Crushed Seraphim

  He peeked at the sky. It was empty. No more stars falling like horrifying fireworks. No more crushed seraphim — or mangled angels of any kind — for now. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I am crazy. He licked his lips and tasted angel cake. How can I help her? Who’ll believe me? Jason started the vehicle viciously and slammed it into gear. Speed sometimes cleared his head.

  He was soon out of the asphalt maze that made up the town, and his car ate pavement voraciously on a long stretch of road. Think. Damn it. But a plan wouldn’t come. He kept seeing her fade away at the power of his hands.

  Jason slapped the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. He could still feel her skin hot on his own as he’d pushed her against the starry wall. His own heart seemed to be quivering now, remembering its farce of beating. Her lips. Dear God, her lips.

  Jason pressed the pedal harder. He was going as fast as the car would allow, but it wasn’t fast enough to outrun the pain, which clung to him like a metal spider web. I want her back.

  Maybe it was habit, but he soon found himself flying up his driveway. He threw the car into park and sat behind the steering wheel. He needed help, and there was nowhere else to go.

  He heard Dean toss the snowball, so the slap on his window wasn’t a shock, but it made Jason angry anyway. He hopped out of the car and launched himself at his brother. Dean immediately assumed a wrestling stance, ready to play like a Labrador retriever. When Jason hit him with all the force he had, Dean began to protest.

  “What’s up your ass? Your new invisible girlfriend won’t put out? I’m pretty sure if you hump the air you don’t need a condom, Mr. Saintly.”

  Jason hurtled his fist into Dean’s stomach.

  Dean assessed the anger rolling off Jason and changed tactics. “Bro, what the hell went on today? Simmer down and tell me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m fighting.”

  Jason would have kept punching if he hadn’t heard Dean’s next words as well.

  “Jason, even if we’re fighting a bucketful of nothing, I’ll never leave your side.”

  Jason stood still and looked hard at Dean. “I’m sorry. Truly. That was uncalled for. I could very well be losing my mind, but it feels so real. It tastes so real.”

  Dean sat and patted the snow next to him. “Have a seat, bro. I can’t read your mind.”

  Jason hesitated, but Dean’s open face invited a confession. Jason started from the beginning and ended his tale with sending Emma to Hell.

  “That’s crazy stuff,” Dean observed.

  Jason rolled his eyes. He was wasting time trying to get some perspective from Dean.

  “Bro, you know what I’ve learned from chicks?”

  Jason sighed. Advice from Dean about women? He might as well spit in the wind. Although their mother’s love for the people on Earth had piqued their interest in human women, because of their bizarre diet of blood, the brothers had limited their dating to short, casual relationships — and in Dean’s case to one-night stands. Probably not exactly what Mom had in mind.

  “Listen to her. A lot of times chicks tell you what they need you to do. But half the time, it isn’t what we think they want, so we ignore them.”

  Despite spouting what at first seemed like inane blather, Dean had a point. Emma had asked one thing of him, and he’d yet to even try it.

  “Pray for me, Jason. Pray for me.”

  “Thanks, Dean. I think,” Jason reluctantly offered.

  “You are welcome,” Dean said and waggled his eyebrows.

  “I think you have a point,” Jason added. “I mean, it seems ridiculous, but I’ll try it. She did ask.”

  Dean stood and pounded Jason on the back. He headed for the front door of the Parish family home.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Dean winked at Jason and shut the door behind him.

  Jason knew his brother and sister would be peeking out at him from every available spot in the house. He trotted off into the woods to give himself a bit of privacy for a conversation he’d never expected to have.

  Hey, God. I, um…You and I have never been friends…But even though you made me a monster I…

  Jason slammed a fist into the closest tree. He couldn’t get it right. He didn’t know who he was talking to or what the hell he was going to ask for. He needed perspective. Inspiration. He tasted his lips again.

  Her.

  He pictured her flowing blond hair. He hated how it squeezed him inside, but he pictured her last moments with him. It was like she was right there again. She was closing her eyes, waiting bravely for the pain to come when he tore away her wing.

