Revelation (42 page)

“Forgive me, my king,” Zuul begged, desperate. “Prince Quuzaat, he…I couldn’t save him.”

“No matter, Zuul.” Azaroth stroked Zuul’s warped cheek, a teasing stab of pain. “His death was not your doing. Your efforts with the Tainted Host are noted. You have done well.”

“Thank you, my king.” Zuul’s breath calmed, relieved, but his thoughts tumbled faster. Azaroth’s vengeance was usually swift and terrible. How had Zuul lucked out? “But…the vials…”

“The sea is still blood, Zuul. The disease still festers and spreads. My plans are unaffected. The Tainted angels have won no victory.” Azaroth’s tone frosted the air with disdain.

Zuul’s feet slipped on fresh ice, and he waved his arms to keep upright. Bones wrenched in his skull, healing. He still couldn’t see. “Th-then what now, my king?”

“Now, we watch, and wait. The first two plagues have driven Babylon insane with fear. I anticipate quite a lovely frenzy of violence, Zuul. Let them hide and fight and kill each other. The time will soon be ripe.”

“For the next plague, my king?” Zuul dared, thrilled. He wanted part of it. The rewards were beyond his dreams, if he could only earn them.

“Of course. Even now, the third vial is within my reach.” An icy kiss burned Zuul’s forehead, a delicious agonyspike that drove straight to his balls and exploded, making him gasp and shudder all over again. “Five more plagues, Zuul. Five more princes. Do my bidding well, and maybe you can be one of them.”

Wind whooshed, rushing to fill the void, and Azaroth was gone.

Zuul slumped to his knees, panting, and his bleeding lips cracked into a smile.

Morgan stretched, yawning, the lights of the Babylon County morgue gleaming on her keyboard. She signed her autopsy report digitally, and closed the file with a sigh.

So many bodies, so much death in the last two weeks since they’d killed Vorvian. The havoc Quuzaat and Vorvian had wrought still crippled the city with fear, drumming up a frenzy of violence. The plague and the bloody ocean had driven some already tense people over the edge, and Morgan’s dead were the gunshots and stab wounds, the fear killings and lynchings and opportunity victims. She’d seen enough plague bodies to suit her, thanks very much.

The Prince of Poison was dead, but his disease lived on. The city had incinerated the bodies from the bombsite, too many to bury. And zombies still roamed the streets, terrorizing neighborhoods and infecting mutie gangs with lust for meat.

Morgan shuddered, and headed for the refrigeration room. She was working hard on impressing the boss. Maybe, if she kept at it, she’d get that senior assistant ME job.

The fridges shone, spotless, and she checked the notes, which no longer bore Suhail’s signature. He’d never come back
to work, and she wondered uneasily if Vorvian had made good on his promise to Tariq and his gang. She doubted it.

Just another couple of bodies to check over, and she could ride a cab home and call Lune. The thought made her smile. He always made her smile, even though the Tainted were constantly alert, on edge, waiting for the next catastrophe to hit.

Sometimes, they gathered at Lune’s place, sparring or just hanging out, and Morgan saw tension between them that hadn’t been there before. Dashiel was dark and taciturn, and gilded Japheth barely said a word, his handsome green eyes cold. Even Jadzia was tense and jittery.

As for the seventh of their number—Ariel—he still hadn’t returned from his search for the third holy vial. Morgan had looked the Bible verse up. Something about the fresh water turning to blood, just as the ocean had, and people drinking it. The end of the world still wasn’t over.

But in the meantime, she wasn’t giving up. People still had lives to lead. Except, of course, the corpses in her morgue.

Morgan sighed, and reached for the fridge.

White light flashed, and her angel tugged her back into his embrace, wrapping her in dark-feathered wings. “You’re late, Dr. Sterling.”

She smiled, snuggling. She was getting used to him appearing from nowhere. “For what?”

“This.” He tilted her head up to taste her neck, and she murmured in pleasure and turned to kiss him, already warm with desire. Kissing him was like breathing. She never tired of it, and the longer she went without, the more she longed for it.

He growled with satisfaction, and started undoing her white coat. “Miss me?”

“Of course.” She wriggled, laughing. “I’m working, Lune. What exactly is it you do all day?”

“Besides letting Dashiel kick my ass, and thinking about you? Nothing.” He nuzzled her collarbone, nipping at her blouse. “This seems to be in the way.”

She pressed against him despite herself, already breathless. “But I have to work.”

