A Terrible Fall of Angels

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  Charleston just looked at her; that was all the encouragement he was going to give, and all she needed. “When we visit the parents, is it questioning the family of a suspect who’s escaped by magical means, is it looking at him as another potential victim of the demon, or is it a condolence call?”

  “Normally if we found just bits of skin it would be a condolence call, but nothing about this has been normal, so we don’t know if their son is dead, missing, kidnapped by a demon, or a willing accomplice.”

  “Mark Cookson is not an unwilling victim here,” I said.

  “How can you be so sure?” Charleston asked.

  “You heard them talking to each other. Cookson is a distinct personality; he’s not just somebody who got taken over because he messed with things he didn’t understand the consequences of.”

  “Again, how can you be so sure of that?”

  “Because even victims who wanted to deal with demons, once it’s inside them, they’re afraid. The demon helps them live out their fantasies, but most people don’t actually want to do their revenge fantasies. You’ve seen it before, Lieutenant; the human host is distraught and horrified whenever they can speak to us. Cookson doesn’t seem to feel any remorse at all, let alone horror, at what he did to Megan Borowski.”

  “Just because the kid is enjoying the power trip doesn’t mean he’s not a victim,” Charleston said.

  “If he enjoyed doing what he did to her, then he is too dangerous to be out there among other potential victims whether he’s sharing a body with a demon or alone in his skin.”

  “I can’t rule anything out, Havoc. We have no way of knowing how much the demon is influencing Cookson. He could be horrified once the demon is out of him.”

  “Do you really want another of these people to go free and use ‘the demon made me do it’ as an alibi?”

  “No, but the courts have ruled that demon possession is a viable court defense. It’s only our job to bag them, Havoc; putting them behind bars is up to the lawyers.”

  I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, realizing that my hands were in fists at my sides. I fought to relax my hands as I breathed in and out.

  “If you don’t feel up to this today, Havoc, you can tap out. You got clawed up by a demon, take the rest of today off.”

  “No, thank you, Lieutenant, but I want to help get this guy.”

  He gave me that look that said he wasn’t sure he believed me, but he said, “Fine, but if at any point you think you need a break, take it; Bridges will drop you back at your car, or your apartment, whatever you need.”

  “I must look worse than I feel for you to baby me like this,” I said, smiling to try and make it a joke.

  The look he gave back was serious with no hint of a smile. His dark eyes were trying to read past the smiling, pleasant face I was giving him. He knew me too well to believe it, but he finally gave a small nod.

  “Tell the parents we’re looking for him and you’re just there to gather information to help us figure out what is going on.”

  “Will do, Lieutenant,” Bridges said.

  “I’ll try to keep an open mind about Cookson, sir.”

  “That’s all I ask, Havoc. Now go and find out things. I’ll take Sato and head back to the original crime scene and work it from that end.”

  “Aye-aye, bossman,” Bridges said, and headed for the elevators again. This time I followed her without questioning it. I’d try to keep an open mind, but I knew what I’d heard. Mark Cookson wasn’t a victim; he was a bad guy.

  My watch vibrated against my wrist. One glance was enough to make me groan. I so did not need this right now.

  “What’s wrong?” Lila asked.

  “I’m due at couples therapy with Reggie.”

  “Oh, Havoc, I’m sorry. Couples therapy sucks,” Lila said. She’d gone through her own messy divorce just after I joined the unit. Her ex-wife had come to the precinct once and thrown a box at Lila full of couple gifts. At least my personal issues hadn’t gotten that messy, not yet. I tried picturing Reggie throwing stuff at me at work in front of strangers. No, she’d never lose control like that in public. She saved her passion for private, including her anger.

  “Thanks, Lila, I appreciate the solidarity.”

  “Bitches be crazy, and dudes are stupid—I’ve married one apiece, trust me, it all sucks.” I’d met her ex-husband, Rob; he seemed okay and a lot less likely to throw shit at you than her ex-wife, Annie.

  Charleston came back to us; apparently he’d overheard. “I’ve been happily married to my beautiful wife for thirty years. Not all marriages end in divorce.”

