The Angel of Death (The Soul Summoner Book 3) (16 page)

He ran a hand down his face in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

I turned back in the direction of the car and waved for my dad to come, then Azrael stepped aside as I walked up the steps past him. When I reached the front door, I realized my keys were sitting at the bottom of the French Broad River. I patted my empty pockets. Azrael must have understood because he lifted his hand toward the door, and I heard the deadbolt slide open. My mouth fell open a little as I stared up at him.

He looked like he wanted to smile, but he didn’t.

It was unnerving how much he looked like Warren. The jawline, the cheekbones, the tanned skin stretched smooth and taut over his face…it was all the same. What wasn’t the same was the cavernous scar running from the inside of his eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, and down the opposite cheek. I wondered what the other guy must have looked like.
 

Azrael followed me into the house with Nathan and my father quick on his heels. I flipped the light switch.

My father shrugged out of his wool coat. “Can someone please explain to me what is going on?”

I touched his elbow. “Dad, this is Azrael. He’s Warren’s father.”

Dad blinked with bewilderment. “His father?”

“Angels don’t age,” I explained. “Azrael, this is my dad, Dr. Robert Jordan.”

Dad extended his hand, but Azrael just looked down at it until my father awkwardly pulled it away. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, I think, Azrael,” Dad said, stumbling over each word.

“Come in and have a seat,” I said, motioning toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Nathan and my father cornered me in the foyer.
 

“I don’t like this, Sloan,” Nathan said.

I rolled my eyes. “Surprise, surprise.”

Dad pointed at him. “I agree with Nathan.”

I looked at both of them and motioned toward the door. “Then you can both go home. You don’t live here.”

In unison they scowled at me.

I pushed through the middle of them, but Nathan’s hand to my chest stopped me. He lowered his face to my ear. “You don’t need to talk in here. I told you, the FBI’s probably listening.”

“It’s OK,” Azrael called out from across the room. “I swept the house for bugs before you got home.”

We all turned toward him.
 

“How did he hear that?” Nathan asked quietly.

“I hear lots of things,” Azrael replied without looking over.

He was settled in the corner of the loveseat, his black boot resting over his knee and his arm stretched across the seat back. He even occupied the sofa like Warren.
 

Cautiously, I walked over and sat in the middle of the couch across from him.
 

His dark eyes were taking a close inventory of me. “How did you know who I was?”

“Well, for starters, you look exactly like Warren,” I said. “I thought you were him earlier tonight.”

“How did you know my name?” he asked.

My knees were bouncing nervously. “Warren told me a story of when he was in Iraq a few years ago, and an old man freaked out when he saw him. He called Warren by your name, and it left such an impression on him that Warren had the name tattooed on his side. I’m assuming now, by looking at you, the old man had once seen you in person.”

He nodded. “It’s possible. I’ve spent time in Iraq. I think I was memorable for the few people I met there.”

I didn’t doubt him.

“You’re in the military?” Nathan asked as he came across the room. He sat on my left side, and my father sat to my right.

Azrael shook his head. “Not exactly, but I have been present for most of the major world wars.”

My father looked as though his brain was cramping. “I don’t understand. How old are you?”

“Older than the ground you walk on.”

That was sobering.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“I’ve stayed close to Warren since he was born. Your union with him is quite notorious,” he said.

I scrunched up my nose. “So I’ve been told.”

Nathan straightened in his seat like he’d been electrocuted. “It was you!”

We all turned to stare at him.

He pointed at Azrael. “You were in Chicago when Warren was a kid!”

Azrael nodded.

My head swirled around with bewilderment. “How the heck did you put that together?”

“Remember when we found out your demon mom was in Chicago?” he asked.

I covered my gaping mouth with my fingers. “We wondered why Warren never got a migraine when she left.” I looked at Azrael. “It’s because you were there the whole time.”

He nodded again.

I thought of Warren and his childhood foster-sister, Alice, being placed in a home with a child molester and stiffened. My hands clenched into tight fists. “You were there the whole time,” I said again, my voice deepening with anger.

