Army of Stone - Fallen Angel Book 2: Fallen Angel, #2

By Leo Romero

I'm Gabriel Stone. Angel Enforcer. Card shark maestro. Marked for death.

An elfish, satanic cult wish to fulfil the prophecy of the Dark Bearer and bring Hell to Earth. That means sacrificing Aurora. As the higher echelons of Heaven have put her under my protection, it's my duty to stop them.

But I've got my own problems. Both the cartel werewolves and the vampire triads have greenlighted me for execution. Looks like they've put a powerful gargoyle on my case and he's determined to complete his contract.

But maybe there's more to this gargoyle business than meets the eye. Half-angel bounty hunters are turning up dead and there's a familiar pattern to their demise. Someone is waging war on the Angel Guild and as an Enforcer, I'll have to step up my game if I'm going to save both myself and the Guild from extinction.

I just hope I can survive past next week or we'll all go to Hell.

Gargoyle assassins, satanic elves, and mob hits. Man, my life sucks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leo Romero
• Release date: Apr 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201345013

Book preview

Chapter 1

Being an Angel Enforcer sucked.

Yeah, I’d been given heightened magic powers since my promotion from bounty hunter, but I still wasn’t happy. ’Cause something else came with it all. Extra responsibility. Something I’m not too hot at. Just ask my eighteen year old daughter, Lucy.

Now if I’d been put in control of a card school, then there’d have been no problem.

But seriously, the worst part of that added responsibility was all the damn paperwork. Man, I almost threw up a little just thinking the word.

I sat at my desk in the Angel Guild—a table in an old gentlemen’s club reputedly once owned by Al Capone—and stared at the three piles of papers sitting ahead of me with despondent eyes. The smallest pile was yellow forms, meaning they were L45s—day outs to Heaven as reward to bounty hunters for doing a good job. The next biggest pile was blue forms. Those were B4s—reports of demon sightings across Chicago, which would need to be verified based on the evidence available and then converted into wanted posters. And finally, the biggest pile of all was gray forms. Z99s—angel bounty hunter death certificates. They sat there like Death himself, a thick pile of them, waiting for my signature.

I blew the air out of my lungs and looked away. I looked back and they were still there. I didn’t wanna touch ’em. They gave me the creeps. The thought of all those guys and gals sitting there in Purgatory waiting to be processed made shivers tingle up and down my spine. I’d been there done that. Purgatory sucked. More tedious than an eight-hour presentation on the varying shades of beige paint. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yep, they were still there. I suppose I just had to face up to it and start signing them. I had to say, there were a lot of them. Maybe it’s because I just started on the job and I was now privy to information I wasn’t before, but I don’t ever remember hearing about so many bounty hunter deaths. Word spread fast on the grapevine. Yeah, you’d hear whispers—so and so got his or her ass handed to them by a dog demon or tentacle monster or whatever. You’d toast a drink to them, wished them good luck getting through Purgatory and hoped they made it to a happier plane. But seriously, there must’ve been twenty-odd forms sitting on my desk. That couldn’t be normal, could it?

I told myself there was a backlog after Samuel—the previous Enforcer who turned to the dark side and tried to help Beelzebub raise Hell—stopped caring about his job and just let the work pile up. Asshole. Left me with all this crap to get through. Oh well, it wasn’t gonna process itself. With a sigh, I reached for the top form on the pile. Right as I did, a tear opened up on the air to my left. I rolled my eyes toward it, my hand hovering over the Z99 forms. I caught a glimpse of the Chicago Underworld as a short and tubby guy with gray-blue skin and thinning, cream-colored hair slicked back from his brow came ambling through. His broken and damaged wings fluttered slightly as he turned and closed the portal up. He faced me and grinned, showing me his rotten teeth. He rubbed his hands like an avaricious miser, causing the charms and bracelets adorning his chubby wrists to jangle. It was Duante, one of my dark pixie informers. A shady little so and so if ever there was one. Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could kick him. His greed knew no bounds. But his info was always solid. Oh and by the way, he always spoke backward, don’t ask me why, he just did. Probably trying to sound ancient and wise like Yoda or something.

