the front door.

  She vanished inside without a backward glance.

  Vesper lost control suddenly, turning to kick a dingy plastic garbage can that lay in the street. She felt so helpless, knowing that if she didn’t give Mercy money, her sister wouldn’t eat. Knowing that what little Vesper did give her probably went straight to drugs and Mercy probably hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks.

  “Fuck!” she said, feeling the weight of it all on her shoulders.

  She allowed herself to kick the trash can a couple more times. Then she stopped, shoulders sagging.

  “Impressive display.”

  She turned to find a tall, dark-haired Vampyre standing in the doorway of the house. His skin was dark as fresh loam, which startled her; Vampyres were usually Caucasian and paler than death itself.

  Still, the red eyes and perfectly sculpted fangs didn’t lie.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking a couple steps back. She might be hot-tempered at times, but she’d never take on a Vampyre if she could help it.

  He slunk forward, keeping pace with her, and she felt her stomach turn over.

  “You are sister to our girl Mercy, are you not?” he asked.

  She couldn’t stop looking at him. His cheekbones were so sharp they could have been creased paper, his lips full and lush around his fangs. He was incredibly beautiful, in a way that made her want to run far, far away.

  “Yes,” she said, taking another step back.

  He stepped forward at the same time, as if he knew her every move before she made it.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said, canting his head and smiling. “Unless you ask nicely, that is.”

  “I’m just leaving,” she blurted out. She couldn’t bring herself to turn her back on the Vampyre, though, so she didn’t actually move an inch.

  “I see that,” he said, his tongue darting out to caress one of his fangs for a moment. “I am Jacinth. Mercy says that you are a bounty hunter. She says you’re very good, and that you’ll take on nearly any commission.”

  Vesper stilled for a moment. She’d never imagined Mercy talking about her, but the idea made her feel a little ill.

  Jacinth pressed on. “She says you’re saving up to buy her freedom.”

  Vesper looked him square in the eye, trying not to show her growing anger. “I am.”

  “I have an offer for you.”

  “I don’t want anything from you,” Vesper said, dropping her hand to the hilt of one of her short swords.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the Vampyre said, his lips twitching with amusement. “I could drain you before you’d even get that thing out of its sheath.”

  “I’m leaving,” she said, backing away from him, scuttling sideways toward the closest alleyway.

  “I’m offering you a chance to free your sister.”

  She froze.

  “Free… like completely free?”

  “Yes. That’s over one hundred thousand dollars, if you think of her trade as a commission.”

  “She owes you a hundred thousand dollars?” Vesper growled. “How??”

  “That is simply her worth,” Jacinth said. “The rest is… fluid. Now ask me what the assignment would be.”

  Vesper drew a breath. “What would the assignment be?”

  “One hit. A tough one, but a single task.”

  “A hit? I don’t… I don’t do that. I just capture and turn them over to the highest bidder.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to keep this one captive. Besides, we want him dead. Shoot on sight, head removed, the whole thing.”

  “Again, I don’t do that. You’re talking to the wrong girl.”

  Jacinth looked her up and down, then heaved a sigh.

  “Very well. It’s only your sister’s freedom, after all. Probably her life… if you could get her clean, she’d probably live into old age…” He waved a hand, as if dismissing the thought.

  “Who’s the target?”

  “You’d find that out last, after our agreement. Assume he’s big, powerful, and dangerous.”

  “What if I could bring him in alive?” she asked.

  The Vampyre shook his head, growing impatient. “You won’t.”

  “But what if I did?”

  After a moment’s thought, Jacinth bobbed his head. “It would be acceptable.”

  “You’d let Mercy walk away? No, fuck that. For the cost of what you’re asking, I would require you to black list her. Every Vampyre brothel and shooting gallery, anywhere she could score. She’d be total persona non grata.”

  A grin split the Vampyre’s face once more. “Now you’re bargaining. I like your spirit, little human.”

  Vesper tried not to glare at him, and failed.

  “All right. You’ve got a deal, bounty hunter. Bring Kirael Lesange to me, and you will have your sister. Forever.”

  “Kirael…” Vesper said, trying to figure out why the name sounded familiar. “Wait. You don’t mean…”

  “Yes. He’s Fallen.”

  “You’re insane,” she said, her eyes going wide. “You want to me to capture one of the most powerful Fallen angels? Isn’t he, like, third in line to Lucifer’s throne?”

  “Seventh,” Jacinth said tartly.

  “You must be joking. I’m human. He’s like…” she waved her arms, lacking the basic words to describe how futile it would be.

  “He’s weakened right now, as it happens. Lucifer has revoked some of his powers. And he should be on Earth for the foreseeable future.”

  “Why would you even want him? You can’t kill Fallen…” she said.

  “Not me, no. Don’t worry about my reasons. Worry about your sister.”

  Vesper bit her lip. On one hand, Jacinth’s offer was basically a suicide mission. On the other hand…

  “I’d have Mercy, free and clear. No tricks. Right?”

