by Kate Moseman
Who was he kidding? Nothing was going to make that less likely.
He stopped her on the sidewalk just outside the hotel. “Do you remember why you chose this hotel?”
She shrugged. “Someone said it was in a nice neighborhood near the convention center?”
“Right. That someone was me, remember?”
“So?” Raya shaded her eyes from the sun and watched the traffic go by.
“So, I may not have been completely straightforward about that.”
She rounded on him. “What do you mean, ‘not completely straightforward’?”
“I mean, I may have omitted a small amount of information about this particular location.”
Raya looked up and down the street as if she expected a parade of demons to start at any moment. “What exactly is in this neighborhood, Phoenix?”
“A friend. Sort of.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What friend—”
“I wanted someone around to make sure you were safe if I wasn’t here.”
“You had someone spying on me?” Her voice increased in volume.
Phoenix winced. “No, not spying! Watching for any unusual magic. These gatherings attract all sorts—as you well know.”
“I think I can handle myself, Phoenix. After all, aren’t you the one in need of help right now? Maybe your friend should have been babysitting you, instead.”
“Look, you can beat me with a stick later, if you like. But for now, can we go talk to her?”
“Don’t think I’ll forget.”
“I know you won’t. I’ll even find you a stick.”
At the entrance to the neighborhood bakery, Phoenix held the door open and allowed Raya to precede him.
The baker had her back to them as they entered, her short, sand-colored hair just visible under her baker’s cap.
Phoenix cleared his throat. “Bonjour, madame.”
She stiffened, then turned slowly to face them. “You weren’t supposed to come here,” she said evenly. Her long fingers casually wrapped around a nearby rolling pin. “You have one chance to explain.”
Raya stared. “I thought you said you had a friend on this street … ”
The baker’s gaze shifted from Phoenix to Raya. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”
Phoenix raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I know, Justine. I know. But things have changed.”
Justine shifted the position of the rolling pin. “I did what you asked.”
This was not going well.
“You did—and I’m grateful—”
“I owed you a favor. I paid it. We were, as you put it, square.” Justine’s white clothing began to glow, highlighting her features with an otherworldly light. “And now you enter my place of business, a place from which you are forbidden, and you want to ‘talk’?”
This was really not going well.
A look of dawning comprehension passed over Raya’s face. “You’re not a baker—you’re an angel!”
Justine’s lips quirked in a sad half-smile. “To my eternal regret.”
Raya bounced up and down. “A real angel! This is awesome! Phoenix, you didn’t tell me there was an angel right here!”
“No one is supposed to know I’m here, child. I’m retired.”
“Really?” Raya leaned on the counter, fascinated. “But you were doing a favor for Phoenix?”
Justine shot Phoenix a look of un-angelic annoyance. “Unfortunately.”
Raya gestured to Phoenix with a casual thumb. “I could always tell he was a demon, but I couldn’t tell anything about you until you started to glow.”
Justine acknowledged Raya’s words with a slight nod. “One of the differences between angels and demons.”
“Wait a minute—what was all that charade about not speaking English when I came into the shop before?”
Justine lowered the rolling pin and smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t think you’d expect a French baker to speak English.”
“I’ll forgive you if you’ll let me try one of these.” Raya pointed to one of the more decadent-looking pastries in the case.
“That’s a religieuse. A nun. Double-decker choux pastry filled with vanilla cream and topped with dark chocolate.” Professional pride seemed to be taking the edge from Justine’s voice, and the glow that had surrounded her faded out.
Raya’s eyes shone. “That’s incredible. A nun-baking angel. I bet you could tell some stories.”
Was Justine actually blushing?
“One or two.”
Phoenix wondered if he should speak at all, or just leave the softening up to Raya. She really was quite good at it.
“Was Phoenix always this insufferable?”
Justine let out a laugh like she and Raya were old friends. “Always. He might even have been worse in the old days.”
“Hey, now—”
“In fact”—Justine leaned toward Raya confidentially— “my brother, Justinian, once threatened to cut off his head with a flaming sword.”
Raya gasped in mock horror. “No!”
Justine nodded.
Raya shot Phoenix an amused look. “I’ve felt the same way many times.”
Phoenix rolled his eyes. “Great. Now that we all have ‘hating Phoenix’ in common, could we perhaps get down to business?”
“Shut up, demon,” said Justine.
Raya cracked up.
Phoenix threw his hands in the air. “Laugh it up, witch.”
Justine caught Raya’s mirth and began giggling.
Trust Raya to corrupt even an angel. “I’m glad I amuse the two of you. Meanwhile, there’s a witch out there trying to capture every demon in Paris. Would either of you like to do something about it?”
Justine sobered. “I’m sorry, Phoenix, but I’ve spent too long out of the game to get involved now. I’ve created a life for myself here.”
“I don’t want you to get involved. I want you to put me in touch with your brother.”
