The Angel's Fire

by Holley Trent

  “I’m gonna go put clean sheets on my bed to celebrate.”

  “Me, too.” Rachel followed her out the office. “Might even get on my hands and knees and scrub floors while I’m off.”

  “Best use of all-fours I can think of,” came Elizabeth’s dimming voice.

  Lola closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Are you still here?”

  “Of course.”

  “The gaggle has dispersed. You can make your way elsewhere.”

  “Your Cougars may have gone to their rooms, but you’re awake. You can entertain me.”

  “I’m hardly in the mood to enter—” She closed her mouth and opened her eyes at the same time, annoyed at herself.

  He was smirking. Goading her.

  He was getting under her skin and that was unacceptable.

  “Go skulk in the kitchen, eat and mend yourself,” she said. “Eat all you can find. Bertha won’t mind. She likes having a fresh start each morning.”

  “I’ve already helped myself to all I need. I have plenty of energy to assist you in any way you need.”

  “I require no assistance.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Truly? There’s nothing you need or simply want that you’d be too proud to ask for from anyone who isn’t me?”

  She didn’t know why he thought he’d be excluded. She didn’t want anything from anyone including him.

  “There is nothing you can do for me,” she said.

  “I think you mean nothing you’ll let me do,” he said.

  “You interfere.”

  “I disrupt.”

  “I do not wish to have my ways disrupted here.”

  “Fine.” He lifted his shoulders in the barest of shrugs and extended a hand for her to take. “Elsewhere, then?”

  She didn’t understand.

  Didn’t know what he was instigating.

  And she didn’t trust that defiant curve of his mouth when it kicked up at the corners.

  “What if I told you that I can take you to where your son is without him knowing you’ve been there?” he asked.

  “Say it if you like. I know you cannot do such things.”

  “A dare?” He held his hand out a little farther.

  She didn’t take it.

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “You made that bed. Don’t be surprised that you have to sleep in it.”

  “Fine. Perhaps I did. Don’t trust me, then, but at least understand me. See how I work and what I can do.”

  “I am not certain I want to know.”

  “Afraid you’ll burn up?”

  “You cannot tease me into action,” Lola balked. “The last person who managed to succeed at that feat changed the course of history in unexpected ways.” Lola had warned Yaotl’s father. She’d told him that she would not allow him to continuously disrespect her. She had to maintain her dignity for those who followed her and would punish him if the disparagements persisted.

  He hadn’t thought she’d keep her word because he’d given her a baby. She’d had to disabuse him of that notion.

  She’d made him a Cat, and he remained in that body until he died of malnutrition two years later. He’d never learned to hunt.

  “Come now, Butterfly,” Tarik purred, bright eyes narrowing with laughter. “Keep on sulking as you are, and you’ll have the entire building wondering why the temperatures have suddenly climbed so unnaturally.”

  Wanting to just get rid of him, she stood and slapped her hand into his palm. “Fine. Show me your trick so I can get to my own bed.”

  “You require rest?” he asked with concern.

  She didn’t want it—the rest or his concern—but perhaps she needed both. She couldn’t admit that to him.

  She tightened her shawl around her neck with her free hand and cleared her throat.

  “Where is your son? You received a letter from him this evening, did you not?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I watched you. Your face when that man brought in the mail. Perhaps no one else watches so closely, but I do. Watching has always been my job.”

  “Am I allowed no peace? No privacy?”

  “If you wish for privacy, goddess, find yourself a pit or a cave to make your home and absolve yourself of the chore of humanity.”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  “You won’t,” he said tightly. “You have a son and as you said, he’s not like you. In fact, you want to be more like him, don’t you?”

  “I want you gone when we return,” she snapped. “Get your hat and your ridiculous coat and leave my saloon.”

  “Fine. Where is your son?”

  Closing her eyes, she drew in a breath and recalled Yaotl’s vague descriptions. He was in a place where she’d never been and, knowing him, would probably have moved on before she could get there.

  Tarik’s assistance would certainly disrupt her son’s avoidance tactics if he ever became aware of them.

  She told herself that as long as she didn’t engage, she wasn’t interfering. Yaotl wanted to live his own life and she’d plainly told him she would give him all the space in the galaxy to do so.

  But that wasn’t what mothers did.

  “He’s traveling with a group of Navajo men,” Lola said. “He did not say why, only that they were seeking the end of the railroad. Curiosity, perhaps. He’s always been curious.”

  Except when it came to what he was. The less he learned about that, the better, in his opinion.

  He had no idea what his capacity was—didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be what he was. Lola tried not to take the spurning to heart.

  “That is all I can tell you,” she said.

  “It’s enough. I’ll make it enough.” Tarik pulled her around to the front of the desk. She felt the tickle of moving air on the back of her neck and tried to turn to find the source, but too quickly, her vision was obscured by black.

  Decadently soft, downy wings pulled her against him.

