Pure & Sinful (Pure Souls) (15 page)

Much to her surprise, the angel began working off his black tee over a body that had been crafted by the Almighty himself. As his jeans followed and the denim dropped to the floor, showing that, in the boxers-or-briefs debate, angels went with that famous third option of neither, Riona considered if perhaps that whole “ecstasy delivered by the Heavenly host” thing wasn’t a metaphor.

“No. No way.” Riona’s head resembled a water sprinkler on meth. “Besides, you told me you wouldn’t do that with me. Said it wasn’t my destiny.”

Like a lion, Ramiel strode from the other side of the room to her bed, before lowering himself to all fours at the end. She knew those wings of his were somewhere, but she couldn’t see them at the moment. Had never seen them actually. He always kept them hidden for reasons he’d never explain. It didn’t take wings, however, to realize his body was beyond human and pleasingly gifted.

“It’s not your destiny. But who said anything about this being more than just a quick roll in the sheets? And it doesn’t need to take long. I can take you over the edge and back in less than thirty seconds if you want. Or, if you’d prefer slow and steady, over and over until the cows come.”

“Home,” Riona quickly corrected as Ramiel’s hand closed over the edge of the sheet that covered her and began to try to pull it down. “The saying is, until the cows come
home.
”

“I know what I said, witch. Do you have any idea how long it takes a bull to get a heifer off?” He didn’t fight her for the sheet anymore, just crawled over her and settled his body over hers with the layer of cotton the only thing separating them. “Now, do you want to be divinely fucked or not? One rule though: You can’t call out for God, no matter what. It creates a very awkward situation for me when I go home.”

Despite the fact that she found her eyes sizing up his angelic endowment and trying to remember the laws of physics about whether or not Ramiel should be able to walk straight with something like that hanging from his body, her expression showed her hesitance. An archangel would, no doubt, be a great lay. But even if he gave her the greatest climax she’d ever felt, she’d still feel just as empty and hopeless after it was all done.

As she felt now.

“No.”

His hips stilled, ceasing the playful grinding that was already tempting her too much for her own good. “No?”

She sighed, knowing the temporary high wasn’t worth the long term low. “I’m sure it would be, that you’d be exceptional. I just can’t. I won’t.”

Without realizing they had moved, Riona suddenly found herself sitting in her living room. Ramiel, redressed without a wrinkle, sat on the adjacent arm chair, a cup of something steamy in his hands.

“Well, the good part, Keystone, is that you’re in love.” His hand shot up in the air and cut her off before she could even voice her retort. “Okay, not yet. But you will be.”

She feigned innocence.

“Fine, don’t admit it. It’s not like you weren’t just calling out his name like it would win you a cash prize.” Ramiel took a measured sip, and popped his palate on the outdraw. “I’m sure that’s only coincidence.”

“Not that I’m admitting anything…” She noticed he had dressed her as well with whatever angelic voodoo he used, and of course, the shirt he’d put her in had a neckline that plunged deeper than the stock market crash of 1929. “… but if I were to fall in love with Marc, why would that be any of your business?” She seemed to recall her words as her tone deadened from insulted to disturbed. “Wait, what’s the bad part?”

Ramiel grinned, relaxing back into the depth of the cushions. “Has Dee ever told you about Gaius Gallicus?”

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

“I think it’s time you heard. Gaius was a Pure Soul,” Ramiel began. “A Keystone, actually, like you. The power of the other two of his trinity, his two pillars, flowed through him, just like with you. They, my dear, defined the term ‘super bad ass geeks.’“

Riona scoffed, “I didn’t know that was a term.”

“Wasn’t, until them, because no one could have claimed the title.” Out of nothingness, Ramiel waved his hand and produced a twin to his mug, handing it to Riona. “Anyways, Gaius and his pillars were based out of Alexandria in the first century AD, and dedicated themselves to creating a compendium about Lucifer and all his forces. They traveled throughout the known world of that time, cataloguing every nasty, POS creature they encountered, experimenting with the limits of their magic, creating and refining new ways of vanquishing demons and other underworld scum. Gaius held the collection of these experiences and discoveries high above all in his life. He knew that such a resource would be a powerful weapon in the fight against Lucifer for centuries to come. Nothing distracted him from his work, nothing.”

“Well, something must have.” Riona tasted the brew — some sort of licorice tea. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be setting him up to be the moral of your story.”

Ramiel’s eyebrow arched. “Sure Dee hasn’t told you this before?”

Riona curled her legs up under her frame. “I grew up in the post-Disney era, Ramiel, I know the ‘beware the danger of’ tone pretty damn well.”

