Black Night

by Christina Henry

  “Could have come and gone already,” Beezle said stubbornly.

  “Well, it’s easily checked,” I said, thinking I would do just that the next time I was in the office. I crouched down by what appeared to be a pair of jeans covered in blood. There were some pieces of broken plastic embedded in the cloth that might have been bits of a credit card or ID. “But the wolf murders still don’t make sense. I thought the werewolf packs in this area mostly stayed out of the city.”

  “And so we do, unless business requires us to be here,” growled a voice from nearby. “Whoever has done this will pay, Agent.”

  I looked up to the T-junction and came to my feet. Gabriel was at my side in an instant, his hand on my shoulder.

  Two of the biggest men I had ever seen stood just past the T-junction. They both easily cleared six feet, and the one on the right wore only a plain white T-shirt and denim vest over jeans, despite the chill. Everywhere I looked muscles bulged through the cloth. His pale face was covered in a red beard liberally streaked with white, and eerie blue gray eyes watched me with suspicion. I could see the faint traces of long scars that puckered the skin underneath his beard.

  The man next to him was African American, just as tall and strong looking, but with a slight paunch and a much friendlier look. He looked like the sort whose natural expression was a smile, despite the obvious grief in his eyes as he surveyed the remains in the alley. He wore square-framed metal glasses and also had a heavy salt-and-pepper beard above a blue StarCraft T-shirt and jeans.

  There was a third man with them, hovering a step behind, not quite as muscular or burly as the other two. He was built more along the lines of a long-distance runner. He also seemed younger. He didn’t wear a beard like the other wolves and his dark hair was free of gray. But it was his eyes that attracted my attention. They were silvery blue and burning with anger when he looked at me. I wondered what I’d done to this man to make him hate me so, for it was obvious that he did.

  The one on the right spoke, and it was his voice that I had heard before.

  “What business have you here, Agent? I see no soul to collect.”

  The other wolves approached us he spoke. I could see them sniffing the air, their nostrils flaring.

  “You smell like Lucifer,” said the wolf in the StarCraft shirt. He had a deep, booming bass voice. The third wolf still hadn’t said anything.

  I raised my eyebrow at him. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

  “It’s not,” he said, frowning. “And you were at the other place, where Dagan died.”

  The redhead narrowed his eyes at me. “What were you doing there, Agent? If I discover that you had some hand in Dagan’s death . . .”

  He stepped forward, and before Gabriel could do anything I conjured up a ball of nightfire. I gave the wolf a steely-eyed look.

  “Don’t make dangerous assumptions, wolf.”

  He eyed the ball of nightfire with a sneer.

  “Don’t presume that a werewolf can be intimidated by an Agent’s power.”

  I felt my magic rise to the surface, and I knew that my eyes had changed, become a field of stars on a canvas of black.

  “What makes you think I am nothing but an Agent?” I replied.

  The other wolves growled, and the air crackled with energy. I could see bones shifting beneath his skin, and for a moment I looked into a snarling canid face, and then he was a man again.

  “Madeline,” Gabriel said, and there was a warning in his voice.

  “Let me handle this,” I said quietly. I knew a little bit about wolves, having encountered them a time or two as an Agent. They respected strength, and they wouldn’t respect me or allow me to help them if I cowered behind Gabriel.

  “You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Agent,” the redheaded wolf said.

  “And I don’t want to be your enemy,” I said steadily, still balancing the ball of nightfire on my hand.

  The smaller wolf that stood just behind the other two looked like he might be calculating how best to leap over his compatriots and rip my throat out. I hoped that Gabriel would jump right into the fray if that happened, because the big guy seemed like he was working up a good head of steam.

  I prayed that no one was looking out their back windows into the alley, because if they were, they were going to get a show. The last thing I wanted was a video of me throwing nightfire at a couple of werewolves to end up on YouTube.

  The second werewolf cocked his head at me, doglike and curious. “What is it that you want, then?”

