She narrowed her eyes. “How long?”
“No more than a month,” the angel said offhandedly.
At that Rosie burst into tears. The looks on the faces of the three males said they would much rather battle locusts.
Glen cleared his throat, walked to Rosie and put his arms around her. “Come now, love. The pressure of being responsible for people is, well, it’s hard. I know. Comes with the territory. They were apprised of the dangers when…”
She pushed Glen away with a suddenness that surprised him and stepped back. “That is not helping! Just leave me alone.”
She stomped out of the room, leaving Glen with empty arms and dashed hopes for transcendental sex. He looked at the dining room table. Most of her coffee almond fudge ice cream had melted into a puddle, uneaten.
“Fuck,” he said almost to himself, before looking at Kellareal with accusation in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Kellareal said sheepishly.
Glen narrowed his eyes. “Who controls these ‘channels’?”
The angel’s mouth tightened into a firm line. “Can’t say, old man. That’s need to know.”
“Did you see my wife leave the room crying? I think that qualifies as need to know.”
“Well, see, that’s the thing. You’re too close to the minutiae to appreciate the big picture. There’s more at stake than Rosie having one of her tantrums.”
Glen stiffened with feelings of defensiveness about Rosie. “I’ll admit she did do that when she was younger. But there’s a difference between being mad because you can’t have your way and being distressed because one of your people, whom you are responsible for, is out of pocket and enduring who knows what?”
“Lyric won’t violate treaty terms,” Kellareal affirmed.
Rosie stomped back into the room. “Treaty terms?”
Glen shook his head. “This gets ever stranger. What treaty? Between whom? What does it say and what does it do?”
Kellareal shook his head again and said, “Need to…”
With a suddenness that made Deliverance and Kellareal both jump, Glen unleashed his werewolf snarl and lunged toward the table. “Do not finish that sentence if you know what’s good for you.”
Rosie’s heart swelled with appreciation for her man’s protectiveness and she made a mental note to give Glen a blow job he would never forget, even if she had to enhance the experience with a little magic for staying power.
From six feet away, which is where Kellareal had landed when he sprang out of the way, he said, “Very well,” and disappeared.
Glen’s snarl had resolved into a low-level rumble that sounded like a muscle car on idle. His attention slowly turned to Deliverance. While he began questioning Deliverance on what he knew, Rosie disappeared.
She found herself in a bar with mood lighting. Cherrywood floors and walls. Lots of huge mirrors with ornately carved cherrywood frames. The furniture was contemporary in that it was chrome and black leather, which made for an interesting juxtaposition of style. It was sexy, modern, and masculine, giving the vibe of what a true gentleman’s club might look like if there was such a thing in current times.
There were, perhaps, a dozen men scattered around engaged in conversation. Some were seated at the long polished bar. Some were standing at high tops. Some were cozied into black leather booths.
What they all had in common was that they appeared to be the same age, guestimate thirty. And they were all impossibly beautiful. And they’d all stopped what they were doing to stare at her.
Rosie didn’t have time to wonder about the space or the guys. She’d come to talk to Kellareal and that was what she was going to do.
She walked up behind Kellareal who was standing at the bar watching an invisible bartender pour a drink that looked like a mixture of amber, light, and bubbles.
With hands on hips, she said, “You’re not getting off that easy!”
Kellareal whirled around with an open-mouthed look of shock. When he managed to recover use of his voice, he said, “You can’t be here!”
She glanced around at the curious bystanders. “Obviously I can.”
“No. You can’t. First, there’s no way you could have found your way here.” Although on the inside he felt that was a lie, since he suspected she could pretty much do anything. “Second, look at the sign.” He pointed off to her right.
When she looked to her right, the rich wood paneling and mirrors had disappeared. In their place was a white wall with huge black lettering that read ANGELS ONLY.
Rosie looked around the room. Again. “Angels are all boys?”
Kellareal narrowed his eyes and pointed to the wall again. Underneath ANGELS ONLY was red graffiti script that said NO GIRLS.
“What do you know?” Rosie mused. “An exclusive club for boy angels.” She waved at the onlookers. “Hey, guys. Sorry for the intrusion. I’ll be out of here in a second. Just as soon as I throttle my friend.” She saw some of the angels exchange looks that were unreadable, at least to her.
To Kellareal, she said, “What do I have to do to get my hunter back?”
“Just give me a little time. I’m working on it.” He glanced around nervously. “But you really have to go.”
“We’re having this conversation. We can do it here. Or someplace else. Your choice.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together. “Brat.”
“Dick.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a few gasps.
Kellareal took in a deep breath like he was summoning patience. “Come on.”
He grabbed her wrist and the two of them were standing in her dining room.
“That is a very neat trick,” Rosie said. “You don’t even have to travel the passes to get where you want to go. Teach me.”
“No.” He decided the prudent thing to do would be to refrain from pointing out that she had performed the same ‘trick’ when she’d followed him to his club. If she didn’t connect the dots because she was too emotional at the time, all the better.
“Come on.” Her sincerity level fell somewhere between a casual request and full-fledged pleading.
“You’re seriously trying to layer favors on the heels of embarrassing me at my club?”
