Devil's Paw

by Debra Dunbar

  “I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was the imp playing a prank. I’ll do as you say; please don’t banish me,” the guardian begged, her face tight against the blurred glow of his legs.

  He turned back to her, sending additional merchandise across the room.

  “Two tickets to Seattle on the next available flight,” he commanded.

  “And an iPhone,” I added.

  The angel frowned at me.

  “What? You melted mine; you owe me a replacement.”

  “And an iPhone,” he confirmed to the guardian.

  Her head bobbed. Gregory shifted slightly, nudging her away with one leg. He was starting to glow less, his voice returning to a more normal tone. The wings were still out, though. Those silly, beautiful wings. I walked closer to one, wondering if I could see the scars from his terrible battle two and a half million years ago. When our spirit selves were damaged, they never healed properly. Sometimes they didn’t heal at all.

  He twitched his wing away from my outstretched hand. “What are you doing? Don’t touch them.”

  “You’ve got little girl’s dresses and jumpers hooked on your wing. I’m just trying to get them off.”

  He pulled the wing around, nearly knocking me to the ground with the tip, and tried to reach the lilac ruffled pinafore dangling from it.

  “Hold still,” I ordered. “Let me do it.”

  He paused, in internal debate, then consented. “Don’t bite me,” he warned.

  Now that was a tempting idea. I walked over and carefully removed a carnation–pink dress, allowing my fingers to caress the feathers. They were so unbelievably soft, the grey a slightly different texture than the cream color. I let my personal energy, my spirit self, extend out to feel him on a different level and closed my eyes to savor the experience. Never in all my life had I thought I would be touching an angel’s wings. They felt smooth, powerful. The ridges of scarring like a pattern of lace throughout their form. Oddly, the scars were just as beautiful as the wings. They revealed history, told a story. I opened my eyes and trailed my fingers along the feathers as I reached for the lilac pinafore. Everything in the background faded away. The store, the humans in their stupor, the cowering gate guardian — it all vanished from my awareness. All I knew was the feel of his wings. I wanted to rub my face against them, breathe in their sweet scent, wrap them around me…

  “Hey!”

  I landed flat on my back, knocked to the ground by that powerful wing. The lilac pinafore flew out of my hands and onto the floor.

  “You licked me!”

  Well, yeah. How could I help but lick him? I licked an angel’s wing. I licked my angel’s wing. And, oh, it tasted so wonderful.

  “Settle down. It’s not like I bit you. You didn’t say anything about licking.”

  I got up and dusted myself off. Gregory’s eyes were intense as they watched me. I felt the pull of attraction, the increased heat of the power he leaked. My eyes rose to meet his, and I longed for him to grab me, for us to merge together as we’d done months ago in my house. The atmosphere thickened around us, the air pulsing with desire. I didn’t dare move, waiting for him to initiate contact in this oh–so–public place.

  Dragging his gaze from mine, he rubbed a hand through his hair and shook his head to clear it. The wings vanished, and I finally saw behind him where a dozen women and two children sat, their eyes glazed and fixed in adoration upon the angel.

  “Plane tickets and a new phone. Now,” he ordered.

  The gate guardian had been staring at me in shock, but Gregory’s words jolted her into action. She bowed, practically scraping the floor with her head, and dashed out the front of the store.

  “So do we wait here? Will she just courier the stuff to my house?” I asked. I also wondered what he was going to do about the trashed store and the enthralled humans. No one else had entered the store, or even walked past it, since we’d arrived. No doubt, he was keeping them away somehow.

  “We’ll wait at your house,” he decided, reaching out and yanking me into his embrace. Lately he’d been waiting for me to walk into his arms for transport, but I kind of liked it when he took charge. It was fun.

  We popped back into my living room. The angel held onto me until my vertigo settled, his chin resting on top of my head. I stayed a bit longer than necessary, enjoying the feel of him wrapped around me. Tentatively, I reached out with my spirit self to stroke against him.

