Nephilim

by Mary Ann Loesch

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

When sin stains your soul, he tattoos your skin. . . Tattoo artist Nathan Ink is more than he seems. An angel living in secret on earth, he forces his clients to face their flaws by tattooing images of their sins on their bodies, but this glimpse into the soul often results in his clients' deaths. Although Nathan avoids the other angels, when they ask him to keep an eye on Faye, a nephilim being stalked by another of her kind, he reluctantly agrees. The angels have kept Faye in the dark about her stalker, but to keep her close to Nathan, they've tasked her with investigating the high mortality rate of Nathan's clients. Despite her distaste for his methods, she finds herself fighting a growing attraction to Nathan, and discovering he's not a rogue after all forces her to question her own mission. When Faye learns her stalker is another nephilim who intends to use her to breed a new race of hellish beings, teaming up with Nathan may be the only way to prevent a genocide. Contains strong language and violence 26,300 Words

Release date: July 18, 2011

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 198

Sample

 

1

 

The angel stood outside the tattoo shop and listened to the hum. The red neon sign attached to the building blinked the words “Hell’s Leak” and cast dark circles under his eyes. But the humming…oh, how it tempted the angel to go inside the sterile little shop and let it trickle through the senses until his body pulsed with it. That was one of the vices of his kind. The flick of a silver lighter, traffic lights swaying in the wind, a soft swirl of motion from a child’s pinwheel…these things transfixed the angels and allowed life’s little accidents to catch them off guard.

Inside the shop, the hum of the tattoo gun stopped, and a man with inky black eyes placed the instrument on a table next to him. The loud, heavy sound of metal music replaced the noise of the gun, and as if sensing the anomaly outside, the man turned around. A hint of cruelty grew in the stubborn lines of his features as he stared through the glass at the angel. He shoved a lock of his long, black hair away from his face and frowned.

Azal.

A small ray of hope flickered in the angel’s chest at hearing the other man acknowledge him in his thoughts. But the man turned his attention back to the intricate design he branded onto his client, uninterested in communicating further. Disappointed, the angel turned up the collar of his long overcoat and walked away.

Though a cold January night, a crowd surged down the street. Frosty puffs of breath swirled around the people hurrying to nightclubs and bars ready to get drunk or laid. Their eagerness and desperation perfumed the chilly air.

Sloth, the angel thought. Absolute sloth. Why isn’t anything done about it?

But he wasn’t here to worry over these sweating, sinning mortals. There had been a breach of gigantic proportions. If it didn’t get fixed, they would all pay.

Azal stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, disrupting the flow of foot traffic. Ignoring the colorful comments painting the air around him, he closed his eyes and concentrated. The woman was on the street somewhere. He could smell her voice–light, but whiskey husky with a touch of smoke to it. He blocked out the stench of pizza and stale beer, letting his senses search.

There. He had it. The sound of her pulled the angel past the scents coloring the sin-infested street, beyond the raucous metal music from one of the clubs, through the steam and smoke of a blues lounge, and to the tiny little piano bar called Black Cat.

The angel flinched at the tinkling sound the gold bell above the door made as he pushed it open. Not wanting attention, he quickly moved to a back table in the room, noting the place was almost empty for a Friday night. Good. Less people made it less likely his attention would be drawn elsewhere. And he needed to be focused. The woman was important.

“Can I get you something?” A waitress smiled down at him. Her black hair shimmered in the glow of a dim candle placed on the table. Above snug black pants and a white T-shirt, the bar’s logo stretched across her breasts. According to the small glossy nametag pinned on the tight shirt, her name was Barb. She tapped a foot before crossing her arms, and Azal realized he’d inadvertently been eyeballing her cleavage. “What would you like to drink?”

“Vodka tonic.” Azal opened his mind to listen to her thoughts. They trailed behind Barb as she walked away, a leaking balloon of disgust.

Asshole. It’s always about the tits. Who does he think he is? Too bad he’s so cute. I really dig the scar.

He smiled and touched the long scar that ran from his hairline down the side of his face. These humans. So beautiful in every way, and yet so fickle. Such an appealing reason to make his many frequent trips between the veil.

He forgot about Barb as the reason he’d been drawn to Black Cat walked onto the stage. Her sequined green dress swished as she sat on the bench of the black Steinway piano parked center stage. A cheer went up from the small crowd, and she gave her blond hair a modest pat. She smiled, bright and vivacious, but the angel noticed it didn’t match the coolness in her green eyes.

