Shadows and Stars

by Becca Fanning

  Offering Hester a thanks loud enough for her to hear through the glass door of her shop, I got another set of spare keys out of the mouth of a ceramic frog hidden in the planter on the sidewalk and headed up to my apartment with a Sin Eater in tow. There’s a first for everything.

  Shrugging out of what was left of my jacket, I dropped it inside the door and made a beeline for the kitchen. Forgoing a glass, I turned on the sink and started guzzling water straight from the faucet.

  “Take off your pants.”

  I froze. Bent over the sink with my ass in the air, more than one small moan or sigh from the relief of ending my cotton mouth, I may have given Jackson the wrong idea about why we came back to my place.

  “Sorry.” Jackson laughed. “That came out wrong. Let me start over.” He cleared his throat. “Your leg, it looks pretty bad. I can fix it up for you if you want.”

  “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom under the sink. I’m not sure what’s in it. It was there when I moved in.” Sagging against the kitchen sink, I felt my whole body relax when he went to the bathroom to fetch whatever medical supplies I had.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to Jackson or that I’d started to suspect there might be more to him showing up at my collections than just poaching. Everyone else seemed to agree, including Hester— until my last reading. And Big A.

  Big A.

  That was reason enough to squash any blossoming feelings from either of us. Apollyon sanctioned a business relationship, and that was it. I had no intentions of pushing the boundaries of what constituted a working relationship.

  Jackson came back, setting the white box with a red cross on its lid by my feet, before helping me shimmy out of my mud-and-blood-caked jeans. Grateful I’d recently been to the laundromat and I was wearing a cute pair of boy short-style panties instead of my laundry day ones, I jumped when he pressed a wet towel to my leg.

  “This is going to sting, but try to hold still.” He placed one hand on the inside of my thigh, trying to hold my leg in place while he wiped down the back of my leg. “And this is going to burn. A lot.”

  Cold, followed by the intense burn of isopropyl alcohol arced through the cut. “Oh, my go…”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Apollyon cut me off mid-scream. “This is not the debriefing I had in mind, Angelica.”

  “Is that…” Jackson stopped tending my wound, his fingers pressing deeper into my thigh as his nerves got the better of him and his grip tightened.

  “Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Just let me do the talking, okay?”

  Had my thoughts manifested him in my apartment at the worst possible time? Probably. Having barely made it through the witching hour alive, I thought my night couldn’t get any worse. I was wrong. So very, very, wrong.

  “This isn’t what…” Unable to help himself, Jackson began fumbling through an explanation.

  “Not what it looks like?” To anyone else, Apollyon might seem aloof, disinterested, but I knew better. I felt the ripple of rage radiating underneath his Armani suit. “Shall I describe what it looks like from my view? It could be one of two things.” He held up one finger. “One, you’re having your way with my daughter, my most prized possession.” A flair for the dramatic, Big A paused before continuing. “Or two, you allowed Angelica to be injured to the point of requiring medical attention.”

  Jackson and I took up similar positions, half turned at the waist, looking at Apollyon from over a shoulder. Except Jackson was still on his knees, face precariously close to parts best left unknown while Big A was around. Neither of us said anything, unsure of how best to defend ourselves without angering Apollyon further.

  With a flick of his wrist, he sent Jackson skidding across my kitchen floor, slamming the Sin Eater into the wall. Hands gripping the sink, I did my best to stay still, to fight the trembling I felt working its way up from my legs into my upper body. With a clear view of my body, Apollyon was able to assess the damage. Big A had seen, and probably done, worse. After all, he was the Morningstar. Just never with me. I was good at my job and made it a point to walk away from every collection. Every time. I’ve had a few scratches, a few bruises, but nothing like this. My leg was almost fileted from the back of the knee down, and the rest of me was covered in enough scrapes and scratches that it looked and felt like I had been on the losing end of a fight with a chipper shredder.

  “Are you prepared to make your report?” Apollyon removed his jacket, tying it around my waist in one fluid movement, before taking Jackson’s place on the floor. Big A tended my wounds, while Jackson licked his own at my kitchen table and I explained in great detail what happened at Cathedral.

  We finished around the same time, Big A applying the last of the butterfly bandages to my leg as I swallowed the lump in my throat and told him how my mother died the second time. Busying himself with the mundane act of cleaning up band-aid wrappers and cotton balls soaked with blood and rubbing alcohol, he took his time processing what I told him. He moved on to the remnants of my outfit, wadding up what was left of my jeans.

  “Wait.” I pushed off the counter, careful to keep weight off my bum leg and grabbed the wad of denim from his grip. Fishing the necklace out of the front pocket, I tossed the pants in the trash.

  Big A tracked my movements, his eyes locking on the charm dangling from the chain in my hand. “May I see it?” He grasped the silver guitar between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing at the charm like it was a worry stone. A sad smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “It was almost too easy. I thought she’d change her mind.” He let out a bitter chuckle before continuing. “Keep it. A reminder of how you really came into my possession.”

  An awkward silence filled the apartment, before Big A cleared his throat and his mind, bringing the focus back to the real problem at hand. The Necromancer.

