by Amy Vansant
Tyannah gasped, her body arching into a bridge, her fingers splayed out as if lightening coursed through her veins. She glowed from within, her skin becoming a paper-thin shell stretched across the power throbbing within her. Her jaw snapped shut and Rathe winced, making a mental note to give the next soldier something to bite during the creation process. He hoped she was far enough along her transformation process that cracked teeth or a missing tongue would regenerate.
Maybe a tongue-less soldier would be a good thing. Less backtalk.
Package delivered, he released his grip on her face and slumped to his side, exhausted. He closed his eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He opened his eyes, unsure how long he’d been sleeping. There was a voice in the room, screaming. Something smelled awful.
A large, bearded man stood in the doorway of the farmhouse, staring at him. The monster had the same oversized bones as Tyannah, but his skin was lighter and his eyes duller. He glowed with a green hue.
“What the hell did you do to my sister?” the man demanded to know.
Rathe groaned.
“Really?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now? Your timing is terrible.”
The man took two long strides to where Rathe lay propped against the wall and kicked him in the face with his enormous work boots. The Cherub’s neck whipped backwards and he slumped sideways, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.
He stared up at the furry titan.
Is everyone on this planet so damn big?
He glanced at Tyannah, who still lay unconscious beside him. His newly minted bodyguard-slash-henchman would be little help to him in this battle.
He turned his head to the side and spit out a tooth, the replacement already growing in the space left by the brother’s dirty boot.
“Do we have to do this?” he asked.
The man leaned down and grabbed him by his hoodie, yanking him to his feet. There were dark stains on the man’s shirt, and it was worn threadbare around the armpits where the mouth breather’s mighty arms hung when they weren’t tossing Cherubim into the air. The monster punched him in the face, twice, and then tossed him against the side of the opposite stairs as if he weighed no more than a dog. Maybe he didn’t. He didn’t know.
“Three fights in less than twenty-four hours,” he grumbled, struggling to untangle himself from the broken banister spindles. “I’m going to really enjoy reducing the population around here.”
He stood, wobbling.
“You better hope she ain’t dead.”
The man checked Tyannah for a pulse as Rathe strode toward him. He stood and swung, but the Cherub stopped his fist in midair with an open palm. Before the giant could react, Rathe clamped his other hand on the man’s throat. Standing six inches shorter than his attacker made it impossible to lift the man off the ground, but he held his throat tight enough to make it clear any false move would result in a crushed windpipe.
The man tried to pry the fingers from his throat but stopped when Rathe squeezed in response. He raised a lip in disgust as the man’s stench filled his nostrils.
“You are not a good person. At first glance, you appear to be protecting your sister, but you’re just protecting your property, aren’t you?”
The man scowled, his teeth clenched together as he fought to flex the muscles in his neck and keep his air-pipe from collapsing.
“You didn’t protect her from her daddy, did you? When he beat her? When he…”
A picture flashed into Rathe’s mind and he glanced at Tyannah’s limp body.
“Wait…that’s what happened to your hair?” he asked, knowing she’d be unable to answer.
He returned his steely gaze to the man.
“I don’t think she’ll be making your dinner anymore.”
Rathe closed his hand and ripped open the giant’s throat.
The man fell to his knees, choking, trying to stop the bleeding with both hands. He fell sideways, striking the uneven wooden floor like a felled redwood.
With a flash of red, the blood on Rathe’s face disappeared. He ran his tongue across his restored teeth, pleased with their smoothness. He walked to Tyannah and lifted her limp form in his arms.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered to her as he mounted the stairs. “You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”
At the top of the stairs, he entered her room and placed her on the bed, pulling the faded pink cover over her unconscious body.
Chapter Eight
“I’m going to get off this train wreck before the next stop,” said Michael, nodding toward Con.
The Irishman sat nursing a whiskey with Jeffrey’s lips.
“Why? He’s sipping now,” said Anne. “Maybe Jeffrey will only end up violently ill and not regret he was ever born.”
“Oh, I’ve hardly had anything. I wouldn’t do that to the boy, jaysus.”
Michael gathered his phone and walked towards the door. “Before I go, I have a mission for you two.”
“Let me guess; find the red Angelus?”
Michael wrinkled his nose. “Don’t call him the red Angelus. He’s no Angelus.”
“Well, we’re going to have to call them something. Especially, if there are eighteen and a half more on their way. You found a name for Perfidians. Put whoever named them in charge of naming the new guys.”
“Or don’t,” said Con. “It’s a terrible name. What does it mean anyway? Perfidians. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Perfidia is Latin for treachery,” said Michael.
Con snorted. “See? Terrible name. Most of them aren’t even Latin.”
Michael sighed.
“Remember the good old days when all we had to fight were Perfidians?” said Anne.
“Angeli found another way to go tits up, surprise, surprise. Why don’t you all just piss off and leave the planet to us. We’ll do just dandy without your help thank you very much.”
