Shadows and Stars

by Becca Fanning

“Okay, then let’s go.” Trusting him to have my back, I didn’t wait for the Sin Eater. I heard the car door shut as I dodged the light traffic and jaywalked across the street.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but aren’t you a sworn officer of the law?” Jackson jogged across the street, falling in step beside me. “I think you just broke the law back there crossing the street.”

  “Cop, criminal. It’s getting harder to tell the difference around here anymore.” I reached for the glass door’s large silver handle. “Trust me, minor traffic violations are the least of the police department’s problems.”

  A security guard stood up from his seat behind a large desk in the lobby, watching us approach. He looked down, no doubt checking the security camera feed for a closer look at the two strangers standing outside of his building. A voice crackled through an intercom located next to the door, asking us to state our names and business.

  “BPD. We’d like to talk with Jonathan Parker.” I held up the badge for the security cameras. Within seconds we were buzzed inside. Crossing the lobby in three long strides, I reached the desk and took the phone receiver out of the security guard’s hands. “I’m afraid I can’t let you call ahead and announce us, Mr.”— I leaned in, trying to read the name on his ID badge—“Mr. Ramirez.” Relaxing my posture, I hoped Ramirez would do the same. “We’re here to talk to Mr. Parker about a murder investigation. You may have read about it in the papers.” I paused, waiting for him to catch my drift. The daily paper was filled with murders, but one in particular had dominated the headlines. The moment he made the connection, his expression changed and I made my move. “If you’d just unlock the elevator, we can go have that talk with Mr. Parker and be on our way back to the station.”

  Ramirez adjusted his utility belt, the security keys jangling against his hip taunting me. He walked around the desk, escorting us to the elevator before I had a chance to do a snatch and grab with his keychain. Outnumbered and unarmed, I felt good about the odds of taking him down had he not cooperated.

  “I see Mr. Parker every day.” He shook his head, pulling on the retractable keychain that held the key for the elevator. Inserting the key, he turned it to left, then back to center, sending a signal to the security system to put the car in motion. The lights above the door signaled its descent. “You just never can tell with people, you know. I hope you’re wrong though.”

  “It’s just a few routine questions.” I almost felt bad for planting the idea that Parker was the child killer. Almost. He may not have murdered those children, but he was guilty of something and he knew about the necromancer.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Jackson extended an arm, gesturing for me to go first. And Big A said chivalry was dead. The Sin Eater pressed the button for the top floor, followed by the button to close the doors. We were left staring at our reflections in the mirrored walls as the elevator shut and we began our way up to visit Jonathan Parker.

  “I can’t believe he actually believed you.” Jackson’s shoulders shook with laughter. “This place needs to tighten up its security.”

  “The power of persuasion helps.” It was my turn to laugh, only at Jackson’s expense rather than Ramirez’s. “Not because of my feminine wiles.” I landed an elbow jab to the ribs when he tried to deny that was what he was thinking. “It was totally what you were thinking, but Reapers get a little magic. Not much, but”—I started ticking items off on my fingers—“we have a high tolerance to heat, we’re a little harder to kill and can heal faster than most.” I pointed to my leg where there had been a gash the day before as evidence. “And the power of persuasion. It makes the job easier when they don’t want to go. Contract’s binding, so there’s really no way out of it, but that doesn’t stop anyone from trying. Occasionally we get someone who thinks they can fight their way out. Persuasion comes in handy when you don’t feel like fighting back.”

  “Sounds more like coercion.” There was only the slightest hint of judgment in Jackson’s voice, but I picked up on it.

  “Did Ramirez show any signs of duress? That he felt powerless to do anything other than surrender?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned into the corner of the elevator car, which started to feel smaller with the turn in conversation. Having the good sense not to answer a rhetorical question, Jackson didn’t reply. “Like I said, persuasion.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “Back peddling isn’t a good look for you.” I cut him off. “Things could have escalated quickly with the doorman. There was no need for Ramirez to get caught up in this.” I stepped forward, moving closer to the doors, careful to avoid brushing up against Jackson, when the elevator rocked to a stop. The doors opened. “I’m capable of using my powers for good despite working on the side of evil.”