Rosie cocked her head to the side. “Did I embarrass you?”
He rolled his eyes. “They’ll be talking about the stunt you pulled for eons and that’s no exaggeration. No one but members has ever set foot in there. Ever.”
“Well, you know what they say. There’s a first time for…”
“I can’t go get your hunter, because there’s a process that needs to be followed.”
“I know you…”
He held up his hand to stop her. “But you could do it.”
“Oh.” Rosie stood up a little straighter. She glanced at Glen and Deliverance who were silently observing the negotiation. “Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Because… It’s skirting the edges of legal and there’s usually a price to be paid for…”
“Being devious?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“You should switch sides,” Deliverance said. “We celebrate devious.”
Kellareal gave the demon a withering look. “No thanks.”
“And we’re not big on rules or ‘process’ either,” Deliverance added.
“Leave him alone,” Rosie chided her grandfather. “Be satisfied that you’re more fun.”
Kellareal scowled. “I’m fun. You think he’s more fun?”
Rosie turned back to Kellareal, her features softening slightly. She projected a thought into Kellareal’s mind telepathically, which she’d never done before. “No. Of course not. I tell him that to make him feel good about himself.”
Kellareal didn’t know whether to be relieved that he was as much fun as Deliverance or disturbed that Rosie had added telepathy to her bag of tricks that was growing in an alarming way.
He answered her in kind, telepathically. “Is this a new
thing? Speaking without tongue?”
“No. I’ve always been able to do it. With certain people. Not humans. But my mother told me not to when I was still little. She said it makes others uncomfortable.”
“Well, she was right. I’m uncomfortable.”
Rosie laughed out loud then said, out loud, “Getting back to the point. Tell me how to get my hunter.”
CHAPTER Fifteen Absent Without Leave
From the Memoir of Glendennon Catch
Sovereign Jefferson Unit, Order of the Black Swan
It seems poor Finngarick simply can’t catch a break. After all this time, finding his mate in the partner assigned to him sounds like kismet. But no sooner does it seem like the clouds might be breaking for him than the promise of a future is snatched out from under him. Pardon my use of the word ‘snatched’, but that’s what my wife called it. She said that the elf, Sheridan O’Malley, one of a pair of identical twins, was randomly paired with Torn.
I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as ‘randomly’. The universe is an orderly place if you can get back far enough to be objective and see things in the context of a lot of time passing. How could it possibly be a coincidence that I sent him to interview for D.I.T. and my wife ‘randomly’ picked him to partner with his mate? Right. Such things cannot be random.
Rosie said that anybody who saw the two of them together would know they were fated mates. She said they were cute together, whatever that means. And that they look like they belong together, whatever that means.
So for the sake of my wife, because she will take it badly if her hunter is lost, and for the sake of Torn Finngarick, I hope Kellareal is able to make good on his promise to get the abductee back.
At some point, during tonight’s episode of supper, I realized that weird is the closest I’m ever going to come to normal. And that I should be thankful for days that aren’t outright insane. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that, but I’m leaning toward feeling like that’s okay with me. In one sense or another I’ve been off the ‘normal’ grid most of my life.
So what if a quiet dinner at home with my wife is interrupted by an angel and a demon, who apparently have a relationship governed by spite and a grudging admiration? It’s just our version of ‘guess who’s coming to dinner’. Rosie is worth it. Black Swan is worth it.
Yeah. I guess I’ve drunk the cult green. No regrets. ~~
Finngarick hopped a jet to New Jersey. No one questioned whether or not he had the required permissions. Why would they? He was a Black Swan knight.
After several hours in the air, Torn caught a Jeep to Jefferson Unit’s front door, buzzed in, and walked into Glen’s office without waiting to be announced by Glen’s man on duty. It was unexpected to say the least.
Glen looked up and was a little alarmed by what he saw. Torn’s appearance had always been stylistically unorthodox, but he’d always been clean, groomed, and healthy-looking despite reports of enjoying Irish whiskey more than a body should. At the moment, Finngarick was pale, disheveled, and wearing an expression that could only be described as distraught.
“Sir Finngarick. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m here anyway,” said Torn.
Glen nodded at his man standing in the doorway looking unsettled. “Sorry, sir. He, um, got by me.”
“That’s alright,” Glen said. “Close the door.”
When the door was closed, Torn said, “I’ve ne’er asked for anythin’ in return for what I’ve given this outfit.”
“By ‘outfit’, you mean Black Swan?”
“O’ course I mean Black Swan.”
“In that case, let me remind you that a lot of what you’ve given this ‘outfit’ is trouble.”
A rush of embarrassment was tinted with a flush that rose to Finngarick’s face. “That’s true and I can no’ deny it. But ‘twas before. I’ll give whate’er I have to give. Anythin’. Just get her back.”
Glen’s face went soft. “Are we talking about Rosie’s missing hunter?”
“Sher. Yes.”
“She’s on your team?” Of course Glen knew the answer to that question, but played dumb because he didn’t want Rosie’s unit to know she carried tales out of school.
