Angel Tormented (The Louisiangel Series Book 3) (2 page)

“No, although I am hoping it’s not Dirty
Rice for dinner again?” he asked hopefully.

“Chili,” I responded.

He brightened, and looked around the
kitchen. “It’s weird like this, isn’t it?”

It was fair to say that Cupid was my only
friend these days. We had been spending a lot of time together recently,
outside of the archery training. I had finally introduced him to The Vampire
Diaries, and we’d spend several hours squished up on my single bed, watching
the DVDs on my old laptop. If not there, we were in the library. We craved each
other’s company: if I was bored, he was lonely. Veronica had been his
inseparable sidekick. I didn’t need detective skills to see he missed her.

His gaze was on the angels complaining at
the hatch and I took the time to study his profile. Cupid was tall, lanky, and
like every other angelic being, good looking enough to be on the cover of any
magazine. To look at him, you’d think he spent most of his time studying. You
certainly wouldn’t expect him to be insanely skilled at archery. He would
happily watch an episode of Arrow with me and claim that he had a lot to live
up to, but the truth was the Green Arrow had a
long
way to go before he
was a patch on this archangel.

But it wasn’t his looks which caught my
attention. It was his overall demeanor. There were currently three archangels,
including Cupid, living in the convent. Michael, who looked like he had been
sculptured into existence, was slightly taller with the most incredible set of
abs I’ve ever seen (sorry Joshua), and Raphael, who was equally good looking
and built like a quarterback. The thing the three of them had in common was
their presence. They could command the room in a way I could only dream of, and
with a weapon in their hands – I couldn’t understand why any fallen angel would
stay in the same city and think they were safe.

Right now Cupid looked miserable. He still
stood upright – centuries of excellent posture wasn’t going to disappear in a
few weeks – but the way he held himself, like the sole purpose of his arms was
to try to act like a bandage to hold himself together… If I ever met up with
Veronica again, I was going to kick her ass for just disappearing on him.

When something in me twinged, I sprung
forward and wrapped my arms around him. Unlike Michael who really doesn’t know
how to respond when I hug him, Cupid pulled his arms out from under me, only to
return the hug, squeezing me back just as tightly. “I’m okay, Angel,” he
muttered.

“Maybe it’s me that needs the hug,” I
countered.

We stood there for a while – long enough
that most hugs would have turned awkward but I could tell Cupid needed it. “I
miss her, you know?” he admitted, finally.

“I know,” I said.

“I just want to know she’s okay,” he
added.

I pulled back slightly to look up into his
sad brown eyes. “Can you not just ask Michael where she is?”

Cupid shook his head. “I already have. He
doesn’t know.”

I finally stepped back out of the embrace,
frowning. “I thought he had a connection with all the angels in the House?”

“Only if they’re part of the House,” Cupid
explained. “And the cherubim are no longer part of any house.”

“Surely there’s someone in Heaven who has
a trace on them?” I suggested. “I mean, it’s not like they fell, is it?”

“No,” Cupid agreed, his expression grim. “But
this is only half a step away from that. They’re lucky Michael didn’t consider
it a rebellion. They have you to thank for that.”

“Me?” I repeated, dumbly.

Cupid nodded. “You stormed into Michael’s
office and you got him to listen. You made him realize that he was as much to
blame for their leaving as they were.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. My memory of
that conversation was a little hazy: I’d seen red and shouted at the most
famous archangel. I also wasn’t in any particular hurry to remember that
conversation either. I’m fairly certain I resorted to some form of name
calling. He probably should have kicked
me
out.

* * *

After the angels had left the dining room,
and I had cleared up after them, I turned my attention back to the dinner I had
planned. Chili without onions didn’t seem right. Strangely, it was a missing
ingredient which made something in me snap.

Enough was enough. I was getting out of
this convent. Alright, so maybe I had revealed the presence of angels to the
world – something which had been successfully hidden for millions of years. Or
had it? If I remembered correctly (I had finally taken it upon myself to start
reading the Bible) there were
several
angels (including Michael!) who
had made an appearance to man, so I wasn’t the first.

I was just the first to do it in a world
of social media.

Whatever. I hurried up to my room to grab
a cap I knew I had buried in the bottom of the closet. I pulled my hair into a
high ponytail so that I could feed it through the cap loop and examined myself
in the bathroom mirror. It covered my head well, making the tail less
noticeable, and with the denim skirt and white tank top I was wearing, I could
probably pass unnoticed. I stuck a credit card in my pocket (it turned out that
the House had a bank account – they needed to pay for the groceries somehow)
and was about to head for the door when I grabbed a purse at the last minute.

