Bad Angel

by JC Andrijeski

  “What about you?” Phoenix said, sharp. “You’re not coming with us?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll see if I can find out what they want, where this ritual might be happening. And stall them, if I can.”

  Feeling her reaction as much as seeing it, he glanced at Phoenix.

  “It doesn’t sound like the guy who shot me is with them,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “I’ll look at the intercom footage. If it’s really Ruby down there, I might be able to figure out if she’s possessed without actually meeting her face to face. I’m not on a suicide trip⏤”

  He made the mistake of looking at her as he said the last part, and found her staring at him, her green eyes hard as glass. He was still watching her face when she threw back the covers, getting up from the bed before he could decide what that look meant.

  She walked over to the table, ignoring Asia’s stare, and scooped up her phone, turning it on by clicking the button on the side.

  Bringing it to him, she typed in the password standing in front of him, then opened up some kind of program on there. Once she clicked through a few more things, entering in another password, she shoved the phone at his chest, forcing him to grab it.

  “Is that her?” she said, her jaw clenched. “Ruby?”

  Dags felt his own jaw harden.

  Still, he couldn’t hold her gaze, not with that much anger in her eyes. Looking down at the phone, he stared at the video feed from the gate now displayed there.

  “Yes,” he said, exhaling.

  “Is she a demon?”

  He frowned, squinting down at the video image.

  He tried to get a good look at Ruby’s eyes, looking for the tell-tale red glow. The camera was above her, on the gate itself, so he couldn’t get a good angle on her irises. She looked like Ruby. She even stood there like Ruby, arms folded, looking annoyed.

  But a demon could imitate that.

  Hell, it could be muscle-memory for all he knew.

  Lowering the phone, he gave Phoenix a faint frown.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

  Reaching up, she took the phone from him, walking it back to the table. Setting it down with a clatter on the enamel, she yanked the metal cover off the plate and stared down at what remained of his breakfast.

  “You’re not going down there,” she said calmly, without looking back at him. “And you’re eating some of this. Now. Before we go. It’s stone cold, but you have to eat something.” She glared at Asia. “At least what Asia hasn’t already eaten for you.”

  Dags watched Phoenix pick up a tortilla, putting hash browns, sausage, and scrambled egg in it, then rolling it up. Wrapping it in a napkin, she walked it over to him.

  “Eat,” she said.

  Dags took it from her warily, watching as she made her way to the walk-in closet next, disappearing inside. He heard drawers open and shut, heard her moving clothes around on hangars. He was already halfway through the makeshift burrito when she re-emerged, wearing tight-fitting red jeans and a clingy black sleeveless top.

  She looked damned good in both.

  She barely seemed to look at him as she shoved one of her socked feet into a motorcycle boot, then the other. She laced both boots up, then gathered her long, thick hair in her hands, wrapping a band around it to put it in a messy ponytail.

  He found himself staring at her as he chewed, in spite of himself.

  He was still standing there when she walked over, tossing a shirt down for him on the bed.

  “Your old shirt is trashed,” she informed him. “It’s this, or you’re going to have to go raid Karver’s closet.”

  Dags didn’t answer.

  He watched her make her way to the bathroom next. That set, verging-on-angry look still sparked in her eyes. Her sharp jaw remained firmly clenched.

  Swallowing the last of the burrito, he glanced at Asia, who quirked an eyebrow at him.

  The look in her eyes was openly warning.

  Ignoring it, Dags tried anyway.

  “Phoenix⏤”

  That was as far as he got.

  Her voice rose from the bathroom.

  “They shot you the last time you went near them,” she said, her voice rising through the open door. It was loud, even with the sink running. “They fucking shot you. We’re not discussing this. You said you’d try to determine if she was a demon from here. You tried. You couldn’t. So we’re going to assume whatever’s down there isn’t Ruby.”

  “Phoenix,” he sighed. “We need to talk about this.”

  “No. We don’t. We’re getting the hell out of here. All of us. Together. We’ll hike over the dunes. We’ll order a car once we’ve gone far enough down the road.”

  “I can’t. I can’t just run. They have my friends.”

  “You can’t just keep doing the same thing, over and over, and expect me to say nothing,” Phoenix’s voice rose to a near-shout. “You can’t keep showing up at MY HOUSE half-dead, and expect me not to have a vote. They’ve almost killed you twice now. TWICE.”

  There was a silence.

  Dags sighed.

  “Yes,” he said, conceding her point. “But I need more information. The only way I’m going to get that is from one of them. If it really is only two of them, I should be able to overpower them and de-possess both of them.”

  “Which they would know,” Phoenix snapped, louder. “Which means it’s probably not just two of them. They probably have another sniper. Maybe that Molokai guy. Or maybe your buddy, Kara.”

  There was a silence.

  Then Dags shrugged, conceding her point reluctantly.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I still don’t know if that’s Ruby or not. What if it really is her?”

  “It’s not.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “We can make an educated guess,” Phoenix snapped.

