Soul Surrender (6 page)

“Lucien.” I touched his elbow, and his gaze snapped down to me. “It's okay. I don't mi—”

“It's either
me
or no one from my group,” he repeated, his voice serious. The sort of deadpan tone I'd long ago learned was not to be argued with.

I looked back to Buckley with a shrug. “He's the boss,” I said with a smile.

“He sure is, isn't he?” Buckley's own predatory smile penetrated me to my belly and sent a shiver through my whole body. I didn't like the look he gave Lucien. Not one bit. “Well, let's get started then. Come up with me. What was your name?”

“Lucien,” he said into the microphone and followed Buckley to the stage. Hesitation gnawed at my gut, and Lucien flashed me a wink along with the tiniest reassuring smile he could muster as Buckley led the way.

Buckley did a strange lunge and hand motion thing. “And Lucien—have you ever seen magic quite like this before?” With one hand in the air, sparks flew from his fingertips as though each nail were its own sparkler.

Lucien quirked an eyebrow and slid a palm over his black ponytail. “I don't know,” he answered coolly. “That Copperfield guy is pretty damn good.”

There was a hum of laughter through the audience as Lucien held Buckley's stare, unwavering. Buckley laughed right along with everyone else. “I think we've got our own comedian up here tonight!” He directed the statement to the audience. “A hand—for Lucien. I must confess, my assistant for this trick is almost always a woman. But this could be a fun twist. . . .”

His words drifted off and the music blasted through the speakers. Two of the rogue angels rolled out a long, white box. It almost looked like the sort of thing you could purchase at a certain Swedish store and put together yourself during the course of one episode of
The Bachelor
.

“As you can see, this is a simple box! Nothing more, nothing less.” With one hand in the air, he levitated the box and brought it off the stage and over the audience. “Please, ma'am, in the front row—stand. Look inside and around back. Does this box appear to be anything out of the ordinary?”

A plump woman stood and knocked a few times on each side, shaking her head. “Looks normal to me,” she shouted in a deeply southern accent.

With a flick of his wrist, Buckley had the box lowered center stage once more. With a flourish he danced around, and Lucien stood statuesque with arms folded across his broad chest. His narrowed eyes followed Buckley's fluid movements and yet he didn't flinch when Buckley appeared in front of his face with a
crack
.

“I think what we have here—is a doubter!” Buckley called to the audience. “What do you all say we try to make a believer out of him?” He turned to Lucien, gesturing at the box. “Please, sir. Enter.”

I twitched in my seat and Damien grabbed my hand, circling his thumb over my knuckle. “It'll be okay,” he whispered. “Lucien knows what he's doing.”

I nodded but didn't quite believe it. None of us knew what we were doing—not when it came to Buckley and this damn bounty.

Lucien clomped with slow, deliberate steps into the box. His dark eyes met mine. Only this time, he didn't smile.

“This is the point in the show,” Buckley boomed, clutching a hand to the door, swinging open on its hinges, “where every other magician you know would shut this. However, here at the Rogue Angels, we don't believe in closed door magic.”

I snorted at that. I couldn't help it. His whole shtick was just so ridiculous to anyone who had the slightest knowledge of the arcane. Of course most people here thought these were just some amazing parlor tricks.

From the audience, I could see Lucien's jaw clenching and unclenching. He cracked his neck to each side.

Buckley began a chant, his palms in the air. Cool wind blew down on the audience from the ceiling, feeling as though a strong air conditioner had kicked on.

With one last
pop,
Lucien disappeared from the box in front of everyone's eyes. The oxygen caught in my lungs, and I held my breath while Buckley lifted the box to the audience once more. Damien squeezed my hand and I stole a glance at Kayce, who had blanched to a deathly pallor.

On the exhale, I directed my attention back to Buckley. Lucien was the ArchDemon of Nevada and all the Southwest. He could teleport anywhere he wanted. He would be fine. Because he had to be fine.

Buckley raised his hands once more, chanting again in a foreign tongue. Another
pop
sounded through the theatre—only this time, nothing happened. The box remained empty. Buckley's eyes darted to us and every muscle in my body tensed when his eyes landed on me. I flinched, ready to spring to my feet.

“Wait,” Damien hushed, locking me in the seat by flattening his arm across my body. “It could just be part of the show.”

I gnashed my teeth but stayed seated.

