Winged Passion, page 6
part #3 of Heaven's Heart Series
Trick was not jealous that Sylvester had found his one and only.
Plus, Trick had thought they were friends, but the debrief Sylvester had given Trick had missed the fact that Mr. Daemon—CEO of the Three Circles Recruitment Agency—was a fucking god.
“A god?” Seraphina’s clear voice rang out. “I thought there were only a handful left.”
“More than you’d think, less than you’d credit,” Mr. Daemon said.
“That’s a non-answer if ever I’ve heard one.”
The former Murmur demon tilted his head to one side. “I was once a god, once a Great Duke to Lucifer, and now the CEO of a demon recruitment agency. Is that enough information for you?”
“But gods aren’t allowed to run those,” Seraphina said.
And it was true.
A deal had been struck between the three Hell-lords—demons needed access to humans, but humans were supposedly protected by Heaven. Seven agencies were established to enable demons to infiltrate human society in secret, where they could act on their baser urges discreetly. However, they had to pass the agencies’ tests to see if they were suitable for resettlement, or work in another circle of Hell.
As the position of CEO came with a significant amount of power, no god was allowed to fill the role. The Great Culling had resulted in the majority of ancient deities being deposed and killed—both Heaven and Hell liked it that way. So, there was no way a god should have been able to rise to CEO.
“I gave up my godhood to take on the role. But I almost died recently, and that broke the chain on my power. I don’t have to give it up a second time.” The grin on the god’s face was wolfish.
“How can you be a demon and a god?” Trick asked.
“How can you be a jerk and a douche?” Sylvester muttered.
Mr. Daemon raised an eyebrow. “One parent was a Murmur, one parent was a primordial deity.”
Trick kept his expression neutral, but inside, he simmered. He’d considered Sylvester a friend, as much as a person could in a den of assassins. But now, both he and Dru had shown that Trick wasn’t as valued in their opinions. Dru, he could understand. But Sylvester?
“I would have charged you more, had I known,” he muttered. And he’d already charged the demon a fortune. “Anyway, Mr. Daemon, we’re here to ask you some questions as a former Great Duke.”
Seraphina mouthed ‘Mr. Daemon’ incredulously.
Yeah, it’s not the best pseudonym.
The god must have caught Seraphina’s expression. “Call me Laird.”
“Laird? As in Lord?” Trick asked.
“As in Lord.”
Hrm. A number of gods had ‘lord’ in their names. Lord of the Mountain, Lord of the Earth, Great Lord... Hell, the angels’ man-up-in-the-sky liked to be called that.
But Mr. Daemon did not strike him as an Indian deity, nor a Gaelic one, nor a Mesopotamian one...he didn’t have their power signature, for starters.
His magic didn’t remind Trick of Hades, so he ruled out Greek out, along with Roman...
Levantine? Or maybe Persian...definitely not Egyptian...
“I can see you thinking,” Sylvester said.
“There are a lot of gods to sort through.”
“You are trying to work out his god-name now?”
“When else would I do it?” he muttered.
“Back when you had access to a library?” Seraphina suggested.
Which, sure, was logical, but he kept information stored in his brain like it was a library anyway.
“I can feel his power right now, which makes working this out easier,” Trick said. “And I’ve met gods of varying religions before. I assume he picked ‘Laird’ because it’s a loose translation of his actual name. The fact he picked a Scottish word is deliberately done as a red herring. He isn’t a Gaelic god. So, I can rule that out. While a lot of Hindu gods have ‘lord’ in their title, he isn’t of the Indian subcontinent. He could be Norse, but they have a particular feel to them—they’re salty. Briny. He’s not of the Asian continent, either. Their gods tended to have the appearance of their people. And I’ve met an Asian deity before.”
Asha Himm, Hades’ personal assistant, was a demi-goddess at the very least. Not that Trick let on he knew; she was trying to keep it a secret. Said she was a cambion, of all things.
“So that leaves the Americas, the Pacific, the Near East, and Africa. But again, I think I can narrow it down to the Near East. For some reason, those deities managed to survive the Great Culling more than others.”
“Cut to the chase, Boss.” Sylvester sighed.
“Baal. You were Baal.” As soon as he said the name, it fit.
Both of Laird’s eyebrows rose, and then he barked out a laugh. “For centuries, no one even suspected. And yet you guess right in a matter of minutes.”
“It wasn’t a guess.”
He collected information for a reason.
“God of Thunder?” Seraphina asked.
“Storms,” Baal—Laird—corrected. “And fertility.”
He used to spend time in the Underworld.
The fact he was half-Murmur made a Hell of a lot of sense now. The time he was down in Hell meant he was away from the Human Realm and its denizens. It—
“Now you have sorted out my god-name, what do you want to know about my time as a Great Duke? It was more honorific before the Culling, more practical after.”
“We need to know about Amenonuhoko.”
“The Heavenly Jeweled Spear?” Laird asked.
“You’ve heard of it?” Seraphina asked.
“It was one of Lucifer’s most prized possessions. Why?”
“We’ve been asked to retrieve it.”
