Vengeance: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 3 (33 page)

“Ms. Niteclif?” His voice was deep and resonated through me with a kind of knowing.
 

I went to my knees after all, bowing my head, my thoughts in turmoil.

“Please. Don’t.” His hand closed over my upper arm and drew me up. Curling a finger under my chin, he lifted my face to his. “It is only I, Zerachiel. I am as unworthy of worship as any angel, particularly a Nephilim. I would ask you to see me for who and what I am.”

I looked at him, searched his face and saw the deepest grief I’d ever seen. “Why?”

He didn’t have to ask what I meant—why he’d fallen. “We all have our reasons, Ms. Niteclif. I’d ask your help to rectify the situation.”

Mute with awe, I nodded before blurting out, “Why are you so different?”

“He’s an angel,” Father O’Cleary said so softly I thought I might have imagined it.

Zerachiel lifted his chin. “Was.”

Hellion’s strong, familiar arm slid around my waist and pulled me to him. “This is a bit of a strong reaction, love, but it will pass.”

“Okay.” I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets and looked down, surprised to find the fallen angel’s feet bare and dirty, his pants hems soiled and frayed. “What happened?”

“I’ve been driven from my home by Agares’s associates. While traversing the city’s alleyways, I met a man who needed my shoes and coat in the cold more than I did, so I gave them to him.” He rolled his shoulders before crossing his arms. Not defensive…exactly.
 

“Why couldn’t Micah be more like him?” I asked Hellion. “Then I’d be less tempted to kill him.”

“You have Micah Niphal in your possession?” Zerachiel’s snarled words made the hair on my body stand on end.

“Yes?” My answer was tentative.

The Nephilim spoke in an ancient language I couldn’t understand, but his tone told me everything I needed to know. There was no love lost between the two.
 

“Let’s take this out of the hallway, shall we?” Hellion gestured to the office behind him. “It’s less likely we’ll create questions of others that can’t be answered.”

Zerachiel nodded. “Wise choice.” As he passed the priest who’d knocked on Father O’Cleary’s door, he touched his forehead and the man’s eyes went blank. He turned and headed back to the sanctuary without a word.

“What did you just do?” I peered around him to make sure the clergyman didn’t start quacking like a duck or something.

“Simply replaced his memory and suggested he return to work. I don’t need humans to recall my having been here.” Zerachiel moved to the fire and sank down, balancing on the balls of his feet. “You can’t know how good this feels.”

Father O’Cleary moved to a bookshelf and dragged a finger down aged spines until he found what he was searching for. Retrieving the book, he opened the index and began scanning. Realizing we’d quieted, he looked up. “Go on.”

Shrugging, I moved closer to Zerachiel, less enamored but no less in awe. “You came to the church, knew we’d be here. How? Or should I ask why?”

“I saw Gagiel’s flare when he executed his one Act of Glory and raced in that direction. It was an absolute blessing I was able to get there before you left. I overheard you tell Hellion where to go. I followed you here.” His fingers tapped out a rapid rhythm against his thighs. “I need your help.”

“How so?” Hellion moved in behind me and laid a warning hand on my shoulder.

“I must re-earn admittance to Shamayim. It’s imperative to me. I want nothing so much as to return home and serve again.” He looked down, his hair forming a curtain against words filled with shame. “Please.”

I nodded without thinking. “Of course.”

“That’s well beyond our control, and you know it.” Hellion’s words were hardened by time and experience.

“All true.” The Nephilim turned his attention back to me. “But I believe I’m to serve you in some way, Ms. Niteclif.”

“Not this again,” I muttered, wrapping my arms around my core.

A small smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Far from ‘this again’.” He stood and turned, still staying close to the fire’s warmth. “I’ve no interest in fathering your child.”

I shot him a sharp look. “You promise?”

“I cannot…
will not
lie.” He lifted his chin. “Your path is set, Ms. Niteclif.”

“Maddy, please.”