Buckley didn't look theatrical. He looked nervous. One lone bead of sweat dripped passed his temple. He gave a nervous titter, pushed his sleeves up beyond his elbows, raised his hands a second time. “Where do you suppose he's gone?” His voice was sharp, and I knew Buckley well enough to know that this was not part of the plan. With the second pop, the audience edged off their seats, waiting for Lucien's return. Again, nothing happened.

Lucien was gone.

New Jersey, 1776

 

“M
onica, what are the chances that you will pay mind to me before the day is through?!”

“Oh, for Heaven's sake.” I rolled my eyes and straightened my petticoats. With a glance to my right and left, the prostitutes flanking me on either side snarled in my direction.

“Could you at least attempt to appear interested in bedding a man? Show some leg, calf? Hell, show your bloody ankle for all I care!” Lucien threw his hands in the air and brought them down onto his hips with a slap.

“Very well.” I offered him an exaggerated smile and puckered my lips, shapeshifting them so large that they nearly consumed my face.

Lucien's face flushed to a scarlet, contrasting the white knuckles clutched at his waist. I looked comical with the new pout and I knew it. But it was simply too enjoyable to watch Lucien's face turn red like that.

“Out. Everyone out!” I followed the line of drabs when Lucien snatched my elbow, yanking me from the queue. “All except you,
love
.”

“Oh, dear. Have I been naughty?” I pinched the scruff at his jawline.

“Stop that!” he grumbled, and caught my hand in his. “The problem is you're never naughty enough.”

I snorted at that. “Clearly, my dearest brother, you've forgotten my origin story. I'm as naughty as they come.”

With both hands, he kneaded his forehead and eyebrows as though they were rolls of dough. “If that were the truth, then I wouldn't be under the scrutiny of Hell right now for low numbers.”

I wasn't exactly shedding a tear for him. Lucien the demon wunderkind wasn't Saetan's apprentice any longer. Hatred flooded my chest. I hated everything about the man. His job, his duties, his black heart. Perhaps if he'd never found me there in the courtyard years ago, I could have fallen off the radar. Perhaps Hell would have never known of my existence and I could have simply perished then and there.

“Do you need to give me a spanking?” I said with an exaggerated pout. Of course, I wanted his hands nowhere near me. The worst had been in our last home—we had to act as though we were wed. I shivered, grateful for the fact that Lucien, at the very least, always gave me the bed and slept in the parlor.

“Spank? Christ, Monica—we are brother and sister here!”

“Yes, yes. I recall. I am your sister. Mummy and father died in England. And we came here to help win the good fight. Does that about cover it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I'm glad you are able to recite the plan. And yet when it comes to acting it out, why does it become so goddamn difficult?”

I didn't answer. His angry gaze scorched my own and I lowered my chin to my ample cleavage, gritting my teeth. “Easy for you to say. It's not your legs that are spread each night for Hell's sake,” I spat back.

Lucien's eyes closed and his face slackened. “This again?”

“Again? Just because I stopped complaining for several years doesn't mean it's become any easier for me.”

He reached out a hand to my back, strong and reassuring. “You hate this life so much?”

I wrenched away from his touch. “As if you didn't relish in every grimace. Every tear of mine. You're a demon—you must love watching the angel be defaced.”

With that, his mouth hardened, pursing at the corners. “You ungrateful little sniff. Did your angel mentor coddle you so? That vampire should have done us all a favor and just done nothing,” he added, and turned to stalk away.

At that, I lunged for his back, pelting my fists into his arm. “How dare you! I want away from you! Send me anywhere . . . anyone else would be better!” Tears choked in my throat, and a jagged breath escaped in tremors.

Lucien clamped down on each of my wrists, and I continued struggling against his hold. “Monica! Stop, calm down—bloody hell. I apologize, very well? Stop! I said, I apologize!”

“One bloody powerful sorcerer and a damn vampire—both of whom tricked me! I hate them both and I hate you!”

“Enough!” His voice was deep and boomed through our little brothel. For once, I actually listened to him and stilled beneath his grasp. It was useless, anyway. Lucien had some sort of power over me—he wanted to keep me for whatever reason, and Saetan allowed me to be his and solely his. I was property. Less than a person—again. Another sob rose to the back of my throat, and I swallowed it down.

