“Uh is not an answer.”
“It’s almost ready. I need your approval for a title, though. Dear Archangel is one possibility, like Dear Abby. An advice column. Or The Heavenly Hangout. That would be more appropriate if you are writing columns, with comments from your followers. Or Michael’s Home. Or Angels Among Us. I need some direction from you.”
Michael tapped a blessed forefinger against his closed lips. “I don’t like any of those. You can do better. By the by, have you been playing the stock market again?”
Harek’s face went beet red. His Deadly Sin had been avarice or greed, having been a ruthless merchant in their time, garnering wealth upon wealth, often on the backs of slaves. “Just a little,” Harek replied, “but ’twould seem I have a talent for predicting trends.”
“Do not exalt thyself, Harek. To what good use have you put those profits?”
“They either go back into the VIK treasury to further the Lord’s vangel work, or, well, I was thinking about starting a homeless shelter in Transylvania. There is much unemployment in Pennsylvania.”
“That is good.” In a surprise move, Michael reached over and patted Harek on the head.
The rest of them gaped with envy. Michael had never patted any of them with encouragement. Not that Ivak was looking for pats. Not that Ivak would ever mention the fact that Harek was contemplating the purchase of a condo on the French Riviera. Still . . .
Just then, the momentary silence was broken by a childish shriek, then a giggle, followed by the sound of running feet. Small running feet.
Two little blond-haired creatures hurtled themselves into the parlor. Well, not hurtled so much as toddled fast, chattering toddler nonsense words the whole time. It was Vikar and Alex’s “adopted” children, Gunnar and Gunnora.
At first, they ran toward their father, who stood, intending no doubt to grab them up and take them from the room, but Michael smiled and said, “Let them stay.”
“I don’t want them to bother you,” Vikar protested.
Michael held his arms out and the two imps chortled gleefully and walked over to him, climbing up on his knees without hesitation.
Alex came rushing forth, then stood in the doorway exchanging a worried glance with her husband, who shrugged. The children must have gotten away from her.
“This is what you must aim to be,” Michael told them all. “Become as little children. Pure, trusting, loving.”
Ivak had never been much for children, even when he’d had some of his own. Now Michael wanted him . . . and the others . . . to become like children. That on top of all the directives he’d given him about Lucies in Louisiana. Ivak sighed deeply, wondering how he would ever accomplish it all, or if he could accomplish it all.
Michael caught his eye then. “We will talk. Later.” With those words, he set the children down gently and he was gone. Before Ivak could ask him what they would talk about.
Does he want to talk with me about the Louisiana mission, in general? About Angola? About Heaven’s End? Or—the fine hairs stood out on the back of his neck—about Gabrielle?
Alex took the children away, luring them with a promise of puppies about to be born.
Silence reigned, but only for a moment, until his brother Cnut asked with a warped attempt at humor, “So what else is new?” It was easy to make mirth when you were not the one who was subject to Michael’s sharp eyes.
Without waiting for Ivak’s answer, Trond commented, standing to stretch out the kinks in his big body, which was becoming quite amazing with all his SEAL training, “I could knock back a beer.”
“Or five,” Sigurd added, “but I need to get back to the hospital to tie things up before heading back to Louisiana.”
Once they were ensconced in the kitchen, sitting on stools about the counter where Lizzie had placed platters of nachos for them to munch on with their beers, Ivak asked, “How am I ever going to do everything that Michael ordered?”
“Have you forgotten, Ivak?” Trond inquired after taking a long swig of beer. “We are Vikings. We can do anything.”
Ivak drained the last of his beer before replying. “There is that.”
“By the by,” Trond said, a decided twinkle in his eyes, “is it true that you have found a soul mate?”
Ivak decided it was time to teletransport back to Angola. He could hear his brothers’ laughter in his wake.
Men celebrate with booze, women go shopping . . .