  “To find out why these wolves are being killed,” I said.

  He gave me an appraising look. Then he laid a restraining hand on the first. “Jude, enough.”

  I realized that I’d gotten their relationship wrong. The redhead was beneath the second wolf in the social order. I’d assumed that since he had taken the lead and acted aggressively that Jude was more alpha than the other. Those kinds of prejudices could get me killed. The alpha was always the most dangerous wolf in the pack.

  He studied me, sniffing the air as he did so. “You’re telling the truth.”

  “Of course I am,” I said, a little miffed.

  “But the truth can hide evil intentions,” the third wolf said, and I hadn’t been wrong about the venom in his eyes. It was in his voice, too. “And you do smell like Lucifer.”

  “I’m his great-granddaughter,” I said. This wasn’t information that I usually liked to share with strangers, but they would continue to be suspicious of me without it.

  The alpha raised an eyebrow at me. “Then you can only be Madeline Black, daughter of Azazel.”

  I mirrored his expression. “You seem to have the better of me.”

  He narrowed his eyes for a moment, then seemed to come to some decision. “I am Tyrone Jackson Wade, alpha of the Red Pack of Wisconsin. You may call me Wade. En Taro Adun!”

  I was a little disconcerted by his odd greeting, but before I had a chance to ask him about it, he stuck a huge hand out for me to shake. I realized I was still holding the ball of nightfire. I quickly doused the fire and put my small hand in his.

  Wade gripped it, and pulled me closer, his eyes searching. “Are you a true friend of the wolves?”

  Something about the way he asked it made me think that this wasn’t a casual question, and I’d been around the magical block enough to know that some words were binding. I saw Gabriel shake his head, ever so slightly, out of the corner of my eye.

  I took a deep breath. I had no quarrel with the wolves. Lord knew that Lucifer and Azazel probably had some master plan involving werewolves as they seemed to have for every race, but I wasn’t privy to all of their machinations. And I wasn’t about to let Gabriel dictate whom I could and could not befriend.

  “I am,” I said, and then I shivered a little as magic shimmered in the air.

  Wade grinned, showing a row of white, white teeth. “Then the wolves are also friends to you, Madeline Black. Tell me, what interest have you in finding the wolf-killer?”

  I hesitated. Wade seemed to know a lot about fallen angels, but I was certain that Samiel’s existence was a closely kept secret. And as Beezle had pointed out, there was no way to be sure that Samiel was killing them. Even if I was a true friend of the wolves, there was no need to make them privy to every shadow in Lucifer’s kingdom.

  “I came upon the first murder site by accident after feeling a magical pulse in the area,” I said. I felt it was important to tell the truth as much as possible, since Wade seemed to be able to tell when a person lied. “We followed the trail of magic to the body. I was . . . horrified by the murder, and wanted to find out who killed the wolf, but we were unable to discover anything concrete.”

  “And today?”

  “I was grocery shopping at Jewel when the same thing happened.”

  Wade sniffed the air. I felt tense. I needed the wolf to believe me. I already had enough magical conflicts in my life without arousing the ire of a pack of werewolves.
r />   “Very well,” he said, and some of the tension drained out of me. “We would appreciate the assistance of Lucifer’s granddaughter in this matter.”

  “How is it that you know Lucifer?” I said curiously.

  “I have met with him before, as a representative of my people in negotiations with the fallen,” he said, and grinned. “The werewolves of Wisconsin are sworn enemies of Lucifer. I am sure your great-grandfather will be happy to hear that you have reestablished good relations.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. I’d just stepped in it, again.

  “Never, ever play chess with a master, Maddy,” Beezle mumbled from inside his coat.

  Forget chess. I was still playing Candy Land.

  A little while later we parted ways from my new pals, having discovered nothing especially helpful. Wade, Jude and the third wolf, whose name was James, had sniffed around the site and said that angels had been present, but also something that they could not identify. I’d carefully avoided Gabriel’s glance when the men said that. There was no need to share any information about Ramuell or Samiel with the pack.