“Thank you,” she said with a slight Texan drawl. Azal remembered how she liked to portray herself as an innocent country girl when she performed, born to the simple life. This persona always brought a smile to his face. She was far from innocent. “My name is Faye and I’m here to sing the Vodka Set tonight.”

Another cheer went up from the audience. Faye smiled and began playing an old standard, My Funny Valentine.

“Here’s your vodka tonic.” Barb placed the drink on the table and liquid sloshed over the side of the glass. Flustered, she grabbed a napkin to clean it up. The angel wrapped his hand around her wrist and gently pulled her toward him.

“I’m sorry for my earlier offense,” he whispered. “But don’t worry. Good fortune will come to you tonight.”

Confusion flowered on Barb’s face and her black hair fell forward, a curtain shutting off the world for a moment. He kissed her. A little spark of light sizzled between them before Azal pulled away and severed the connection.

Barb stumbled backward and ran a finger across her mouth. He could tell she was not quite sure what had happened, the memory of it already fading. Azal watched her walk unsteadily away. As she passed the stage, his gaze met Faye’s. The angel shrank back into the shadows, but knew it was no use. She’d caught his scent. Faye finished the song and nodded good-naturedly at the audience as they applauded.

“Ya’ll ever see that old movie The Outsiders? The one with the kid called Ponyboy?” Faye smiled at the eager nods in the audience. “My favorite part is when they read the Robert Frost poem Nothing Gold Can Stay. You know, ‘Nature’s first hue is gold, her hardest color to hold.’”

The angel felt the beginning of nervous butterflies in his stomach.

“It’s about how we all start off life being gold and pure. As we get older we lose some of the gold of youth. I guess we can’t be innocent forever.” She chuckled, but it was a harsh, bitter sound to Azal’s ears. “Stevie Wonder sang a song in the movie called Stay Gold, and I have an old friend here tonight that I’d like to sing it to. Now I know it’s not really a Vodka Set song, but this friend is special, so I figure we can make an exception.”

Faye sang the first notes into the microphone. As her sweet tone enchanted the drunks, the angel fought the urge to laugh. Stay Gold. He knew how Faye felt about his tarnished soul–not one drop of gold left in it by her estimation. Hadn’t she told him so the last time they’d met? Back then it seemed ludicrous that an angel of his caliber would be less than 14kt. But now…well, the world and heaven had gone and changed on him.

“Oh my god!”

Faye stopped playing. The bar’s attention focused on the waitress, Barb, who jumped up and down, holding a scratch off lottery ticket in her hand. “Oh my god!”

Faye smiled. “Now look, honey, you better have a good reason for interrupting my song.”

Barb rushed around the bar, her body quivering with excitement. “I won! I won the lottery! Look!”

Faye eyed the ticket the woman held, her gaze narrowing. She glanced in the direction of the angel. “Well, good for you, Barb. No one deserves it more than you, honey. Hold on tight to that ticket now. I wouldn’t want your good fortune to evaporate. Fate has a way of turning on you, doesn’t it?”

Barb hurried off, still squealing with excitement.

“Well, this is turning out to be quite an evening. An old friend comes to call and a new friend wins the lottery. Vodka Sets are meant to be dreary ‘round here, but I’m just not feelin’ it tonight. Tonight feels more like a tequila night,” Faye said.

Laughter and scattered applause ran through the crowd.

“Okay, folks, give me five minutes to adjust the set list and I’ll be back.”

Faye made her way toward his table, nodding and smiling at the regulars who called out to her. The angel took a deep breath, surprised at how nervous he felt. Angels weren’t meant to feel emotions, but that had never been true of him. As she moved closer, she seemed to throw off the country girl persona that disguised the tough woman underneath. Maybe it was the green dress, the swish of the hips, or the way she held her chin–he could tell she would be difficult to win over tonight, and he needed to win her over. Everything depended on Faye.

“What the hell are you doing here, Azal?” she asked, losing the Texan drawl.

“Hell?” Azal said, sipping from his drink. “Must we bring hell into the conversation so soon?”

“I’ll bring whatever I want into the conversation. Answer the question.”

“Sit down.” He grinned good-naturedly when she remained standing. “All right, Faye. Stand. If you need to prove you don’t take orders from me, fine, but you’d probably be more comfortable sitting.”

“Why are you here, Azal? I know it’s not just to chat. You angels are too busy screwing things up to stop by and actually visit.”

Azal ran a finger over the rim of the glass and smiled at her. “Can I buy you a drink for old times’ sake?”

