Fallen Reign (Sins of the Father 1)

Raziel bent over the mess and frowned. “This looks like the diary of a serial killer.”

I grunted in annoyance. “Look closer.”

He did, and his eyes widened in recognition. “Ah. These are protective glyphs and sigils, meant for warding.” He turned to me with a cocked eyebrow. “And how have you come about all this, then? You know even less about magic than you do about being an angel. Well, half of one.”

“I paid attention in class, that’s how.” I stuck my chin out with a little bit of pride. “My old boss, Carver, he tried to teach us the basics whenever we had the chance, in between missions. Smartest man I know. Well, lich, technically. Being immortal means you have plenty of time to study up, I’m guessing.”

“Smartest man indeed.” Raziel scoffed. “Before you met me, of course.”

I was about to say something sharp in return, but a sudden whiff of something hit my nostrils, stopping me in my tracks. “Do you smell that?”

Florian sniffed at the air, then frowned. “Cannabis, burning. Where is that coming from?”

Raziel groaned. “I’ll give you two guesses.”

Outside the living room window, leaning against the sill with his feet on the fire escape, Belphegor took another deep toke of what I had to assume was a joint. Demons probably messed around with some pretty exotic and certainly far more dangerous recreational substances.

“You’re really good at following me around for someone who’s supposed to be so lazy,” I said.

Without turning around, Belphegor took another long, inhuman puff. “Sloth manifests itself in many ways, nephilim. You should know that by now.” He glanced briefly over his shoulder, chuckling as smoke streamed out between his lips and through his nostrils, like a dragon. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with the concept, considering the hovel that you live in.”

“That does it.” I stalked over to the window, pulled it up and open completely, and tugged on the demon’s jacket. “Will you get in here?”

Belphegor’s eyes burned red when he glared at me, more fiery than the ember on his joint.

“Please,” I said.

“It’s California,” Belphegor moaned, no longer angry, just impetuous. “I thought this was legal here.”

“Yes, maybe, but I don’t need the neighbors complaining about us stinking up their apartments. I’ve got enough problems as it is.”

“Fine,” Belphegor spat, ever the teenager, wetting his fingertips with saliva and pinching out the joint. He looked up at me grudgingly as he tucked it into one of his pockets. “What? I’m saving it for later. Just because we’re demon princes doesn’t mean we’re made of money.”

Raziel stood a little too close to the window, blocking Belphegor’s way into my apartment. “You also have an extremely unfortunate sense of timing. What are you even doing here?”

Belphegor’s eyes trailed up and down Raziel’s body in a flash, his stare cold and cutting. “I could ask the same of you, angel. Are you bored and looking for something to do? Tired of practicing on your harp?”

“I wish everyone would just drop the harp thing.” Raziel stamped his foot. “I’m not even that good at it,” he added under his breath. Then he threw me a quick glance before returning his attention to Belphegor. “I came because my attention was drawn by the warding sigils. The same as you, I presume.”

Belphegor was already in the kitchen, hands planted on the table, his hip cocked as he perused my open notebook. “You guessed correctly,” he said distractedly. “Hmm. These are actually very good.”

“Copied from his former employer,” Raziel said.

“Ah. That would explain it.” Belphegor slipped his hands into his hoodie’s pockets, then favored me with a smirk. “So what’s the plan here, nephilim? Have you grown tired of our constant intrusions?” He stepped across the floor, coming a little too close to my face for comfort, his breath smelling of pot, and somehow, fire. “Tell me. Who do you like better, me or Raziel? Who’s your favorite?”

Over my shoulder, I threw Raziel an apologetic glance before I answered. “Neither. You’re both a pain in my ass.”

It was clearly Raziel, of course, if I had to pick. He had his quirks, but he’d been with me from the start, teaching me what he knew about my condition and about heaven’s machinations. Also, at least his presence didn’t come with the sticky, weed-scented sense of dread that accompanied every single one of Belphegor’s unwelcome visitations.

“So what is the aim of all this, then?” Raziel said, his voice sounding convincingly hurt, picking up on my ruse. “Do you hate us now? Is that why you’re setting up more wards around the apartment?”

“Look,” I said. “You guys are a different matter, but you know how much it bothers me that just about every supernatural entity in Valero can find me without so much as turning their head. It’s like everyone’s got my number and I have no way of killing the signal. This is going to have to be the patch I slap over the problem while I work out a different solution to stay safe.”

“Curious,” Belphegor said, looking across the kitchen table once more. “And you truly believe these little scribbles of yours will be enough to ward off the demons your enemy keeps sending after you? Do you think they’ll be enough to hide you from another prince?”

He snapped his fingers, and one of the blank sheets of paper burst into flames. Florian dashed to the table, scooped up the flaming parchment in both hands, then dumped it in the sink. It wouldn’t be the first time his weird dryad physiology had helped us, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. He turned the faucet, putting out the fire as he gave Belphegor a long, hard scowl.

“You’re going to need something a little stronger than what you have now, unfortunately,” Raziel said, nodding sympathetically at Florian.