“No, you don’t.” He kissed her chin, her lips, her cheek. “The work’ll still be there tomorrow.”

“But…”

“But come home with me, Morgan.” He cupped her face. “It’s late. Take some time for yourself. For us. Just because the world’s ending doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live.”

She sighed, and relented, teasing her fingers through his crisp silken feathers. “Well, I guess if we’ve only got a few minutes left…”

“Screw ‘minutes,’ ” he growled, crushing her close. “It’ll take more than a few minutes for what I’ve got in mind for you.”

“Mmm. Promises. Like, how long?”

Her beautiful angel folded her in his glimmering black wings, and his luscious scent and the desperate passion in his kiss took her breath away. “Forever,” he whispered. “I never cared for eternity before. But it’s only been two weeks, and already I want them all.”

His words poured sweet sunshine on Morgan’s heart. She’d never considered herself sentimental, but Lune brought out the dreamer in her. She hadn’t realized she missed it, until now. “Can we really save the world, Lune? Do you believe it?”

“I believe our fate is what we make it.” He kissed her again, hot and slow, drawing her on until she shuddered and yearned. “So let’s make it good while it lasts.”

“Until the last star burns out?”

Lune’s eyes shone, heavenblue. “You better believe it.”

And Morgan wrapped her arms around her angel, and let him flash her away.

And the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and
fountains of waters, and they became blood…

—REVELATION 16:4

Japheth gazed into the hot moonlit sky, and prayed.
Lord, let me kill every last vampire in Babylon.

Starting with this lot.

Six of them, creeping from steamy shadows. Streetlamps flickered, burning their crazed eyes crimson. They snarled with their long sickle teeth, and clawed the air with bitten hands. One had dreadlocks. Another wore a cheap suit. One had pink-dyed hair and pierced eyebrows. They stank of spoiled meat and sweat. And they were soaked in blood.

“Charming.” Dashiel flashed his blue-flaming sword, two-handed, and flared his dark wings for balance. His silver armor glowed, angry. “It’s
Night of the Living Junkies
. Did you bring popcorn?”

“If they kill us, we’ll be just as dead.” Japheth’s golden feathers prickled, a warrior’s instinct. His spell-sharpened gaze snapped left and right, senses itching for scents, alive for the tiniest rustle. Distances, heights, relative strength. Trajectory plotted, bing-badda-boom.

Amen.

He conjured his sword and dived full-length. The sky-lit blade burned cold in his hand. The creatures spat hell-stung curses, slashing at him with ragged nails. Japheth somersaulted
over them, a flurry of gold.
Snick!
A head flew, spraying crimson.
Splat!
Another. He sprang a backflip, slicing a third creature apart at the waist.

He landed with a crunch on the bloody sidewalk, and surveyed the carnage with satisfaction. Very cool. Killing demonspawn was what he was made for. And every dead vampire took him one step closer to heaven.

Dashiel had already head-sliced two more. Their corpses leaked a gory puddle on the concrete. The last vampire screeched, insane with hunger, and hurtled for Japheth’s throat.

Its teeth sliced his shoulder. Its breath stank of dead flesh. Japheth ignored the sting, the burning hellcurse. He flashed his sword away, grabbed the creature’s neck in both hands and twisted.

Snap!
Its head flopped, caustic gore spewing from its mouth. He tossed the corpse aside, and sizzled the blood from his breastplate with a hissing heavencurse. “Four for me, two for you. Getting slow, old man?”

“Bite me, baby face.” Dashiel vanished his sword in a blue flash, and wiped blood from his eyes. “Jesus. Last month shambling corpses, this month hungry metrosexuals with bad teeth. What gives?”

“You know what.” Japheth flexed scorched palms. Already the wounds were healing. Angelflesh on demon always burned. He didn’t mind the pain. It meant he was doing heaven’s work.

And since he’d been Tainted—since Michael tore his soul from his body and banished him to this dirty, decadent earth, neither damned nor saved—he couldn’t afford to sin. Not if he ever wanted back into heaven.

“You really think these blood-munching idiots are another vial?” Dashiel laughed. “Isn’t it meant to be rivers of blood this time? These days everything’s a fucking sign. The wind blows the wrong way across Times Square and suddenly it’s the end of the world—”

“
‘They have shed the blood of saints and prophets, so you have given them blood to drink, for they deserve it,
’ ” quoted Japheth ironically. “It’s in the Book, right next to the rivers of blood. You really should read more, Dash. It’s kind of important.”