StoneAngel, to you, good morrow, he said to me.

Without looking at him, I pulled the top form off the pile and placed it down on the desk in front of me. What have I told you about visiting me at work, Duante?

For your ears only, urgent news, have I.

I picked up a pen and sighed. Okay, buddy, let’s hear it.

Greenlighted you, the cartel have.

I rolled my eyes. Great. Must be because I owed the leader, Lobo, money. I actually had it to give, but like an idiot, I spent it on my daughter’s eighteenth birthday party instead. Amongst other things. Or maybe he’s pissed because he thinks I stole a baby carriage full of leprechaun gold from his meth factory. All a misunderstanding of course. Anything else? I asked Duante.

Greenlighted you too, the triads have.

I grinned. Superb! Two for the price of one! They could’ve gone halves on the contract and saved themselves some dough. So the triads and the cartel have put contracts out on me. That meant every vampire and werewolf in Chicago would be after my blood. Purgatory here we come!

Ah, Ming’s just pissed that I won her monitor lizard from her, I said with a flip of my hand. Anything else?

On the Netherworld Strip, first prize in a card game, a mythical beast is.

Well I’m banned from the Strip so no go there. What’s first prize anyway?

Pegasus.

I dropped my pen. I faced Duante for the first time. He was grinning. I arched a brow. Pegasus? I echoed.

Duante nodded.

"The Pegasus? As in badass horse with wings Pegasus?"

Duante nodded again, his little beady eyes gleaming.

I frowned. Whose card game is it?

Baron Von Blatt.

I rolled my eyes. Frogface. I’d already won my mythical shotgun Bam Bam and Aurora the half-siren from his scaly clutches in card games. Now he was hosting a card game on the Netherworld Strip with Pegasus as first prize? He was moving up in the world. How did Frogface get Pegasus? I asked Dunate.

He gave me an exaggerated shrug in response. A trap, set, he must have.

No shit, Sherlock!

A stupid answer gets, a stupid question does.

I grumbled under my breath. When’s the game? I asked.

Two sundowns.

I sat back in my seat and rubbed my chin. Man, to have Pegasus in my Deck of Death would be a great addition to my collection. But, I was banned from the Strip and trick of the light masking spells just wouldn’t cut it. Too many eyes and ears. Plus the big card houses always had a magic detection system in place.

Duante started to get impatient. He wiggled his stubby fingers on the air. If you so please, payment.

All right, I suppose you deserve something for letting me know I’m about to die. I got to my feet. Wait here while I get you a bottle of Ambrosia.

His beady little eyes lit up at the word ‘Ambrosia’. I trudged off to the bar, thoughts of hitmen and flying horses going through my mind. I’d need to watch my back from here on out, make double sure I had Excalibur and Bam Bam with me at all times, and always carry my Deck of Death in my pocket. The thing with mob hitmen was they always struck when you least expected. That way you had your guard down and were easier to take out.

I got to the bar where Jerome, an Enforcer who doubled up as bartender, stood filling in forms.

How are you finding the new job, Gabriel? he asked as I shuffled past him to reach the bottles behind the bar.

Sucks! I replied, looking over the bottles for Ambrosia. Too much paperwork.

Come on now, Gabriel. A little pen-pushing never hurt anyone.

There are more forms back there than at the FBI Vault.

Then make haste! Jerome said in a stern voice as he finished filling in another form.

Make haste, I echoed, mocking him. I scanned the potions ahead of me. Different potions for different things. Potions of strength, stealth, protection. I found a bottle of Ambrosia—a calming tonic straight from Heaven—and grabbed it.

Ah, no rest for the wicked, I said as I slid past Jerome.

That’ll be forty-five dollars, Gabriel, Jerome said, not lifting his head from his papers.

I froze. Forty-five dollars? I exclaimed, staring at the bottle in my hand. I thought being an Enforcer came with perks.

Jerome looked at me, a small smile on his face. It does. A ten percent discount. It’s fifty dollars for anyone else.

My top lip curled up. I jabbed my hand in my pocket, retrieved two twenties and a five, and slammed them down on the bar.

Thank you, Gabriel, Jerome said and returned to his papers.

