1606010611-When-a-Good-Angel-Falls-Kougar.doc (19 page)

Sedona stilled. “You didn’t know that when we there, did you?”

“No. Not until we left town. That’s why the silent treatment,” he teased her gently. “So our words couldn’t be used to track us.”

“Not the cherubim male cave?”

“Cherubim protection, communing, investigating the etheric web.”

“Good job, we’re still on the run. Butch cherub and the Sundance elder,” she sang, and teased a bit.

“Sundance angel,” he male purred as if liked the taste of the name. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“What is Francesca, if cherubs are male?”

“Her father is cherub. Her mother is mermaid and human.”

“Swims well, does she?”

“I’m not answering that, my Sundance angel. Come on, it’s safer for us inside. Before the mischievous folk come out to torment, and the etheric spies gain more eyes.”

“Poet and don’t know it,” she automatically bantered as he turned her toward the door, just big enough for one. The rough wooden door opened.

Volcano entered first, drew her inside. Quaint and strange, there was a lovely hearth fire, a pot hanging over it. The simple furnishings were designed for smaller folk. Bunches of fragrant herbs hung from the rafters. Sedona adored it, sniffing the sage, lavender, rosemary and the other herbs she didn’t recognize.

Volcano brought her in farther, then summoned his cycle inside. “Not much room for us big folk.” He grinned, and let go of her hand.

“Looks good to me. Smells good. I could collapse in front of the fire. Get comfortable. Forget the terrors of the world for awhile.”

Stepping to the cycle, Volcano checked it over, then performed his repairs.

Her weariness, an irresistible force, Sedona sighed and walked to the comfy pile of blankets and pillows near the hearth. Inviting, the natural fabrics appeared handspun, and handwoven. She peeled off her motorcycle magical garments, placed them to the side. Sinking down, she draped a blanket cozily around her, snuggling up to the pillows. Enjoying the sensual relaxation, she drifted into slumber.

“Arf. Arf,” Jorque whispered as he materialized in dog form.

“Guard dog only,” Volcano fiercely whispered.

“Tell me Francesca’s secret fantasies and I’ll be a real good doggie.” He sat, and wagged his tail.

“Take her swimming. Nibble on her toes first. Nibble your way up, then nibble whatever she wants pleasured, up to her lips.” Volcano frowned a warning, then vanished.

Still wagging his tail, Jorque ambled close to the peat fire. He lay at the feet of Volcano’s angel woman, watched her sleep, and listened with his superior senses for any enemy intrusion. He doubted she would awaken soon. Volcano had slipped her deeply into a peaceful dreamland.

He smiled, thinking about how she’d dispatched the cycle riders, the drones. He’d whooped and hollered during the whole chase, up until the holo screen fizzed out, just as Zerr Dann had drawn down on the kill jet, then he’d had to mind-follow their progress.

* * * *

“Lucy in the sky without angels,” Zerr Dann greeted, sat on the red Naugahyde barstool, ripped on one side. He picked up the shot of Jack Daniels ‘Lucy’ slid over to him while a burning cigarette dangled between his fingers.

“Volcano spewing in the passage of an angel,” the silken voice changed to gravelly answered. “How’s your dad? Miss him.” Lucy dragged on his cigarette, blew out wispy serpents, adding to the yellowish nicotine saturation inside the decrepit
New York
bar.

“He’s in the big house doing clean-up duty for the boss. Speaks fondly of you, often. The road trip stories are my favorite.” Volcano tipped back a swallow.

“Yeah, good times. James Dean ridin’ on clouds.” Lucy coughed out a laugh. “Addictions,” he muttered, puffed again. He created DNA spirals from the smoke. “It’s gonna cost ya, young gun, want a meetin’ with your angel,” he added.

“Why?” Volcano tossed down the Jack Daniels. “You got a front row view of her soul.”

“Oh, not right away. Don’t get your pretty leather britches in a wad.” Lucy coughed loudly, stubbed out the cigarette. “Like her rebel spirit, want the radiance bathing me.”

“The real angel stuff, instead of fawning demons all day?” Volcano summoned up his favorite manna ale.