Still grasping me by the wrists, he tugged me to a settee. He dropped over, leaning his elbows on his knees and looked up at me through thick eyelashes. “We aren't supposed to officially tell our succubi this—but most figure it out on their own regardless. You don't need Heaven-bound souls to survive. You simply need a soul. Any soul. You could read auras as an angel, aye?” I nodded, eyes narrowed, not sure I believed or trusted anything he spoke of.

“How is your ability now? To read auras?”

I shrugged, swallowing. “Nothing special. I see faint colors surrounding everyone.”

He nodded. “Eventually you'll learn to refine that. I can help you. It will feel a little different than when you were an angel—but soon it'll be second nature to sense the auras.”

“What good is any of this?” I snapped, hopping to my feet. I walked over to a stone hearth and ran my fingers along the edge. Dust pooled under my nails and I flicked it to the floor. “It's still murder. I'm still taking life.”

Lucien's sigh was patient and quiet. “If you only have relations with the Hell-bound souls, you won't be condemning anyone, true?”

I hesitated before answering. “Well—yes . . .”

“So, by your own logic, you could still do your job. Without compromising your morals.”

“That's true,” His eyes burned into my back, and I turned slowly to match his gaze. “You would allow me this?”

He shrugged, falling back against the settee. His arms spread out along the back edge and he crossed one knee over the other. “Don't ask me why. If this messes with my ArchDemon status in any way, I'll revoke it in a heartbeat.”

The shock of his admission resonated, numbing my limbs. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“You can thank me by running the ladies at this establishment. Come now.” He popped up from his seat. “Let's get ready for the tavern. Your job will be to flirt with the men—help get the word out that the brothel is opening tonight. You can choose which men you take and how often.”

“Will men even be interested in our services? What with the war consuming everyone's time?”

Lucien chuckled. “You really don't understand men, do you?”

I should have been offended by such a statement. Yet I couldn't argue that he was incorrect.

He raked a hand through his raven locks and tightened his ponytail hanging at the nape of his neck. “Wartime is when brothels thrive most.”

I considered this for a moment. “Will you be fighting with them or against?”

Lucien scoffed. “With, of course. Demons love a good rebellion.” He winked and chucked my chin.

A
low hum of chatter and speculation rolled through the audience, growing louder with each passing second. “Where the fuck is he?” Kayce asked in a shaky voice.

I shook my head. Buckley's eyes met mine; they were wide, fearful. His fingers twitched in my direction—subtly asking me to wait. Wait for what, exactly?

“Perhaps that little devil decided to discover his feminine side!” He walked over to the brunette rogue angel and, placing a palm at the top of her head, traveled his hand down the length of her body. As his hand dipped, the brunette morphed into Lucien.

Steam rose from my head, and I was certain at any minute my I might explode in anger. “Lucien” held his hands out, giant smile stretching across his sharp features. Lucien didn't smile that wide. Ever. I'd seen that trick done just last night in the private dance room—it was merely another one of Buckley's glamour tricks. The fake Lucien shook Buckley's hand and trotted back to the seat next to me. He scooted passed Kayce, falling beside me.

My eyes narrowed. “You can tell your boss he won't get away with this,” I said to the disguised brunette.

She—he, ugh, whatever—leaned in closer to me without making eye contact. “You can tell him yourself after the show. He wants me to bring you all back to see him.”

“Well, then, Buckley's a braver man than I gave him credit for,” I sneered, folding my arms.

 

When we were brought backstage, the fake Lucien led us directly to Buckley's dressing room. He was no longer in the Raul costume, but back to being the boyishly handsome, emerald-eyed magician I knew and hated.

“Angel,” he said, and held two palms up facing me—as if this simple act would stop me from ripping his throat out.

“Don't you ‘angel' me.” I advanced on him, snatching his tuxedo lapels in my fists and shoving him into his vanity. “Where is Lucien?”

“I don't know.”

“Bullshit!”

“Monica, stop!” Kayce's voice was husky and yet still shaky. “Look at him—his aura. I don't think he's lying.”

I didn't tear my eyes away from Buckley. His were wide, earnest. Coppery hair curled over his ears and flopped into his eyes. “Only an angel could know that for certain,” I hissed. “And you don't know him, Kayce. He knows how to mask his aura.” I angled my chin closer to his face, dropping my voice equally low. “Remember when you told me you loved me? Yeah—that was a good one.”

