Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3) Page 2

  “I didn’t plan on her being without me. Marc sort of jumped the gun.” Jerry put his hands on Dee’s shoulders, squaring their gazes. “I knew you wouldn’t want to go back; I had no plans to ask. But when you went down, I couldn’t leave you undefended. Michael would have killed you faster than bamboo grows in Bora Bora. I changed the charm to take only Riona. Don’t think for a moment I don’t realize the situation is less than ideal, but Dee, I need you, man.”

  Dee grabbed a shot glass filled with mystery liquid and downed the contents. If he couldn’t get drunk the nephilim way and/or in his present company, he intended to do it the human way, and gave it a good shot. “Your ‘needing’ my help have anything to do with you thinking I can get you into Olympus without the drawn-out visa process?”

  Jerry floundered. “That’s definitely a bonus.”

  Dee’s eyes shifted to the far end of the club. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate being a token bro, Jerry, but I can’t.”

  “But Riona...”

  “Is in the worst possible place outside of Lucifer’s den that you could have put her,” Dee interjected. “That place is fucked-up and you know it. Need proof? Let’s start with my uncle-slash-brother-in-law, aka the melodramatic manic-depressive prick who makes my sister’s life a constant struggle for her to know which way is up or down. Combine that with most of them spending night after night getting drunk off each other’s bodies because they can’t man up and accept death. Then, add the last time I was there, when my dad killed my wife. Yeah, sounds like a real good sanctuary.”

  Jerry drew back. “Zeus killed Clare?”

  “He’s a real class act, my dad. Men like him don’t come along often.” Okay, time to set this presumptive ass straight once and for all. “Then again, at least, my dad isn’t responsible for my best friend becoming Hell’s rookie of the year.”

  “Neither am I. Marc chose his fate, which, by the way, saved Riona’s life.”

  The balled-up fists at Jerry’s side made Dee wonder if he were about to take a swing. Bring it on, he thought to himself. He needed an outlet for all his rage and frustration.

  Jerry stilled himself, forcing the tension to ebb. “Look, I know you and I don’t get along. I’m not asking you to do this for me; I’m asking you to do it for Riona. Or don’t you care about the fate of your keystone?”

  That last nerve Dee was clinging to... Jerry was about to dance like Fred Astaire on its ass. “Of course, I care, but why can’t she just come back the way she got there? Why can’t she just shift back? I know she’s only half-angel, but apparently, the genetics lottery afforded her that little trick.”

  “She doesn’t know how. I wasn’t even sure the charm would work when I changed it at the last minute.”

  Dee could feel his argument losing momentum. “She’s smart, and she’ll be surrounded by my family. They might not be wiccans or witches, but they know a thing or two about magic.”

  “They only know about nephilim magic,” Jerry insisted. “Not angel magic.”

  The demigod stared at him in confusion.

  Crossing his arms, Jerry glared. “You know better. It’s like money; the purposes for using it might be about the same, even the results, but each country’s got its own currency. Nephilim magic, mortal magic, angel magic... Magic is not exchanged equally.”

  Dee blinked twice. “I believe in Riona’s skills.”

  “Damn it, Dee, She’s my wife! Of course, I believe in her skills too. Some of which you could only dream of.” He saw Jerry’s chest fall slowly, and his eyes were pleading. “Look, it’s either go to her now and make sure she has every advantage when she crosses back, or we have to wait until spring when Persephone brings her back. I’m not sure I can wait that long. Or do you really want to tolerate me constantly telling you about all the sexual acts I have planned to pleasure my wife until then? I warn you, I can be quite descriptive. I even draw diagrams.”

  “Hell. No.” Another swig of alcohol burned his throat. Dee met Jerry’s puppy dog-face with a wrinkled brow. “Fine. But we’re going directly to her and then getting the hell out of Olympus. I don’t want to see Hades, I refuse to speak to my dad, and if Aunt Hestia so much as hints at the words ‘exclusive time-share opportunity,’ I’m bolting, with or without Riona.”

  In the blink of an eye, Dee found himself caged within the rearing demon’s arms.

  “I could kiss you.”