  Impulsively, she lifted a hand to feel what she couldn’t see, but suddenly the wing was gone, and so were they.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tarik probably didn’t need to hold the goddess so close as he scoured the desert landscape. He was coming to have a better appreciation for needs and wants, though.

  He needed to disrupt corrupt schemes and guide justice along. That was in his angelic constitution, though somewhat perverted. The perversion was why he’d fallen.

  What he wanted was the company of a creature who wasn’t fascinated by him and who genuinely wanted nothing from him. There was no ancient history between the two of them. No favors owed. No obligations. The freedom was exhilarating.

  “So fast,” Lola said breathily.

  The land was a blur beneath them. Tarik wasn’t flying so much as gliding along the Earth’s curve. They were moving too quickly for human eyes to see them, or for less sophisticated creatures to know what precisely was above them. Lacking her son’s specific location, he had no choice but to take a bird’s eye view and do a wide scan of the area.

  “There,” he murmured, even before the caravan came fully into view.

  He set her down and kept a hand on her shoulder. If she didn’t want to be seen or sensed by her son, she needed to remain under the power of Tarik’s invisibility glamour.

  “Can we get closer?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She carefully picked her way over small, shrubby plants with her skirts gathered up in her hands.

  The heels of her fancy boots kept catching in treacherous divots. Still, she moved without complaint, eyes fixed on the men.

  They were gathered around a fire, taking coffee. Studying maps.

  Tarik’s gaze raked over them all and he pondered which had been born of the goddess. Some were dressed in clothes of their tribe. Others in the current frontier fashion. All were serious-miened and dark-haired. But one of the men had short-shorn hair and the hot, wild aura of a large cat.

  Lola stopp
ed about twenty feet away.

  “Is that him?” Tarik whispered.

  She nodded slowly.

  “He looks well.”

  Another nod.

  “Does he not travel with your kind?”

  “He…has his own mind.” She was taking tiny steps closer to the fire with her head tilted as if trying desperately to tune in to faint conversation.

  In Tarik’s opinion, there was nothing especially interesting about their subject matter. They were heading farther west and were discussing routes. The topic was likely of critical importance to her, though.

  “There are easier ways to track your offspring,” he told her. “You could mark him with your magic. You would always be able sense his location.”

  “I am aware of marks and how they work,” she murmured. “I have used them on others. They will not work on him, just as they would not work on me. We are creatures designed to lurk in secrecy. We do our work in the dark and quiet.”

  She stood close enough to her son that she had to look up to see into his eyes.

  The resemblances between the two of them were few. He had the same thick, dark hair and brown skin, but his features were sharper. The hook of his nose. The tilts of his cheeks. The framing of his jaw. Unusual for the locale, but unquestionably handsome.

  He was an Aztec throwback in cowboy boots and the men with him probably had no idea what he was.

  He looked up then, toward Lola, and she took a hasty step backward.

  Tarik kept her still.

  Yaotl couldn’t see them and Tarik’s canceling energy prevented him from sensing his mother. Some animal had moved in the brush behind them.

  He looked down at the map again and cleared his throat. “There’s a group of us somewhere around here,” he told the men. “Small, but enduring all the same. I want to make sure they still have a head. We’ve been having bad luck with leaders.”

  “He…tells these people?” Lola whispered.

  “Perhaps they already knew.” Tarik gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, whether she needed it or not. It seemed like something the humans would have done, and that wasn’t always a bad thing.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “Often it seems that our stories run faster than we do.”

  “They may have their own lore about beings who change forms. He may not be of their tribe, but he is familiar to them.”

  “I suppose so.” She turned and looked up at Tarik. “I am ready.”

  “So soon?”

  “I saw what I needed.”

  “But did you see what you wanted?”

  “What is the difference?”

  He shook his head and chuckled softly as he folded his wings around her. “I’m coming to learn that sometimes, there’s no difference at all.”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  He shifted her to his side, hitching her against him for the sake of ease. “I’m still learning about the rest of the time.”

  ___

  The saloon was quiet and dark when Tarik popped them back in mere seconds to the center of the room. The girls were in their rooms with the doors closed and all the curtains were drawn. Lola could almost pretend they were in some other kind of establishment when the lights were so dim.

  She hated that she felt like she needed to. Unfortunately, in modern society, certain kinds of women’s work were valued less than others.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning to Tarik. “I…perhaps would not have located him so quickly. I remain in awe of your ability to move through spaces.”

  The angel performed a shallow bow and looked toward the kitchen. “An easy enough journey. Other kinds are harder.”

  “If you require fuel, please take it.” She gestured toward the kitchen.

  He grimaced. “I believe I will. I’ll treat it as me taking my medicine.”

  “We all have to sometimes. None of us are perfect.”

  “You need rest.”

  “As soon as I have handled affairs, I will retire.” She followed him into the kitchen and helped him search the larder and oven. They found more bread, a sorry and slightly squashed piece of apple pie, some slices of beef, and a couple of carrots. It made for a hodgepodge of a meal, but he didn’t seem to care. He carried it all to the counter and started with the vegetables, daintily biting off the ends with his side teeth.