Michael crossed his arms over his chest. “You two wouldn’t. You’re hundreds of years old. If we all left, you’d drop dead.”
Con grunted. “Fine. You can stay. Where’s this red Angelus?”
“I’m not sending you after him.”
“You said you had a mission for us?”
“I do and it’s two-fold. First, I want you two to stay together. I’m going to pair all the Sentinels for safety until we unravel this red…this mystery. You might as well keep your little dream team together.”
“Dream team,” Con echoed, snickering. “Siáinte,” he said, raising his glass to Michael.
“Plus, I don’t know who other than you could put up with him,” Michael mumbled to Anne.
She nodded. “True. I am gifted that way.”
“Second, since this mess with Seth, I’ve instituted a policy that all Angeli, common angels and Arch, must submit to voluntary testing every six months. We’ve found a way to early detect Perfidia.”
“Really?”
“No. But the early detection fib is what I’ve told the rest of the Angeli. We know that once they contract Perfidia their first instinct is to keep the status quo and remain in plain sight. If they think we can detect the disease even when they appear normal, they’ll avoid taking the test and go into hiding.”
“So you’ll be on to them before they can cause too much damage. Clever.”
“Exactly. We had an angel in New York City not show to this week’s testing. I’d like you two to check on her. I asked Grace to text you the address and her picture. She’s in Soho, I believe. Her name is Elana.”
“Go and kill Elana. Got it,” said Con.
“Do not kill her. Tell her you’re from the Perfidian Protection Unit and that she missed her last test. Then call it in and stay with her until we send someone to test her.”
“The Perfidian Detection Unit? Is that what we’re calling it?” asked Anne.
“Sounds official enough.”
“What if she doesn’t look sick but she tries to
fight or run?”
“If she tries to fight or run then she’s infected. Take care of it the way you always do.”
“Okay. Well…” Anne caught Michael’s eye and held his gaze. Something inside of her ached. She wasn’t sure if it was for him or the beautiful world inside of him. Part of her wished he’d never shown her it. She felt like a vampire doomed to never again see the sun rise.
“It was nice to see you again, stranger,” she said.
Michael took a step forward and hugged her, the faintest hint of a wistful smile on his lips.
“Be careful,” he whispered to her.
Anne nodded and hugged him tighter, hoping to trigger another glimpse of the glowing nexus. Nothing happened.
With a final squeeze, Michael left. Anne watched him go and then turned to Con.
“You two are adorable,” he said.
“Oh shut up. And get out of Jeffrey. He can’t drink like you.”
“He’s going to be angry…”
“That’s a good point. Tell you what, you stay in him—but stop drinking—until I get a shower and get dressed. Then you can hop out and we’ll bolt out of here to go check on the Perf.”
Con nodded. “I’m good with most of that.”
Anne took a shower and slipped into jeans and a stretchy knit top that she didn’t love. If the girl in Soho was a Perfidian and she was forced to fight, the knit offered flexibility and she wouldn’t mind if it was torn, burned, covered in blood or used to bind her to a sacrificial stone table. She’d learned long ago never to wear nice clothes to battles. Unlike the Angeli, she couldn’t mimic high fashion and change her appearance with a flash of blue light.
Anne kissed the nose of each dog and walked back to her kitchen, only to find the room empty. After some searching, she spotted Jeffrey on the porch. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring out over the park.
She tapped on the glass. Jeffrey turned, but she could see Con’s light inside of him. He smiled with Con’s crooked grin.
“Go without me,” he called through the glass. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a second.”
Anne scowled and then shrugged. She left and took the elevator downstairs.
“Hi Ms. B,” called a voice as she stepped into the lobby. The girl from the day shift stood behind the reception counter.
“Hi, April.” She was about to walk outside when she pivoted and headed back to the desk.
“April, did you see Pete this morning?”
The young woman’s eyes grew large. “Did you see him, too?” she asked, in an aghast whisper.
“What do you mean?”
April looked left and right and then leaned towards Anne. “I found him here asleep!”
Whoops.
“He didn’t get in trouble, did he?”
“No, I woke him up. He was adorable.”
She giggled.
Anne smiled. “Good. Thank you. I mean, thank you for not telling on him, he does a good job.”
“Oh, I’d never tell on him.”
“You just told me.”
April covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh!”
“It’s okay. Just don’t tell anyone else. They aren’t all as easy going as I am.”
April nodded. “I won’t!”
Anne left the hotel, offering hellos to the doorman and porters as they waited for guests to come or go. The morning sun had crested the building tops and the subtle breeze was warm but with a crisp edge, like the physical manifestation of summer and fall’s yearly battle for dominance. Anne wandered toward the park, tilting back her head and closing her eyes to let the sun warm her bones.
“There you are!” said a voice. “Incoming!”
