Death Sword. Pamela Turner

sensed she wanted to ask what had happened but didn’t want to pry. He appreciated her restraint. He needed these few minutes to decompress, shake off Samael’s insinuations. Not that he believed Samael was serious. The other angel knew their relationship was over. Then again, Samael seemed to suffer a case of selective amnesia where Xariel was concerned. Nevertheless, Xariel had no intention of again standing before the Seraphim and facing judgment. Once had been enough.

      They had almost reached their floor when Karla broke into his thoughts.

      “What did Samael say about me?”

      “Not much.”

      “I don’t think he likes me.”

      They reached Metatron’s office. Xariel knocked. “If it makes you feel better, he hates everybody.”

      The door unlocked and they entered. Metatron looked up from his paperwork. “How’d it go?”

      “He hates the idea but didn’t say no.”

      Metatron grinned. “Course not. He might not like it, but he has to do what I say.”

      “He suggested Karla and I work as partners.” Xariel hoped Metatron disagreed.

      “Good idea.”

      “You didn’t mention this when you gave me the assignment,” Xariel contended, frustration overriding decorum and protocol. “You just said bring her here.”

      Metatron sighed. “I’m not obliged to tell you everything.”

      “I prefer working alone.”

      “A partner would be good for you.”

      Hell. Didn’t Metatron remember Samael’s curse? If he slept with a woman, she’d die. Not that he planned to have sex with Karla this soon, but he couldn’t deny he felt even a little attraction toward her. Either Metatron had forgotten Samael’s curse or he believed Xariel to have massive amounts of willpower. Self-restraint had nothing to do with it. Whether Xariel liked it or not, his sexuality was tied in with the full and new moons. And it was possible Karla might become a victim of his curse. Did he want to risk her life for his sexual needs?

      “You’ll be fine,” Metatron assured him. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to finish these reports.”

      He shooed them out with a dismissive wave of his hand. Xariel shook his head and opened the door for Karla. No point in arguing now. Metatron’s mind was made up and nothing he said would change it.

      They stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall. Karla gave him a questioning look.

      “Welcome to my world,” Xariel said, unsure of what had just happened himself.

      Karla shrugged. “It’s not too bad. Promise you won’t leave me alone with Samael. He scares me.”

      He should. Xariel didn’t voice his thought aloud.

       5

      Samael hated her. Karla refused to believe otherwise. Yesterday she had stood at attention for almost four hours. Today she tried to control an energetic hellhound bent on wreaking havoc in Old Louisville’s Central Park.

      The leather leash chaffed her palms as Black Shuck tore across the grass, pulling his lead taut and yanking Karla off her feet.

      “Take Black Shuck for his daily walk,” Samael had ordered before teleporting them. Karla gave a silent prayer of thanks the park was empty this early morning. She didn’t relish the idea of starting a panic riot.

      “Black Shuck, heel.” The recalcitrant canine ignored her. Karla’s arm muscles ached and burned. Tendons, pulled tight, teetered on the verge of snapping. If her arms weren’t wrenched from their sockets, it would be a miracle.

      Black Shuck slowed and snuffled around a large oak. Karla shuddered. No way she’d clean up his mess, park rules be damned.

      She wrinkled her nose in disgust, tugging on Black Shuck’s tether as he sniffed his prize.

      “Can we go back?” She stifled a short laugh at the irony of her question.

      Whoever said “You can’t go home again” was right. Sure, she could abandon Black Shuck, although she loathed the idea of unleashing a hellhound on an unsuspecting public, hop a Transit Authority of River City bus, go home, lock her doors, and forget this had ever happened. She’d continue living her mundane life and Xariel would have to find another half-human angel of death. Surely she wasn’t the only one. Not that she liked how Xariel, Metatron and Samael ordered her around as if she were a fresh-faced recruit. She didn’t remember volunteering to be an angel of death. Instead, she had been drafted and her former existence was being replaced by this new one.

      She couldn’t deny she had changed, though, since the stabbing, had been transformed in some way. People didn’t undergo near-death occurrences without experiencing some psychological effects. It might be a renewed faith or an acceptance of the inevitable. Her experience had left her feeling detached, as if she were observing the world around her with someone else’s eyes. If asked to explain what she meant, she couldn’t, and that frustrated her.

      Karla sighed as she looked at the amphitheatre where she and her friends watched Shakespeare in the Park during the summer. Who was she kidding? Even if she did escape, it’d be short-lived. Xariel and the others were angels. They would find her wherever she fled to, would hunt her down until she finally gave up. Whether she liked it or not, her fate seemed sealed.

      She glanced down at Black Shuck. He gave her a dopey grin, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Karla rolled her eyes. Great. Like he’d care how she felt. Although the hellhound no longer growled at her, she didn’t want to spend any more time in his company than necessary.

      Engrossed in her thoughts, she didn’t at first notice the smell of clove cigarettes. She looked up and choked back a gasp. Samael leaned against a pillar of the colonnade, arms crossed over his chest. The angel seemed impervious to the chilled air, dressed only in a Marilyn Manson t-shirt, black jeans and black boots. He frowned at her, a cigarette between his thin lips.

      Karla released Black Shuck’s leash. He loped to Samael’s side and licked his master’s hand, tail thumping the hard ground.

      Samael stroked the canine’s head. He turned to Karla. His piercing eyes unnerved her, made her feel like the proverbial bug in the bell jar. Although she tried, she couldn’t look away.

      “Metatron told me you had different-colored eyes, one of an angel and one of a human.”

      Karla shrugged.

      “I can see why he wanted you. But why train you as an angel of death?” He gave her a disdainful look. “You’re not deserving of such a position and certainly not worthy to work under my command.”

      “Not my idea. Metatron’s.” Karla swallowed, hoping Samael didn’t see through her false bravado. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans, heart trip-hammering in her chest.

      “Metatron is used to getting what he wants. Fine. I’ll play his game.” He lifted a warning finger. “I’m your boss, not Metatron. You report to me. One mistake and there’ll be consequences.” He snatched Black Shuck’s leash from the ground. Both dog and angel vanished, leaving a thin trail of cigarette smoke in their wake.

      Karla shuddered. She needed a shower. Samael’s derision seeped into every pore, defiling her. Even if she scrubbed her skin raw, she doubted she’d get rid of this feeling of unworthiness.

      She staggered to a bench facing Fourth Street. A drink sounded good–something strong, with a burn.

      Victorian and Italianate houses dominated the tree-lined street, serving as reminders of Old Louisville’s prosperous past. Where the three-story brick Victorians sported bay windows, high chimneys and decorative molding, the flat-roofed Italianate houses seemed more simple in design. Many of the buildings had been divided into apartments for University of Louisville students and