Dark Angel (Shadow & Light Book 6) - Ebook

Trying to get in touch with an angel wasn’t as easy as I’d first thought it would be.

No, I’m not talking about summoning one in a circle because I would have if I had a
name. But without the name of an angel, I couldn’t just summon up a random name
on a whim, hoping I’d land an angel. I might conjure up a dead thing, or worse,
a demon. Gabriel, Raphael, Luriel, Raguel were all archangel names known to me,
but after what happened with the archangel Vedriel, I decided I was going to go
down the corporate celestial ladder and summon just a regular angel.

And
to do that, I had to go through the proper channels—the angel-born ones. It was
a painstakingly long and torturous method of asking and then waiting. I’m not
the most patient person in the world, but I could do with the waiting, for a
little while.

However,
the asking had me mulling it over in
my head for about three weeks.

I
hated asking for anything. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just didn’t have
it in me. I wasn’t wired that way. Even when I was broke, I always managed to
find ways to get work and find some money. Maybe I was too proud, but the idea
of asking the angel-borns for anything at all had my skin crawling and bile rising
up in the back of my throat.

It
was one of the reasons I’d never asked the angel-borns for soul blades or other
weapons. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask. Asking made me look inferior,
weak. I wasn’t.

There
was also the nauseating factor that I would owe them. If they did me a favor, I
would be indebted to them, probably for the rest of my life. I would owe them
big. Fantastic.

I had
promised Tyrius I would give the angel-borns a shot before I reverted to my own
ways of getting things done—by force, lots of pain, and a few deaths—which
would probably end up being disastrous. The usual in my life.

Granted,
even though asking the angel-borns for help had me feeling sick, I was running
out of options and time. Lucian would be back. And if he got word of Layla, I
had even less time.

I sat
next to Father Thomas in matching wooden chairs carved with intricate designs
and archangel sigils before a long table, decorated in winding silver and gold patterns.
The massive table could seat at least twenty people comfortably, but just the
two of us sat here now. We were in the great hall where the angel-borns
convened for council meetings. It was just one of the many chambers and rooms
belonging to Hallow Hall—the angel-born safe house in Westchester County,
thirty miles north of New York City.

Hallow
Hall was massive. Everywhere I looked, I was met with lustrous marble floors,
polished wooden doors, gleaming windows, and sweeping oak staircases that led
to the upper floors. Even more remarkable was that each tile on the floor had
its own brilliant sigil of an archangel house painted in the colors of precious
jewels. As I looked, the sigils were everywhere—on the drapery, chairs, and
sofas, even carved into the handrail of the grand staircase.

It
was glorious and majestic, like a grand hotel somewhere in Europe. But even its
magnanimous presence couldn’t make me shake the cold and relentless feeling of
dread crawling up my spine. I didn’t want to be here. It was all I could do to sit
and not bolt through those doors. I was restless, like an animal trapped in a
pretty cage with lots of toys and food. I had to get out of here soon.

I let
out a sigh and slumped in my chair. “How much longer are we going to sit here
like idiots before he comes back?”

Father
Thomas looked up from his phone, his posture shifting to one of irritation. His
dark hair glistened in the light of the room, making me want to run my fingers
through it. Yes, he was a priest, but perfection deserved a little attention. “Patience,
Rowyn,” he answered, looking calm and collected in his chair, the white square
of his collar stark against his black shirt. “These things take time. You can’t
rush it.”

“You
can when lives are at stake.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “We’ve been
sitting here for over an hour.”

“I
know.” Father Thomas shifted his weight in his chair and flicked a finger
across the screen of his smartphone. “I’m right next to you.”

I let
my arms fall on the table with a loud thump. “I can’t believe I skipped dinner
for this.” I checked my phone. It was ten past five. I didn’t know why they
chose to see us so late in the day, but I bit my tongue and said nothing on the
drive here. I was trying to be a good girl.

“I
could be doing something else,” I said. “Something important. Something a lot
more useful than breathing in their expensive decor and sitting on their fancy
seats.” Like figuring out a way to summon
an angel myself. What the hell am I doing here?

“How’s
Layla doing,” asked the priest, and I knew he was just trying to change the
subject. “Are she and Danto still a thing?”

