When Spell Freezes Over

Humans control the mortal realm, archangels command the heavens, Nephilim reign in Olympus, and Hell is Lucifer’s own. That’s the way it’s been for thousands of years. But now, everything is changing. Archangel Michael has seized control of Hell, and Zeus is dead. The Hell-Heaven Accords could falter at any moment, and when they do, bedlam. Cats marrying dogs, fire raining from the sky, chipmunks stuffing taxidermists... And the throne of the Underworld being tossed up for contention.
Marc Angeletti was one of the good guys, emphasis on was. The last place the priest ever thought he’d end up was in Hell, vying with fallen angels for power. Marc’s faith, however, may prove the key to winning the day—the only catch being that that means making the love of his life, Riona, into the enemy. Can’t a condemned man of the cloth catch a break?
Meanwhile, Riona, Jerry, and Dee finally decode the Keystone’s prophecy, making them realize the true implications of the coming battle. New alliances and old adversaries vie for favor, and Marc shows up to aid the Pure Souls just as a revenge-bent Greek goddess demands both Hell and Heaven’s attention. Only, Riona isn’t sure what Marc’s true goal is: helping the Pure Souls defeat the fallen, or undermining her marriage to Jerry in a last hour attempt to woo her. And when Marc suddenly becomes the de facto Satan, he may be an even bigger target for the fallen’s wrath than she is. At the end of the world, who do you trust? The devil who will destroy you, or the devil you know?

Riona pressed her head back into the mattress. Even though her eyes were closed, fireworks exploded on the inside of her eyelids. Her soul became a physical entity entwined with her limbs, her core, and her whole being, coating her in warmth and security. Her body felt like a playground, and a boisterous levity overcame her as if she could float away. If not for Jerry’s body pinning her down, she very likely would have. With one more downward drill, he too came apart, calling out her name. Spent, Riona tried to catch her breath. Slowly, her eyes opened. She looked up at her husband with the grin only a satisfied woman can wear.
Then reality—that fair-weather, fickle tart—bailed and slipped out the door.
In a moment, she scooted out from under her spouse and pressed her back to the headboard. “Jerry?”
“Yes, dear?”
Her hand tentatively rose as one shaking finger dared to point. “What are those?”
His lazy gaze followed her accusing jab. Jerry sat back on his heels as he observed with passing concern, what managed to pique his wife’s curiosity.
“That’s weird, they never came out unsolicited when I was alive before.”
“Jerry?”
“Yes?” He returned his gaze to her.
“You have wings, Jerry.”
He laughed, reaching up behind her. Her body shivered when she felt a weight on her back that shouldn’t have been there. Unless she’d gone Quasimodo without realizing it. Jerry’s hand jerked, forcing her to yelp. When he pulled the hand out from behind her, her eyes beheld a perfect, soft, fuzzy white feather pinched between his two, highly talented fingers.
“So do you.” Jerry drew the object to his mouth and kissed it.
Her hands reached back behind her head, where they met with a fistful of fluff. “How?”
Her husband didn’t reply. Instead, Jerry arched his back, letting his wingspan test its limits, before pulling his wife up to straddle his lap. He patted her chin with the tip of his finger while his eyes surveyed her lips.
“Sooo… We have some things to discuss, but can’t it wait? I’ve never had sex while be-winged before. I bet it helps with the upward thrusts.”
In two seconds flat, he collapsed into the mattress as she ported herself across the room. Jerry blinked away his confusion, his body tensing then releasing just as suddenly when he rolled over and saw she was still there. Riona tried not to notice how his firm muscles moved beneath the taut olive skin or the way his body appealed to her eyes. It was hard, and that fact, too, threatened to distract her.
The moment he sat up and his wings bunched up behind him, his eyes went wide. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. You just thought it and pfft! You’re on the other side of the room like Jeannie. Neat.”
She held a hand out, warning him to keep his distance. “I’m going to ask this one time, and please, give me an honest answer. Are we related?”
The apples of his cheeks blushed. “What, you think we’re some sort of sister-wife or cousin-husband?” His expression turned sour. “Are you going to leave me over this, Riona? I mean, love is love, right?”
“Jerry!”
“Okay, okay. Geesh. You know I’m only joking. No, babe, we’re not related. We got different dads. And moms, I’m willing to bet, as mine died two thousand years ago and yours was merely born then.”
That eased her a bit. She stood erect, letting her hand fall slightly. She asked the question she was far too afraid she already knew the answer to. “You’re the antichrist, aren’t you? Oh, God, I knew you had to be too good to be true. You’re Lucifer’s son.”
“Me, the offspring of that degenerative prick? Um, no, and ew. But you’re looking in the right direction. My dad is one of the Fallen. It’s also the reason my awesome angel upgrades are barely above economy class, while you seem to have gotten the executive platinum first class package.” He admired her with the type of awe usually reserved for rainbows and David Blaine specials. “I can’t believe you can port like that, on demand, using just your mind and no spells. You weren’t kidding when you said you went back to Boston, were you? Here I was thinking you found some sort of spell book in Hades’s library or something.”
She searched her memory for the list of the Grigori she’d once had memorized. Outside of Lucifer, there were four, sometimes referred to as the four horsemen. Three of them, Samuel, Armaros, and Kochab, didn’t take much interest in humanity outside of generalized rabble-rousing and the occasional Hedge Fund Management service, but the fourth had a burning hard-on for causing mischievousness and mayhem wherever he moseyed.
“Azazel is your father.” The truth in those words was suddenly so self-evident she didn’t bother to ask Jerry for confirmation. “That’s why you put yourself between me and him when he attacked at that rodeo thing back in Boston. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Yeah, well, what can I say? Your dad doesn’t have the market cornered for the Father Hall of Shame. The only emotion mine has ever had for me is disappointment when I didn’t live up to his expectations.”
“Expectations? What expectations did a fallen angel have for you?”
Jerry ran a hand down his face, slicking off the sheen of sweat that lingered from their little poke about. “Really? After we’ve just reunited, you want to start the download of the shit that was my creation and life before you? Riona, please, no. Not when you’re standing in front of me, naked, and I’ve only been inside you once in a year. You can’t expect me to spell out the details of a two-thousand-year-old conspiracy when taking you hard and heavy against the ceiling is now an apparent option.”