Downstairs I made a quick detour to the
unlocked armory and ducked in to collect my sword. My heart sank. It did every
time I saw the black metal – it always reminded me of how I had turned it
black. I fought back a sudden burst of pain as I thrust it in my purse and then
exited the convent.

Michael’s House is the Old Ursuline
Convent on Chartres Street. Although the convent is no longer open to the
public, St Mary’s Church, which technically lies on the convent’s ground, is
still used for services in the local Catholic community. Thankfully, the main
entrance to the church doesn’t involve going through convent grounds. The
convent also has a brick wall that has to be at least ten feet tall going
around it.

Unfortunately, I could hear a gathering on
the other side. Although my ‘publicity stunt’ had been written off as a hoax by
most there were still a few individuals who believed. According to Paddy there
were a few people lingering around all the churches in the French Quarter –
just in case they came across an angel.

The angels still used the main gate, but
aside from their good looks, there was nothing to hint they were something
other than human. Even though I was wearing a cap, I still had bright red hair
that might act like a neon sign to this group of believers.

I made for the side gate Veronica had
shown me. It was half hidden in the undergrowth and I don’t think many people
knew it was there. From the street, it was around the corner from the main
entrance and as it looked badly maintained, I don’t think anyone associated it
with the convent. Even so, I pulled it open cautiously, sticking my head out to
make sure there was no one around. Only when I was certain it was clear, I stepped
out quickly pulling it closed behind me.

I had taken only a few steps when a van
rumbled past me – okay, I was maybe a little paranoid, but I didn’t want to
risk anyone linking me back to the convent. I was wincing at the image of
Michael yelling at me for that; caught up in my imagination, I didn’t notice
anyone behind me until a sack was yanked over my head and arms clamped around
me.

I tried to jerk myself free, hoping the
sudden movement was unexpected, the grip didn’t loosen. In fact, it tightened
so much, I could barely draw a breath, much less wriggle free. There was only
one kind of being that would attempt this and have the strength to keep me
subdued: the Fallen. Before I could scream, I was dragged into something –
judging from the growl of the engine and the metal floor, quite possibly the
van which had just passed.

Cupid was right. I did need to work on my
observational skills, and if I survived this, I was going to make damn sure
those lessons happened.

If
I survived this.

The bag was hessian and, thanks to it
brushing over my mouth, tasted of sugar and dust: it wasn’t a fresh bag. The
cap had been knocked down over my eyes so I could only see snippets of light
shining through under my nose. I couldn’t see anything useful. Apart from what
were likely to be red lights, the van didn’t stop for nearly twenty minutes. I
tried to keep count of the turns to work out where I was going, but at one
point I was certain we had just circled a block so I gave up and instead tried
to focus on the arms around me.

They were like a clamp which had been
welded shut. It wasn’t painful – only uncomfortable – and they only tightened
when I struggled, and trust me, I struggled. So far it seemed like they weren’t
out to hurt me. They also weren’t the chattiest of companions. They ignored
every one of my demands to be released and they didn’t respond to any of my
questions. Aside from the driver and the person holding onto me, there was at
least one other person in the van with us. No one said a word, but when I tried
to head-butt the person holding me, a second set of hands appeared, pushing my
head down.

We eventually came to stop, but instead of
the doors opening and being manhandled out of the van, one minute we were sat
on the uncomfortable metal floor, the next, we were standing on something which
felt soft under my feet, like carpet.

I’ve been transported from one side of the
city to the other, in the blink of an eye, by Michael on several occasions. It
used to affect me so badly, I would throw up. When I earned my wings, the
nausea disappeared, but I was still aware of what was happening: I felt like what
I assumed a balloon felt like when it was popped.

The arms loosened fractionally and I took
advantage of that. I slammed my heel down on my captor’s foot, wishing that I
had chosen to wear something with a heel rather than flip flops. As soon as
there was a cry of pain, I whipped my head back connecting with something
behind me. I heard a crunch.

I was thrown forward, away from the person
who had been restraining me, but using my head as a weapon left me dizzy. I
stumbled forward a couple of steps and yanked the sack off my head, pulling the
cap with it. With blinking eyes, my hands trying to push my disheveled hair
from my face, I desperately tried to work out where I was.

“Jeez, Angel!” a familiar voice cried. “Will
you calm down?”

My gaze settled on Veronica, her hands on
her hips. Her gray eyes glaring at me as though I was wrong for reacting the
way I had. “Veronica!” I yelled. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We needed to get you here,” she shrugged.