  I stepped out onto the penthouse floor and headed for Parker’s door, wondering if the bargain I’d made with Big A was doomed to failure anyway. Old prejudices were hard to overcome and there were plenty where Sin Eaters and Reapers were concerned. I was willing to bet it was part of the Order’s indoctrination. Big A certainly had a lot to say on the subject over the years.

  My hand poised over the door, but Parker opened it before I had a chance to knock. Based on the white towel wrapped around his neck and the Under Armor attire he’d decked himself out in, I surmised we’d caught him on his way to the gym.

  Given a choice between the easy way and the hard way, Parker looked like the type who would take the hard way. From the slight tick in his jaw, the small flex of muscle, his body language gave all the right clues. Or wrong ones, depending on how you looked at it. If things went south, Jackson would have a second chance to determine the difference between persuasion and coercion.

  “Can I help you?” Jonathan’s eyes drifted to the badge dangling from my neck. Unlike the doorman, he paid closer attention to the details on my badge. “D.S.A.” He looked up, his eyes meeting mine and I saw the panic.

  “Times up, Parker. You don’t want to…” The door slammed in my face. “Do that.” The first lock slid into place. Persuasion worked better with eye contact, but it could still be done from the other side of the door. “You don’t want to lock us out, Jonathan. You want to talk to us.” Another lock slid into place. “You need to talk to us. Before he calls in your marker.” With a small sigh, I turned to face Jackson. “Okay, that one bordered on coercion.”

  Parker undid the locks and opened the door.

  “I’m willing to overlook it.” Jackson winked at me. “At this point, whatever works.” He rested his hand on the small of my back, the heat of his touch radiating through my clothes. “After you.”

  The Sin Eater wasn’t the only reason I’d made my own deal with the Devil. Hell, he wasn’t even the first reason, but I was hoping things went right. Just once, because I was really looking forward to having my cake and eating it too.

  Jackson and I followed Parker inside his sprawling apartment. Though apartment didn’t seem quite the right word, given my entire apartment could fit in his kitchen. The décor was stereotypical stainless steel everything and utterly devoid of character. But the view of the city wasn’t half bad.

  “You know, I’ve recently found myself in the market for a new place.” I ran my fingers along the marble countertops. “What’s a place like this set you back? Monthly?”

  “You couldn’t afford the condo fees.” Parker couldn’t help himself. A deal with a demon did not stop the disdain he felt for people he believed were beneath his new status.

  “Given her employer, I’d say she can afford it.” Jackson laughed, settling in on the couch. “Not that she would. It’s a little too bourgeois for her taste.”

  “You’re showing your age, Sin Eater. The kids today say bougie.” With a smirk and a wink in Jackson’s direction, I turned my attention back to Parker.

  “She’s the equivalent of a civil servant. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but a demon’s lackey couldn’t afford this.” Parker’s face puckered like he’d
just sucked on a lemon, the displeasure of my position and company evident.

  “But a deal with a demon could get me all this. Isn’t that right, Mr. Parker?” I moved around the counter and into the kitchen, helping myself to one of the overpriced bottles of water he kept in the fridge. “I know your name, but I haven’t given you mine. Rude of me. I’m Angelica Wright Morningstar.” I have never dropped my adoptive surname on one of my runs, but this case was different. Twisting the top of the bottle, I took a sip of water and waited for Parker to make the connection. “Man, that is so much better than the tap water I usually drink.”

  He recognized the name Morningstar. A person with rudimentary biblical knowledge from Sunday school probably did.

  Sweat began to bead on Parker’s forehead and bled through his grey cotton shirt, forming half circles under his arms. Wiping his brow with the terrycloth towel still hanging from his neck, he snatched the bottle of water out of my hands and plopped onto the couch beside Jackson with a defeated sigh.