Laird’s eyes narrowed. “I am not going to help you steal from Lucifer. He may not be my liege anymore, but I am not about to cross him, either.”
“We just need to know where it is.”
The god shook his head. “I haven’t been a member of Lucifer’s household for a thousand years. The last time I saw it, it was at the Tower of Tortures, but he moves his artifacts around a lot. He likes to travel his kingdom, never spending too long in one place, even his stronghold.”
“Can you tell us the locations of his other houses?” Trick asked.
“The information is a millennium out of date.”
“Better that than nothing.”
“It will cost you.”
“I have money.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking cash.” The god flicked his glaze to Sylvester, then back to Trick.
“I am open to negotiating.”
I have no choice.
Thanks a lot, Hades.
Chapter 12
Seraphina’s cellphone was ringing when she returned to her rooms. Trick had dropped her off before heading to his office to start negotiating with the god. She didn’t mind that he was excluding her from that; the Halcyon Guild was Trick’s business, not hers.
She picked up her phone as the call went to message bank. With a frown, she saw that whoever it was hadn’t left a voicemail, but had rung several times already.
She sighed as she called the number back.
“It’s about time you returned my call.” The speaker sounded annoyed, their voice crackled with age.
“Dora?” Seraphina asked.
“The one and only.”
“This isn’t your normal number.”
“No, it’s a burner phone.”
“Why are you using one of those?”
“You’re in Hell. I don’t want people tracking our communications. Witches are meant to be neutral.”
“You mean they’re meant to work for the highest bidder.”
“Exactly. Neutral. We go where the money is; we don’t care if it comes from angelic, demonic or human hands.”
Seraphina laughed.
At least the Crone was honest.
“Why are you calling me?” she asked. “Didn’t the payment for the lipstick go through?”
That little tube had cost more than her Jimmy Choos.
“Sure did.”
“Then why chase me?”
“A little birdie told me you’re on the hunt for a magical artifact.”
Shock sizzled through her. “How did you hear that?”
“I am not the Crone of Crones just because I look the part.”
“Why call me if you know so much?”
“You have money, and I have information. I like to make money, and I am sure you like intel.”
Could she trust the tiny human?
Sure, they had successfully done business together a number of times now—and Seraphina had an internal lie-detector. But witches, she’d learned, were sneaky.
Go with your gut.
And her gut said to pay Dora a visit.
“Okay. Let’s meet. But if you’re selling me bogus info, you will have to refund me. And I’ll leave a bad review online.”
“You’re harsh, angelcakes.”
Angelcakes?
It was so close to Hades’ fake endearment that she could guess the identity of the Crone’s ‘little birdie’.
“I can one-star you all day, if I need to. When do you want to meet?”
“Now is a good time. Oh, and one thing...”
Seraphina was already digging through her bag, checking to see if she’d packed a Devilsgate spell. She could ask Trick to teleport her there, but he was busy, and she wanted to keep Dora as an ace up her sleeve.
He took you with him. He shared.
She wasn’t about to play fair with a demon. If this panned out, she’d tell him, then. She wasn’t as trusting as she’d once been.
“What?” Seraphina asked, when Dora didn’t elaborate.
“My granddaughter doesn’t believe in magic. So, keep the angels and demon talk to a minimum, capiche?”
There it is! She grabbed the spell, and another two daggers.
Then Dora’s words registered. How could the granddaughter of the most powerful witch in all the Americas not believe in magic?
“Capiche.”
*
The Cat on a Broomstick had a little back room that Seraphina had never seen before. It was a stark contrast to the front of the store: this space had little clutter, and contained a sofa, table, chairs, and refrigerator. Not a single shelf or jar of suspicious-looking powder was in sight.
“I thought I said to keep the angel crap to a minimum?” Dora grumped, stomping into the room.
“I haven’t said anything.” Seraphina held up her hands. And she couldn’t help being an angel, fallen or not.
“You used a Devilsgate to get here.”
“I did it in the back alley.” She’d figured that was less likely to be seen by humans. Or Dora’s granddaughter.
“She was just taking the trash out. She could have spotted you.”
“But she didn’t. So, it’s fine.”
The old woman glared, her eyes pools of darkness in the electric light. Power clung to the Dora’s skin, like she had given up trying to hide it from her. Could other people sense it?
“Why doesn’t she know, anyway?” Seraphina asked, taking a seat on the cream-colored sofa.
“We tried to show her when she was younger, but she didn’t believe it. She has no active magic of her own. Witch magic isn’t all sparkly lights and glittering spells, like with demons. It’s subtler. So, she thought we were making it up.” The Crone limped over to sit next to Seraphina on the sofa. “After a while, she convinced herself the stories we told her were just make-believe, and that the shop is just catering to pagan humans who are delusional about the world.”
Seraphina winced in sympathy. “But if she saw our magic...”
“Then she would probably have a seizure. She appears to be fundamentally incapable of believing in what she can’t see or do herself. And I don’t want to force it on her. The majority of humans have no idea that demons and angels exist, so the family decided to let her be like them.”
“But you used her back at the mansion, for Z. Or was that another granddaughter?”