  “Try it and you’ll be picking your teeth out of your pancreas.” He turned to more practical matters. “Since you and I can’t port there, we’ll need to use a gateway between here and the nephilim realm. Athens is best, unless Chipper and his pack know of anything better?”

  The cerebi shook their heads, Chipper adding, “The closest mortal gates to the nephilim realm are in Mexico City, but you’d have to cross hundreds of kilometers of no man’s land and an ocean the old-fashioned way on the other side. Athens is your best bet.”

  “Thanks, man.” Dee held out his arm to the cerebus. Chipper returned the measure in kind, running his forearm over Dee’s, and cupping Dee’s elbow in his hand. “I’ll need someone to stop by my club tomorrow. Ask for Mason, the head manager. Tell him I had a family emergency and will be back in a week or two.”

  The weredog dipped his head. “Yes, my lord.”

  The demigod released his ire in a frustrated, demurred sigh. “Chip, just because I’m Zeus‘ son don’t make me one of them. You don’t serve me, got it? I’m only asking as a favor.” Dee turned to Jerry. “We done here?”

  Not as far as Molly Dade was concerned. “What? You gonna stick an old woman with cab fare out of the city in the middle of a snowstorm on Christmas?”

  Chipper turned, his eyes aglow at the opportunity to serve. Sometimes, a dog was still a dog. “I can take you, Miss Dade. Only,” his voice broke off as he looked back over his shoulder, “I don’t have a car, just my chopper.”

  Molly grinned and stood, shuffling across the way. “I’ve had fiercer things between my legs, lover. You just go slow and let me hold on as tight as I want, and we’ll be just fine.”

  Dee and Jerry were beyond getting shocked by anything that spewed from Molly Dade’s mouth. Chipper, on the other hand, looked like a demon caught in a dairy barn. Molly hooked her arms with his and reached up to pinch his chin.

  “Don’t worry there, sport. You’re a little on the young side for me.”

  Tension drained from the cerebus’s frame. He issued commands to his pack. “Hylo, Max, sniff out the usual suspects. This might have been an attack on the Pure Souls, but it happened on our turf. That might just be coincidence, but I want to know for sure. If there’s anything we need to message back to Olympus, I want to know it before they do.”

  Jerry stepped forward, pulling one of Molly’s hands into his own. “I’m going to make sure Riona’s okay, Molly. I promise.”

  Molly’s withered hand reached up, stroking Jerry’s cheek. Tenderness filled her expression before she drew her hand back, slapping him with enough force to turn his head.

  “That’s for letting my daughter get into this mess.”

  Then her hands grasped either side of his face, bring his plump lips crashing onto the dried twigs that were hers. Stuck between confusion and disgust, and unsure whether to push Molly away, or rinse his mouth out with whiskey, his eyes flashed open as he strained to withdraw from her. The damned, little Irish lady still had some strength and vitality. After a few moments, and with the confused onlookers unable to help, she released Jerry and pushed him away.

  “And that’s because you’re supposed to kiss the mother of the bride!”

  Chapter 2

  Anxiety itched at the back of his brain with razor-sharp claws. At three am, Jerry decided he and sleep were not going to break bread anytime soon. Not until he knew for sure, that was.

  The city of Boston used its weather to convey its unique voice, and usually told people to go screw themselves eight months out of the year. The icy wall of wind that hit
Jerry as he bounced down his front steps made him question his pride in his reclaimed human body. Nothing to be done for it, though. He had to get out. It wasn’t like he could summon a resident of Hell in the house. He didn’t really want an audience either.

  The bandstand in Boston Common stood empty, half-buried in the snow that drifted throughout the bitter day. Jerry reached the pavilion as he invoked a charm, blocking out the interior to human and inhuman eyes alike. He also rattled off a spell to block the wind because dayum... The term “colder than a witch’s tit” came to mind, but he knew a certain witch’s glorious pair, and how, when he played her body right, they were anything but cold.

  “We need to talk.”

