When Spell Freezes Over (All My Exes Die From Hexes Book 4) Page 2

  “We should have shown a little restraint, wife. We’re going to have to replace the table we broke. And the dresser. Probably would be nice of us to consider rehanging the chandelier too. Bet with these cathedral ceilings, they thought that thing was safe from harm, huh?”

  She allowed one eyelid to crack open, just enough to give him a Cyclops glare. “Usually when a man asks a woman to spread her wings and let him fly, it’s a metaphor, so probably.”

  She practically scurried up said wall when they heard the knock on the door. Jerry had promised their privacy wouldn’t be interrupted; Olympians held their bedchambers as sacred ground. It wasn’t the Ancient Greek way, he’d said. Given that the only concept she had of a Greek way involved euphemisms of kebabs and pita bread, she had had to take his word for it.

  “I’ll see who it is,” he said as he pulled the blankets up around her. It was only then that she’d realized the wings Jerry had sported the night before as they’d kept themselves busy on all the surfaces of the room above and below had somehow ceased to be. She reached behind her, and traced over featherless yet fine planes of flesh, devoid of any birdlike ornamentation.

  Her wings were gone.

  “Was it a dream?”

  Riona had meant it rhetorically, but Jerry bent down and kissed her with a comforting grin plastered on her face.

  “I’ll explain it. What I understand about it anyways.” The series of a hasty triple knock repeated, and Jerry rose, turning toward the door. “Just let me get rid of whoever this is, and we’ll talk, okay?”

  “If it’s one of the staff, ask them to bring some ice water. I’m completely dried out.”

  “I beg to differ. You were quite wet as I recall.”

  Jerry managed the door before she could respond. “Why, if it isn’t the other happy couple. Dee, Anwen. My, my, don’t you look... sated.”

  Riona slid out of bed, only realizing then that she was still completely naked. After a moment of fretful searching for the toga she’d been sporting the previous night, it dawned on her that that garment currently concealed her husband’s neither regions. Which left her with the actual bed sheet. She couldn’t quite make clothing of it the way Persephone had helped her to do before, but the loose towel wrap method worked just the same. With a nod, Jerry opened the door and let in their guests.

  Anwen entered first. “You don’t know how to respect privacy, do you, demon?”

  “I’m not the one intruding on a newly-reunited couple now, am I?” Jerry teased as he closed the door following Dee’s entrance. “So, tell me, Ms. Yates, was it everything you’d hoped it would be? If he let you down, I’ll be happy to pull him aside and give him some pointers. After all, I have thousands of years of experience to draw on.”

  “Now, listen up, you recycled two-bit demonic has-been, you are going to respect our privacy, or my husband will reacquaint your oh-so-human body with the meaning of corporeal punishment.”

  Riona found herself beaming. “Oh, I like her, Dee. I like her a lot. Wait, did she just say husband?”

  To her surprise, Dee blushed. She wouldn’t have known it was possible if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. “Um, yeah, we’re married. Kinda. It’s complicated.”

  Riona’s half-cocked grin fixed on Dee. “Isn’t it always?”

  “That was quick,” Jerry said. “But that only makes me circle back on the question of why you’re here, when, based on tradition, we both should be sexing up our wives the morning of the honeymoon, and not paying house calls.”

  The corded muscles in Dee’s neck took on a greater definition. “It’s Steph. She’s called a forum. Attendance is mandatory for everyone on the mountain.”

  Jerry rounded the door of the en suite, where in record time he’d managed to clothe himself and tame the wave of his ebony hair. “Wants to brag about the fact that she’s finally ditched Hades, does she? I bet...”

  Riona cut off her husband with a menacing glare when Dee’s expression melted. There was no way he’d be that upset if that were all it was.

  Anwen settled a hand on Dee’s shoulder. “Zeus went into the sunset last night. That’s why Ramiel was here. He was substituting for Sariel and carrying out a death call.”

  For once, something managed to make Jerry speechless. His mouth opened, but snapped shut again. Then, a miracle happened. Jerry took two steps forward, wore genuine compassion in his features, and threw his arms around Dee.