“Had I not been there,” his tone was a warning, “Warren would not have been able to access his power and use it that first time.”

My breath caught in my chest. “You’re the reason he’s so much better than me.”

Azrael didn’t respond.

Dad leaned toward me. “What are you two talking about?”

“Kasyade told me my exposure to Warren increased my ability to use my power. Warren’s been around Azrael his whole life without knowing it. That’s why he’s so much better at using his gift than I am,” I said.

“I don’t think it hurts that Warren’s more disciplined and focused than you are,” Nathan added.

I pinched his side.

Azrael’s foot dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. “You’ve met your mother, then?”

I smirked. “Oh yeah. We’ve met. She tried to kill me a few weeks ago.”

Azrael’s brow scrunched together. “I doubt that.”

Nathan and I exchanged a puzzled glance. “Azrael, she tried to kill me.” I pointed at Nathan. “And she succeeded at killing him.”

“Him, I can believe she would kill. Not you. That would be counterproductive,” he said.

“She beat Sloan within an inch of her life,” Nathan argued.

Azrael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Perhaps, but she would not kill Sloan.” He tapped his fingertips together. “Not until my granddaughter is born, anyway.”

No one spoke.

“She wants the baby?” my father asked. “Why?”

“Because Sloan is carrying the most powerful angel in all of history.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Beside me, Nathan was laughing too. Dad joined in as well, but his was more of a wide-eyed, nervous chuckle.

Azrael didn’t move.

Or speak.
 

Or laugh.

Our cackles quickly faded with all the decrescendo of a cartoon balloon losing its helium.

I looked at Azrael. “You’re serious?”

He turned his palms up. “Do I look like I make jokes?”

After a second, Nathan stood and wiped his hands on his pants. “That’s my cue to get a beer. Dr. Jordan?”

“No, thank you,” Dad said.

“Azrael?” Nathan offered.

Azrael shook his head. The way he was staring at me made me contemplate crawling behind the sofa. He pointed at my stomach. “I’m fairly certain this was planned before you were ever born.”

Nathan returned from the kitchen, twisted the top off his beer bottle, then tossed it across the room into the fireplace. “I’m going to need some more information.” He sat next to me again. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“Of time?” Azrael asked.

I snickered.

Nathan glared at him, but Azrael didn’t seem to care…or notice.

He looked at me. “What do you know about my world?”

“Nothing good,” Nathan muttered.

“Ignore him,” I said. “We know Warren and I are Seramorta, part angel and part human.”

Azrael nodded. “That’s correct. But to understand what that means and why your child is so important, you must first understand what I am.”
 

This was about to get interesting.

He held up seven fingers. “There are seven choirs of angels in Heaven. Messengers and the Ministry choir are the lowest ranked. Then there are Angels of Prophecy, Knowledge, and Protection. The Angels of Life—your mother—make up the second choir. First, are the Angels of Death.” He tapped his chest. “That’s what I am.”

I wondered if I should get a pen and piece of paper. “Samael is an Angel of Death.”

Azrael’s brow rose. “That is correct. Samael is a guard of the spirit line. He decides who is permitted to cross, who must suffer the second death, and who must be turned over to The Destroyer.”

I liked the sound of
none
of that. I gulped and kept my mouth shut, but Nathan didn’t.

“The Destroyer?” he asked.

“The truly wicked souls are turned over to The Destroyer at their death.” Azrael spread his hands out. “He is aptly named.”

I closed my eyes. “My head hurts.”

“Shall I continue?” Azrael asked.

I nodded.

“Each choir has an archangel like myself, and above the archangels was The Morning Star,” he said.

I raised my hand. “Satan?”

He shrugged. “For simplicity’s sake, sure.”

“What makes him so special?” Nathan asked, sounding more annoyed than interested.

“The Morning Star was given both the gift of life and the gift of knowledge, making him more powerful than the rest of us.”
 

Nathan seemed satisfied with the answer.

