by Rob Thurman
“No, I don’t. And why doesn’t it matter?”
This smile was gloating. This smile said he had me right where he wanted me. “I found your brother’s killer.”
I’d known it. Felt it. The Light, Eden House, angels and demons, all of it converging together after all this time. It left only one thing—Kimano’s killer. There was a synchronicity to it, an inevitability. The moment I’d heard that demon I’d killed whisper of the Light with his last worthless breath, I knew it would bring Kimano’s murderer to me, because it was the only thing that everyone would want. Do anything to possess. Above and Below. Someone would be willing to pay the price.
I turned again and smiled at him. You wouldn’t think a demon, especially one of Eli’s rank and caliber, would flinch at the simple curve of two human lips. And he didn’t . . . quite, but he shifted his shoulders and puffed up as all male creatures do to ward off predators. “He’ll be there, then? When I find the Light?” I asked.
“He’ll be there. I’d swear to it, but we both know that would just be fun and games in futility.” He frowned, puzzled. It put a crease between his eyebrows I doubt he’d have been fond of had he been human and that crease permanent. But demons don’t need Botox, and Eli didn’t need any sign of weakness from me. “Don’t you want to know the name? Don’t you want to know, even if I won’t trade him until you give me the Light?”
“No.” I turned back and studied the stars again. “Think of it as a surprise present, Eli. So much more fun to open those than the ones you already know.”
Griffin snatched a glance off the road at me when I used the word “open.” I knew what he was thinking. If the demon was as high-level as Eli or Solomon, opening him might be more difficult than I made it sound. But he didn’t say anything and he didn’t ask me about the Light, whether I really would turn it over to Hell. I answered the last unasked question anyway. “I’m not as pure as you think I am, Griffin. Not as good. Not without a little sin myself. Maybe a lot, considering whom you’re asking.”
“I never thought you were pure.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “But you’re our family. You can do no wrong.”
I squeezed back and let all the feeling I had for him and Zeke show in my face . . . in my eyes. “My miracle, who went so good when your life could’ve turned you so bad.” One last grip to his hand and I added, “Angels aren’t on the state of Nevada’s endangered list, are they?”
Griffin jerked his eyes back to the road just past the time he could’ve avoided plowing into a creature of glass, holy light, and a pissy attitude. I was fairly sure he didn’t bother to brake, but the car stopped nonetheless. Whiteless silver eyes glowed as did the sweep of hair brighter than platinum. The glass wings and body were filled with a cool white light, and it still amazed me that something that should’ve been so beautiful—a crystal, metal, and glass work of art—could be so starkly forbidding when it wanted to be.
Fingers of glass imbedded themselves in the hood of my car as the engine revved futilely. “Griffin, there’s barely anything left of her now. Give my baby a break,” I said lightly.
If it had been Zeke, he would’ve ignored me and gunned it. Griffin, scowling, but obedient, listened. He slammed on the brakes until the car was stopped by good old human technology and not the angelic equivalent of the Terminator. “Where is the Light?” Oriphiel demanded in a voice less like trumpets and more like the sound of fire raining down.
Eli once again proved himself useful for more than tracking murderers, stealing souls, and setting the standards for seducers and male models/gigolos everywhere. Overhead, missing us by inches, copper scales passed on a long serpentine body propelled by the wings of a dragon. Eligos settled on the hood of the car, between the archangel and us. His lizard head snaked forward and, despite the forked tongue, I understood every word. It wasn’t trumpets either. It was the last breath of a dying man twisted with the hiss of a boa guarding its prey.
“The Light is not yours.” Eligos’s sibilant denial split the air. Jet-black claws punctured the hood precisely, blocking the angel’s fingers.
“It will never be yours,” Oriphiel hissed back, sounding not far from a demon himself.
Two sets of wings thrashed through the air, raptors—both of them. Harpy eagles they were, ready to fight to the death for the right of prey. “There is no bet this time. No job. This is an auction. The Light goes to the highest bidder, Oriphiel.” The snake tongue curled around the name with salacious glee. “What do you have to offer? What do you have to give but sanctimonious bullshit?”
