“With all due respect,” Charlie said, nodding at Gideon. “We’re not talking about a demotion. We’re talking a removal of power, heritage and Immortality.”
“Shit,” Karma muttered with a laugh. “That would certainly suck.”
“Enough,” Clarence growled. “If the facts are indeed proven against the Angel of Mercy, the punishment shall be doled out and the price will be paid. But…”
“But what?” I asked, feeling like my world was spiraling out of control. Was Clarissa going to get off scot-free?
“But I see no clear way to prove that your husband’s death was indeed an accident,” he finished, sounding tired.
The room was silent. Gideon’s jaw worked a mile a minute and he looked like he wanted to kill Clarence. Heather was furious and pressing her temples. Gram was simply in shock. Candy seemed bored, and Tim…
Tim was grinning.
“I see a way,” Tim said.
Tim had just moved to the top of my friend list.
“Out with it, Courier,” Charlie demanded, focusing on Tim with interest.
“Blood-related Angels can see into each other’s mind by touch,” Tim reminded the others.
“This is true,” Heather said, getting excited. “It can also be broadcast.”
“Meaning?” Gram asked, as befuddled as I was.
“Meaning, an Angel could send—or rather, telecast—what he or she sees to those Immortals within close proximity,” Gideon explained.
“Like a TV show?” Gram asked.
“Close enough,” Candy confirmed, no longer bored.
“The point?” Clarence asked tersely.
“Daisy was sired by an Angel,” Tim explained. “He can be used to show us what Daisy sees in the mind of her deceased husband. We would all relive the death and know the outcome. Daisy’s neutrality or lack thereof would no longer be an issue.”
My hope died as quickly as it had started. There was a huge hurdle. An impossible hurdle.
“I don’t know who my father is,” I said flatly. “The plan isn’t possible.”
“Nothing is impossible as long as you believe,” Candy reminded me, twirling her toothpick in her fingers.
“While the idea is excellent, the reality is not. I have no idea who he is,” I repeated.
“Clarence,” Tim said, sounding ominous and cold. “Would you care to join the discussion?”
Everyone watched as Tim stood and walked to the back of the chair where Michael the Archangel was seated.
“I would not,” Clarence ground out.
“Would you rather I deliver the news? I am the Courier after all.”
Clarence Smith was not a happy man. It was very clear he knew who my father was. It was also clear that he didn’t want to give up the information. Hatred for the man who had been so kind to me for years blossomed in my chest and made it difficult to breathe. Was he so taken with Clarissa that he would let her get away with unforgivable crimes?
I’d take a Demon over an Angel any day of the week.
“The conversation is over,” Clarence said. “The meeting is done.”
“The conversation has just started,” Charlie said in a tone that made me want to hide. Charlie’s eyes blazed silver and his hands sparked menacingly. “You will reveal the name of Daisy’s father, Archangel… or there will be hell to pay. Am I clear?”
The house shook, and I wondered for a brief moment if I would have to find a new place to live. I glanced over at Gideon, but his blood-red gaze was trained on Clarence.
No one knew who my father was other than John Travolta and Tim. That was abundantly clear by the reactions of the rest of them.
“The answer will be displeasing,” Clarence said, devoid of emotion.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I want nothing to do with the man other than using him to save Steve. I’ll use him like he used my mother. He is nothing to me other than a sperm donor, a deadbeat asshole, and a means to an end. Period.”
“I’m quite sure he’ll be relieved to hear that,” Tim said with an undecipherable expression on his face. “Clarence, will you make sure to tell him what his daughter said?”
Clarence sat silently, and then genuflected.
“Making the sign of the cross won’t save you,” Tim said. “Speak now, or I shall.”
I was ready to puke. I didn’t understand what the heck the holdup was.
“Give me his name,” I said. “Tell me where he is. I won’t let him know how I found out. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Oh, the irony,” Tim said with a chuckle as the Archangel’s body tensed in fury.
“Shut up!” Clarence roared at Tim then turned his angry gaze on me. “I’m your father.”
The next few moments defined the term deafening silence.
The looks exchanged between the Immortals were ones of shock and confusion. Gideon was ready to strangle the Angel.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shouted, standing up and not caring that Gram heard me drop an F-bomb. “Are we in a Star Wars movie? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
Clarence closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s not a joke. I am your father.”
I heard a thud and turned to see that Gram had passed out. I had no clue until now that a ghost could do that.
“Help her,” I directed Candy, who hopped to her feet then sat down on the floor next to Gram. “I’m processing a whole lot of shit right now. The words disgusted and horrified come to mind, as well as hatred and revulsion. You have known me my entire life. My entire fucking life.”
“I have,” he said, staring at me. “It was for your own good.”
“My own good?” I snarled. “That’s certainly big of you, John Travolta. Thanks for that, you no-good son of a bitch.”
“There is much you don’t know,” he said.
“Enlighten me,” I replied.
The man who claimed to be my father said nothing.
“I’m talking to you,” I snapped.
“And I hear you,” he replied.
“Then answer me.”
Again, he was silent.
