Uriel's Descent (Ubiquity #1) (3 page)

A response, not hers, echoed in Ronnie’s skull.
“No it wouldn’t.”

Something unfamiliar rushed through her as if oil were sliding under her skin. It electrified her senses. She didn’t know what the sensation was, but it was less threatening than the cherub. She drew on the foreign energy. The power sped through her, replacing confusion with confidence. Without conscious thought, she looked inward with her second sight, as if dealing with a cherub, and saw dark ribbons of power racing unhindered along her veins and muscles.

The feeling continued to flow into her limbs, moving them in fluid motions she didn’t know she was capable of performing. The cherub lunged, and she dodged, the foreign ribbons of ink driving her actions. Was this what it was like to be a marionette? She’d care about that later. Right now, she appeared to be winning. He stumbled, and Ronnie shot her hand out and locked onto his wrist.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

With the taunt, the new feeling in her limbs faded. What
was
that? She filed the experience away for later. Taking a deep breath, she set aside part of her consciousness to fog the thoughts of anyone passing by. Since most people preferred to pretend Ubiquity’s odd actions didn’t exist, inspiring mortals to ignore them came as easily to Ronnie as phasing from place to place. It was time to finish the hunt.

Vibrant streaks of violet and silver wove through the host’s aura. She visualized the wisps of the cherub intertwined with the man. It wasn’t something she saw with her eyes, but when she connected with the cherub’s receptacle, an image—a knotted chain of tangled ribbons—filled her mind. She followed the strands of cherub and unraveled them one-by-one.

Her eardrums recoiled at the loud howl reverberating off brick and concrete. Why the fuck was he screaming? That was as new as his fighting back.

Ari’s hand rested on Ronnie’s arm, voice low but encouraging. “You’re almost done.”

The physical contact gave Ronnie something solid to focus on besides the cherub’s howls of agony. She closed her eyes and drew the strands of cherub out of the host and into her. The roars grew louder, losing the cherub’s gravelly tone, as she absorbed more and more.

Ronnie imagined winding the vibrant threads into a little ball. The screaming threatened her hearing. The uproar was horrible. It made her feel as if she was torturing a puppy. She wrapped the wisps inside her head and shoved them to the back of her mind.

Silence crashed around her, and she opened her eyes.
Thank God.
The job was done. Her surroundings swam around her. She blinked. Blinked a few more times. The fence and dumpster became distinct again.

“Let me out. I’m not one of them. You don’t understand.”
The cherub whispered inside her thoughts.

She muttered the incantation to exorcise it from her body, and seconds later, the cords rushed away from her to hell. She examined herself for external damage. Her tank top was torn in at least three different places, and something slimy and sticky covered her jeans.
Gross.
She needed to change. And crash.

Her legs wobbled, threatening to give out. Something about the entire experience wasn’t right. The cherub was too aware. Too coherent. And too violent. Sick dread crawled through her—though she couldn’t name the cause—mixing with looming exhaustion.

“Took you long enough.” Ari’s tease helped ground Ronnie further. “You never told me you forgot how to fight.”

Ronnie stuck her tongue out at Ari. “I didn’t remember I was supposed to know how. Thanks for your help, by the way.”

“You did great.”

“Whatever. Speaking of, I don’t think I’m up for shopping.”

Ari’s smile was sympathetic. “I completely understand. My first fighter caught me off guard too. But you did fantastic.”

“First…?” Ronnie struggled to process the words through the haze of exhaustion. “I didn’t think they ever fought back.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Who told you that?”

“I…” Ronnie stared at her shoes as heat flooded her cheeks. No one told her. It was part of the knowledge Lucifer stuffed into her head, to help her cope without memories. “I don’t know. Someone, I guess.”

Ari tugged Ronnie’s fingers, drawing her attention back up. Ari’s voice was kind. “Whoever it was lied, or just didn’t know. Think about it. Would you want someone taking your body from you?”

“No. I’d like it back now, please.”

The voice in Ronnie’s head wanted its body back? An involuntary chill rolled down her spine.
Beyond creepy.