“Meet me at the bar tomorrow.” I stood and leaned over the windshield to address them both. “We’ll leave from there. Make sure Eden House has a helicopter ready to go. I know both sides will make sure I get a good night’s sleep. I don’t care how many of you winged bastards fly around my bar tonight, watching one another. If nothing else, you’ll balance each other out. As for you, Oriphiel, you’d better come up with what I want for the Light.” Eli had already come through there, or so he said, but better safe than sorry. “And what I want is my brother’s killer.” I sat back down. “Now, I’m tired and I’m going home. Eligos, you move the angel and you get first bid.”
Eli already knew he had the only bid at the moment, but it didn’t stop him from leaping onto Oriphiel. They lurched through the air, a mass of scales, glass, and roars. They hit the sand beside the road and Griffin slammed his foot on the gas, leaving behind deep throated screams and the sounds of ripping flesh and shattering glass.
“Do you really think we’ll survive this?” Griffin asked as the unsettling sounds faded to silence behind us. He didn’t look back at Zeke, but I knew what he was thinking. He could protect his partner from many things in this world, but what would go down tomorrow? It was hard for him to imagine any of us walking away. If the demons didn’t kill us, Eden House would be right behind them to take the next-best shot. That would be a best-case scenario. Worst case: We’d be caught in a cross fire of—well, to quote another great, older movie—biblical proportions. Bloodbath. Massacre. Whatever name you wanted to put on it, tomorrow was going to make the infamous Rasputin think he’d been in a playground scuffle.
“You and Zeke don’t have to come. This isn’t your fight. This is about Kimano and his killer, about the Light and me. You two can walk away and start a life somewhere else, safe. I wouldn’t think any less of you. I’d rather you lived, if worse comes to worst for me tomorrow.” There was a lie in there, but I didn’t let Griffin feel it or Zeke read it. I kept my wall up and let them make their own decision. That they had to make it without all the facts wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t change that.
“We’re going,” Zeke said with nothing more than mild anticipation in his voice. “Trinity won’t let us walk away.”
“It’s true,” Griffin agreed. “No matter what happens, Trinity will want us dead. He considers us traitors and he’s old-school, to say the very least, when it comes to betrayal. However this is resolved, we may as well resolve it tomorrow rather than wait around.”
“And family doesn’t desert family,” Zeke said solidly.
I couldn’t have said it any more eloquently.
Finally home, with Zeke and Griffin taking their turns sleeping downstairs on the couch. I didn’t peek, but I pictured them reluctantly spooned—I really needed to get a camera shot of that—before I went upstairs and turned on the light in my bedroom to see Solomon in my bed. He was bare chested, but wore pajama bottoms of dark gray silk. We’d come some distance from weeks ago when I’d been ready to shoot him for the same thing.
“Wonderful,” I sighed as Lenny flew past me to roost on the headboard, his shiny, suspicious eyes fixed on the demon.
“The power of Christ compels thee,” the raven croaked balefully. I wasn’t the only one who could quote old movies.
“Amusing,” Solomon said dryly before dismissing the bird to take me in. “Long day at the office, I see.”
“Less amusing.” I
sifted through a dresser drawer for pajamas of my own. They happened to be silk as well. I didn’t know if that meant Solomon and I had similar tastes or he copied mine . . . seeking any advantage that he could. That was the mind of a demon or a manipulative man. I treated Solomon as if he were either—or both—and confronted him. “Eli says you were responsible for the fall of Eden House and you work for Beleth. That you want the Light for him. Any comments?”
I changed in front of him, leaving my underwear on this time. It was no more revealing than a skimpy bathing suit and I made it a short show. He watched silently, but it didn’t distract him enough to catch him in a lie. I wasn’t stupid enough to think it would. I was just tired. Too tired to leave my bedroom to change. Too tired to care. Too tired to play his games. Tomorrow was the end. It should have invigorated me, that thought, but it didn’t. It exhausted me, as if all those years of searching and mourning had caught up with me in one crushing moment.
“I do work for Beleth,” he admitted after I slipped the top on. “In Hell, everyone bows to someone else—all except the Morning Star. And he does want the Light. But I wouldn’t hurt you for it and I did not take out Eden House. Why would I?”