“Freedom, the starfires of freedom. Gotta have a whiff of it every now and then. This prison planet is hell.” He cackled a laugh at his own crude joke, choking laughed, and signaled the gruff bartender for a double scotch. “I’ll look all spiffy and bright for her. Pretend to steal her soul.”

Volcano smiled. “You handsome devil, you. Dad said the angel chicks couldn’t get enough of your wicked charm. When you turned all shining ‘bright’.”

“’Fraid she’ll throw herself at my light? Ruin your stud light for her?” Lucy taunted, drank his scotch like a derelict.

“No fear, son of Satan. She’s too carnal for your ‘divine light’ rutting.” Volcano indulged in a long swig of his ale. “But, tell you what, since it’s Christmas I’ll be generous. I’ll tell her the ‘truth’ about your mission. Ask if her if she’ll meet with another fallen angel.”

Lucy laughed long and harshly. He wobbly pounded his fist on the scarred stained bar. “My Christmas gift,” he coughed more laughter. “Gotta tell that son of light, Jesus, this one. He’ll love it.” Lucy chugged a few coughs like an old choo-choo train. He fumbled, lit another cigarette, his withered wasted hand shaking. “Sure, sacred deal, second gun. Your beautiful red hot angel has a heart the size of Compassion itself.”

“Compassion you waged war against.” Volcano let his tone sear.

“For her sake. Sake of the ‘mission’. Dirty little spiritual war, son of a first gun. Don’t forget,” he growled. “Your mission depends on it. Tell your dad ‘celestial salutations’ from Lucy.” He raised the scotch, tipped up a couple of swallows.

“Next time I commune a private letter, I will.” Volcano waited, tipped up the rest of his ale. He summoned a small bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur toward him.

“A great pissing leak directly to your Special Agent Chokynkos. Loreloius has been corrupted by one of my top demon agents. And speaking of, this pitiful human’s body has served well enough, but I’m not ‘relieving’ myself in that men’s room. Hell later, second gun.”

Volcano swiveled, watched the luminous white-blue orb exit from the human, who crumpled before groggily half-sitting. Lucy orb-flashed through the dim dank bar, then disappeared through the ceiling in a sparkling flourish.

“Hey! Did you see that? I ain’t that fuckin’ drunk.”

“What’d you see? Santa and all his ‘tiny reindeer’? A huge sack of toys for all us good little girls and boys? Ho, ho, ho.”

“It’s too early for Santa, Scrooge butt. I saw it. A small ball of light, like a lit tree bulb.”

“The Rapture, oh holy Jesus, the rapture!” The career drunk fell on his knees, holding his glass up to heaven. “I repent. I repent all my sins. Take me.”

Volcano stood, pocketed the Godiva. As he passed, he touched the kneeling drunk on the shoulder, sent comfort into him. “Heaven is yours in a few hours, my friend.”

Striding up the chipped cracked cement steps outside, Volcano gazed at the darkened section of
New York City
, without power for several hours now. A few candles gleamed in the pollution-stained windows of old apartment buildings. Loreloius was nearby. He could ether-smell him. Lurking, probably hiding in the cloud ash banks closest to the horizon,
watching, reporting.

Shrugging his jacket upwards, against the wintry chill, Volcano walked along the night-deserted sidewalk. He decided on an angelic message of his own, instead of an immediate confrontation with Loreloius, a helper angel who had been given a second chance to serve humanity. Illumination obviously, he was still too weak.

As two muggers jumped from the building’s shadow toward him, Volcano waved them aside, planting candy canes in their astonished mouths. He increased his pace, kept his hands in his pockets, his head down against the swirling winds, as if he had a place to go. He did. He turned left sharply, striding swiftly down a warehouse alleyway.

Apparition shadows appeared, detached from the sides of buildings in attacking hordes. As they surged for him, he waved his hand, smacking them
zap! zap! zap!
with light
e
ning white frequencies. They fizzled, squealed their demise.

Volcano stepped between buildings, inside a shadow cocoon. The half moon lit up the large truck alley enough, that he could remain corporeal. Silent as a new epidemic, he watched their arrival—the black jeep caravan of explosives meant to simulate another terrorist attack on
New York City
.