  “I’m sorry, man,” the ex-demon said without the slightest trace of sarcasm. “I’m so fucking sorry, Dee. I know you two had issues, but he was a great king. He served your people well. If it hadn’t been for him, so many more nephilim would have died in the rapture. What you’re feeling... man, I just can’t even imagine.”

  A revolution ripped through Dee’s body, his momentary and reactionary dismissal of anything to do with Jerry ebbing as he allowed himself to connect with the man he usually couldn’t even tolerate.

  “Thanks, man.” Dee backed away from the embrace and reclaimed his hold on Anwen. “But Dad did good by us in the end. He gave me back my soul mate. He gave me Carol.”

  Jerry and Riona exchanged confused looks.

  “I’m Carol, reincarnated,” Anwen said.

  Jerry’s speechlessness was suddenly cured. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Reincarnated? That’s impossible. There’s no such thing as reincarnation. I mean, yeah, me, but I was a very unique case.”

  “And yet, here I am.” Anwen rolled up on her toes. “I’m Carol Zitka. I mean, I’m also Anwen Yates, but I remember everything about being Carol too. Zeus arranged it, him and Hades, that is. They both had to give up something. Hades had to give up Persephone, and Zeus had to agree to go into the sunset when I returned to the mountain.”

  Jerry bit his bottom lip. “Riona, you said you were Hades’s witness for their divorce. You said he gave her everything in exchange for a clause that she could reverse the separation if she wanted. Right?”

  His wife shook her head.

  “Tell me, sweet teats, when you signed the divorce decree, did anything... odd happen?”

  She couldn’t quite explain the heat flaming the sides of her face. “Um, actually, the document turned to stone. Why, is that unusual?”

  Both Jerry and Dee hissed. Anwen, however, asked, “Does that not happen?”

  “It does happen,” Jerry answered. “When an archangel in good standing certifies a binding agreement, it literally becomes set in stone.”

  Riona’s nose crinkled. “But one didn’t. I did.”

  “And you’re Michael’s daughter,” Dee took up. “You’re a representative of the heavenly realm on Earth. Holy shit, it’s the prophecy. This is really happening, isn’t it? Shit, this is fucking happening.”

  Jerry nodded. “It is.”

  The witch cut the air with a slice of her hand. “Whoa, can someone take a moment to explain what the hell this all means? How can I be a representative of the heavenly realm? I’ve never even been there.”

  Mr. Romani assumed his most academic repose, and began to lecture. “You’re the offspring of the most powerful archangel ever. Apparently your DNA lands you on the heavenly side of the gene pool. And remember the prophecy? Upon Keystone’s altar shall one born of Hell be laid, and in her embrace he will be reborn to her world, cleansed of his evil. And having brought Hell to Earth, she will pull Heaven to Hell and circumscribe creation. Your love pulled my soul out of Hell and made me human again. Then you signed the divorce decree that officially ended Hades’s claim on Persephone. When you did that, the conditions for Anwen’s reincarnation were certified.”

  “She will pull Heaven to Hell,” Dee repeated through white lips. “The Oracles misinterpreted the prophecy.”

  “How? What do you mean?” Anwen asked.

  “Hell,” Jerry said. “In the Oracle’s tongue, the word for the underworld and the word for Steph’s ex are the same. Hades. Anwen, your soul was reincarnated, meaning you were pulled back from the Heavens. Then, when yo
u arrived on the mountain last night, you literally came to Hades, but Hades is too fucking smart not to give himself a backdoor. He gave up every claim to Steph, as he was required, but he put words into her mouth and got her to agree that if she wants to reverse the divorce, she can. That’s why it turned to stone when Riona signed it. Free will: it’s the trump card of creation.”

  Riona enacted jazz hands. “Whoa, I don’t get why my signing it matters one iota.”

  As always, Jerry proved a know-it-all. “Because, dear wife, on top of being the sexy perfection that you are, and being a keystone witch, you’re also an angel.”

  “An angel in good standing,” Riona submitted, drawing confused glances from everyone around. “That’s what Zeus said when I asked why the paper turned to stone. He said because it had been signed by an angel in good standing. I thought he was just flirting again, teasing me.”