  “Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, we can get down to business.” After an awkward attempt to sit on an armchair that must have come from Ikea’s home torture collection, I opted to stand. “You’ve been busy doing the demon’s work, teaming up with the necro.”

  “What the hell is a necro?” Parker’s eyes darted from me to Jackson, a slight tremor developed in his hands. “Look, I come from Pigtown, okay? I started working in the mailroom for Global-Com ten years ago. Worked my way up to an associate in sales, but I’d never make it to the executive boardroom. Not with degrees from a community college. Do you know how many people I’ve seen hired off the street with better pay into better positions and because of what, their pedigree? Because it’s sure as hell not work experience.”

  “So, you decided to make a deal, secure yourself a seat at the big boy table? That’s how you became chief compliance officer?” I moved to stand in front of Parker.

  His nerves and possibly the realization that his arrangement with the demon was coming to an end made him skittish. Parker tried to jump up from the couch and out of my reach, but Jackson clamped a hand on his shoulder and held him in place.

  “Come on, lady. Cut me some slack. You have no idea what it’s like working for them.” He held up his hands, pleading with me when I pressed him again about the necromancer. “I told you, I don’t know what that is. You think I’m the bad guy? You don’t know the half of it. Global-Com is into some weird shit. I’ve seen it.”

  “You’ve been going to a lot of funerals lately. Would this weird shit have anything to do with it?” Jackson’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip, his fingers digging into Parker’s shoulder.

  “Maybe. I mean, you gotta admit, it’s a little strange, the board members all losing a kid like that, right?” Parker’s Baltimore accent became more noticeable the more agitated he became. “You think I’m the only one with a deal? They all got deals. All of them. It’s like they could smell it on me the second I signed. Do you understand what I’m saying here? They don’t tell me what’s going on. I just make sure we’re in compliance. With him. You understand? Compliance. That’s it. I just report back, make sure everybody is doing their job.”

  “And what jobs are those, Mr. Parker? What’s Global-Com really working on?” I grabbed his wrist, forcing his arm over until I could see his forearm. “Let’s see who you’ve been bargaining with.”

  A sigil began to form on the inside of his arm, rising like scarification on the soft skin that was otherwise free of imperfections, as I forced the mark to the surface. A demon leaves their mark when a deal is struck, but it remains invisible until a Reaper comes to collect. Painful for both parties, I, for one, was glad to see the practice stop with the advent of the D.S.A. database and case files. Lines blistered before turning a shiny pink of freshly scarred skin as they took shape, but the overall sigil was still indecipherable.

  “This is taking too long.” Wincing as the pain intensified with each blister that formed, popped, and scarred over on his arm, I tightened my grip and pumped more energy into making the mark visible. “Someone’s fighting to keep it concealed.”

  Nauseous and dizzy, sweat beaded along my skin, soaking into my clothes. From the darkening color of Parker’s grey shirt, and the greenish pallor to his skin, it was obvious Parker felt the same way. Jackson reached for me, warning me to stop, but I shook my head, refusing to listen.

  Until I had no choice but to stop.

  I felt it, like a freight train barreling down on me with no way to stop it. Muscles constricted as the seizure took hold. Just before my eyes rolled back in my head and I collapsed on the floor, I saw Parker in the same condition. None of the symptoms were a result of forcing the mark. Side effects ranged from mild discomfort to a severe rash around the sigil site, but there had been no documented cases of seizures, for the Reaper or the collection.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Drifting into blackness, I was only half aware of Jackson shouting my name. He sounded torn, conflicted, screaming for me to wait for him to return, but my tether to consciousness seemed directly connected to his proximity. The further away the sound of his footsteps became, the closer I drifted to death. Even in my half state, in the nothingness that filled the time between life and death, the irony of my situation wasn’t lost on me.

  A Reaper with an outstanding contract held by Apollyon himself.

