Winged Passion, page 8
part #3 of Heaven's Heart Series
“Oh, that. He needs to build a bridge.”
“Why? Can you construct a bridge between the realms?”
“What? No. So he can get over it.”
“Get over what?”
“Being angry.”
“I don’t understand how construction work will stop Yael being mad at me.”
“It’s metaphorical.”
“Oh, I see. I hadn’t heard that expression before.”
I’m going to have to speak in simple language, he thought. At least for the next week or so. After that, they wouldn’t be spending much time together, so it wouldn’t matter.
“What did he say?” he asked.
“He said ‘suck my dick’.”
“He what?” Trick leaned over and grabbed Seraphina’s phone.
“Hey!” But she didn’t snatch it back.
The messages read: WHAT DOES AN EGGPLANT PICTURE, FOLLOWED BY A SMILING FACE POKING ITS TONGUE OUT MEAN?
It was followed simply by: SUCK MY DICK.
“I think that’s the translation, not him being annoyed.”
The contact in her phone had the name ‘Yael’, but the picture was that of a handsome cartoon character with jet black hair and pale blue eyes. Some popular culture thing. He would have to start watching more TV. With a quiet sigh, he handed Seraphina her cell back. His list of tasks was never finished.
“But what does an eggplant have to do with it?” she asked, pocketing the cell.
“My guess is it’s a substitute for ‘dick’.”
“Right. But why an eggplant?”
“I don’t know. Google it.”
“I just saw you work out which deity a Murmur demon was, and you don’t know this?”
“Sugarpie, I don’t make money from emojis, but I do from knowing who I am working with. It’s called priorities.”
“Sugarpie?”
“You’re right. It doesn’t fit.” He shook his head sadly. “You’re much too salty for that.”
“Salty?”
He swore he could almost see steam pouring from her ears.
Trick turned back to his laptop. “So why were you at the Broomstick?”
“I’ll tell you all about it if you tell me what your email says.” Her lips flattened when he just stared at her. “Please.”
“There! You’re learning already. And who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”
“Are you calling me a dog?”
“Uh, no...” That was a bad idea. And he’d just decided he wouldn’t do metaphors anymore.
“Guys! The boss just called the angel a bitch!” Metcalf screamed across the hall and then everyone was talking loudly, some laughing, some wondering when Trick was going to get castrated.
Banging my head against a brick wall would be more productive.
Seraphina sniffed.
Taking pity on her—and perhaps feeling a smidgen of guilt—he turned the screen toward her. “Sylvester emailed me a list of Lucifer’s residences, and even included plans to five of the seven.”
“No,” the angel breathed, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Oh, yes.”
She smiled at him, the expression making his breath seize in his throat. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so beautiful before. “We might survive the week.”
He returned her expression, his sly. “We just might indeed.”
If he didn’t die of a heart attack first.
Chapter 16
Rowan Broome slammed her book shut with a sigh and rubbed her eyes. Her glass coffee table was scattered with volumes, the sheer number of red, green and blue tomes a testament to her speed-reading abilities. She’d rain-checked with her boyfriend Eric to spend time researching Japanese mythology, so that her Gran could coax her rich client into parting with her cash. Not the way she’d planned to spend her weekend.
Why did I let her talk me into this?
Because you’re a soft touch, that’s why. And you’re an enabler.
Rowan’s whole family was insane. Each and every one of them. They’d all swallowed Gran’s nonsense that magic was real, and that she was some super-powerful Crone chosen by a council of equally deluded witches. And they treated Rowan like she was the mentally unstable one, because she didn’t believe them.
The worst thing? She let them do it, because she loved them.
So much so that it was now three in the morning, and she was rifling through her third library-book haul. She’d even spent a few hours searching journals online and reading some conspiracy theory websites, which had really just hurt her head and made her angry.
Aliens did not build the pyramids. God is not real. Curses can be explained.
Of course, her task would be much easier if she read Japanese.
Dr. Yamamoto had been as helpful as he could be at two on a Saturday afternoon, but he’d only read of the spear in passing. It was a legend, although he had spent a good fifteen minutes postulating which of Japan’s numerous islands was the location for the sacred Onogoro-shima, the landmass that had supposedly been raised by the spear.
I wasn’t asked to find an island.
That said, all of this research had made her want to read a bit further into the history of Japan. But that could wait. For now, she was just looking for references solely related to the description of the spear. So far, she had four photographs of paintings that she thought were reliable images of it. The majority of sources stated that the spear was a naginata, which was more like a pole weapon: a staff tipped with a wicked-looking blade.
You just want a replica. Not the real thing.
She was still leery of Gran’s client, no matter that the woman was supposedly tracing the artifact for its real owners. Individuals shouldn’t own artifacts, anyway. They belong to the people, to the world. But even Rowan could acknowledge there weren’t enough museums to house all the artifacts in the world.
So, if she really was hunting down a stolen relic...
