Broken Angel

by Amanda Jones

  B had been laid on the bed and was being tended by Mara. Yetarel was stretched out on his couch with an ice pack pressed to his head, muttering to himself like a crazy person. The others pored through his various grimoires, trying to locate any kind of spell that would cure demon blood poisoning. If a cure existed in the otherworld, it would be in one of the many ancient texts that had been passed down through his family of magical practitioners. The magical tomes had been in his family for centuries — a full compendium of supernatural knowledge that served him well and helped his strange new immortal family in their last battle against evil. His odd new group of comrades had moved his stuff from his old apartment to this new one while he’d been transitioning into his vampire state. They knew exactly where each and every volume was located. It had been a godsend at the time. The last thing he’d wanted while adjusting to his new senses was to return to an apartment that was painted with his blood and guts. The memories of pain and terror were still too raw. Sergei looked over at B, his hands and feet twisted and crushed. That man had saved his life, arriving at his old place just in time to make his transformation possible. Without him, Voss and Satan would have succeeded in ending his existence. Yetarel was B’s best friend, and he would do everything in his power to pay them back for their kindness and acceptance by finding a cure for this infection. It was the least he could do.

  * * * *

  Mara

  Across the room, Mara examined B’s wounds more closely. The cuts and scrapes from the glass had healed, but the bones in his hands and feet were another story all together. His inhumanly quick healing caused more harm than good. His bones had knit together twisted and broken. There was no way he would be able to walk or grasp anything in this condition. Mara was going to have to re-break his bones and set them properly. After everything he’d been through, this wasn’t going to be an easy pill for him to swallow.

  “What’s wrong?” B whispered, his eyes full of concern for her.

  Mara burst out in nervous laughter. “Why are you worrying about me? You’re the one that’s been hurt!”

  “I can’t stand seeing you look so disturbed,” he said, raising his twisted hand to cup her cheek. As he got a look at his mangled limb, he grimace and dropped it back down to his side. “I guess I’m not too pretty to look at right now.”

  Reaching down, Mara took his hand in hers. “This is actually what’s wrong. I don’t know how to break this to you easily. I’m going to have to break your bones and re-set them or you’ll be stuck like this permanently.”

  Mara was proud of herself. She’d managed to get that out in her most professional clinical voice without any of her inconvenient feelings leaking through.

  B took a deep breath, nodded, and looked her dead in the eye. “Do what you need to do.”

  Mara allowed her eyes to linger on his for a moment before looking away. If her heart was still able to beat she knew it would be clenching at the thought of causing him any more pain. There was one way she could do this without making him feel any discomfort.

  Mara repositioned herself beside B on the bed and made the offer in her very best professional voice. “I don’t have any meds to put you under, but I could put you in a hypnotic state if you’d like.”

  B shook his head. “No, I’ve been unconscious way too much recently. No matter how much it hurts, I need to be awake.”

  “If you change your mind, just say the word.” Mara took his right hand and examined the twist of his wrist. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can. Let me know if you need a break at any point…no pun intended.”

  B gave her a wry smile. “Go for it.”

  Mara gripped his forearm and hand, giving them a quick twist. The snap sounded like a wishbone breaking. B clenched his jaw and grunted as she set the bone in a straight line. It would only take a matter of minutes for the bones to knit together, no splints necessary, she could hold his arm in place, then move on to the next bone.

  B let out the breath he’d been holding. “Listen, about earlier at Brimstone…”

  Mara shook her head. “No need to get into that. Let’s concentrate on getting you back into fighting form.”

  He shook his head. “No, you need to understand. I need to tell you why I hurt you.”

  Mara sighed. He was giving her that look again, a look of love. How could she say no? “Fine. Tell me your story while we put you back together.”

  B smiled. She had no idea how much she really was putting him back together. “I need to tell you some things about my past. This isn’t easy for me. Yetarel’s the only one who knows these things.”

  Mara nodded. “Okay. Just let me get your fingers fixed on this hand first.”