Raya’s mouth fell open. “The angel who threatened to remove your head?”
Justine sighed and leaned against the counter. “My brother is in hiding, Phoenix. He’s been in hiding for hundreds of years now. Not to mention the fact that you are quite possibly the very last being on earth Justinian would want to see.”
A line appeared between Raya’s eyebrows. “Your brother’s name is Justinian? And, also, since when do angels have siblings?”
“Sometimes it just ends up that way.” Justine picked up two religieuses and placed them on the display case about a foot apart. “You spend enough time together, you work for a common cause, you become like family.” She slid the two pastries together.
“But your names—”
“Are like our forms. They’re what we choose.” She slid one of the pastries in Raya’s direction.
Raya picked up the religieuse, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. “Phoenix said something like that at Cosmo’s. Or was it at breakfast?”
Interest flashed across Justine’s face. “Cosmo’s?”
Raya set the pastry down. “Have you been there?”
Justine stammered slightly. “No. I mean, I know Cosmo—but I haven’t seen her in centuries.”
“Literally,” said Phoenix.
“She was a terrible thief. Used to sneak in at night and take as many pastries as she could carry.” Justine sounded almost wistful. “After a while I would just leave her favorites out on a tray.”
Phoenix had no idea how to respond to that tidbit of information.
“That’s so sweet,” Raya said. “Why don’t you go see her?”
“I promised myself I’d stay away.” The wrinkles around Justine’s eyes deepened as she frowned.
Raya spoke softly. “She’s in danger, Justine. They all are. They need help.”
Justine’s form wavered for a fraction of a second, revealing impossibly creamy white wings shot through with gold, and a corona that outlined her head with a blaze of glory. The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Justinian is hiding underground. I leave him treats, sometimes, near a hidden entrance to the tunnels.”
“Take us there, and we won’t just be square, Justine—I’ll owe you whatever you want.”
Justine eyed him. “Whatever I want?”
“Cross my heart.” He gestured to match the words.
“You don’t have a heart, Phoenix.”
He shrugged. “Metaphorically speaking.”
22
Phoenix sent Raya back to the hotel, insisting that she rest and recuperate before their evening rendezvous with Justine, who would meet them after the bakery closed.
Raya, predictably, argued like a debate team president, but was eventually cozened into complying thanks to lavish promises of adventure, magic, and angelic encounters to come.
Meanwhile, he had business to conduct.
Invisible to all but other supernatural beings and witches, and unencumbered by a mortal companion, he spread his wings and took to the air, hovering over the 7th arrondissement with its elegant old buildings before angling across the Seine.
Notre Dame stood sentry over the Île de la Cité in the middle of the river. He dove between its two largest towers just for fun, watching the tourists mill about in the plaza below. He considered making himself visible and swooping down for a startling fly-by, but decided that he’d angered enough angels in the vicinity of the cathedral and probably shouldn’t court trouble if he planned on asking one for help.
Past the Seine and a few dozen streets over, he landed at the gates to a vast cemetery. The cobblestone paths wound under tall trees that cast shifting shadows on the graves and vaults below.
Phoenix had known more than a few of the permanent residents.
Allowing himself a single sigh for centuries gone by, he ghosted through the crowd at the entrance and continued deeper into the necropolis, past statues of shrouded, weeping mourners.
Stone angels with stained wings kept a blank-eyed watch as he veered off the path into a tangled jumble of neglected gravesites.
He stopped before a vault, wider and taller than the rest, with a flattened roof fully exposed to the sky above due to a lack of trees in the immediate area. A quick pulse of his wings allowed him to land lightly on top.
The Dead Drop had been used in years past to leave messages in times of upheaval—and in peaceful times, the more mischievous demons had left behind a motley collection of rude words, bad puns, and the occasional drawing in questionable taste. The Dead Drop functioned something like a whiteboard in a break room, requiring only a quick flight over the cemetery to reveal the inscriptions left by other demons.
Phoenix bent to the task, tracing his finger over the stone roof of the vault. “Rogue witch exceeding his powers,” he muttered as he inscribed the words. “Do not congregate. Do not make yourself known. Remain hidden until I give the all-clear. By the authority of Phoenix, Great Marquis of Hell. That should do it.” He straightened and dusted his hands. “No, wait.” He bent low again. “P.S.—Cosmo: Justine says hi.”
A rustling sound in the distance, different from the sounds of the tree branches in the breeze, made him turn instinctively. “Come out, whoever you are. I can hear you.”
Cosmo’s cobalt wings extended above the stone angel she was hiding behind. Her head peeked out from behind the statue’s head. “I heard my name.”
“Speak of the devil.” Phoenix sat on the edge of the vault’s roof, letting his legs dangle over the side.
Cosmo alighted and sat next to him, then leaned back and studied what he had written. “Justine mentioned me?” she said casually.
Almost too casually.
“Something about stolen pastries.”
Cosmo grinned.