  God, please do this for her. Where she is now I can’t even imagine. I need her, and that’s selfish. But she makes me believe in love. She makes me believe in magic. If she comes out of this okay, I might even believe in You.

  The snow around Jason began to glow and swirl. He concentrated again.

  She’s real in my heart. She needs strength right now. Take mine — I have too much. Take it all. God, please give Emma strength.

  The snow around Jason became a tornado, whipping his hair into his face.

  Amen. And thank you, Jason Parish.

  When his eyes opened, Jason was surprised to see his hands clenched together, as if he’d prayed a million times before.

  The tornado pulsated and grew stronger. Jason looked up through the center and saw perfectly blue sky.

  This makes no sense. Is this God’s response?

  An explosion of falling stars erupted in the patch of sky he could see, then a horrible rainbow arched, and he knew it contained thousands of angels. Everett was purging Heaven of all its good.

  The wind around him emptied like a drain, and soon the woods were calm — but the sky remained far from it. He looked over his shoulder and saw his brother and sister standing close by. When his eyes met theirs, they nodded in acknowledgment. They couldn’t possibly understand the falling stars, or Jason’s trip into the forest for a moment of prayer, but their greatest fear was losing him. They’d come to support him — or at least keep him from hurting someone if he’d turned to the dark side of reason.

  Someone with Everett’s massive power should have made more noise. But as Jason turned from his family to see the sky again, his vision was suddenly blocked by Everett’s huge, red wings. His face was angry and sneering.

  “Well, half-breed, you’ve pissed me off and sent my girl to Hell. Now you expect an evil thing like you to have God’s ear? Think again.” Everett’s smile was not one of welcome.

  Jason crouched and motioned for his brother and sister to do the same. They remained standing, so Jason stood up as well. They couldn’t see any of the threat in front of them, he realized. If sending someone to Hell was the worst Everett could do, Jason would take it for his siblings. At least I’d be back with her.

  Jason waited for the blast, but Everett wasn’t powering up like he had in the clearing earlier. He hollered up to the hovering Everett. “Hey, overgrown pigeon! She’s not your girl. She’s mine.”

  Everett’s hands began to shake, as though he was fighting the anger inside him. “You’re dead, half-breed,” he spat. “God doesn’t care what you do, but the Devil has his eye on you.” An evil grin spread on Everett’s face, and intent sparked in his eyes.

  Here it comes. Hell.

  Instead of feeling the blast, Jason began to levitate. He watched in surprise as Everett pulled him, as if by invisible strings. Closer and closer Jason rose, his arms pinned to his sides again, as they’d been when he was in Heaven. Soon he was far above the woods, looking Everett in the face. He could hear his brother’s shock and alarm from below. Dean had lunged to a tree and climbed it quickly, but he wasn’t even close to Jason.

  Everett flew closer so he didn’t have to raise his voice. “She’s so stupid. How could she think you could be anything but a murderer? You remind me of myself, half-breed.”

  Without warning, and so fast only a minion or a half-breed could see it coming, Everett punched
Jason in the jaw. The invisible bindings held Jason tight, refusing to let him reel from the impact. Everett tilted his head like an interested pup and threw another punch. This time Jason’s head was allowed to snap back. After a round of alarmingly fast fists, Everett put his hand on top of Jason’s head. Like a reverse baptism, Jason was bathed in pain. He began screaming, but he heard it only in his mind, because Everett had sealed his mouth shut. The agony should have made him black out, but his mind remained agonizingly present. Everett was boiling Jason from the inside.

  “Let me hear you scream. Scream for mercy, half-breed. Beg for me.” Everett closed his eyes as if listening to a beautiful concert, and Jason’s mouth was finally free to move.

  Jason concentrated on keeping quiet, but when he could take it no longer, his loud, hard voice echoed through the woods. Jason put into words the only wish he had in the world and sent it into the universe:

  “Emmaaaaaa!”

  Chapter 8

  God help me, Emma thought again.