“That makes sense, I guess.” Ronnie gave the cherub’s former shell one last glance. The host should wake up in a few minutes, dazed, a little confused, and no worse for the wear, minus an extra voice in his head.
Lucky bastard
. “Do you want a lift back?”

Ari glanced around, fiddling with her fingers, attention drifting up and down the street. “I’d better. There’s not much to see here anyway.”

After dropping off Ari, Ronnie headed to her apartment and collapsed. With little energy or motivation to move, she figured she’d pass out and snooze the entire night away.

Twelve hours later, most of it filled with infomercials and boredom, she admitted sleep wasn’t happening. She might as well go visit Lucifer.

Michael leaned back in the chair, plastic and metal creaking beneath him, and propped his feet on the desktop. Dirt flaked from the dried, caked-on mess on the bottom of his boots and littered the polished oak. The sight of the hardwood surface–free of any scrapes or scuffs–made him smirk. At least some things were predictable about Lucifer.

A key rattled in the lock, metal scraping metal, and the office door swung open.

Michael raked his fingers through his hair. Maybe he should have changed before popping into hell. Chasing a sociopathic cherub through the muddy fields of Kansas wasn’t exactly his shining moment this week. He could have at least showered. He scratched the scrub brush of dark beard covering half his face. Or shaved. But he was anxious to make his move. Living for centuries didn’t grant the kind of patience most people assumed it did.

“Morning,” Lucifer said with disdain. “You have something against my desk, Taxiarch?”

Michael hated that nickname. An archaic title from a time best left in the past. A point in history with
her
. He glanced at Lucifer and crossed his feet at the ankles. The desk wouldn’t take any damage. Lucifer liked his antique furniture and polished-to-the-point-it-reflected wood surfaces too much to let that happen. Besides, Lucifer knew Michael hated being referred to in military terms—regardless of the language—so the aggravation flowed both ways.

Michael glanced at the non-existent watch on his wrist and let impatience leak into his voice. “Are you keeping bankers’ hours now?”

Lucifer dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “I didn’t realize anyone was waiting.”

The office was as much Lucifer’s home as any place, so he knew the moment Michael walked through the locked door.

“I should have called ahead. My apologies.”

Lucifer didn’t look impressed. “I heard you had a run-in with a rogue and a fallen angel. I’m surprised you didn’t get here sooner.”

“What makes you think would Izrafel tell me anything that would bring me here?”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

That Lucifer already had an idea what brought him here, made Michael think Izrafel’s concerns had merit. A sliver of self-satisfaction tickled his thoughts. Every once in a while, it was nice to have the upper hand. “I want in at Ubiquity.”

“What happened to
this is the stupidest idea any of you have ever come up with, and I won’t be a part of it
?”

“I need a new approach.” It was a safe answer. Whether or not Michael agreed with Ubiquity, or with heaven and hell’s goals there, no other place housed more information about potential cherubs. “I’m not asking. I’m letting you know as a courtesy.” Like Lucifer and the third original, Gabriel, Michael only answered to Him. Neither of Michael’s counterparts would stop him from walking into the job.

Besides, he couldn’t ask flat out about the girl Izrafel mentioned. Lucifer never answered direct questions. The best way for Michael to get his information would be to hang around the office and get to know this Uriel for himself.

Lucifer stood. “You’re right. Do what you want. I don’t even care if you tell anyone who you are. Whatever your reasons are for being here, they’re your own.”

Michael kicked back from the desk, more dirt falling around him and settling on the nauseating, busy carpet and stood. The mess wasn’t enough to obscure the cheap Vegas remnant. He paused on his way halfway to the door, and turned back to Lucifer. Asking probably wouldn’t get him a direct answer, but his curiosity won out. What kind of answer
would
it get him? “Is there A reason you jumped the queue and shoehorned the new demon into a spot at Ubiquity?” Michael asked.

Lucifer’s expression stayed flat. “I’m sorry, which one?”