There was something almost...inhuman about the beautiful woman. In fact, Rowan didn’t think she’d ever seen someone so attractive in all her life. Not even in the movies, or on TV. It was like she had been cast from a mold—from her perfectly spaced eyes, to her sharp cheekbones and her delicate jawline, she was physical perfection.
I wish I was even half as attractive.
And there it was. The little green monster she’d spent her entire life trying to exorcise. Jealously did no one any favors, and she shouldn’t envy things that were completely out of her control. She looked how she looked—gangly limbs, fiery red hair, and freckles. So what, that she wasn’t a classic beauty? She had her brain, and focus, and drive.
Rowan could achieve almost anything she wanted to.
Actually, I have seen people as attractive, she thought, picking up the next book. Back at the mansion where the client lived. Rowan had driven her gran there a few weeks ago so she could do some ‘magic’. More like smoke bombs and hand-waving. There had been two other men there, both so handsome it had almost hurt her physically to see them.
And one of them had touched her.
Rubbing her left hand absently over her bicep, she sighed. Her arm had ached for a week after that. Not from a bruise or anything she could see, but something beneath the skin. It wasn’t an injury; the guy hadn’t even grabbed her too hard, just firmly. And she’d understood later why he’d manhandled her—he’d thought she’d been sent to spy on his house so it could be robbed. When you were as rich as they were, she could understand the fear of being burgled.
Maybe it hurt because your conscious was twinging. Because, for a moment, a brief flare of time, she’d totally forgotten she had a boyfriend she loved. She’d been so gobsmacked by the hazel-eyed man’s beauty that she’d almost asked him out for a coffee, just so she could stare at him some more.
Reality had returned quick-smart, as had embarrassment and shame.
I am not a cheater.
Not that the guy would be interested in someone like her, anyway. He’d seemed more of a rough-and-tumble kind of man, and she was bookish and nerdy.
You love Eric.
Yes, she did. And one day, she’d marry him and maybe even have a kid or two with him. That’s if she got tenure.
Her phone buzzed. It was Eric.
YOU UP?
YEP.
U SHOULD GO TO BED.
I WILL SOON. JUST FINISHING THIS JOB OFF FOR GRAN. WHY ARE YOU AWAKE?
WOKE UP & THOUGHT OF U. DON’T STAY UP MUCH LONGER.
I WON’T. LOVE YOU.
U 2. NITE.
She put her phone back on the table, a small smile on her lips, her heart full. Eric was everything she’d never known she’d needed: smart, sarcastic and funny. And another redhead.
Our future kids are doomed.
It was three-thirty now and she really needed some sleep.
One more book.
Pulling one toward her, she read its title: A Catalogue of the Private Collection of Luke M. Starre. Huh. How’d this end up in her pile? She must have grabbed it at random. Flicking through the pictures, she frowned at the photographs of delicate Ming vases, ushapti statues, canopic jars, and even sarcophagi of varying cultures.
Most of these would have come from the black market. Egypt, especially, did not sell its antiquities.
Then she froze as her fingers grazed a photograph of something that looked horribly like a naginata.
Frantically, her gaze raced toward the caption: Purported replica of the Amenonuhoko. There, in bold color, was a picture of a bladed staff, complete with a ring of delicate gemstones where wood met steel.
Surprise made her fingers clench on the book.
She’d found it.
Now, who is this Luke M. Starre?
Chapter 17
Five days left.
And, of course, Lucifer had seven strongholds scattered over Hell and the Human Realm. He couldn’t have just one or two, Seraphina thought. He had to have seven. She ran her fingertips over the printed plans, flicking her eyes over the other papers. Her small desk could barely fit a third of the drawings. The rest were spread over her narrow bed.
Studying the plans of five of the residences made her head hurt. So much to memorize. She’d done it, but now her mind brimmed with hidden passageways and turrets, panic rooms and halls that she may never see in person. And who was to say that the layout was the same now as when the houses had been constructed? Laird had only been able to produce these plans from memory and hearsay.
“Want to come and hang out in my quarters?” Trick’s voice broke through her concentration. He stood with one arm up against the door jamb, half-hanging into the room, and too handsome for his own good.
Too handsome for her good.
Her mind went blank for a moment, and her lips burned. “Uh, no.”
“Not for that.” He almost looked offended. At her refusal, or that she’d thought that’s what he had meant?
She frowned. You’re the one who branded me on the lips.
“What’s so much better about your rooms than mine?” She waved a hand around the small chamber. She still had room to put things on the floor, if she needed it.
“One: space. And two: I have a cool spell that allows plans to be turned into three-dimensional models.”
“Can’t we do it here?”
“Too small.”
“But I’ve already memorized them.”
“Then you can help me do the same.”
With a sigh, Seraphina stood and followed Trick out the door. They weaved through numerous corridors, passing a strange assortment of demons. Her time in the mess hall earlier had been illuminating, although her fingers had itched for her blades. Foraci demons were will-benders, akin to Murmur demons. And Radiato demons were so rare and deadly that they had a capture-on-sight standing order. And the imp had just oozed evil.
