The Grimrose Path

by Rob Thurman

  “Griffin.” I bent down and cupped his cheek before kissing the corner of his mouth. “I had no idea you were such an idiot.”

  He blinked a few more times as the thoughts swam in and out behind the blue and the puzzlement began to clear. “Oh. The demons.”

  “Yes. Oh. The demons.” This side of his face was un-bruised and pale, faint blond stubble beginning to show on his jaw. “If you keep trying to make up for something you never did, especially alone . . . If you keep trying to prove to us something we already know is true, then you won’t be around very long. And if you’re not, then Zeke won’t be either. Did you think of that when you left this morning when you were lying to Zeke with your thoughts?”

  He swallowed and slid his gaze toward Zeke, who was most meticulously not looking back at him. “No . . . wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

  Zeke kept his head turned away. “Trixa, tell the asshole he’s not half as sorry as he’s going to be.”

  “Kit says not half as sorry as you’re going to be,” I parroted faithfully and somewhat gleefully—the relief was so great. “You screwed up, Griffin, and it’s time to take your medicine. I’m not standing in the way of that. How would you learn if I did?”

  “I’m not the teacher”—he coughed a dry cough, the same as you gave after a long sleep—“anymore?” His hand tightened on Zeke’s again.

  “Not for a while at least.” I patted his chest now covered in a hospital gown. “It’ll do you good. I think you might’ve forgotten we all have lessons to learn. We’re all teachers and we’re all students, and I’m thinking, sugar, you’re due a little detention.”

  “Not a little. A lot. A lot.” The glower was directed at me over a shoulder, and I obediently relayed the message, using my fingers to comb through Griffin’s tangled hair, but the blood and dirt were there to stay until the next shampoo, the hospital version or strawberry scented.

  “I almost feel sorry for you when he does speak to you.” I gave up on his hair.

  “He is speaking to me.” He raised his free hand to rub unsteadily at his head. It had to hurt. Being pulled out of a coma wasn’t going to change that. “Just because it’s not with words or thoughts”—he closed his eyes—“doesn’t mean anything. What he feels . . .” The hand fell back to the bed as Zeke’s head bowed. No words, but they were communicating and it was heartbreaking to see, as necessary as it was. Now Griffin would have a whole different guilt to deal with. I hope he dealt with it better than the unnecessary ex-demon one.

  “I’ll go get the nurse. They’ll give you something for the pain once they get over your practically supernatural recovery. Just don’t tell them quite how supernatural.” I patted him again, his shoulder this time, the same spot I gripped when I reached across the bed to touch Zeke. “I’ll be back in the morning.” I’d only be one in a crowd in the next few minutes. I’d let Zeke have what small amount of extra room there was going to be. Miracles tended to suck the oxygen and space out of a room, and now that I had Griffin back, both my boys safe and whole, there was a catastrophe heading my way—heading everyone’s way. Mama said there was always a catastrophe coming. Someone’s world was always coming to an end. It wasn’t our worry to change every ending, only the endings we could. Know your limitations, girl, else you become one yourself.

  This time though, Mama didn’t know. One ending could be every ending this time. One fall could be everyone’s fall.

  “Thanks, Trixa, for saving me.” Zeke gave a discontented grunt. “For helping Zeke save me,” Griffin corrected himself.

  “My not-so-great pleasure. Don’t get yourself in trouble like that again, not the self-made kind anyway. Besides, I was only along for the ride, to make sure Zeke didn’t tear Vegas down to the foundations to find you.” I paused at the door to look back at both of them, but particularly Griffin. “Remember that. If I wasn’t here, what Zeke would’ve done and I can’t say I blame him. He’s listened to you for all his life”—all the one he could remember—“so now I think it’s time you listened to him for a while.” I held up a finger. “Except on running over grandmas driving tiny ecofriendly hybrids with your big satanic bus. Listen and learn, but there are limits.”

  I raised three other fingers to join the first and give them a quick wave good-bye as I left. They needed the time, and I would only be a third wheel to that bicycle . . . or a second wheel to the unicycle. Codependency, it isn’t ever a good thing in the human world, but in the supernatural world, sometimes it could be the very best thing—for some the only thing that kept them sane.