“By the way, Cosmo, the whole point of the Dead Drop is to avoid meeting up, remember? What are you doing lurking around the necropolis?”
“Looking for news.”
“You could have looked from the air.”
“You only follow the rules when it suits you, Phoenix—why should I be any different?” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “For such a rebel as you claim to be, you’re quite stuffy.”
“I am not!”
“Are too. You can’t even bring yourself to admit why you’re hanging around that witch all the time. Some rebel you are.”
Phoenix mustered as much haughty dignity as he could manage. “I hang around Raya because she’s amusing—for a mortal.”
Cosmo laughed. “I knew demons were good at lying, but I never knew any as good as you at lying to themselves.”
“It’s none of your business, anyway.”
“See? Stuffy. I told you so.”
“Oh, go steal a pastry.” Phoenix crossed his arms.
“Not until I get the real news—not this memo to the masses.” She gestured over her shoulder at the writing on the roof.
“I talked to Justine.”
“And?”
“She doesn’t want to get involved—”
A crooked smile touched Cosmo’s lips. “Sounds like Justine.”
“But she agreed to take us to where her brother is hiding out.”
Cosmo looked at him, eyes wide. “He of the flaming sword?”
“The very same.” Phoenix made a motion like swinging a sword horizontally through the air.
“Good luck. You’ll need it.” Cosmo jumped down with agile grace, her blue wings slowing her fall, then looked up at Phoenix when she landed. “When you see Justine—tell her … I haven’t found another bakery I like as much.”
Phoenix made a face. “I’m not telling her that.”
Cosmo showed her teeth when she smiled. “You will or I’ll break your face.”
“All right, calm down, you mad thing. I’ll pass along your message.”
She darted away and disappeared from sight.
Phoenix watched the dead leaves spiral down from the wind-tossed trees before picking up a slender green branch to bring back to Raya.
23
He knocked on Raya’s hotel room door, then held up the branch as she opened it. “I told you I’d bring you the stick.”
Raya stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind her. “It’s not big enough to do any damage.”
“Oh, come on—now you’re being picky.”
She took the stick and whipped it through the air experimentally. “Nope.” She handed it back to him as they walked down the stairs.
Phoenix tossed it to the curb outside. “How about you just forgive me for having an angel watch out for you? Most mortals would appreciate that, I would think.”
“I’m not most mortals.”
“True.”
“But … I can let this go.” Raya nudged him playfully, nearly sending him into traffic. “Where are we meeting Justine, anyway?”
“At an abandoned railroad track south of here.” He flagged down a passing cab and inquired if the driver would take them to their destination. Having received an affirmative answer, Phoenix held the passenger door for Raya and hopped in after her.
The snug backseat meant closer quarters than he had imagined.
“You’re going to end up sitting in my lap, little prince, if this guy takes a sharp corner.” Raya gestured toward the driver as the cab sped down the street.
“Don’t call me that. Especially not in front of Justinian.” He realized his tactical error as soon as the words left his mouth. Telling Raya not to do something was as good as guaranteeing she would do it.
“Why am I coming, anyway? Shouldn’t you supernatural beings sort this out amongst yourselves? Not that I mind—I m
ean, it’s not every day you get to meet an angel.”
“He just wants to attack me—but you, he might be curious about. I doubt he’s even seen a witch while he’s been in hiding. He’d probably be just as curious about you as you are about him.”
“So you’re banking on his curiosity outweighing his desire to hit you with a flaming sword?”
“That about sums it up.”
“I feel like a human shield.”
Phoenix smirked. “In a way, Witchiepoo, you are.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Witchiepoo.”
She caught his gaze with a challenging stare. “Little prince.”
The driver looked in his rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows at them.
Raya subsided. “Fine. It’s more adventure than I’ll get in a lifetime once I get back home. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”
They arrived at a small park and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Got your flashlight?”
Raya nodded and patted her bag.
“This way.” Phoenix gestured toward a line of trees in the distance.
They crossed through and clambered down a hill that ended at an overgrown railroad track that hadn’t been used in years. A short walk along the track led them to a rocky outcropping.
Justine stood in the shadow of the rocks. She greeted them with a nod. “Are you sure you want to do this, Phoenix?”
“He’s got the sword. He’s the only one who can help. So, yes. Otherwise I don’t normally seek social calls with beings who are trying to injure me. Do you have a map? Where do we find him?”
Justine shook her head. “No map. He’ll find you—if he wants to.”
Raya made a skeptical face. “We’re supposed to just wander around underground and hope he shows up? Aren’t you coming?”
“I promised I would not intrude on his retreat. I am breaking the spirit, but not the letter, of that promise. I cannot say it does not trouble me.”
Angels and their scruples. Phoenix swallowed a sarcastic remark. “That reminds me. Cosmo had a message for you, Justine. She said she hadn’t found another bakery yet that she liked as much as yours. She also said if I didn’t pass along the message, she’d break my face.”