  Visions of my case file drifted through my mind. The wallet-size photo, this time of me, paper clipped inside the manila folder. The details of my life and death written in its pages. A copy of the deal I’d made with Big A fastened inside. Would he come to collect me himself? Another Reaper perhaps? Jax would be a fitting end. Big A’s favorite collector bags his prized possession, bringing her home once and for all.

  To be kept in a prison of my own making.

  FIFTEEN

  SHEETS OF PAPER, littering the ground where I stood, swirled around my feet until they were swept up in a funnel cloud. The miniature tornado receded, taking my life story with it, only to shred the pieces of paper into confetti which rained down in celebratory fashion. And a celebration it was. My jeans, shirt and boots had been replaced. Instead of the casual clothes I favored, I donned a form-fitting silver gown with a daring open back that scooped so low it risked exposing the rest of my backside. The silver fabric decked with small crystal beads pooled at my feet despite the strappy spiked heels I wore. Apollyon held out his hand. I half expected to see a shiny shackle in place of the diamond bangle when I raised my arm. Not that he’d need shackles. I’d given him everything he needed to strip me bare of my freedoms when I signed the contract.

  Without thought or fight I took his hand, letting him lead me to the edge of the dais like a lamb to slaughter. The stage overlooked a sea of prospects, all of them hand-picked by Apollyon. Respectable suitors. It was worth noting that none of them were of the demonic variety. All of them were men. Powerful men. Foreign dignitaries, heads of state, all of them willing to trade the safety and freedoms of their unwitting people for the promise of even more power that a union with me would bring them. Fighting back tears as my fears became reality, my soul began to wither.

  The first man approached. He spoke to Apollyon in a dialect I didn’t recognize but there was no language barrier for the Morningstar. He was everywhere and no tongue was foreign to him. The suitor looked to be in his mid to late sixties. His eyes traveled lasciviously from the V-neck cut of my dress that exposed a swell of breast all the way down the span of my gown to the side slit that exposed too much thigh, nibbling his bottom lip as he spoke to Apollyon. Three times my age, he was too old, too bald and too round; the middle button on his waistcoat threatened to pop in protest.

  I stood at the edge of a sea of men who were too much of everything I despised and too little like Jackson.

  My heart beat against my ribs like the wings of a caged bird. Its pace increasing, racing faster until I thought it might actually e
xplode from my chest. On the verge of hyperventilating, or passing out, I watched as the world drifted in and out of focus for a moment. Apollyon caught me by the elbow, steadying me as I rocked on my feet. Big A and the older man still standing in front of the dais asked if I was all right. Their voices circled around in my brain while the room spun like I had too much alcohol, when to my recollection, I hadn’t had a drop. Grabbing a fistful of my dress, I hiked it up high enough not to catch on my heels and hopped off the dais in search of the nearest exit.

  Everywhere I turned a man in a suit or tux blocked my path.

  “Angelica, Angelica.” Apollyon shouting my name rang though the ballroom, but I kept running, searching for an exit. “Angelica.”

  “Angelica.” The sound of Apollyon’s voice shifted, mimicking Jackson’s. “The necro.”

  Words broke through the fog in my mind, coming through in bits and pieces, but I struggled to put them together. Two fingers pressed against my neck, checking my pulse just before someone kissed me. Relief filled me when I realized it wasn’t the old guy. It was Jackson. He’d come for me. That was enough to bring me back from the edge of insanity.

  I bolted upright, gasping for breath, shocked to find myself on the floor in Parker’s apartment. The nausea, aches and pains, and pounding headache pointed to poison. The wild and terrifying hallucinations meant belladonna was the most likely choice. From the look of Parker’s clenched fists and contorted body, he’d been poisoned as well.

  The water. It was the only common denominator in the equation. Parker took my bottle of water from me and finished it. Someone poisoned the water.

  Jackson’s voice echoed down the hall. He was shouting, chasing someone, and they were headed toward the elevator. The necro. Could it have only taken seconds for my body to metabolize the poison and recuperate? Without my increased healing abilities and quasi immortality, I would have been a twisted ball of flesh on the floor next to Parker.