“Because they are after the Light as well, with backup from the Heavenly Host with the Most—Oriphiel. Getting rid of the competition makes all the sense in the world.” I pulled the clip from my hair and let it spring free.
“That holds true for Eli as well as me,” he pointed out, then exhaled. “I fell, Trixa, but we all make mistakes. Murderers serve life or die for their crimes. I was merely a rebel. I would repent, given the chance. Being made into a monster for all eternity, forced to make deals with greedy, stupid humans to be able to survive, how can that be just? I don’t kill. I don’t murder, and if I didn’t need the souls to survive, I’d never make another deal again or consume the souls who find Hell on their own wicked path.”
“Would you give the Light to Beleth?” I folded my arms tightly, hugging myself, exhaustion chilling me.
“I would give the Light to Heaven if they would take me back, but I know they would not,” he said. “So, yes, I would give it to Beleth. I wouldn’t have much choice.” He slid under the covers and held them back for me. “But I would never harm you for it. I would only take it if you gave it of your own free will.” His lips twisted at the last two words. “Odd, how the blessed and cursed of God share that one thing. Free will.” His eyes were regretful, colored with what he’d lost. I didn’t look any further. We all made our choices. We all lived with them.
I climbed into bed, turned on my side away from him, and pulled the covers over my shoulder. He moved up behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist. He was warmth all along my length and that warmth soothed my aches from a week filled with battles. I felt the nuzzle in my hair and the even warmer kiss on the nape of my neck as that hair was pushed aside. I closed my eyes at the sensation. It had been a while since I’d felt the touch of lips there. “I’ve watched you, played with you, wished for you for three years now. I’ve never hurt you. I don’t think I could, even if Lucifer himself ordered it. And I didn’t mean to hurt your friends. A game gone wrong.” He exhaled. “The only way you noticed me. Trixa, I want very much to be noticed by you.” He rested a large hand against my stomach. “Sleep,” he said softly. “Tomorrow it’ll be done. One way or the other. Then you can truly rest.”
“Tomorrow when I tell you which demon I want for the Light?” I murmured, my fingers interlocking with his.
“I said I can give you anything or anyone. I will. Now sleep.”
I did sleep, with Lenore and Solomon watching. Circling outside the bar there were probably more angels and demons than Elvises in Vegas, but I didn’t care. Tonight was my last night as this Trixa: vengeance seeking, mourning, looking for a light . . . not the Light, but any light. Tomorrow I could be myself again. Kimano would rest. Mama would rest. I would rest.
The world would be the world again. My life again, not the one I’d faked for so long. I would be free.
I woke up with lips on mine, clever and so very practiced; yet they seemed meant only for me. I opened my eyes to see gray ones fade away along with Solomon himself. But the “Be mine” hung in the air. “When this is done, be mine.”
I rolled onto my back and pushed my hair away from my face. Shiny eyes looked down on me, but for once Lenore said nothing. “He makes you want to believe him, doesn’t he?” I said as the sun striped across the bed. Lenny remained silent.
I touched my lips. “He really does,” I murmured, staring past Lenore at the ceiling.
Chapter 15
I gave up on my red that morning and went with Kimano’s colors, the black of the lava sand beach, the black of his hair, the black of a shark’s eyes. This was his day. A snug, black long-sleeved, thin sweater; black pants; and black climbing boots. When I went downstairs, Griffin and Zeke were dressed much the same, only with more weapons. I shook my head. “Trinity won’t let you take the guns.” Zeke scowled as heavily as a toddler whose security blanket had been cruelly yanked away. “We’ll see,” he said stubbornly.
“He’s your partner,” I pointed out to Griffin. “Prod a few of his brain cells if you can. I’m calling for breakfast. What do you guys want?”
Griffin sat on a stool, lowering his head enough that the long sides of his blond hair fell into his eyes. He looked annoyed and he looked dangerous. Truthfully, he was probably both. Being dangerous was the only way he might survive the day. As for annoyance, I guessed he slept on the floor instead of spooning on the couch. His loss. “I don’t think breakfast is that important right now.”
