He stepped around her, not even meeting her eyes as he spoke through the side of his mouth in her general direction. “We don’t know each other. I prefer to keep it that way after seeing how you almost bungled this entirely.”
He stopped in front of me, handing over a folder and a long, iron key, ignoring the strange sounds coming from the real estate agent’s mouth.
I nodded gratefully at Achilles, another friend from St. Louis. Well, Nate’s friend, first, but I had commandeered him specifically for this. “Thank you. Father Roland will be pleased.”
He rolled his eyes out of the agent’s view, but dipped his chin for show before returning back to the limousine and leaving.
Chapter 39
The agent finally rounded on me, furious. “I didn’t bungle anything!” she hissed. “Who was that, and what did he give you?” she asked, pointing at the items in my hand.
“My bartender. You know how us Catholics love our bartenders,” I said, handing the folder back to Paradise and Lost, who were dancing on their toes behind me. “And he brought the signed paperwork for the church. And the key. You can remove your lockbox, now.”
She blinked at me rapidly, stunned. “They… bought it?” she whispered, eyes taking in Paradise and Lost furiously. “But… what about me? I’m their agent! We have a contract!”
I frowned at her. “Did my associate hand Paradise and Lost anything?” I asked, frowning in confusion. Then I nodded, as if recalling the exchange. “No. He didn’t. Your contract was with these two upstanding women,” I said, pointing a thumb over my shoulder at them. Then I leaned closer. “My new tenants. Not me, Susan. Lockbox, if you please. I want the key. Quickly, now.”
“It’s Shelly!” she snapped, panting furiously, eyes wild for some form of recourse.
“And their names are Paradise and Lost,” I said in a cold tone. “Oh, and you should probably hear it from me, but I offered quite a bit over the asking price to cover the headaches of a rapid closing. It was one… Hell of a commission…” I said, glancing up at the church proudly. “That will be all, Sarah. Leave the key by the door.” I turned my back on her, listening to her fume and sputter as I walked back to my friends, grinning like an idiot.
They shook their heads in disbelief.
“Roland is going to be so pissed,” Claire muttered. “You own it. But… how?”
I smiled at her, miming zipping my lips as I watched the agent storm past us to the front door to get the lockbox, shouting furiously into her cellphone. It didn’t take Claire very long to gasp.
“Midas,” she breathed, eyes widening. “You used your favor from Midas. Jesus…” she said, shaking her head. “No wonder Achilles was here. They work together.” I nodded proudly.
“Is this really a signed lease agreement for Haven to pay you rent?” Paradise asked.
I nodded. “I also got him to let Roland keep the necklace that lets him walk on Holy Ground.”
“How?” they spluttered in unison, keeping their voices low enough for only us to hear.
“Because it locks Roland down in Kansas City. Roland wanted a place to himself, and Haven wanted to keep him close. The only Shepherd turned Vampire has a certain… sex appeal that will benefit both of them – Haven gets fame, and Roland gets default protection.”
I held up a finger to waylay their next questions, and glanced over my shoulder to see the agent staring up at the old church in horror. She sniffed pompously, sensing my attention. I waved a finger, pointing at the key in her fist. She screamed, throwing it at the door before storming back to her vehicle. The uneven stones made walking in heels a bitch, and she stumbled more than once.
“What’s another name that starts with S?” I mused.
“Sally?” Lost chuckled.
I nodded. “Thank you, Sally!” I called out, waving politely.
She shrieked again, climbed into her car, and peeled away from the curb.
“Let’s go check the place out,” Paradise said, sounding proud.
“Later,” I said, thinking about the time. “You three free for a few hours?” I asked. They nodded uncertainly. “Then I have a favor to ask…” And I told them what I had in mind.
For the first time since we had arrived at the Church, Claire finally looked relieved.
And anticipatory. I showed them my phone, revealing a text message from Dorian Gray – who had spread the rumor that I was looking for a little action tonight. “He accepts your challenge. You will fight Olin Fuentes, the Templar Commander, at sundown.” It showed an address, too.