  “You got lucky,” Lila said.

  “Part of it’s luck, finding someone who’s willing to work on the marriage and their own personal issues. A couple either grows together or grows apart.”

  “In the spirit of trying to grow together, I can’t miss this appointment, Lieutenant, I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me, Havoc,” he said.

  I turned to Lila. “I’m so sorry, I’m leaving you hanging here. You need some magical backup in case the parents are involved somehow, or in case there’s been enough black magic done in the house to thin the veil between this reality and Hell.”

  “I know my job, Havoc,” Lila said, giving me a look that made me try to explain.

  “I’m not questioning that; you know I’d take you as backup any day. It’s just I’m feeling guilty that I won’t be there to help you face it, whatever it is.”

  Her face softened. “You’re a good guy, Havoc.”

  “Thanks, I just hope my wife agrees with you today.”

  “Well, she won’t if you miss the appointment,” Charleston said, frowning. “We can get MacGregor to meet Lila at the home.”

  “Old MacGregor or young?” Lila asked.

  Charleston half laughed and half sighed. It was funny, but it was making things more complicated. “They aren’t related, Bridges.”

  “Let me see: a middle-aged or a little older white guy who’s nearly six feet tall and hasn’t hit a gym in almost as long as Antero, compared to a twenty-something, younger-than-Gimble black man who is as tall as you and Havoc—by God they are twins, or at least long-lost family.” She was smiling and overly pleased with herself, but the fact that the newest temporary officer in our unit shared a last name with the detective who had been with us the longest had led to a lot of jokes.

  “MacGregor has been in the unit longer than anyone except Ravensong, so he’s MacGregor,” Charleston said as if he’d just decided it.

  “Okay, what do we call MacGregor two, then?” she asked.

  “Why not just use his first name?” I asked.

  “I tried calling him Goliath,” Lila said, “and he gave me this look, said he doesn’t go by it.”

  “I can understand why he doesn’t use it, but what does he go by?” I asked.

  Charleston said, “I already had this talk with him, and he goes by MacGregor.”

  “How about Mac?” I suggested.

  “His stepdad is Mac,” Charleston said.

  I glanced at my watch. “I feel like I’m leaving you guys in the lurch, but I have to go if I’m going to make the appointment.”

  “You sure you feel well enough to drive yourself?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Lila said, “I was supposed to be your taxi because you got cut up by a demon.”

  “I’m good.” And in my head I thought, no way was I taking Lila and me off the job for my couples counseling.

  They both gave me hard looks, but I managed to just wave and start inching my way toward the elevators. “Just let me know what nickname you decide on for Officer Goliath MacGregor, so I don’t get it wrong.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, if you get it wrong Goliath will let you know,” Lila said, rolling her eyes.

  Charleston grinned. “I told him it could always be worse, try being a boy named Adinka through elementary school and seventh grade.”

  Lila gave
a low whistle. “Everybody thought it was a girl’s name, didn’t they?”

  Charleston nodded.

  “Wait,” she said, “you said just seventh grade, not junior high, what happened to make it bearable in eighth grade?”

  “I hit my growth spurt fast and hard the summer between seventh and eighth grade.” He grinned again, but this time it was fiercer, the smile that the sports magazines had touted as his killer smile. I’d seen suspects confess after being offered to be alone with him and that smile. Charleston would never have harmed them, but he gave off raw menace better than almost anyone I knew. He’d tried to teach me how to do it since I had the size to intimidate, but he finally gave up, saying, “I guess you get to be the good cop.” I was okay with being the good cop. I wondered if Goliath MacGregor would be able to do bad and good; he was certainly tall enough to intimidate most people.

  “Good luck, I’ll contact you both when I’m out of the appointment,” I said.

  “You got this, Havoc,” Lila said.

  I shook my head. “If I asked you what women want, would you have an answer?”

