I took a deep breath. “Chicago.”
Chapter Nine
My eyes burned when we landed in Chicago outside my makeshift earthly residence. I checked my watch and stopped the time clock.
It was still March 24. Only now, in the Central Standard Time Zone, it was earlier than when I’d left Earth. 5:59 p.m. The time clock had been running for eleven minutes, and I’d just spent the better part of a day in Eden.
I would never get used to that.
“What is this place?” Cassiel asked.
Claymore’s Chicago safe house didn’t look like much from the street. And it was clear not much had changed in the time I’d been away. The front-porch roof was still falling down. The front steps were still caved in. And boards were tacked up over the windows thanks to the squatters I’d run off the last time I’d come.
If only they’d known what lay beneath that old shack.
The three of us carefully navigated the front porch to the door. I waved my hand over the deadbolt, and the lock tumbled back in place. “Welcome to my humble earthly abode,” I said, pushing the door open and stepping out of their way.
Reuel walked right in.
Cassiel hesitated.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
She nervously shook her head. “Just making sure the floor doesn’t fall through before I walk across it.”
“I can assure you it’s safe.”
“Under the circumstances, forgive me for not being confident in your assurances.” Through the buildings across the street, the setting sun almost formed a perfect halo behind her head. I would have laughed had I not been so pissed she was there.
I walked inside ahead of her, turned around, and jumped up and down on the dusty but solid floor. “There are eighteen inches of concrete and steel underneath the subflooring. It’s not going anywhere.”
She clenched her fists at her sides and carefully walked to me.
“See?”
She didn’t respond.
I pulled the string of the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling in what used to be the living room. It illuminated the fact that the interior of the house wasn’t any nicer than the exterior—at least not the part we were standing in.
The drywall had been stripped to the support beams, where the squatters had cut the copper wiring. They’d set up camp on the floor with dirty sheets and half-melted candles, and the whole room reeked of urine. In the kitchen, the refrigerator door gaped open, dangling only from its bottom hinge.
“Nice place,” Cassiel said, pinching her nose closed.
“This way.” I waved for them to follow me down the dark hallway to the coat-closet door. Inside was the broken mop and old work towels right where I’d left them. I felt blindly along the inside of the doorframe until my fingers found the switch they were searching for.
The hydraulics hissed in the walls as the shelves slid back and then rose out of our view. A steep staircase was hidden behind it. The lights below flickered on.
Reuel was grinning like it was the first time he’d ever seen it. He turned sideways to wedge himself into the narrow closet.
Cassiel looked impressed, probably against her will.
“Ladies first,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
She cautiously inched forward, and I followed her down the stairs. At the bottom was an open living room with a flat-screen TV. One whole wall was a steel cage that housed enough firepower to level the block. Beyond it, the state-of-the-art kitchen had stainless-steel everything and a table that could accommodate twelve.
One side of the bunker had a dorm-style bathroom and a massive room full of bunk beds. On the other was my small bedroom with a king-sized bed, another TV, and its own bath.
“I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised,” Cassiel said, taking it all in.
“It’s not Eden, but it’ll do.”
She spun on her heel toward me. “You should know, one advantage for you in having me along is the Council has agreed that either of you might speak any language deemed necessary during our travels.”
I crossed my arms. “Why should I care? I’m not bound by that law anyway.”
“No.” She pointed at Reuel. “But he is.”
Reuel perked up.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if your muscle could communicate along the journey?” she asked.
I scowled, but unfortunately, she had a point and she knew it. “Excellent news. Any other upsides to this arrangement you’d like to inform me of?”
She didn’t answer, so I walked past her to my bedroom. Reuel went to the dormitory.
Cassiel followed me. “What are we doing here?”
Reuel and I had collected our things from our lockers before we left the spirit world, so I tossed my phone and wallet on the bed. Turning toward her, I unbuttoned my shirt, hoping for a reaction out of the nosy angel. I didn’t get one.
“We’re changing. We’ll stick out bad enough in Africa without wearing clothes made from the fabric of the universe.”
“We’re really going to Africa?”
“Yes.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You know the Father can’t just leave and come back to Eden, right?”
“Why not?”
“When he comes to Earth, he has to stay for a solar year. It’s part of the limitations he put on himself. For him to return to Eden early, you’d have to dispatch him from his body.”
“I knew that.” I totally didn’t know that. In my head, I was swearing. “He can get on a plane though.”
“But he won’t. He probably can’t even recognize the Morning Star in his human form.”
The Father had intervened for my family before. Perhaps he would do it again. “Feel free to go back to Eden, but if you’re coming with me, go change.”
She looked down at the outfit she was wearing. “This really won’t work?”
“It might if we were attending a Renaissance festival.”
She scowled.
I pointed out the door. “Grab something from the locker marked ‘Fury’ in the dormitory.” I looked Cassiel up and down as I unzipped my pants. “You’re about the same size.”
“Anything else?” she asked, annoyed.
“Yeah, dress in layers and start with something lighter than that crap you’ve got on. We’re going to one of the hottest and driest climates in this world.”