“As you will, Maddy. As I was saying, your path is set.”

I couldn’t suffuse the anger in my question. “So is it a matter of my free will or pre-ordained destiny that will rule this happy little family?”
 

Zerachiel watched me closely. “Why can it not be both?”
 

“How can it not be one or the other?” I countered.

A deep dimple punctuated his answer. “And that is the question for you to determine, is it not?”

“Great. Another one,” I muttered. “I’ve about had it with questions to be answered.”

The Nephilim arched a brow. “You’d be ill suited for your job if you were not one to answer difficult questions and solve unsolvable riddles.”
 

“I think what we need is to refocus on what to do about Agares.” Hellion slid an arm around my shoulders, and I stepped into the warmth of his embrace. He looked at Father O’Cleary who’d been listening raptly. “We were discussing exorcism.”

Father O’Cleary had to try twice to get his voice to cooperate. When it did, it was slightly reedy. “Yes. Exorcism. I’ve conducted more than fifty in my thirty-seven year career.
Participated
,” he emphasized, looking straight at me. “But I’ve never conducted one alone. I’d feel much better if we could involve one of the Cardinals.”

“No.” The answer on all our lips came from the least expected source. Zerachiel stepped forward. “It’s imperative we don’t draw any more attention to the supernatural world than is necessary. The Fundamentalist Rosicrucian Order’s assassins are alive and well, and their condemnation of the Catholic Church could well lead to a religious war if it were known that the Church assisted in an exorcism of this scope. I’m sorry, Father, but drawing anyone else into this is an impossibility.”

I was rubbing my temple long before the Nephilim was done speaking. “Who are the Fundamentalist Rosicrucians and why do they have assassins?”
 

Zerachiel whipped his chin to the side, popping his neck. Clearly the tension wasn’t only my own. “The Rosicrucians are an ancient society who condemn any religion that isn’t their own, particularly Catholicism. They’re also wholly opposed to the acceptance of mythology and witchcraft, the paranormal, even in fables.”

“And the assassin part?” I pressed.

“They have been responsible for shaping much of Europe’s political landscape since the 1700s. Can you imagine the damage they could cause if they could confirm a supernatural society? They’d be compelled to wipe us out as abominations, and they’d be able to manipulate armies to do so.”

“But you wouldn’t count.”

Zerachiel dropped his chin to his chest. “But I do. I’m no longer an archangel, Maddy. I’m Nephilim, an outcast amid a sea of disbelievers.”
 

My heart ached for him in that moment, and I wanted nothing more than to promise to get him home. But promises made on a whim were often the first to be broken. Instead, I offered what I could. “I believe.”

He moved toward me slowly. Cupping my face in his large, smooth hands, he kissed my forehead and murmured something against my skin. I leaned into his lips, their smooth pressure reassuring as he continued to whisper.
 

Zerachiel’s hands tightened slightly at the same time the priest dropped his book and uttered, “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”
 

We all looked at him. Hellion stepped close to the man’s swaying body and eased him into a chair. “Archangel,” he croaked, pointing a palsied finger at Zerachiel.
 

“Established,” I said softly, resting my face in his hands. He felt like home, like promises that couldn’t be broken, like safety in a world gone mad.

“He’s the archangel who oversees exorcisms,” the priest wheezed.

Hellion retrieved the book O’Cleary had been thumbing through. “It’s a list of all known angels and their responsibilities in the heavens.”

This made me jerk my chin up. “Is that true?”

“The book or my former responsibility?” Zerachiel shrugged. “I thought he knew and only wanted the Cardinal for support, since I’m fallen.”

I rounded on the priest. “Father?”
 

He shook his head. “No. No, it’s just…I kept thinking I was wrong, looked him up to verify the name.”

I glanced between the three men. “Looks like we’ve got the support we need to get the exorcism done, then. Only question is, do we attempt it here in Dublin or at Hellion’s estate?”