My mouth fell open. “And that required
being bundled into the back of a van?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Garret asked,
appearing behind me. He was nursing his nose and while I couldn’t see any blood
coming from under his hands, I took a sliver of satisfaction at that.

Garret, like Veronica – and all the other
cherubs – looked around sixteen… Sixteen, with black hair and too much
eyeliner. Unlike their stereotypes, they were pretty terrifying when armed.
Actually, they were pretty terrifying when they weren't armed. While I
considered Veronica a friend, I barely knew the others, though I sincerely
doubted that would have prevented the glare I was receiving from Garret.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm
myself. “I'm glad you're all safe. We've been wondering where you have been.”

“You're telling me Michael has noticed we're
gone?” Garret asked, his eyes clouded with disbelief.

I slowly shook my head, not wanting to
lie. “It's probably more that he's had the same meal three times last week.”

“I told you Angel would be the one keeping
things running!” Veronica suddenly declared, making me jump. She turned to
Garret and held her hand out.

Garret pulled something out of his pocket
and handed it over, all the while looking like he was sucking on the bitterest
of lemons. “I bet the place is barely holding it together,” he grumbled.

That was a pretty accurate assumption but
I was still pissed at him, so I kept my lips sealed. “Why am I here?” I asked. “And
why did it involve kidnapping?”

“Oh stop being melodramatic,” Veronica
said, dismissing the statement with a wave of her hand. “I'm sorry you had to
be blindfolded.” I was fairly confident she hadn't been one of my kidnappers. “We
wanted to show you around the new place,” she informed me with a dramatic
flourish of her other arm.

I looked around: the new place was a dump.
We were standing in the center of an enormous room, but, judging from the
various piles of rubble and what looked like a dozen or so different types of
flooring, this was several rooms knocked into the one. I glanced back at
Veronica. She looked proud.

“I like what you’re doing with the place,”
I offered weakly, trying to find something in there that I could compliment and
sound genuine. With the mismatched furniture which looked like it had been left
in here when the building had been abandoned, I was struggling.

And then I happened to glance out the
window. “Holy crap,” I muttered, taking several paces closer. From here, I
could clearly see a familiar curve of a river, a large barge passing by a riverboat.
I turned, looking out in another direction, spotting the twin cantilever
bridges that made up the Crescent City Connection. We were still in New
Orleans.

There weren’t many buildings that would
afford this view, but I wasn’t given enough time to be able to try and work out
where I was to know which one I was in. A pair of hands landed on my shoulder
and jerked me around. “Hey!” I objected, glaring at Garret. “If you didn’t want
me to know where you are, maybe you shouldn’t have let me look out of the
window, you moron.”

“We didn’t bring you here to fight,”
Veronica cried, stepping in front of Garret.

I took a deep breath, bringing my focus to
her. “Then why did you bring me here?” I asked through gritted teeth, unable to
rid the frustration from me completely.

Veronica looked at the various other
cherubim in the room. “Disappear,” she instructed them. One by one, they all
did as she requested, until it was just her and Garret left.

Of course, the one I thought was a douchebag
would stay.

Veronica gave me a bright smile, leading
me over to a section of the room that had an enormous dinner table. There were several
mismatching chairs around it, and she pulled one of the more comfortable
looking ones out. Dubiously, I perched on the end of it. “So why did you kidnap
me?” I demanded.

“We didn’t kidnap you,” she said, sinking
into a chair next to me.

“Veronica,” I started, trying to remain
patient. “Thrusting a bag over someone’s head and bundling them into the back
of a van without their consent is kidnapping.”

She stared at me, blinking and then glared
at Garret who was standing at the other side of the table glowering at us. “We
agreed we would bring her willingly,” she snapped at him. Garret stared blankly
back at her. It was Veronica’s turn to take a deep breath. She turned back to
me, giving me an apologetic smile. “We’ve been waiting ages for you to leave
the convent. We had someone watching and they were supposed to ask you to come
with them.”

“I might have been a little more willing
if I hadn’t had the bag over my head,” I told her. “Was it even clean?”

My cap landed on the table in front of me
and I looked over at Garret as he continued to scowl at me. Nope: he wasn’t
getting a thank you for returning it. “You were still going to have the bag
over your head.”

“Well I would have at least taken the cap
off first,” I snapped at him, pulling the ponytail holder out of my hair so I
could reset my ponytail. I turned back to Veronica. “Tip number two: don’t send
that jackass next time.”

She disappeared and reappeared before I
could get the cap back on my head, placing a box of pralines in front of me.

“This doesn’t make up for kidnapping me,”
I informed her as I grabbed one.

