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House of Cards
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CHAPTER1
“Where’s Sam?”
At his eldest brother’s bark, Micah jerked his head up from the device he was fiddling with.
Stubborn to a fault, Micah just couldn’t accept that, as an angel, his celestial aura meant that every single electronic toy he played with would be shorted out as soon as he got his angelic hands on it. And, sure, they could pay one of the other more magically-inclined factions to ward his gizmos and gadgets like they did with everything else the brothers relied on to succeed in the human world, but… stubborn. Micah was convinced that he could figure it out on his own if he just kept at it.
Which was fine. Raze didn’t give a shit what his youngest brother did during his downtime. But when it was near the hour when their casino really started to get crowded and Samael had conveniently pulled another disappearing act, he had less patience than usual.
Micah ran his fingers through his light brown hair, brow furrowed as he met the glare in Raze’s steely blue gaze. With a shrug, he admitted, “Don’t know, Raze. He said he was going out last night and he hasn’t come back yet.”
“Did you call him?”
Beneath his tanned complexion, his youngest brother paled. He picked up the device he’d been playing with again.
This time, Raze recognized it as Micah’s personal cell phone.
And it was smoking.
“Seriously? Wasn’t that warded?”
“I had Hilda take the spell off,” Micah said defiantly. Hilda was the serious, spell-obsessed manager of the local Twilight Café. She was also a witch who had a bit of a sweet spot when it came to Micah. “I really want to make this work. Especially with the way our auras are… you know. I thought I could use my phone without it exploding on me.”
You know… yeah. Raze did. And while their auras had taken a hit over the last few years, it was good to see that they were still powerful enough to short out an electronic—even if Micah couldn’t see the benefit in retaining some of their God-given powers.
“Get that fixed,” Raze ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Smartass.
Raze was just about to offer his brother a well-deserved retort when, suddenly, the door to their office pushed slowly open. While the brothers each had suites of their own near the top of the Twilight Sphere hotel, their office was a shared space off of the back half of their casino. Only four souls were allowed entrance. The three owners—Raze, Sam, and Micah—plus Cael, another fallen angel who had been their trusted floor manager since House of Sin first opened.
Even though he was a respected member of their team, Cael still averted his silvery gaze as he approached the two brothers. In his hand, he held another—thankfully not smoking—cell phone. As he crossed the room, he zeroed in on Raze.
“Phone for you, boss.”
“Micah can handle it. It’s warded, so he should be fine.”
Rolling his eyes while plopping the useless device he was still holding onto back on his cluttered desk, Micah offered his palm out to Cael.
But the floor manager didn’t drop it. Instead, with an apologetic grimace pulling his cherubic face, he held it out to Raze. “They asked for you special.”
Of course they did.
“This better not have something to do with Sam,” he muttered, taking the phone from Cael.
The middle prince was nothing but trouble most of the time. While they were still ascended angels, Samael had been one of the favored. Though he hadn’t been quite as powerful as an archangel, he was an angel of death—at least, he used to be. Ever since the brothers were cast out of Heaven millennia ago, he got this idea that he could earn them a return trip back to the celestial cities if only he used his powers for good. As a self-professed guardian angel, he’d prove that Michael himself made a mistake by punishing Raze and Micah when it was Sam who was really the one to blame.
Raze gave up trying to convince his stubborn brother that it wasn’t his fault shortly after they fell. He knew that it was their talisman—a golden key that opened the pearly gates of Heaven—going missing that kept the angels out of their former home. But since it had been missing for just as long as they’d been trapped in Purgatory, Sam couldn’t help but believe that saving enough lives—after being responsible for taking countless—would replace their missing key.
It wouldn’t, but at least it gave Sam purpose.
Or, it had—until Polly Benson.