“My partner. Sheridan O’Malley. For all I know she’s the best asset The Order has.” He paused. “Next to your, er, wife, that is.”
“Speaking of that. Does your boss know you’re here?”
Torn flushed, but looked defiant in refusing to apologize for that. How could he? It was all he could do to sit still. The mate connection that he’d come to rely on had been ripped away violently. It was there. Then it wasn’t. And since the invisible cord that connected him to Sheridan had been cut, it was all he could do to get motor skills to function.
“No.”
Glen sat back and stared at Torn for a second. “What were you just saying about how the troublemaking was ‘before’?”
Torn’s shoulders slumped with a look of defeat. Glen motioned for him to sit down in the chair in front of his desk. First he used the intercom to order a coffee service. Then he called Rosie. “Yes, I…” (pause) “Yes.” (pause) “Yes.” (pause) “No, wait wait wait wait, I called you. Remember?” (pause) “Yes. It’s because I have something to say. I asked to see Finngarick. He thinks he may have forgotten to get clearance from you. So I’m calling to let you know he’s away with my blessing. No blowback.” (pause) (sigh) “Yes. I’ll sing you love songs like Ram does for Elora.” Over the phone Glen glared at Finngarick like he wanted to kill him. “Yes. He’ll be back in a few hours.”
Glen ended the call and continued to glare at Torn for a few beats before saying. “I’m not a very good singer. My singing voice sounds more like a growl than anything.”
“But she must like it or she would no’ ask you to sing to her?”
Glen sighed. Again. Then nodded. “Love is strange.” He lifted his gaze to Finngarick. “Why did you come to me?”
“Well, because… and I’m no’ especially proud to say this, but you’re my only friend in high places.”
After a second Glen barked out a laugh. He looked around. “You think of this as a ‘high place’?” Torn gave him a confused look. “And, I didn’t know you considered me a friend.”
“Well, aye. E’er since that time in Romania. I mean I’m sorry for, erm, hazin’ you the way I did. But ‘twas done with love.”
“With love,” Glen said drily.
“Aye.”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Glen said loud enough to be heard.
Glen’s man, which was what he called the student admin on duty, wheeled in a coffee service featuring Ralph Lauren cups and saucers, a silver-plated coffee carafe with insulated lining, and cream in a container that looked like a crystal vial.
Torn stared at the luxurious display. “And you question that this is high places?”
Glen looked at the service and realized that he probably had begun to take some of the perks of being J.U. Sovereign for granted. “When it comes to jobs, this one’s not all bad.” Finngarick snorted at that. “Help yourself.”
Torn poured himself a black coffee and snagged a peanut butter oatmeal cookie, which he dipped into the clotted cream that was intended for the pretty display of large perfectly formed strawberries that had been picked at the optimum moment of ripeness and flown straight to J.U. food service.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you have feelings for Ms. O’Malley, beyond being her partner.”
Finngarick’s jaw clenched. He started to speak, but changed his mind when he realized his throat had closed. He gave a short tight nod, but his expressive eyes told Glen everything he needed to know.
“She’s no’ just my partner. She’s my mate. Do you know enough about elves to know what that means?”
“As much as I can,” Glen said, clearing his throat of the discomfort that one man feels when another is overcome with emotion.
“It
means that the distress I’m feelin’, she’s feelin’ it, too. And I can no’ stand the thought of that.” He said it in a way that was almost pleading.
“Well, I want to assure you that Rosie is not taking this lightly. She’s pulled out all the stops to get Ms. O’Malley back where she belongs. And I have it on good authority that it’s in the works.”
“You know for a fact that she’s alright then?” The hope in Finngarick’s voice and in the expression on his face tore at Glen’s heart.
“We believe she is unharmed and also believe that it’s only a matter of time until she’s returned.”
“Where is she?”
“Well, uh… I, ah…”
When Glen hesitated, Torn shot to his feet. “I do no’ like the sound of ‘well, uh, I, ah’. Spit it out, man. I’m no’ a child.”
Glen inhaled deeply. Torn was right. He wasn’t a child. He was a Black Swan knight. But he also had a reputation as a hotheaded Irish elf who, given the right circumstances, could resemble a tornado personified. Glen suspected that the missing Ms. O’Malley qualified as ‘right circumstances’.
“I will tell you if you swear to remain calm.”
Finngarick looked like his head might explode. “Tell me now!”
“A demon has her.”
“Demon?” Torn’s eyes flicked back and forth as he blinked quickly. He took in a deep breath like he was having trouble breathing. “What kind?” Before Glen could answer that, Torn said, “And what does he want with…?”
Glen gave him a look of sympathy. As he watched the little bit of color left in Finngarick’s face pale to deathly white, he poured another inch of whiskey and set the bottle where Torn could reach it.
Next Up…
CRAP IN A CAULDRON! Move over knights. There's a new kind of hunter in town.
Finngarick found happiness in the form of a fellow D.I.T. hunter, one of a pair of twins who grew up as near feral children in the New Forest preserve in Northern Ireland. On assignment in Dublin, she was kidnapped by a demon who snatched her out of the passes.
Finngarick (Order of the Black Swan, D.I.T. Book 2) Page 21
