Uriel's Descent (Ubiquity #1) (4 page)

The sympathy in his eyes evaporated, and a cold edge lined his retort. “Because it’s the natural order of things. They should exist in heaven or hell, not roam the earth with no direction. Heaven wants to prove it’s doing a better job than hell, and hell fights back. It’s always a numbers game. Go home, get some more rest. Get back to work tomorrow.”

She flinched. The answer didn’t surprise her, but his delivery and shift in mood left a dull ache in her chest. “Okay.”

“Company rhetoric. That’s not like him.”

“Good point, voice
.” The doubt that bled through her was disconcerting. Lucifer was her guide and mentor. She should be able to trust him. She tried to ignore the way dismay fed the voice, and concentrated on erasing her physical form. The world faded as she became ethereal, and milliseconds of sweet silence flooded her thoughts as she phased back to Earth. It didn’t last long enough. In a single second, Lucifer’s office was gone, and she was surrounded by the small box she called her apartment. Tangible again, reality rushed back.

Being allowed to take a physical form gave agents a choice—stay in heaven or hell, or live on Earth. Even though their physical forms came with limitations their ethereal bodies didn’t, most of them chose to live here.
Feeling
meant a lot more than existing in the ether.

Like so many of Ronnie’s Ubiquity colleagues, her studio apartment was in the middle of a little Tennessee suburb. Not the fanciest place on Earth, but it
was
on Earth, and that was what mattered.

With a sigh, she flopped onto the mattress on the floor. Worn cotton sheets caressed the portions of her back her tank top left exposed, sapping some of the heat from her skin. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the small stack of breakfast dishes in the nearby sink or the armful of clean laundry draped over the orange chair next to her.

She hopped to her feet.
Screw this.
She didn’t have to be at work, and there was no way she was wasting a day off by lying in bed and drowning her sorrows in music.

“At least you’re not always boring.”

She almost smacked the side of her skull to shake the noise away, but inspiration struck before the self-induced headache. It was an insane idea, but she was already hearing a voice, so this couldn’t be much worse. She strode into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Dark eyes, almost red, stared back. Yup, that was still her.

“What do you want?” She didn’t know why she was talking out loud. It could obviously hear her thoughts. She guessed the action made her feel less crazy.

“Out of your head.”

That made two of them. “Is that an option?” Could she evict voices from her skull? Maybe that was some kind of therapy she didn’t know about. That would really be all kinds since mental health knowledge wasn’t necessary to her job.

“As if I know. I haven’t been up here any longer than you have.”

If the voice was Ronnie, she was kind of bitchy and very not helpful.

“I’m not you, and I’m not
the voice.
I’m Metatron. I’m
His voice.”

The words clenched in her gut, and bile rose in her throat. Great. Ronnie wasn’t just losing it, she thought she was possessed by an original angel. One of the first four created. She wouldn’t let it—
her
—know the impact it had on her. “Like the bad guy from those stupid transforming robot movies?” Ari loved those things.

“That’s Megatron. I’m Metatron. Which you’re already aware of. I can read your thoughts. You’ve figured that out, haven’t you? And you’re not insane. Well, maybe you are, but I’m not a symptom of that.”

“All right, not-me. Then how do I get rid of you?”

“Just like I know what you do, I don’t know any more than that, beyond my past life and knowledge. All I remember is someone—”

The voice choked off, and a sharp stabbing pain rocketed through her gut, as if Ronnie was stabbed. She doubled over and clenched her stomach, but nothing was there. The pain ebbed and then vanished. “Was that you?” It was harder to speak than she expected.

“I died. Then I woke up in your head. That’s all that matters. It’s a bit fuzzy for me, but the more time you’ve spent here, tangible, the more I’ve seen of your life.”

Was she a product of Ronnie’s magic-fed education, then? Something evoked by lessons of the originals?

“No. I’m Metatron. Pay attention.”

At least if Ronnie was going to lose it and fall into some kind of past-life reincarnation fantasy, she picked someone powerful to model herself after.

