Fallen Reign (Sins of the Father 1)

“This is easier for me.” She watched as I slipped the arrowhead into my jeans pocket. “You’re pretty trusting there, aren’t you? What if that thing is actually an alien mind control device?”

I rolled my eyes. “Do

your worst. That’s probably still better than dealing with the things that follow me around already.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Demons?”

“Angels, too.”

“Eww. I couldn’t tell you which was worse.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Now get back to work. And tell the man-dryad to show a little more skin.” Artemis patted her thigh, like she was reaching for her wallet in the pocket of the jeans she wasn’t wearing. “Mama wants her money’s worth.”

27

If there was one thing to be grateful for at our crappy apartment – crapartment, hah – it was the actual existence of hot water. I couldn’t remember the last time a hot shower felt so damn good, but I stood under the spray for a long time, letting the water wash me clean. It might have had something to do with the satisfaction of putting in an honest day’s work.

Come on, don’t make fun of me. I realize it’s strange, but the little bits of my life where I’m not being hunted by entities are some of the most precious. But just to be safe, I made sure to soap myself up facing out of the shower stall. You never know. Back when I lived at the Boneyard, we learned pretty quickly that entities liked to show up when we were at our most vulnerable. Couldn’t tell you about the number of times we’d been literally caught with our pants down.

And considering how frequently I was being followed by supernatural unsavories, I figured it was a safe bet to keep one eye open, even when lathering my hair up with shampoo. Rinsing was another deal entirely, though. The stinging was a killer, sure, but watching the shower curtain for the telltale silhouette of some dude with a knife was way more important. I mean, that would be the actual killer.

Joke’s on you, though. We couldn’t afford a shower curtain.

I twisted the faucet off, giving a long, satisfied sigh as the last of the water burbled down the drain. After stepping over the puddle the shower formed on the bathroom floor, I managed to negotiate the rest of the toilet tile to reach my towel, giving myself a cursory drying before wrapping it around my waist. I stepped out from the steaming warmth of the bathroom, ready to rush into my bedroom and throw on a fresh change of clothes to avoid the apartment’s ambient chill. But what I found in the living area stopped me cold in my tracks.

“Ugh,” I grunted. “Angels.”

Five of them, to be exact. You could always tell from the overworked perfection of their faces and bodies, like the people upstairs in charge of crafting their vessels were obsessed with making them just ever so slightly better than humans. Looking at an earthbound angel head-on was like throwing yourself straight into the uncanny valley.

The shortest one, who still stood a good way to six feet, wore the guise of a beautiful woman with shoulder-length hair dressed in a smart pantsuit and killer heels. She wore glasses, perfect for judging me with, and she brandished a pen and a clipboard the way a warrior might carry a sword and a shield. The other four angels stood behind her like a retinue of bodyguards, all meat and muscle and frowning faces.

“Mr. Albrecht,” she trilled, her pen hand going to her waist as she cocked her hip.

Ugh. One of these. I tightened my towel around my waist, thoroughly annoyed about having to stand there dressed like that, but if I had to deal with the cold, then they would have to deal with me being half naked.

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” I droned, totally aware that I was being rude, and not caring in the slightest. I lifted my chin, broadening my shoulders and sticking my chest out, making myself look bigger, like a pufferfish. Even then I could barely compare in size to one of the four angel bruisers the clipboard lady had brought along, but sometimes it’s all about the attitude.

Also the Vestments. Dear God, was I glad to have the Vestments.

“We’re only here to talk, Mr. Albrecht,” the woman said, her eyes trailing down to my chest, drawn there by the agitated glow of the sigils on my skin. “There’s no need to be so defensive.”

“You’ll excuse me for being so hostile,” I said, “but it’s been a long day for me, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t invite any of you in.”

“Ah. That rule is for vampires, I believe. We can come in whenever and wherever we please.”

“That’s not very polite.”

She shrugged. “It is, however, extremely convenient.”

I frowned at her, scanning the apartment for the symbols Florian and I had papered all over the place. The sigils we’d used had worn off, and the wards we put in weren’t good enough to keep angels away for very long. Speaking of we, where the hell was –

“What the hell have you done to him?” I roared.

Florian was trussed up on our couch, restrained with multiple passes of gold chain around his body. He stayed there in complete silence, unmoving, but otherwise unharmed.

“It is only a temporary measure,” the woman said quietly.