Fallen (7 page)

He didn't seem as though he would kiss her again. Bummer. That had been fun. Somehow she had led him to believe they could have sex. She had definitely missed something between the kisses to her neck and him touching her nipple.

Oh! This was complicated.

“Let's get to it then.” Cooper eased a hand over his jeans in the front then sat on the couch. Not touching her.

Yep, what they'd just done felt wrong. But she couldn't quite put a finger on why. Hmm, guilt? Another sin to add to her list.

Pyx sighed and leaned over the salt circle. It was as good as it was going to get without the crystals. She spread out her fingers and closed her eyes—then remembered. “I'll need your blood.”

“Are you trying to attract vampires?”

“No.”

She drew out Joe. The dagger was three-pronged down each side of the blade and the tip of it had been soaked in qeres, an angel poison. But it only worked when embedded in the angel's heart. It would serve little harm to the mortal flesh the Fallen wore as costume.

“For the spell to work it has to be focused on you,” she explained. “Just a few drops. Give me a finger. Unless you're scared?”

“Not scared of anything, especially not a pretty little demon with a big bad blade she calls Joe.”

He pointed out a finger, and Pyx grabbed his wrist. “I'm not afraid of anything, either.”

Well, it had to be said. She couldn't let him think she was scared of something. Which she was not. Nope, not even kissing.

She poked the tip of his finger with Joe. Vivid blue droplets dripped onto the table in the center of the salt circle, puddling and misting as if dry ice. Angel blood was cold, opposite her hot blood. She bet if a vampire bit into Cooper's neck the bloodsucker would get a major brain freeze before the inevitable explosion.

She noticed Cooper looked away. “Sight of blood make you woozy? So you are afraid of something.”

“No, I… It's just…” He shook his head and ran his free hand over his scalp.

“Hurt?”

“No, it's blue, damn it! It's not red like mortal blood.”

“Yeah, and mine is black. So what?”

“It's a reminder of how much I don't want what I am right now.”

“I don't understand that. You are very powerful. You're an angel. You can flash all over, persuade mortals to bend to your will, never have to spend a dime, rip hearts out of vampire chests…”

“The less you understand about me, the easier it will be to shove the blade in deep when the time comes, eh?” He tugged his finger from her grip and stuck his hand in his pocket. “Get on with your spell then.”

 

Demonic power vibrated through Cooper's living room. It shook the salt crystals on the table and rattled the plates and glasses in the kitchen.

Pyx stood over the table, shoulders proudly thrust back and one hand held over the salt ward, fingers splayed. She recited a spell in myriad tongues. It echoed bellicose and then harmonic. Cooper recognized a few of the tones as angelic in origin. He wagered the Sinistari had no idea that some of the languages her magic encompassed had originated Above.

As the spell took on weight, the air in the room lightened so Cooper felt he could float. Pyx's hair spread about her like a fiery crown, defying gravity.

He admired her beauty and elegance. Yes, she was possessed of both those aspects, though she herself felt awkward and as if she did not fit in anywhere. She fit into his idea of life, no matter that her intentions against him were deadly. For this moment, at least. Tomorrow may change his mind.

Truthfully, he feared her power. The blade she carried close to her heart could kill him. But he also embraced the challenge of turning her head, if not her heart. And if he could convince the demon that he wasn't such an awful angel he would not have to kill her in self-defense.

Pyx, alive, and in his embrace, suited him fine.

Suddenly Pyx swung toward him, bringing her hand up and facing it palm-out. The force of the ward, imprinted upon her palm, surged outward. Cooper took the supernatural punch against his lower left torso—right where his sigil marked him from the angelic dominions.

Set off his feet, he toppled and caught his hands against the wall behind him. His sigil burned and he let out a yelp.

The room settled.

Pyx's hair spilled upon her shoulders and down her arms. She lowered her arm. The clatter of kitchen porcelain stopped.

Cooper gasped in a breath and slapped a palm to his abdomen. The sigil no longer burned.

He met Pyx's eyes, and as a grin curved her red lips, he found himself smiling in response. It was a drunken reaction to what she'd just done to him. Violated him in a way. Marked him. And he'd given her permission to do so.

Now he'd be more open to finding his muse.

