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  CAN’T TOUCH THIS

  WAR OF THE ANGELS™ BOOK SIX

  MICHAEL TODD MICHAEL ANDERLE LAURIE STARKEY

  Can’t Touch This (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 Michael Todd, Michael Anderle, and Laurie Starkey

  Cover by Ryn Katryn Digital Art

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, March 2019

  ISBN: 978-1-64202-150-9

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Todd

  Books by Michael Todd

  Books written as Michael Anderle

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  DEDICATION

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  May We All Enjoy Grace

  to Live the Life We Are

  Called.

  1

  Baal fidgeted, crossing one leg, then the other, and going back, propping his plate on his leg. He held his fork firmly in his taloned fingers and pushed the Brussel sprouts around. He still didn’t understand the obsession with human food, especially the green leafy kind. Nonetheless, he knew his manners. He had been invited over to eat and drink, and that was what he was going to do, even if it was in a damp, dark cave with Beelzebub.

  Beelzebub sat opposite him, holding his plate in one hand and shoveling in food with the other. It was apparent from the pieces of half-chewed meat on his chin that he did not remember his manners. Beelzebub shook his fork at Baal with a huge bite of steak in his mouth. “You mo wat? I rewy…”

  Baal shook his head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t understand what you were saying. It might have to do with the masticated cow in your mouth.”

  Beelzebub chuckled, swallowing hard. “I was saying, I really have taken the time to look back at my failures over the centuries. The attempt to overtake the Catholic Church. The attempt on King Henry’s life. Oh, and that unfortunate event involving President Reagan. I never liked how he mocked me after that. Really boiled my blood. But all and all I’m okay with it.”

  Baal raised an eyebrow, chewing the rare steak. “Letting ourselves off the hook, are we?”

  Beelzebub snorted. “Hardly. Trust me, I paid for those indiscretions, plus some. In the end, though, I made it back onto the Council, didn’t I? That means that even though I have not been the perfect protégé of Lucifer, I have brought myself back up from the trenches to reclaim former glories. It is very fucking poetic.”

  Baal gave him a doubtful look, trying to ignore the clanging of the ancient hell-forged armor Beelzebub was wearing. It definitely showed how long ago he had become a ranking official in Lucifer’s upper echelon. But at that point, it was starting to rust. There were at least three strands of wire holding the chest plate to the shoulders, and it smelled like it had been dragged through blood and feces and never wiped down. The clanging of it all was almost unbearable to Baal, but who was he to say what the other demon could or couldn’t wear?

  Beelzebub noticed Baal eyeing his armor, and he sat up taller, puffing his chest out. He took a bite of his food, and several pieces plopped on his lap. Baal held back a gag as the other doubled over and licked it off. “You like the armor? I figured since I am back on the council, I need to make a good impression. I would also like to remind the sniveling young ones how long I have been here, and how long I will continue to be so into the future. I think that the armor achieves that goal without going over the top.”

  Baal raised his eyebrows, trying to swallow a piece of potato without gagging. “Mmm. Mmhmm. The armor is…very subtle, though I’m pretty sure your reputation is enough to handle that job.”

  Beelzebub snarled. “Maybe for demons like you—smart ones. But for some of them, they focus only on the negative and nothing on all the good I have done for Lucifer’s empire. Just now, I realized that you have to know when to step out of the shadows and make yourself known.”

  Baal stopped chewing, trying to think of the actual good the other demon had done, but nothing was coming up. He kept it to himself, though, deciding that picking a fight probably wasn’t his best option.

  Katie yawned and rolled over in her bed, still shocked every time she woke up on her own because Pandora slept separately. It was almost alarming at times, and she had to remind herself of what was going on. She reached over and picked up the clock to look at the time; it was only eight. She rolled her eyes, putting the clock down. Now, after she could finally decide on her own when to get up, she couldn’t sleep in.

  She rolled back over and pulled the covers up to her chin, staring out the window. It looked cold outside. Pretty day, but still cold. The smell of coffee wafted over her and she sighed, knowing there would be no going back to sleep. It was what it was. Katie threw the covers back and stretched, bringing her arms up over her head. As she exhaled, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, wagging her feet and admiring her still fresh looking painted toes.

  Getting out of bed, she scratched her stomach as she looked down at the pink plaid pajama pants and Batgirl T-shirt Angie had gotten her. She smiled and grabbed her fleece robe, wrapping up in it and walking to the door. She stepped into the hall and stopped, staring at Pandora, who had shuffled sleepily out of her room. They stared at each other’s matching robes and pants for a moment, and both shrugged.

