by E. A. Copen
“Bullshit. Michael hasn’t told you, has he? You’re just an underling. Not important enough to warrant him passing on his master plan.”
Petra scowled and ground her teeth. She leaned in so close I could smell lunch on her breath. “You know nothing about him. Say anything out of line again, and this meeting will be over. When I walk out that door, so does your chance at getting your soul back. Think carefully about whatever it is you want to say next.”
“My mistake.” I sat down on the edge of the exam table. “Say I agree. What leverage do you have once I leave this room? Once I’ve got my soul back, I’ve got no reason to talk to you, let alone keep my end of the deal.”
“I’m glad you asked.” Petra snapped her fingers.
One of the guards stepped forward, opened a pouch on his vest, and drew out a clear plastic container that he placed in her hand. A nauseatingly powerful wave of magic washed through the room. The lights dimmed.
A solid, human-like form flickered into being in front of me. Features sharpened. Short, dark hair, pointed chin, dark eyes, high cheekbones…
My heart skipped a beat as I recognized my dead brother. “Osric?”
His eyes widened. “Khaleda!” His voice was distant and echo-y, as if he were somewhere far away instead of in the room with me.
Osric darted forward, arms outstretched. I tried to embrace him, but Petra did something, and the magic faded. Osric disappeared, reduced to nothing more than a glowing pale green orb inside her plastic container.
Petra smirked. “We have your brother’s soul. Step out of line, even an inch, and I give it to your enemies to do with as they please. Keep your end of the bargain, and he’ll be free to rest once this is all over.”
“You bitch! Let him go!” I drew back a fist, but the guards were on me, holding me back before I could throw the punch.
“Now, now,” said Petra, standing. “Language. Is that any way for a servant of God to speak?”
I tore free of the guards and stepped back, still fuming. It was one thing to threaten me, but Osric was dead. He deserved the chance to rest after everything he’d been through. For them to hold him over me, especially since I hadn’t seen him in twenty years… It felt like they’d torn open an old wound to let it bleed fresh.
“Fine,” I spat, “I’ll say whatever it is you want me to say, do what it is you want me to do. But you let him go.”
Petra tucked the container into her jacket pocket. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” She went to the door and rapped on it twice. “You’ll be debriefed and released in due time, provided Josiah agrees to our terms.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal!” I shouted, but she didn’t even turn back.
Petra went through the door, and the guards followed. I tried to go after them, but the door slammed shut in my face, and an electronic lock held it firm.
Chapter Thirty-One
JOSIAH
Muffled, underwater voices floated around me in a meaningless fog. Despite the whole-body ache, a strange calm settled over me. For a long time, I drifted in that hazy sleep, my dreams filled with rooftop views of Central Park, deflating balloons, and distant sirens.
The harsh, astringent smell of cleaning chemicals burning my nose woke me. I thought I should sneeze, but knew that if I did, something would break. A grim-faced doctor leaned over me, stethoscope dangling. Ice gripped my forehead and tapped on my chest.
She looked across the room. “Get Petra. He’s coming around.” Her voice still sounded like it was moving through miles of water. “Don’t try to talk, and for God’s sake, don’t move.”
Fine with me. I was still so tired, and I hurt everywhere. The vague need to piss and smoke stabbed my spine, but even that felt like too much. I drifted back into the fog, where it was safe and quiet.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting upright in a pristine white room. Sitting on a white chair next to me was a woman in a white pantsuit. Her short, dark hair was combed and parted to one side, making her look more like a petite man than a woman. If not for the chest, I’d have thought she was a man. She sat with her arms crossed, one knee resting over the other.
I closed my eyes, took a breath, and winced, reaching for my side.
“The knife perforated your lung, Mr. Quinn,” said the woman. “You’re very lucky to be alive.”
“And who do I have to thank for that?” I cracked one eye open.