He slid down against the wall. His legs were weak for no other reason than he wasn't sure what he'd allowed the demon to do to him. Did she have the upper hand now? No, he could resist if he happened to stumble across his muse. It was ridiculous to think he'd be
compelled
to have sex with her. A farce! He'd agreed to let the demon do the spell only so he would see the muse coming before he stumbled onto her—and that would allow him time to turn and run the other way.

“I'll leave you to stew,” Pyx said. “Let that spell sink in nice and deep, big boy. Dream sweet dreams of your muse. Nighty night.”

The demon strode out of Cooper's apartment.

“The only woman I'm going to dream about,” he muttered, and now managed a genuine smirk, “just touched me with a wicked spell.”

I
t was nearing nine in the evening and the patio outside the café was lit with lights strung about the posts and along the iron railing. The autumn air was sharp and cool. Cooper appreciated the four seasons and looked forward to experiencing winter. His mortal costume felt extremes of weather acutely. Snowboarding a packed run appealed to his sense of adventure.

He thanked the waitress who had refilled his coffee and then looked out at the Seine. It twinkled with the reflection from the passing tourist boats, which were strung with lights.

A couple walked hand in hand outside the iron railing that blocked off the café from the street. The man pushed a stroller. Cooper nodded and tipped his cup to them.

It seemed a long shot to give a moment's thought to some day having a family and walking along the Seine to the
Tuileries where he could push his children on the swings and toss bread bits to the ducks in the octagon pond.

What he'd not told Pyx about his time Above in the ranks was he had served his master without question. He had slain many because he was told to do so. No question whether the person deserved to die. He'd wielded a sword and bloodied it often. It was all he had known, and he'd served his master well.

So when had he suddenly decided it was wrong to kill and he'd prefer living a life with mortality attached to it? It hadn't even entered his mind until Kadesch had said something.

It had been a particular event in a Mesopotamian village long ago. The village was new and greed had festered throughout the population. His orders had been to smite the entire village, and he did so, washing the land with flames and striking off the heads of those who'd fled the destruction.

Only he'd missed a child. A small boy, perhaps three years old, whom he'd found bent over the blackened body of what had once been his mother. Juphiel had approached the boy, sword wielded to decapitate him, when the child had looked up into his eyes.

Into
his eyes. Not pleading. Not asking why. Only seeing a part of Juphiel that even the angel had not realized existed. A compassionate shard of his heart had actually pulsed then, and he'd given thought to his actions.

All it had taken was one moment of connection to make him wonder and to take survey of what lay before him. Humans were not animals herded into his path of destruction. They possessed bright and vital souls, and those souls made them more than Juphiel could ever hope to be.

Kadesch had stalked up to his side. Two angels in all their divine glory stared down at one frightened child.

“I cannot do it,” Juphiel had said. He lowered his sword, as well his head.

“I am pleased.”

Kadesch's remark had shocked him. Juphiel swung about to find the angel extending a hand to the boy.

“But this is wrong,” Juphiel had argued. “We've orders.”

“Orders make it right?”

“Yes!”

Kadesch had stood straight, shoulder to shoulder with Juphiel, and looked across the vast destruction. The world was blackened with ash. “Is that what you really believe, Juphiel? Speak to me from your heart.”

“My heart holds no compassion.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it— I don't…know.”

“Good. Not knowing is a strong position. It leaves you open to choice. There is no right or wrong, Juphiel. No good or evil. Only choice.”

“We have no choice.”

Kadesch's voice had whispered on fine tones lighter than the ash flakes dusting the air, “Choice is yours if you dare to take it.”

Juphiel had not heard such talk before, not within the angel ranks. But as Kadesch spoke, Juphiel began to nod in agreement. Knowing, for the first time, that it was possible. And so Juphiel had made a choice.

That day the angel had traced a circle in the ash around the child and his dead mother. And then he'd flashed them both to Babylon, ensuring a mother who had recently lost her son to the pox sighted the child. She'd taken him in and raised him as her own.

Kadesch had then suggested they join with the rebel ranks that spoke of falling. Humanity, Kadesch had said. It is a marvel.

Cooper spread his fingers about the warm coffee cup. He wondered what had become of the child. Had he grown into a fine, strapping young man who had served his community? Or had he become a pyromaniac because of how his mother and village had been destroyed?