  I notified the nurse, who ran for the doctor. I called Leo to tell him to skip the hospital and go home for the night. Then I followed my own advice, ducked under the frame that had once held glass, and walked through my door. Despite the gaping hole in it, I knew nothing would be missing. In this neighborhood, no one except desperate drug addicts tried to steal from me. And if a stranger tried, he wouldn’t leave this neighborhood without an ass-kicking he wouldn’t soon forget. My neighbors loved me. Free-alcohol Fridays made sure of that. As I stood on the shattered glass Zeke had left earlier—one more chore for the morning—all the lights came on simultaneously. The jukebox, which was decorative—it hadn’t worked since about the time they’d stopped making records—came to life, and the sounds of “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen filled the room. It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been “Teen Angel.”

  Because that was who was waiting for me, minus the teen part. Shoulder-length blond hair, white wings barred with gold, and eyes the color of the water where the Titanic had sunk. Dark gray-blue. Oh, and he had a sword.

  The angel quirked his lips very slightly. “You wouldn’t believe what a bitch it was getting this through airport security.”

  I shot the jukebox with the gun hidden in the dead plant by the door, put the weapon back, and then dropped my face into my hands. I liked Ishiah. I trusted Ishiah to a certain point, which was big for a trickster. But I did not need this. I didn’t want this. I didn’t even want to see it. Not now. I was exhausted. I had too much on my plate and I just wanted to sleep.

  “Trixa,” the voice coaxed. “It won’t be like last time, my word, not that you have anyone but yourself to blame for that.” There was that attitude. That disapproving, condescending attitude. “I’m here to assist you. Only that. There will be no last time this time.”

  Last time. I didn’t want to talk about the last time. I didn’t want to think about the last time. I wished the last time could be erased from time itself altogether, because I would never live it down. Not until my dying day.

  Last time. Why did he have to bring it up? I considered taking out the gun again and doing to myself what I’d done to the jukebox.

  Hallelujah, my ass.

  More like Hellelujah.

  Chapter 9

  I went downstairs in the morning, late . . . around eleven, but it was a long night and I’d called Zeke around eight a.m. to hear Griffin was doing well, but was still an asshole. Reassured about his physical health if not the lack of improvement in his assholery, I went back to sleep for another two and a half hours. When I did get up, I dressed for success after showering. No sweats or T-shirts for running or the occasional footy pajamas for comfort sleeping. I wanted this particular angel to know I was in business and meant it as well. With a thin long-sleeve sweater in psychedelic swirls of dark red, bronze, and black; black jeans and boots; and a flashy gold and garnet of earrings to match the tiny stud in my nose.

  Leo was there . . . at the opposite end of the bar, staring unblinking at the angel who had taken a stool at the other end. He might have spent the night on that stool, or on the couch in Leo’s office, gotten a hotel.... I didn’t know. Last night I’d walked past him without a word and gone upstairs to sleep. Where he did the same didn’t worry me. He more than could take care of himself, the scar on his jaw told you that. Now he was staring as unblinkingly back at Leo, giving just as good as he got until he heard me. Then he swiveled, took me in, an
d gave a grave nod. “The new look becomes you. And from Mica to Trixa Iktomi. That suits you as well, but a last name? How human of you.”

  Mica had been like Cher or Madonna. One name needed only,for the last time I’d seen Ishiah—who wasn’t technically an angel anymore, although I’d known him when he had been one, making his list of who went into the Roman orgies and who walked righteously by. Stick up his ass the same as all of them. Not worth wasting your breath on with his “Thou shall not this; thou shall not that” sanctimonious attitude. But when he went native . . . retired and became a peri, he mellowed. Slowly, but he had. The last time I’d seen him, the infamous last time, he hadn’t been bad at all, especially considering what we’d done to his bar. At the time, although he was retired, I hadn’t considered him on our side by any means. It was one of the few times I’d been . . . not so much wrong, but not quite right either. When Ishiah had gone native, he’d thoroughly done that deal. He tried to stay neutral . . . like Switzerland, only without the corrupt banks.