  “I’m reassigning this case.” Apollyon clasped his hands behind his back, his tone brooking no argument. Not that that ever stopped me from starting one.

  “No, you’re not. You’re not taking this away from me.” Anger flared, hot and hard. Followed by fear that my freedom and the life I’d built in the city was slipping away.

  “Jax will—”

  I cut him off. “Jax? You are not giving this case to her.” I’d been living in her shadow from the first moment I signed up to be a Reaper.

  Belonging to Apollyon didn’t get me a free pass on the streets, which was a big part of the allure of the job. Every trainer, every partner I’d been assigned until I was ready to fly solo compared me to her. I never seemed to measure up, which only drove me to work harder, to be the best until one day I was. The best active Reaper agent on the beat. And now he wanted to bring her in? To give her my case?

  Jacqueline Rhoades hauled in enough collections to earn her a corner office. A real teacher’s pet, she answered only to Apollyon. Jax spent most of her time at Mount Royal Tavern negotiating for souls with angels and Sin Eaters. She stopped working active collection cases long before I signed up. Losing this case to her stung my pride, and after what happened at Cathedral, my battered ego couldn’t withstand another hit.

  I was going to see this through to the end.

  “She’s been out of the field too long. She’s rusty, and it will take too long to bring her up to speed.” Arms folded across my chest, I looked and sounded more like a whiny kid than a Reaper, and that would get me nowhere with Big A. My hands found their way to my hips, a slight improvement in my body language. “Look, I’m already in this. You gave this to me, remember? Someone you can trust to bring him in.”

  Big A gave Jackson the side eye, watching his expression after I’d let slip part of his plan for the necromancer. Realizing my mistake, I did the same, rolling my eyes when I caught the look of surprise on the Sin Eater’s face.

  “What? You thought we were going to absolve him?” There was no joy in the sound of my laugh, only sarcasm.

  “Honestly, I hadn’t gotten that f
ar. I’ve been more concerned with stopping him.” Jackson held up his hands in a placating gesture.

  “He’s a kid killer. I don’t care if he’s not the one actually feasting on their souls. Innocent blood is on his hands just the same.” I looked at Apollyon, hoping he’d see my commitment and let me keep the case. “There’s only one place for him to go.”

  “Not necessarily. There are loopholes.” Jackson realized his mistake the moment I turned the full brunt of my ire on him. “I was just playing devil’s advocate.”

  “I’d like to point out, in this case, you decidedly were not.” Big A smiled with genuine amusement, but the sentiment didn’t last when he addressed me again. “You’re done with the necromancer case, Angelica. Effective immediately.”

  “You trust her more than me?” His silence said everything. I hadn’t expected that to hurt, but it did. No one trusted Big A. He was the ultimate trickster, the prince of lies. Growing up I hadn’t had a choice. It was trust Apollyon or die. I hated him the majority of the time, but he was the only family I’d ever known. I sort of thought the feeling was mutual. At least I knew where I stood. “Mother fucker.”

  “Among other things.” Big A took my profanity in stride. It was more of an outburst than actual name calling, but hey, if the shoe fits.

  Apollyon reached for me, pulling back before his hand made it halfway to mine. “There’s a stack of collection files waiting for you. I suggest you get back to them.” Having said his final word on the matter, Big A made a grand exit, disappearing into the ether.

  “Show off,” I grumbled, hobbling over to start a pot of coffee.

  “Well, that, as they say, is that.” Jackson leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, looking as defeated as I felt.

  “Like hell.” The smell of coffee and overconfidence filled the kitchen as the pot began to brew my favorite type of liquid courage. “I’m bringing in that necro, and you’re going to help me.”

  NINE

  “YOU’RE DRIVING.” The butterfly bandage was still the only thing holding the back of my leg together until I finished regenerating the muscle and tissue on my own. Accelerated healing comes with being a Reaper, but it isn’t instantaneous, and injuries still hurt like hell. “I drive a stick. Hope that’s not a problem.” Tossing Jackson the keys to my car, I did a quick rundown to make sure I had everything we needed before we left the apartment, which included a thermos of coffee and a bag full of snacks.

  “There’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m going to leave it alone.” Jackson caught the key ring with his right hand, his left already on the doorknob. “Let’s go over the plan again, instead.”

  “Let’s just get to the car first.” A blush warmed my cheek as I thought about the sexual innuendo I walked right into. Jackson was gentleman enough to give me a pass on the teasing. “Right now, I just want to get out of the building before Hester notices.”

  “Wouldn’t she have already seen it in the cards?” Taking my bag full of stakeout provisions, Jackson ushered me down the steps that led to the sidewalk and out to the curb.

  “Hester doesn’t go looking into my future. Not unless I ask her. She’s afraid of what she’ll see.” We crossed the street, walking the few feet to where my car was parked. “Just go easy on Coop, will you?” My finger absently traced some of the lines in the Union Jack design on the roof.

  “Who’s Coop? I thought we were going to the other cemetery from the obituaries, not looking for some guy.” Jackson used the key to unlock the driver’s side door, climbed into the seat and reached across to pull the lock on the passenger side.