“Well, you could, but I think Barb just quit due to winning the lottery,” Faye said. “Since you are the angel of good fortune, I’m going to assume you had something to do with that.”

“I merely rectified a small error I made earlier.”

“Can’t say it’s not a good thing. Poor kid is broke.” She peered down at him. “I know you have a freakish obsession with Earth women and their boobs. Were you looking at her tits?”

“Maybe a little.”

Faye laughed and pulled out the chair. As she slid into it, her nails drummed on the table. He hated the way she always appraised him. No doubt her sharp mind had already catalogued the changes she read in his face.

“I liked the song,” he said when she didn’t speak. “Stay Gold. You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“Figured you’d appreciate it. You still towin’ the party line on that?”

Azal stared at the candle. Here was the moment, and yet he hesitated to bring it up.

“Don’t get lost in that amber glow,” Faye snapped. “I hate that transfixion shit.”

He kept his gaze on the candle, but smiled at her words. “Faye, you know me too well. It would be easy to slip into the rhythm of the flame and watch it bounce back and forth, a tiny unappreciated miracle. But that’s not the way of it tonight. Tonight I need to talk.”

Faye eyed him warily, then reached out to grasp his drink. She sipped carefully, her eyes never leaving his face. “So talk. This is your chance. You’re lucky I’m in a relatively good mood.”

“For now.”

“Cut the cryptic bullshit, Azal, and get to it. Why are you here?”

“I need your help. Or more to the point, God needs your help.”

“It’s always something with Him, isn’t it?”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“God has a job for you. An important job.”

“Then He can take care of it Himself. I quit the business a while back, as you may recall. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of God or His angels in seven years.”

“Only because you refuse to let us in. God is in everything. The wind. The rain. It’s all got His fingerprint on it–”

“You can stop right there!” She drummed her fingers on the table again, struggling to keep her anger in check. “Don’t give me that sanctimonious crap. I’ve heard the speech. It’s all a load of horseshit hidden by flowery words. Those flowery words let me down.”

“Faye, what happened to you was…unfortunate.”

“If you say it was all part of God’s plan, this conversation will end now.”

Azal sighed. How was he going to reach her? He tried again.

“We have a problem, Faye. We’ve got a rogue.”

“A rogue?”

“Yes. We have someone whose intentions might no longer be of a divine nature. We would like you to find out what he is up to and how far off the path he’s strayed.”

“No.”

“Faye–”

“I’m not helping you.”

He’d been afraid of this. Total resistance was not unexpected, and it wasn’t as if he could blame her. Seven years had not eased her bitterness. She’d lost everything, and no one, least of all him, had stopped it. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight and Azal opened his mind, trying to probe her thoughts.

She shook her head as if swatting away a fly.

“Stay out of my head. That path is closed to you.” She sat back and studied him a moment. “A rogue, huh?”

“He’s a symbolist. Works as a tattoo artist down the street at a place called Hell’s Leak.”

“Charming. What’s his story?”

“He brands people with his designs and then…well, odd things happen to them.”

“What kind of designs?”

“Symbols for the seven deadly sins.”

Faye grinned. “No, shit? I didn’t know you guys ever did anything creative. What’s his name?”

“Nathan Ink.”

“Catchy. So he tattoos people with symbols for the seven deadly sins and then odd things happen. Big deal. Isn’t that your thing? Don’t angels get paid to teach people lessons in mysterious ways?”

“Faye, you know better than that. As an angel, it’s my duty to guide those who have lost the path to righteousness.”

“The bullshit’s getting pretty deep in here, Azal.”

“He’s killing people, Faye. His designs bring about the death of those who sit in his chair. Killing is not what angels are meant to do.”

“Hah!” Faye took a small drink of the vodka tonic. “Maybe you should review your Old Testament history. Or mine.”

“Faye,” Azal grabbed her cold hand and squeezed. “He’s killing innocents and taking their free will. There was a time when you wouldn’t have stood for that.”

Faye jerked away from his grasp and rubbed her forehead. Azal knew he’d gotten to her. A healer by nature, death was not welcome around Faye. She’d always strived to alleviate ailments or cure sickness. Even her small business, a plant nursery called The Flower Pot, thrived under her nurturing touch.

“Faye?” Azal allowed the desperation he’d been holding back to color his voice.

She looked at him intently. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me. You could send any number of people after this rogue to take care of him. Why me? I’m not even an angel, just one of God’s happy little accidents. A freaky anomaly.”