  She smiled, but it was more bitter than funny. Her eyes were bleak as she said, “If I knew the answer to that I’d still be married to my own wife.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Our therapist was older than us by at least a decade. There was a plain silver band on her ring finger. Our first therapist had been younger than us and the longest she’d managed to live with anyone was less than a year; she’d never been married. How did I know all that about her? Because I’d asked after a few sessions where I felt like maybe we knew more than she did about being a couple. It had been a huge fight with Reggie. She’d almost signed the divorce papers, so she said later. There was a part of me that would have been relieved if she’d done it. I didn’t want our marriage to end, but I was beginning to just want it done, yes or no, in or out. Hell might be worse than Purgatory, but at least you picked a direction and knew your fate.

  Dr. Martin sat there looking pleasant, but serious, as if she was almost smiling, but you could never quite catch her at it. It was a neat trick, like counselors had their own version of cop face, that mask you wore when you wanted a suspect or a witness to tell you everything you needed to know. The best thing she’d accomplished for us so far was getting Reggie to stop harping on my first marriage to a stripper when I was a brand-new private in the army. The woman had taken me for everything I had, what little there was of it, and served me papers when I was in a forward area, probably hoping I’d die in combat, so she’d get the most insurance possible. That was the marriage that taught me I didn’t have to marry a woman just because I had sex with her once. Did I mention I was raised in what amounted to a religious cult?

  “Zaniel, are you even listening to me?” Reggie’s voice on the other end of the couch from me.

  I hadn’t been listening. I didn’t even know how long I hadn’t been listening; not good. I took a deep breath in and let it out slow as I turned to look at her. Seeing her still hurt like hell. When we’d first started counseling, I’d stared at her as if I wanted to memorize her. The full face, which she thought was too wide, but I thought framed her big, brown eyes perfectly. If her face had been narrower the eyes would have been too big like a Japanese anime character. The strong, high cheekbones that almost overwhelmed her mouth, which was why she wore lip liner and lipstick constantly to give the illusion that her upper lip was closer to the fullness of her bottom lip. I thought she was beautiful without any makeup, but the dark, artful lipstick did help bring her lips out to balance the strength of her face and those huge, dark eyes. The eyes were the third thing I’d noticed about her when we first met. The first was her height. She was five foot nine and had been wearing five-inch stilettos, which made her an inch shorter than me. I’d thought for a second, before I saw the shoes, that she was my height, and I’d loved it. When you’re six-three you date shorter women, because it’s hard to find taller ones, but I saw those strong shoulders, the fine muscle play in her tanned arms, and I thought, Athlete, and I liked that, too.

  Her back had been strong and bare with tiny little straps barely there. The pink blossoms and curling green leaves of the tattoo on her right shoulder seemed to cover more than the back of her dress. The tanned skin of her back had been exposed to her waist with just a hint of the swell of her hips as she moved. When I finally got to see her from the front the dress had been solid black, hinting at small, firm breasts, which went along with the amount of slim muscle under all that smooth skin. Most women had to trade curves for that level of fitness, and I was good with the trade. Her hair was a brown so dark I’d thought it was black until I saw it in bright sunlight on our third date. Her hair was thick and wavy, but she straightened it almost as often as she wore the red lipstick that stood out against her tan like a Valentine’s Day promise.

  She was wearing the lipstick today, along with enough eye makeup to make her eyes huge and romantic, except for the anger in them. She spent most counseling sessions angry. I spent most of them confused. It was like she had the CliffsNotes on how to do couples counseling and hadn’t shared them with me.

  “Sorry, could you repeat that last part?”

  She crossed her arms underneath the fuller breasts that cutting back on the exercise and having a baby had given her. The thin red sweater looked good against her almost year-round tan; she could get lighter if she stayed indoors enough, but she never looked pale. Her grandmother was Colombian and her grandfather Colombian and Mexican, and yes, the distinction is important. So many people just label it all Hispanic or Latina, but it’s so much more multilayered and multicultural than that. Her mother had been the first person in the family to go to college and refused to speak Spanish at home. She was American, damn it. Reggie learned Spanish in college and used it daily as a teacher on the West Coast.

