Sons of Angels (32 page)

“You’ve fed. I can feel the heat radiating from your stomach. Recently too.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gillian smothered his words with a kiss. “It’s what I do. Azazel made me drink green tea and I had to get rid of the taste.”

“Azazel?” Harold sat up against the headboard, his erection subsiding. “What did he say?”

“He offered to help. Indirectly, of course.”

“He can’t be seen to be working against an angel.”

“Exactly.” Gillian smiled and traced the outline of his jaw. “He thinks they’re looking for a nephilim dragon as well, or the possibility of a nephilim siring one.”

“Jasfoup was right then.” Harold frowned. “What sort of help will he give? A weapon?”

“He didn’t say. I doubt it would be a weapon. Giving you an angelic sword would make him the dubious benefactor in a bad fantasy novel. Besides, mortal weapons won’t hurt an angel, and demonic ones would reveal their origins. I think we’re on our own in that department.”

“That’s a shame.” Harold sighed and used his free hand to caress her breast. “It’s been nearly thirty years since I last used a weapon of mass destruction.”

Gillian drew back. “What weapon? I didn’t know you’d done that.”

“Oh, yes.” Harold’s teeth shone in the darkness. “I let off a stink bomb in church.”

“Ah.” Gillian tapped his cheek in lieu of a slap. The real thing would have taken his head off. “That would have been a weapon of mass disruption, then.”

“Semantics.” Harold shrugged. “At least no one sent the troops in, although the vicar told my mum.”

“Oh, dear!”

“That’s an understatement. I think that was my first introduction to Mr. Spoon.”

“The one in Ada’s kitchen? I’ve seen it.”

“Wait until you’ve felt it. You remember a rap on the knuckles from Mr. Spoon.”

Gillian laughed. “As opposed to a spanking from me, you mean.” She pulled him out of the covers and onto her knee.

“No!” Harold shrieked, laughing and trying to squirm away. “I’m not one of your clients.”

“Nevertheless, you still have to pay.” Gillian landed a strike on his bare arse, leaving a red-rimmed outline of her hand on his pale skin.

“Ouch!” Harold yelped and tried to get away, but Gillian’s other hand clamped down on the base of his spine, pinning him while she administered another five.

It sounded like Harold couldn’t decide whether to scream or laugh. He settled instead for a half-strangled combination of the two. Still holding him down, Gillian leaned forward and spoke into his ear. “You’ve been a very bad boy.”

Harold laughed. “Bite me!”

Gillian raised an eyebrow. “Hardly the cleverest thing to say to a vampire.”

She didn’t take much blood. Hardly two mouthfuls before bliss and an orgasm made him drowsy again. She lay with him, allowing him to rest his head against her chest as he fell asleep.

She stared at the ceiling as his breathing became slow and rhythmic, almost regretting the fact she hadn’t even undressed.

The curtains lightened as dawn approached.

* * * *

Felicia awoke and stretched languidly, remembered what had happened the night before and smiled as she recalled the touches of the vampire. The sun was barely above the horizon and the air was filled with singing of blackbirds and sparrows.

She rolled out of bed in one fluid motion, showering away the scent of her new lover. She didn’t know how keen Harold’s sense of smell was but didn’t want to parade the scent of his partner in front of him.

After her shower she went downstairs, made herself a coffee and some toast and ate it on the old stone patio outside. The seat where she’d fed the cats was still in shade this early in the morning, but there was a wrought iron table and chairs she was able to drag into the sunshine.

“There’s nothing for you.” She stooped to pet the pair of cats that appeared as she sat. “I’m certain you don’t like toast.”

Since they appeared to argue the contrary, she broke them off a bit of crust that still had traces of butter and gave it to them, her patience for holding the pieces while the two cats sniffed at them wearing thin with surprising speed.

“I’m not going to poison you.” She dropped the two pieces on the ground. That seemed to satisfy the first, who then deigned to eat but the second stalked off, its tail high as if in deliberate insult.

“Suit yourself.” Felicia had never owned a cat. Most of them used to hiss at her even before she became part wolf, and her mother pretended her aversion was from allergies.

She carried the empty plate indoors and made a second drink. With no food to offer, the most she saw of the cats was one sleeping in a patch of sun on shed roof. She sipped the coffee and wondered how she would broach the subject of Meinwen going to Hell.

Would she do the same for Meinwen, knowing Hell really existed and was not just the product of a fevered imagination? Probably not. She might run into her mother.

“Good morning.”

Harold brought out a small tray upon which he’d piled four buttered crumpets, toast, a pot of tea and an open tin of tuna. “It’s a lovely day.”

“It is.” Felicia shaded her eyes and smiled up at him.

“May I join you?”

“Please do.” Felicia shifted her coffee cup to make room. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log.” Harold settled into the chair, shifting its orientation slightly to catch the sun. “I did wake up when Gillian got into bed, though I soon dropped off again.”

He offered her a crumpet, which she declined. He ate the first one in silence, watching the cats as they appeared in ones and twos. They waited while he finished, the slight flicks of their tails the only indication they were not just life-like statues.

Harold poured himself a cup of tea and added sugar before using the spoon to scoop chunks of fish from the tin. Felicia watched in astonishment as the cats formed a queue to take a spoonful of fish each; a far cry from the mayhem when she and Jasfoup had fed them.