Didn't matter.

What did matter was the boy's eyes were all Cooper saw after that whenever he wielded his sword. And though he continued to serve his master, he looked forward to the day he could join the human race and live, love and suffer along with them. And ultimately, make more choices.

Kadesch had been right about everything. He wondered if the angel walked the earth now, or was still imprisoned in the Ninth Void.

Pray, the angel had not been destroyed by Sinistari. Cooper found it hard to imagine Kadesch, the master of a compassionate heart, could answer the compulsion to find a muse.

A sip of creamy coffee burned down his throat, but he enjoyed the sensation. Feeling pain or discomfort was new to him. When in complete angelic form he hadn't experienced the like. Not physical or emotional. Save for the wonder in the boy's eyes.

It wasn't right. While he knew Above and Beneath existed for a reason, and that mortals would always cling to their distorted beliefs in the two realms, he had wanted to step away. To fall away to something better, more substantial and real. To face the consequences for wrongs and rights.

He would be a fine mortal, he knew it. Yet whether deserving or not, would he be lonely?

In this mortal costume, Cooper could attract any woman he desired. But could he keep one? Would any woman be attracted to a man whose only history was killing myriads and betraying Him by falling?

The chair across the table from him scraped across the sidewalk. A man plunked onto it and propped an ankle over his knee. Scruffy running shoes peeked from the tattered hem of faded jeans. He slapped the iron table. “How's tricks?”

Setting down his coffee mug and leaning back in his chair, Cooper sized up the man who wore sunglasses though the sun was but an orange strip on the horizon. Hair cut military-short and a square jaw gave him a rugged, don't-give-a-crap appearance.

He wasn't mortal, Cooper sensed, which left the obvious choice of vampire since they seemed to be following him of late.

When the man grinned, his top lip curled to expose the tip of a fang. He did it as a warning. A futile one. Cooper still had the throwing stars in his pocket, and he carried the blade tucked at the back of his jeans. But who needed weapons?

“Tricks are just fine,” Cooper offered with an air of indifference. “What brings you up from the coffin?”

“Ha, ha, ha. I don't do coffins, but that was a funny one.”

“But you obviously don't do sunlight.”

“Actually, I do.” He tilted his head and the dark sunglasses glittered with the reflection from the café's neon sign. “But the guy I work for is one of those SPF 1000 kind of guys. Sunglasses are a bad habit I picked up from him.”

“Who do you work for?” If the vampire wanted to chat,
Cooper intended to get whatever information he could from him.

“Antonio del Gado.”

Surprised a name had been offered, Cooper filed that one away. “And is Monsieur del Gado looking to connect with me somehow?”

“You are one smart angel, Juphiel.”

He knew his name?

Maintain composure, Cooper coached. No need to start a scene in a public venue that could result in him holding a bloody heart.

“I do have knowledge of the entire world,” Cooper offered coolly.

“Let's not get cocky now. Because you're stupid, too. Hanging out with a Sinistari? That's idiotic, man.”

“Keep one's enemies close. Isn't that the saying?”

“Obviously that doesn't apply to all your enemies. I heard what you do with vampires.”

“Did you now?”

“Yeah, you rip out their hearts with your bare hands. Stylish. But I'm telling you right now, I'm not that dumb. I'm protected.”

“Wards?”

“Can you feel them?”

Cooper now noted the subtle hum emanating from the vampire. It was as if the breeze was electrified. Weaker than the spell Pyx had tossed at him, but nothing to sneeze at. “Not stupid, but still a bloodsucker.”

“Gotta survive somehow. So about your muse?”

“What about her?”

“You fixing to hook up any time soon?”

“Why? You want front-row seats?”

That was crass. Cooper forced back a wince because he didn't want the vamp to guess anything about him. And
why was it every paranormal creature within sight wanted him to get it on with his muse?

“Too bad. I'm all for crashing parties. So, my name's Bruce.” He offered a hand to shake, but Cooper crossed his arms. “Right. Just wanted to introduce myself since I do know your name, and I'd like to think we'll become good friends. Until you and your muse decide to put on a show, I'll be on your ass like a tick, buddy.”

“I'll save you the trouble, and me the itch. I'm not going anywhere near my muse.”