  “Not now, little Cockroach,” he said, his voice full of regret. “I have too much to think about.”

  I pulled away, slightly embarrassed at the rejection.

  “Should I call you when the tickets arrive? Let you know when we’re leaving?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll stay here and wait. Hopefully we can fly out before nightfall.”

  ~10~

  The girls were off relaxing at a spa for the day, so I settled Gregory on my couch with paperbacks of War and Peace and Atlas Shrugged, thinking that might occupy him for all of five minutes. Then I jogged down to Wyatt’s house, making sure I called his name loudly as I came in, so I wouldn’t get shot.

  “I thought you were going to take a nap,” he commented, pausing his game and patting the cushion beside him. I moved the various cables, controller, and half eaten chip bags from the sofa and plopped down next to him.

  “I was, but Gregory came by with an emergency, and now I’m waiting for our plane reservations to Seattle.”

  Wyatt stared, his face blank.

  “I forgot to tell you yesterday, but someone has been killing demons, basically devouring them and draining all their energy — both their raw energy and their spirit selves. Now that an angel is dead in the same way …well, I’ll be in some serious shit if we can’t find out who is doing this and the fact that I’m a devouring spirit comes to light.”

  Still blank.

  “There’s a dead demon in Seattle, but Gregory has some trumped–up excuse why he can’t just gate me there, so we’re going to fly commercial. Can you imagine him on a plane? It’s going to be hysterical.”

  “Are you in any danger?” Wyatt finally asked. “You seem rather cheerful about the whole thing.”

  “Right now I’m not a suspect, and I get the feeling Gregory is trying to protect me and keep this all under wraps until we find the killer.”

  “So it’s a mystery?”

  “Yeah, although we need to solve it pretty quickly, before it somehow manages to get pinned on me.”

  A long–suffering expression came over Wyatt’s face. “And you need my help?”

  I felt a moment of guilt, and of sadness. There was a time when Wyatt couldn’t wait to help me out. Where was my partner in crime?

  “I thought I might. The first three demons seemed to be in a pattern, and I thought it might be like what Althean was doing when you tracked him down for Candy and me. But the dead angel is out in northern Mexico, and this last demon is in Seattle. It breaks the pattern.”

  Wyatt frowned, and I could see him becoming intrigued by the whole thing. “Maybe one or more of the murders is a red herring, and there still is a pattern.”

  I shook my head. “If they were just stabbed, or blown up, I’d consider that, but these guys are all drained. There aren’t many devouring spirits — I’m the only one I know of. And angels don’t do this sort of thing.”

  I could see Wyatt thinking. I could practically see the scenarios run through his mind. “Then a devouring spirit. At first, he killed casually, along a normal journey for him, but something happened that made him take off to Mexico in a panic. There, he scraps it up with an angel and manages to kill him before fleeing north and killing another in Seattle.”

  “Possible. Demons don’t usually go racing around like that unless they’re panicked. The last one in the pattern was in Damascus, Maryland. Couple of days later there’s a dead angel in Mexico.”

  “Was the angel on his trail?” Wyatt asked. “One of Gregory’s guys?”

  “Nope.
He’s not even supposed to be down here.” I pivoted around on the sofa to better face Wyatt. “I’m pretty sure that angel who attacked me a few days back wasn’t one of Gregory’s. He had no idea who I was. Do you think there’s a bunch of angels down here without permission? Maybe this other one tried to grab a demon too, and found himself with a devourer on his hands?”

  “Could be. What are you supposed to do in Seattle? Can you determine something from the dead demon’s body that will help lead you to the killer?”

  “It’s probably nothing,” I confessed, reaching to grab one of the chip bags I’d moved and dig through the crumbs. “One of the dead demons had a faint trace of energy along his neck. It was like what Gregory uses when he blocks off my energy. That angel who chased me downtown did the same thing.”