That’s what Michael thought. A strange tingle raced over his skin as the air grew thick around them. The sensation of the atmosphere pressing in on him from all sides vanished almost before he registered it. He knew the feeling but wasn’t used to it happening in a flash like that. Someone just phased in. He spun toward the new arrival, and every inch of him froze.

She barely came up to his chin. Black hair trailed down her back, and her tank top showed off smooth, pale skin. Brown pupils laced with red stared back at him, unblinking.

Izrafel was right about the aura. Fractured and broken like a million shards of golden glass mixed with red and black. Michael couldn’t pull his gaze away. She was cute in a sexy, almost deceptively beautiful kind of way, but agents tended to be attractive. There was something else about her. Who was she?

“Weren’t you leaving?” Lucifer’s irritation cut through the staring match.

Michael would save the questions, at least until after his shower. “Yeah, I’m going.”

There was something about the way she held herself. He shook his head to clear away the confusion. There would be time for details later. There was always time later.

*

Ronnie materialized from the ether, already anticipating the comfort of Lucifer’s office—the closest thing she recognized as feeling like home. His door was halfway open when she arrived. He sat at his desk, so she pushed in with a brief announcing knock.

Ronnie exhaled in relief when his familiar aura seeped into her. As one of the three remaining originals, he held his own little corner of hell. Instead of being generic day-to-day blahness, it radiated a lived-in vibe that came from millennia of occupation. As she got far enough inside to see the rest of the room, she froze, all coherent thought evaporating. Lucifer wasn’t alone.

“It’s not… Maybe? Mikkel?”

Lucifer stood. He crossed the room, coming to a stop in front of Ronnie, still looking at the stranger. “Weren’t you leaving?”

“I’m going.” The guest glanced at her before moving to the exit.

It wasn’t always easy to tell the difference between an angel and a demon. But a real angel, one who served order instead of looking for the loopholes which allowed chaos, carried a different aura—a smooth glow instead of a kaleidoscope of fractured light.

And the arrogant man walking out of the room was more distinctly angel than anyone Ronnie ever met. The situation, on top of the last twenty-four hours of her bizarre life, perplexed her. Who was he? Angels in hell weren’t unheard of, but they disliked hell’s methods, so visits were rare. She watched him leave. With his dark hair, light eyes, and an obvious disdain for the most powerful demon in existence, he was sexy and compelling and—

“If you’ll stop swooning, I can kill that fucker. Right here and now. Draw your sword.”

The vicious words in Ronnie’s head, filled with hatred and venom, gave her pause.

She stared at the door long after he walked through it. What was that about? A painful rhythm beat against her skull—a jackhammer against bone.

“Sis?” Lucifer’s kind tone drew her out of her fog. He nudged her to follow him on his way back toward his desk. The large chair hissed a little with forced airflow when he lowered his large frame into it.

Ronnie wasn’t actually his sister, but he’d used the nickname as far back as she remembered—all of three months or so—and it always warmed her inside.

“We’ll kill Mikkel later. It’s fine. Vengeance has waited this long.”

Weird. But the voice was a forceful reminder of why she was there. She dropped into the chair across from Lucifer’s desk. The entire room shared the auburn sparks of his aura. Like aloe on a fresh burn, the residual power soothed the ethereal and emotional sensations lingering on her skin and chased away the tension of her bizarre yesterday.

He studied her with orange eyes—his one inhuman feature. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks. You don’t look so hot either.”

Stupid voice. It didn’t shut up all night, making sleep almost impossible. And she still didn’t know where it came from. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, using the ambiance of hell to find her center. It didn’t help as much as she wanted.

“Ronnie? What happened?”

Ronnie still wasn’t sure. “I was in a fight yesterday. With a cherub. And I thought I was going to die. Or something. Can one of those things kill me? And I didn’t know what I was going to do. Except then I fought back. I don’t know how. There was this voice. I mean, I guess it was there before I got to the cherub, but not much before. It wasn’t me, but it was in my head. Maybe. I heard her whisper. And then I knew what to do. Like I was fighting, but it wasn’t me, and—” The words tumbled out in fragments as she tried to make sense of them.

