Eleventh Grave in Moonlight(52)

In one quick movement, I ripped it out of him, this beast who was after my daughter. I devoured it. Swallowed it whole. Then I absorbed what was left of him, the feeling one of euphoria as his molecules melted into mine.

Reyes looked on, not surprised in the least. When I turned to jelly, he was there. His arm wrapped around me. His face inches above mine.

I reached up and brushed my fingers against his wings. Astonished.

Then I remembered the girl and her grandfather and … and Shawn. Not to mention the pedestrians around us. Were they caught in the cross fire?

Reyes and I emerged onto the mortal plane, and I scrambled to my feet.

People were injured all up and down the street. One woman was hemorrhaging blood by the bucketsful. A piece of glass had pierced her jugular. Others were screaming and running away, their faces bloodied but otherwise okay.

I knelt beside Shawn. He was draped over the girl as though trying to protect her, but his eyes faced heavenward.

I reached down to touch him. I’d heal him first. Then the girl. Then the woman and anyone else. I didn’t think I could bring the elderly man back. Once a god took up residence, there wasn’t much left to bring back.

“You are forbidden,” came a familiar voice.

I didn’t bother looking back. Michael’s energy, along with that of his spies and a few reinforcements, undulated around me. Pressed into me. Suffocated.

“They died because of a supernatural fuckup. They deserve their lives back.”

“You may restore only if the soul has not already been freed. Only if it has not left the vessel and entered our Father’s kingdom.”

I stood and turned to him. “Their deaths were not natural. The blame lies at the feet of a god. This is on us.”

He drew his sword.

And Reyes drew his as his wings slowly unfolded.

“Rey’azikeen, we have no quarrel with you.”

Reyes’s mouth formed a ravenous smile. “Sure you do.”

Michael refocused on me. “You forget your place here. You are reaper. Nothing more. You have no right to use godly powers in a dimension that already has a God. It’s”—he looked up in thought—“cheating.”

“Somehow I can’t seem to care.”

“But it is what you agreed to when you became the portal of this world.”

“I didn’t agree to Jehovah stealing my memories,” I said, pulling arguments out of my ass. Searching for a loophole.

“You did, actually. You made a deal. Jehovah sends the rebel to your prison instead of the hell He created for him, and you serve as reaper in this world until your term is complete.”

“Yes, Mae’eldeesahn told me that much. But why take my memories?”

“Prior knowledge of where you came from would influence your duties here.”

“In what way?”

“Father considers this a probationary period. If you cannot obey His laws, you will be banished. And what better way to make you follow the rules than to take your memories, the memories of what you are and what you’ve done? You were at war for hundreds of thousands of years in your dimension. You came out the victor even though you profess to crave peace. Still, you won. That knowledge could influence your decisions here, as they are now.” I shook with anger until he added, “It was your idea, after all.”

My brows slid together in disbelief. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Do you know what war does to a being, even one as powerful as yourself? The memories are excruciating. Perhaps you are who you are now because of their absence. Perhaps you wanted to forget what you did to win.”

“Why? What did I do?”

Reyes had stepped beside me. He wrapped a hand around my arm.

“That is not my concern. What you do in this world is—as is restoring a soul that has already been freed. One that has already left the vessel. It is forbidden.”

“These people would not have died if Eidolon had not killed them. It is not just.”

“That is not for you to decide.”

“So”—I kneeled down, threateningly close to the girl—“if I restore these people, I will be banished?”

“Cast from this world forever.”

Anger shook me so hard, my teeth chattered.

“Dutch,” Reyes said, trying to bring me back.

I felt the anger in him as well. Felt it tighten his skin and crave release, but I also felt concern. For me. For Beep.

Michael tilted his head, waiting for my answer.

But the rage that had been bubbling suddenly sprang forth. A sword manifested in my hand and in one blinding movement, I sliced into Michael.

A thin red line spread across his chest, and one corner of my mouth tugged heavenward. “There you are,” I said, mesmerized.