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to destroy him. Why hadn’t he wanted me? What was so wrong with me that he’d been around me my whole life and never acknowledged me?
My mother had preferred death to me, and my father hadn’t wanted me. It was entirely too much to take in.
So, I didn’t. I shut that part down. I’d turned out fine without a mother or a father. I’d had Gram, who had loved me enough for a hundred mothers and fathers. I didn’t need a father. I didn’t want one.
“Your explanation doesn’t matter,” I said flatly. He wasn’t even worthy of my hatred. “You mean nothing to me. All I want from you is to touch me when I go into Steve’s mind and share his death memories with the others.”
“He is bound by honor and blood to obey your request,” Charlie said, still shocked by the revelation.
“Correct,” Heather said, coming to my side and placing her hand on my shoulder. “As the Arbitrator, I consent to the request of the daughter of the Archangel Michael. He is bound by the principles of virtue and goodness to aid in the case against the Angel of Mercy.”
“His noncompliance shall result in punishment.” Gideon stared daggers at Clarence. “By me.”
“And me,” Karma added, sounding delighted by the prospect.
“Your reply?” Charlie demanded of Clarence.
“As you wish,” Clarence said with his gaze pinned on me.
I nodded jerkily at him and held on to my composure only by a thread.
“When shall we begin?” Tim asked, joining Heather at my side.
“Now,” Gideon said. “I don’t trust him to keep his word.”
“My word is good,” Clarence growled.
“Then what’s the problem?” Gideon shot back.
“There is no problem,” he said, sounding old and tired.
“Where is Steve?” Charlie asked.
“Upstairs,”
I whispered, light-headed and terrified.
Without another word, everyone stood and made their way to the stairs. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. This is what I had been fighting for and now that it was here, I was almost paralyzed.
Gideon and I were the last to leave the kitchen.
“Remember two things, Daisy,” Gideon said as his eyes still blazed red. “One, I love you.”
“And two?” I asked.
“The barrier between worlds may be thin, but not all that lies behind it is savage. We will win. Are you ready?” Gideon whispered.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I am.”
Taking his hand in mine, I slowly led him out of the kitchen and into the violent storm that awaited us.
Chapter Two
My mind raced. My thoughts were chaotic. Finding out that the man who I had secretly pretended was my father actually was my father was mind-blowing—and not in a good way. The sorry truth that he didn’t want me was devastating. My childhood dreams had been smashed with a few words.
I now knew how Luke Skywalker felt—gypped and pissed. Only problem was, Luke was fictional.
I was not.
With each step up the stairs, my brain continued to roar with a hurricane of messy and disorganized thoughts—feelings of rage, sadness and inadequacy. But there was no time to focus on myself and my newfound crappy family member. Clarence Smith and I were not headed for a father-daughter happily ever after.
I had a mission and a goal that far outweighed my daddy issues. However, my mind had its own agenda, with no plans of putting on the brakes anytime soon.
I’d lived without the knowledge of my father for forty years. I’d turned out relatively fine depending on with whom you spoke. I’d simply pretend John Travolta—my Immortal Angel sperm donor—didn’t exist.
Good luck to me.
“Slow the heck down,” I muttered.
Gideon glanced at me in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Whoops, not talking to you,” I told him with a weak smile.
“Who are you talking to?” he asked, looking around for ghosts.
“The voices inside my head,” I explained to a blank-faced Gideon. “I mean, not really,” I added quickly, so he didn’t think I was nuttier than I truly was. “My brain. It’s on nonstop mode right now.”
“Got it,” he said with a nod. “That was a lot to take in.”
“Understatement,” I replied.
I was torn between wanting to hate John Travolta and wanting to make him love me. Both reactions were irrational and irrelevant. What mattered was that the time had come to right the wrong that had been done to Steve.
Clarissa, the Angel of Mercy—an oxymoron if I’d ever heard one—would not get away with trying to destroy me by hurting those I loved. I didn’t care if my sperm donor was more concerned with Clarissa’s fate than justice. John Travolta the Archangel was my father, but not in any of the ways that counted.
Still, I had so many questions.
“How in the hell does someone with little swimmers that are older than dirt even make a baby with a human?”
Gideon’s chuckle stopped my forward motion.
Sighing, I closed my eyes. “Shit. I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he replied with a grin. “And to answer your question… the old-fashioned way.”
“So, Clarence banged my mom?”
“Apparently.”
For a second, I felt like a teenager and wanted to scream “gross”. I sucked it back and winced instead. “I thought it was rare that an Immortal and a human could produce a child.”
“Rare doesn’t mean impossible,” Gideon pointed out.
“Can an Immortal make a baby with another Immortal?” I asked.
“Again, rare. Again, not impossible,” he replied, eyeing me with curiosity.
“Not asking for me,” I quickly said. “That train has passed and I’m not exactly Immortal.”
Gideon glanced down and bit back a laugh. “So, you were asking for a friend?”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
Open mouth, insert foot should be my nickname. I owned it and had worn it embarrassingly well as of late.
I mulled over the new information and pushed every other question I had to the back of my brain. My focus had to be laser-sharp.
