by C.L. Coffey
Series: Louisiangel, #3
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: June 14, 2016
Find out exactly what the rules are, and what can be broken;
Find out what is going on with Joshua and me;
Get a whole lot better at using a sword;
Work out where Lucifer is and defeat him…
Ever since a photograph of an angel made the news, people have been camping outside the churches of the city, waiting for their own miracles. To keep a low profile, Michael has kept Angel under house arrest. With the absence of the cherubim, and the remaining angels too busy (or lazy) to help, Angel has been too distracted to worry about the fact there are two Princes of Darkness in New Orleans. That is, until Ty, the Nephilim who has yet to earn her trust provides her with information that could lead to the end of Asmodeus.
When tragedy strikes, Angel has her hands full trying not to let the convent descend into chaos. The list of things Angel must accomplish keeps getting longer, and as each item grows more important, so too does the urgency at which it must be completed. With her list of allies constantly changing, can Angel remove the evil from New Orleans while above all else, keep Joshua safe?
Qube was a small bar on Bourbon Street. It was home to delicious crêpes during the day and above average cocktails on the evening. (Actually, both were served all day long, but many an hour spent upstairs on the bar’s balcony had taught me that was where their sales lay).
It was also the home to Tyrone Hamilton.
I’d thought Ty was my friend. Initially, I’d wanted a fake ID from him so I could get into Bee’s. In exchange, he’d wanted my help with a project for his photography – or at least, that’s what he had claimed. As I’d spent time with him, I’d realized that actually, I kind of liked him. And then I found out that Ty had been using me.
Ty was a Nephilim – the offspring of a human and an angel. In Ty’s case, his father happened to be Beelzebub, one of the most famous fallen angels after Lucifer. Now don’t get me wrong, the fact he didn’t tell me that had upset me, but my biggest resentment came from the fact he had gotten me into Bee’s. It had been a trap in order for his father to literally throw me (and Joshua) out of a window, so that Ty could take photographs of it. The same photographs that had accompanied the news article which had announced the existence of angels in the world and consequently had me under house arrest.
So why exactly was I here?
“Angel?” Ty’s voice startled me from my thoughts. I looked up and found him staring at me like I was a ghost, frozen, mid-conversation with someone sat at the bar.
My eyes scanned the otherwise empty bar, falling on the one person in there beside Ty. I barely acknowledged the dark haired guy before I looked back to Ty. I sighed. “This is a mistake,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. I turned on my heel and marched towards the door.
“Angel, wait!” he called after me. I had no intention of waiting, but he ran, cutting me off at the door. “I never expected to see you again.”
“Neither did I.” I folded my arms across my chest. “What do you want?” I demanded.
“You came here,” he pointed out, though he kept his distance like I was a cat ready to attack.
“And I have no idea why,” I shot back at him.
“I’m glad you did,” he said, before I could step around him. He frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the guy at the bar. “Zeke, could you give us a minute?” I waited until Zeke had gathered his things and exited the bar, leaving Ty and myself alone. “I wanted to call by the convent.” When I narrowed my eyes, he shifted his weight. “We know where Michael’s House is,” he admitted, sheepishly.
“Of course you do,” I muttered with a sigh.
“I did want to call by,” he repeated. “But I also didn’t want Michael to kill me.”
I glared up at him. “I can assure you, Michael would be the least of your problems.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I really am.”
“Sorry is not going to remove me and Veronica from any newspaper archive,” I told him.
“I know,” he acknowledged, sadly. He glanced over my shoulder at the bar, before looking at me. “Can I start to make it up to you with a chocolate crêpe? On me?”
If it wasn’t for the fact I’d had to put up with my pitiful cooking for the last few weeks, I would have turned him down, but I was as desperate as the other angels in the convent for something decent to eat. “Fine,” I conceded, begrudgingly. I stalked over to the bar and dumped my groceries on the barstool next to me. I paused before sitting. “Does your father own this bar too?” I asked, the thought suddenly occurring to me. “Am I about to get pounced on by a dozen different fallen angels?”
I probably should have asked that first.
“No,” Ty replied, firmly. He walked behind the bar and came to a stop in front of me. “I work here because it’s not owned by my dad.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?” I asked. “You are a Nephilim, after all. Why should I trust you? Again?”
“Why did you come here?” Ty asked.
I pursed my lips. “I don’t know.”
“But you did come here,” Ty pointed out. “You knew before you stepped in this bar who I am, and who my father is.” He leaned forward onto the bar, resting his forearms on the worn wood. “Which means, deep down, you trust me,” he finished, his eyes watching me, hopeful.
I chewed at my lower lip, considering him carefully. “Maybe I’m just not a good judge of character,” I said, eventually. I reached over and scooped up my groceries. “Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment,” I added. Once again, I turned on my heel and headed for the door.
“For what it’s worth, I think you are a good judge of character,” Ty called after me. “And I’m going to do what I can to prove that to you.”
Cheryl works in an office by day. By night she leads a (not-so) secret life DJing, and throughout it all, is constantly scribbling away as the plot bunnies demand constant attention.
Her first novel was written when she should have been revising for her GCSEs. While it is unlikely to ever see the light of day, it was the start of long relationship with the evil plot bunnies of doom.
A need to do more than just one subject led her to the University of Hull, where she graduated with an honours degree in American Studies. For the third year of the four year degree, she was able to call Baton Rouge home. Since then, Louisiana has claimed a large chunk of her heart, and remains a place she will always consider home.
When not transcribing the stories of the angels and archangels, working, or DJing, she is at the beck and call of three cats – all of whom rank higher in the household than she does.