They are your comrades now.
Seraphina wanted to argue that, but she couldn’t. She was a blood slave, and likely so were they. She might be forced into working with them on missions. She didn’t want a blade in her back, so she had to get along with them, and she didn’t want to cause the death of someone she was working with, either.
They are but pawns, as well.
Yes, but would her superior officers back in Heaven be so understanding?
Paschar would kill them. She almost snorted at that thought. Actually, Paschar wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty. He’d never wanted to spend time with her after a day’s guard work, not unless she had already bathed and was neat and tidy.
He’s not your problem anymore.
Too bad her heart hurt whenever she thought of him. All those wasted years.
Trick’s rooms were located down a series of hallways close to the throne hall. She fought to keep her jaw from dropping at the sight of them. The place was like a small apartment all of its own, with living area, kitchenette, and doorways leading to other rooms, which she presumed included a bedroom and bathroom. But the living area was clean and elegant, except for the miscellaneous piles of magical items and technology scattered throughout. A series of red-gold paintings hung on the stark white walls, the splashes of color abstract in their detail, but beautiful, nonetheless.
“Where’s this spell of yours?” Seraphina asked.
Trick closed the door behind her, then cleared the coffee table of everything except a small golden-flecked crystal. “This cost me a small fortune, but so worth it.”
He rotated the crystal three times clockwise, twice counter-clockwise, and once clockwise.
She memorized the movements. “It doesn’t turn on with an incantation?”
“No. The creator wanted it so that anyone could use it, regardless of language.” He flicked her a mischievous glance. “Then again, it wasn’t originally designed for enlarging blueprints of houses. But I like to consider myself an ideas man.”
“So humble.”
“Humility will get you killed.”
Trick ran the crystal over a plan he’d unrolled, and a holographic image of the blueprint beamed into the air above the table. The three-dimensional map glittered with golden flecks. It’s beautiful. And very detailed. Trick held a hand up to the image; with a swipe of his palm, the plan rotated.
She let out a low whistle. This was impressive. She’d never seen its like before.
Gabriel would have loved this.
Her former master was responsible for Heaven’s security. He was also in charge of reconnaissance missions. This would have made things far easier for his scouts—of which she had been one.
“You look sad,” Trick said suddenly, the plan glowing in the air between them.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“Does the brand tell you that, too?”
“No, I’m just really good at reading body language.”
Truth.
Although, whether or not it was a truth she could trust, she didn’t know. Everything about Trick screamed a lie, even though his words had always appeared to be honest.
“So, why are you sad?”
“I am a blood slave.”
“Nope, not buying it. You chose this.”
She sighed. It was unfortunate that he was intelligent. “I was reminiscing about Heaven.”
He flicked her a sharp glance. “Which bit?”
“I was thinking about how the archangel Gabriel would have loved a tool like this. I used to be in service to him.”
“I thought you were one of the guards for Heaven’s Heart.”
Surprise flooded her, followed by wry amusement. Of course he would know that. Trick seemed to know all the important gossip. Except how to interpret emojis. That little oversight made him more appealing, however.
“I guarded the Heart for the past fifty years. Before that I was a scout.”
“You must have been fast.”
“One of the very fastest.”
An emotion almost like pity darkened the warm brown of his eyes. Resentment welled within her in response.
“I do not mourn my wings.” And that was true. To grieve their loss acknowledged that she may never fly again. “I will earn them back.”
“Ahhh. They gave you an impossible task and somehow you will achieve it.”
“Nothing is impossible.” She could not believe otherwise.
He gave her a sad smile. “Darling, if only that were true. The legends about fallen angels state that they are always given a way back into Heaven, but not one has ever achieved it. Even Lucifer was given a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“What was his task?” In Heaven, everyone focused on Lucifer’s fall—not his potential return.
Trick spun the model of the Hell-lord’s abode until it became a glimmering blur. “Give up the mantle of Hell-lord, beg for mercy on his knees, and save the soul of an impure.”
“What is an ‘impure’?” Perhaps that was something she could also ask Raze.
“That was never defined.”
“But the other conditions are obtainable. And he could learn the meaning of impure.”
“If you’ve ever met Lucifer, you’ll know that he would never relinquish power. It is not in his nature.” He stopped the spinning plan with a finger. “Lucifer would rather die than beg for anything.”
“How do you know that?”
Trick gave a negligent shrug. “I asked him.”
Chapter 18
Naturally, she is awe-inspiring even when she is shocked.
Surely there had been sonnets written to her beauty.
The worst part, though? Seraphina looked perfect in his rooms. And the glittering golden light between them didn’t help—it only served to highlight her physical perfection.
“You asked Lucifer about it?” Disbelief had widened her eyes and softened her mouth.
The urge to kiss her again sizzled through him, hard to resist.
But then annoyance washed through him. Now is not the time to make out with her. In fact, it will never be the right time again. He should never have done it. It would have been better to never know her taste, to never know the feel of her against him...