“She
and Danto are a lot of things.” I
grinned. Then I grinned some more at the obvious discomfort on the priest’s
face. “What? You asked.” God, this was
too easy.

The
priest’s shoulders lifted and fell. “It’s nice that she has someone looking out
for her. Someone in her life. After all, she lost her entire family only
recently.”

“An
entire family of schizos doesn’t count.” I might have felt a drop of sympathy
after Ethan’s death if the bastard had an ounce of decency in him. He didn’t. My
feelings for Ethan were the exact same ones I got when I looked at a rock.

I
didn’t think Layla was all that troubled either at the loss of her siblings,
but I wasn’t about to bring it up with the priest. I didn’t think he’d
understand.

Father
Thomas looked up from his phone and met my gaze. “You think the archdemon Lucian
will come after Layla too?”

I
gave him a pointed look. “No doubt in my mind. My working theory is, it’s not if he finds out about her now. It’s only
when.” The archdemon might even try to force his gift on me again. I couldn’t rule
that one out. But I was more worried about Layla. It was like Tyrius had said,
she might not resist the darkness as much as I did.

And that would be bad. I couldn’t let that
happen.

“She’ll
be safe with Danto,” said the priest after a short silence, as though trying to
convince himself.

I
leaned back into my chair. “I have to agree with you on that.” I knew how
fiercely protective the vampire was of Layla. He’d give his life to keep her
safe. I had no doubt about that. Tragically romantic, that vampire.

I
reached down and pulled out my elf stone necklace, rubbing my fingers along the
warm stone and enjoying the prickling of elf dust. It gave off elf magic like tiny
sparks of electrical currents.

“You
and Gareth are spending a lot of time together,” said Father Thomas, his dark
brown eyes traveling over my face.

“We
are,” I breathed, wishing I was in his bed with him, preferably naked and
sweaty, instead of here wasting my time with a group of pompous, angel-born asses.
I let my necklace fall. “I finally have some stability in my life. It feels… it
feels great, actually. Better than I ever thought it could to have someone to
share my life with. I never thought I could have a serious relationship in my
line of work. I was wrong.” Boy, was I
ever.

The
priest’s honest face split into a wide smile, transforming his features from
handsome to uber-sexy. “That’s wonderful to hear, Rowyn. I want you to know
that I’m still here for you if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I know.”
I was still living above him in his rental. But if things kept getting more
serious with Gareth, who knew how long I’d be staying there. My lips pulled
into a smile, touched by his concern. “You’re doing it right now—”

The
doors to the hall swung open and a man stepped in.

He
was tall with long wisps of white hair. His face, creased with age and wisdom,
was covered in a ferocious-looking white beard. Though he seemed in his late
eighties, he carried himself with vibrant energy. His piercing blue eyes were
alert and thoughtful behind black-rimmed spectacles. He wore a brown tweed suit
with a bow tie and looked like a mix of a college professor and Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings movies.

A
small t-shaped birthmark marred his temple, the sigil from House Ramiel. These
angel-borns were gifted with clairvoyance, divination, and telekinesis. They
were also the only ones who communicated with angels.

I
pushed my chair back and stood. “Took you long enough,” I mumbled, recognizing
him as the angel-born who’d greeted us an hour ago. His blue eyes got narrower
as I sized him up.

Father
Thomas got up slowly and slipped his phone into his pocket. “Edgar,” he said,
in way of greeting. “I hope you have good news for us.”

“I
have news, whether it’s good or not is up to you,” said Edgar as he stepped
towards us. He had the resonant voice of a public speaker.

I
rolled my eyes. Great. One of those. “Well,
tell us so we can decide for ourselves and get the hell out of here.”

Edgar’s
face pinched at my comment. “One does not simply pick up a phone and call an
angel. Divination is a power of its own, and one even more elusive and
difficult to control than magic. It requires deep meditation and expert focus
of the mind. Communicating with the angels is an art that takes great effort,
talent and concentration, Rachel.”

“It’s
Rowyn,” I informed him, though he didn’t seem to care or notice.

“The
more the prayer resonates with the angels, the stronger the connection,” said
the old man as he rocked back on his heels clearly pleased with himself.

“You’ve
been praying?” I raised a skeptical brow. “Is that how you make contact? By
praying?” Even the biggest fools could pray. I could pray, though I wouldn’t even know where to begin. There must
have been something here I wasn’t seeing.