“Nathan Ink won’t talk to the other angels. Shuns them completely. With your…unique background, I thought you might have better luck with him.” He looked away. “So will you help me?”

Faye picked up his glass and downed the rest of the vodka tonic. As she got up she pinched his cheek, pausing to trail one finger down the scar on his face. “Tell you what, I’ll think about it.”

Azal watched her saunter away and felt his chest fill with hope. It wasn’t a definite yes, but better than a solid no. He touched his hand to his cheek where the coolness of her hand still lingered. After a moment, he got up and made his way out of the bar.

It was a start.

 

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2

 

Sixth Street still bustled at one in the morning. The clubs overflowed with people whose smiles were tinged with alcohol and merriment. Though the bars would shut down in an hour, music pounded the air as each establishment competed with the other to bring in the clientele. Sidewalk carts worked overtime to keep up with the demand for bratwurst on a stick and the sweet joy of fried dough covered in powered sugar. Flat-chested girls in hemp tank tops, the scent of patchouli clinging to their bodies, cranked out homemade jewelry and reveled in the un-hippy smell of profit. Less innocent pleasures were available nearby, all one needed was to know where to look.

Some thought Las Vegas had cornered the market on the seven deadly sins, but as Faye walked along Sixth Street, she knew it wasn’t so. Austin, Texas could give Vegas a run for its money any day. Oh sure, things were definitely bad in Sin City, but it wasn’t caused by demons or the devil. That was always such a hard concept for believers to grasp. There were no demons or devils. Just angels who manipulated the odds and influenced free will. And that was really the key. In Vegas, free will was easily swayed. The sins of envy, gluttony, lust, sloth, greed, wrath and pride were always on display. Texans were still a little more modest, but that didn’t make them any less vulnerable.

Several tattoo shops catered to the drunken masses in downtown Austin, and Faye wondered which belonged to Nathan Ink. What had Azal called it again? Hell’s Leak.

The old familiar resentment reared up within her at the thought of him. She hadn’t seen Azal in seven years, though he’d tried to make contact with her on more than one occasion. He’d never gone so far as to drop in on her before, preferring to throw simple signs in her path designed to express his presence. Faye ignored them. For a while he had cajoled and pleaded with her in her dreams until she’d performed a ritual to block him. Once, in an almost charmingly human approach, he’d sent candy and flowers. She’d tossed them in the trash. As if such trifles could soothe or win her over. Please. The angels and their Almighty leader had blown any chance of her help long ago.

So why am I looking for this Nathan Ink?

The rush of IH 35 traffic a few blocks away made her think longingly of her own car parked beneath the overpass. She wished she was safely in it, driving home to her apartment. Just the thought of the little room located above her plant nursery caused Faye’s frustration at Azal to grow. If it weren’t for him, she’d be there right now, not trudging around Sixth Street looking for some damn rogue angel.

Faye stopped. Though she knew to be wary of this part of the street, which had less foot traffic and more potential for danger, she closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her forehead where a tiny pain formed. She rubbed at the spot, but the pain grew, and with it came a sound, small at first, then gradually growing into a buzz.

Here we go, she thought. Time to pierce the veil.

Faye opened her eyes. She stood next to a dark and empty shop, just one of many on the east end of Sixth Street that took up the lower half of a two-story building. But something changed in the air. A shape shimmered next to her, caught between the veil of this dimension and the next. She blinked her eyes, letting her hand drop away from her forehead, and willed herself to relax.

“C’mon then. Show yourself.”

Faye opened her senses, the pain in her head overwhelming her as it always did when she first looked beyond.

Stay calm, breathe, she reminded herself. This is all part of the process of seeing what others can’t.

After a moment, the shimmering shape next to her solidified, and the pain lessened as a shop came into view. Light poured from the windows, illuminating the sidewalk that only moments ago had been dark. A red neon sign hung outside the door blinking the words Hell’s Leak.

So it was not for everyone to see.

The only customer Faye could see inside the shop was a young man with brown hair. He sat motionless in a red chair, a light smile on his lips and a dreamy detached glow in his eyes. His black and green boxer shorts were shoved up his thigh as a woman with milky brown skin rested a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were shut and a serene smile played on her lips. In her other hand the woman held a brown leather book, which she pressed to her chest. Faye could clearly make out the word emblazoned in dark red on the cover.

Sinz.

Another man leaned over the customer’s naked thigh. His long black hair fell forward as the tattoo gun in his hand emitted th. . .