Hex Goddess

The last time Dee saw his father Zeus, his dead wife lay at the king's feet. He vowed never to return, but someone has to rescue Riona from his crazy Greek God family. At least this time the visit should be brief: he just has to sponsor Jerry, find the keystone, and get the hell out of Olympus. Crossing paths with feisty quartergod Anwen Yates proves how the best laid plans sometimes don't mean jack. Seems Anwen has a couple of demons on her tail, and Olympus with its demon-free climate would be the perfect place for her to hide out. The fact that Dee finds her frustrating, funny, and sexy as hell has nothing at all to do with his decision to bring her along. Nope.

Biding her time with Hades and Persephone, Riona feels like a third wheel to the ancient, troubled marriage. The cherry on the cake? Uninvited angels are subject to death in Olympus, and suddenly her magic has a life of its own! Needing to get her heavenly hexing under control before her hybrid heritage is exposed, Hades helps her find an angelic mentor. And wouldn’t you know it that Azazel brings his newly-minted demon Marc Angeletti along for Riona’s target-practicing pleasure. Or maybe just her pleasure in general…

As the days tick by, the lines of right and wrong, purpose and persuasion, and sin and sanctity begin to blur. Rumors fly, the Heaven-Hell Accords stretch thinner than a sheet of filo dough, and Zeus grows more cryptic by the day. Riona's angelic instincts throw her libido haywire, Hades makes a Hail Mary pass to save his marriage, and Jerry fears that his may be over before it’s even begun. Meanwhile, the two pillars draw closer to Olympus, and Dee closer to facing his father, his family, and his past. But can he honor his wife’s memory, while evermore wanting to do right by Anwen? The road to Hell is paved with God intentions.

Dee’s eyes shot open, catching a flash of artificially blue hair while tasting an ashtray on his tongue. To his left, Chipper, his half-sister’s cerebus, protector and bouncer at The Grotto, analyzed him with suspicion. Did Dee actually pass out? How? He was a demigod; it was nearly impossible to knock him on his ass. He couldn’t remember hooking up with any of the wedding guests; and even then, it would take an all-out orgy for him to get drunk enough off sex to pass out. Then what?
He closed his eyes and laboriously cleared his mind. The events of the evening came rushing back in a blur of angel feathers and demon blood. His balance abandoned him.
“Take it easy there, sir.” The kindness in Chipper’s voice lined up awkwardly with the strength he exerted while pinning Dee to the bar. He’d forgotten how strong the sons of bitches were. “You’re going to be okay. They’re all gone.”
“Gone?” he swallowed. “Riona?”
From behind the wall of muscle, an olive-skinned, black-haired, sleek figure maneuvered into view. His fellow pillar looked like hell, and that was saying a lot for someone who had recently immigrated from its southern border.
“She’s safe.” Jerry offered a hand, pulling Dee to his feet. “Michael knocked you unconscious, but I got Riona out, and Ramiel managed to drive away Michael and Marc and seal the portal.”
“Wait, what?” His fingertips drove into his pounding temples. “What do you mean, he drove them away? You didn’t slay Marc?”
The look in Ramiel’s eyes brought confusion. “Your other pillar there let him go.”
“Let him go?” Dee’s head snapped in Jerry’s direction. “Why in the hell did you do that?”
“I have my reasons. Are you okay?”
Dee put his body through the checklist. He was a little sore where his hip broke his fall. His jaw throbbed a bit, but he remembered taking a blow in the same spot. No serious injuries, as far as he could tell. Only…
“Why does my tongue taste like an ashtray?”
“Because I have a nicotine problem.” Molly’s cackling voice answered from across the bar.
Jerry’s expression went all-business. “Good, now get up; we have to get out of here. I wouldn’t put it past Mark to try another swing. I’m not sure I got the strength right now to take on a demon. My magic might be as weak as yours.”
“Gee, thanks for the pick-me-up, Jer.”
“I’m not trying to put you down,” Jerry explained. “Without Riona nearby, both of us are weaker.” His eyes traced over the biceps that almost split open the arms of Dee’s suit jacket. “Magically speaking, I mean.”
Sliding off the bar, Dee tested his balance. “Chipper, will you and your boys have any problems if we take off and demons come sniffing around?”
The cerebus coughed a laugh. “We have our ways of dealing with them. Dead or not, no one likes to be mauled and quartered by supernaturally large dogs.”
Jerry pulled in closer to Dee. “What about Molly? We can’t leave her here.”
“You think any demon would want to mess with her? They already live in Hell, Jerry, isn’t that punishment enough?”
They could barely see Molly’s mouth move through the wall of smoke she exhaled around her. “Screws may be loose, lover, but I got as much wrong with my ears as you have with your ass.”
Dee bristled. He hadn’t put so many hours into free weights for nothing. “What’s wrong with my ass?”
A shower of ash arced from her cigarette. “Exactly my point.”
“Don’t sell her short. She’s still witch enough to give any demon a run for its money,” Jerry continued.
“Molly a…?” Dee’s voice died mid-sentence. “That’s news to me.”
“It might be news to her, too. I’m not the only one who played with her memories looks like. Her mind is like a Jackson Pollock painting. She might not even have Alzheimer’s. Probably just a lot of gaps from different charms.”
“But what makes you think she’s a witch?”
“Beside her getting it together long enough to tell me?” Jerry asked. “Michael’s not stupid. If he’s been planning this for years, he would certainly try to give his progeny every possible advantage. He’d have chosen a witch as the mother.” Jerry looked off into space. “He couldn’t find someone with a bit more motherly instinct, though?”
“Victims are easier to manipulate,” Dee suggested. “A woman raised by a bad mother would dream about a father coming to save her.” Plus, it would take one hell of a human to raise a half-angel child without getting fried to a crisp along the way. With a huff, Dee grabbed one of the whiskey bottles from behind the bar and popped it open. “His options would have been pretty slim too. The wiccan bloodlines are becoming scarcer. Last few centuries, too many die before we had a chance to start a family. Evil’s had a good run.”
“But you’re not from a wiccan bloodline,” Jerry argued.
Dee shrugged. “Guess I’m one of those freak cases. Even the archangels have no idea why I was called. It must have been one of Big Boss’s rare mistakes.”
“Like shit,” Jerry said. “If you never became a Pure Soul, you’d never have met Clare.”
Dee shot a whole Walmart display case full of daggers at the former demon. “If I were never a Pure Soul, she’d never have died.”