Anne heard the words a moment before she felt her body tremble. An electric shock shot to the tips of her fingers. A moment later things had returned to normal, but for a vague sense of disorientation.
“Anne!”
Anne turned back towards the hotel. Her head felt as though her brain had arrived a second after her skull.
“Whoa,” she mumbled.
“Where is he?”
She blinked and saw Jeffrey running toward her.
“Where is who?’ she asked. She had a pretty good idea though.
“Con.” Jeffrey put a hand on the park fence to steady himself. “I’m drunk. I know he did it again. I’m going to kill him!”
“You don’t know where I am,” said a voice in Anne’s head.
“You don’t know where I am,” she echoed.
Jeffrey squinted at her.
“What?”
You don’t know where Con is.
“You don’t know where Con is,” she said. “Sorry.”
“I know. That’s what I just said. I’m asking if you know where he is.”
He left.
“He left.”
“Oh, I feel sick. I shouldn’t have run.” He put his hand on his chest. “Do you know how long I’m going to have to spin at the gym to burn off this crap? Booze is all sugar. Though, I have to say, my head does feel a little better than it felt when I woke up… He might have done me a favor.”
He looked at Anne.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are you doing with your hands? Are you okay?”
Anne looked down and realized she had her hands on her own breasts. She was idly squeezing them.
She looked at Jeffrey and dropped her hands to her side.
“Sorry… I— They were achy for some reason. I think I slept on them wrong.”
“Is that a thing?”
She nodded.
Jeffrey shook his head and then held his hand to his temple.
“I’m going to go lie down. You tell that Irish bastard I am going to kill him the next time I see him.”
“Will do.”
Anne felt her right hand rising towards her chest again and forced it down.
Jeffrey turned and made his wobbly way back to the hotel. When he was out of earshot, she spun to face the park.
“Con! Get out of me!”
I can’t! You have the address. And even if I flew straight there, I’d have to be sure to land somewhere people didn’t see me or hop inside someone loitering outside…it’s much easier if I just travel with you.
Anne groaned. “This is a nightmare,” she said, walking back to the hotel.
This is no picnic for me either. I’d rather be inside you the old fashioned way, if you know what I’m saying.
Anne’s lip curled. “You’re disgusting. And keep your hands off my boobs.”
“What’s that, Ms. B?” asked Hank the doorman as she approached.
“Nothing. Sorry. I was talking to myself. Could you get me a cab?”
“Sure thing, Ms. B.”
“Hank, have I ever told you how handsome you are?”
Anne slapped her hand across her mouth and thought the word Con! as loudly as she could.
She heard giggling in her head.
“Well, thank you Ms. B, you’re quite a looker yourself,” said Hank, beaming.
Anne offered him a tight-lipped smile and stepped a few feet away in case Con had more comments locked and loaded.
See how you made that man’s day?
“Shut up.”
Anne took a cab to the address Michael’s assistant had sent to her phone. Grace had attached a photo of the angel in question; a pretty girl with honey skin, full lips and long dark hair.
Anne heard a whistle inside her head.
Lass is gorgeous. I don’t know if I can go through with this one.
Seriously? I mean, I guess if you like that sort of ‘perfect beauty’ thing… Hey, can you hear me if I just think my thoughts? asked Anne, silently. There was no reply. She sighed with relief. At least he couldn’t hear her think what an idiot he was.
The cab arrived at the SoHo address. She entered the large apartment building and took the elevator to the loft. She remembered the SoH
o neighborhood, which stood for “South of Houston,” once housed a large collection of artists who used the large, industrial loft spaces as art studios in the 1970s. The neighborhood had transitioned yet again, and now featured trendy shops and boutiques. Anne didn’t find it strange that an Angelus might live there, they always had plenty of money. Unless an Angelus’ particular mission required them to live more modestly, they usually resided in the finest neighborhoods and homes.
Who wouldn’t, if given the chance?
The Angel Elana was posing as a model, but every human she killed would corrupt her good looks. If she was infected, she wouldn’t be modeling for long, unless the heroin-addled zombie look had come back into vogue.
Could Kate Moss have been a Perfidian? Hm…
Michael thought the very urge to kill a human meant infection by Perfidia; Meili had believed Perfidia to be a disease you caught after eating a human, like Kuru, the disease cannibals contracted from munching on human brains.
She wasn’t sure the distinction mattered.
The elevator doors opened to a narrow hallway and a red door.
“Here we go,” said Anne.
She knocked.
After a few minutes and two more knocks, a young woman answered the door wearing a kimono-style silk robe. Much of her dark, ponytailed hair had worked free from the confines of her hair band and spilled to either side of her face. She looked as if she had just awoken, but Anne didn’t notice any of the more advanced signs of Perfidia. The new policy may have caught Elana’s descent before her first kill.
“Hi, Elana?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Anne. I’m from the, uh…the Perfidian Prevention Unit.”