  The word “God” gave her clarity. It was like a brief glimpse of candlelight in the darkest night. She couldn’t fight Satan — he was too good at this game. But maybe she could join him. Force his hand.

  Emma smiled, trying not to let on that she had a plan at all. She took her newly freed hands and wrapped them around his neck. She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and kissed him with every bit of desire he’d fabricated in her.

  He laughed — a rich, deep rumble — and kissed her back. Victory was his.

  Then she pulled his head away from hers and lowered her lashes. “Devil, I don’t want pure and simple pleasure. You’ve been doing this for eons. Surely you’ll be creative?” Emma pressed her breasts against his chest and licked her lips.

  “Of course. I’ll be the best you ever had. No fear, just sin.” He lifted her leg and grinded against her.

  She tilted her head to expose her neck. “You’ll have to be better than Everett. Good heavens, he makes me quake.”

  She shivered at the thought of Everett — particularly that thought — but she hoped the Devil would take it as leftover ardor.

  Satan stopped his assault on her senses and squinted. “You screwed Everett?” He looked like he might want to back up.

  Emma snickered and gave him her best doe eyes. “Of course not.” She didn’t want him angry with her…yet. Emma kicked herself mentally as she pulled out her ace card, her left breast.

  The sight of her nipple washed the apprehension from his face, and he bent his head to suckle. His tongue was everywhere and so fast. She wasn’t pretending when she arched her back to force him to be rougher.

  He lifted his head to watch her excitement. “There you go, pretty child. That’s the way.” The Devil pushed Emma onto a chaise lounge that had appeared from the smoke.

  She wanted the weight of him on her; she clawed at the red velvet. Think, Emma. This is about more than what’s in his pants.

  He pulled his T-shirt off in an uncomplicated motion. He had just enough tattoos to appear dirty, but not enough to be confusing. He unbuckled his belt while he watched her writhe on the lounge. The Devil smiled because he liked what he saw.

  Emma swallowed and pictured future Jason’s eyes. For him. Do this for him.

  The Devil unbuttoned his jeans, certain he had her full attention. He left them undone as he crawled up her body, placing his lips on any skin he found. He began speaking to her between luscious kisses. “I’m…going…to…savor you…like wine…like Heaven…comes…to Hell.”

  All Emma could do was moan.

  He straddled her and pulled his hair into a ponytail while she watched the muscles in his arms work. He used a piece of leather from around his wrist to secure it out of the way.

  “You see, I’ve been down here far too long, toiling with women who’ve lived a life of wanton carelessness. Whores.”

  The word “whore” coming from his lips as he leaned down sounded wonderful. He caressed her face. “But you, Emma, you make this whole room glow. The scent of you is just…intoxicating.”

  His eyes were so brown she could see her reflection in them. She knew she’d have to give him more than her heart wanted to, but for him to believe, her morals had to be shredded. She put her hand around his neck and spoke into his lips. “I’ve been so good, Satan, but I think I need a lesson in wickedness.” She kissed him again as his hands moved under her union suit. He was exploring her and murmuring horrible perfections from his Devil lips.

  Do it now, or your mission has failed.

  Emma could barely put together her words; they kept falling like beads from a string.

  Make him jealous. Make him worry. She ran a hand over his hard stomach.

  “You want to be bad, angel? I can teach you every position it comes in.” He pressed his fingertips into her thighs.

  “I need something to take my mind off the evil Everett is tossing around up there.” She boldly grabbed a handful of him.

  He stopped his pursuit of her pleasure to grit his teeth and growl at her. His eyes looked primal, timeless. She kissed his scary, sexy mouth. She took time to trace his bottom lip with her tongue before she made her next point. “God’s here, and now that I’ve met you, I think I’d rather be in your company.”

  Is this a promise I’m making? Am I making a reservation to be here with the Devil for all time?

  She knew going to Hell was a risk. Crap, forever in torment was almost a sure thing. But with God here, maybe He’d provide some protection?