“Hmm…” Long, graceful fingers pinched his chin. “Well, yes. As you know, a mortal sin, the kind that gets you sent to Hell, is all relative to the person’s own moral code. Unless they’ve declared a vow to a higher power, that is, like with Marc and the church. The Big Bad Hooha figured out that knowledge was Gaius’s pinnacle of morality, and exploited it. It’s a mini-victory every time a soul falls into darkness and becomes his property, but when that soul is a Pure Soul? Well, let’s just say the celebration Lucifer has would put a post-war tinker tape parade or the season finale of
American Idol
to shame. There’s nothing that makes him happier. So much so, that sometimes he gets a Pure Soul of particular interest or talent in his sight, and becomes obsessed with causing his or her fall.”

Riona jumped to the climax. “And let me guess: Gaius fell?” 

“Like a senior citizen for the Nigerian lottery scam,” he confirmed. “It was a perfect set up. Turned out that the devil had saved that old apple Eve took a bite out of in the Garden of Eden. He does that, collects mementos. Lucifer took on his old angel form and rose to earth. In those days, we were still trying to keep it on the down-low that the ruler of Hell was a fallen archangel. Gaius thought he was a representative of the Big Boss. Lucifer told Gaius that the prize was his gift for all his hard work, that the apple would imbue him with ultimate knowledge. Gaius was so blinded by his pride and arrogance, he didn’t hesitate for a moment to believe it was no more than what was due him, and took of the fruit. He was under Satan’s command before he even finished swallowing.”

Riona felt a chill of foreboding go up her spine. “He was condemned?”

“Worse.” Ramiel set his tea on the table. “Any hell-bound soul can be reincarnated one time on earth as something sinister. But Pure Souls? Their abilities and powers as a demon are second only to fallen angels. If our kind become generals in Hell, your kind become its colonels. And Gaius, with all his knowledge gathered from all reaches of earth, remains one of the most sinfully successful demons of all time. The only reason he hasn’t caused more damage is because he leans toward fits of uprising. Once in a while, his better nature rears its holy head and he gives his master a little bit of a headache.”

“I don’t get it,” Riona shrugged. “If that’s true, and that was so long ago, how is he still around? Why hasn’t another Pure Soul taken him out?”

“Oh, they have,” Ramiel assured with a smile that tried, unsuccessfully, to belie lack of a deeper meaning. “His earthly days have come and gone, even as a demon. But no matter what tricks and trades old Lucifer picks up, only the Big Boss can actually destroy a soul. Between you and me, I think He still holds out hope that one of Gaius’s insurgencies could pay off. He might find a way to break his bonds of demonhood and come back to our side. Gaius was…
is
a smart prick. He sees an opportunity, some loophole he can exploit, he’ll fucking take it. Might even overthrow the devil someday, if the circumstances are right. It’s happened before, after all. Lucifer’s only had the job for about four thousand years. Before that, he was just a minion like any other. No doubt, Gaius has the knowhow, he just needs the moment and the right circumstances to materialize. It’s probably the reason the Big Boss hasn’t blown his traitor-ass soul to bacon bits.”

Her eyes went lazy as she mulled over Ramiel’s story. “So, if either Marc or I betray our moral code, we’re doomed. Therefore, if  Marc and I…. If we were to ever…”

Ramiel’s eyes narrowed like they were knives he meant to throw at her. “You fuck Marc, you fuck us all.”

“That’s putting it bluntly.”

“It is, isn’t it?” With another louder-than-necessary sip, the angel stood and set his cup on the side table. “Look, I’m not telling you how to lead your life or trying to say there’s anything wrong with Marc. Big Boss takes that whole ‘free will’ thing pretty darn seriously. But just keep that tidbit in mind when you’re back in your room and imagining his sacraments in your altar. Every moment you indulge in that fantasy, you’re creating a tailor-made plan for Lucifer to move in and exploit.”

She swallowed. Hard. “I’ll keep everything on the up and up.”

“Good.” With a swipe of his hand through the air, Ramiel conjured a manila envelope sealed with cardinal wax and about the size of a magazine. He tossed it unceremoniously into her lap. “These are the details of your next assignment. Get yourself together — or hell, go toss yourself off once more if you think that helps — and then get Dee and Marc and head out. Marc needed a few days to recover from that deal with Hermosa. I’ve kept this on the backburner as long as I could, but y’all can’t keep sitting on the side lines. Time to get back into the game.”

Chapter 16

“The last time I saw this many crucifixes, I was shopping in my seminary school’s gift store.”

