Heaven Sent (Lupine Bay Book 1)

by Maribel Fox

  He didn’t know. Not sure how it escaped his notice, but it doesn’t matter now that I’ve let the secret out.

  “Mhm, it is,” I mutter, finishing off a second whiskey. From the shores of the old country it’s not, but it’s damn drinkable. “Ava’s the one that’ll sort it. The blonde—” The look on Raj’s face tells me he doesn’t need more description of Ava to remember who she is. The lewd smirk’s getting under my skin for reasons I can’t quite place.

  A time ago, more years than I know, Raj was counted among my few friends. Then Hell finally turned him into the pawn they wanted, and I lost myself an ally.

  The only reason he’s back now is because his boss has ordered it. It’s not even a secret. But centuries apart or not, I know Raj, and there is a secret he’s working hard to keep. Something he’s not telling me. Whatever his reasons are, it’s enough to confirm I can’t trust him. Enough to remind me to keep my guard up, my eye on him, and my ear to the ground.

  “You need a room?” asks Rue, popping over from her unconvincing round of dusting down the bar. “I can go fetch Ava. I’ll be right back!”

  Raj looks at me, a silent question in his raised brow. I shrug.

  “Women, right?” says Ian, sucking down his root beer.

  Raj smirks at the comment, his predatory gaze turning back to me, a million unsaid things in it.

  Nah. I can’t stand by for this. He’s got to know there’s a line in the sand.

  Reaching behind the bar, I grab the bottle of whiskey Rue’s been pouring from and pour myself another glass. I drink it down in one gulp, smooth as honey.

  “You know I’ve grown rather fond of the locals here. If one were to ask, I’d consider them under my protection,” I say.

  Raj grins, finishing off his beer. “Sort of an umbrella policy?” he says, his tone joking. So be it. He heard me say it, that’s all that matters.

  “You any good with a wrench, Devil?”

  His brows furrow together. “What do you—”

  “Here she is!” Rue announces from beyond the bar door, skipping ahead of Ava who’s walking like she’s in shackles. By the time she gets to us, she’s fixed her expression, looking welcoming enough to Raj — hard as I know that to be.

  “Rue says you’re looking to rent a room?”

  Raj nods. “Indeed.”

  “We can get you checked in at the front desk, follow me,” she says, waving him after her, moving forward as if compelled by routine rather than conscious thought. Her expression is complete confusion, disbelief obvious in her eyes.

  Rue’s grinning like the cat that ate the canary and she picks up a rag to wipe down the bar, eventually getting to me, stopping at the bottle of purloined whiskey next to my glass and giving me a disapproving look.

  “Put it on my tab,” I mutter, grabbing the bottle and the glass. That provocative cedar’s calling my name.

  5

  Ava

  Eighteen shot glasses, five pint glasses, eleven wine glasses, the list goes on — where in the world are the customers who are breaking all of this glassware?

  “Twenty highballs,” Rue says from the top of the stepladder.

  “Hey, that’s all of those,” I say, ticking off the only thing on the inventory list so far that isn’t going to need replacements ordered.

  “Told ya I’m not a total butterfingers,” says Rue, grinning down at me from above. One of her bouncy curls snags on a nail — probably left from hanging garland or something one year — and it sets her off-balance. She wobbles, wind milling her arms, and I watch helplessly as a tower of highball glasses starts to lean.

  “Rue look out!” I wince, turning away, covering my eyes, waiting for a big crash. But then… Nothing.

  I let out a breath, look up, and Rue’s grinning, holding up the stack of glasses triumphantly. “That was a pretty sweet save, not gonna lie.”

  I’m going to have to take her word for it, though I give her a thumbs up anyway. I’m not sure how she pulled the save off, but I appreciate not having to clean up — and replace — all that glass.

  She gets down from the stepladder — thankfully — and dusts her hands off. “You’ve got no faith in me, A.”

  “It’s not that, I just—”

  “You’re wound tight,” she says, finishing for me. I’m not sure that’s what I would call it, but I can’t really argue with it either.