Claire’s eyes brimmed with barely restrained fury, having heard plenty about the Templar Commander from when I had met him in Italy. I was slightly relieved – and not – to hear confirmation that he was actually in town and that it wasn’t some other faction of Templars. It had removed my optimistic hope that this was all some terrible coincidence.
Because if Olin Fuentes was here, he wasn’t just looking after his flock. He wanted some Old Testament revenge.
Paradise and Lost were snarling openly. “That hypocrite,” Paradise spat. “Lost turned him into a werewolf and he has the audacity to come to our town and hunt down Freaks?”
And she was right. At the end of my fight with him, Lost had attacked him from behind, infecting him with her werewolf genes – which the Templar from the Hellfire Club had confirmed. But no one else in town knew that fun fact. Yet.
I turned to Claire. “Bring Beckett up to speed and tell him to make sure the place is devoid of police. Things are going to get loud, and I’ll have enough on my plate. But he needs to know the real danger so he can come up with an excuse that makes sense to the other cops.”
“Why would he agree to fight you?” Paradise asked, scratching her jaw. “He has to know you have allies here.”
“That’s just it. I challenged him to a duel. This way he knows I can’t bring allies. If he meets me on the street by chance, he has no idea who else could be lurking in the shadows. I think that’s why he’s kept his name out of the gossip. Just Templars, never Olin Fuentes. Because he knows that his name would draw me like a moth to a flame.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I get that, but what does he have to gain from fighting you? Other than simple revenge. Especially since he’s a werewolf, now. He’s risking letting everyone see his deep, dark secret, and shattering his moral high ground.”
“How clever of you,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “You’re catching on quickly.”
“My vacation in St. Louis was… enlightening,” she said with a shiver.
I nodded, squeezing her shoulder compassionately. I had been there, too. When Nate decided to wade into a civil war with the dragons not too long ago.
“Winner also gets a fancy ring that was stolen from his base last night.”
Claire finally snapped. “But that’s what I don’t understand. You don’t have the ring!”
“What’s so special about this ring? You’re saying it like it’s capitalized,” Lost asked.
“An ancient relic they think belongs to them. It was stolen from them, though. And word on the street says I bought it off the thief. But only the interested parties know what the ring actually is. This way, Olin knows it’s the one he seeks, but we don’t have to worry about alerting the city at large what exactly we’re talking about, so we don’t attract any additional interest.”
“But you don’t have it!” Claire hissed again.
I shrugged, smiling wickedly. “He doesn’t know that.”
Claire just stared at me, shaking her head as she tried to understand what I was planning.
“And that’s all you want us to do?” Paradise asked, referring to my request as she folded her arms. “I know it’s a duel, but I don’t like it. He and I have a beef. I don’t like being a lookout.”
“Hashtag me, too,” Lost grunted.
I shook my head. “This is about more than revenge. If you can’t do as asked, stay out of it. I’ll find someone else.”
&nbs
p; “Well, since I don’t trust the bastard, I’ll be there. For when he breaks the terms. I’ll rip off a leg or two before tossing him over to you two,” Claire added, glancing at Paradise and Lost.
“That’s fine,” they agreed.
I gave them a very serious look, shaking my head. “I need to know you guys can stay on point, not see me stumble and assume he cheated. A lot rides on this. More than I’m telling you, obviously. You will do as I ask or you will be a mile away. Even if I have to tie you up myself. This is about more than just revenge. Even I’m not doing it out of a personal vendetta, and I really, really want to rip his face off.”
They studied each other for a full minute, not speaking.
Finally, Claire growled. “I’ll play by your rules, but like I told you before, I’ll always look out for you, Callie. Whether you like it or not. If he cheats and I truly believe your life is in real danger, I won’t hold back.” She smiled faintly. “Even if you tie me up. Because I just spent a lot of money on your stupid new underwear, and I refuse to have your first time wearing them be in your casket.”
