Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(7)
Author: J.R. Ward

Where was the dog? Sissy wondered, looking around.

It was only her, however. Her and her grave site. And that anger.

Jim Heron was sleeping with the enemy. And not as in the old Julia Roberts movie.

That bastard.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck did you just say?”

As Adrian’s forkful of eggs went back down to his plate and the other angel did some more swearing, Jim lit up a Marlboro and took a nice long drag. “Quitting.”

“Lemme get this straight. Devina comes to you and says, ‘How ’bout we hang it up.’” Ad jacked forward over the table. “And you fricking took her seriously. Was that before or after she won this round?”

“I’m just telling you what she said.”

“So what, the two of you just no más it and then what? You think the Creator’s not going to have an opinion?”

“Relax. I’m not saying I buy it.”

“Good. Because then you’d be a fool as well as an asshole.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jim exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “And she had another happy little update. She says now that Nigel’s gone, I’m due for a promotion.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s all I know.” Jim leaned back and looked at the ceiling, which had had all kinds of flaking paint about a week ago. Now? It was like it had been sanded, sealed, and rolled out with a fresh coat. “Is it me or is this house, like … rejuvenating itself?”

At first he’d assumed things were looking better because they had a woman around and Sissy was cleaning. But in the last two days, the changes that had emerged were structural, not anything explained by one hell of a Swiffer job.

“Wait, wait, promotion like what?”

Jim shrugged. “With Nigel gone, I’m supposed to take his place up there.”

He pictured the archangel with his three dandy backups, having a proper English tea up in Heaven. Then tried to imagine himself sitting there, passing scones and the sugar bowl around with his pinkie extended and his legs crossed at the knees.

Yup. Right.

Adrian moved around in his wooden chair, his weight causing the thing to groan. “I didn’t know that was in the rules.”

“What a fucking surprise.” Jim took another drag. “We need to verify the information. Any idea where we can go?”

“Yeah.” Ad resumed eating. “And he’s dead up in the attic.”

There was a period of silence during which Ad became a member of the Clean-plate Club. When he was finished, he pushed himself away from the table, cupped the back of his neck with both hands and sprawled.

“Maybe we should just take a trip to Purgatory.”

“Excuse me?” Jim asked.

Ad shrugged. “That shit about not making it into Heaven if you commit suicide is no bullshit. Trust me.”

As the guy cleared his throat like he’d gone too far, Jim’s wheels got turning. “You’re saying Purgatory is real.”

“Been there, got the T-shirt. Blah, blah, blah.”

“So how’d you get out?”

“Eddie.”

Jim sat up straight. “You’re telling me Eddie went in there and came back out? With you?”

“Hold up.” The guy extended his hands in classic stop-it-right-thur style. “I was just being a smart ass—don’t even think about that. You’re our special golden boy, whatever—and Eddie condemned himself to do it. Besides, no offense, but you’re still getting up to speed, this is a clutch round, and we both know how well things go when you’re ‘distracted.’”

The air quotes would have made Jim violent … except for the fact that he had come to the same conclusion, which was why he was here and not going after Sissy. As much as it pained him, he needed to win and he needed to somehow keep his job even with Nigel being dead. If he could prevail, and avoid turning into an archangel, then after the great victory or whatever he’d have an eternity to help Sissy. Now was the crisis time for the war, though.

Besides, the rounds had been coming faster and faster. Forty-eight hours. Maybe seventy-two—and he could refocus on her.

“I’ve got to go over and bring him back.”

“Jim, you’re fucking crazy—”

“What’s my other option?” Jim narrowed his eyes. “If Devina’s right, and I’m supposed to succeed Nigel? I can’t let that happen. I don’t trust anyone else to do this job—I can win this, Ad. I can goddamn win this.”

All he had to do was think back to the way he’d spent the night. Devina had a critical weakness … and it was him. She wasn’t suggesting they both throw in the towel because she was scared of losing—it was because she didn’t want to lose contact with him: Unless he quit, he was apparently going to have to step into Nigel’s spats and she didn’t want to fight with anyone other than him. Fuck the rules, fuck the archangels, fuck the Creator—Devina was a parasite addicted to acquisition and he was her number one target.

And she was going to take that weakness to her grave.

Because he was going to personally escort her there with it.

Adrian’s one functioning pupil roamed around Jim’s face, and Jim held himself perfectly still. He was prepared to take any scrutiny, because he knew, down to his soul, what he needed to do … and how he was going to do it.

“Ad,” he said in a low voice, “I can do this.”

The other angel almost hid the tremors that crept into his hands. But the fine tic that teased his bad eye was nothing he could camo. “No, you can’t.”

“What put you in there, Ad. How’d you get over.” Not questions, because he knew the answer. “Devina got into you, didn’t she. She got to you somehow, and you couldn’t take it—so you ate a bullet. You slit your wrists. You hanged yourself—”

“A cliff.” The voice that interrupted was so hoarse, it was made of ninety percent air. “I, ah … I had made a deal with her to save someone.”

Jim waited for the story to roll out. When it didn’t, he said, “What happened.”

Ad cleared his throat and covered his face with those shaking hands. “I made an arrangement to save someone and I turned myself over to that demon. I was down on that table of hers for … it felt like years. Eddie told me later it was two nights of earth time. When I came back, after she released me, I wasn’t the same.”