I shook my head. I thought one of the rules was ‘thou shalt not steal’. I nodded my head toward the crumpled notes. That’s a damn shakedown.

Jerome adjusted in his seat, but didn’t answer or even look, just kept his bald, shiny head in his papers. Asshole.

I got back to my desk to find Duante hopping excitedly on his heels. I held out the bottle of Ambrosia, and his eyes almost popped out of his skull. He snatched the bottle from my grip like a wolf going for a slice of bacon. He ripped off the cap and began guzzling. I watched him in disgust as he struggled to breathe under the deluge of liquid going down his gullet and spilling down his cheeks. When he was done, he pulled the bottle away from his lips and belched.

Bless you, I said.

In all the world, the best drink, this be. Is of the divine, this nectar is of, indeed, is of, is of, he slurred incoherently, his eyes going bleary.

Yeah, fae and elves and trogs and such creatures all loved Ambrosia.

Duante recapped the bottle and turned to leave.

Hold up! I said to his back.

Duante froze, and then turned to face me, his face wrinkled with puzzlement.

You forgetting something? I asked.

His brow creased as his brain began to work. Then, Oh! he said, his eyes lighting up.

Yeah, ‘oh’, I echoed with a nod. Duante reached into his black tunic and pulled out a small brown bag. He bounced it up and down in his palm a couple of times and placed it down on my desk. I grabbed it, pulled the strings open and checked it out. A generous helping of pixie dust glittered back at me. I nodded. That’s good. Ambrosia is worth more than info.

StoneAngel, right, you are. Farewell, thee, I bid. He turned and swiped his claw across the air. That tear reopened, showing me the back alleys of the Chicago Underworld. Duante hopped through, his tatty wings fluttering for a second. The portal closed up behind him and that was that.

I turned my attention back to the gray form ahead of me. I was reminded of dead bounty hunters, and my heart weighed heavy once more. The realization that one of these forms might soon be for me surfaced in my mind. It would have my name on it. Gabriel Stone. Executed with three bullets in the skull at point-blank range. I shivered.

I went to pick up my pen when a new voice stopped me. Hey, Stone, how’s it hanging?

I looked up to be met with another bald head. This time with neatly plucked, black eyebrows and equally neat, trimmed goatee. The dinner jacket over a black turtleneck and inverted pentagram medallion resting on his chest made me think ‘beatnik’, but ‘douche’ was next in line.

I gave him a stern stare. "That’s Mister Stone to you, Zane."

Wow, someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning. What is it, woman trouble?

Actually right now, it’s an Anton LaVey knock-off, wannabe necromancer that’s got my goat.

He recoiled as if offended. Wannabe? he echoed, shaking his head like he’d just been slapped. One day soon, Mr. Stone, I’ll be so good, they’ll have to change it from the Crazy Four to the Crazy Five!

I wouldn’t give up the day job, kid. Now, what do you want? I’ve told you before you shouldn’t come around here. Dark arts aren’t welcome.

Dark arts? Moi? He looked offended again. But his smug smile said otherwise. Yeah, he really fancied himself as some kinda necromancer hotshot.

Yeah, I said with a firm nod. Why don’t you use your talents for good instead of darkness?

He arched a brow. Darkness is more fun.

I leaned back. Yeah, I recently heard another guy say something like that.

Really? What happened to him?

He had his ass melted down in a suit of armor forged out of a powerful demon’s exoskeleton in the seventh circle of Hell.

Zane’s face pinched in confusion.

I pointed my pen at him. Let that be a lesson to you, Zane. Do something good with your life.

He raised a finger in the air. Now that you mention it, he said, sitting down on the stool on the opposite side of my desk. Oh man, he’s staying? My day is getting worse.

I’ve been working on a potion that will serve the Guild positively.

I rolled my eyes. Oh boy! What is it this time?

He grinned and raised his eyebrows. A Potion of Invisibility! He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small scotch bottle that he’d refilled with a glowing, orange liquid. Wouldn’t have surprised me if it had been dish-washing liquid. He held it up for me to see, his eyes wide. Three years of hard work!