“Then you think wrong.” I called the diner—I didn’t want to walk even a block with what winged things might be hovering out there. I ordered three breakfasts and when they arrived a half hour later, I ate all three of them. Omelet, hash browns, toast, two fried eggs, three slices of ham, scrambled eggs, bacon, three donuts, and about half a gallon of milk. Lenny clucked disapprovingly and disappeared for a while. Scrounging up his own breakfast.
“What are you doing? Do you have a hidden conjoined twin you’re feeding too?” Griffin watched in disbelief as I ate bite after bite.
“This is the endgame, Griff. I’m going to need my energy. You might want to rethink it yourself.”
But it was too late for that. Trinity was at the door with Goodman, two other men, and Oriphiel, who was back in one piece after whatever Eligos had done to him last night. His human form didn’t have a scratch. It worked that way when you could remake yourself from angel or demon to human and back. If you could reform yourself, you could banish any wounds—provided you’d survived those wounds. There wasn’t much reforming after the death of your scaly body, and I still wasn’t sure angels could die. I’d never tried to kill one . . . not that hard, anyway. “It’s time to go. Would you care to fill us in as to where that would be, as we have a helicopter in a parking lot two blocks down.”
“Leviathan Cave.” No research needed. It had come to me crystal clear as the Bottle House exploded around me. “Leviathan, a devil’s name . . . appropriate, don’t you think? That can’t be a coincidence.” I finished a last swallow of a bottle of orange juice. “Seems to tip the scales more toward your downstairs brothers.”
Trinity seemed less than pleased at the news, but asked blandly, “You are sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” I pushed away from the table. “I couldn’t be more sure.”
Leviathan Cave is north of Rachel, Nevada, about three hours from Vegas. A gigantic sinkhole, one entrance, was on the flank of Meeker Peak in the Worthington Mountain Range, and was big enough for a helicopter to set down in. Convenient, as I didn’t have any desire to make a strenuous four-mile climb up the side. As the cave itself wasn’t even one-fourth of a mile long, I didn’t think the Light would be hard to find when we arrived. Hard to hold on to?
We’d see.
I didn’t see any more angels on the walk to the helicopter or Eligos or Solo
mon, but I knew that at least the latter two would show up even if they didn’t ride along with us. Oriphiel did ride, surprisingly enough. He didn’t disappear into a ray of the morning sun or a flash of bright glory, but I expected he wanted to keep an eye on my friends and me. Try to run one angel down with a car and they become distrustful. Where was the spirit of forgiveness, I ask you? As for cranky Zeke, it was as I said it was. Trinity, Goodman, and the others wouldn’t allow any of their weapons aboard, at least not until they were secured in a locked strongbox. “Traitors have no weapon rights,” Goodman said as he held out his hand for Zeke’s beloved Colt Anaconda. If Zeke hadn’t respected his gun so much, I thought Goodman might have a colonoscopy without the benefit of hospital equipment and anesthesia and instead the use of something that vented muzzle fire. Not too pleasant, but Zeke certainly seemed to think he deserved it.
But with my encouragement, the partners grudgingly turned over their guns and knives. Big trust in me, huge. I’d do everything I could to make sure I came through for them. Trinity and his men kept their weapons and didn’t bother to hide the fact. The helicopter was big . . . not military big, but larger than your average traffic copter. We all fit. Even Lenore, who had returned to ride on my shoulder.
“And that is?” Goodman sniped.
“Moral support.” I climbed into the middle row of seats with Zeke and Griffin. Goodman flew with Trinity beside him. Oriphiel and the other two House members sat in the last row behind us. Sandwiched between the holy and the holier-than-thou. As the helicopter took off, I looked out of the right window in the side door. I thought I saw a flicker of wings. Copper or gray-silver, I couldn’t be sure—it was too quick. I smiled. It didn’t matter which. They would both show. Greed—humans hadn’t cornered the market on that. My demons would be there. And at least one of them was as murderous as they came.
I continued to look at the pink and blue sky as I sang lightly under my breath. My voice wasn’t the best, but that was all right. As long as it was sung, that’s what counted. Lenore crooned lightly on my shoulder. His voice was worse than mine, and that made it even better. Kimano would’ve laughed himself sick that his mele kani kau, his mourning song, was sung by his tone-deaf sister and a croaking raven.
