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    His Own Angel Book Four
    His Own Angel Book Four
    His Own Angel Book Four
    Ebook272 pages4 hours

    His Own Angel Book Four

    By Odette C. Bell

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    About this ebook

    It’s happening again – Elizabeth is attracting creatures from the shadows. With every passing day, new monsters venture from Hell to claim her power.
    First it was the general. Now it’s something far darker. When the mayor’s familiar is kidnapped, it’s up to Elizabeth to find her.
    But Benson turns away from Elizabeth just when she needs him most. It leaves her alone and vulnerable. For this case isn’t all it seems. Someone is pulling strings from the darkness, and with every new twist, those strings bind Elizabeth tighter, pulling her towards something horrible. Her destiny.
    ....
    A light-romance urban-fantasy, His Own Angel follows a magical private eye and her charming vampire handler fighting to save their city from the darkest side of power. If you love your fiction with action, heart, and a splash of romance, grab His Own Angel Book Four today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOdette C. Bell
    Release dateAug 10, 2016
    ISBN9781370543748
    His Own Angel Book Four

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      His Own Angel Book Four - Odette C. Bell

      Chapter 1

      Suffice to say, the fallout from Hell trying to push its way into Hope City was massive.

      Absolutely freaking huge.

      It was a media frenzy.

      While I was getting off relatively lightly, Benson was not. Due to extreme meteorological conditions, no one had seen my fight with the general.

      Everyone had seen Benson’s press conference, though.

      For a few days, I was legitimately worried that Benson would somehow be indicted or something. That the people would turn against him.

      He had such an important position – he was one of the rare magical creatures who bridged the growing gap between the humans and us.

      I needn’t have worried – Benson was Benson. Charming, competent, and apparently the kind of man who could weasel out of anything.

      He explained the situation to the press. And the press? They bought it.

      Even if Benson only told them half the truth.

      He’d obviously left out everything about his contract with the general and me killing the guy over the city in a circling hell storm.

      … I still thought about the general. It had been well over three weeks since the incident, as the press were calling it, and I still couldn’t get him out of my mind.

      Specifically, how he’d looked as I’d held his hand until the end.

      I was more than sure that as an angel, you weren’t meant to hold the hand of the devil or one of his lackeys.

      But it had felt right.

      I was walking through the kitchen, making myself a snack.

      Groceries covered the island bench. And I do mean covered. I couldn’t even see a scrap of the granite below.

      Suffice to say, I hadn’t gone nuts and blown my paycheck down at the store.

      Nope. These were from Benson.

      He was buying food for me now. He was sick of seeing me subsist on milk and crackers.

      An angel as powerful as me, apparently, required real food.

      When he wasn’t having one of his men deliver me a month’s worth of groceries every day, Benson would take me out to cafes and restaurants. Sometimes he’d even pop up at the door with takeout.

      I wanted to tell myself that he was just genuinely concerned that I should start eating right. That I keep my strength up and recover from my break-neck adventures over the past several months.

      It was more, though, wasn’t it?

      It was more, because of the way he’d look at me.

      Gone was the judgment, gone was the feeling he was begrudgingly checking up on me so I didn’t inadvertently kill myself and take the city with me.

      He wanted to see me.

      And I wanted to see him.

      Even though I knew this could go nowhere.

      Absolutely nowhere.

      Even if Benson ever acted on his feelings, it wasn’t like we could be a couple.

      A single drop of my blood could kill him. And if I was in my human form, a single drop of his blood could kill me.

      Not for the first time and not for the last, I stopped what I was doing and stared off into the middle distance.

      I pushed a hand down my cami and pulled out his hanky.

      I hadn’t cut myself.

      I turned the cloth over and lay it carefully on the bench, spreading it until I plucked out a small mangled piece of parchment.

      I got down on my knees, folded my arms onto the edge of the bench, and rested my chin on my hands as I stared at the scrap of paper.

      It was a leftover fragment from Benson’s contract with the general.

      … I had no idea why I was hanging onto it. I’d discarded the rest on top of Van Edgerton’s casino.

      If I were a good little angel, I’d call Benson and tell him I’d found another fragment.

      … I hadn’t called Benson, and it had been well over three weeks.

      I wiggled a hand out from under my chin and gently poked the scrap of paper, pushing it around on the hanky.

      It had Benson’s signature on it and a few strange symbols I still couldn’t translate.