  “That would implicate an angel,” Wyatt said, pulling the bag from my hands and passing me a fresh one from his side. “Angel’s don’t devour, and demons don’t have that blocking magic, so maybe it’s a pair working together.”

  I nearly choked on a chip, laughing. “That is not happening! My weird relationship with Gregory aside, angels and demons never work together. Besides, their power to restrain us outside of Aaru goes away when they’re not touching us. It wouldn’t leave a signature like that. So it might not be angels. It might be a sorcerer. Elven magic mimics angels’; they could have come up with something similar that had a longer effect.”

  “So a sorcerer and a demon working together to devour a bunch of demons and an angel. I get how a devouring spirit might be motivated to do that, but what does the sorcerer get out of the deal?”

  I licked the salt off of my fingers and shook my head. “I have no fucking idea. And all this is crazy conjecture at this point. We’ll see what I can find after I look at this dead guy in Seattle, but honestly, I’m thinking this mystery is more in line with Gregory’s skills than mine.”

  Wyatt gathered me close and kissed my forehead. “Either way, stay safe. Don’t let any hungry demons gobble you up, and stay away from killer angels.”

  “I will.” I handed back his game controller.

  After watching him for a few moments, I headed to my house, unable to take much of the mind–numbing video game activity that fascinated Wyatt. My angel was being just as boring, disassembling my toaster and watching a show proving the existence of Bigfoot. Bored demons are never a good thing, so I threw on my bathing suit and headed out to grab some late afternoon sun by the pool.

  Even this late, the sun beat down on me, warming my skin and radiating off the flagstone patio surrounding my pool. I closed my eyes and dozed, listening to the cicadas, the mockingbirds, and the buzz of a distant neighbor’s mower.

  “Here.”

  I looked up to see Nyalla wearing a bikini the size of a postage stamp. She had two beers, one extended toward me.

  “Thanks.” I took a swig from the beer and watched the girl sprawl onto the lounge next to mine. “Is that one of Amber’s suits?”

  She laughed. “No. I got it when we went shopping. Amber is appalled by how much skin it reveals. It is far more modest than what I wore with the elves, though.”

  “For an elf/demon hybrid, she’s surprisingly repressed. You know she’s part succubus?”

  Nyalla shook her head. “Maybe that part of her personality will reveal itself later?”

  “How did spa day go?” I leaned my head back and allowed the sun full access to my face.

  “I had a wonderful time,” she replied in careful English.

  “Seriously?” I sat up to better see her expression.

  Nyalla gave me a quick glance out of the corner of her eyes. “No. I do not understand the appeal of having others bathe your face and color your nails. They wanted to cut my hair. Can you imagine? My hair has never been cut. Why would someone do that?”

  “Some women prefer a more easy–to–care–for style. And it’s nice to be pampered and fawned over sometimes.”

  The girl snorted. “Here men cut their hair, women cut their hair. They look like they are on the way to their execution. And pampering from someone who loves you would be nice. When it is a stranger doing the care, it is just awkward.”

  I murmured in assent and relaxed back on the lounge. For a few moments, the only sounds were the bugs and birds, and the clink of our beer bottles as we lifted them and sat them back on the pavement.

  “Can I stay here with you?” Nyalla asked.

  “Tonight? Sure. Gregory’s going to be here, but you can hide up in your room, if you like.”

  Your room. I’d already designated it to be her room. I wondered if I should go shopping when I got back from Seattle. Pick up some décor more trendy for a nineteen–year–old girl.

  “No, forever. I mean, as long as I live, or as long as you would have me.”

  I turned again and studied the girl. “Nyalla, you are always welcome in my house. Call it your home, and stay as long as you like.”

  Her face lit up, and I saw the faint tension around her eyes melt away.

  “But I have hopes that eventually you’ll want a place of your own, or maybe find a special someone to love.”