  “There’s a lot going on,” I say with a sigh. More than she knows. More than I’m really ready to admit to myself even.

  It’s complicated.

  I’m happy that the B&B finally has customers — really, I’m thrilled about the income — but these guys are…

  They make me uneasy. Uneasy in a way that I find myself sometimes wishing that they would just pack up and leave, taking their income with them.

  No amount of wishing it has made it happen though.

  “You mean there’s a lot of eye candy going around and it’s hard to pick a focus?”

  “No, that is not what I mean.” It’s an argument we keep having. Because Rue is far more excited about our guests’ presence than I am. She’s actually able to enjoy how attractive and magnetic they both are in their own separate ways.

  Me?

  Well, I’m finding myself a little too attracted to them. Being near either Seamus or Raj seems to make me… respond. I don’t know how to explain it, really. It’s not a purely sexual response. There’s something more to it. Something deeper. It can’t be emotional though, I don’t know either of them well enough for those kinds of feelings.

  There’s this unnamed force inside of me that seems to wake up more when I’m around either of them. It’s like there’s something wild trapped in me, something that’s been dormant for a long time and is now deciding it wants to be free.

  But I’m not even sure what that thing is, or if it’s real, and the whole thing is unsettling.

  Like I said, I’d be happy if they just left. This is a puzzle I really don’t need in my life right now, so they can just pack it all up and take it back to whatever bizarre world they’ve come from.

  Rue sighs, her shoulders slumping as she reaches out for me, settling a hand on my shoulder. “Is everything alright, A? I’m just ragging on you, but you really have been distant…”

  I frown, starting to shrug when I hear my brother’s stampeding footsteps running into the bar.

  “Are you guys still counting things?” he asks, doubled over with his hands on his knees, gulping in great gasping breaths.

  “What?” This kid is always taking me by surprise more than anyone else.

  “You said you were counting things today—”

  “Inventory, yeah.”

  “Are you still doing that?”

  I’m holding in laughter when I shake my head. “We just finished what we’re doing today. Why?”

  He deflates instantly, backpack straps sliding down his arms until the whole thing slumps to the floor. “Nevermind.”

  I frown, circling the bar to get closer to him. “What’s up?”

  Ian sighs, throwing up his arms. “My teacher told us to practice counting by twos and fives and I thought I could help you count things, but you already—”

  “We still have to double-count them,” Rue pipes in.

  Ian cranes his neck to look around me, eyes narrowed at Rue. “Double-count?”

  She nods, winking at me. “We have to make sure we didn’t miscount the first time, so we need someone who isn’t one of us to count it all again.”

  Ian’s face brightens, then he looks to me, hesitant until he gets confirmation. “Really?”

  I stifle a snicker as I nod. “We definitely need a double-count before we send in the order.”

  “Come on, squirt,” Rue says, waving Ian back behind the bar with her. “Let’s hear those counting skills.”

  I’m lucky to have a friend like her. She’s been another steady presence in our lives.

  While Rue and Ian head off to count all the invento
ry we just finished counting, I clean up around the place. The tables need wiping down, the bar too. I start to sweep and realize that it’s a bigger job than I anticipated. I can hear Ian in the back with Rue, trying to count by fives and struggling, probably counting on his fingers each step.

  The thought makes me smile, even if I am a little sorry for his math skills. He’ll get there. I struggled a lot when I was his age too. Something about sitting in a classroom and trying to learn while there’s a whole world only a pane of glass away… It feels unnatural. Inhumane almost.

  Flipping all the chairs takes a while, but it makes mopping much easier. And this place needed the mopping. The difference is marked; even Rue and Ian take notice when they come back from the stockroom.

  “Wow!” says Rue.

  “Careful,” I say to Ian as he tiptoes around to his backpack that’s sitting on a barstool.

  We’re all focused on different things when the newcomer clears his throat.