The voice made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
“Don’t believe me, then. I may not have answers now, but you’re a little dim about the world around you, so I assume I’ll extract them before you do.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Then we’re separate and both happy?”

“My form, everything except this core of me, was destroyed. The odds are good only one of us comes out of this intact.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly. Any other questions? Want to talk about the weather next?”

She wanted to stop indulging a voice that may or may not be her, all but threatening to destroy her if it found a way.

She was mostly broke until payday, but she had a couple extra dollars for coffee, and then maybe she’d go visit her one friend outside of work.

“You’ve got friends? Poor bastards.”

She’d ignore that. Only partly because admitting she heard a voice was crazy. She was pretty sure letting it ruin her free day was another step toward insanity.

Half an hour later, iced coffee with extra chocolate and whipped cream in hand, she stood in front of a building a few blocks from her apartment. On the outside, it wasn’t much to look at—a single glass door amid of an entire block of them.

The only thing to make this one stand out was the church’s name:
First Angelic Non-Denominational Church of Faith.
She told Izzy a dozen times the name was clunky, but he swore it was appropriate. And apparently it had been that way for over a century, so it must be working for him at least a little bit.

The main chapel was to the left of the entrance. Izzy’s apartment was up the stairs on the right, which was where she headed.

Izrafel was one of the fallen.
Falling
meant an angel or demon surrendered their ethereal power and became mortal. Some fell because they no longer believed in what we did. Others reached the point in their personal evolution where they wanted to do and be more. They experienced so much as ethereal beings, they opted for mortality and a chance to learn and grow as humans.

Ronnie met Izrafel her first week on Earth. She wandered into his chapel and found it the most comforting place she’d ever been. Well, not as much as hell, but it was close.

His door flew open seconds after she knocked, and Izzy grinned. With his messy brown hair and the ability to successfully rock a muscle shirt and pair of skinny jeans, he looked like those guys who graced covers in the romance section of bookstores. This, oddly enough, wasn’t the reason single mothers flocked to his sermons. He was also a genius with kids.

“Izrafel?”

A waver of recognition rushed through Ronnie but vanished again just as quickly.

He grabbed her coffee and took a long drink before setting it on a table against the wall just inside the doorway. Hands free, he wrapped her in a giant hug.

Ronnie squeezed back with a smile and a muffled greeting. “Morning.”

“Hey, angel.” He let her go and stepped back. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

She loved the nickname. No one but Izzy considered them all to be the same, just calling different places home. She faked a cough. “I called in sick.”

He laughed and nodded to the couch. “I didn’t even think you got sick days over there. I hate to rush you, but I’m almost on my way out the door. Talk while I finish packing?”

She chuckled. Of course he was still cramming things into a suitcase when he was supposed to be leaving.

“Where are you going this time?” She dropped onto his couch and immediately sank several inches into the soft, worn upholstery. She loved Izzy’s apartment. Bookshelves stuffed to overflowing lined the walls, and more books decorated the floor. And coffee table. And kitchen counters.

When he was an angel, he was gifted with only the knowledge he needed to do his job. As one of the fallen, he craved as much information as he could hold in his skull.

His voice carried from the bedroom. “Fiji. Researching coconuts.”

She relaxed further at the hint of a joke in his tone. He was a religion scholar. When he wasn’t discussing faith with his congregation, he traveled around the world, searching for the foundations of beliefs.
What do coconuts have to do with that?
He’d tell her when he was ready and probably less pressed for time.

“Speaking of your research…” She needed to ask now before she lost her nerve. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but she was about to imply she was going insane. She forced the question out. “Have you ever come across any mention of sane people—or not-sane people—hearing voices? Who claimed they were dead angels?”

The rustling in the other room stopped, and he stuck his head out of the door, eyes narrowed as he locked his gaze on her. “What? Who’s hearing voices? You?”

She winced.
Crap
. He did think she was crazy. “A friend?”

“Shit.” He dragged a duffel bag and suitcase out of the room, set them by the front door, and then kneeled in front of her. Her peered into her eyes as if he hoped to uncover something hidden in their depths. “How long have you—”

The blare of a horn drifted up the stairwell and through the window.