Azrael stretched his arm along the back of the sofa again. “Long after the angels were created, God created humans. Comparatively, humans were weak and inferior, but He favored them above all His other creations, even us. They were given a gift none of the rest of us had.”

“What was that?” Dad asked.

“Free will,” Azrael answered. “The angels were solely created to carry out the will of the Father. We have no right to choose which orders we will obey and which orders we will not. We rarely questioned it because we knew no different. Then humanity was born, and they were given the option to serve only themselves. And if that wasn’t insulting enough, then God placed the angels in service to his new creation.”

Nathan drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. “You sound bitter about it.”

Azrael gave a noncommittal shrug. “None of us were happy, but I’m certainly not bitter. The Morning Star, however, was furious. He argued that because the angels had been with God since the beginning, we should have dominion over humans. Not the other way around. When God refused the Morning Star rebelled and incited a war to take the throne. Of course, he and his followers were defeated and cast out of Heaven, exiled here.”

I raised my hand again.
 

Nathan pushed it back down. “Knock it off. We’re not in school. Just ask.”

Azrael almost looked amused.

“Why would they be cast down here to Earth? Why not send them to Saturn or Pluto where they can’t bother anybody?” I asked.

“Heaven is not up or down. Heaven is here”—he motioned around the room—“and Heaven is all throughout the universe, but it’s across the spirit line.”
 

I stopped myself before I raised my hand again. “Like a different dimension?”

“Sort of.”

Nathan began humming the theme song to
The Twilight Zone.

I rolled my eyes. “Azrael, please continue.”

“The Morning Star vowed to torment man.” He pointed at us. “Including all of you.”

I held up my hands. “Why man? What did we do?”

“I can answer that one,” my father said.

Nathan and I turned our curious eyes toward him.

“Because there’s no greater pain than when your children are in danger,” he said, looking right at me. “The worst punishment he can inflict on God is to attack his children.”

Azrael nodded. “Exactly.”

Nathan took a long drink of his beer. “But what does all that have to do with Sloan and this kid?”

“I’m getting there.” Azrael leaned forward on his elbows and looked at me. “The Seramorta, like you and Warren, are children born to angels,” he said. “There are few Seramorta in the world, and only twice before in the entire history of mankind, have two Seramorta borne children together. The child is born with both gifts and no human spirit at all.”

My father’s medical brain was trying to process the information, but it was clear from his face that it wasn’t doing a good job of it. “So…like biology,” he began, “the angel gene is the dominant gene, so that’s what Warren and Sloan passed on to their child.”

Azrael pointed at him. “Correct. That’s a good analogy. It’s like a loophole in the laws of the universe. Angels can’t copulate with other angels to prevent this very thing from happening, but because Sloan and Warren are also human, they can have a child together.”

Nathan looked over at me and pointed between us. “So let’s say you and I had a baby. Would it get the angel gene?”

Azrael shook his head. “No. The angelic line would end, and the child would be a normal human. That’s typically what happens. The odds of two Seramorta finding each other are minimal.”

“You said this has happened twice before. What happened to those children?” Dad asked.

“Their bodies matured as a normal human would, but they never died. They were escorted across the spirit line by the Father himself, and their human bodies were frozen as they were.”

My hands instinctively went to my stomach. “They never died?”

Azrael shook his head. “Metatron possesses both the gifts of life and ministry, and Sandolfin possesses the gifts of prophecy and knowledge.”

Nathan rubbed his forehead. “So what’s so special about Sloan and Warren?”

Azrael rose from his seat and slowly walked back and forth in front of the coffee table. He was wringing his hands as he paced. “Do you remember what I told you about the hierarchy? The Angels of Life and the Angels of Death are the most powerful choirs in Heaven.”

I looked at Nathan. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

He nodded in agreement.

Azrael stopped walking and knelt down in front of me. He gripped my hands. “Sloan, the birth of the child you carry will be the greatest event in angelic history. She will be known as the Vitamorte, born with the gift of free will as well as the power to control life and death. Your daughter will someday take the empty seat of The Morning Star.” He leaned toward me. “The Vitamorte will be more powerful than Satan himself.”