Edgar
tapped his foot. “Prayer. Meditation. Reflection. It doesn’t matter what one
calls it. It’s the same thing.” The angel-born’s jaw tightened belligerently,
and I forced myself to relax. I knew better than to walk out of here with him
mad at me, but it was really difficult
when he was looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to squish with his foot.

“Only
a select few have this ability. It is a battle of the mind,” said Edgar, touching
his temples to give his words more emphasis. “You must seek out a quiet place
in your consciousness, somewhere shielded from pain and guilt, from fear and
anger. You must push out every sensation, every thought. The mind must be empty
to receive the voices.”

I frowned
at his condescending tone, like somehow speaking to angels made him superior to
everyone around him.

“Sounds
like fun,” I said, hands on my hips. “Where do I sign up?”

“Sign
up?” Edgar’s voice dripped disdain, and my tension spiked. “You must be born with the gift. You must be blessed by
the archangel Ramiel and have the marking if you want to converse with the
angels. Females rarely have this gift.” Oh,
no. He. Didn’t. His eyes rolled over my face all the way to my neck, making
a show of looking for a sigil while knowing perfectly well I didn’t have one.

“What’s
the news?” I demanded, feeling like this was a giant waste of time. My hatred for
this old pompous bastard increased the longer I stood there.

Edgar
regarded me with an expression somewhere between annoyance and contempt as he let
out a puff of breath. “I was able to put your case ahead of two others,” he
said proudly, like that was supposed to mean something to me. “Your case number
is 1036.”

“Excuse
me?” I looked askance at him to see if he was joking. “What does that mean?” My
gaze flicked to Father Thomas, who answered me with a shrug.

Edgar
scrunched up his face and cleared his throat. “It means exactly that. You, or
rather, your case… is number 1036.”

My
face went slack. “Number?” I said aghast, my temples thumping at the first sign
of a headache. “We have a freaking number?”

Edgar’s
eyes twitched as Father Thomas sighed through his nose. “Each case is assigned
a number. We can’t have different claims all thrown in together,” argued the
man as he stroked his long beard. “It would be madness. Madness! We would go
insane. All these random thoughts all jumbled into one’s mind. No. We need
order. Without order, it would be chaos. We would be lost.”

My
tension rose, pulling my shoulders straight. “So, what you’re telling me is you’ve
never even spoken to an angel yet? They still don’t know about me and what’s
been going on with the archdemon?”

“We’ve
left a message with the oracles,” said Edgar, the expression on his face empty
as he looked at me.

I
raised a brow, a sliver of anger sliding under my skin. “You left a message,” I repeated, my voice
dangerously low. “Are you kidding me, old man? Don’t you know who’s after me!”

“What
Rowyn is trying to articulate,” interjected Father Thomas, speaking quickly. “Is
that we were hoping our case would have been awarded a little more urgency, seeing
its delicate and dangerous nature with the archdemon.”

“Exactly,”
I confirmed, clenching my jaw. “What he said.”

Edgar’s
eyes were pinched. “That is up to the oracles to decide,” he said, waving his
hands around dramatically. “It is out of my control. Though there is a waiting list.
Yes. The angels are sympathetic to the petitioners’ claims. Rest assured, your
case will be reviewed, but it’s on a first-come first-serve basis.”

“This
is a matter of life and death,” I said through gritted teeth. “Not a ‘God
please help me win the lottery.’ This is serious. Do you even realize how
serious this is? Do you? I don’t have time to play these games.”

A
flash of annoyance crossed Edgar’s face, fleeting and almost not there. “We
take every claim seriously, Rhonda. Believe
you me, we don’t waste the time of the angels. You think listening to our petty
lamentations is all they have to do with their time? They are working to save
lives. To keep us, you, safe from demons.”

“I
can take care of my own demons.” I looked at Edgar’s mocking expectancy with my
barely contained anger and took a breath. “I can’t freaking believe this.”

Edgar
looked skeptical. “When your number comes up, I will be asked to speak to an
angel so we can further discuss your case. The Legion will advise me on how to
proceed. It is how it’s done. In a timely fashion and with order,” he informed me, hammering in the last word.