“Stop.” He unfolded himself from his chair, springs squeaking as he stood. He moved to her side of the desk and leaned against it. “How did you manage to get a black eye?” His thumb slid over her cheek.

The memory of the smack rushed back. The bruise should have vanished by now “He hit me.”

“Wow, you’re a bit of a whiner, aren’t you? Move over, let me drive.”

Disorientation blurred the edges of her thoughts. It was similar to the sensation during the fight yesterday. The impression she wasn’t quite in control.

She pushed back, and her world swam into focus again. “Did I mention this voice in my head? It’s loud. I’m pretty sure it’s not me, but maybe it is. I’m having a hard time ignoring it. I don’t think it’s normal to have a voice living in my head. I mean, that makes people crazy. I’d rather not be crazy. I already don’t remember my past. What if this means I’m mental? Does insanity come after amnesia?” Why was she rambling?

“Because you’re terrified and woefully underequipped for this life. I know a solution to that.”

“Uriel.”

Her full name. He only used it when things were serious. She clung to the force of that single word and used it as a focal point to ignore the background noise in her skull.

“Slow down and start from the beginning,” he said.

It took strength to talk and suppress the strange voice at the same time. “Ari got a ping on a cherub, and she let me have it so I could practice. There was this guy all decked out in gold and expensive clothes. And he attacked me. Full-on punch throwing, kicking, and some seriously scary kung fu shit. I don’t think I want another assignment like that.”

“You did great. No. Wait. That was me.”

She ignored the mental taunt.

“It sounds like you did fantastic.” Lucifer ran his finger over her bruised cheek.

The throbbing ebbed as he pulled the pain away from her. Lingering traces of his aura mingled with hers and made it easier to think.

She concentrated on the sensation, letting it fill some of the cracks in her psyche. “Except, you know…the voice, the fighting back, everything about it that wasn’t status quo.”

“He wanted me. You don’t want me. You don’t even know what I am.”

Great, the voice in her head, that sounded like her, was keeping secrets from her. That was sane. Not. They were having a serious conversation when Ronnie got home.

“Because that’s so much saner than just listening to me.”

Lucifer tilted his head to the side, watching but not interrupting.

Ronnie’s story spilled out again. “Ari said it happens, though. Why didn’t you warn me they fight back sometimes? And then it was like I knew things I’d never been taught. How to fight…” Something she couldn’t quite grasp flitted at the edge her mind.

“It’s okay.” Lucifer’s hand rested on her neck, holding her head in place as he looked her in the eye. “You’re all right now?”

“Well, you know, except the whispering. This voice in my head won’t shut up. And it’s ranting about vengeance and death—it’s possible mine is at the top of its list. That angel guy who just walked out of here certainly was. And how did the cherub know I was a demon?”

“You’re all right. That’s what matters.”

He avoided her questions, why? Ill-ease coiled inside, making her muscles tense. “Maybe, but I would have preferred it go smoothly, like it’s supposed to. And Ari texted me last night. She said I was in trouble for leaving and not coming back yesterday, even though it was an out-of-town capture.”

“Raphael?”

Ronnie nodded.

He reached for his phone receiver. “I’ll take care of Raphael. How’s it going otherwise?”

“Well…” It ate at her to nag about the problem, but updates were non-existent since she arrived at Ubiquity. While she knew three months was nothing in the grand scheme of eternity, she was starting to worry she’d never figure out who she was…before. “Have you made any progress on figuring out how to get my memories back?”

Lips drawn into a thin line, he studied her for a moment before replying. “I actually think I have an idea, but it’s too early to tell. I’ll need to talk to some friends. For now, take today off. You bagged a cherub more than a thousand miles away. You’re not expected back in the office yet, regardless of what Raphael says. Who, I’m dealing with now.”

She hesitated with an unspoken question. She didn’t want to come off as a complainer—especially with him already brushing her off—but she had to know.

He paused with the phone halfway to his ear. “Yes?”

She traced the toes of her shoes over the random cluttered patterns on the carpet. “Why are we hunting cherubs? Like really why, not the reasons preprogrammed in my head.”