Page 2 of Camael
"Get to it faster." The words came out like a whip crack. Camael's shoulders tensed as he surveyed the chaos of boxes and bubble wrap. Organization wasn't just about aesthetics. It was about control. And right now? His control was hanging by a thread thinner than angel hair. Nothing cranked his anxiety like disorder. It made his battle-honed senses fire on all cylinders and search for threats in the shadows of all that random shit.
The rest of his crew worked their domestic game like pros, thanks to Rami and his mate Kara's ‘Earth For Angels 101’ tutorial. Not that they needed it. Most of Camael's soldiers had done tours down there before. Him? Not so much.
Unlike the others, who'd adapted to human ways faster than demons to sin, Camael was used to the celestial hookup. Up in Heaven, angels manifested everything from Egyptian cotton sheets to California king beds with a thought and a nod. Down here? Shit required actual money. The green kind. With dead presidents on it.
And comfort? Please. Humans clearly hadn't gotten that memo. The rock-hard mattresses and IKEA furniture weren’t much better than the ground. The fact that his warriors had already figured out how to handle it just proved they were better at this Earth gig than their commander.
The kitchen became his domain as he attacked boxes ofcookware that had shown up an hour ago. Each angel had their assigned duty. Well, except for the wonder-twins currently playing grab-ass in the living room. Cassiel hoisted the armoire like it weighed less than his ego, which was saying something. His celestial tats - the ones that marked him as Heaven's favorite fortune teller - danced across muscles built from millennia of divine throwdowns.
"Remind me again why we couldn't get this joint pre-furnished?" he grunted, though the weight wasn't giving him shit. "Better yet, I wish we could just manifest stuff like upstairs?"
Camael looked up from where he was wrangling enough cookware to feed the entire heavenly host. "What's wrong, pretty boy? Manual labor cramping your style?"
"Please." Cass waved at the disaster zone of cardboard and bubble wrap like it had personally offended him. "Back home, we think it, we get it. None of this 'assembly required' bullshit. One prayer to the interior design department and boom - instant cribs episode."
Jo's eye roll could've registered in three states. Her golden braid swung like a pendulum as she positioned some fancy-ass vase with military precision. "News flash, Instagram angel. Our celestial platinum card got canceled when we moved Earth-side. You want human digs? You do human work."
"Facts," Rami chimed in from behind a stack of paperwork that promised to give Camael a headache. "Besides, this is grade-A real estate. It beats holing up in some demon-infested dump downtown."
But Camael had to admit Cass had a point. The whole ‘no powers for interior decorating’ rule was some first-class BS. It made him miss the simplicity of Heaven. Instead, they were stuck doing things the mortal way. It sucked harder than a black hole.
Az snorted from where he was arranging weapons behind a false panel. The guy looked like he'd stepped out of a Special Forces recruitment poster. He was all sharp edges and deadly grace. "Hey. Give us some credit for basic survival skills. We'd make any place work."
"Debatable," Camael drawled as he scanned the fancy-ass floors and rugs that probably cost more than some countries' GDPs. But he couldn't deny the earthly luxury had its perks. The place was a straight-up sanctuary. "Just remember we need this house fortress-ready. Amelia's dropping by to lay down more wards."
The air seemed to thicken with her name. Did everyone recognize its significance? Or maybe that was just him getting worked up over a witch like some rookie angel on his first Earth rotation.
"Speaking of wards," Jo piped up. Her hands moved in precise gestures as she layered protection spells into the walls. "We should talk about the power grid in this place. The magical kind, not the human version."
Remi descended from his mirror-hanging gig like some divine handyman. His massive wings were tucked away with a whisper. "Just keep the property damage to a minimum. We don't need contractors all up in our business. Humans tend to ask questions when they see scorch marks from celestial weapons."
"Or demon blood on the hardwood," Zach added helpfully as he finally got around to those glasses.
"That too." Remi's wings twitched. It was a tell that meant he was picking up something. "Boss, you feel that?"
Camael did. The air had shifted. It carried whispers of danger on currents only angels could detect. Working his way through the kitchen setup, he hit Rami with a strategic play. "What if you and Zakara went up to her NYC pad? Give us eyes on another front line."
Rami gave a sharp nod, that tactical genius of his already spinning scenarios. The kid might be the newest addition to the AORs, but he'd earned his wings faster than anyone in celestial history. He was a natural-born strategist with street smarts to match his book smarts.
"Sounds good," he agreed as his shoulders straightened like the soldier he'd become. "Z's been jonesing for her NYC fix anyway. I know you like keeping the squad tight, boss, but extra eyes never hurt. Especially eyes that know the concrete jungle like she does." Rami had come a long way from the fresh-faced recruit who'd shown up at Heaven's door after being killed by a skirm. Now? The male was Camael's right hand for a reason.
"You could get some solid intel," Az added as he closed the weapons panel with a satisfying click. "The Big Apple's got more supernatural traffic than Grand Central. You might catch whispers we'd miss in the Big Easy."
But Camael barely registered the strategy session. Something just bitch-slapped his internal warning system harder than that time Michael caught him sleeping during combat training. Every battle-honed instinct screamed danger with a capital ‘OH SHIT’. The cookware hit the counter as he moved. He was pulled to the fireplace like Heaven's most paranoid moth. His palm found the fancy-ass mantle. It’s cool surface was the only thing keeping him grounded while his gut did backflips. Something wicked this way comes. And it wasn't stopping to ask directions.
Jo materialized at his six. She moved as silent as death despite her five-inch heels. The girl had style, even in combat. "What's got your wings in a twist?"
The entire crew went still. Centuries of fighting together were evident in how they responded to his tension. Flaming weapons appeared in hands, wings rustled beneath the veil of reality, and eyes locked onto potential entry points.
"I’m not really sure. I’ve got a bad feeling," Camael admitted. His voice dropped to a place that made lesser beings tremble. "Could be Earth-side adjustment."
"Or it could be your archangel Spidey sense picking up trouble," Malachi suggested. All traces of his earlier playfulness were gone.
Rami's brow furrowed as he materialized his favorite weapon. A seven-foot blade of pure celestial steel that burned with blue flames hot enough to make Hell itself sweat. The thing was beautiful as sin and twice as deadly.
"Those instincts of yours?" He spun the flaming sword like it was a cheerleader's baton. "They're the reason you got promoted to archangel while the rest of these guys were still learning to fly. You feeling something hinky might be the difference between putting Lucifer back in his box or watching that sonofabitch ghost on us again." The flames from his blade cast dancing shadows across his face. It made him look every inch the divine warrior he was.
The phone in Camael's pocket went off like a bomb. It made Rami jump like a rookie. Tech was still foreign territory for Camael. Heaven didn't exactly have 5G coverage. The hotline number flashing on the screen had his heart double-timing. Zander had set it up for dealing with this situation.