Her face was still as hard as the side of a mountain. “If it were up to me, I’d have left you on that rooftop for the feds to find. You would’ve spent your last moments in the custody of Homeland Security, being interrogated, before you succumbed.”
“You must be Petra.” I tried to push myself up more, but a painful pressure in the inside bend of my arm made me stop. “I take it I’m not in hospital?”
“You’re in a secure bunker on Staten Island,” Petra said. “One of the many owned by Manus Dei. Before you think about trying to kill me and make your escape, you should know that your safety is guaranteed only as long as you cooperate.”
“My deal with Decimus—”
Petra tilted her head. “It stipulates only that you may leave the city alive, Mr. Quinn. It doesn’t say my agents can’t walk you across the border, cut off your head, and bring it back to me so I can mount it on my wall.”
Christ, she wasn’t messing around. I had to play this carefully or I was done for. “Considering you haven’t done that yet, would it be safe to assume you want something from me aside from my head on your wall?”
She gritted her teeth. I could practically hear them grinding against each other, wearing down to dust. “I have been instructed to extend to you a one-time offer of employment as a sub-contractor for our organization. You will be provided with a phone where you receive instructions, a small stipend and travel allowance, and necessary equipment to carry out your work. In return, you’ll be allowed to live. Between assignments, you may work and travel as you see fit, so long as you do not interfere with Manus Dei operations. Is that clear?”
“Didn’t sound like there was a question in there.”
Her gaze was practically glacial. “There wasn’t.”
I looked around the room. No sign of Khaleda, and Petra hadn’t mentioned her either. She’d also failed to mention how I got off the roof and to this underground bunker. “Last I heard, I was a wanted criminal. Terrorist, according to Danny. Might be difficult for me to get around with that hanging over my head.”
“Manus Dei has cleared you of all charges.” Petra uncrossed her arms and stood, pulling a remote control from her pocket. She pointed it at a television in the corner and pressed the power button.
A news station appeared on the screen, the anchorman calmly recounting a story labeled: Thanksgiving Terror Threat. “…the body of millionaire CEO Daniel Monahan was recovered. CNN Investigates has since uncovered dozens of travel documents, detailing Monahan’s many investments in overseas radical organizations, including ISIS. Monahan and a group of twenty-five other radicalized terrorists took control of the 432 Park Avenue high-rise Thursday morning. A joint anti-terrorism task force breached the building shortly after the stand-off began, but they were unable to apprehend Monahan and his men before several of the terrorists activated small explosive devices, causing localized damage to the structure and killing themselves. While specific details concerning Monahan’s death have not yet been released, a source wishing to remain anonymous stated that Monahan’s wounds appeared to be self-inflicted.”
“That’s a lie,” I said as she muted the screen. “And not even a good one. Anyone who looks too close will know it.”
Petra dropped the remote onto the bed next to me. “No one looks closely at dead terrorists. People just want them to go away so they can enjoy the illusion of safety again. Tell the people there’s a terror threat and they’ll believe and do anything we say. Fear is a powerful motivator not to pay attention, Mr. Quinn.”
I stared at her smug face, wishing
it would melt right off. Danny deserved better than to have his name dragged through the mud after his death. Not that I was expecting a celebration for him or anything. He had planned to kill millions. But he was still a person. To see his existence reduced so easily to less than nothing… It wasn’t right.
There’s fuck all I can do about it, I thought, at least now. I knew the truth about Danny, about what really happened on that rooftop. It didn’t feel like enough, but it would have to be. The weight of that realization settled into my bones and made them ache. “What about Khaleda?”
She smiled and paced to the end of the bed, blocking my view of the television. “Your friends are safe, both the succubus and the troll. They’ll continue breathing as long as I know you’re going to behave yourself. So, do we have a deal, Mr. Quinn?”