      I was trying to, though. I’d pulled out every single book Mr. Marvelous had on demons.

      The heavy tomes were stacked up neatly by my bed.

      Mr. Marvelous, fortunately, hadn’t raised an eyebrow.

      He was back from his interstate trip.

      And he hadn’t stopped grinning since. He was over the moon that I’d single-handedly saved Hope City.

      Though he’d already changed the shop’s letterhead and all our merchandising, he was threatening to have t-shirts and mugs made, too.

      Fortunately he was out on a case for the mayor at the moment. I wouldn’t have been foolish enough to draw out the remnants of Benson’s contract if Marvelous were wafting about.

      Marvelous would take one look at it, demand an explanation, then clap like a madman that he had a copy of Benson’s signature.

      Though Marvelous was a tad warmer around Benson these days, his attitude could still be classed as sub-zero.

      I flicked my hair over my shoulder as a slight breeze threatened to send it tumbling over the contract.

      There was no earthly reason for me to be so interested in this piece of paper.

      But there was a heavenly one.

      Benson had been in love with an angel called Esmerelda. And he’d been so willing to get her back, that he’d signed a frigging contract with a general of Hell.

      I desperately wanted to ask Benson what had happened to Esmeralda but knew my chances of him answering were about as good as me winning the Nobel Prize for chemistry.

      Pull yourself together, girl, I snapped at myself. Sighing like I was about to die, I wrapped the contract up and pushed it down my top.

      Just in time.

      I heard footsteps down the corridor.

      Measured, loud, practiced.

      There was only one person those resonant steps could belong to.

      At the same moment, my heart leaped and yet sank as if it had been tied to an anchor.

      Benson cleared his throat and knocked on the kitchen door.

      You can come in, I managed, ensuring the hanky was well and truly out of sight.

      Benson opened the door and walked in. He smiled. Kind of.

      There was a sad edge to it. The same sad edge that filled my eyes as I faced him.

      An awkward silence spread between us until he cleared his throat. Have you forgotten our appointment? He nodded towards the food cooking on the gas top behind me.

      I frowned. I hadn’t invited Benson over for tea, had I? Christ, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do that, would I?

      Benson was used to eating at five-star restaurants.

      The only thing I was good at cooking was a cheese sandwich, which, funnily enough, didn’t require any actual cooking.

      At the slightly panicked look in my eyes, he chuckled. You’re meeting the Higher Council today, Elizabeth.

      I stiffened. I was lucky my hands were behind my back, because they tensed and curled into fists.

      I hadn’t fulfilled my summons to the council yet. In fact, I’d completely forgotten about it as I’d concentrated on recovering from my epic fight instead.

      Benson had been hovering in the doorway but now took a direct step into the room. You’ll be fine. I can take you there, even if I can’t join you during the actual meeting.

      I made no attempt to hide the groan that crumpled me in half. My hair fanned in front of my face as I wrapped my arms around my middle. Do I really have to go?

      He smiled weakly. I’m afraid you do. Trust me. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of the council.

      Why?

      Just come along. Do you intend to wear that? He switched his gaze to what I was wearing. A pair of paint-stained tracksuit pants and an old t-shirt.

      I looked down at them, pursed my lips together, and winced around a shrug. I’m guessing it’s not up to dress code? But won’t I just change into an angel?

      Only if they ask you to, he warned. I have something for you to wear if you can’t find anything. He smoothly unbuttoned his jacket and pulled out a parcel.

      The parcel sure as heck hadn’t been there moments before – his suit had sat appreciably flat against his appreciably chiseled chest.

      Now, while the movies tell you it’s every girl’s dream to have some rich dude buy her a dress and make her feel pretty, I couldn’t cross that line.

      I shook my head as I hooked my hair behind my ears. I can’t accept another gift, Benson – you’ve already given me more than enough. I gestured expansively to the mound of groceries taking up the bench.

      He looked disappointed but rather than pocketing the package, placed it on the scrap of the bench that wasn’t occupied by celery and carrots.

      I walked around the bench and kind of skirted him awkwardly as I made my way into the corridor.

      His eyes were on me the whole time.

      I didn’t let myself shiver until I was well out of sight in my room.

      Then I faced the horrendous task of picking out an outfit to go and see the proverbial executioners in.

      Though I still had no real idea what the Higher Council was, one fact was clear: Benson was scared of it.

      Benson wasn’t scared of much.

      Which meant the council had to be truly fear-inspiring.

