Kristina Douglas - The Fallen 1 - Raziel by Kristina Douglas Page A

bodily functions. Al I knew was that I certainly did.
    I rol ed out of the huge bed, landing barefoot on the cool marble floor. The room was dim, the shades pul ed against the bright sunlight. There was a door off to one side, and I headed for it.
    Eureka! A bathroom with a huge tub, a shower made for giants, thick towels, and even a toilet. If the afterlife contained a bathroom like this, it couldn’t be that awful.
    I fol owed the coffee aroma to a smal kitchen, bracing myself to confront Raziel, but the place was deserted. There was coffee in a white carafe, and I fil ed one of the mugs, looking around me with fresh curiosity. Things didn’t seem nearly so bizarre as they had yesterday—amazing what a good night’s sleep would do for you.
    I moved to the row of windows in the living room, looking out over the sea. It was misty, cool, the rich salt scent thick in the air. Where had Raziel gone? And did he real y expect me to stay here like a good girl, awaiting my master’s return?
    Fat chance.
    I found some white shoes that looked sort of like a delicate pair of Crocs and slipped them on, then headed out the door. I paused, staring down the endless flights of stairs, and let out a heartfelt groan.
    Going down would be easier than going up, but if I did descend those forty mil ion treacherous flights of stairs, sooner or later I would have to go back up. Why didn’t they have elevators in the afterlife?
    Maybe most people just flew.
    No, only the men could. “Sexist bastards,” I said with a sniff.
    Maybe I could hitch a ride with one of the friendlier ones.
    The stairs were endless, deserted as I descended. It wasn’t until I reached the third floor that I began to run into . . . whatever they were. Fal en angels, vampires, blood-eaters, hel -transporters.
    Comic-book vil ains.
    None of them looked particularly happy to see me. So it wasn’t just Raziel who resented my presence. I gave each of them my cheeriest smile and a friendly greeting, and for the most part was met with cool indifference. Great. No welcome wagon here.
    No sight of the Stepford wives, either, who by now were seeming pretty damned normal and friendly. Were they stuck in some kind of seraglio while the men went about their so-important business?
    Would I end up there?
    Of course not. Seraglios were for wives and concubines, not inconvenient females nobody wanted.
    I final y reached the bottom of those endless stairs, ending up in a massive hal way. It was open at one end, leading out to the churning sea, which cal ed to me and I started toward it, something akin to joy rising in my heart, when I was brought up short by the very last person I wanted to see.
    Not Raziel, who had his own dubious charms. But Azazel the Grouch, the leader of this happy band. And he was looking at me as if I carried al ten plagues of Egypt.
    “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
    “Looking for Raziel,” I said, a complete lie. I didn’t want to see him any more than he wanted to come near me, but I could think of no other excuse. The sea was cal ing to me, and I tried to sidle past him. “I think he might be out by the water—”
    He blocked me. “He’s not. Go back to your rooms and await him.”
    I didn’t like Azazel. “I’m not one of the dutiful wives, and I’m certainly not going to hide away like someone in a harem. I’m going out to the water, and I suggest you don’t try to stop me.”
    The moment the chal enge was out of my mouth, I regretted it. I’d forgotten these weren’t New York metrosexuals I was dealing with.
    Azazel froze, and I wondered idly if these fal en angels were capable of smiting a bitch. If so, I was in deep shit.
    “Al ie!” Sarah suddenly came up from behind me, tucking her arm through mine. “So nice to see you this morning. Aren’t you happy to see Al ie, my love?”
    Azazel glowered. “No.”
    “Pay no attention to him, my dear,” Sarah said smoothly, leading me away from him. “He’s got a lot on his