  From the sound, she spit out a mouthful of toothpaste before going on.

  “…You know as well as I do, it’s a lot more likely to be a demon riding around in a Ruby suit. And that it’s likely a trap set by Kara. Otherwise, why would they come here?”

  Again, he had to concede her point.

  “Maybe,” he admitted.

  “Wait,” Asia cut in, obviously listening and still catching up with everything they’d said. “That’s who shot you? That angry cop you went to high school with?” Thinking about that, she frowned. “Why? Did you guys date or something?”

  Dags turned, staring at her incredulously.

  “Who the hell have you dated?” he said.

  Before she could answer, Dags’ phone started ringing.

  Immediately, Dags felt relief.

  “You see?” he said to Phoenix. “Ruby.”

  Before he could grab his phone off the table, Asia reached over and snatched it up.

  “Nope,” she pronounced, looking at his caller ID. “It’s Karver.”

  “Karver?” Dags frowned. “He has my number?”

  Without answering, Asia swiped the phone’s broken face to pick up the call.

  “Hey,” she said. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m up here with him now.”

  There was a pause while she listened. She was still picking through Dags’ breakfast plate, chewing on a piece of sausage now.

  “No,” she said, swallowing a bite. “He and ‘Nix are fighting about it, but I don’t think they’re coming down. Apparently, they might be more murderous demon-people.”

  There was another silence.

  Asia spoke up again.

  “Yeah. Dags says it’s dangerous for you, too. You and Cristina could maybe walk down to the beach or something, get one of the security guys to go with you…”

  She trailed, obviously listening to something Karver was saying.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding startled. “Okay. Gotcha. Well, yeah. That changes things. I guess forget what I said about the gate, then…”

  Her words trailed off as she listened.

  As she did,
her face paled.

  “What?”

  Dags felt his jaw clench, watching her.

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay, I heard you. I got it.” Asia was gripping the phone with both hands now, staring at Dags. “Yeah. Okay… I will.”

  Pulling the phone away from her ear, she hung up, setting it down.

  “What?” Dags growled. “What did he say?”

  He felt his stomach sink as she gave him a hesitant look.

  “The demon people left,” she said. “I guess they got tired of waiting around for you to show in person. So they left a message for you and split.”

  Dags frowned.

  Phoenix walked into the room, drying her face with a towel.

  “What was it?” she demanded, tossing the towel on the bed. “What was the message?”

  Asia’s voice verged on apologetic as she looked between them.

  “They said, ‘The ritual is tonight. At the place.’”

  Dags frowned, exchanging looks with Phoenix.

  “They just told Karver that over the intercom?” he said. “Willingly?”

  Asia nodded, grim.

  “That’s not all,” she said, glancing nervously at Phoenix. “They said, ‘Tell the angel he must come alone. Or all his friends die.’”

  Chapter 24

  Breaking Rules

  “So… what?” Phoenix followed him into the next room, her voice harder. “You’re just not talking to me now?”

  He glanced into the bathroom, looking for his boots, his jaw hard.

  He fought to ignore what he could hear in her voice.

  He definitely avoided looking at her face.

  His boots weren’t in the bathroom.

  He remembered laying across that marble kitchen table, still wearing them. They were probably downstairs, like before.

  “You know it’s a trap,” she said, angry. “It’s not even like they’re hiding it. You know full well they intend to kill you.”

  He did know that.

  He also knew they would definitely kill his friends if he didn’t go.

  He made his way past the foyer and sitting room outside her bedroom, heading for the stairs. He didn’t have to look back to know Phoenix, and likely Asia, were still following him. He found himself talking to the latter as he took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor.

  “Asia, can you keep Steve McQueen here for now?” he said.

  “No,” Phoenix snapped.

  “Asia?” Dags glanced over his shoulder in spite of himself, looking past Phoenix. “Can you keep him for me? Or have one of your security guys do it?”

  “Sure, but you’re not seriously…” Asia trailed off, getting the evil eye from Phoenix. Throwing up her hands, Asia sounded apologetic. “What? It’s a dog. I’m going to say no to taking care of his dog? What if he brings it with him around the demons?”

  Phoenix clenched her jaw, looking away from Asia.

  Dags tried not to feel her fury.

  Walking to the foyer, he scanned the area until he found a promising-looking closet in an alcove past the glass tiles making up one section of wall.

  He opened it, looking inside.

  The closet was huge, but he found what he was looking for in seconds.

  His boots sat on the floor. The rest of his stuff sat on a built-in shelf next to a bunch of hanging coats and jackets. Scooping up his keys and wallet, he transferred them to his pockets, then pulled down the borrowed shirt, bending down to grab his boots. They were spattered with blood, likely his, but the socks he wore yesterday were rolled up inside them.

  He carried everything over to a bench in the hall, still feeling Phoenix’s eyes boring into him from above.

  “I have to go,” he said, not looking up as he put on the socks. “I have to go, Phoenix.”