  She considered my words. “Maybe. But I cannot see that far ahead. All I want now is to feel safe, and have time alone to explore and find myself.” She sat up and leaned forward, toward me, her eyes soft and earnest. “I am very fond of my brother, and my step sister seems to be a good–hearted person, but they fill my every moment. I am not used to so much activity and attention. It worries me. It is very stressful.”

  “I can tell them to back off some. Have them give you some space.”

  “No! I do not want to hurt their feelings.”

  “Does Wyatt know you want to live here?”

  She nodded. “He said he understood. He seemed relieved. I think Wyatt is also exhausted by all this activity.”

  I smiled. “You’re more like him than you know. So what do you want to do tonight? Anything? Or nothing at all?”

  “I would like to just chill,” she replied in English. “Watch TV, or read. I may go for a walk with your dog.”

  “Your English is awesome! You just chill, and make sure you take Boomer if you go out, so you don’t get lost.”

  She nodded and pulled a bottle from the cooler beside her. “Another beer?”

  I took the beer and we settled back to enjoy the last rays of the day.

  By the time the air turned cool and we ventured inside, Gregory had our flight information. Nyalla disappeared to enjoy her alone time, and I wrote down the flight schedule and details in Elvish on a notepad in case I missed seeing her again before I left.

  I texted Wyatt to let him know what time our flight left then settled in to wait. When I woke up on the couch, Gregory was watching my four televisions with picture–in–picture on each and searching the Internet on both my laptop and a cell phone.

  “Where’d you get that?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, impressed at his multitasking and amazed that he knew how to work any of the electronic devices.

  “My gate guardian brought them by a few hours ago. Here. This one is yours.”

  I took the iPhone and looked at it in astonishment. “You set it up? How did you manage to set it up?”

  “It does come with directions,” he huffed out, insulted. “And these human tools are ridiculously simplistic.”

  “Is the other one a spare? In case you lose your temper again?”

  He looked embarrassed. “No, that one is for me. I’m finding them rather useful.”

  “Yes, very useful for a simplistic tool,” I teased. “What time is it?” I peered at the dining room clock.

  He waved his new cell phone at me. “According to this device, five o’clock in the morning.”

  “Shit! Our flight leaves in three hours.” I jumped up. “We need to get going! Do you have any idea how long the airport security lines are? We should be leaving right now. Grab your bags and meet me back here in ten.”

  I didn’t wait fo
r him to reply. I raced off, taking the stairs two at a time before cramming a handful of clothing and toiletries into a small roller bag while trying to text Wyatt with a free hand. He hadn’t replied from my previous text, and I worried he wouldn’t be up yet. I hated to leave without some kind of contact with him. He’d always been with me before. The fact that he wasn’t coming along this time bothered me. Were we really okay? Lately all I’d done was worry and wonder.

  Turning up the volume on my phone, I threw an extra set of clothes in the suitcase. I doubted we’d stay long. It would only take me seconds to scan the demon corpse, but we’d have travel time, and the return fight was probably the next day. Crap, I’ll bet that angel forgot to make hotel reservations anywhere. Hopefully we could just walk in somewhere and get a room.

  I ran down the stairs and found Gregory exactly where I’d left him — on the couch surfing the Internet and watching eight television shows simultaneously.

  “Why do you not have any luggage?” I demanded. “I assume we’re only staying overnight, but still…”

  My voice trailed off. Did he need luggage? Unlike me, he could create clothing, although he seemed restricted to his jeans and signature polo shirt. What about toiletries? I wondered if angels had morning breath, or ever needed to shave.

  Gregory frowned at the envelope holding our itinerary. “I only bought one way because I wasn’t sure how long we would need to be there.”

  Fuck! What was he thinking? No one bought one–way tickets after nine–eleven.

  “They are going to flag you as a terrorist flying one way to Seattle from Baltimore without even a carry–on bag. You’re going to get pulled aside and strip–searched, and we’ll never make our flight.”

  Wait, why was I telling him this and ruining my chance at seeing him seized and strip–searched?

  “What would I put in this luggage?” he asked, perplexed.