Sons of Angels (40 page)

“It’s not worth wasting, Mum. She was burned to ash and blown away on the wind. She’s probably all over Mrs. Parkes’s washing by now.”

Ada raised her cheek for him to kiss. “Do it anyway.”

“If you like.” Harold obliged. “By the way, if you happen to come across a dragon.” He held out his hands in an indication of size. “You’ll let me know, won’t you?”

“Didn’t you say that’s what the angels were looking for?” Ada held the front door open.

“Sort of. Azazel got us a decoy.”

Ada frowned. “You be careful about dealing with that sly little bugger. I never did trust him.”

Chapter 47

Felicia thought the building looked disapproving when they pulled up in the tiny car park at the back of the shop. The two upper windows were reminiscent of eyes above the stroke-twisted mouth of Harold’s back door. “I’ll just check on my place.” Felicia took out her keys and crossed to the heavy wooden door of the gallery. “It’s been closed all week. I dread to think how much business I lost.”

“It was out of respect for your mother’s death.” Harold unlocked the shop door. “People understand that sort of thing.”

Felicia shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Is that sorted out yet?”

“My mother?” Felicia gave a tight smile, the memory of her death still painful. “The solicitor’s dealing with it. You know what insurance companies are like, it could take months. I still don’t know where to site the memorial plaque.”

“Sponsor a bench in the park. The council likes that sort of thing.”

“Maybe.”

“You could sponsor my new shed when I build it.”

Felicia laughed. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

She went downstairs to the gallery which was exactly as she’d left it, albeit dustier. She picked up the pile of letters and sorted them into exhibition proposals, bills and invitations to other shows. The junk mail she consigned to recycling.

She picked up the business card left by Mr. Raffles, wondering why an angel would leave a calling card. She tapped it on the desk while the computer booted.

A beep called her attention to the screen. The anti-virus software had picked up something. She frowned as she saw the warning message.

Angel detected: Fight, Run, Die?

Someone was playing silly buggers. Felicia clicked
Fight
.

The hard drive clicked several times before another message appeared on the screen, innocent pixels that made her heart grow cold with fear.

Fatal Error. System resources insufficient. Closing
.

The gallery spots went out, leaving her in darkness, the only light coming from the gallery doors where a darkening shadow diminished even that. She shivered and stood, flicking the light switch several times, dithering between looking for the fuse box and using her mobile to call for help.

The light from the doors faded altogether and she partially shifted to bring her wolf sight into play. A scent of titanium pervaded the gallery–white with the memory of hoar frost.

She reached for a black umbrella from the lost property box, holding it like a club as the wooden floor of gallery two creaked, casting the figure of a man across the paintings. Felicia grabbed her mobile and hit speed dial and one.

“Mr. Raffles?” The saliva in her mouth dried, leaving her barely able to speak. “How did you get in here?”

“You were thinking of me, Felicia. I came because you called.”

“Harold!” She hoped her voice could be heard upstairs, but all that she managed was a whispered squeak.

Raphael stepped closer until that she could feel the heat of the angel’s body. “There is no need to fight, Felicia. I came to save the earth, not to destroy it. If I do not complete my work, all will be drowned in the second flood.”

“What’s he doing here? He can’t come in here.” Harold stood at the open doorway. “There are wards against his kind.”

“I came to teach.” Raphael gestured and the door slammed and locked. “Can you imagine how it feels to drown, Felicia? To have your lungs fill with water and not be able to breathe? To feel your heart beat faster as it tries to pump oxygen-starved blood around your system, your lungs burning and the pressure threatening to explode your eyeballs?”

“Actually, no.” Felicia circled to bring a supporting pillar between them. “I have a very under-active imagination. I prefer what I can see.”

“Then I will show you.” Felicia had never imagined angels might have a sense of humor. Raphael’s mocking laughter proved her wrong.

Water began to rise from the floor, quickly covering Felicia’s feet. She shifted, glancing away from the grinning angel to look for a spot that remained dry, but finding none. “This is stupid. I get the point.”

“Felicia?” Harold called through the closed door. “What’s he doing? There’s water coming in. It’ll ruin the carpet.”

“He’s proving a point.” Felicia glanced at the doors, moving clear of the pillar now the water was up to her knees. “He wants me to experience drowning.”

“Leave her alone. She’s just trying to help people. Isn’t that supposed to be your job?”

“He has a point, Mr. Raffles.” Felicia was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her balance, though the angel seemed completely unaffected. As the water reached her waist the chill settled into her groin. “Why are you, an angel, committing genocide whilst I, a nephilim, am saving them?”

Raphael chuckled. “You know why, Felicia. It’s for the greater good. What are the lives of a few nephilim compared to the lives of seven billion mortals?” A flash of his hand and Felicia’s redundant umbrella was pulled from her hand to splash somewhere in the darkness.

The room was now lit with the eerie reflections of Raphael’s spirit dancing on the surface of the water and Felicia was getting confused between the flickering figure of Raphael himself, the glittering ripples and the dancing reflections on the ceiling. The flood was now up to her chest, her clothes dragged on her arms and she was in danger of losing her footing altogether. “I get the point!” she shouted. “You can stop this now.”

“And would you stop interfering?” Raphael laughed. “I think not. Therefore, you can have a taste of what you sought to bring about by meddling.” The flickering light of the angel vanished, leaving Felicia in the darkness of the rising tide.