I didn’t like it. I also hadn’t forgotten that Michael promised to put a target on my back the minute I left New York City limits. Making me an agent of Manus Dei would be the easiest way to do that. They’d bully me into accepting impossible jobs, jobs that would probably get me killed. If I didn’t, they’d send the full force of Heaven after me, Khaleda, and Reggie. I was good, but I wasn’t good enough to take on an Archangel like Michael.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “On two conditions. I want access to Manus Dei resources whenever requested, and I don’t just mean weapons. I mean databases. Computers. Safehouses. All of it. If I’m going to work for you, let’s not piss about.”
Petra crossed her arms and gave me an appraising look. “I think we can arrange that.”
“Second,” I said, holding up two fingers, “You’ll release Danny’s body to me for a proper burial, service and everything. A quiet one. He doesn’t deserve the lie, not even after everything he did. I owe him a service and a headstone at the very least.”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “If it’s on your dime, and doesn’t hit the press, that’s a concession I’m willing to make.”
I extended my hand stiffly. “Then you have yourself a deal.”
It took another two days before I was able to get on my feet. They brought me a set of clothes, near-identical to the ones I’d been wearing on the rooftop. After I dressed, an armed guard escorted me down a long, empty hallway with mechanically locked doors that made the place look more like a prison than a safe house.
At the end of the hallway, they put me in a meeting room to wait and left a single guard behind. I sat in one of the chairs on wheels and tapped my fingers on the tabletop, restless. They’d only been letting me smoke twice a day, and it was getting to me. All I wanted to do was pace, move around. I was on edge and couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. First thing I was going to do was pick up a pack of smokes and work my way through the whole thing out of spite.
The doors opened, and more armed guards ushered Khaleda and Reggie into the room. Reggie looked no worse for wear aside from seeming jumpy, but Khaleda looked like hell. Small cuts littered her face, and she walked with a hesitant gait that said she was working hard to hide a leg injury.
Khaleda squeezed me hard enough it made everything hurt. “Get me the hell out of here,” she snarled into my ear.
I smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”
God’s Hand made us sign a mountain of releases and non-disclosure agreements, covering their asses. They didn’t technically do it at gunpoint, but having an armed guard by the door sure made it feel that way. Poor Reggie was so nervous, his hand shook the entire time. Mine did too, but all I needed was a little nicotine to calm my nerves. He’d be a wreck for weeks to come.
All the paperwork behind us, they took us to a lift, up two stories, and down another long corridor to a small lobby. There, we found our personal belongings tagged, inventoried, and laid out on long tables.
I went straight for my leather bag and opened it, smiling when I found everything exactly as I’d left it. I pulled out Milly’s container and popped open the lid. “Hello, beautiful. Did ya miss me?”
If spiders could glower, I got the distinct feeling Milly would’ve. Well, at least you’re not dead. And you smell better than the troll.
“Everything good?” Reggie zipped up his hoodie. “Wasn’t easy getting that, you know. Police had the whole downed building blocked off. I had to climb up a building in freezing rain, a building that looked like it might topple at any second.”
“Thanks, Reg.” I put the lid back on Milly’s container. She’d be hungry. After all her hard work, I owed her a couple of nice, fat crickets.
A buzzer sounded, and an unassuming glass door popped open. The three of us gathered our belongings and stepped out into the sunlight as free people.
Reggie pulled the hood on his hoodie tighter around his face before shaking my hand. “Well, Josiah, I’d say it was good working with you again but it kind of sucked. As usual.”
I pried my hand from his death grip. “Will ya be going back to the 76 Station then? Not worried God’s Hand will give you trouble?”
He grunted and tugged the sleeves down to hide his hands. “Maybe they will, but I know better than to stick with you. I’d rather keep the trouble I have than add more. Besides, I’m just a boring old troll. They’ll forget about me in a few days if I lay low. Where are you guys headed?”
I looked at Khaleda and shrugged.
“Don’t look at me,” she snapped. “I finally got my passport and ID, though I’m sure God’s Hand has them flagged so that they’re notified every time I use them. Won’t be able to go anywhere without them watching. Thanks for that, Josiah.”