“I must be the prophet, then.” Dash grinned. “Because sure as hell’s a shithole, I ain’t no saint.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Japheth hoisted a severed head to the light. Even dead, the thing’s hair still sizzled in his fist. The corrupted stink assaulted him, that unmistakable mix of charcoal, rotting meat and shit. Moonlight glinted a gleeful hellcurse in its empty eyes.
“Give me your soul, angel,”
it seemed to cackle silently.
“Die screaming. The world’s ours now.”

Not on my watch, scumbreath.
He poked a stinging finger into its mouth. Its jaw gaped, blood and broken teeth. Sure was crowded in there. Curved canines and incisors, unnaturally long, with sharp serrated points. This thing wasn’t human, not anymore. “Look, it’s a new variant. Three rows of teeth. Brutal.”

Dash peered closer, wrinkling his nose. “Okay, that’s ugly. The curse must be mutating. Spreading, too. There’s more of ’em every week. Slimy shitballs are crawling from here to SoHo.”

Japheth tossed the reeking head away. “Well, whatever it is, we can still kill ’em. I call that good news.”

“You’ve got a one-track sense of fun, you know that?”

Japheth grinned, feral. “Whatever gets you through the night.”

“Bloodthirsty bastard.” Dashiel cracked his neck bones, tense, and flexed glittery brown wings. “Fucking hellspawn. There goes my quiet evening.”

Japheth could hear Dash’s heartbeat, strong and swift, sparkling with heaven’s glory. Dash had issues with glory. Until he did something about it—likely, he’d find some willing woman and take it out on her—he’d have sweetfire poison pumping in his veins, a raging headache, the hard-on from hell.

Japheth preferred to fight himself into exhaustion. It was safer that way…but he suppressed a dark twinge of envy. “Yeah, right. When’s the last time you spent the night alone?”

“When’s the last time you didn’t?”

Japheth smiled brightly. “Screw you.”

“Tricky, with the size of the stick up your ass.”

“Yet somehow you manage.” Japheth wiggled his little finger, smirking.

Dash snorted, shaking his dark head. “You know, I get your whole sinless, warrior-for-god, let-me-back-into-heaven kick. But it wouldn’t kill you to relax once in a while.”

“You sure about that?” Lust was a sin, even for a Tainted angel. He’d never win redemption that way. And besides, all that
meaningless carnal pleasure was…sordid. Self-indulgent. His heart wasn’t in it. He had better outlets for heaven’s holy wrath than getting hot and breathless with a beautiful stranger.

Like slaughtering hellspawn. Killing was a sin, too. That was in the Book. But not when the monsters had already sold their souls to hell. That was mercy, or heaven-sweet vengeance. Either way, it was good.

He flexed fervent wings. He didn’t want to talk, or play heartless sex games. He just wanted to coat himself with demon-cursed blood, score a few more dead hellspawn for heaven. “Relax, yes. Sludge my wits with some dirty crap cooked up in a toilet bowl in Queens, and make a slut of myself with some woman I don’t care about? I’ll skip it, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Who said anything about sluts?” said Dash innocently. “Chicks dig that silent warrior vibe of yours. Lots of them are perfectly nice girls—”

“Which is why they’re better off never knowing me.”

Dash tilted his gaze skywards. “He’s a killer, not a lover. I’m sorry, did I miss the chapter where it says ‘thou shalt be a frosty-assed son of a bitch’?”

“Yeah. It’s right under the part where it says ‘go forth and screw yourself into damnation.’ I think you stopped there.”

“Okay, fine, I give up,” Dash grumbled. “Your loss.” He rolled tight shoulders, and the golden snakecharm around his neck glinted in evil red moonlight. “This vampire thing is getting worse. I’ll run it by Mike, see what he wants to do.”

Japheth sweated, like he always did when he thought of Michael, who alone had the power to return him to heaven. Once, he and the icy archangel were close. Now? Not so much. “Because that worked so well last time,” he replied tightly. “We barely got out of the first two signs alive.”

Dash shrugged. “Above my pay scale, brother. Stopping this Apocalypse is Mike’s circus. Let him be ringmaster.”

“You’re gonna trust him? After he ordered me to kill you?” Sometimes, Michael tested him, to see how far he’d fallen. He still remembered how close he’d come, the fire licking his blade, the horrid compulsion to kill racing in his blood…