Revelation (19 page)

Japheth was a guy, after all. He liked women. He wanted to do the stuff guys did with them. But he couldn’t afford to sin, not if he wanted redemption. No matter what Dash and the others thought, being Tainted was no excuse to act like a whore.

Dash made a call. “Trill, where are you? Get your ridiculous orange butt over here.”

In a blue flash, Trillium appeared, blood-spattered and sporting a huge grin. “Oh, man. Did you see those muties? They were
rampaging
. Wherever this damn sacrifice party is, it’s gonna be
huge
.”

“Bringing me to my point,” said Dash dryly. “We need to know where it is. When it is. You got anything else?”

Trillium shrugged, reddish feathers ruffling. “I can ask around. Trapped me a clever-ass gangbanger who might know something—oyy!”

Demonspawn dove from the shadows on leathery wings, talons outstretched for slaughter.

Trill yanked his sword from thin air and ran one through. Dash grabbed the second one’s throat and broke its long snaky neck. And Japheth dived out of the third one’s path into a handspring that flung him skywards, and he flipped his sword two-handed and landed on the ground astride the monster, hard enough to crack a few of its ribs.

Japheth pulled his sword point unerringly to its throat. His breath barely hitched. “Talk to me, monster, or I’ll make this hurt. Who owns you? Who’s running the sacrifice show?”

The beast cackled. Human flesh hung in gobbets from its mouth. Looked like it had made itself a fine dinner. It spat at him, cursing.

Acid hit Japheth’s face, sizzling. His cheek stung as the wound healed, but it only steeled him harder. He liked pain. Pain was manageable. Not like…other things.

He crushed the creature harder between his thighs, and delicately sliced a flap of thick skin from its face.

It wailed in agony, thrashing wiry limbs. He held it easily, jamming the heel of his hand into its forehead. It screamed, flesh hissing. Japheth smiled grimly. “Tell me, and I’ll stop. You’ll get a clean death. On my honor.”

“Prince Quuzaat,” it spluttered, blood spurting from its beak.
“Tomorrow night my prince will rip the flesh from your bones, honey sucker—ugh!”

Smoothly, Japheth sliced its throat open, and it died with a wet sigh.

He was a man of his word, after all. Lying was a sin. No false witness ever passed his lips. Not even to a demon.

Slaughter was a sin, too.
Thou shalt not kill.
But heaven made an exception for that one, and death was in Japheth’s blood. In all of them. You couldn’t live without your heart.

He lighted up and vanished his sword. His burned palm sizzled, and healed, and he shook it. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“Of course it hurt, hero.” Trill shoved him. “It’s the hellspawn that
doesn’t
burn you that you should worry about. Sympathy for evil, and all…oh, yeah, I forgot. Your thoughts aren’t sinful enough for that, are they?”

“And yours are?”

“I’ve had my lukewarm moments.” A sly Trillium grin.

Japheth snorted. “No doubt. Did you hear what that wraith said?”

Dash nodded. “Quuzaat. Either the hellshit was lying…”

“No.” Japheth shook his head, firm. “Did you see its eyes? It was terrified. Too low in the hierarchy to be taking one for the team.”

“So,” added Trillium, “he was telling the truth, and Quuzaat’s our guy. The Prince of Blood. Ithiel’s vial must have been blood, not plague. Which means…”

“Which means that Quuzaat
isn’t
the plague demon.” Dash frowned. “It doesn’t make sense. Fat-ass Q. is a plague junkie. Why would he let something like the Manhattan virus go by for the chance to bleed a few souls?”

“Unless it’s a plague of sin and slaughter,” suggested Japheth. “You know how these hellcreatures’ minds work. Either that, or the guy giving the orders doesn’t care about employee preferences.” He paused. “And we still don’t know who’s giving the orders, Dash. Might want to look into that one next time.”

“I’ll be sure to ask Quuzaat. Right before I skewer his greasy ass. Either way, Lune’s demon prince isn’t who he thinks. I’ll give him a call. Anyone touch base with Jaz and Iria?”

Trill shrugged. “Nope.”

“Then I’ll call them, too. And then, my good sons, I am in
the mood for a party.” Dash cracked his neck bones, wings sparking electric.

Japheth watched, fascinated. Dash had issues with glory. Like, junkie issues. If Jae knew him at all, the fight still glittered ruby rich in Dash’s blood, his nerves screaming for death or release, and he’d have the jitters, an aching pulse and the hard-on from hell until he did something about it.

Dash grinned, predatory. “Wine, women and wailing. You up?”