No!
he heard Loreloius command him. Ignoring the streaking charge of the low-spirit angel, Volcano focused his power.
It is forbidden to alter this event,
Loreloius screeched in high-pitched frequency.
I am responsible for bringing their souls to immortality.
His voice, his flying force attempted to interfere with Volcano’s directed power.

Shielding himself from Loreloius’ divine will, Volcano sparked the engine of the lead jeep until it smoked, and ignited. In moments the engine exploded. One after another small explosions shattered the night’s quiet. Then enormous explosions cascaded and rocked the deserted area. Orange white flames blasted high into the sky, sparks spraying outward, a colossal fireworks display.

The surrounding empty buildings shook. Crumbling brick, they toppled over, covering up the blown apart bits of the black ops caravan. The behemoth explosion crater filled in swiftly with the sliding, falling debris. Snaking plumes of smoke and debris billowed toward heaven. Sirens screamed toward the area.

Volcano grinned.
Don’t vibe piss on me. I won’t vibe piss on your sacred parade,
he message-sent to Loreloius. Satisfied, he pivoted on his heel. Hearing the sound of tiny pissing, he looked back. The pup looked up at him, his dark eyes bewildered, frightened.

Volcano quickly knelt. “What are you doing out here, fella? Did I disturb your home?” The pup’s creamy-gold coat wasn’t that thick against the cold. Hearing Loreloius’ revengeful search for him, Volcano picked up the pup. As he stood, he tucked him inside his jacket, then stepped into his dimensional path, just avoiding the wrath-blazing angel.

“Narrow escape,” he murmured to the pup as they streamed through the spinning path. “Didn’t want you to get singed in a childish fire
fight.” Volcano opened his jacket, gazed into the pup’s tiny eyes, learned his loving soul. “Thanks, mom,” he whispered. “It’s just what my Sedona would want.”

Holding the alert, prick-eared pup like a baby in the crook of his arm, Volcano paused before stepping out. “We need some cleaning up, you and I. I bar stink. You alley stink. And my woman is human allergic to both of us right now. Don’t be afraid,” he crooned. “It’s only a lot of light. It won’t hurt you.”

Holding the pup against his shoulder, Volcano immersed them in the raining bubbling light. Then he emerged inside the cottage.

Jorque stood stiffly, on guard. He snarled, his back fur raised, his eyes luminous with attack. Waiting. Volcano instantly sensed the evil searching for them .

Sedona jerked awake. The nightmare crawled along her skin like dozens of spiders. She nearly screamed, but choked it back. Instead she sat up. “She’s coming!” she whispered, her throat constricted in horror. “The Special Agent. She’s heading toward the rock outcrop, where we
—
” Her throat ached so badly so halted.

Volcano set the pup down in a basket. “Take my hand, Sedona. We can seal it.” He knelt beside her, clasping her hand inside his. “I promise.”

“How?” But already she closed her eyes, willing.

“Like before. We join our energies.”

Flash-swift, they stood outside the boulder in the early desert evening. In the distance, beneath the rising moon made gossamer by the ash, the convoy advanced. Their energy manipulation weapons targeted the outcropping.

Put your palms on the boulder,
Volcano instructed. He moved a small distance from her, then placed his palms on the boulder’s surface.

Sedona faced the boulder, flattened her palms, and prayed.

Think shield, Sedona.

Radiance flowed from their palms, flooding outward in an immense circle.

It is sealed. Think it, Sedona. Make it real.

It is sealed,
she repeated. Knew it was true. Felt it in her soul. And felt the immeasurable grace of it.

Volcano offered his hand, grinned.
Angel power strikes again. Watch.
The next instant they floated magically above the sealed boulder. Missile flares of energy hurtled toward their shield, struck, and burst into harmless droplets of flame. Over and over, an endless waving barrage.

Until finally it was over. Defeated, the convoy raised their weapons, turned tail, their mission a failure.

Won’t they be waiting for us?

Butch Volcano and the Sundance Angel.

The Pinkertons won.