  “You don’t have to go. You have a martyr-hero-bullshit complex, but you don’t have to go.”

  He shoved his foot into the first boot, still not looking up.

  He had no idea how to answer that.

  He finished lacing up his boots, and rose reluctantly to his feet.

  She was still standing there, watching him.

  He winced at the expression on her face, but there was nothing he could say.

  “It’s barely noon,” she said, her jaw jutting out further. “This is ridiculous. You don’t have to go now, at least. You’re just running. You’re running away from me. Again.”

  He didn’t answer that.

  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to walk up to her and kiss her, but he knew how well that would go over right now.

  She was smart enough, she would know it was a goodbye.

  Even if he hoped like hell it wasn’t.

  He went home.

  He wasn’t big on weapons.

  He had weapons.

  Dags owning weapons, at least after the Change, was really more of a security blanket thing. It was an in-case-of-emergency-break-glass kind of thing, not something he ever intended to use. Well… not under normal circumstances.

  He’d never carried or even used most of those weapons, not after the first few disastrous attempts, back in the early years after the Change.

  Tonight was different.

  Tonight, it was time to break the glass.

  Walking into his apartment, he couldn’t help feeling Steve McQueen’s absence. It was crazy in a way; he’d spent most of the last eight years living here alone. In less than five months he’d managed to wreck all of that.

  Now he missed his dog after just a few days.

  Tossing his keys down on the counter, he hit the lights for the deepest part of his apartment, where the ceiling was the highest. The lights rose in flickering sections, displaying a wall covered in swords, axes, knives, even a few shields.

  He’d need more than the medieval variety of weapon, of course, but it was a start.

  He knew what the message meant.

  He hoped like hell Phoenix didn’t, but he suspected she did.

  By “The Place,” they hadn’t meant the house in Brentwood, which he was pretty sure would be emptied out after what happened yesterday.

  They meant the temple.

  They meant the crypt, or demon wormhole, or whatever the hell it was⏤the hell-gate that lived on the hill under the Hollywood sign.

  He hoped Phoenix didn’t know that.

  He hoped she thought they meant the house in Brentwood.

  She was just crazy enough to follow him, and he didn’t want her anywhere near this.

  Which, ironically, was pretty much exactly how she felt about him.

  Even if he told her his reasons, she likely wouldn’t believe him.

  He could tell her about his rules, how and why he intended to break them, the potential for things to go horribly wrong for everyone but Dags when he did. It likely still wouldn’t convince her. It wouldn’t convince her because it sounded crazy. She hadn’t seen that side of him yet, the other set of powers the Change bestowed on him.

  He would end up telling her too much, trying to convince her that he would be okay. He would tell her things he wasn’t ready for her to know about him yet.

  Things he definitely wasn’t ready for her know about him, maybe ever.

  He checked the clock on his phone, barely able to read it through the shattered face.

  He had about six hours until sunset.

  He’d deal with the knives and swords and other cutting implements later.

  First, he needed to break into the stash he kept around for real emergencies.

  Walking to the wall with the swords, he pulled the rug back to expose the tile floor. Kneeling down once he found the right square of tile, he used his thumb to press down on one of the clusters of hand-painted designs, a set of dark black and gold wings.

  The lock retracted audibly.

  The hidden panel he’d had specially-built into the floor popped up, just enough that he could see the edges of the six by six lid.

  The door mechanism kicked in, soundlessly ra
ising the panel the rest of the way free of the opening. Once Dags could fit his hand in, he clicked on the light just under the lip, and stared down at the five-foot deep cavity under the floor.

  Frowning down at the stores he kept down there, he exhaled, realizing he’d barely touched any of it in the past five years.

  Gold coins filled iron lock-boxes stacked on the bottom of one side of the cavity.

  He had two more cases of just cash, in moisture-free and insect-free containers made of a special metal alloy and with lined interiors.

  Two smaller metal boxes housed passports from several different countries, driver’s licenses from other states, an international license, a British license, four or five different gun licenses, and a handful of other, more random forms of ID, like a scuba certification he got on Maui, and a fishing and hunting license from Montana.

  Several sniper rifles lay at the very bottom in long cases.

  Four assault rifles stood on racks on top of a crate of magazines.

  He also had several compound bows, around a thousand arrows with a variety of different tips, and, at last count, thirty-six different handguns.

  Most of the last were semi-automatics, but he had a few revolvers, and even a full automatic he bought on a whim, a modified antique he had made for him back when he was a lot more nervous about ending up in a government lab somewhere.

  For years, he had paranoid dreams about getting his wings cut off and regrown by scientists while they tried to figure out how to clone his blood. That, or ending up in some black ops counter-insurgency team in an obscure country in Africa or the Middle East, using the blue-green lightning to start civil wars or secure oil reserves.

  He had a few years there, where he didn’t handle the Change all that well.

  Also, something in him, some part of the post-Change Dags, pushed him to build this secret chamber, and fill it with “in case of emergencies” stash.

  Like with most things, Dags dreamed about it.