  It seemed that right here and right now, in this room, it was just Emma and the Devil. He shifted to lie alongside her. He caressed her face and neck like he’d molded them carefully himself.

  “Sexy woman, you want me to believe you’re here with me because you think I’m your safe haven from Everett?” He began nibbling her ear again.

  She nodded and found that putting a hand on his chest was way too easy. He looked at her lips and then her eyes. She saw anger flash across his face, but before she could react, he had her hands together. The handcuffs appeared, hanging in the smoke from an invisible hook. He skillfully slapped them onto her wrists, and soon Emma was bound with her arms above her head on the chaise lounge.

  He relaxed at her side again once he’d imprisoned her. He reached over her to a table that held his beloved cigarettes. He picked one up and lit it with his finger. She watched as he drew the smoke. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his hand as he exhaled, thoughtfully, away from her.

  Emma knew he was on to her. Trick the Devil to save God. Who can do that?

  “Smoking kills, you know.” She could afford to be cheeky now — her jig was up.

  The Devil looked almost pleasant again. “One can always hope.”

  With the cigarette between his lips he buttoned all the buttons she had left on her union suit, covering her. When he was done he nodded, like he knew he’d done the right thing.

  “To think you would give me the gift of your body.” He shook his head and gave a humorless laugh. “Maybe my age has made me weak, angel.”

  He sat up and turned his back on her. From midair, he plucked a bottle of rum. She watched the muscles in his back shift as he indulged in a swig from the bottle. When he stood up, his jeans were buttoned again.

  “I want you to stay here. I want you to want to stay here. That’ll take time. I understand that. I’ve jumped the gun. But can you blame me?” He took another swallow of the alcohol.

  Emma needed some perspective, so she voiced her thoughts. “God doesn’t make mistakes. You’re here because you belong here. Nothing you can do will make me want to be in Hell. I’ve known the pleasures of Heaven.”

  Emma shifted to try to make her arms more comfortable.

  He tilted his head a bit and looked down his nose at her. “God doesn’t make mistakes? Are you sure about that, princess? Are you positive?”

  Emma hated the doubt that crawled into her heart. Everett is a mistake. Everett’s pure evil.


  “I see your answer. You think you can get one by me? I pass my days with the best liars that have ever existed, Emma.” He swirled the golden liquid in its bottle.

  Emma was so thirsty.

  Jason.

  “And what of a seraph handcuffed to the Devil’s bed? Is that in God’s master plan? He’s as useless as a mortal. Your faith in Him is a sick mistake.” The Devil found a red velvet chair to sit in. He propped his boots up on Emma’s lounge.

  The distance and the clothes were helping a bit. She felt more in control. She tried to test the strength of the cuffs and found they were impenetrable. I can’t lie to this bastard? I’ll be honest then. What else do I have?

  Emma looked at her bare feet. “I feel cheated. Everett has no place in Heaven; he wasn’t even a little bit good. And yes, I guess I’m ticked off at God. I don’t want to be here fighting a losing battle against you.” She looked at his face.

  He took another drag and released it before replying. “And now you tell the truth. It suits you.”

  Emma shifted again. His gaze was deafening. It made her heart pump so loudly.

  “Well, I do have resources,” he said. “If you think God made a mistake concerning Everett, I’ll punish him. Your hate would put him under my jurisdiction.” The Devil put his boots back on the floor and leaned forward. With his elbows on his knees, he gave Emma an uncompromising stare.

  “Punish who?” Emma asked. “Everett? God?” She felt a rush of power.

  He rubbed a hand on his lips for a moment before he spoke. “Both, princess. Imagine that — giving Everett exactly what’s coming to him.”

  He gestured to the room behind him and suddenly there was a projection on the smoke. It was flashes of Satan’s power: humans enduring the most horrendous of tortures. Emma closed her eyes, horrified and sick to her stomach.

  “I’m sorry. Too much? I guess I have a high threshold for that type of thing.” He leaned over and ran a knuckle down her jaw line. “It’s gone. You can open your eyes.”