  Silence tossed him several four-lettered terms. Inwardly, he knew winning the lottery three times in one night was perhaps a little too much to expect. Between marrying Riona – really marrying her, and not just posing as a groom – and cutting the thread tying him to hellfire, he was willing to cash in his chips and be content with his impressive take. Yet, that damned determination that had pushed him on for thousands of years, his inability to yield to any limits while seeking out knowledge, drove him on.

  “Damn it, Azazel, after two thousand years of doing your dirty work, you owe me a few minutes, you rat bastard.”

  “I owe you?”

  He heard the fallen seconds before his muscular, dark form materialized. The Grigori leaned against the railing that circled the bandstand, arms crossed, that customary half-smirk, half-sneer plastered on his faux flesh face.

  “Did your resurrected body come with a ball upgrade? You talk big for a demon betrayer who helped vanquish Satan. If you were still in Hell, I’d have you at the stables, scooping out the horseman’s stalls with that pathetic lamprey you call your dick.”

  “Me and Raisin Bran, both need only two scoops. Luckily, I’m not in Hell anymore, eh?”

  “No, you’re in Boston in the winter. That’s so much better.” Azazel stepped forward, inspecting Jerry from tip to toe. “Nice human body. I wonder if it’s as soft and pliable as it was the first time.”

  “Something I’m sure they didn’t realize the full implications of.” Jerry’s fingers balled into a fist in his pocket. “He yours?”

  Azazel bobbed his shoulders. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure, you don’t. I bet if I asked you how Marc still loves Riona, you’d be completely clueless too.”

  Jerry let that hang in the air until, sick of waiting, Azazel huffed. “Get to the point, Gaius.”

  Even he couldn’t believe the tension in his tone, or the way his voice cracked with desperation. “Mark: you remade him, not Lucifer. Was it for the same reason you made me?”

  “You’re very presumptive to assume...”

  “Answer me, you congenital prick!”

  For the first time in their two eons of interaction, Jerry witnessed Azazel shrink back.

  “He is as you were.” Azazel coughed a laugh before amending, “Or should I say, are. By the way, you haven’t thanked me for that. You have no idea the number of favors I had to call in to get you resurrected, or the price humanity’s going to pay for your ability to breathe.”

  “Was that part of your plan all along?”

  Azazel clicked his tongue to the top of his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. You, above all people, should know an archangel can’t see into the future. I’m a reactionary being, just like you. Aren’t we just very fortunate that the silly keystone played along so nicely?” From the pocket of his trench coat, the fallen pulled a cigarette, which lit up when he pressed it to the tip of his finger. “By the way, I understand my brother crashed your wedding.”

  Jerry felt his fists clench tighter inside his pockets, recalling the confrontation with Michael. “As the father of the bride, he wasn’t exactly left off the guest list. The demon he snuck in through the back door, however... I know the occasional guest considers it good luck to kiss the bride, but I would have been happier if Marc did it while they were both fully clothed and not in a magical bed on a semi-transient plane of reality. Doesn’t anyone just give Tupperware anymore?”

  A broad-rimmed smile slowly erupted into a chuckle from the archangel. He pulled Jerry to him, giving the ex-demon a one-armed hug. “Sarcasm must be genetic. Well, I have an appointment to keep. And you have a plane to catch, don’t you?” Azazel stomped out the cigarette with the heel of his alligator-skinned loafers. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to crash your flight. I plan on giving you a head start. It makes the chase so much more fun. Give my love to the wife when... if you catch up with her.”

  “Yeah, and you tell Marc that just because he’s kinda family doesn’t mean I won’t slay him.”

  “Nothing wrong with a little sibling rivalry. I should know. I’m about to orchestrate the overthrow of one of my brothers.”

  Before Jerry had a chance to ask, he found himself alone.

  Chapter 3

  “Pick up the pace, Dade! We haven’t got all day.”

  As a woman who adored sports cars and coffee shops, Riona never slipped nature her phone number. It came as no surprise, therefore, that it never called. Now, it seemed as though it was finally opening up to her just long enough to say, “I really don’t like you. Not a bit. And that pair of jeans you conjured up to wear make your butt look big.”