“Are you planning to be rude the entire time we’re on Earth?”
“Probably. Why? You wanna go home?”
“I’m not the enemy here. I’m just trying to do my job.”
“Spare me your attempts to ease your conscience, Cassiel.”
She stepped dangerously close. “You’re stuck with me either way, so if you want to make this trip even more miserable for yourself, keep up your execrable attitude.”
Before I could argue—or clarify that execrable meant bad—she turned and left the room.
I swore and threw my shirt on the bed.
I quickly changed into olive-drab tactical pants and a black T-shirt. Then I picked up my phone and tapped Azrael’s name in my recent-call list.
He answered on the first ring. “That was fast.”
I kept my voice low. “We need to talk, but not right now. The Council sent a chaperone back with me. I’ll need you to stay available if I check in.”
“You got it. Was their decision what you feared?”
“Worse. I’m heading to Malab now to talk to the Father. I would say pray that he helps fix this mess, but I know who’s listening.”
Azrael groaned on the other end of the line. “OK. Touch base when you can. We’re heading back to Asheville tonight.”
“You might see me there soon, but I sincerely hope not. Keep Iliana in the penthouse.”
“We will.”
“Tell Azrael I said hello.” Cassiel’s voice behind me was startling.
I ended the call and turned around.
Holy hell. Cassiel was wearing Fury’s desert-camo fatigue pants, a suct
ion-tight black tank top, and desert-tan boots. She smiled…because I’m pretty sure I gave her the reaction I’d been looking for earlier.
If she’d been trying to disarm me, it worked.
I cleared my throat. “That’ll do.”
It was clear she was tempted to laugh. Instead, she held up the bag she’d brought along. “Can I bring this, or is it too conspicuous as well?” Her tone was full of snark.
I had to turn away from her. “It’s fine.” The bag could have been a cherub with a zipper on its forehead and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Was it hot in here? Just me?
One thing was certain: Fury would be pissed to know another woman was wearing her clothes, and wearing them that well. Good god.
Thankfully, Reuel walked into the room, once again wearing his street clothes. Then he took one look at Cassiel and started laughing.
He knew me too well.
I gritted my teeth and mouthed the words “shut up” while Cassiel was looking back at him. That didn’t help. He doubled over, bracing his arms against his knees.
“What’s so funny?” Cassiel asked.
“Nothing.”
She pointed at my face. “You’re lying again.”
I grabbed her finger and pushed it down. “You’ve got to stop doing that. This is Earth. My planet. My rules.”
“That’s really not the way this works, Warren.”
I wanted to say to her, “It’s a good thing you’re hot,” but I knew she might throw me into Cira for a century of solitude and hard labor.
Instead, I looked at my watch. “We’ve got time to kill before it makes any sense to go to Malab.”
Reuel patted his stomach. “Akai uno.”
Cassiel rolled her eyes. “Of course you could eat.”
I smiled. “Cassiel, are you hungry?”
Her nose wrinkled. “For food here? Is that a joke?”
“Then you can stay here and wait. We’re going out for a few hours.”
With a smirk, she draped her bag over her shoulder. “And let the two of you abandon me in this den of roaches? I don’t think so.”
I sighed heavily. “Then are you ready to go?”
“As always, Warren, I’m waiting on you.”
* * *
The Horn of Africa was the peninsula that jutted out from the northeast corner of the continent. It was the jagged section on the map that looked like it had broken off from Saudi Arabia. Maybe it had? I made a mental note to ask someone when we got back to Eden.
I could have asked Cassiel, but I decided against it because she tended to be smug when answering questions. I also wanted to avoid telling her about the suspicious killings Samael had discovered in Italy, lest the Council be given anything else to potentially blame on me.
Beside me, she was kicking her boots against the cracked earth behind a crooked hut made of mud and grass where we’d appeared. “I’ve never been anywhere on Earth like this before.”
My head pulled back. “Really?”
“No. I’ve spent most of my limited days on Earth in Europe.”
“I guess that explains the Braveheart getup from earlier.”
Reuel chuckled.
“You’re from America. What were you doing in a place like this? Were you here with the military?”
“Don’t you know? I kind of assumed you knew everything about me.”
“I know a lot. But not this.”
Perhaps she had mentally heard me accusing her of being smug. “I haven’t exactly been here, but I spent a lot of time in the region during my days working for Claymore. My first assignment with them was farther south in Somalia, but I’d say it’s similar.”
“You worked for Azrael then,” she said as we walked around the front of the hut toward a building made of stone and clay with a tin roof.
My head tilted from side to side. “Yeah, I just didn’t know it then. I thought I worked for some faceless ex-special-ops guy named Damon Claymore. I didn’t find out Claymore was Azrael and that Azrael was my father until much later.”
“How did that make you feel?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get inside my head?”
She smiled, barely. “Why? Are you trying to keep me out?”
“Definitely.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Sort of. The Father’s close. I felt him as soon as we crossed the spirit line.”