Gabrielle celebrated with all her coworkers at Second Chances over coffee and beignets from the Café du Monde. She was so happy that she even sent some out to the two men . . . uh, vangels . . . that she now knew were guarding her at Ivak’s direction.
After that, she and Luc met with Thor in his Baton Rouge law office where, together, they drew up the legal documents necessary to request a new trial. The papers would be filed that afternoon, but it could be days or months before a trial date would be set.
On the way back to Houma, where Gabrielle had left her car at Luc’s law office, Luc entertained her with stories about Tante Lulu. Like the time the old lady entered a belly dancing contest along with a younger Charmaine, and Tante Lulu won! Or when Tante Lulu held a surprise wedding for René and Valerie, the surprised parties being the bride and groom. “She once gave a state trooper the finger for clocking her at a hundred and ten in her then vehicle du jour, a pink Thunderbird,” Luc said, chuckling. “And I’ll never forget the time she got hauled in for prostitution, wearing a hooker outfit in a N’awlins red-light district. Said she was looking for a friend. Did I mention she was seventy-five at the time?”
“How do you all put up with her antics?”
“Are you kidding? We adore her, antics and all. She was the saint who saved me and my brothers when we were kids, from an abusive father. She’s been there for all of us any time we needed her. No questions asked. Ever. And believe me, Tee-John as a teenager was the wildest Cajun to come down the bayou. ‘Tryin’ a saint’ could have been his motto.”
Gabrielle was ashamed of her poorly chosen words. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. She’s been good to me, too. More than good.”
“Hey, no need to apologize. She’s a dingbat, no doubt about it. But a lovable dingbat.”
It was mid-afternoon before Gabrielle returned to Bayou Black. She noticed a BMW sedan in the driveway when she pulled in. She knew who it belonged to once she saw the license plate frame with “Charmaine’s Beauty Spa” on it, and a bumper sticker that read: “We Tease 2 Please.”
Her guards parked across the road, and sat with the motor running, probably to keep the air-conditioning running. Even though it was technically autumn, the late September weather was still hot in Southern Louisiana.
Gabrielle was carrying a potted African violet and a bag of gifts for Tante Lulu to thank her for all her help with Leroy. The two women were sitting at the kitchen table with index cards spread out before them, trying to figure out the schedule of acts for the talent show.
Tante Lulu stood abruptly when she saw Gabrielle. “Yer home early. Whass wrong, sweetie?’ ” she asked with alarm.
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right,” she said, then embarrassed herself by bursting into tears. Apparently, the stress of all her worry over Leroy was finally bursting forth.
At her outburst, Tante Lulu and Charmaine, who stood now, too, were clearly starting to worry about her.
In a middle of a three-way hug, she blubbered out, “Little Eddie Hebert died.”
“Oh no!” Charmaine exclaimed.
“Son of a gun! I was hopin’ his mama woulda got ta him first,” Tante Lulu added.
“She did. I mean, Ivak did. Hebert confessed before he died.”
“Thank you, St. Jude,” Tante Lulu squealed.
“So, those are tears of happiness?” Charmaine asked, smiling, as she handed her a St. Jude napkin to wipe her eyes.
Gabrielle nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak.
Later, Tante Lulu oohed and aahed
over her plant and the luxurious silk embroidery threads Gabrielle had bought for her, but declined to take credit for any progress with Leroy’s case. “It’s St. Jude you gotta be thankin’.”
Gabrielle couldn’t argue with that. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . she was becoming a believer.
And if she could believe in St. Jude, or the power of prayer, or miracles, what did that say about the concept of vampire angels? Was it possible Ivak was who he said he was?
Speaking of the devil . . . rather the angel . . . her cell phone rang, and she saw by the caller ID that it was Ivak. “I’m going to take this in the other room, if that’s okay with you.”
Both women nodded.
She went into her small guest bedroom and said into the phone, “Hello, Ivak.”
“Sweetling,” he said. “Do I detect a happy note in your voice?”
“Very happy. Thank you so much.”
“I only played a part.”