Despite the depth of the cut, he didn’t flinch. His men, however, drew their swords and readied for battle. Reyes did the same.

I was seconds away from summoning my own army when I realized what I was doing. Risking other beings, righteous beings, because … why? I was angry? I was spoiled? Was I throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get my way?

Maybe they were right. Maybe I was a god of war. Maybe I craved it. Lived for it. How incredibly irresponsible.

I shook out of my musings and focused on Michael. “Did you give Jehovah my message?” I asked him, referring to our earlier conversation where I’d promised to take over the world.

“I did.”

“And?”

“He will meet you on the battlefield at your leisure should you name the place and time.”

I stood taken aback. The battlefield? Fight? Jehovah? God? The same God I grew up worshiping and talking to when no one else would listen? I’d always known He was there, watching over me.

Still, I was angry. To wield such power only to have it suppressed. To have it caged when it could do so much good. I wanted to spout something super sassy, but nothing came out.

Michael seemed to sense my sudden inability to form a complete sentence. He stepped closer despite his angels tensing.

Reyes stepped closer, too.

“Elle-Ryn-Ahleethia, perhaps you’d like some time to think about it.”

“Yes,” I said, nodding. I glanced down at the sword in my hand. It was ancient, and I got the feeling it had already seen many battles. Too many. I was here for a reason, and that reason was probably not to take over this world.

The sword disappeared, and I shouldered past Michael to do what I could, what I was allowed to do. I knelt beside the woman with the plate of glass in her neck. Since we were still incorporeal, she couldn’t see me. She held on to the glass, knowing that removing it meant certain death. Blood bubbled out of her nose and mouth, and the fear in her eyes, the sheer terror, wrapped its tendrils around my heart and squeezed.

Before she knew what was happening, I melted the glass, put my hand on her throat, and healed her. If that was all I could do, that was all I could do.

Michael stood over me. Reyes at his side, making sure he didn’t get too close.

“It will be harder for you now,” Michael said, “knowing what you know. What you are capable of. You are like an addict who has gotten a taste of heroin after years of sobriety. Only if you fall back into old habits, you will lose your family forever.”





21

I ran out of coffee this morning. Tequila seemed a reasonable replacement. Everyone is so pretty today!

—MEME

“What did he mean by old habits? If I am this god of war and I crave the blood of my enemies like others crave, say, coffee—just thinking off the top of my head—why would righting a wrongful death be forbidden? Wouldn’t that be a step in the right direction? I can see war being forbidden, or starting a revolution, or … whatever else war gods do, but righting a wrong?”

Dr. Mayfield sat on Spock, a logical armchair that cattycornered Captain Kirk, taking notes. I hadn’t seen her since I’d left her with Logan, the mischievous Native American vampire. She’d checked on her sister, traveled the world a bit, and now worked as a psychiatrist for the departed. And, apparently, for me.

“It makes no sense,” I continued. “But this bottle of tequila sure does.”

I turned it upside down and let the liquid scorch my throat. I’d never really understood why people drank when they were miserable. It only made matters worse in the long run. But for some reason, tequila seemed like the answer.

Surely, I was meant for more. And why would I agree to have my data banks deleted?

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked me. She had a blunt force trauma who needed her to analyze his recurring nightmare tugging on her shirtsleeve. My time had been up half an hour ago, anyway.

I nodded. “I’m glad you’re still working.”

She closed her notebook. “Me, too. I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

I saluted her with the near-empty bottle as she vanished. Then I took out the pendant, the god glass, and held it in my hand. Rubbed the glass cover. Studied the intricate design.

If I couldn’t save people in this world, how could I save any in the next? The next being a hell dimension created by Jehovah for His rebellious brother, Rey’azikeen. My husband.

Two questions arose immediately when I’d first come upon this information: First, what kind of god builds a hell dimension for the sole purpose of imprisoning His brother? Second, what the hell did Reyes do that was so bad his own Brother built a hell dimension just for him? It was kind of like his very own Holiday Inn, only without the pool or room service.