“We didn’t…” she trailed off when I paused
in eating to glare at her. “We don’t want Michael to know where we are. We
don’t want
anyone
to know where we are.” When Garret cleared his throat
and gave her a pointed stare, she sighed. “We need you to take an oath.”

“Of course you do,” I sighed, pushing the
box of pralines away. “Well, you can forget it.”

“I told you she wouldn’t agree,” Garret
sniped.

I ignored him. “Veronica, if you don’t
want to tell me anything without me swearing an oath, that’s fine,” I shrugged.
“Don’t tell me. I am not doing it.”

“We can’t have Michael knowing where we
are and what we’re doing,” she told me, her voice taking on a pleading tone.

“Newsflash: you left his House. Michael
doesn’t give a damn what you’re doing now,” I pointed out, feeling slightly bad
when she winced. “But he does care what I do, and right now, I still want to be
part of his House. More importantly, I’m certainly not about to do anything
that could put Joshua’s life in danger.”

“You don’t think he’s not in danger
already?” Garret suddenly burst out. “That archangel refuses to acknowledge that
Lucifer is alive.”

“Why is it so goddamn important that
Michael doesn’t know I’m here?” I demanded, leaping to my feet.

“Because you can say that!” Veronica
exclaimed.

“Veronica!” Garret bellowed angrily,
slamming his hand on the table. The bang echoed around the cavernous room.

With inhuman speed, Veronica reached out,
wrapping her hand around my wrist. Before I could blink, we were in another
room, alone. “What is going on?” I demanded.

Veronica released me, exhaling deeply as
she took a step back. “I can’t tell you everything, Angel,” she said quietly. “I
can’t betray the cherubim. Not now.”

I folded my arms under my chest and
watched her. “I am not about to take another oath to not tell Michael things,”
I told her. “I refuse to be in that position again.”

She considered me for a moment. “Then I
can’t tell you everything.”

“Fine,” I shrugged.

She took another deep breath and began
pacing back and forth. A few minutes passed before she said anything again. “We
haven’t changed our minds,” she finally admitted. “We think Lucifer is out there.
We’ve always thought that. You said you had released him, and you said that
Beelzebub confirmed it.”

I nodded. I believed it too, even if
Michael didn’t.

“We’re going to find him and we’re going
to do what Michael couldn’t,” she told me, pausing to gauge my reaction.

I tried to keep my face as neutral as
possible. “It took all these years before you found Asmodeus and Beelzebub,” I
said, carefully. “And both have been in New Orleans the whole time. Hell, it
was me who found them. What makes you think you can find Lucifer? We don’t even
know what his vessel looks like.”

“That’s why we need your help,” she said.

I blew out a breath and let my hands fall
to my sides. “Right now, my priority is Joshua,” I told her. “I need to focus
on getting him out of Asmodeus’ crosshairs.”

“You’re going to let Lucifer go?” Veronica
asked, her mouth falling open. “You’re the reason he’s walking free!”

Heat flashed through my cheeks. “I didn’t
set him free intentionally,” I responded. “I have every intention of sending
him back to wherever the hell he’s been for the last however-many years it has
been, but we don’t actually know that he
is
free,” I told her. “For all
we know, Beelzebub is trying to get us to focus our attention on chasing ghosts
instead of what
he’s
doing. He’s another one of the Fallen that’s here
in the city and has been for some time,” I pointed out. It was Veronica’s turn
for the discomfort. “Look, I’m not going to ignore Lucifer if he strolls past
me in the street, but I have to sort my priorities out: my main focus
has
to be Joshua.”

Veronica stared at me for a very long
time. I stared back. This was one argument she was not going to win: Joshua
came first. Finally, she seemed to realize that I wasn’t going to budge on this
one. “I’ll have Garret drop you off.”

“Or you could let me walk out of here?” I
suggested.

“Not going to happen,” Garret announced,
appearing beside Veronica as though he knew he was being spoken about. “Until
you take an oath, this place remains a secret.”

“Whatever,” I shrugged. The more time I
spent with Garret, the less I liked him, and the less I was inclined to care
what he thought. He took a couple of steps towards me, holding out the bag
which had been used to cover my head previously. “Do you really need that?”

“No,” he responded. “But I’m going to use
it anyway.” Before I could dodge him, it was dumped over my head and he grabbed
my wrist. I knew he had transported me somewhere the moment my feet touched the
ground, but instead of reaching for the bag, I spun and punched, aiming low –
for the bigger body mass. There was a grunt of pain, but by the time I had removed
the bag, he had gone. Another sliver of satisfaction ran through me as I once
again straightened the cap on my head: I didn’t care if I was supposed to act
all angelic-like, the douchebag deserved it.