“An important part. And I am thankful.”
“Well, if you insist, I can think of certain ways that you can show your appreciation.”
“Do you mean sex?”
“What else?”
“Do you always think about sex?”
“Always.”
She smiled. “I wish you were here.”
“I can hear the smile in your voice.”
“I’m happy.”
“I wish I was there . . . to share your happiness.”
“Yeah, I can tell what kind of sharing you have in mind.”
He laughed. “Sounds like someone else is thinking about sex all the time, too.”
That was for sure.
“Guess what I’m doing today?” he asked.
“Does it involve sex?”
“No, witch, it does not. I am going to buy a plantation.”
“Heaven’s End?”
“None other!” He snorted his disgust. “Will you help me with the renovations?”
“Me? I know nothing about restoring a historic building.”
“You think I do? In any case, it will be weeks . . . mayhap months . . . before I can think about that.”
“I might be able to come up with some names of experts who can help you. For that matter, Tante Lulu would be the first person to start with. I’ll talk to her.”
“You would do that for me?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Speaking of pleasure, do we still have a date for Saturday?”
She hesitated. “Why do you ask? Have you changed you mind?”
“No. I just wanted to make sure you wanted to go with me.”
“I do.” That’s all she said, hoping he understood how much she wanted to be with him.
“The warden is calling,” he said then. “He probably has another complaint to file against me. If I were an inmate, I’d have been written up so many times, my sentence would be life times three.”
“You enjoy needling him.”
“That I do.”
“You better go.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday. We can have dinner before going to Swampy’s, or maybe we could have a late dinner, after.”
After what? she wanted to ask, but didn’t have the nerve. “Either way is okay with me.” She hoped he got the message of exactly what she was okay with.
“One more thing,” Ivak said in a voice that was decidedly lower and huskier. “Sweet dreams tonight.”
“Is that a threat? As I recall, it’s your turn to come up with the . . . fantasy, isn’t it?”
“A promise.” He just laughed, a low, husky, masculine sound that promised something wicked.
She was smiling when she returned to the kitchen.
Tante Lulu glanced up from the table where she and Charmaine had apparently finished their work on the talent show. The cards and charts had been set aside in two neat piles. “Me and Charmaine have a great idea on how we can help you celebrate.”
Charmaine winked at Gabrielle.
Uh-oh!
“We’re goin’ shoppin’,” Tante Lulu said, rubbing her hands with anticipation.
Uh-oh!
“Gotta get us some new duds fer the fais do do on Saturday night.”
At Gabrielle’s apparent confusion, Tante Lulu explained, “Fais do do is a Cajun party down on the bayou.”
“There’s this great little boutique in Houma,” Charmaine said. “They have everything from killer heels to high-end jewelry.”
“Do they have thongs?” Tante Lulu wanted to know.
Gabrielle and Charmaine turned to stare at her.
“Not fer me. I’m too old ta have one of them things ridin’ up my crack. I was thinkin’ more of you.” She was looking at Gabrielle.
“Me?” Gabrielle squeaked out.
“Yeah. Yer butt ain’t dropped too much yet. Betcha that Viking would like a back end view of you when you twirl around Swampy’s dance floor. Betcha that would get his juices flowin’. Make sure ya get a pair of them high heels, too. The ones what make ya have ta stand with yer rear end arching back. I read in one of the magazines in Charmaine’s beauty shop that porno movie stars allus wear ’em, ’specially when they’s buck nekkid.”
There were so many things alarming with what Tante Lulu said . . . about Gabrielle’s butt having dropped, about her twirling, as if she knew how to twirl, about porno high heels. But all Gabrielle said was, “I really don’t need any new clothes. I have plenty back at my apartment in the city.”
“Bite yer tongue. A gal cain’t ever have too many clothes, or too many orgy-asms.”
Seventeen
The way that men go to battle, an age-old ritual . . .