  “I’d add in a sizable amount of cash, to sweeten the deal.” When she hesitated, he lifted a brow. “Take the deal, Vesper. It’s the only one you’re going to get.”

  Vesper blinked for a second. Blowing out a breath, she slowly nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll take the contract. You’ll have to forgive me, though, if I refuse to shake on it.”

  Jacinth flashed his fangs and winked at her, which made her break into an honest sweat.

  “Don’t flirt with me, Vesper. I’m starting to like it,” he said. “I’ll have a contract messengered over to you.”

  Then he turned and swept back into the house, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

  Vesper was left rooted to the spot, armed with nothing but her new target’s name and a blossoming note of hope for her sister’s future.

  4

  Kirael

  “Kirael.”

  He turned to find Mere Marie standing behind him, having appeared out of nowhere. The Voodoo priestess wore pale purple robes, folds and layers of fabric upon fabric. Her hair was wrapped in a towering fabric bundle, her arms covered in shining bangles, her eyes done up in smoky kohl.

  Kirael thought she looked like she’d just jumped straight out of the encyclopedia, her photo pinned next to the entry for “palm reader” or maybe “Vodun”.

  “You should knock,” he said. “And stop sneaking up on
me.”

  Letting the curtain drop, he stepped away from the window.

  “I like the getup,” she said, gesturing to his jeans and t-shirt.

  Kirael plucked at the hem of his t-shirt with a frown. After their first few weeks in the human realm, Mere Marie had insisted that Kirael, Lucan, and Ezra all abandon their button-ups and Brioni suits in favor of a more casual dress code.

  Since all three Fallen had defected from Lucifer’s army at the same time, all three former angels were going through similar growing pains. Though Kirael and the other Fallen spent a great deal of time on Earth, executing various plans to further the agenda of Hell, none of them had ever been required to blend in with humans for longer than a few days at a time.

  “I’m becoming accustomed to it,” Kirael said with a shrug, turning to the window again. He pulled back the curtain and glanced down into Jackson Square, watching tourists dashing to and fro in the rain.

  “I come bearing a message,” Mere Marie said.

  Kirael rounded on her. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I am, right now,” she said, giving him a warning glance. Mere Marie didn’t tolerate snappy remarks from anyone, not even powerful Fallen.

  “Well?” he asked, impatient. “Who is it from? St. Peter?”

  Mere Marie snorted. “Please. You’re all but forgotten up there, my friend. Actually, an argument could be made at the moment whether you’re less popular in Heaven or in Hell.”

  Kirael blew out a breath, trying not to get angry. It wasn’t as if she was telling him anything he didn’t already know.

  “So who sent the message, then?” he asked.

  “Le Medcin.”

  Kirael narrowed his gaze.

  “And what does he say?”

  “Heaven wants something from you. A favor, of sorts,” she said, then shrugged. “They can’t ask directly, of course. The Rules, and all.”

  The Rules, meaning the handshake agreement between Heaven and Hell, saying that neither would directly interfere with the free will of humankind. There were a hundred other little amendments to the rules, minor points haggled over the millennia, but that was the gist of it.

  “I’m not affiliated with either party anymore,” Kirael said. “Shouldn’t I be fair game now?”

  “It’s not really my decision to make,” Mere Marie said flatly. “Do you want the message or not?”

  She offered him a single piece of cream-colored paper, folded in half. Kirael gave her a look as he stepped forward and took it from her, then unfolded it.

  Bring me the Book of Names, was all it said. Kirael gave a startled laugh; the task was all but impossible.

  The Book of Names was as close to a sacred text as the rebels in Hell would allow. It contained a handful of highly secret prophecies, as well as the names of all the Righteous and Fallen. Lucifer stole it during the chaos of the Great Fall, and he’d kept it under lock and key in Hell ever since.

  “Have you read this?” he asked, glancing up at Mere Marie.

  She shook her head slowly. “I don’t interfere in Le Medcin’s doings. I only carry out his wishes.”

  “What he asks for… it is not possible,” Kirael said, shaking his head slowly.

  “He wanted me to impress upon you the importance of the task,” Mere Marie said, cocking her head. “He said to use the word forgiveness.”

  Kirael’s heart skipped a beat. “Forgiveness? From… from Him?”

  Mere Marie’s lips twisted. “I am merely the messenger, I can promise nothing.”

  “Forgiveness,” Kirael said again, mostly to himself.

  “I don’t know what your task is, but… Le Medcin seemed very apprehensive about it. If I were you, I would move on this as soon as possible.”

  Kirael nodded, barely listening. Already he was making plans in his head, puzzling out how to conquer the task at hand.

  He was going to have to do the one thing he genuinely ought to avoid right now. Go to the last place he should be seen, risk being caught by his former comrades, try to steal a book that was kept under the vigilant protection of a dozen or more Fallen at all times…

  He was going to have to break into Hell.

  5

  Kirael

  There were thousands of entrances to Hell scattered throughout the human realm, but there was only one in New Orleans. The portal had existed since just after the Great Fall, so there was no accounting for the current-day structures built around it.