“Very funny.” Japheth would go home, naturally. Shower, cold to keep him real. Get a bite to eat, nothing decadent of course. Pick up his phone a dozen times and put it down again.

“Like I meant you,” grumbled Dash. “Trill?”

“You sure we’re done here?”

“You heard the hellgoon. Tomorrow night we’ll kick your asses, no force can stop us now, blah blah. No more action tonight. Whaddaya say we hunt us some luscious ladies and kick on?”

“I say, hell, yeah.” Trill stretched, wolfish, and Japheth suppressed a twinge of envy. Self-denial was a b—well, it wasn’t very nice.

“Good man. Jae, do me a favor and don’t do anything stupid?”

Japheth bristled. “Like what?”

“Like you know what,” insisted Dash. “Leave his damn number alone.”

Dash knew him too well. And he couldn’t lie. Best not to say anything. But…

“Okay.” That sealed it. He’d promised. He’d just go to bed, and try not to dream of home and better days. “Have a good time. See ya.” And Japheth flashed out.

His feet touched the warm tiles of his balcony. His apartment was high in a glass-walled tower on Madison Avenue—he figured shopping was one temptation he could resist without trouble—and tonight the moon shone crimson over the jeweled city, the eerie blood-soaked bay colored purple. Warm breeze ruffled his feathers, tugging his hair back. Sirens pealed, and spotlights shone in Central Park, a ring of light where they were keeping the corpses of virus victims in a big air-conditioned tent. Downtown, where he’d just come from, smoke drifted over the broken black skyline, bringing with it the smell of ash.

But he stank of demon blood. It clotted his hair and smeared his hands, stinging. He needed a shower.

He slid the glass door aside and walked in. Cool and dim, moonlight reflecting on pale minimalist furniture, the smooth black lacquer of his piano. His golden wings reflected in the mirrored walls, his armor caked with dust and gore. Japheth didn’t particularly like mirrors. But he endured them. It ensured he could look himself in the eye.

He opened the fridge and grabbed a fruit juice. The tart orange pulp sweetened his parched throat. The delicious taste dizzied him. His mouth watered, wanting more, and he allowed himself another small swallow before he put the rest back. Thank heaven for small pleasures. If they ever made fruit juice a sin, he was so screwed.

He unbuckled his bloodstained armor, stripping it off as he walked into the living room. A small dent showed, from a demon’s scythe. He’d have to repair it before he showered. He grabbed a chamois and a sponge from the sink and flipped on the light.

Michael smiled, blinding him.

Japheth stumbled, and bit back a bad word.

The archangel stretched on his belly on the chaise, fluffing his ice-blue wings. He wore pale jeans and no shirt, and he’d kicked his shoes off, combing his feathers with his toes.

Japheth dropped onto the sofa opposite and scowled, trying to slow his pulse. “I hate it when you do that, Misha.”

Michael dropped his chin into his hands. “I got bored. How was your evening?”

“We killed some demons. How was yours?” Japheth pulled his armor into his lap and started cleaning, edgy. Michael hadn’t dropped by like this in a hundred years. It didn’t bode well.

“Frightful. I went clubbing. People kept offering me sex and drugs.” Michael stretched, languid, shining hair falling over his back. “What could I do?”

Japheth’s gaze tracked that glorious hair, slicking over smooth skin…Inwardly, he gnashed his teeth. He wasn’t like Trillium, who counted everything male or female as fair game. No, Japheth had only two weaknesses when it came to carnal sins: women, and Misha. And Misha knew it. He coughed, tense. “Are you high?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. When was the last time their shit made you high?” An arched brow. “Oh, I forgot. Don’t answer that.”

Like Michael wasn’t the reason he had to abstain. Japheth’s fingers itched. He wanted to hit him. Wanted to brush his lips along those smooth shining feathers. “I’m tired. What do you want?”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Michael rolled onto his back, muscles rippling. “We haven’t chatted in such a long time.”

Japheth ripped his gaze away, flushing. “Don’t, okay? Chatting with me fell off your radar a long time ago.”

“Clever Jae.” Michael’s eyes sparkled. “Knows me too well. It’s true. I do have a…proposition for you.”

Japheth’s blood tingled, urging him to say
yes
to whatever the archangel wanted. But he’d learned that lesson the hard way. “Don’t tell me. The kind where I do the work and you get the glory?” Uh. Yeah. That came out wrong. Or maybe his mind was just in the gutter. Penance later, a few hundred chin-ups or something.

“Actually, the glory in this one’s all for you.”