  “Could either of you assist me in locating the proprietor of this establishment?” he asks, his posture perfect.

  Rue and I look at each other, then back at the guy, gaping. At least six-four, built with broad shoulders, a near-bald shaved head and an entire aura that says, ‘I’m in charge, don’t even question it.’ That’s the guy that just walked into The Shamrock. That’s why Rue and I look at each other, to make sure we’re both seeing the same thing. The same dark-skinned, carved-from-marble god in a black suit that just casually strolled in here.

  Something in me breaks, and I’m stuck leaning on the mop handle staring at him. This is not a coincidence. It can’t be.

  That wild thing inside me is waking up again and I clench the mop handle tight, even screwing my eyes shut to try and force it down, to try to douse the fire.

  My heart races the more I try, palms getting slippery on the handle.

  “Do you want a room?” Ian asks — the only one with enough sense to actually get a word out with this guy. What is it about him that’s left me so tongue-tied?

  He’s too perfect, that’s one thing. But it’s not just that. It’s that he’s the third too-perfect guy to walk into my establishment lately. And all at the same time.

  It’s too much to believe it’s all by chance. What it means, on the other hand, is a mystery I don’t think I’m equipped to tackle.

  “That’s my sister Ava,” Ian says, pointing at me. Me — sweaty, hair frizzled, clutching a mop and not remembering how to use my own voice. Thanks Ian. “She’s in charge.”

  The newcomer gives me a once-over that’s obviously appraising. What’s less obvious is the conclusion he comes to. His expression is frustratingly hard to read, even as he approaches — no heed taken for the wet floor. His foot doesn’t slip once. Of course.

  He stops in front of me, a little too close if we’re being honest, and I get a whiff of his clean masculine scent — leather, linen, parchment — it’s classic in a very literal sense. I don’t hate it. I do hate how he’s just looking down on me silently. It makes me feel squirmy.

  “D-do—” I clear my throat, determined not to make a fool of myself in front of this guy in case he’s my next guest. “Are you looking to book a room?”

  His dark eyes catch mine and hold on, the air in my lungs stopping until I remember to breathe. It takes longer than I’m proud to admit.

  “I am not here in search of lodging. I’m looking for information of two men. Perhaps you have seen them?”

  There’s the trouble I’ve been waiting for.

  6

  Micah

  They are near, I have no doubt about it. Intelligence has placed them both here, and this woman knows something. Soon, I will also know what she knows. Once she decides to cooperate.

  “Have I seen them? I see a lot of people, who’s asking?” Her cheeks flush with the warmth of anger, nostrils flaring.

  I sigh. The story never changes. Humans are always reactive, barbaric, requiring far too much care and finesse for my liking. Luckily, there is another part of humans that never changes — respect for authority. I pull out my badge — though if she inspects it too closely, she might have some questions — and tuck it away again quickly.

  “Senior Auditor Micah Ward, ERS, ma’am. And I will be out of your way much more quickly if you can just tell me if you have seen them around?”

  “Why are you looking for them?” she asks, eyes narrowed, hand on her hip. She certainly doesn’t look the part of hotelier. She looks more like a maid. The other two — a child and a woman who is looking at me like I dropped in from above — make no moves on her behalf, so it seems that she is the owner. Curious.

  “Wait, you said you’re an auditor? Since when do—”

  “Senior Auditor,” I correct.

  “What?”

  “My rank is Senior Auditor, ma’am.”

  She scowls at me, looking back over her shoulder for something, then back at me. “Okay, first of all — Ava. My name’s Ava, not ma’am. Second, I don’t care about your rank. Since when do auditors make house calls?”

  “These men are more powerful than you may realize, Ava,” I say gently, her name soft and foreign, not unpleasant. “Whatever goodwill they may have earned with you—”

  “You’re still not telling me what you want with them. Are they that behind on their taxes?” She frowns as she says that, leaning over the bar to whisper something at the other woman. They converse back and forth, ignoring me entirely until I am forced to clear my throat.