“Harold?” She lurched and overbalanced, kicking off her shoes as she fought to regain equilibrium. “Do something. It’s still rising.”

She felt rather than saw the banging on the front doors. As her feet left the floor, she was forced to tread water to keep her head above the flood. The ceiling was only a few feet above her, the cables carrying the spotlights threatening to strangle her if she wasn’t electrocuted first.

“Felicia?” Meinwen’s call came from outside. “The doors won’t open and the window won’t break. I’m sorry.”

Felicia shivered. “Go and fetch Jasfoup or Julie. They’ll think of something.”

“I’ll try.” Felicia felt her leave. There was a tug on her ankles and she began to panic. What else was in the room with her? She sank below the waterline, desperately holding her breath as the cold liquid pulled her toward the final sleep. Lungs burning, she reached down to find out what had caught her, feeling the soft, malleable texture of wool. It was the rug Harold’s great aunt Lydia had made, a gift for her office when she’d opened the gallery. She pulled it from her feet and kicked off, swimming upward and finding a layer of air still between the ceiling and the surface of the water. She gasped for breath. Where were Julie and Jasfoup? She was going to die!

She forced herself to think rationally. Who else had the ability to help? The imps! They could gate in, the same way Raphael had. She raised her arm to the height of her head and clicked, hoping at least one of them would respond. A moment later she felt a gust of warm air and the fetid breath of an imp on her face.

“Wolf girl?” Devious sat on the sprinkler pipe. “New gallery decor? It’s a bit on the wet side.”

“Devious, please.” Felicia gasped as she caught hold of the bar. “I’m drowning.” She paused to gulp more air. “Open a gate at floor level and swim up to me.”

“Must I?” Felicia could sense the grimace, then the warm air vanished as Devious gated out again. There was a muffled thump, and several bubbles of air broke the surface as Devious rejoined her. “They’re not going to like this downstairs. I just hope it drains into the Styx before anyone thinks to trace the source.”

Felicia kept hold of the pipe until the water had whirlpooled into Devious’s tunnel, then dropped to the floor. She set the imp on her shoulder, feeling the tail curl automatically around her neck as she paddled in bare feet among the puddles. The bookshop door opened, allowing light to flood into the gallery.

Jasfoup’s wings fluttered, and Felicia felt the demon’s eyebrows rise even in silhouette.

“Thank Hell you’re here.” Felicia sagged with relief.

Jasfoup took a long look at the devastation that the tiny flood had caused. “Did you have a wet dream?”

* * * *

Felicia sat in the bookshop kitchen dressed in Harold’s woolliest dressing gown and accepted a cup of sweet tea from Jasfoup. Next to her, at Felicia’s insistence, sat Devious, wrapped in a fluffy towel. She related what happened with Raphael.

“So he just left you to die?” Jasfoup pressed his hands to his face. “He must expect to be called to account for his actions.”

“He didn’t seem worried.” Felicia shivered. “Not that I was studying him, what with trying to stay alive.”

The shop door opened and closed and Julie rushed in. “What happened?” She barely spared a glance at the swaddled imp. Felicia recounted the tale for her benefit. “And Devious saved my life.” She leaned over and kissed the imp’s head ridge. Devious grinned nervously.

“
Tch.
” Jasfoup waved a hand dismissively. “Get a room.”

Julie enveloped Felicia in a hug, holding it for several seconds. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the manor. You must be exhausted.”

“What about the gallery?” Felicia grimaced. “All the paintings will be ruined.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the oils.” Harold drew his lips back. “But the watercolors will all be abstract expressionist now.”

Jasfoup snorted. “It’ll be an improvement.”

Chapter 48

Felicia pushed open the door to the little terraced house. She was greeted by Laura Ashley floral wallpaper, a style long out of fashion, as far as she was concerned, the moment she discovered what her clitoris was for. “It’s wide open.” She kept her voice to a whisper. “Do you think we’re too late?” She crept forward, curling her lip at the Ikea paintings and House of Fraser scatter cushions.

“I hope not. According to Taliel, there’s a nephilim here.” Jasfoup peered over her shoulder. “Linda Washington. There’s a light on at the back and another upstairs. I can hear music too. I can’t smell any fire, though.”

“Good. We might be in time then. Puriel likes to cover his killings by burning the house down.” Felicia stepped cautiously over the threshold and checked behind the door.

“Who’s watched too much television now?” Jasfoup’s voice was equally low. He held up a hand for silence and motioned up the stairs.

Felicia approached the lit rooms on the second floor. As her head became level with the landing, she stopped, swiveling on her heels to acquaint herself with the layout of the rooms. Two were lit, but since one was an empty bathroom she concentrated on the farther one, from which issued the strains of light dance music and voices. She crept farther up, motioning the others to follow and, once next to the open doorway, risked a peek around the frame. Inside the room were two women, one of whom, according to Jasfoup, must be Puriel in mortal form. The other woman was therefore the nephilim they’d come to save. Gooseflesh pricked her arms

Felicia’s heartbeat increased. They were indeed in time to prevent a murder. She was not, however, entirely happy about facing down an angel.

Jasfoup stared helplessly up from the stairwell. “I can’t come any closer. He’s too powerful for me. You’ll have to confront him on your own. I’d burn away to nothing.”

Felicia’s eyes widened. “No help from you? What can I do against it?”

“Go and bark at him.” The demon made shooing motions. “What he’s doing is still murder, even if he thinks it’s God’s will. Give him a kicking and he might re-think his actions.”