Japheth studied him. Serious. Not flirting. That let’s-talk-business look in his eyes. “Go on.”

“I’ve a thorn in my flesh, Jae.” Michael folded his hands behind his head. “Actually, it’s more of an itch. I scratch it, and it just gets worse.”

Some hapless creature had pissed Michael off? Unlucky indeed. “And?”

“I want you to get rid of it for me.” Michael curled up a wingtip and picked a dirty fleck from pristine feathers, frowning.

“And does this itch have a name?” Japheth’s mind turned the problem over as he wiped his armor clean and popped out the dent with his thumb. Slaughtering some extra hellspawn shouldn’t be an issue. The blood sacrifice wasn’t until tomorrow night…well, tonight, to be exact…

“Its name is Dashiel.” Like a sword through smoke, slicing into Japheth’s thoughts.

Japheth gulped, cold. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, did I say you could question me?”

“But…” His thoughts stumbled. He couldn’t fathom it. “Dash has always done whatever you asked. We need him. Why would you…?”

“Why do we do anything in heaven, Jae? Consider it fate. Call it God’s will. Whatever makes you feel better.” The archangel’s gaze glittered, glacial. “Dash has learned nothing from his time on earth. But you have. I never said this was forever. It’s time we let the past be the past.”

“What are you saying?” Japheth’s pulse hammered, dizzying.

“Put an end to Dashiel for me, and we can talk about you coming home.”

Japheth closed his eyes, disbelieving. Of all the fucked-up…Of all the horrid tasks to set him. Dash was his brother, or as good as. His mentor. His confessor, in an odd way. They’d fought together tonight like old friends, anticipating each other’s moves, blending into each other’s shadows.

But Michael made the rules. The archangel’s orders might as well be from God Himself. And Japheth longed so hard for redemption that no price seemed too high.

Or did it?

He gritted his teeth, and opened his eyes. “That’s not a promise.”

“Oh, it is, and you know it.” A dangerously charming smile. “You melt me to marshmallow, babe. You know that. I miss you, so help me. We can…be friends again.” A smolder lit his eyes silver. “I know you like that.”

Japheth’s mouth dried, and he licked rough lips. But the hypocrisy made him shudder. Since he’d been shunned, he’d done his best to live without sin. Maybe he wasn’t exactly a saint, but he’d tried. Michael, on the other hand, led a life of debauchery and recklessness—and it was he who had the power to redeem Japheth?

Sinful anger burned inside. Michael was a tempter, right up there with any demon prince. Japheth shouldn’t succumb. Shouldn’t fall into sin for the sake of what was lost.

But if this one final transgression would mean he could go home at last…

Heaven, help me.
He didn’t know what to do. Call Dash, tell him everything. Forget about it and go to sleep. Smash his head against the wall. “I’ll think about it,” he said at last, his throat tight.

“About doing as I ask? Or being friends again?” Michael
vanished, a dazzling white flash, and suddenly, he was inches away. His silver-blue hair spilled over Japheth’s shoulder, so crisp, bathing him in that delicious icy scent. He teased a sparking finger through Japheth’s golden feathers. “We could catch up right now, if you want.”

Japheth’s fingers clenched, denting his armor all over again. His treacherous body shuddered and burned. “
Don’t do anything stupid
,” Dash said. And Japheth promised.

Right. That was before he had a half-naked archangel practically in his lap. “Misha…”

“Jae.” A scorching blue stare.

Japheth’s voice cracked. “Just get away from me. Please.”

Michael laughed, and gave that lethal, bone-crushing smile, and vanished.

And Japheth hurled his armor aside and paced, fury and doubt and desire licking his blood with the cruel fires of sin, until at last he cursed and slammed his fist into the mirrors, glass splintering.

As Morgan and Lune moved downtown, the infected only grew more numerous. More frightening. Hungrier.

Morgan unfolded sticky fingers from her knife, flexing her aching palm. Garbage littered the darkened street from an overturned trash can, a single streetlight flickering above rotting paper, cans, crushed takeout tubs, a scuffle of glint-eyed rats. An abandoned car lay in the road, burned black, panels and wheels missing. The crumbling apartment blocks cast misshapen shadows over rusted playgrounds and empty basketball courts.

She fell back against the wall, numb. Detached. She couldn’t remember how many they’d killed. Her blade glistened darkly with virus-thick blood, and she’d long since stopped worrying about infecting herself from splashes. Better to worry about clawing nails and gnashing teeth, the wicked slash of a blood-soaked saw blade or machete.