I burst out laughing, especially at the puzzled frowns on Paradise and Lost. “Fine,” I relented, shaking my head. “But you know your priority, here. I’m serious. Your part is vital.”
“Deal,” they finally agreed, extending their hands. “Now, can we look at the Church?”
I smiled, glancing up at the sky to judge how long I had until the fight.
“Sure.” Why not? We had a little time. “I need to make sure that bitch didn’t scratch the door when she threw the key at my new church.”
Chapter 40
The rain had come and gone, but the clouds still looked past their due-date for another birthing of a heavy downpour. The alley stank, but not as much as some I had wandered recently, hunting down rogue Freaks. Gangster monsters.
I was early and stood in the alley by myself. Luckily, no homeless people had occupied the area, which was why I had arrived early in the first place, to make sure my meeting with Olin Fuentes would go unnoticed by the unwashed of Kansas City.
Thankfully, I didn’t see any drunk pedestrians wandering the streets, suddenly interested in a young girl all alone in a dark alley at sunset.
I breathed evenly, checking my blades, straps, jacket, and my boots. My magic would be useless against Olin because he wore a Templar Scarf, which nullified magic. But, to be a bitch, I wore one, too.
Except mine was dyed hot pink. I’d let Paradise and Lost pick the color since they were being such good sports about their job tonight.
I checked it, verifying it was knotted around my neck, and fanning down my chest in a glaring pink stain like I had vomited nuclear Pepto-Bismol. The fat red Templar Cross on the front didn’t go with the pink. I looked like Hollywood Barbie gone Catholic.
Perfect.
I checked my phone, wondering how close we were to showdown. It had to be any minute now, but I sensed no one watching, as had been agreed upon. I’d promised not to alert my allies about the fight, even though everyone had heard about my challenge.
Other than my three sentinels, only Dorian Gray had known the location of the fight since he had arranged it.
But he was a filthy gossip and was liable to say anything with his pillow friends – of which he had dozens. I wondered if Olin had considered that, figured he had, and anticipated at least some backup from his side – if for nothing more than to get him out if I tried to ambush him.
Which was technically fine. As long as they didn’t interfere with the fight.
The same as I had done.
And since Commander Olin Fuentes of the Holier than Thou Templars considered all Freaks to be devil spawn, my feelings would be hurt if he didn’t show up with an army at his back. I wasn’t overly concerned about it, either way.
My magic might not work against him, but I had other forms of metaphorical weapons. I had tapped into my Angelic power – to use Silver blades to cut down his men in Italy. I wasn’t sure if those blades were related to the Whispers, the Silvers, or if it was all the same thing. Or two entirely different somethings. Since I didn’t truly know enough about the origins of my powers – and no one else seemed to, either – I was still in the discovery phase in that regard.
I found myself no longer caring about little details like that.
The Silver blades I could call upon at a thought seemed like magic, and had cut down Templars like surgical scalpels. So, I had a backup. Enough to slice at Olin and then call up a Gateway to escape if I saw a sudden army bearing down on me.
I kind of wanted to go toe-to-toe with this ass clown. This hypocrite. Human versus human. Warrior versus warrior. And if he went werewolf on me, I was ready.
A man stepped into the alley, alone. He studied me, too far away to be a threat. Or too arrogant to care. I motioned him closer like those old Kung Fu movies, dropping into a highly unusual martial arts stance. “Here, boy,” I called out, and then I whistled like calling a dog.
He didn’t react, just stood there for a moment. Then he strode closer in a casual, calm gait until I could finally make out his familiar face. Our introduction hadn’t been long, but it had been memorable.
He stopped about ten paces away, and I studied him. He was tall, fit, and had short, spiky white hair. He wore a sword strapped over either shoulder, about as big as one would dare use single-handed, and his dingy Templar scarf hung down his chest like mine. The power of the scarf worked whether you let it hang free or lifted it above your nose, but it did add a menacing factor when tied around the mouth, like bandits in an old Western.