  Katie reached over and pulled her robe open just a tad. Her shirt had a bat too, but apparently, Angie had a sense of humor because it read Slut Girl on the front. Pandora grinned and Katie rolled her eyes, continuing down the hall toward the smell of breakfast. They reached the kitchen door at the same time and glanced at each other, ramming through shoulder to shoulder.

  Angie looked up from the platter she was placing donu
ts on and smiled. “Well, good morning, twin angels. All you need now is a third, and a boss named Charlie.”

  Pandora raised an eyebrow, and Angie’s mouth fell open. “You’ve never seen Charlie’s Angels? We will remedy that real soon. The old ones and the new ones.”

  They all sat down at the table, cups of piping hot coffee already in front of each of their seats. Pandora reached over and grabbed a glazed donut, pulling it apart and shoving a quarter of it into her mouth. She grumbled; she was definitely not a morning person. “Didn’t we have a big blue monster or something?”

  Angie smiled, grabbing a donut and dipping it into her coffee. “Mmhmm. He’s still here. He went out to get groceries.”

  Both Katie and Pandora stopped chewing and looked at her suspiciously. Katie put out her hand, talking with donut in her mouth. “Wait. Not only did Juntto actually go grocery shopping, but you let him go on his own? Aren’t you afraid you will find him slaughtering his own goat in the kitchen?”

  Angie shook her head. “No, we had that talk. It was painful for him, but he understands.”

  Katie continued chewing. “Oh, good. Well, I hope the groceries aren’t for this house too, because I don’t want to live off of whatever shiny thing he finds in the store.”

  Angie chuckled. “He wanted to make a feast on YouTube. He’s jealous. He’s been watching me rake in money on Twitch, and he wants his own fanbase. Cooking with Juntto, he wants to call it.”

  Pandora blinked, finally starting to wake up. “Might be interesting, though I have a feeling his dishes will be filled with random spices like, oh, pepper, sugar, and malt vinegar. Only because he has no idea what he’s doing.”

  Katie glared at Pandora. “Or he’ll shock us all and become a famous chef.”

  Pandora went to talk, but the roar of voices out the window far exceeded the normal buzz of a New York City morning. They were off the regular track of the major traffic too, so to hear it from the kitchen was pretty impressive. They all sat there for a moment, not chewing or drinking, just listening to different voices shouting. The voices were distorted through the glass, so they couldn’t really make out much of what was being said.

  Katie put her ear to the cold glass. “I think they said something about angels.”

  Pandora sighed, throwing her head back. “Oh, joy. The protestors must be back.”

  Katie grinned, loving a good challenge. “Come on, let’s go wave at them.”

  All three girls gathered their coffees and headed to the living room and out onto the balcony. The wind hit them hard and they screeched, immediately huddling together and rethinking the idea completely. Before they could turn back, though, someone shouted from below, “There they are. There are the trouble-making bitches.”

  Katie looked at Pandora and narrowed her eyes. “You be good. They have every right to protest.”

  Pandora grinned. “And I have every right to accidentally drop a piano out of the window right on top of them. I can watch their feet curl up and their ruby slippers be left behind.”

  Katie laughed, and the girls sidestepped together over to the railing. Leaning forward, they saw that their intuition was correct. Gathered in their normal spot right in front of the entrance to the building was a small group of protestors. The ones who loved them had not yet gotten there, which was probably good since the last time there had been brawling in the street.

  Angie leaned forward, wiggling her butt. “I really feel like I would have to reevaluate my life if I had nothing better to do—including sleep—than get up and come to someone’s home at eight in the morning, especially when it is colder than Antarctica, just to protest something I can’t change. I mean, I get marching for women’s rights and marching against racial injustice, but protesting against angels? They need a fucking hobby.”

  There were signs below reading No Angels and Go Home Pandora! Pandora especially liked the one where someone had drawn her in stick figure form with wings, a halo, and devil horns. They had made sure to include her huge tits. Pandora smirked. “ At least they made me anatomically correct.”

  Katie and Angie giggled. Pandora cupped her hand around her mouth and began to shout down to them, getting their attention. They all quieted down and stared up at her as if she were the Pope. “Attention, all people in front of my condo. It’s too early for your bullshit, you dick-slapping monkey-fuckers! Come back and protest at a decent hour!”