I shook my head. You really are batshit, ain’tcha? Potion of Invisibility? There’s no such thing.

Oh ye of little faith. He unscrewed the cap. A demonstration. He guzzled down the liquid, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat.

I blew air from my lungs as I watched him. Some people really were beyond help. I mean—

My jaw dropped. The little son of a bitch started to fade from view like Michael J. Fox near the end of Back to the Future. He still had that shit-eating grin on as he turned ghost-like before my very eyes.

A smile broke out over my face as I watched him vanish into thin air. I was stunned. For the first time in ages, I was pleasantly surprised.

But to my disappointment, the feeling was short-lived. My grin drooped. I rubbed my eyes in exasperation. Zane. I can still see your eyebrows and goatee. They were floating on the air as large as life. He spun his head left and right and I got a side profile of eyebrows and beard.

Huh? No you can’t! he said.

Uh, yes. I can. You look like a goddamn puppet show on acid. I stared at those neatly plucked eyebrows and goatee dancing on the air ahead of me in some kind of weird hypnotic state.

Well, don’t worry about that! Zane said. You can just shave off any facial hair before imbuing. Now, I can produce ten bottles of this a week at fifty dollars a bottle, which is a steal.

Fifty bucks to be turned into a pair of dancing eyebrows?

Okay, I’ll give you a discount for the eyebrows. Forty. Can’t go any lower than that.

I huffed and dragged myself to my feet. I’ve had enough. I’m going home. I marched past Zane.

His eyebrows and goatee whipped around my way. Mr. Stone? What about our deal?

Next time I wanna be turned into a floating vagina, I’ll give you a call, I said over my shoulder as I marched toward the exit. I stomped up the stairs and burst out of the front door, where Brutus, the lunkhead doorman who I liked to play tricks on, was standing to attention.

I almost walked into him. Out the way, Brutus!

He turned my way and stared down at me. Hey, Stone! What’s the rush?

I stopped and faced him, letting out a sigh. I was about to give him what for when my eyes widened in concern. Brutus! Look out! Behind you!

He threw his arms over his chest. Really? You expect me to fall for that one? I’m wise to your tricks now.

I jabbed a finger over his shoulder. No, I’m serious! Behind you! Look out!

A flicker of doubt spread across Brutus’ features. He turned his head around, but it was too late. The thing winging in toward us swiped a massive fist across the air, connecting with the side of Brutus’ head. Idiot should’ve believed me. The force of the impact sent him flying across the sidewalk where he smacked into the wall of the Guild. The blow knocked him out cold; he slid to the ground and stayed where he was.

Without losing momentum, the creature landed on its feet ahead of me with a stony crunch, his green-gray wings flared. Two glowing, red eyes bored through me. I looked him up and down. His muscular body was smooth and hard, tiny chips and cracks running across his limbs and torso. His face was an ugly etching: a snout, pointy ears, protruding teeth and a lolling forked tongue. A gargoyle. And a big one.

Without hesitation, he threw a fist. My instincts tweaked and I ducked. That fist cut across the air where my head had just been. I stood upright and went for my shotgun, Bam Bam, pulling her from my holster. I hardly took aim before I fired. A magic-laced slug boomed out of Bam Bam’s muzzle, hitting the gargoyle in the chest. He staggered back a pace. I eagerly checked the damage I’d done. Barely a scratch. A couple of tiny chips of stone rained to the ground. I stared down at Bam Bam.

Dang! That’s one tough mama! the voice of Alabama Tanner, the legendary gunslinger possessing Bam Bam, said.

I didn’t have time for a retort. I holstered Bam Bam and whipped out Excalibur. I got light magic glowing in my palm and slid it down the blade before the gargoyle came in for a fresh assault. He lunged in with another right hook. I threw up Excalibur at the last second. The gargoyle’s wrist struck the blade. A blinding flash of light erupted from the impact, staggering the stone beast. My light-imbued Excalibur managed to just about block the blow, pain jarring up my arm. But there was no respite. This asshole was determined to kill me. He shook off the impact and stormed in again, his stone wings flaring out behind him.