      I immediately set about pulling out every outfit I owned and piling them into a massive mound on my floor.

      It took an age, but eventually I settled on black pants and a white blouse – the kind of outfit you’d go to a job interview in.

      Or perhaps a court date.

      Because, who knew, this could turn into a trial for me. I’d been acting without the Higher Council’s permission, after all.

      I’d been running around Hope City, cleaning it up in my own unique way.

      I’d probably blown countless council regulations without even knowing it.

      I locked my ice-white hair into a bun and clasped it with an antique clip from my great-grandmother.

      I looked at myself in the mirror and frowned, my stomach churning even more.

      Sure, I was dressed up as if I were going to an interview, and that would have been okay if I were applying for a secretarial position in the city. I wasn’t. I was heading to the most elite governing body of magic in the land.

      My mind instantly cast back to what Melissa usually wore. No matter what she was in, she inspired awe. She gave you the impression she had everything under control.

      I gave you the impression I’d do a good job at photocopying and ordering coffee, but you’d probably want to book someone else to save you from the apocalypse.

      Eventually I forced myself to head for the door, realizing I was screwed whatever I wore and it was just better to get this over with.

      I paused just as I passed my dressing table.

      My cross from my great-grandmother was on it.

      I hesitated, fingers hovering over it.

      Making my decision, I grabbed it up and looped it over my neck.

      I walked back into the kitchen to find Benson had finished cooking my meal and had already put it in a container.

      That wasn’t the important part. The truly important fact was that he was wearing an apron.

      My apron. The one with frills on it.

      My eyebrows shot behind my fringe.

      He, as always, looked as cool and suave as ever. Clipping the lid on my dinner, he handed it to me, unhooked the apron, folded it neatly, and placed it on the bench.

      He nodded at the door.

      I can just eat when I get back, I protested, blushing at the fact the city’s busiest man had packed dinner for me.

      You can eat now and also when you get back. I shouldn’t have to remind you how important it is that you eat more these days. You have a much higher metabolism now. If you don’t eat well, you won’t be able to function properly as an angel. Now eat that in the car.

      I’m a pretty messy eater – what happens if I spill some on your upholstery?

      I’ll clean it off. Now come along, Elizabeth.

      I followed William Benson III out of the shop and into his waiting BMW.

      Then… then he drove me to my appointment.

      I’d faced demons, I’d faced Hell – but somehow I felt desperately underequipped for what would happen next.

      Chapter 2

      I expected Benson to drive to the center of town or something. I expected the council to be housed in a really expensive, really important building.

      I was wrong.

      We headed out to the docks. Specifically, an odd, old sandstone building nestled between two dilapidated warehouses.

      It was incongruous. Though the building was old – probably at least 200 years old, if I was any judge – it looked pristine. As we pulled up along the curb, a knot of nerves sank into my gut as I looked at the perfect sandstone façade. It looked as if someone had gone over it with a toothbrush. Despite its age, there wasn’t a mark or patch of mold in sight.

      I clamped a hand on my stomach as I reluctantly got out of the car.

      Benson joined me on the pavement.

      So, here it is, Benson said, hands in his pockets, head tilted down to face me.

      A wind raced through the street and caught the tails of his jacket.

      It also caught my nerves, sending them tearing and snagging through my gut.

      It had been a massive mistake to finish the food Benson had packed for me. I felt the need to throw up violently.

      Benson pressed his bottom lip into his top lip and smiled. You’ll be fine.

      I made a face, let my shoulders drop, and shifted hard on my foot to face the front door.

      There it was, ha? The doorway into my future.

      From what I’d heard about the Higher Council, they weren’t exactly forgiving. Though I’d missed their last appointment because I’d been saving Hope City, I doubted that would win me much currency.

      It’ll be fine, Benson assured me once more as he walked right up to me and stood by my side.

      Again the wind played lightly along his jacket and caught his hair.

      It made me look at him. Heck, who was I kidding? I never needed any encouragement to look at Benson. The more time we spent with each other, the more I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

      He shoved one shoulder forward gently, that commiserating and yet strong smile still playing across his angled jaw and perfect lips. I’ll be waiting, he said once more.

      I turned and walked forward. I almost struck the door as I chose to shoot Benson one last wistful look.

      I turned just in time, placing a hand against the wood.

      It didn’t creak, didn’t hiss as it opened. The door simply peeled back in front of me like a petal falling from a rose.