  Jerry snapped his fingers. “And with that, the amendment has been recognized by Big Boss as canon to the official agreement. Meaning—”

  “Meaning,” Dee took over for Jerry. “That if Steph enacts the clause and reverses their divorce, the whole document will be illegitimate by consequence. If she renews her vows to Hades, the HHA will be void and null. All the checks and balances gone. Hades can leave Olympus, Hell can come to Earth, the Fallen can try to gain Heaven, and humanity will be crushed as the realms merge.”

  “So, bad things then,” Riona surmised.

  Jerry nodded. “Very bad things. Makes you kind of curious about what this forum she’s calling is meant to achieve, and if it was even her idea.”

  They made the pact without saying another word. They had to get to Persephone and warn her. Two minutes later, Riona, dressed in some early 1980s power pants suit reclaimed from the back of Dee and Carol’s closet, led their procession into the midst of the gods.

  Chapter 2

  The fires of Hell had been unbearable, but it didn’t compare to having had love and lost it. That old idiom that claimed otherwise? Optimist’s tripe and baboon spittle, wrapped in hogwash and...

  Oh, fuck it. He was a demon now. Why such decorum? It was a fucking joke told by an asexual whore and laughed at by a blind urologist.

  Marc lay, stomach down, stretched across his bed in Azazel’s opulent Hell-A home. Yes, Hell-A. All three terrestrial planes—the mortal realm, the Nephilim realm, and Hell—were parallel dimensions that used the Earth as a backdrop to their existence. Landmasses, therefore, were identical, and only the development of post-creation structures by the residents of each reality marked their differences. Hell-A marked the location in the Underworld where the Grigori had based their rule. It’d been Athens in Hades’s day, of course. Hell-A roughly corresponded to the location of Los Angeles in the mortal realm.

  Even as a Pure Soul, someone given a little better understanding about the truths of Hell and Heaven, the suburban environment that housed the souls damned for all time had thrown him for a loop. He’d expected Martian-like vistas punctuated at intervals by rivers of lava and oceans with brimstone waves. While the fire proved real enough (and interestingly, in the same location that in the mortal realm corresponded with Death Valley), very little else about the decaying yet clearly human-inspired landscape computed. Until he’d encountered another of Hell’s residents—a “damnational”—that explained.

  “Hell is whatever the devil makes it out to be. That’s the dark magic of it. For ’em, the Fallen, the greatest curse is to spend eternity wandering about in human trappings. They were exiled from Heaven once upon a time, you know? To Lucifer—to all the Fallen, actually—being stuck in the mortal realm is the worst possible fate. It’s shame, it’s dishonor. The axis of Hell rotates on what the devil despises.”

  “And what if he despised, say, Jupiter or the bottom of the ocean?”

  The man had pointed behind him, to the direction where miles away, a sea of lava sat, filled with the boiling pots of evil souls. “Finally might quench that mess, wouldn’t it?”

  Curiosity struck him, and though he knew the facts lay in antiquity, Marc couldn’t help but ask. “Any idea what it was like when Hades ruled here?”

  The old man looked out to the horizon, where acidic skies boiled, staining the clouds a sickly weave of gray and yellow. “Barren. Nothing but bare rock as far as the eye could see.” Then a grin brightened his face, giving him a mischievous air. “Lord Hades—he done fell in love with a goddess, you know. One who could call plants from the ground as easy as blink. They say Persephone could make a wasteland into Eden itself with a sigh. No wonder that’s how he manifested the Underworld now, is it? Always been the fire, though. No way to kill that. It’s by the fire we all shall be finally cleansed. Lord hear our cries when that day comes. Until then, we suffer eternally, knowing we’ve lost heaven.”

  Marc rolled over and stretched out. He had to disagree. Actually, in his brief experience, Hell had not been so bad. Was the fact that he’d been a Pure Soul the reason he was getting such preferential treatment? Was it because his sin had not been so great that he hadn’t suffered more? Sure, he slew himself—self-murder was Intro to No-Nos level stuff with which a priest like him was well acquainted—but it had been for a good cause. He’d saved Riona.