“No worries.”
We walked to the metal gate at the end of the parking lot. It rolled aside at our approach, and we moved onto the sidewalk. It felt like walking out of prison. The world was suddenly bigger somehow, and I didn’t know which way to go.
Reggie waved and turned to go up the street. He’d catch the ferry back to Manhattan and ride the subway until the end of the line. An hour, maybe two, and he’d be home in his own bed.
I stuck my hands in my pockets. They felt heavier now, despite having only added a cell phone to the lighter and cigarettes. A cell phone that trapped me working for the God Squad. Maybe I could ditch it, though I had a feeling they’d find a way to contact me even without the damn thing. Persistent assholes, angels.
Khaleda and I turned the other way and started walking.
“So,” I said, pulling out the cigarettes and lighter, “what’s your plan? You’re a free woman now.”
She stopped abruptly, and I looked up. A black car waited at the end of the street with the rear window rolled down. Staring out at us from the back seat was the familiar face of the Winter Knight. Her pretty face was scarred almost beyond recognition, but I’d know that icy glare anywhere.
I frowned. “I thought you said she fell fifty stories down an elevator shaft?”
The succubus’ eyes blazed. “I did.”
Noelle waited until she was sure we’d seen her, then smiled and rolled up the window. Tires squealed as the car pulled out into the intersection and sped away.
“Demons, angels, the FBI, Homeland Security, and now the Winter fae,” Khaleda muttered and shook her head. “Is there anyone you didn’t piss off trying to save New York, Josiah?”
“At least I’m still on good terms with a succubus.” I gave her a wink and a smile before putting the cigarette in my mouth.
“Those things are going to be the death of you, Josiah.”
“They’re welcome to try.”
Khaleda huffed and started walking. “Come on. Let’s get some decent food before we leave town. I’m starving. And next time you want to save the world, we’re doing it somewhere warm.” She walked to the end of the sidewalk and stopped before turning around, arms crossed. “Well? Are you coming or what?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I lit a cigarette and followed.
THE END
Smoke & Mirrors
Book Two of the Hellbent Halo Series
Chapter
One
JOSIAH
I staggered into the church after midnight, a mostly empty bottle in my hand. Thunder rumbled outside, the voice of an angry father. If you listened close enough, you could hear God’s belt snap against the raw, exposed flesh of the world. Lightning flashes of pain lit pale, shivering storm clouds. Fat raindrops pounded against the stained glass while a furious wind howled.
The power was out, but it was bright inside thanks in part to hundreds of white wax candles at the front of the room. A few parishioners warmed the pews, heads bowed in silent prayer while the Blessed Virgin stood up front, arms open.
Rain trailed down from my wet hair, slipping under my collar. I tugged on the stained blue tie and pulled the white cotton fabric of my shirt away from where it clung to my chest. It’d been a hell of a walk in the rainstorm, and I was too pissed to recall the exact name of the church. It was Orthodox, and out of the way, not one of the big, fancy churches, but a small and humble place whose doors were always open. Supposed it didn’t really matter, as I wasn’t there to pray.
I drew an arm over my mouth and scanned the place, looking for the priest. It was late, too late for traditional confessional hours, so I walked up the wide aisle between pews to confront the robed man in the front of the room. Halfway up, I stumbled and caught myself on a pew, startling a parishioner.
She looked up at me, wide-eyed, and stood. “Are you hurt?” She reached to touch me.
I jerked away and found my feet, swaying. “Piss off.” My voice bounced off the walls, the echo punctuated by thunder and lightning. I spun a half-circle, using the hand that held the bottle to point at all the others whose prayers I’d interrupted. “All of you can go get fucked! You hear me? Fuckin’ bleeding-heart helpless twats. What’re you prayin’ for anyway? Health? Happiness? Fuck that. Get out. Go on, get out, and go make your own damn happiness. God’s not going to do shit for you needy wankers.”