“There are some scents I find alluring, erotic even.” Harold held up the tuna tin. “Fish isn’t one of them, though wet dog is.” He glanced across at her and went back to feeding the cats. “I find it comforting that the scent of wet wolf is similar.”

“Thank you.” Felicia wasn’t certain whether the statement implied tacit approval of her affair with Gillian.

“She was wearing your perfume last night, I believe.”

Felicia blushed. She hadn’t been wearing perfume.

Harold gave the last of the tuna to a cat twice the size of the others. “Hello, Horace, old chap. Last again, are you?”

The cat rubbed against his leg and Harold stroked it. “This is the alpha of the clan. Old Horace.” He bent down and tickled the cat under one ear. “Actually, Gillian named him Horus, so don’t tell her what he really responds to.”

Felicia laughed, realizing Harold sharing this small secret with her was an admission of his approval, or at least, his not minding the connection she had to Gillian. “I’m going to get a fresh coffee. Can I get you anything?”

“No thank you.” Harold held out the empty tuna tin. “You could drop that in the recycling bin for me, though.”

“Which one is that?”

“The green one.” Harold laughed. “It’s behind the door.”

Felicia nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

She ran into Jasfoup in the kitchen. She’d never seen him look worried before. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Julie. You need to see her. She’s been sick again. That can’t be good, surely? The effects from watching Devious should have worn off by now.”

“I’d have thought so.” Felicia hurried up to her sister’s room, Jasfoup following like a six-foot puppy. She knocked on the door, waited a moment and went in.

Julie was in bed, her face ashen.

“Jasfoup says you’re ill,” Felicia perched on the eiderdown. “Are you still dizzy from last night?”

“No.” Julie grimaced. “I’m pregnant.”

Chapter 37

Felicia took in her sister’s rosy cheeks and her swollen breasts and closed her jaw with a snap. She tried to scrub the image of Jasfoup impregnating her sister from her imagination “You can’t be pregnant. That’s impossible.” Images of
Rosemary’s Baby
paraded across her mind.

“Why?” Julie managed another weak smile. “If an angel can impregnate a mortal, how difficult must it be for a demon to do the same to a nephilim?”

“But...” Felicia stared at her. “You were fine yesterday.”

“I’m fine now.” Julie patted her hand. “That’s why I was so sick. It wasn’t just the seeing through eyes thing, it was all the changes that were happening to my body. Look.” She pulled the bedclothes down to expose her stomach, heedless of her nakedness. It was extended, the skin stretched taut as a drum over a bulge the size of a medicine ball.

“Oh my...giddy aunt. You’re not just pregnant, you’re hugely pregnant. You must be in your second trimester. That’s impossible.”

“We discussed the speed of nephilim pregnancy yesterday.” Jasfoup placed a hand over Julie’s stomach. “This little tyke will be three quarters elohim, which makes him more nephilim than most, hence an even faster gestation.”

“Elohim?” Felicia frowned.

“The race of angels and demons.” Jasfoup scooped up Julie’s hand. “Julie’s half elohim and I’m full eohim. This little lad is going to be very special indeed.”

“When you say ‘even faster gestation’ how long are we talking here?”

Julie rolled her hand over the bump. “I should be a mother by tea time which, frankly, is a relief. I’m glad I don’t have to do the whole nine months.”

“How will you look after a baby, though? You can’t see.”

“I can’t? Hell’s bells. Thanks for pointing that out, sis. I must have forgotten.”

“Sorry.” Felicia squeezed her hand. “That was crass of me. Blind women have children all the time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Julie squeezed back. “I have a plan, anyway.”

“What? For getting your eyesight back?” Jasfoup pressed his head to Julie’s stomach.

“If I can see through other people’s eyes why can’t I cast the spell using my own fingernails or something and see through my own eyes?”

“Because your own eyes can’t see?” Felicia grimaced. “I think that’s a fundamental obstacle.”

“Is it, though? It depends how the spell works. We know Julie’s eyes used to see, so if the spell works by reading the retina of the subject, then Julie should be able to see with it. If it reads the brain, though, it won’t, because the images get stuck between her eyes and her brain.”

Felicia shrugged. “We can try it and find out.”

Julie sat up, pushing Jasfoup away. “Is Harold up yet?”

“He should be.” Jasfoup looked at the clock. “It’s past eight and he’s due to open the shop at ten.”

Felicia smiled at her sister. “He’s outside having breakfast.”

“Fetch him.” Julie beamed. “Tell him to bring his spell book.”

“All right.” Jasfoup stroked her stomach one last time. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”

Felicia watched him leave before turning back to Julie. “Is this really a good idea?”

“What? Having a baby? I don’t really have much choice about it, do I?”

“Not that. Well...that as well, but I meant about casting this magic of yours while you’re carrying it.”

“It’s a bit late to worry about that, Fliss. I was carrying it yesterday which was a more vulnerable stage in its development.”

“I suppose.” Felicia sighed. “In for a penny, then.” She looked toward the door, where she could hear voices from the hall. “They’re on their way back. Tell me why, with all the trouble we’re facing, you didn’t make Jasfoup use condoms the other night?”

Julie laughed and shook her head. “That’s the strange thing. He’s so big I thought we couldn’t, but Harold happened to have some latex stockings.” She smiled fully for the first time that morning. “We used those. One must have broken.”