      Instantly I felt such an incredible charge of magic, it was like I’d just walked into a potion factory. No, scratch that – it was as if I’d just jumped into the heart of magic itself.

      I had to cram a hand over my chest, flattening my fingers so hard against the fabric of my shirt I thought I’d inadvertently end up tearing it from my torso.

      There was a long corridor in front of me.

      No atrium.

      No welcome mat.

      Just a really long, dark hall that led to a single door.

      The door was closed and outlined by a soft glow.

      As I walked towards it, my shoes clicked, making what could only be classed as a deafening drumbeat compared to the eerie silence.

      The nearer I came to the door, the more my heart beat like thunder over a plain.

      Screwing my eyes shut, I reached a hand out, pressing two fingers against the wood.

      The door swung open.

      It revealed a small room.

      … An underwhelming room.

      This wasn’t what I’d expected. The entire trip over here, I’d been imagining the Higher Council as some kind of cross between the Senate in Star Wars and some crazy scene of holy reckoning out of a religious movie.

      What I got was eight chalices arranged in a circle of an otherwise empty room.

      At first I peered past them, searching through the shadows, trying to figure out if the Higher Council were hiding behind a stage curtain somewhere, just finishing the last touches to their dramatic makeup.

      Nope.

      Just the chalices.

      They were all filled with water, or at least something liquid-like.

      I wasn’t brave enough to walk closer and pick one up. I’d already broken enough rules in the eyes of the Higher Council and didn’t need to get in any more trouble.

      Still, even from my vantage near the door, I could tell that whatever the chalices held, it was strange.

      Suddenly an echoing voice filled the room like a clap of thunder. The liquid in one of the chalices – the one situated closest to me – started to bubble like water brought to a quick boil.

      Elizabeth Luck, angel, a voice filled the room, seemingly from nowhere, you have been brought before us to receive your punishment.

      On the word punishment, nerves escaped up my back, shifting hard through my muscles and tingling over my skin. I haven’t done anything wrong, I stuttered in my defense.

      A mistake.

      All the chalices of liquid started to boil all at once until the combined sound filled the air and made my skin crawl.

      You will be silent, and you will receive your judgment, one of the chalices said. You have considerable power, power over which you have little control.

      I clenched my teeth hard as another comeback came to mind. Sure, I had power, and yes, it was considerable. But no, I didn’t have a complete lack of control over it. I was learning. Slowly. Doing the best I could. There was no one to teach me, and I was making this up as I went along, but I hadn’t done too badly for myself, surely? I’d defeated Edgar Price, solved the glass murders, and stopped an incursion from the devil. Surely that should put a little credit on my balance sheet?

      No such luck. The chalices continued to boil. The actual vessels were made out of a strange amalgam of glass, metal, and air. And yeah, air usually isn’t listed as a manufacturing material. But with the chalices, it was.

      Bands of air chased around the girth of the vessels, holding the liquid in place. It was a fantastic sight, and I would have loved a closer look, but as seconds drew on into minutes, the feeling in the air only became more oppressive.

      The combined sense of dread continued to grow until the voices all started to speak at once.

      You must be controlled for your own good.

      Your power must be directed for the sake of this city.

      You must be brought into line before your light does any more damage.

      A sick sensation built in my gut.

      I crammed a hand over my stomach as I endured their accusations.

      What do you say in your defense? one of the chalices demanded.

      My pale, bloodless lips cracked open. That I was doing the best that I could. I… there was no one to learn from. I didn’t hurt anyone, I stumbled over my words.

      Irrelevant. And what do you say of the soul you collected?

      Slam.

      This was the question Benson had warned me about on the drive over here.

      Fortunately they weren’t referring to the souls I’d collected in my glaive – no one knew about that yet, not even Benson. I hadn’t explicitly decided to keep it a secret, but the longer I failed to tell him about it… the harder it became to admit to. I was worried about what he would think about me. He’d already spent so much time warning me about the perils of being an angel. Surely creating a soul weapon of my own, just like Edgar’s cigarette, was the first step in the wrong direction?

      You have still not let the soul go. You cannot keep it. And you cannot collect more. It is forbidden, one of the chalices said.

      I winced, a powerful cold sensation washing down my back.

      They were talking about the soul that had come to my aid during my fight with the general. The same soul I’d saved from the Hell Gate.

      It had decided to stick around.

      I took a deep breath. "I have not collected it. I told

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