  Still, Kirael found the fact that it was in a hallway in the back of abandoned Arby’s restaurant on Canal St. was more than a little funny. One would assume that the straightest route to Hell would be in a secret temple in the Gray Market or something, but no.

  Kirael was able to walk right into the place, the back door swinging in the wind. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, not even a rat sniffing around for long-lost curly fries. The portal oozed a dark sort of magic, subtle but enough to make you feel the need to clear your throat, and inspire a continuous prickle of fear at the nape of your neck.

  It was a bit like walking through endless spiderwebs; you could feel it, but not see it.

  For Kirael, the feeling was familiar enough to almost be strangely comforting. After all, Hell had been his home for millennia. A body could grow to like anything, given enough exposure.

  The entrance itself was easy enough to find — a five foot by five foot hole of dense, pure blackness. Kirael walked right up to it, then fished a little silk pouch out of his back pocket. It was a gris-gris charm, procured from Mere Marie once he told her that he needed to sneak back into Hell.

  “I am assuming you’re telling me this because you need my help,” was her sour reply. She hesitated a beat, then held up a finger and vanished before his eyes.

  She returned with a handful of items: a few herbs, a vial of viscous black liquid, a little leather pouch she called a gerregery, and a tarnished bronze cross.

  “This will only work once,” she told him, explaining how he should mix the ingredients together and then pierce the portal entrance with the cross. “Appreciate this favor, because all of these ingredients are rarer than you can possibly know. If you do it just like I told you, you’ll fool the portal into thinking you’re someone else. Someone who’s still welcome to come and go without raising any eyebrows.”

  “Dare I ask who?”

  Her lips twitched. “Better not.”

  Kneeling down before the portal, he quickly mixed the ingredients as she’d explained, then used the gerregery and the cross to open the portal for his use. The amulet and the cross heated to the touch, then winked out of existence, one and then the other.

  Must be working, he thought.

  The air began to fill with thick, sooty smoke, but Kirael was able to move into the portal as promised.

  Kirael stepped forward and through, feeling the spell spread over his skin as he moved into a dark, rocky tunnel. A few steps in, he saw another bright flash, and glanced back.

  Nothing. The space behind him was empty, and he couldn’t detect any presence there.

  That didn’t stop him from feeling eyes on his back as he headed further into the tunnel. Down, down… he walked on and on until he finally saw a faint light at the end and smelled the sulfur.

  When he stepped out, he was in an area of Hell called The Dunes — a cold, seemingly endless desert wasteland. This was one of the very first stops for newly arrived souls, a place where their humanity was completely stripped away.

  In the distance, he saw the hazy glint that was supposed to indicate an oasis. Many souls would be dumped here together, still inhabiting the projections of their human bodies. Then they would inevitably strike out for the oasis, usually as a group.

  Only, there was no oasis, only a distant mirage that moved further and further away. The sinners would quickly turn on each other, each one coming face to face with the very flaws that had landed them in Hell in the first place: greed, pride, envy…

  Being in the desert hell
scape brought out the crazed animal in every soul, made them do heinous, unspeakable things to themselves and the other souls around them.

  In The Dunes, it didn’t matter why someone ended up here. By the time they ‘died’, which really just meant they graduated to a different part of Hell and some fresh new kind of torment, they could no longer see themselves as good or righteous.

  Kirael’s first instinct was to unfurl his wings and fly up and out; what looked like the night sky here was actually just a small glimpse of the Atrium, the part of Hell where Lucifer and his Fallen spent the bulk of their down time.

  With soaring, starry skies and clouds floating overhead, the Atrium was enchanted to resemble Heaven. But of course, only Heaven was actually Heaven, so the Atrium was always disappointingly cold, chillingly damp, and smelling of sulfur — a far cry from Heaven itself.

  After a moment’s thought, he realized that he couldn’t exactly just fly into the Fallen’s outer sanctum. He’d been missing for months now, and even if Lucifer hadn’t declared open season on Kirael, his presence would attract attention.

  He turned and followed the dark stone walkway that circled the entirety of The Dunes instead, heading right. Hell was made of a thousand different levels and hidey-holes, all connected by a loose network of tunnels.

  Fallen generally flew from one to another, but there were a great number of lesser demons that lived in each level, serving Lucifer in various capacities. Some did not fly, so over time they’d dug tunnels, carving their way through Hell’s black bedrock to get from one level to another.

  Kirael barely knew the passages in and out of The Dunes, but he knew he generally needed to go upward. He passed the first few tunnels, which didn’t seem especially promising, before turning into one whose path took an immediate incline. All the tunnels were interconnected, little arteries spreading vast and wide around the beating heart of the Atrium.

  Kirael only made it a few hundred yards into the tunnel before he heard voices. He doubled back, ducking into a smaller tunnel, and waited. Powerful as he was, he wasn’t particularly adept at hiding his presence. After all, in his high-level post, he’d never really needed to learn.