Lucifer was my father. I was literally the spawn of Satan. Holy fucking shit. I stared at Gabriel, unable to process the information. I was a daemon, or at least half daemon. I wasn't a seraph. "That's not possible. Lucy's an angel. I'm a daemon."
"Seraphim cannot be born or breed. They just appear. The fallen seraphim gained the ability to reproduce, but they could only birth daemons. You didn't know this?" He was still looking at me like I was a few candles shy of a menorah.
I eyed the whiskey sitting on the coffee table between us. I was going to need a lot more than the half-empty fifth. "Why would I? Being a daemon doesn't come with a history lesson on this shit."
Gabriel looked around at the heavily-laden bookshelves that took up most of the available wall space. Most of them were old leather-bound tomes in weird cuneiform writing that had belonged to my mom. There were some in more modern languages, but I'd never cared to dabble much in magic. Simple warding spells and blessings to turn water into daemon pepper spray were the beginning and end to my occult knowledge. Unless, of course, it was the fictional occult, which occupied the rest of the space. Poe, Lovecraft and those who desperately tried to be him, Conan Doyle, Robert E. Howard, some Saki and Stephen King. Most of those had been dog-eared to within an inch of their lives.
"Some of those books record Lucifer's fall. When I saw them, I just assumed you knew."
"Well, you know what they say about assumptions. Most of those are in Arabic, I think, and I grew up here in Arkansas. The fact that I can even read in any language is astounding." I was actually pretty fluent in Spanish and I could understand some Latin, at least enough to know that the language had deserved to die out. I reached for the bottle again, only to find it gone. The archangel was also missing. After a heartbeat he appeared from the kitchen. "If you dumped that down the sink I'll kick your feathery ass." Even if he didn't exactly have feathers, at least that I could see.
The look he gave me was patronizing. "You could try. I should have, but I didn't. I'm not a babysitter, which you evidently need."
"You're just a big ball of sunshine and happiness, aren't you." Why the fuck was I insulting and threatening the most gorgeous guy I'd ever met? Maybe I did need to stop drinking. When Gabriel settled himself back on my couch, not deigning to respond, I sighed. "So Lucy's my father."
The inked seraph shrugged. "Yours and about a hundred others. Most of them are dead, though. Lucifer's people get a little anxious when he messes around with humans, it upsets the hierarchy. The last time they killed one, he threatened to destroy Hell. He's more powerful than his fallen would like believe."
"They've killed all his children?" My stomach turned. "What about their mothers?"
"Entire families, on occasion. Sometimes the fallen seraphim would send messages from 'God' back in the days when they executed adulterers and witches. Other times it was outright slaughter. You have a half-sister who is under our protection as well."
"I have a sister?" I'd gained a father and a sister in less than half an hour. It was cliché as all shit, but I'd take it.
"That's what I just said." Gabriel was giving me that condescending look again. I was torn between the urge to punch him or kiss him. Maybe I'd just do both. "Her name is Dante, ironically enough."
"Dante? Like the poet? The male poet?" I was named after an archangel that no one really gave a shit about, so I really didn't have much room to judge.
"I assume so. Michael is her guard; she and I have never met. I believe they're in London."
"So my sister gets to live in London and I'm stuck in fucking Arkansas?" Theoretically, I could move, but that required money, which I didn't have much of. Books, booze and utilities ate through my pathetic paycheck pretty quickly. It was a damn good thing that weird shit plagued the southern states.
"You poor thing," he said dryly, all but rolling those exquisite blue eyes. Then, lithe as a tiger, he stood and headed back into my kitchen.
"Hey, where are you going?" I scrambled up off the beaten-to-hell recliner and followed him. I couldn't help but steal a few glances at his perfect ass. I wondered what he'd do if I bit him.
"My cherub is here," he replied by way of explanation. He stopped in front of the door just before a light knock sounded from the other side. Opening the door revealed a very short girl, 5" at the most, with an equally short black skirt, made up for by thigh-high leather boots, and a rainbow-striped corset-looking thing. The tribal tattoo Gabriel had was mimicked on both of her slim forearms, and her shaggy platinum hair was streaked with the same blue as both their eyes. Seven sapphire studs lined both ears and she had silver snake bite piercings in her lower lip.
"Hiya," she chirped, sticking out a tiny hand to me. I shook it unconsciously, somewhat dumbstruck by the odd little creature.
"You look trashy," Gabriel informed her, his lovely lips thinning in almost fatherly disapproval as he shut the door behind her.
"Oh, hush, Gabby. This is the style nowadays." She grinned at me. "Gabby's stuck in the seventh century." She giggled. "Cross your legs when you sit, that skirt is too short, those piercings are hideous, leggings aren't pants. It never ends with him. I'm Dory, by the way."
"Like the fish?" I couldn't help but ask, and she grinned, showing slightly pointed teeth. I liked her immediately, something that hardly ever happened.
"Isidore," Gabriel said, giving her a dark look. There was a warning in his voice. It was sexy as fuck.
"Lighten up, Gabby. You know you love me." She winked at me. "I'm half a century younger than he is, and he never lets me forget it."
"So you're a cherub?" I'd heard they were Heaven's equivalent of imps, but far less common.
"You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but yes," Gabriel muttered, still keeping up his disproving face. He really was fucking adorable.