  “Displeasing sensation,” he muttered.

  “You should try harder to get used to it if consuming food will help your body restore itself more quickly.”

  “Usually, it doesn’t matter. In the two or three days my body would require to fully replenish its energy stores, I typically don’t move much. For what is time to an angel, hmm? I can wait.”

  “So, what does that mean? You hide yourself away until you are certain you cannot be harmed?”

  “That’s the gist.” He set the carrots down and reached for the beef with a sigh.

  She almost felt sorry for him. Almost because she knew it was good Foye beef and any starving cowboy would have been overjoyed to have it in his belly.

  “Eating is hardly torture,” she said, raising a brow. She was finding herself rather amused by his discomfort.

  “No. Not torture. I have a fellow who has something of an opposite problem. He’s always starving. The fact he enjoys food makes his predicament worse. The urge to consume is more than a punishment for him. It’s an addiction he can’t quit.”

  Lola had never heard of such a thing. “What if he does quit?”

  “If he does, he’ll have to find some other way to slake his hunger.”

  “And what if he refuses all?”

  The angel grimaced. “We don’t discuss it.”

  “You do not know, then?”

  “I don’t know if he does entirely, either. Certain things are known to us simply by instinct. There’s no instruction manual for being what we are, especially not as we are now. Before we fell, we were able to tap into a sort of collective knowledge. We’re cut off from that now.”

  “So you have no oversight? No master?”

  “I’d say that would be an accurate statement.”

  “And yet you are more powerful than any of the deities that remain in my pantheon.”

  “Am I?” He seemed to be entirely disinterested in the comparison. He was studying a streak of fat in the beef through squinted eyes.

  She didn’t see the point of dwelling on the subject. She dug into her hair and pulled a few of the pins stabbing her scalp. The idea of a couple of days off pleased her if only to not have to arrange her hair so carefully. Some days, the idea of letting it hang wild and go matted truly appealed. Unfortunately, basic grooming was a requirement for maintaining a corporeal form. She didn’t possess the sort of magic to easily rid herself of filth. She had to do that manually like most other things on two legs.

  “Are you a solitary creature, then?” she asked. “Like my kind?”

  “No.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Here and there. We form cliques just as humans do. There are plenty of fallen ones I choose not to align myself with. Actually, I’d say that’s the case for most of them.”

  “Allegiances are dangerous.”

  “For you as well?”

  She nodded and made a pile of the pins on the cutting board. As she skated her fingertips over her sore scalp, she rolled her tight shoulders back and took a settling breath. “I learned that lesson when I was quite young, before so many humans had found this part of the world and decided to thrive on it. Petty gods entertain themselves in cruel ways. Solitude is neater. Simpler. I do not get swept up in the machinations of other creatures who have little regard for the fates of bystanders.”

  “They leave you alone, then?”

  “Mmm.” Letting her eyelids drift downward, she leaned her forearms onto the table edge. “There’s an unspoken truce amongst us all. We do not harass what belongs to another god unless they have somehow caused us offense.”

  “Like how?”
<
br />   “If someone were to attempt to harm Yaotl, for instance, it would be expected that I retaliate in some way, and certainly in a manner more severe than the original offense. He is my only child.”

  Not that Yaotl would permit her to. He’d insisted that she stay out of his affairs, and she would respect that edict.

  For the moment.

  He wouldn’t always be able to be so discreet and unassuming. One day, he’d have to step up and steer the Cougars in the way she couldn’t. She was “other.” She couldn’t fully connect with them, but Yaotl could. His father had not been of her of kind. He’d been human. He’d been mortal.

  “I doubt they would leave it at that,” Tarik said. “Revenge is rarely an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth sort of endeavor.”

  “You know this from experience, then?”

  “Indeed I do. I make my living on revenge.”

  She straightened up slowly and pondered that confession.

  He chewed quietly, lazily working his jaw while staring out the dark window.

  “They money you gave me—”

  “Spend it,” he interjected.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I earned it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Do I ask you how you earn your coins, goddess?”

  “That is not fair,” she said in a voice that was almost raised. She didn’t want to pique the attention of the Cougars upstairs, and especially not Elizabeth and Rachel. They already knew too much and thus had burdens heavier than all the rest of the ladies.

  “So you say.” He gave his shoulders a slow, backward roll and his wings appeared then. The left one twitched at the top, some sort of involuntary spasms, perhaps. He was ignoring them. Poking the tines of a fork at the piecrust.

  She hadn’t been able to get a good look at the wings before. They looked heavy on his back. Large-boned and velvety. Black as tar and extending down to the backs of his knees. Taller than her, she estimated.

  “You’re staring,” he said solemnly. “Do they bother you?”

  “No.”

  “You are curious, then?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled.

  “Why so terse, Butterfly?”

  She gathered up her pins and made her way through the door. She wasn’t going to remain in his company and listen to him attempt to make flawed comparisons to their circumstances. She wasn’t like him. She participated on the fringes—not interfered.