  No, Ishiah wasn’t a bad guy.

  “Swoop your feather-duster ass over here and give me a hug, sugar.” I spread my arms and hugged him hard when he stepped up. The wings had been put away and I could feel the muscle of his back under his shirt. Leo snorted. He was either jealous or playing at being jealous. I did the same for him, both kinds. We were good for each other’s ego that way. But, honestly, a peri and me? No. He might be an expatriate of Heaven, but I could still get a whiff of the holy off him and that wasn’t the best of cologne for turning me on. But he wasn’t bad for a peri and a friend to many païen kind, so I hugged him again before stepping back. “Do I look that different? I can’t remember what I looked like during the Exodus.” So many looks, so many outsides; it was what was inside that made you. It was the inside you had to remember.

  “Your hair was black and straight, your skin was a darker brown, and your eyes were pale blue-green. The color of glacier lakes, you told me.” He continued while raising an eyebrow, “Shameful that it is, you were still vain then too. And don’t call it the Exodus. It’s disrespectful.”

  I was not vain. I never chose cookie-cutter beauty. I chose to be different, exotic, wild, and everything most people saw every day on separate people but combined into one unforgettable whole. Why have a boring vanilla wafer when you can have a chocolate chip-peanut butter-coconut-caramel cookie? Vain. Hardly. But disrespectful, that I was and claimed with pleasure. “Why not? That’s what it was. Why let a perfectly good word go unused because your kind used it once and capitalized it first?”

  An Exodus it had been too—seventy years ago in New York City. Eden House New York had still existed and angels and demons were everywhere. Angels had been ordering their Eden House human soldiers to wipe the demons clean from the city, but that wasn’t going to happen—they didn’t have the numbers and angels rarely fought these days when they had their humans to do it for them. The demons were determined to take out Eden House and have one helluva good time in the process. No one knew what made each side take a stand there. There were hundreds of cities worldwide and they had a presence in all of them. Why was each side determined to make New York theirs and theirs only? I doubt they knew themselves. Sometimes there doesn’t need to be a reason, only egos and idiocy.

  Seventy years ago those egos and idiocy blew up. It became so blatant that people were starting to notice—even oblivious people living in their mundane, no-surprises-left-in-the-world existences. They began to question. They began to look—they saw miracles and horrors, and while it was written off to religious hysteria for a few weeks, someone else noticed too—noticed the danger.

  We did. The païen.

  There were plenty of us in New York. An aware human population was the last thing we needed. Our numbers were dropping as the years spooled out and if humans found out about angels and demons living among them, how long would it be until they found out about us? How long would we last if they did?

  We hadn’t waited to find out. I hooked an arm with Ishiah and led him over to Leo. “You damn sure missed out, Leo. They bussed in all the païen in the tristate area and some of us came from even farther to get in on the action. We steel-toed their asses out of the city like Adam and Eve out of paradise. Nearly every païen species alive came together. It was unprecedented.” I smiled, warm and happy at the memory. “Every demon who dared poke his head aboveground to shake the sulfur off his scaly feet, we killed. We caught every Eden Houser alive, kept some of the badder of us from eating them, tied them up, and put them on those same buses we rode in on. Sent them out. And after they’d seen us, not a one came back.” Only the head of each Eden House knew about the païen kind—vamps, weres, tricksters, revenants, on and on. The soldiers didn’t know. Demons were enough for them to handle, their bosses thought, and thought right. They not only didn’t return, but a few ended up seeking mental health care . . . of the inpatient-hospital kind. Pretty white coats that tied in the back. Demons they could take, but us? That drove them over the edge. Please. Crybaby candyasses.

  And since then, neither angel nor demon has shown a molting feather or scaly ass in New York City.

  “It was like Mardi Gras.” I leaned against Ishiah’s shoulder. By his expression, he had memories less fond of the experience. “Beads, bondage, and breasts. Wolves Gone Wild. And when those girls flash eight of those honeydews at the guys, they get a whole mess of beads.”