Dee gave a hearty laugh to Marc’s quip. There was no denying that, if not for the prominence of fishnet stockings, leather collars, piercings in any body part that could play host, and more flashing flesh than in the most liberal of nudist colonies, the less informed might think the crowd hoping to make it past the bouncers at Persephone’s Grotto were here for some sort of old-fashioned, midnight church revival.

“Why is it that the further off the mark you Christians go, the more you cling to your crosses?”

Marc turned him an amused expression. “You want the church’s answer, or one of my personal, smart-ass variety?”

“Whichever one you think is true, Father.”

Marc pointed to a his-and-her set of matching Goths. A quick look from side-to-side, a smack of their hands and their transaction was signed, sealed, and intravenously delivered. “After they’ve committed themselves to a dark path, only traces of their former faith lies behind them. They cling to the last relic of that faith like a tether. It gives them an anchor in time, in which they were someone better than they are today, and maybe they can be again.”

Dee rolled his eyes. “And your smart-ass answer?”

Marc looked affronted. “That was my smart-ass answer. What, did I not come off as sarcastic enough for you?”

Maybe not in his first comment, but his follow up retort was classic bastard Marc.

It was amazing how the priest had rebounded from his Brew-and-Jerry’s routine in such a short time. Dee was awoken by a text from Riona in the morning, saying they had their marching orders and to meet her at The Grotto at ten that night. Apparently, intelligence had been alerted to a demon presence at the university area’s hang spot du jour. College campuses were always a fertile recruiting and feeding ground for all sorts of dark world maggots, and no one knew that better than Marc. Dee half-expected that the priest would still be too drunk or hung over to be up for the mission, but to his surprise, Marc’s text asking for a “9 pm pick up” had immediately followed Riona’s.

“You know what your biggest problem is, Marc?” Dee’s comment hooked Marc’s eyebrow, which rose suspiciously. “You really don’t want anyone to like you for you, and you cover it up with sarcasm. I think you need to man up and just admit, both to yourself and the world, that you’re a pretty decent person.”

Marc’s head turned from side-to-side, his eyes casting a wide gaze over their surroundings. “Is this an intervention of some sort? Following up on the other night’s fabulously delivered pep talk with a little ‘get over yourself already’ chaser? Where are the cameras?”

“Just seems like you’re being a hypocrite, is all. Telling everyone that God forgives all sins, but apparently yours are too designer to be tossed out with the holy water. So instead of admitting you can fuck up, learn from it, and move on, you keep building this wall of pins and needles around you so no one ever suspects you might actually be human.”

Marc rolled his eyes and started his way across the street to join the queue. “Whatever, Dr. Phil. Let’s just focus on the task at hand and find our Keystone, eh?”

If there’s one thing of which Marc was certain, it was that a collared-priest in a bed of sin and swank like The Grotto would stand out like a professional wrestler in a preschool Christmas pageant. Wisely, the father had left his vestments in his top drawer next to his socks, and opted for black jeans and a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt that
must
have shrunk since college. Luckily, his membership and recent activities at Dee’s gym had tightened up that rib cage a bit, and a bit of his washboard was firming up beneath the cotton sheath. Still, he felt like a flounder amongst fleas for all the good his version of street clothes did him. The materials of choice in the crowd around him came in three varieties: leather, lace, and plastic. Metal studding was optional, but popular. Most of these clothes looked like they should carry a “Made in China” label. It wasn’t as though Dee, with his Levis and plain white tee, fitted in any better, but at least his collection of pure physical mass gave him a presence few would dare to question without fear of a fisted reprisal.

“Riona’s going to so stick out. She’s going to give us away,” Marc worried. “You know her with her smart little three-piece suits or grey yoga pants. There’s no way she’s going to blend into the …”

“There you guys are!”

Her voice — and her appearance — killed his words faster than a cobra strike on a flute-wielding swami.

H-O-T. Riona defined it. Forget her customary business casual ensemble. Tonight, she was dressed with sin in mind and temptation on the menu. What few scraps of clothes she did wear were tight and taut and turning Marc on like the Las Vegas Strip at dusk. Her red hair, which she normally wore tied back in an afterthought of a pony tail, was shiny and straight and hung half way down her back. He had a feeling it was the perfect length for grabbing from behind while being thrust into. Her face had been hijacked by a department store cosmetics counter, and held for ransom by Estee Lauder. Those batting eye lashes would show up on Logan Airport’s radar. Then there were those lips… Painted over in a shade so close to red flames and heating him from the inside out, Smokey the Bear should put them in the background of a PSA where woodland creatures sprinted for cover.