  “My eyes are up here, Zaniel,” she said, her voice thick with disdain, as if to say, So like a man to stare at breasts.

  I hadn’t been staring at them, not really, but I didn’t try to explain that I’d been looking at her breasts and then started thinking about other things but just never changed my eye-line. She wouldn’t believe me anyway.

  “You look nice today. Why am I in trouble for noticing?”

  She covered her face with her hands and said, “What color of eye shadow am I wearing?”

  Her nails were a red that matched the sweater and the lipstick. “You wore the extra eyeliner to make your eyes look bigger, and added mascara, which you almost never do, because your eyes are so fabulous you don’t need it. You told me once it was overkill for you. Eye shadow is something pink and purplish, with an edge of sparkly red, but it’s all blended together so maybe there’s a brown in there somewhere.”

  She lowered her hands and stared at me, with her pink and purple eye shadow; yes, there was some brown in the crease of her eyes, and that sparkle of red like glitter almost. She’d worn makeup either for me or for her own courage, or she had a date later. The thought made my stomach clench tight, which sort of hurt with the demon scratches healing and all.

  “I thought you’d stopped looking at me,” she said.

  “You told me I was staring at you and it made you uncomfortable, so I stopped doing it.”

  She stared at me as if she didn’t know what to say, which was a first in this quiet room with Dr. Martin watching us. She’d expected me to be wrong, to be just another stupid man who stares at women’s breasts and doesn’t look at their faces. But I’d never been that guy, because the first woman I had ever loved had taught me to notice her, and I’d never stopped noticing women not just sexually, but in all the ways She’d wanted to be noticed. How She made her hair that day, her eyes, her smile; she wanted to be worshipped and I had worshipped her. Women after Her had taught me that they didn’t want to be worshipped, or they weren’t worthy of it until Reggie. I thought she was The One. It wouldn’t be until after our son was born that I realized I was the romanti
c in our relationship, and Reggie was the practical one. Romance is hard after a baby; practical is easy, practical is necessary, romance not so much. I loved Connery more than I’d ever loved anyone except Reggie and the first woman in my life, but I missed the kind of couple we’d been before he was born. I was beginning to be afraid that we couldn’t be a couple and parents at the same time, and it scared me.

  “You always noticed the physical stuff, I guess I forgot how much you pay attention. But did you hear what I said, were you listening to me?”

  Her body was softer than when we’d met, which meant her hips filled out the skintight jeans really well, and with less muscle on her calves she could fit into a lot more tall boots. She was wearing one of my favorite pairs today. Had she done that on purpose, or had she not even remembered how much I loved to go down on her while she wrapped the boots around my shoulders? If she wore them because she remembered, I liked it; if she’d forgotten I didn’t want to know.

  “Say something, Zaniel.”

  I watched the irritation fill her eyes and knew the anger wasn’t far behind. “No, I didn’t hear what you just said, Reggie.”

  I had tried to look at her as little as possible during the sessions for a while. If she was never going to be mine again, then I wanted to erase the memory of her body from my mind. I didn’t want to remember the strength of her the first few years, or the softer grace of her when she had to quit her job as a fitness instructor to teach high school full-time, because she’d finished her degree. She’d taught women’s strength and fitness as her job to help pay for college. Our second date had been working out at her gym. I’d been able to keep up with her, and she’d been able to keep up with me, and some things she was better at, and some things I’d been better at, and that had pleased us both.

  I didn’t want to remember how the baby weight had made her breasts fuller, and her hips a little wider, so that it was like making love to a third her. I’d loved all of her, whatever weight or size; I looked at her sitting just on the other end of the couch, two feet from me, and for the first time I didn’t think just about Reggie. I thought about Kate’s face, the feel of her hand on mine, the strength of her, the pain in her. I thought about Hazel Prescott’s bravery and competence. Was it unfair to compare their bravery in crisis to Reggie sitting there, arms crossed under the fullness of her breasts, a pout on her face and the anger turning her brown eyes black? I’d thought the pout was cute once. The temper had never been charming.