He hopped to his feet and offered her a hand up. “I’m sorry, angel. Cab’s here.” He furrowed his brow and studied her for a moment longer. “If the plane tickets were refundable, my trip would wait. I don’t think I’ll have internet or cell service where I’m going, but I’ll only be gone a week or so. We’ll talk as soon as I’m back, I promise.”

At least he took her seriously. The thought wasn’t as comforting as she wanted it to be. That just meant they might both be insane.

Ronnie poured herself a cup of coffee from the breakroom pot. Normally, she tried to avoid the free stuff. Whichever demon inspired free work coffee did it wrong. And it was a demon; angels didn’t take risks, especially with something so important.

Only at work for a couple hours, Raphael’s glares were already devouring her composure. It didn’t help the angel from Lucifer’s office was here. She wasn’t sure what he was doing, besides inhabiting a normally empty corner office. Ronnie caught glimpses of him several times, and the distraction, even if he was a sexy bit of angel, was still a distraction.

One made worse when the voice in her head screamed bloody murder—literally—every time he was around.

“Let me kill him and both problems are solved.”

Nice. Not.

“Hey, you’re back.” Ari’s perky enthusiasm dragged Ronnie out of her thoughts.

Ronnie dumped a liberal amount of sugar in her cup and faced Ari. “I’m sorry Raphael gave you crap for coming back without me.”

“He’s a big grumbly teddy bear when you’re not around. I handled him.” Ari turned toward the vending machines at the far end of the room and nudged Ronnie with her shoulder in the process. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

Trying to get her memory back—which, besides hounding Lucifer, involved a lot of mass-media consumption in the hopes something, anything, would be familiar. Wondering why she didn’t have any plans. Same old stuff. “Probably not.”

“Want to go dancing?” The clatter of coins clinked in rhythm with Ari’s words, followed seconds later by the thunk of her candy bar rolling from its spot and dropping to the bottom of the machine. “I know the most perfect, epic place ever. I swear you’ll love it.”

“Oh, yay. You can be one of the
in
crowd. A lifelong goal achieved.”

Despite the sarcastic tone of the voice, Ronnie smiled. Being alone with her thoughts recently moved to the top of her list of least favorite things, and she loved music. “I’m in.”

They snagged a table near the back of the breakroom, and Ari leaned in, voice low. “Have you seen the new boss man?”

Ari must have answers about why the angel Ronnie saw in hell moved into a corner office this morning. She knew everyone. A flicker of unexpected giddiness tickled Ronnie. “Of course. Who is he?”

Ari laughed. “Sorry. You’re serious?”

“He’s a lying, vindictive, cruel asshole who deserves to die slowly and painfully.”

The voice’s words sliced through Ronnie with the same impression of inky ribbons that filled her when fighting the cherub but this time with trails of blackness. It left a path of euphoria and vengefulness in its wake. She pushed the strange sensation aside. “Yes?” More things she didn’t know. Had she forgotten him or never been told? No, there was no way she wouldn’t remember him.

“He’s Michael.” Ari looked at her with heavy expectation.

“Told you so.”

“Want to tell me more than that? Like how the fuck to get you out of my head?”

“If I had that answer, I’d be gone already. Or, more likely, you would.”

Why wasn’t Ronnie surprised?

“So, he’s important?” Ronnie knew she shouldn’t have to ask. Everything about the conversation told her she should already know this, but since she didn’t, this was the easy way to find out.

“Like
the
Michael. The Creator’s right hand. The original angel.”

“Oh.” Of course. Another of the four originals—Lucifer, Gabriel, Michael, and Metatron. According to Lucifer, most demons and angels went their entire existence only meeting the one who named them. Lucifer took Ronnie under his wing. Another now occupied their office, and a third may or may not live in her head.

“Important is kind of an understatement.”