  Then, once he was a demon, he’d nearly thrown that all out the window by sleeping with her and, thereby, damning her. Maybe.

  Moral Right Truth was a sticky thing; its boundaries shifted for every individual and specific to their core beliefs. There were some universal basics; cold-blooded murder would get you sent down the pipe no matter what culture or framework you came from. Matters of the heart, however? “Results may vary.” Marc had signed away his rights to determine his own moral code when he pledged himself to the Church, but that wasn’t Riona’s case. She was married when finally, she’d given into her feelings and gave herself to him, but only in the legal sense. At least, given that he had cornered her at her wedding, and that she’d fled to Olympus straight from there, it seemed unlikely that she and the traitor demon had consummated their union. Did that technicality count? Then there was the fact that she didn’t seem entirely aware of what she was doing. Was the fact that he’d erased her memory and kept her from becoming cognizant of the fact they’d been together sufficient enough a means to save her from damnation?

  God, he hoped so. Even if it meant she’d never remember how beautiful their tryst had been, and even if he had to carry the burden of that memory alone for all his eternal days, he hoped she hadn’t been ruined. Oh, he still wanted her, and wouldn’t complain if by her own measures she came to be a resident of this realm—but he didn’t want to be the reason for her fall.

  The next moment, all thoughts of Riona fled. A mental grappling hook lodged in his stomach and twisted his guts, forcing him into submission. He didn’t particularly care for the way Azazel summoned him, when it seemed to Marc just calling out his name would have done the trick. Nonetheless, he couldn’t argue with the expediency and efficiency of that particular torture.

  Marc fought the pull of his creator and master long enough to be certain the angelic blade remained safely secured in its hold. The weapon carried its own magic, and he had quickly discovered it could be hidden from the view of others, yet remain on his person, merely by him wishing it so. While bringing it directly into the presence of the Fallen was like shoving a tray of Dunkin’ Donuts under the nose of a diabetic, until he figured out how to overpower one and kill them, he needed to keep its whereabouts secure.

  He scrambled into the kitchen a few moments later, clutching his stomach but biting his tongue. “You summoned me, oh shame of Heaven?”

  Azazel sat at his dining room table—a black marble number straight out of The Godfather, with a woman who was too beautiful to be a knockout. More aptly put, she almost induced a coma the moment he set eyes on her. When she spoke, he knew from the seductive and sinister symphonic voice that she must be an angel.

  “Kochab.” Azazel held out a hand, motioning to the corner
in which Marc resided. “My latest project. His manners are still lacking, as you see. If we had time, I’d order him back to the fires.”

  Marc ignored the threat. Azazel spat them out with some regularity, though so far, hadn’t followed through on any. Instead, he tried to place the name. Kochab? Not a demon, but still a big player. A Fallen. So, his hunch had been right, for here sat another Grigori.

  “This?” She sneered in his general direction. “I have to say, Az, I’m underwhelmed, though I appreciate his spirit. It isn’t every demon who still has balls enough once in Hell to mouth off to a Grigori. Makes me curious what he was like as a human.”

  “Based on my observations, a generalized smart-ass and a specific kind of asshole.”

  “And I’m to believe you were observing me? Why in the world would you?” Marc asked.

  Without warning, Michael materialized, phasing from mist to solidity. He inserted himself into the conversation without pause, as though he’d been there listening the whole time. Azazel took the arrival at face value, the only evidence of reaction a quick nod to the deposed prince of Heaven. Kochab, however, began to quiver in place. With glossed-over eyes, she scooted to the edge of her chair like a bubbly, beaten-down puppy welcoming home its master.

  “You were a Pure Soul, Marc. Of course we had eyes on you.”

  “Dear prince, surely all your plans are well conceived, but we still need to slay our brother for them to come to full fruition, and no Fallen has an angelic blade to do the deed.”

  “That’s where Hades comes in.” Michael took a seat between Azazel and Kochab and conjured himself a cup of something hot and steamy. “Now that Zeus is dead, his tart daughter has inherited his lightning. All we have to do is get her to kill one of us while in Hell, and the HHA will falter. Hades will encourage her in that direction, and Lucifer in his little magical jail cell will be a sitting duck.”