I grabbed a quick lung of air. My heart was already hammering, adrenaline bolting through my veins. This guy wasn’t gonna let up until I was dead. I held up Excalibur. Vanquish the evil, Demonslayer! King Arthur’s soul said to me from within the blade.

I’m trying, Art, I said as the gargoyle sent a haymaker my way. I swung Excalibur to meet the attack. The gargoyle’s fist clanged against Excalibur’s blade, light exploding out in a radiant star shape. The impact jolted me to the side. The gargoyle seized the initiative. He jabbed his other fist toward my head. I managed to jam Excalibur against it, diluting its power, the light magic jerking the gargoyle back. I ducked and weaved away, hoping to buy myself a second or two, but this was a gargoyle possessed. He leaped up to me, fists flying like Bruce Lee.

I swung Excalibur this way and that, trying my best to keep up with this asshole’s attacks. I blocked as many as I could, but eventually, I ran out of steam. I was too slow to react to a right hook. It caught me on the side of my shoulder, sending me reeling. It was like being hit by a stampeding Minotaur. I flew across the sidewalk and smashed into the wall, the side of my head smacking against brick. The double blow knocked my senses out of line. My eyes rolled like marbles, pain hummed through my body and mind, disorientation striking me like lightning. I teetered before I collapsed to the ground like a felled tree. The next thing I saw was that twisted, grotesque gargoyle mug. He stood over me, glaring down at me with vicious, glowing eyes. He snarled, his snout compressing up his face like an accordion.

My woozy mind started to realign the moment he raised both his fists in the air, ready to land the killer blow. Purgatory here we come. My mind was screaming at me to react, but my body was way behind in the race. My limbs flopped. Any second and my head was gonna be crushed beneath two massive chunks of stone. Stone killed by stone. How ironic.

The gargoyle let out a gravelly grunt and went to bring those fists down. My eyes widened in horror.

Something appeared on the air between us at the last moment, dancing and floating. The gargoyle came to an abrupt halt, his fists still raised in the air, his attention totally captured by the pair of eyebrows and goatee wiggling and twirling on the air like tiny fairies.

Uh! he groaned in surprise, no doubt carrying the IQ of a sandal. The beard bobbed up and down while the eyebrows danced like lithe caterpillars. The gargoyle was mesmerized. With a slack jaw, his eyes followed the flow and dance of the floating facial hair in wonder like a baby enthralled with a rattle. Out of instinct, I used my elbows to back up while that facial hair continued to move around, causing the gargoyle’s head to roll in its socket alongside it. He’d totally forgotten about killing me. Now he was more interested in beards and eyebrows.

I got his attention, Mr. Stone, Zane said to me as a hoarse chuckle broke out from the gargoyle. Now get out of here!

What about you?

Don’t worry about me. I’ll lead him away, then escape. Get going!

I didn’t need a second invitation. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing Excalibur on my way. A hot throb of pain pulsed through my head as I looked around for my Harley. It was waiting for me on the curb a little way up. I dashed right for it, that dumb laughing coming out of the gargoyle echoing in my mind. I hopped on my bike and got her started up. I had a quick glance over my shoulder. The gargoyle reached out to touch the goatee when it suddenly darted away in the opposite direction. The gargoyle let out a growl of frustration and set off after it, his stony feet crunching on the sidewalk.

Thanks, kid, I said to myself. I hoped he’d make it away from that thing in one piece. Without giving it another thought, I pulled back on the throttle and got the hell outta there.

Chapter 2

I leaped back into my apartment and slammed the door behind me, my breathing hot and ragged, sweat plastering my hair to my face. I should’ve been relieved to be home, a man’s home is his castle and all that, but I almost got my ass handed to me so I wasn’t in a relaxed mood. Not that a brush with death was anything new for me, but hey, gargoyles was a first.

I ran into the lounge and immediately pulled down the blinds. I was like a paranoiac off his meds, seeing gargoyles and danger everywhere. I pulled out Bam Bam and held her by my side. Even though she hardly made a dent in that thing, I felt just a little safer with her at the ready.

Everything all right, sugar? Alabama asked me.

Just peachy, Bam.

Who was that stone varmint?