“Then why’s he here?” Ronnie’s sparse knowledge said Michael’s response to Ubiquity was:
That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, and I won’t be a part of it.
So apparently he was smart, in addition to being attractive in a compelling way. No agent from the higher ranks worked for Ubiquity. They’d actually earned the chance to help people directly. And the originals… Gabriel and Lucifer’s schedules held more than she could fathom, so as long as things ran smoothly here, they stayed out of the picture. This Michael must be the same, right?

Ari leaned closer, forearms resting on the table, and her voice dropped in volume. “I’ve only heard rumors. But supposedly, something very specific brought him back. Supposedly, something hell is doing.”

Hell wasn’t doing anything. Except making Ronnie, and others like her, watch computer monitors all day. “Like what?”

Ari clamped her jaw shut and scooted back from the table. “Nothing specific. Stuff. I don’t know.” The words tumbled out on top of each other. “I need to get back to work.”

“Wait.” God damn it. Ronnie was on her feet in an instant and spinning to follow Ari out of the room. “What kind of stuff…?”

Ronnie’s forward momentum stopped, and her question trailed off when she saw what—or rather, who—sent Ari scurrying away. Michael stood near the breakroom doorway, gaze locked on Ronnie. He cleaned up nicely. The short growth of beard was gone, he swapped out the tattered shorts for jeans, and the sleeves of his beige button down were rolled up to the elbows.

And she was staring. She pulled her eyes away, cheeks heating. What was it about him? The aura of power he radiated? She wasn’t used to seeing it on anyone, even the higher-ups. Lucifer hid his, and she’d never met Gabriel. Maybe heaven was just flashier.

“You.” His reply dragged Ronnie from her rambling thoughts. “I’m here because of you.”

He was here for her? A loud hiss echoed through her skull, followed by a rush of electric inky streams filling her body.

“I’ll destroy him now. Move aside, child.”

The unexpected venom, combined with a surge of power inside her but not hers, stole Ronnie’s balance and ability to puzzle over whether or not Michael was being facetious. Though motionless, she stumbled, but caught herself before she fell.

He furrowed his brow and reached for her. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Her body jerked away without her permission. With the snarled words, more black seared through her. Each new burst left her, though oddly disconnected from her thoughts, with a kind of euphoria convincing she could do anything. Was
the voice
trying to control her? She didn’t know what the sensation was, but she wanted it fucking gone. Now.

If she turned her focus inward, she could almost see the dark strands weaving through her the same way a cherub intertwined with a human host. Why did she have something like that inside her? Was that Metatron? It didn’t matter. The feeling was foreign, threatening, and if she had to be honest, terrifying.

Michael continued to study her, his frown deepening with each passing moment. As she poured half her concentration inward, tugging at the foreign threads of what she could only call power, the rest of her focus went into forcing what she hoped was a natural smile onto her face. “I’m fine. You’re not really here for me, right?”

“Don’t you dare do this. Let me kill him, and then you’ll know what fine is.”

The sharp tone steeled the voice’s words. A wave of weakness blanketed Ronnie, and she lost strength in her limbs, making her stumble again.

“You don’t look fine.” Michael’s voice was heavy with concern.

She’d be great as soon as she tucked the voice—or whatever,
whoever
, it was—far, far away.

“Stop calling me
the voice.
Use my fucking name. Let me destroy that foul creature, and we can sit and talk about reaching a solution that benefits us both.”

That was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. She might have rolled her eyes if she weren’t pouring so much energy into not looking crazy while talking to Michael.

A wash of inky black ribbons raced through her, more intense than before, and the edges of her vision swam, the walls dancing around her. Her world went black.

* * * *

Every few seconds, Michael glanced at the demon curled up on his office couch. As far as he could tell, there was nothing wrong with her except… Right before she’d passed out, her aura surged dark and then almost vanished.

It was still pale, but no more so than some of the other agents in the office. In contrast, before she noticed him in the breakroom, it was the same bright, shattered gold mixed with red and black he saw in Lucifer’s office. The fractured aura wasn’t the only thing that clue she hosted another entity. A lot of agents sparkled with that kind of chaos. The way it flared and ebbed was a strong indicator. Why didn’t anyone around here pick up on that?