It was the middle of winter in Malab and not too long after sunrise when we arrived. Still, it was warm enough for the local children to be in shorts. Most of them were shoeless, but I doubted that was by choice given the state of the ragged clothes hanging off their skinny frames.
A few boys were kicking a bright red ball around a small patch of grass beside a pasture with three bony cows behind a knotty fence. They stopped playing immediately when they saw us, and their faces broke into wide smiles.
Funny thing about kids, they were never afraid of me. Adults usually were, some more terrified than others because nearly all adults feared death. Never kids.
These boys immediately ran to us and began going through our pockets. They were all laughing and begging for something. I kept recognizing the word karamela as they pulled on us.
I held my hands over my head in surrender. “What’s happening?”
“They want candy,” Cassiel translated.
Reuel chuckled and reached into his shirt pocket for the candy bar he’d grabbed from his safe. He tore open the wrapper and broke the chocolate into chunks. When he passed out the pieces, the boys squealed with delight.
“The Father always has candy in his pockets for the children. He must be close.” Cassiel looked around the quiet village square, then back at the boys. She spoke to them in a language I didn’t recognize.
The boys excitedly pointed down a road to our right. They kept saying “Abo John” so I assumed they were telling Cassiel where to find him. Father John was the name he often went by on Earth. It was the name he’d used when Sloan and I met him the very first time in San Antonio, Texas.
“They say the Father is at the river…” Her head fell to the side. “He’s hosting a fishing tournament.” She sounded as confused as I felt. Funny, for an Angel of Knowledge. She looked up at me. “A fishing tournament?”
“Are you sure you translated correctly?” I asked with a grin.
Her brow pinched. “Really?”
“I heard He was at the river too. Let’s check it out,” Reuel said.
The tallest boy near Reuel motioned us forward. He wanted us to follow. All the other boys joined him—the youngest took Cassiel by the hand—and the group led us down the street.
“What are their names?” I asked as Reuel and I followed behind.
Cassiel spoke to the boys in their language, then translated their answers. “The oldest here is Ezana. And this is Jima and Dawit.” She looked down at the boy holding her hand. “And this is—”
“Kelyle,” he answered for her with a wave.
I waved back. “Hello, Kelyle.”
We walked about a half mile outside the small village before the boys turned right onto a small dirt path. From what I gathered through Cassiel’s translations, the Father had been in this particular village for a little over a month. He had been helping them build boats and learn how to fish.
The boys were very interested to know if we had ever eaten fish. Reuel and I both told them yes to their great delight. Cassiel said no.
“You’ve never eaten fish?” I asked as we crested a berm through a broken wooden fence.
“Once, maybe, when I was in Ireland near the coast. But I assure you it wasn’t on purpose.”
“You don’t eat fish, and you won’t eat in Chicago. What do you eat?”
“When I’m here, I try to stick to fruits and vegetables if I can find them without all the pesticides and growth hormones your kind uses.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I had no idea you were such a
snob, Cassiel.”
“And I had no idea you were so ignorant.”
With a smile, Reuel nodded toward her, up ahead of us, as he walked beside me. He spoke quietly in Katavukai. Translated, he said, “Never trust a woman who can’t appreciate the four basic food groups.” Then he counted on his fingers. “Steak, bread, potato chips, and chocolate.”
I chuckled.
I could hear water up ahead. “We must be close.”
The vegetation of the land thickened as we neared the water, but the boys led us through a break in the shrubs and spindly trees. Male voices carried over the sound of the water. Finally, we saw them. Twenty or so men fishing from the riverbanks or out in small boats.
Father John was by the river’s edge, working with an older man to wind a long fishing line around a scrap of wood. He looked up before he could have heard us, sensing our presence as we could sense his.
“Ah, my friends. How lovely to see you!” He cheered, waving to us. The first time I met the Father he was dressed as an actual priest in a long black robe. Today, he wore a short-sleeved, button-up tan shirt tucked into dark trousers with rainbow suspenders.
Reuel leaned toward me. “Akai unmai minpi.”
“I know.” I scratched my head and shrugged. “He’s actually fishing.”
Father John pulled on the old man’s arm. “Come, meet my friends.”
The boy who led us to the river ran to the water and waved to two men in a boat. The three younger boys followed him.
We met Father John halfway. He greeted Cassiel with a hug first. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” he said in Katavukai as he embraced her. “I’d like you to meet my new friend, Absame. Absame is an elder of the Barid tribe.” Then he spoke to the man in his native language. All I understood was our names.
Absame and the Father exchanged a few more words before Absame returned to the river.
I crossed my arms and looked out over the water. “It’s good to see you, Father. What are you doing here?”
The Father laughed, sounding a lot like Santa Claus. He was plump and nearly bald, with a birthmark that looked like South America bleeding over onto his forehead. “We are having a fishing tournament, Warren. What does it look like?”
“Yes, but why are you having a fishing tournament?” Reuel asked.
The Soul Destroyer: The Soul Summoner Series Book 7 Page 10
