“You could say that.”
Since all fallen angels had once been Heavenly angels, the offspring of two fallen angels would be emim, neither angel nor fallen angel, wingless, but possessing a number of fallen angel powers. During her research into ways to repair the damage caused by grimlight, she’d found a necromancer’s scribblings theorizing that emim stem cells could possibly deliver a punch of extra healing power to otherwise untreatable conditions in fallen angels like her mother.
Revenant might just have delivered the answer to Blaspheme’s prayers.
“Fine,” she muttered, telling herself this would all be worth it when either he repaid the favor or she healed her mother. “Give me a minute to grab an obstetrics jump bag.”
“Excellent.” Triumph lit his expression. “I’ll meet you at the main entrance.”
He took off, and as she watched his fine, leather-clad backside disappear down the corridor, she wondered about the mistake she’d just made. Because it wasn’t a question of if she’d made a mistake. She’d crossed that particular bridge a mile back.
No, the question now was how big of a mistake it would prove to be.
Four
Blaspheme showed up at the clinic’s main entrance five minutes later, still wearing bright purple scrubs and a pristine white lab coat with the Underworld General caduceus embroidered on the chest pocket. A teal stethoscope hung around her neck, and Revenant wondered how his heart would sound if she listened.
He figured it would either stop completely, or it would do a hummingbird on the back of his rib cage. That was assuming it had fully grown back after Satan made a meal of it.
No, wait… it had definitely regenerated, because as Blaspheme sauntered through the waiting room toward him, an orange duffel slung over her shoulder and her slender fingers toying with the stethoscope, he felt his pulse hammer faster with every step. Her blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and it swung wildly, the tip playing peek-a-boo with him from behind her waist. Damn, he’d love to bend her over, wrap that thing around his fist, and —
“You ready to go?” she asked, getting right down to business.
He answered by shoving open the steel door. He’d discovered that there were only two ways into the clinic; via the Harrowgate from the hospital in New York, or through the door from an abandoned London tube platform. A spell prevented anyone from flashing directly into and out of the clinic, but as a Shadow Angel, he could pop in or out anytime he pleased. For now, however, he wanted to keep his status a secret. One thing he’d learned about power was that the more of it you had, the fewer people you wanted to know about it.
Some asshole out there always wanted to either take it or exploit it, as Satan had proven today when he announced his plan to use Rev as an angel exterminator.
They stepped out onto the platform and into the stale underground air. Behind them, the clinic door closed and melted into the background, concealing itself from human eyes. A few feet away, the shimmering curtain of light from the Harrowgate built into the tunnel wall ahead solidified, and a moment later, a white-skinned blanchier demon stumbled out, cradling his clearly dislocated arm.
Blas rushed to hold the clinic door open for him. “See Liz at the front desk. She’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
The demon muttered his thanks and disappeared through the doorway.
“You really do like this job, don’t you?” Revenant asked, baffled by the desire to help people. Most people were assholes. They were much more likable when they were dead.
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he studied her, which, really, was no hardship. “So, when you were a baby False Angel, this was what you dreamed of doing when you grew up?”
“When you were a baby angel, did you dream of committing an offense so heinous it would get you kicked out of Heaven to become a fallen angel?” she shot back.
“Ouch,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize False Angels were venomous.”
She rubbed her eyes, and he suddenly felt like a shit, even if he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t used to having regrets.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m dealing with some family issues that are making me grumpy.”
“Must be something in the air,” he muttered.
“Like a virus? That I could deal with,” she said, and he liked that she would rather deal with viral infections than people. Very cool. But odd for a False Angel. “Where are we going?”
“Can’t tell you.” He held out his hand, but she eyed it like what he’d offered her was a croix viper. “You need to take it. I’m going to flash us there.”
Hefting the bag more securely on her shoulder, she glared. “If you get me killed…”
“Trust me,” he said. “Nothing can harm you while you’re with me. And if anyone tries, I will make them scream until their skulls explode, Humpty Dumpty style. Not even your great Eidolon and all the king’s horses will be able to fix that.”
“That’s so… touching,” she said flatly. “And graphic.”
“I have mad skills when it comes to touching females.” She didn’t seem to appreciate his double entendre, but then, she seemed pretty annoyed. Maybe he could get her a deadly virus to play with. With his new Shadow Angel powers, creating a plague should be a snap. “Give me your hand.”
She did so, reluctantly, but he still felt a sizzling tremor of awareness shoot up his arm. Savoring the sensation, he flashed them to a region adjacent to Satan’s, a region defined by its lava flows and acid lakes, an inhospitable environment in which few could survive. It was also one of the regions that was impossible for any Heavenly angel to get inside. The manor Satan had built here as his “vacation home” was so tightly guarded that only Revenant and a handful of his most trusted cronies could enter.