Michael tried to tell himself he couldn’t keep his eyes off her because he was concerned. There was more to it than that. He still couldn’t place it, though.

Lucifer took a special interest in her. Why? He didn’t play favorites. The last time he took this kind of interest in someone was…

A phantom pain echoed in Michael’s chest at the thought of Metatron, and he shoved it aside. Lingering on her memory didn’t do anyone any good. Metatron’s destruction hit Lucifer as hard as anyone. He could deny it all he wanted, but Michael recognized his own grief on his counterpart’s face that day so long ago.

If Lucifer singled Ronnie out for a specific reason… She visited him in his office, but most denizens of hell did that eventually. If she was unique, did she know it? Would asking her directly do Michael any good? And why, every time he looked at her, did the desire to protect her from anything and everything wash over him?

The leather of the sofa creaked when she stirred, and her eyes fluttered open, her red-eyed gaze taking a minute to focus before locking on him.

“Are you doing better?” he asked.

With Lucifer, the direct route to anything was a waste of time, but Michael couldn’t operate that way with everyone else. It was why he told her in the breakroom she was the reason he was at Ubiquity. Life was complicated enough without games and second-guessing motives.

Her aura flared—a rich velvety red like a twilight sky with no stars. Her eyes rolled back for a moment, and then her entire glow dimmed to a faint smudge of brown. She took a deep breath and sat up. “Where am I?”

Not quite what he asked, but it was a start. At least she wasn’t wobbling anymore. “My office. You passed out, and we don’t really have a protocol for agents getting sick…since they don’t. This was the only alternative I could come up with.” He couldn’t exactly take her to a hospital. Their physiology might be human, but because they healed in an instant from most wounds, things like needles didn’t agree with them.

That and a lot of agents never got the heartbeat or body temperature thing down. Too hot, too cold, too fast, too slow—there was almost always something about them that wasn’t quite right.

She rubbed her eyes and stood. “I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry. I’m probably keeping you from your work. I have work of my own to do.” Her aura flared again, muddying before flickering and fading, and she pressed her palm to her forehead.

“It’s okay.” He was next to her in an instant, guiding her to sit. “Nothing we do can’t wait another few minutes, or even hours or days.”

She gave a bitter laugh and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Right. Tell that to Raphael.”

Desire rushed through him. To wrap her up in his arms. To trail his fingers through her hair and kiss her until the world stopped spinning around them. He pushed the impulse away. It wasn’t the images that disturbed him—he knew how to banish thoughts of lust. It was the other emotions. The urge to treat her differently. To abandon fairness and—

He obliterated the impulses before they rambled further. “I’ll tell him personally. But not until we’re done here.”

“You could have taken me home or something.” The corners of her mouth twitched up.

“I wanted to have your friend do that. Ariel, right? But she said you kept wards on your doors only you could get past.” Another odd thing on his growing list. What the angel described was something only Lucifer did. Why would this demon know tricks like those?

“Ari,” she corrected him. She stood again, this time without any incident, and raked her fingers through her hair.

“Angels and demons don’t shorten their names.” A name was a job. It made a cherub into more. It was a thing of pride. Cherished by those who held one.

Color was returning to her cheeks. “Of course they do. I don’t go by Uriel. Talk about awkward rolling off the tongue in about half the languages on the planet.” Her laughter was light and natural, like water over crystal.

“What would you prefer I call you?”

“Ronnie.”

A heavy stone dropped into his solar plexus. That was what Michael called Metatron. A pet name, the only one Michael ever used. He couldn’t hide his grimace. “How do you get Ronnie from Uriel?”

“I don’t know, I just do. How you do you get Bill from William?”

“I don’t.” He had to know. She wasn’t lying about her name—it was emblazoned on her back, the large red tattoo-like sigil looking the way so many from hell wore their names. And her tank top showed enough of the symbol for him to recognize it. But too much of everything she’d said, the way her aura acted, what Izrafel… Something was going on.