  Leo did look regretful on missing that, but he focused in on Ishiah instead of dwelling on what might have been. “And how did your ex-pigeon son of a bitch with allegiance to no one manage to stay in the city? Obviously he did or he’d be pissed off at you, not contemplating fornication. Isn’t that what your type calls it?” Leo grinned darkly. “Fornication.”

  “I’m not contemplating fornication with Trixa,” Ishiah said evenly—a little too evenly, a little too sure. I wasn’t vain, but I wasn’t dead either. Give a girl some validation. “I fornicate elsewhere.” He folded his arms, already on the defense, and I was suddenly more curious than insulted. “The same elsewhere, the same someone, in fact, that convinced your kind to let me stay in New York. I don’t call it fornication anymore.” He presented the information as if it were a secret handshake or a cop’s badge, and it was. We were brothers, comrades, or, damn, practically in-laws.

  “You’re sleeping with Robin?” I said in disbelief.

  “Goodfellow? You’re screwing a puck? Worse yet, that one?” Leo was even less disbelieving and did a good imitation of being disgusted—which would be solely because he couldn’t keep up with a puck. Few could, verbally, criminally, or sexually, and no one in the world could keep up with Robin Goodfellow. Ishiah called me the vain one; he had his nerve. Robin was vanity walking . . . granted walking practically on three legs, rather than two, but vanity was vanity—well deserved or not.

  Leo wasn’t done. “He’s a walking, talking dick....”

  “Literally,” I interjected on Goodfellow’s behalf.

  It was a good thing Leo’s powers were temporarily on hiatus or I might have been nothing but a scorch mark on the floor. There was some history between Robin and me, but even I had my limits. That puck could talk the paint off the walls, the skirt off the waitress, and the pants off the doorman . . . and that had all been in less than thirty minutes. Shortest date of my life, but one that had put me off the mere thought of sex for months. The man had a mirrored ceiling in his pantry. His pantry. I didn’t want to guess what he had in his bedroom. It was bad enough running for my millennia-gone virtue because I was nosing around the puck’s pantry. It was a toss-up between chocolate and curiosity by the way—as to why I was nosing it to begin with.

  It went without saying that Ishiah had reserves in him I’d never dreamed existed.

  I put my hand across Leo’s mouth so we could get this conversation over with and his butt cheeks unclenched. “Robin did talk the rest of us into leaving the peris be. You’d always left us alone once you retired. It seemed fai
r. I couldn’t figure out why he did at the time, what with that hate-hate relationship you had going on.” Now I knew.

  Ishiah’s eyes shifted sideways . . . a bare fraction, but I saw enough of it for confirmation. Not hate-hate after all, but love-hate. Oh, those two had their plates full now. “Anyway, for Leo’s benefit, let’s wrap this up.We won. Ish let some of us party at his bar to celebrate. I was drunk for three days, hungover for a week, and that’s the last time I saw Ishiah. It was also the last time my brain tried to crawl out of my ears to escape alcohol poisoning. The last time I tried to pick up a werewolf only to find out it was actually a German shepherd. The last time I grew wings and flew naked over the heads of drunken païen saying that I was Tinkerbell and they needed to follow me to never-never land. The last time . . .” I uncovered Leo’s mouth. “Never mind. It was more last times than I can or care to remember and we won’t discuss it again. Right?” I pointed a finger at Leo’s chest. “Right?”

  He studied me impassively, then smirked. I hadn’t ever, in our long, long years of knowing each other, seen Leo smirk. He didn’t do it. It wasn’t his new, improved, laid-back yet solemn and kick-ass self, and it definitely wasn’t his big bad “a frown is just your body methodically broken to bits and turned upside down” former self. This could, in no way, be a good thing. “I’m going to the office. I have some calls to make. You two catch up.”

  “Don’t you dare call my mama! Don’t you even think about it, Leo!” I called to his back right before the door shut behind him. Although she had to already know. There was hardly a trickster alive who didn’t, but she’d love the opportunity to verbally smack my ass over it. “Oh, goddamnit, I’m dead as they come.”

  Ishiah coughed behind a balled fist and said mildly, “Blasphemy. Some old habits die hard.”