At least that’s how I saw it. His Templars must have felt the same, because they’d worn it up over their faces when I had systematically assassinated them in Italy.
He either didn’t consider me with much respect, or he wanted me to see his face. Or maybe they only concealed their faces to hide their identities, and we were well past that.
He grimaced at my scarf, jaw clenching for a moment. “Don’t worry. It still works fine,” I told him.
“I don’t have magic, so there is no benefit to you wearing it. You only soil the symbol.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Says the wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
He took a very deep, slow breath, rather than confirming or denying my subtle accusation. “You look… different,” he said, studying my face thoughtfully.
“Pink makes me look older,” I said, flicking a finger against the scarf at my throat.
I could sense the judgment in his eyes. Not only that I looked different, but that it probably had something to do with me making a deal with a demon or something. A consequence for being a Freak, like the sign of a leper. Because everything fit into a neat black and white world for Olin, or that was what he had told me when we last confronted each other.
Before he had been turned into a werewolf, introducing him to a world of grays.
I didn’t hate him because of what he believed. I hated him for what he had done. He had killed and hunted Freaks all over the world, for quite a long time. If he had been a quietly hateful man of God, I wouldn’t have liked him, but I wouldn’t have wasted my time fighting him.
But he had spilled blood. For no other reason than that he presumed all Freaks were monsters and should be eradicated. And he had done it in my city.
“It’s okay if you brought some friends with you. Someone will need to drag your body to the pet cemetery. And I will personally take care of your soul,” I winked.
“You still pretend to be an Angel?” he spat disgustedly.
“I don’t pretend anyth—”
“Enough!” he growled. “I didn’t come here to banter with you. I came here to kill you and retrieve what was offered.”
I studied his face, my smile growing. “You did bring backup. How predictable.”
His eyes narrowed. “They will not interfere. They came to check that no humans were present. I don’t want collateral damage when you light this block up with you
r hellfire.” I rolled my eyes. “They seek only for us to have a fair fight. Coincidentally, they learned a few of your own ilk are lurking in the shadows,” he added smugly, turning my argument back on me.
“Same story. Just to guarantee a fair fight,” I admitted with a shrug, not letting any shame show on my face. “You’re already outclassed. I didn’t need backup for this. Just someone with a cup of celebratory hot chocolate. So, let’s get this over with before it gets cold.”
“Yes.” He drew only one of the blades from over his shoulder in a practiced motion, never breaking eye contact, and I realized it really was a two-handed sword. He just carried a backup. He held it before him, waiting for me to reveal my weapon of choice.
I drew the long, curved daggers at my waist, almost like machetes, but designed for combat. They went by different names in different parts of the world, but they were a favorite of mine when going against a skilled swordsman – of which I had no doubt Olin was. The blades were long enough to bleed my opponent from a safe distance, strong enough to block his attacks, and short enough to remain light in my hands.
I met his eyes. He acknowledged my blades with mild respect.
Then I tossed them on the ground like pieces of trash, smiling as his lips thinned suspiciously.
I turned my back on him and slowly walked over to a nearby dumpster. A mop in a broken bucket was propped against the wall. I hefted the staff in my hand as if weighing it. Then I nodded, walking back up to him.
He scowled. “Your theatrics do not impress me, and they will not save you,” he said.
I pouted. “But I really hoped to hurt your feelings…” The mop thumped into the ground at my feet. Sensing no further comment from him, I sighed, bending over – quite suggestively, I might add – to detach the head of the mop, leaving me with an old staff.
It, of course, hadn’t ever really been a mop, but a very special staff. A piece of wood – no matter how well wielded – wouldn’t survive one blow from a sword like his. The wood in my hands was an ancient staff Roland had lying around the training area at Abundant Angel. Not magical, but designed to sustain quite a few hits without splintering.
Angel's Roar: Feathers and Fire Book 4 Page 19