  This had to be a set-up. Somewhere, Dee and Jerry were sitting in a warm room, sipping cold beers, laughing their asses off about how they punked her. The thing with Marc? A magically-produced hallucination, right? Jerry was probably just getting back at her. And all those sweet things that had her swooning played right into his plans. Damn, was she that stupid? She’d fall for anything.

  Including the tree root her foot hooked on.

  Riona realized all at once that she’d been more intimate with the ground in the last half hour than she’d been with a man for the past year. Coughing out a mouthful of leaves, she clambered to her feet once more under the rolling eyes of the Greek goddess.

  “Please, please, please, can we take a break? I feel like we’ve been hiking for hours.”

  “It’s only been an hour-and-a-half!” Persephone replied. “We’re almost there.”

  Riona plopped down on the ground, backing herself against a tree. “If I take another step right now, my feet are going to mutiny and kick my own ass. Five minutes, Steph. I don’t have perpetual endurance like you do.”

  “How annoyingly human! Can’t you try being a little more angelic right now? They have the endurance of the Volga.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Persephone huffed and collapsed on the ground next to Riona. “It’s a good thing Jerry got you as far into Athens as he did, or we’d really be screwed.”

  “Athens?” Riona looked around her. “I thought this was Olympus?”

  “Oh, it’s Olympus, all right. But it’s also Athens. Kinda. We’re, like, parallel to it.”

  Riona’s face screwed up. “What do you mean, ‘parallel?’”

  Persephone pointed through a break in the trees at a rocky peak, which, the last time they stopped, seemed so much further away. Riona took some comfort in seeing this Hellenistic hike from hell would soon be ancient history.

  “The nephilim realm, the mortal world, and Hell all occupy the same physical space; we just exist in different realities. The angels call these the terrestrial planes, since we all overlap here on terra firma. We’re like parallel universes. Your scientists actually are right about those. If we ported back to the human world right this second, we’d be in Northern Greece. Here, however, we’re on the edge of the Elysium plains. Head north, you’ll eventually get to Valhalla. East, and sooner or later, you’d reach the Mountain of the Immortals, and so on.”

  “And Heaven?” Riona asked.

  Persephone’s nose wrinkled. “That’s somewhere different completely. Heaven isn’t a physical place, it’s metaphysical. Plus, it’s really, really old. Heaven existed long before Earth. Are you thirsty?”

  “Got a
water bottle hidden somewhere?” Riona joked, tapping the roof of her mouth with her tongue, testing the stickiness. “Yeah, a little.”

  Rising to her feet, Persephone took a few steps toward a tall row of plants. The broad leaves shivered, then bowed before the goddess, making Riona’s eyes widen with amazement. Persephone snapped off one of the leaves and twisted it around in her hands, forming a bowl before holding it under the other obedient fronds. The branches collapsed in on themselves, and a trickle of water dripped down as the stalks became shriveled remnants of their former fronds.

  “Drink this.” Persephone held the tears of the plant to Riona. “The taste might be a little funny, but it’s harmless.”

  Riona palmed the leaf bowl before drawing it to her lips. It tasted like parsley, but the refreshment she felt on the back of her throat relieved a need she didn’t even realize she had.

  “How did you do that?”

  Persephone shrugged. “Nephilim don’t have a smorgasbord of magical abilities. Dee calls what you wiccans have ‘broad-spectrum magic.’ But we all have at least one very powerful gift. Mine is the ability to coax fauna. It does almost anything I command as long as it’s within its capability. Just now, I told the plant to return its water to me.”

  “But you didn’t say a spell,” said Riona matter-of-factly.

  “For humans, the word is the deed. For nephilim, we think things. It’s also the reason we’re telepathic; though trust me, that isn’t always a bowl of cherries. So, you ready to go?”

  Riona left the bowl on the ground and rose, dusting off her jeans. “Thinking a spell? I wonder if I could learn to do something like that?”

  A chuckle flattened in the air. “You’re an angel. You can do almost anything, it’s just a matter of figuring out how.”

  “Half-angel,” Riona reminded her.

  “Fine, then. You should be able to do at least half of anything. So are you going to tell me more about what happened, or what?”