Dora had done some astounding healing magic back at Raze’s, when they’d first found Z. But she’d needed more magic than her body could contain by itself. As a result of that encounter, Seraphina had been forced to accept that some humans were powers to be reckoned with, rather than just ignored.
“It was the same granddaughter. She’s a conduit. I just told her to go and meditate somewhere and be ‘open’. She thinks I’m nuts when I ask for her to do it, but I say it helps convince clients that we’re actually doing the job. She doesn’t argue about money.”
“She thinks you’re a charlatan.”
“Yes.”
“That’s got to hurt.”
A shrug. “I’ve grown used to it.”
“So, what’s this information I need to know?”
“Don’t want to negotiate the price first?”
“I can’t tell how valuable it is until I hear what you have to say.”
The Crone sighed. “Fine. You’re looking for the Heavenly Jeweled Spear. It was stolen from its last owner by Lucifer.”
“I know all that.”
“But did you know that he put a spell on it by which only a true fallen angel can take it from its case?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it looks like?” Dora smirked.
“No.”
“That’s where I can help you. Well, sort of. My granddaughter can fill in those blanks.”
“But you said she doesn’t believe in magic.”
“She doesn’t. But she’s an archaeologist, and she’ll be able to help us.”
“I thought she worked here.”
“On weekends, to help out her poor old gran.” Dora flashed a toothy smile.
“Because you’re so feeble,” Seraphina murmured.
“Delicate as a flower,” Dora agreed, chuckling.
Chapter 13
Seraphina watched as Dora whipped out her phone and punched the surface a few times with her index finger. Soon after, the door opened, and a pretty redheaded woman poked her head inside the small back room.
“Gran? Do you need anything?” Keen green eyes surveyed the area, landing on Seraphina with caution.
“Rowan, please come in.”
“No one will be out front, then.” The woman stood halfway in the doorway and glanced almost longingly over her shoulder.
“Your cousin will be here any second. Ah, there he is.” Dora smiled as a bell chimed in the store.
Rowan peered back into the shop, then nodded. She closed the door behind her with a sigh. “What do you need me for, Gran?”
The human—witch—was tall and lithe, with skin the classic pearl-white of a redhead. Her jeans and green tank spoke of a practical nature, but she had tiny little beaded pins in her hair. Purely decorative.
Layered, this human is layered.
And apparently close-minded.
“I have a client here who would like to know more about an ancient artifact,” Dora said slowly.
Rowan’s jade eyes narrowed. “What kind of artifact? You know I don’t want to have anything to do with the antiquities market. It’s corrupt, and it’s destroying archaeological sites quicker than I burn in the sun.”
“It’s not for sale on any antiquities market,” the Crone said.
That we know about.
She should research that. The information could very well have an asking price in Hell, especially if Hades had more than one team on the job.
“Oh.” Rowan eyed Seraphina suspiciously.
Is it because I look corrupt?
Hell couldn’t have affected her so quickly. She’d only been there a matter of hours. But she had been in the Human World for almost seven months. It had changed her somewhat, that she could readily admit.
Rowan walked toward them, then leaned down and whispered in the Crone’s ear. “Your rich clients always want something they can’t have.”
Lucky Seraphina’s hearing was much, much better than any human’s—or witch’s.
At least the human didn’t trust her because she was rich, not for any other reason. If I deteriorate too much more, the archangels won’t accept me back, no matter if we find all three pieces of the Heart.
And she had to get back into Heaven.
It was where she belonged, no matter that her name was worth less than mud right now.
I will repair the damage that Paschar did.
“Seraphina here just wants information,” Dora said, drawing her away from her spiraling thoughts.
“I am after an accurate description or image of an artifact known as the Amenonuhoko.” Or the HJS, as Trick called it.
She fought back a smile.
He really did make her want to laugh, and there was nothing wrong with honest laughter; the Lord knew, she needed it.
“It sounds Japanese,” Rowan said, straightening. She strode over to the small table, grabbed a chair and sat down. “My specialty is Egyptian archaeology, specifically, the Old Kingdom. I only have a passing familiarity with East Asian history.”
“You have access to books, though,” Dora said. “And other archaeologists.”
“I guess I could ask some of my colleagues at the university.” Rowan nibbled on her lip as she thought, but didn’t sound enthusiastic at the idea.
You don’t need enthusiasm. You just need action.
Funny, how that mental voice sounded so much like Dina.
There’s a black-winged angel in Hell.
Could it be her?
It has to be. Unless there are more fallen angels than the archangels admitted. There was Lucifer himself, Paschar’s brother—Cassiel, Florian, Muriel...she counted up to two dozen that she was aware of.
It could be anyone of them.
But we lose our wings when we fall.
The only two that hadn’t were Z and Dina, because technically they hadn’t fallen.
Rowan withdrew her phone from her jeans pocket and typed madly on the screen. Then she read, “Otherwise known as the Heavenly Jeweled Spear, it was used to create the primordial land-mass Onogoro-shima. It is sacred to the Shinto religion.” She looked up at them. “This is a legend. An origin story. It’s not a real artifact.”