  The three wolves gathered up the remains of their pack member in a black plastic garbage bag. I valiantly suppressed the urge to boot as they scooped completely unidentifiable bits of flesh and bone into the sack. Jude glared sullenly at Gabriel and myself all the while, like he would follow his alpha’s orders but was reserving judgment on us. James tracked me constantly with his disconcerting gaze. Obviously the other two wolves did not share Wade’s assessment of me.

  As they departed, Wade called out, “We will meet again, Madeline Black. En Taro Adun!”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I muttered to Beezle.

  “Do I look like some kind of dog translator?” he snapped. He was feeling cranky because he’d missed out on doughnuts—I’d dropped the basket at Jewel—and he’d also missed his usual morning nap in his perch.

  “No,” I said vaguely. “It doesn’t sound like werewolf language.”

  “And what would you know about werewolf language?” Beezle grumbled.

  I ignored his jibe. Normally I enjoyed sparring with Beezle when he was grumpy, but I was worried about what Lucifer would say when he discovered that I had reestablished relations with the werewolves of Wisconsin. Would he be pleased? Would he be furious? I couldn’t care less if he was pleased, since getting Lucifer’s approval was not high on my to-do list. But I really didn’t want him angry with me. I had enough problems without being in the soup with the Prince of Darkness.

  Gabriel had tried to warn me. I’d seen the little shake of the head, telling me not to do what I was about to do. But I had done it anyway. I understood that I didn’t know my way around this world yet, and that I needed guidance. But it chafed when I felt like someone else was always making my decisions for me.

  “Of course, decisions don’t seem to be my best thing,” I muttered to myself.

  “What? What?” Beezle shouted. “You’ll have to speak up. I’m an old gargoyle and I’m feeling faint from lack of nourishment.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Gabriel, let’s take this baby home so that he can eat.”

  “Popcorn!” Beezle said.

  “We’ll see,” I replied, moving toward the place where the alley emptied back out to Nelson. I glanced behind me to see if Gabriel was following, and then stopped.

  Gabriel wasn’t there.

  5

  “GABRIEL?” I CALLED. MAYBE HE WAS JUST OUT OF sight, around the corner of the T-junction. “Gabriel, where are you?”

  “That fool probably got distracted by something and wandered away. The two of you seem to think you’re investigators,” Beezle muttered. “He might have found a clue.”

  “He would have told me,” I said, jogging down the length of the alley to the junction and looking down. He wasn’t there.

  “Maybe he followed the wolves,” Beezle said. His tone said that he was supremely unconcerned with Gabriel’s whereabouts.

  “He would have told me,” I repeated, starting to get angry. “He wouldn’t leave me, not for a second. He’s still feeling guilty for not being there when Antares attacked. And Azazel would have Gabriel’s head on a shelf if he walked away from me and I got hurt.”

  I ran down the alley in the other direction, toward Belmont, calling Gabriel’s name. How could he just disappear into thin air like that? We’d been standing there with the wolves. If something had happened to Gabriel, one of us should have noticed.

  “He wouldn’t leave me,” I repeated, as I ran around the block, my head twisting this way and that. “Gabriel! Gabriel!”

  I must have appeared a little unhinged because a couple of new moms walking their babies in the winter sunshine pulled their $800 Bugaboos out of my way as I went by.

  “You’re frightening the natives,” Beezle said.

  I stopped and glared down at him as I came back to the mouth of the alley. “Maybe they’re scared of the ugly little monster hanging out of my coat.”

  Beezle looked affronted. “I’ll have you know I am a very handsome gargoyle.”

  “According to wh—” I said, and then the breath was ripped from my body as something very large and very heavy crashed into me.

  My attacker and I careened into the alley and smashed into a metal Dumpster. I cried out in pain as a protruding piece of metal pierced through my coat and into my back. Hot blood ran down my spine as I was punched in the face again and again by a heavy fist and I was nearly blinded by pain.