  “Jackson, meet Coop. Coop, meet Jackson.” Ducking my head to hide the smile spreading across my face over the hint of jealousy in Jackson’s voice when he said some guy, I buckled my seatbelt

  “You named your car?” Jackson chuckled, fastening his seatbelt before turning the ignition and pulling away from the curb.

  “Coop and I spend a lot of time together.” My fingers danced across the dash. “He’s been good to me.”

  “I thought all cars were supposed to be female.” Jackson fidgeted with the radio as he slowed to a stop as we approached a red light.

  “Maybe if you’re a guy.” I smacked his hand away from the dials. “Car etiquette one-o-one: you do not mess with another person’s radio.”

  “Is Coop the only one you’re spending time with these days?” Jackson brushed his hand against mine before resting it on top of the gearshift.

  “It’s green. The light,” I offered when he looked puzzled over my reply. Someone honked behind us, forcing Jackson to put the car in motion and providing me with an opportunity to evade his question.

  Rather than answer Jackson’s question, I kept my eyes glued to the passenger window, watching rowhome after rowhome blur into skyscrapers before turning into vacant lots and back to rowhomes. Silence fell between us for the remainder of the drive out to the cemetery; neither of us pressed to fill it with idle conversation. Jackson looked relaxed, almost content, as if my refusal to answer his question was answer enough. I guess it was.

  Not that it mattered.

  Being alone suited my Reaper lifestyle. No attachments. No one to answer to. By the time we reached the graveyard gate, I’d resigned myself to the idea of getting a cat.

  “Now what?” Jackson put the car in park and turned off the headlights.

  “We can’t sit out front. If my calculations are correct, the grave should have been dug closer to the middle. We need to drive around back.” I pointed toward the access road used by the groundskeepers that ran the property line of the second cemetery from our list of obituaries. “Keep the lights off.”

  “That’s not a road. It’s a trail, for one of those Gators or a golf cart, or something.” He leaned over the steering wheel, trying to get a better look at the road.

  “The wheelbase on Coop can’t be much wider.” I shrugged in response to Jackson’s side eye. “It’s a Mini Cooper. We’ll fit. Trust me.”

  The Sin Eater grumbled something about not being responsible for any scratches on the paint and turned onto the side road. The overgrown brush and branches scraped across the car’s roof and doors, causing Jackson to grumble further about not being able to get out of the car if we even saw the necromancer. He turned to look at me just as we approached the halfway point of the cemetery and the side road began to open up.

  “How did you know about the groundskeeper’s road? I didn’t see it on the plot for the cemetery.” Jackson turned off the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt, shifting in his seat to face me.

  “Smithie has a thing for cemeteries, I guess. I always meet him in one.” Pushing down on the orange button, I released the lock on my seatbelt and reached for the thermos of coffee.

  “Maybe he just has a thing for you.” Jackson grabbed the thermos out from under me and unscrewed the cap to pour himself a cup.

  Smart man. If I’d gotten ahold of it first, there was no guarantee there’d be any left.

  “Yeah, because nothing says romantic like strolling through a cemetery. What, are you worried you’ve got competition?” I regretted the flirtatious banter the moment the words left my mouth.

  “What if I am?” Jackson was quick to reply before I could take back what I’d said or tell him not to answer.

  Taking a drink directly from the thermos, I drowned any possible response in coffee, but the warmth spreading through my insides and the flush in my cheeks had nothing to do with the steaming hot drink. Any hope I had of Jackson missing the blush on my face with nothing but the moonlight illuminating the interior died when I caught the smile spreading across his face. My reaction was all the encouragement he needed. I’d been on the receiving end of Jackson’s pick-up lines and flirtations before, but this time he let me off the hook and didn’t press the issue.

  An hour passed. And then another and another. The coffee had long since run out, and I was more than halfway through my stash of chocolate-covered espresso
beans I kept in the glove box for such occasions, as the witching hour approached with no sign of the necromancer. Less experienced in the art of stakeouts than I was, Jackson gratefully took a handful of the coffee beans rather than another jab to the shoulder when I caught his eyelids drooping again.

  Silence, boredom, drowsiness, and the aches and pains followed by numbness from sitting too long in one position were all things you had to get used to when tailing someone. Based on the pins and needles sensation in my legs, I was a little out of practice myself.

  Before enacting our plan to catch the necromancer in the act of stealing his next soul, we agreed to call it a night if he didn’t show by three o’clock in the morning. If nothing happened by the witching hour, it wasn’t going to happen at all. We were just about to pack it in when we saw a faint light in the distance.

  “Wait, what is that?” I stopped packing up snack wrappers and set my backpack on the floorboard before wiping a palm across the window to clear away the condensation.

  Jackson shushed me, scooting to the edge of his seat so he could peer out my window. The warmth of his breath on the back of my neck set goose bumps skittering across my skin. Hyper aware of his close proximity and its effect on me, I pressed myself closer to the passenger door of the car. A beam of light broke through the darkness, bouncing from tombstones to the ground and back again. Another bright orb appeared a few feet behind it, its blue-hued ray of light sweeping left to right.