I don’t know. But it looks like I’m gonna have to take a trip to the Chicago Underworld and get you some upgraded slugs.

Ooh! Now that sounds exciting!

Glad it does for someone, I said as I made my way to the medicine cabinet for some aspirin. I needed it. I had a physical and a mental ache. I wasn’t expecting the criminal factions to send a gargoyle to kill me. I thought it would be something more slick, low key. A gargoyle seemed a bit clunky, made a lot of noise, wasn’t exactly discreet. Also, gargoyles were animated stone. They had to have a soul in them to come alive and then that soul directed by a puppet master. It didn’t sound like the remit for a bunch of gangsters. They’d need a dark arts practitioner to crank these things into life, which sounded like too much for those assholes. But hey, maybe it was all for show. To make a spectacle. To have that big lump pound my brains into the sidewalk for everyone to see. Mess with us and this is what you get. Stoned to death.

I swallowed the pills and trudged back to the lounge, my heart slowing to its normal pace. I doubted I’d be getting any sleep, which was a joyous thought. I went and grabbed my Deck of Death from the mantelpiece. I usually left it at home as I didn’t want to risk losing any cards. Now it was like American Express—I’d never leave home without it. I needed all the help I could get. I slumped down on my armchair and rubbed my eyes, Bam Bam sitting across my lap. Thoughts competed in my mind for attention. How much danger was I in? Did they know where I lived? How could I get them off my back? Would Lobo accept me paying back my debt, or had it gone too far and it was now down to a matter of respect? What about Ming? I was already in her bad books. I sided with the forces of good, while she’d sided with Samuel and Beelzebub, and I foiled their plan. They obviously wanted me out of the way so they could fulfill their sick desires of raising Hell to Earth. That thought made me more determined to survive. If my existence pissed off the assholes aligned with Satan and Hell, then I wanted to stay alive for as long as possible.

My thoughts drifted to Zane. Was he okay? He’d saved my skin back there. What about Brutus? Man, I forgot all about him! I hope the gargoyle didn’t go back to finish him off. Well, I was the target, so I doubted he would bother with a dufus like Brutus. I prayed they were all alive and kicking.

The front door closed and I twitched. I instinctively raised Bam Bam and aimed at the lounge door, my eyes wide.

My daughter, Lucy, appeared in the doorway. Her big blue eyes widened and she recoiled. Daddy! What are you doing? You scared the life out of me!

I just stared at her in a daze. Uh…

Her eyes rolled down to Bam Bam. I thought that thing was deactivated.

I looked from her to Bam Bam. Uh. It is.

Then why are you sitting there with it like you’re about to shoot someone?

My mind cleared and I came back to life. Uh, no. I’m just…cleaning it. I put on a grin, wiped the barrel with my sleeve, then placed her down on my lap again. She was a bit dirty, I said in a quiet voice.

Some would even say ‘filthy’! said Bam Bam.

I cleared my throat and sat up in my seat, trying to act normal. Everything’s fine, I said with a twitchy grin.

Lucy gave me a sideways look. Oh-kay. She then put on a wide grin and scampered over to me. Daddy...

I knew that voice. She was being nice. It meant she wanted something. Okay, sweetie, hit me with it. What is it this time? Yeah, I replied in a drawn-out voice.

Can you get something for me?

I knew it!

What’s that, sweetie?

Well, Amy from school has this really cute pony...

Oh boy!

And it was just the cutest thing, and I loved it and I thought about how much I’d love to have one.

I gave her an incredulous stare. You want a pony?

Her face scrunched up. No! I want a horse.

I grabbed my already aching head. Sweetie. Where am I gonna get a horse from? And where are we gonna keep it? It’s not like we’ve got any spare room here.

She put a hand on her hip and gave me the pout. "Amy’s got one at her home."

Amy lives on a ranch.

Well, we’re not going to keep it here, that’s just silly. You hire a stable to look after it.

A stable? And how much will that cost me?

Well, if it’s too much bother for you, then forget it!

I closed my eyes. Why did this crap have to happen to me? Parties, ponies—sorry horses. I mean where was I gonna get a—

A thought struck