  I didn’t have time to think, to try to fight back. I had an impression of boundless strength holding me down, muscled bare arms, hot breath panting, mad green eyes . . . and wings. White feathers fell all around us as I tried to push with my hands, kick with my legs, to snap with my teeth, anything. But I could barely see; I could hardly breathe. Blood ran into my eyes as I was hit again and again without pause.

  I tried to think, tried to focus my magic. I had to get this monster off me before he beat me to death. My magic flickered, then roared to life inside me. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to focus it into something like nightfire. I just let the magic move through me, up and out, and have its own way.

  There was an explosion of power that sucked the breath from my lungs, a burst of dazzling light like a firework. My attacker was thrown from my body and away like a cannonball, shooting through the air and out of sight. I tried to get a good look at him, but my eyes were stinging from blood and sweat and I had no clearer impression than before.

  I felt like someone had pounded me all over with a meat mallet, especially my face. I shifted my jaw and to my horror felt a couple of loosened teeth on the left side in the place where I had been hit repeatedly.

  I rolled to my side, slowly and painfully, and coughed out some blood.

  “Fantastic,” I muttered. “This day just can’t get any better.”

  Then I remembered that Beezle had been in my pocket. I patted the place where I normally carried him and felt nothing but wool and lint. “Oh, gods. Beezle.”

  I forced myself to sit up, although as soon as I did I felt dizzy. I tried to focus my bleary eyes around the alley and found that I could see if I held my sleeve to my bleeding forehead. There was a small gray lump a few feet away from me, and it looked like Beezle, and it looked like he was breathing.

  “Coming to getcha, Beezle,” I said, and flopped over to my belly. Walking was absolutely out of the question, so I crawled to him, pulling my legs (which did not want to bend or function in any normal way) behind me like a slug as I heaved forward on my elbows.

  My face throbbed with pain as I reached Beezle. I picked him up with one hand and lightly patted his cheek with the other.

  “Beezle, come on, wake up,” I said, breathing shallowly. Everything hurt, and I didn’t know if my attacker would come back. I had to get up, get away, but vigorous movement did not appear to be in my future.

  Beezle’s eyelids fluttered, and
he sat up in my palm, rubbing a bump on his head with one clawed hand.

  “What happened? Did we get hit by a tractor trailer?”

  I kissed his forehead. Beezle might be a grumpy pain in the ass most of the time, but he was my grumpy pain in the ass and I loved him.

  “I think,” I said, remembering mad green eyes, “that we got hit by Samiel.”

  “Samiel, huh?” Beezle said, and he seemed to focus on my face for the first time. “When you make an enemy, Maddy, you do it right. You look like you got pounded in the face by a hammer.”

  I shuddered to think what I looked like. I never thought I was a great beauty to begin with, but I was sure that getting punched numerous times wasn’t going to do anything for my dating life. I pillowed my head on my arms and breathed through my mouth. It hurt to move. It hurt to think.

  I must have zoned out for a few minutes, because the next thing I knew, Beezle was hovering just above my ear.

  “Earth to Maddy! You are lying in the middle of an alley and could get run over at any second,” he shouted.

  I rolled over to my back and whimpered. “I’m not sure getting run over at this point would make that much of a difference.”

  “Why haven’t any cars come through this alley, though?” Beezle said thoughtfully. “We’ve been here for a while, finding werewolf bits and getting beaten up.”

  I knew that Beezle was saying something important, but I couldn’t quite grasp the thread of it. It was weird that nobody had entered the alley, or seen me getting the crap pounded out of me. It was weird that nobody had seen the werewolf getting killed, or called the police when a bunch of suspicious characters had hung around the murder scene for a while in the middle of a weekday morning. This was important. I had to remember it so I could think about it later, when I didn’t have forty anvils pressing on my brain.