My priority was Steve and making sure he went into the light. Living through his death was going to suck, but if it freed him from the state he was in now, I would do it a million times.
I’d deal with the fact I was a hybrid Angel later—or possibly never. I had thought being a middle-aged human widow was complicated. What a joke. If the Angels were all like Clarence and Clarissa, I wanted nothing to do with that part of my heritage.
“Daisy, let everything go except the path directly in front of you,” Gideon instructed.
“Impossible,” I replied without thinking.
“Nothing is impossible if you believe,” he shot back, repeating something I’d heard far too often lately.
“From your mouth to God’s…” I began, and then zipped my lip when I mentally reminded myself that I was talking to someone who lived in Hell. However, the one from Hell was far more trustworthy than those I’d met from Heaven.
I gripped Gideon’s hand like a vise. “What if Steve…?”
“No what-ifs,” Gideon said, his gaze steady and his voice calm. “I don’t believe it was a suicide. Period.”
“Right,” I said. “No what-ifs.”
Part of me was terrified Steve’s accident hadn’t been an accident. He couldn’t remember it. If it turned out that the crash had been by choice, my best friend was destined for the darkness and I was about to expedite the trip.
The possible outcome made my stomach churn. I’d been to the darkness, and I wasn’t planning a visit anytime soon. I was sure I’d only scratched the surface. The bizarre fact that my hand was clasped in the warm embrace of the Grim Reaper further convoluted my thinking.
I was learning quickly that the good were not so good and the bad were not all evil. The world was full of murky shades of gray. Gray was not my color.
The ruckus in the upstairs hallway pulled me out of my introspective thoughts.
“What’s going on up there?” Gideon growled as he picked up his pace.
What the hell was going on up there? Had Clarence decided not to help and all hell had broken loose? The man said his word was good…
Racing to the top of the stairs, I stopped dead in my tracks—pun intended. I gasped and wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or scream.
Quickly ducking and pulling Gideon down with me, we narrowly missed getting nailed by a detached flying ghost head. Of course, yanking Gideon to safety was unnecessary as the head would have gone right through him. But me? I could have gotten a lovely black eye or broken nose. Being the Death Counselor meant the ghosts were corporeal to me… and only me.
“What in the ever-lovin’ hell?” I shouted over the howling wind, shielding my eyes from the strong gusts and the thirty or so ghosts going nuts.
“Insane,” Candy Vargo yelled with a grin and a thumbs up.
Karma was correct. I grinned back at Candy and shook my head.
It was par for the course. My life had been spinning out of control for a while now. Why anything shocked me anymore was almost comical in a very unfunny way. I was a widowed forty-year-old who had a large posse of deceased roommates. I glued body parts back on with superglue and I could mind dive into the dead and figure out what problem they needed solved to move on. On top of that bit of bizarre news, my departed husband had shown back up to apologize for being gay and I was becoming the Hulk with superpowers.
However, what I was seeing right now took the cake.
The upstairs hallway was reminiscent of a big-budget horror film with seriously bad B actors. If I had to name the film, I’d have to go with Drunk Circus of the Dead. My dogs, Donna the Destroyer and K
aren the Chair Eater, sat in front of the closed bedroom door and growled menacingly at the Immortals, who had pressed themselves against the wall in alarm. The dogs were enough to give anyone pause, especially since Donna was a Hell Hound.
But the ghosts had lost their damn minds.
My squatters were completely out of control, and I’d never been so proud in my life. The transparent brigade—led by Birdie, Gram and her new dead beau, Jimmy Joe Johnson—were gunning for Clarence.
I was fully aware they couldn’t harm him, but they could cause a good amount of trouble—not to mention nightmares. Most of my expired guests were not in great shape. The longer they’d been dead, the greater the decomposition of their bodies. The flying appendages were a nice and macabre touch. Several heads rolled down the hallway and tumbled down the stairs, hitting every step with a thud. Arms and legs littered the floor. Putting my ghosts back together would be a shitshow, but the expression of horror on Clarence’s face made the fact that I’d have to order more superglue worth it.
“Holy crap,” I muttered, swallowing back an extremely inappropriate laugh as the headless Birdie shoved her detached cranium into the face of an appalled Clarence.
I figured Birdie had retrieved her head from the refrigerator during the reception after Gram’s funeral. The crazy ghost loved to hide her body parts all over the house to freak me out. When I’d found her head in the fridge, I left it there. Her idea of a joke was gag-inducing. Of course, I planned to glue it back on after she’d learned her lesson, but I was thrilled she’d pilfered it. Clarence looked positively green.
“Call them off,” my father hissed.
“They can’t hurt you,” I yelled with a wide smile. I ducked as a few unattached legs flew past my head.
I wasn’t going to stop them because John Travolta had demanded I do so. I was going to stop them because I wasn’t sure I had enough superglue to glue them all back together. The longer the flying dead freak show went on, the more body parts fell off of my squatters.
“Enough,” I shouted over the melee. “While I appreciate the sentiment, the reality is not so hot—although, you guys get ten points for disgusting creativity.”
A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel : Good To The Last Death Book Three Page 2