Since all fallen angels had once been Heavenly angels, the offspring of two fallen angels would be emim, neither angel nor fallen angel, wingless, but possessing a number of fallen angel powers. During her research into ways to repair the damage caused by grimlight, she’d found a necromancer’s scribblings theorizing that emim stem cells could possibly deliver a punch of extra healing power to otherwise untreatable conditions in fallen angels like her mother.
Revenant might just have delivered the answer to Blaspheme’s prayers.
“Fine,” she muttered, telling herself this would all be worth it when either he repaid the favor or she healed her mother. “Give me a minute to grab an obstetrics jump bag.”
“Excellent.” Triumph lit his expression. “I’ll meet you at the main entrance.”
He took off, and as she watched his fine, leather-clad backside disappear down the corridor, she wondered about the mistake she’d just made. Because it wasn’t a question of if she’d made a mistake. She’d crossed that particular bridge a mile back.
No, the question now was how big of a mistake it would prove to be.
Four
Blaspheme showed up at the clinic’s main entrance five minutes later, still wearing bright purple scrubs and a pristine white lab coat with the Underworld General caduceus embroidered on the chest pocket. A teal stethoscope hung around her neck, and Revenant wondered how his heart would sound if she listened.
He figured it would either stop completely, or it would do a hummingbird on the back of his rib cage. That was assuming it had fully grown back after Satan made a meal of it.
No, wait… it had definitely regenerated, because as Blaspheme sauntered through the waiting room toward him, an orange duffel slung over her shoulder and her slender fingers toying with the stethoscope, he felt his pulse hammer faster with every step. Her blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and it swung wildly, the tip playing peek-a-boo with him from behind her waist. Damn, he’d love to bend her over, wrap that thing around his fist, and —
“You ready to go?” she asked, getting right down to business.
He answered by shoving open the steel door. He’d discovered that there were only two ways into the clinic; via the Harrowgate from the hospital in New York, or through the door from an abandoned London tube platform. A spell prevented anyone from flashing directly into and out of the clinic, but as a Shadow Angel, he could pop in or out anytime he pleased. For now, however, he wanted to keep his status a secret. One thing he’d learned about power was that the more of it you had, the fewer people you wanted to know about it.
Some asshole out there always wanted to either take it or exploit it, as Satan had proven today when he announced his plan to use Rev as an angel exterminator.
They stepped out onto the platform and into the stale underground air. Behind them, the clinic door closed and melted into the background, concealing itself from human eyes. A few feet away, the shimmering curtain of light from the Harrowgate built into the tunnel wall ahead solidified, and a moment later, a white-skinned blanchier demon stumbled out, cradling his clearly dislocated arm.
Blas rushed to hold the clinic door open for him. “See Liz at the front desk. She’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
The demon muttered his thanks and disappeared through the doorway.
“You really do like this job, don’t you?” Revenant asked, baffled by the desire to help people. Most people were assholes. They were much more likable when they were dead.
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he studied her, which, really, was no hardship. “So, when you were a baby False Angel, this was what you dreamed of doing when you grew up?”
“When you were a baby angel, did you dream of committing an offense so heinous it would get you kicked out of Heaven to become a fallen angel?” she shot back.
“Ouch,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize False Angels were venomous.”
She rubbed her eyes, and he suddenly felt like a shit, even if he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t used to having regrets.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m dealing with some family issues that are making me grumpy.”
“Must be something in the air,” he muttered.
“Like a virus? That I could deal with,” she said, and he liked that she would rather deal with viral infections than people. Very cool. But odd for a False Angel. “Where are we going?”
“Can’t tell you.” He held out his hand, but she eyed it like what he’d offered her was a croix viper. “You need to take it. I’m going to flash us there.”
Hefting the bag more securely on her shoulder, she glared. “If you get me killed…”
“Trust me,” he said. “Nothing can harm you while you’re with me. And if anyone tries, I will make them scream until their skulls explode, Humpty Dumpty style. Not even your great Eidolon and all the king’s horses will be able to fix that.”
“That’s so… touching,” she said flatly. “And graphic.”
“I have mad skills when it comes to touching females.” She didn’t seem to appreciate his double entendre, but then, she seemed pretty annoyed. Maybe he could get her a deadly virus to play with. With his new Shadow Angel powers, creating a plague should be a snap. “Give me your hand.”
She did so, reluctantly, but he still felt a sizzling tremor of awareness shoot up his arm. Savoring the sensation, he flashed them to a region adjacent to Satan’s, a region defined by its lava flows and acid lakes, an inhospitable environment in which few could survive. It was also one of the regions that was impossible for any Heavenly angel to get inside. The manor Satan had built here as his “vacation home” was so tightly guarded that only Revenant and a handful of his most trusted cronies could enter.