Late that night, there were one hundred vangels in and around New Orleans under the command of Ivak and his brothers. They’d waited for the restaurant to close and for those Lucies out on the prowl to return to their evil “nest.” By three a.m. this section of the Quarter was finally at rest, residents asleep, businesses closed, including the Anguish restaurant.
Despite his promise of “sweet dreams” to Gabrielle, there would be no sleep for Ivak tonight. Nor dreams.
Not that he wasn’t thinking about her. And sex. All the time.
He and his brothers were in Gabrielle’s apartment. He could swear he smelled her scent; it enveloped him like an erotic cocoon. Not her perfume, her woman scent. That lure to lust that tugged at him endlessly.
He found himself arguing with himself, often at the most inopportune times . . . like now . . . trying to find ways that justified his having sex with the woman of his dreams outside his dreams.
Maybe she needed him in her bed to protect her from Lucies. That would be okay, wouldn’t it?
Maybe he should make love to her to show her how it could be done with expertise. That would be a service to her, wouldn’t it?
Maybe she had developed some strange ailment that only sexual intercourse could cure. His cock would be like a doctor’s instrument.
Sex for medicinal purposes? That would be allowed, wouldn’t it?
Maybe he should suck on her breasts so that the nipples wouldn’t indent for lack of nurture. Think how bad she would look in a tight shirt. He would be doing her an aesthetic favor, wouldn’t he?
He shook his head to clear it and looked around Gabrielle’s small home, watching his brothers prepare for battle. More than seventy vangels were stationed outside the city, or hovering above it, waiting for the signal to attack. In addition, another twenty vampire angel warriors were assigned to strategic places between here and Angola, the path it was believed the Lucies would flee on once under siege. When it came to war plans, the VIK were masters, having been at it for more than a thousand years.
They each carried an arsenal of specially treated knives, swords, lances, throwing knives, bullets, and other fighting gear attached to their leather braies and tunics or under the long cloaks with silver epaulet wings. The guns and rifles had silencers on them. The whole operation on Dumaine Street had to take no
more than fifteen minutes from beginning to end, lest the city be aware of exactly what was happening. Oh, they would know eventually when there was a pile of rubble where a building once stood, and a lot of missing “persons,” like the owner of the famed French Quarter eating establishment.
“Focus, everyone,” he said. “Remember, our main goal today is to take down Dominique,” Ivak reminded them.
“And a ton of Lucies, as well,” Mordr said.
“True, but Dominique is our number one tango,” Trond emphasized. Tango was a Navy SEAL word for bad guy . . . or bad girl . . . or bad thing, in the case of the Lucies. Terrorists.
“You and your military speak!” Vikar teased Trond.
Trond shrugged. “If I’m forced to walk the walk, I might as well do the talk.”
“Bullshit!” Cnut contributed.
“Be careful, or Mike will make you a Navy SEAL, too,” Trond warned Cnut. “You do not want to know what Hell Week is.”
“Are we good to go?” Harek asked. When everyone turned at his use of modern military speak, too, he just shrugged. “I’ve been boning up on the Internet.”
“I’ve been boning up, too,” Ivak said.
His brothers groaned.
“We all know what kind of boning up you’ve been doing, Ivak.” Sigurd grinned at Ivak, then told the others, “Now that he’s found his soul mate, all he does is ‘bone up.’ ”
“That was crude,” Ivak pointed out.
“What? You think doctors can’t be crude?”
“We’re Vikings, Ivak. Didst forget that Vikings are crude?” Trond asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
They all had blue eyes, for that matter, being vangels. They all twinkled with mischief at one time or another, being Vikings.
“What you are all forgetting is that lust is second nature with Ivak. Remember, lust is his Deadly Sin,” Trond went on.
The others nodded.
“Remember the time you told us that you think about tupping every other second of every day,” Trond said.
Ivak put his face in his hands.
“And you were shocked to learn that other men thought about their cocks and what it could do, other than piss, much less often,” Cnut contributed. “Like every three seconds.”