My
mouth went dry. I was going to punch him in the face. “So all this time we’ve
been waiting here,” I said, my voice high as I imagined different ways to rip
off his beard with my own hands. “Was only to get a number? A number?”

Edgar
made a disgusting sound in his throat, looking at me with haughty disdain. “I
can see why you were never blessed by the angels,” said the old man, making me
glower. “You obviously cannot handle celestial instruction. But I suspect it is
because of what’s inside you as well.
The demon essence. Demons are evil by definition. The archangels could never
bless you with their mark, Rosy.”

“It’s
ROWYN,” I growled, and I felt Father Thomas’s shoulder brush up against mine as
he moved closer to me, probably to keep me from punching the lights out of this
old man. Gandalf or not, he was really ticking me off.

I scowled
at him, pissed. “I have just as much angel blood as any of you. And just
because I have demon blood too doesn’t make me evil. Not all demons are evil. And
if you and your holier-than-thou religious zealots would pull yourselves out of
your collective asses and actually think about that, you might figure it out!”

Edgar
screwed up his face, his thin lips disappearing under his beard as he regarded
me with open disdain.

“How
long until our number comes up?” asked Father Thomas with tension in his voice
and posture as he tried to change the subject. “Perhaps we could wait here?”

“No.
No. No.” Edgar moved his tiny eyes onto the priest. “You can’t stay here. A
priest and a Hunter? Oh, no. That simply will not do. This establishment is reserved only for the angel-born. No
humans…” his eyes landed on me. “And especially no Hunters.”

“Bite
me, jackass.” I pressed my lips tightly and crossed my arms over my chest to
keep them from clobbering the old man. I was going to do it… I could feel it in
my bones.

Edgar’s
mouth dropped open, showing the bottom part of his stained and crooked teeth. “I
will ignore your rude behavior solely on Father Thomas’s good standing with us,”
he said, deep color creeping over his pale face. “Insolence is not acceptable,
but I will look past it this one time.”

I bit
down on my snarky comeback as I felt Father Thomas’s eyes on me. The guy was a
jackass, but I needed that jackass to communicate with the angels.

Sighing
heavily, I unclenched my teeth before I gave myself a headache. “How long until
we hear back from the angels?” My voice was rough but I couldn’t care less as I
saw his eyes narrow further until they were almost slits.

Edgar
raked his fingers into his beard, pulling them all the way down through it. “Two
days, maybe three—”

“Three
days!” My heart sped up. “Is this guy for real? After all this?” I shouted,
loudly enough to make sure everyone in Hallow Hall heard me.

“Rowyn,”
cautioned Father Thomas in a loud whisper. “This isn’t helping. Remember, we
came here to ask for their help.”

“No
one in this damned building wants to help us.” Anger slowly burned in my gut and
the priest shot me a look to shut up. If I wasn’t so desperate, I would have
walked away and figured out a way to speak to an angel myself. I thought I
could manage a prayer or two, but I had no assurance that my way would even
work. And I was running out of time. Exhausted in mind and soul, I looked at Father
Thomas, wanting to believe this hadn’t been all for nothing.

“Thank
you, Edgar,” said Father Thomas as he reached out and shook the other man’s
hand. “Please call me as soon as you hear back from the Legion.”

 “Yes, yes, of course.” Edgar inclined his head
politely. His eyes flicked to me, his jaw setting stubbornly. “We take each
case very seriously. Even though some are not appreciative nor do they deserve
it.”

Me, of course. It all came back to me—why
I hated to come here, why I despised the angel-born.

“Thank
you,” I said, forcing the words out of my mouth. The relief on Father Thomas’s
face was almost palpable.

But
Edgar wasn’t buying it. “Never in my…” The rest of his words were lost to me as
the man turned on his heel and walked out the door.

“Well,”
sighed Father Thomas. “That went marginally better than I’d hoped. It’s
progress.”

“Ya
think?” I said, following the angel-born’s exampled and marching towards the
door.

“They
could have refused us,” confessed the priest as he walked alongside me, his
stride confident and somewhat relaxed, though I couldn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Maybe,”
I said with false brightness. “But waiting three days isn’t exactly what I’d
hoped for.” I’d really been hoping the Legion would do something about it
today.

“It’s
all we have for now.” Father Thomas held the door for me.

“Right,”
I answered as I stepped through the door.

But
it wasn’t good enough. Not even close.