  “You are hindering an ongoing investigation,” I say, injecting a bit of intimidation into my voice. Humans rarely give me so much trouble; I am rusty, though. It has been a while since I set foot on the ground. They prefer not to send you down without a partner.

  Not usually.

  And I haven’t had a partner in… Far too long. Kushiel was the last. Will always be the last. Heaven has plenty of uses for a man of my talents without sending me to the ground, and they have plenty of other agents to do their dirty work in the mud. Except for this job. This one is special. I have a history with one of these men, but Kushiel had history with both. No one knows what is going on in this place, the reason for a sudden influx of activity in this sleepy Oregon beach town, but I am here to find out. And maybe find out what happened to my good friend, once and for all.

  Uncooperative humans be damned.

  “If you want to do this the difficult way, I can bring you in for obstruction and make you talk,” I bluff, eyes casually skirting to the small boy. He is related to her somehow, whether her son or her brother I do not know, but he provides good leverage all the same.

  “Obstruction?” she says, brows furrowing deeper.

  “Is the IRS actually law enforcement?” the other woman says skeptically.

  Before I can formulate my response, the Devil — Bali Raj, I was briefed — slides in and slips his arm around the waist of the maid-owner.

  “Is this gentleman bothering you?” he asks sweetly, his fingers splayed over her hip possessively.

  He thinks he can intimidate me? Think again, Devil.

  “I have no wish to make a scene. Why not take this outside?” I ask, grinding my teeth, still staring at the place where his hand is on her hip. I am not the only one. Ava is looking at it too. Surprised? Embarrassed? She is surprisingly difficult to read, and her immunity to my suggestion is making me question her humanity.

  What is going on here that Heaven is unaware of?

  My skin bristles as the Devil smiles at me. It is not a friendly smile. It is the smile of a predator that knows he has got lunch right where he wants it. The fool has no idea who he is dealing with.

  “I’m actually quite comfortable right here. The Shamrock’s become a home away from home, if you will,” he says, sliding his hand up Ava’s side, his thumb stroking her ribcage. Her look is pure conflict and I know there is more going on here than I can see. Unacceptable.

  “This is not the place to discuss what we need to—”


  “Micah,” comes the Irish brogue of a cursed Fae I hoped I’d never hear from again. He pushes past me, resting his elbows on the bar. Before I came down here I knew that I would be facing Seamus again. I prepared myself, though I didn’t expect the rush of anger to sweep through me as fast as it does.

  “Pour me a whiskey, will ya Rue?” Seamus says, drumming his freckled fingers on the bar top.

  The Devil splutters, dropping his cool facade to confront the Fae. “Care to explain how you’re acquainted with that?” he asks, jabbing a disgusted finger my way. It’s practically laughable that I am the disreputable one of this bunch. If anything, I’m the one that should be ashamed of my association with a Fae.

  He was never my friend though. He was Kushiel’s. I would not have known the good-for-nothing thief otherwise. And with Kushiel long gone, there is no need for me to know him now. Not after I make him talk.

  They would not tell me outright the circumstances of Kushiel’s death. I was told he went on a solo mission and died. Nothing more. No more information for nearly sixty years.

  Then they came to me with this offer. An offer to go back to the Earth, to confront two of Kushiel’s old contacts who may have some idea about what happened to him. It was even alluded that Seamus may have had something to do with Kushiel’s death, so the sight of him makes me bristle. I always told Kush we should not trust the Fae. He believed me paranoid.

  I must wonder if that is what got him killed, guilt gnawing at my insides again. I should have been with him. Solo missions were not done for a reason, and no one has ever been able to offer me an explanation for why an exception was made with such tragic results.

  Seamus shrugs at the Devil, tossing back the drink offered by the still-stunned-and-mute bartender, and twirls his finger in the air indicating he would like a refill. Fae change even less than humans do.

  “We go way back,” says Seamus plainly. For a brief moment, I feel gratitude toward him for not saying more — then I remember everything else and it disappears in an instant.