With two fingers, he plucked my grasp off his lapel. “Angel,” he started, and I growled in his direction. “Monica,” he tried again, “I do love you. I did in 1740 and I still do now. Why on Earth would I take from you the one demon I know you care the most about?” His eyebrows arched along his smooth forehead, and he pressed his lips together.

“I don't know. Why on Earth would you ruin the life of the woman you love by damning her to Hell?”

He rolled his eyes and stuffed two hands into his pockets. “Not
this
again.”

“Why you little—”

I lunged just as two arms caught me around the waist, lifting me off the floor. Damien bear-hugged me from behind. “Okay, Monica, enough! This isn't going to help get Lucien back.”

“But it will make me feel a shit ton better!”

“Come on, Buckley. Cut the crap and tell us what you know,” Kayce said.

He looked first at Kayce, then at me. “I'm telling the truth. It was just a simple disappearing trick—I haven't the slightest idea where he went.”

“Well, let me tell you what I know,” I said, shoving Damien's hands off my body. “You wanted
me
in that box. You wanted me to disappear. And considering there's a hefty price tag on my head right now, I'd say that might have landed you in the spot of ‘number one suspect.' ”

“I'm telling you, I had nothing to do with this.”

Damien took a couple steps forward. “Walk us through today. Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

Buckley seemed to think about that for a moment, then shook his head. “No. It was a normal day. I slept late. Enjoyed the, er, company of one of my angels.” He shot an apologetic look to me, and I rolled my eyes. “Then I had dinner here at the casino and came in for my first show.”

Oh, my Hell. Mia—I didn't even get to tell Lucien about the Queen information. “Wait, last night—Mia came here, didn't she?”

Buckley looked startled but regained composure quickly. “Yes. But that's nothing out of the ordinary. I have ArchDemons, Queens, and even ArchAngels checking on me constantly. They like to ensure that my operations are kosher, if you will. In fact . . .”

Jules thundered through the door, Adrienne at his heels and San Michel right behind him. Time slowed to a crawl as Julian—my angel mentor, my friend—stopped in his tracks, light blue eyes locked intensely on my own.

“Monica?” His whisper was hoarse, and after clearing his throat he tried again. “Monica.” This time it was a statement, not a question, and his blond wavy hair tousled as he shook his head.

I needed to talk to Jules. Needed to ask him about what Mia and Claudette had said. Not only about me becoming Queen but about Claudette seeking out Drew. My eyes widened, and I only hoped that after all these centuries he still knew me well enough to read my body language.

Straightening his shoulders, he stole a quick glance at the other angels in the room. Upon verifying their attention was on Buckley, not him, he twitched a nod. It was the sort of movement that, had you not known Jules, you might have thought was simply a tick.

“Ahhh, back so soon?” Buckley's eyes flashed as they bounced from angel to angel.

I immediately slinked back behind Damien at their grand entrance. San Michel was particularly unnerving. Considering he was the angel that was supposed to have approved my relationship with Buckley in the first place, all those years ago. And he was the leader of the council in charge of banishing me after we caught Carman. My face blazed with heat.

He towered over the rest of us—easily standing taller than six foot five. Though his wings were invisible, I could hear the slight rustling from his back, feel the gentle breeze created by the movement.

San Michel's ice-blue eyes fell on me, and even though every ounce of me wanted to avoid that glare, I was powerless. Against my will and better judgment, I brought my gaze to meet his. His stare was cold, arctic—eyes so pale, it was as if he were looking at me through a block of ice. “Monica.” My name rolled off his tongue like a whisper and sent a chill tumbling down my spine. “I'm surprised to find you here. With this sorcerer. Yet again.” Ebony skin made his fair eyes that much more disconcerting. “I thought you would have learned your lesson long ago.”

Damien reached behind and, without looking at me, found my hand with one reassuring squeeze. “She's likely here for the same reason you are. Lucien's untimely disappearance.”

San Michel's eyes widened, and traces of humor—if the angel had any humor that is—stretched across brittle features. “Is that so?”

Damien continued—brave for an elemental. Most demons and angels wouldn't dare go head to head with an ArchAngel. Then again, Damien doesn't really answer to anyone. “Which begs the question—what does Heaven care about a missing ArchDemon?”

“I wish to speak to Buckley alone,” San Michel said, eyes cruising along the rest of my friends.

“We're not done here,” I whispered to Buckley before exiting. His smile veered toward hostility.

“We never are, angel.”