“The estate,” Zerachiel answered. “Advertise I’m there. Agares won’t be able to stay away.”

“Advertise?” Hellion rubbed his forehead, likely considering moving yet another man into the house.

“It will take care of itself when you put two fallen angels in the same vicinity,” the archangel answered cryptically.

“All right, then. Let’s get a good idea of what we’re doing before we head back. If fireworks are imminent with you and Micah, I need a plan that includes Nephilim intervention and four hours of sleep.”

Zerachiel gently directed me back to Hellion. “You’ll need the time together before the next moon rises. I’ll ensure you get it.”

Hellion stepped forward and wrapped me in his arms. “What aren’t you telling us?”
 

“I only say that because Agares is bound to be planning, just as we are.”

That effectively ended the conversational portion of the night’s events. We each pulled up chairs and went into the planning session with grim determination.

All I could think of was Zerachiel’s suggestion that Hellion and I spend time together. It felt like he was telling me something without saying anything, and nothing about it felt right.

Chapter Nineteen

Hellion had called Bahlin and asked him to escort me home. Unsure what exactly would happen when the two Nephilim were under the same roof, we had decided it was best to have me drive home with Zerachiel while Hellion dematerialized with Father O’Cleary. I’d been disappointed to not be on the other end of the priest’s little trip. Seeing his face after he came to at the manor would have been priceless.
 

Zerachiel and I hung out in the now-empty sanctuary for an hour to give Bahlin time to meet us outside the city. The archangel was a mystery to me, and I found I couldn’t stop staring at him. He took it in stride, eyes closed and face to the ceiling. With his head tilted back like it was, his hair hung well past his shoulder blades.

“Go ahead.”

I jumped. “What?”

“Touch my hair if you’d like. It won’t harm anything.”

“How did you…” I bit my lip and reached for his hair. Warm, it slid over my skin like silk floss. The color changed in the wavering light, revealing deep red and dark blue tones. I let his hair fall away only to run my fingers through it, root to tip. It never tangled or caught on my ring. “Amazing.”

He rolled his head toward me and opened his eyes. They were even more remarkable in the candlelit sanctuary. Light truly fractured within the irises, leaving me slightly dizzy and breathless. They were bottomless and so emotionally bereft I laid a hand on his cheek, running my thumb along his high cheekbone.
 

Lashes the color of ink dipped low, obscuring his eyes. “It is a wonder to me that you would have any affection for my kind after meeting Micah.”

“He’s a challenge, but he’s manageable. We had an early on knee-to-balls meeting that sort of cleared up any misunderstandings.”

He chuckled before turning his face deeper into my hand. “Do you not fear delivering me to your home?”

“No.”

Without looking at me, he arched a brow. “Truly?”

I dropped my hand away. “Truly. First, I’ve reloaded my gun and won’t hesitate to shoot you should I need to. Second, you need us too much to ensure Agares doesn’t get his hands on you. Third, we’re going to have a very surly dragon escort who might take exception to you even flirting.” At the mention of Bahlin, my heart beat hard enough I wondered if Zerachiel could hear it.

“You care for him.” A statement, not a question.

“I loved him.” It was so simple, really. He’d meant everything, been everything, to me for a short time. Nothing would steal the history I had with him. I just wanted time to hurry up and dull the cruel ache of regret. Glancing at my watch, I stood. “We need to go.”

He rose and walked from the church with the surety of one who knows his worth, lack of shoes and ratty pants be damned.
 

The Vitesse had been parked in Father O’Cleary’s spot in the church’s dedicated car park, so we crossed the sidewalk and went straight to the car. Several people surrounded it, taking video and pictures. I wove through them with ease, Zerachiel less so, and slid inside. Questions were lobbed at me—“How much did it cost?”, “What’s it like to drive?”, “Who are you?”—but I only smiled and waved them all off. Backing out was a terrifying venture. I kept waiting for someone to scream that I’d run him over.