“Oh, yeah? Sorry bit of feathers and halo you are.”

He didn't have feathers, or for that matter, a halo.

Fisting his fingers under the table, Cooper fought the urge to push the vampire's nose into his cranium. Patrons sat everywhere. Tourists walked by on the sidewalk.

“I can deal with that,” the vampire offered. “For now.”

The waitress walked by and the vamp flicked the hem of her skirt, which garnered him a sneer and a huffy “What do you want?”

“Give me one of those fancy little cups of high octane, will you?”

Confusion twisted her pretty pink lips.

“An espresso, please,” Cooper offered in French since the vampire preferred English. “Make it a triple.”

“Trying to keep the vampire up all night? Works for me. Not much of a sleeper, anyway.” Bruce leaned forward, catching his elbows on the table. “So here's the deal. You don't want to look for your muse? Fine. Then you'll have to make me happy another way.”

“I don't have to do anything for you.”

“Yeah? Well, if you want that pretty Sinistari to remain pretty I think you will, at the very least, hear me out.”

“There's not a thing you and your bloody ilk can do to harm a Sinistari demon.”

“We may be a lesser physical match to the Sinistari, true, but I know a psychopomp who'll match her blow for blow, and won't stop until he's raped her heart for all the stolen souls within.”

Cooper looked aside, coaching his expression to remain impassive. The Sinistari were known to steal souls from the angels they slayed. It pissed off the rightful receiver of those souls, the psychopomp.

He wondered if Pyx had any souls. He couldn't take a chance. “What do you want?”

“Names,” Bruce said.

“Names?”

“Of your fellow Fallen. Need them to match to the angel sigils Monsieur del Gado has collected.”

Cooper put two and two together quickly. “This vampire leader of yours… He's summoning the Fallen to earth?”

“Summoned you, big boy.”

Cooper had no response to that. It went against any explanation he could imagine for his summoning.

Bruce persisted. “Give me a few names, and I'll hang in your wake for a while. What do you say?”

The waitress dropped off Bruce's espresso and he tipped it down in one swallow.

“I say—” Cooper stood “—you get the bill.”

And he flashed away from the café and landed at the Pont Neuf. Cars passed over the bridge behind him. He waited for Bruce to search the area, and waved when the vampire sighted him. “Idiot vamp.”

The vampires had summoned him to earth?

This was not what he'd expected. What would a bloodsucker want with a Fallen?

 

Flashing home, Cooper strode through the apartment and scattered the throwing stars on the kitchen table. “Vampires,” he muttered.

He glanced to the laptop, which flashed a flying toaster screen saver. He'd set the email program to alert him if he received a reply from Eden Campbell. Until then, he could only wait for more information on the halos.

But why not organize a halo-hunting mission on his own?

“No idea how to start. How does she track them?”

It wasn't as though he could sense his halo. But then, who knew? If he got close to the thing
would
he sense it? Would it send out some kind of vibration? There was nothing online to answer those questions. And he couldn't ask another Fallen because he didn't know any.

Had the vampires summoned other Fallen ones? To what purpose did the Fallen finding his muse serve the vamps?

Scuffing a frustrated hand over his hair, he decided he couldn't sit around and do nothing. He had to be proactive. He shouldn't have left Bruce alone. He could flash back to the bridge right now and follow the vamp back to his lair.

He hoofed it down the stairs to the lobby, but before flashing, noticed someone stood outside the doors.

Cooper stepped outside. He hadn't expected her to look quite so alluring. In an awkward trying-so-hard-it-works kind of way.

“Care to hunt some vamps?” he tossed out.

Strolling his gaze down her body, he thought what an incredible figure she had. The black silk hugged her breasts and tucked in snugly to emphasize her waistline. It stopped
high on her thighs, and he followed those long sexy gams down to—

“I'm so there,” Pyx said, flipping a stake through her fingers like a high school majorette's baton. “What's wrong?”

“You're wearing a dress.”

“Yeah. So? It is what girls wear. Shows off our legs and other curvy bits.”

“Right, but how many girls in dresses hunt vampires?”

“You don't think I can hunt properly in this?” She sashayed her hips side to side, which put visions of sexual positions into Cooper's brain. Her on top of him, moving like that?