  They all mumbled, waving their hands at her and going back to their conversations. The girls hurried back inside and let out deep breaths, waiting for the warm air to defrost them. Pandora untied her robe and pulled the waistband of her pants out, looking down at her crotch. Katie raised her eyebrow. “Really?”

  Pandora tied her robe again. “What? Ever since Kabbus, once a day, I make sure everything is where it should be.”

  The demon servants set out what was needed for the meeting and then scurried off. They never knew whether the Dark Lord would lose it in one of those things, and none of them wanted to end up missing a leg. The room was lit a little brighter today, and Lucifer sat firmly in his seat at the front of the room. Mania was back in her chair. Her face was still distant, though, something Lucifer hoped would change.

  Azazel, Belial, Asmodeus, Baal, and Beelzebub all hurried in, everyone getting there ten minutes early and standing tall and ready in the center of the floor. It was another council meeting, and Lucifer had been anticipating their arrival. There was much to talk about, even though the members had no idea why they had been summoned again.

  Everyone but Beelzebub came in simple dress-down cloaks with a gold pentagram on the front. Beelzebub, however, showed up in his armor, clinking through the chambers, his arms hard to bend in the metal covering. The other demons glanced at him, stifling laughs. Beelzebub looked at the others and then down at himself.

  He glanced at Baal. “I’m starting to believe that maybe I should have rethought the armor. Perhaps I am overdressed for the occasion. No one told me we were going with robes. I would have pulled mine out of the back of the closet. It never ceases to amaze me that I am not in the loop.”

  Baal shrugged, making sure to whisper so as to not piss off the boss. “Hey, look at it this way: at least you’re making an impression.”

  Lucifer stood up and stared at the demons in front of him. Baal and Beelzebub separated, putting their hands behind their backs. Well, kind of. Beelzebub struggled to do so, trying to put them in back of him, but the armor wasn’t allowing it. He held them by his side instead. Eyeing Beelzebub, Lucifer walked down, holding something behind him.

  He pulled out his pitchfork and held it up in front of him, rubbing his finger along the tines. “You know, normally in hell, it’s all about you. It’s all about one demon’s individual success. However, when you are part of the council, you are working for me, and in order to make that successful, you have to learn teamwork. I think Baal has quite a bit of experience with teamwork.”

  Baal nodded, feeling like that might not have been a compliment. Lucifer sniffed, twirling the pitchfork in his big claws like a baton. “You have to work not only with each other, but with the plethora of demons working for me as well. This is not a winner-take-all scenario. If you want power and status? In return, you do my bidding as a team, not as individuals—unless of course I specifically tell you to do so. I don’t care if you don’t get along. I hate all of you miserable rats, but I do my best not to sink my teeth into you every time I am around you. I know it takes a castle of demons to make this work.”

  Lucifer looked at the council, getting the feeling it was going over their heads. “Let me give you an analogy. This council is like a pitchfork. There are three prongs to this weapon. If one of the prongs fails, it’s not a pitchfork, it’s just a sharp stick.”

  All of them began to nod, finally understanding. Lucifer rolled his eyes and walked back down the line. He stood in front of Beelzebub, his eyes staring into the demon’s soul. He flipped the pitchfork up and held it by the handle,
pointing it at the demon. “Sometimes we find the prong broken off by someone who didn’t work as a team.”

  Lucifer’s eyes flashed and he whirled the pitchfork, hitting Beelzebub hard in the groin with the handle. Beelzebub groaned, cupping his balls and falling onto his back. Lucifer wasted no time in his attack. He lifted the pitchfork up and threw it hard, spearing the demon in the thigh. The prongs chipped into the stone floor, the thigh leaking black blood over the stone.

  Beelzebub’s face grew bright red, but he held back his screams, knowing whatever was coming would be even worse if he didn’t take it head-on. He had been taken completely taken off-guard, thinking everything had been going just fine. He’d had several closed-door meetings with Lucifer, he had set the Leviathan on Katie and the rest, and he had given him advice on Mania. Lucifer had gone so far as to invite him back onto the council.

  Beelzebub’s eyes flashed up at Baal, who kept his stare directly on the floor beneath him. Beelzebub tried to reach for his leg, to at least squeeze it, but his armor prohibited him from bending that far. He clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, hoping that whatever came next was quick and to the point. The centuries-old pitchfork, flaking with rust, did not feel too good stabbed through his thigh.