  * * * *

  Bataryal

  B sucked in a breath and prepared himself. Mara took each finger and snapped them back into place. He wanted to cry out in pain, but held himself in check. The story he had to tell her was going to be difficult enough; he didn’t want to look any weaker by screaming like a baby as she helped him. Not to mention, the last thing he wanted was for her to feel bad for hurting him.

  As the pain faded, B looked up into Mara’s eyes. “This is a long story, so bear with me.” He took a deep breath and dove in. “When I was expelled from the heavens, Yetarel and I got kidnapped by a legion of demons. We were held in their lair for what seemed like an eternity. They tortured us and then allowed us to heal just to torture us again. All we had was each other. There was sexual shit, Mara. The male and female demons took great pleasure in having us against our will.” B trailed off, looking at the floor. He cleared his throat and continued. “They thought they could break us that way, but we stuck together. Even though we felt dirty and used, we knew we were in it together. That’s when they turned it up a notch. They started injecting Yetarel with demon blood. It only lasted a few hours at a time, but it allowed them to control him. He was locked in, aware of what he was doing, but unable to stop or control himself. They ordered him to torture me, and he did. I could see it was killing him. His eyes were just so hopeless.”

  “Oh my god,” Mara whispered.

  “I’m not looking for pity. I just want you to understand. You’re too good for me, Mara. The things that have been done to me…I wasn’t able to stop them. I wasn’t able to rescue myself or my friend from that horror. I made headway today — I got myself out of Keir’s little prison. I was able to do it because I wanted to get back to you and the guys. I didn’t want you in danger because I let a shape shifter wheedle his way into the group. I was still too late, and now Yetarel’s going through hell, poisoned by demon blood again.” B looked her dead in the eye. Not shrinking from his past this time. “There’s a strong connection between us, Mara. I’m not going to deny it, but I don’t deserve you. I just needed you to know that I feel it too.”

  B felt a weight lift off his shoulders, like a boulder had been removed after centuries of dragging him down. Whether she accepted his friendship after hearing about his past or not, he knew the simple act of telling her about his life was the right move. There’d been enough of hiding his pain and shame. Nothing in his life would get better unless he dragged the ugliness into the light.

  Mara shook her head. “I would never pity you, B. You’ve survived an experience that would have broken the best of us, and I hate to disabuse you of the notion that I’m too good for you, but I spent three decades after my turning totally feral, killing innocents and unable to stop. If my friend Alex hadn’t found me and brought me back from the brink, I don’t know where I’d be now.”

  “Mara, there were male demons who…they had me Mara, against my will, but they did…I couldn’t fight back.” B turned his head away from her, not wanting to see disgust in her eyes.

  Mara reached out and cupped his cheek, turning him back to face her. “None of that was your fault. It doesn’t say anything about you; it says something about the demons that tortured you. You’ve been blaming yourself all these centuries for something that you shouldn’t.”
Her eyes remained locked with his, searching for some truth he kept hidden. “That’s why you didn’t want me to touch you, isn’t it?” she said, finally breaking the silence.

  B’s heart clenched, that invisible connection trying to draw him closer to her warmth. “Maybe...probably. But I can blame myself for all the whoring I’ve done in the centuries since — a different woman every night. That makes me a real prize, doesn’t it? I mean, it made me physically sick letting them touch me, I hated every minute of it. Maybe I thought if I screwed enough, it would erase the past. I didn’t want you near any of that. You’re not like them, and you’re…Mara.”

  She gave him a little smile. “Much as I don’t like the idea of you screwing hundreds of random women, it does lead me to an important question. Do you believe in fate?” she asked.

  B frowned. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Well, look at my history. I feel a special connection to you, B. At risk of deeply embarrassing myself, I’ll go out on a limb and say that it’s a love connection. The last time I felt this pull towards someone was three centuries ago, and it was a vampire named Philippe. I didn’t know he was a vampire at the time. He presented himself as a wealthy young man trying to woo me into marriage. Long story short, he turned me. For the longest time, I thought of Philippe as the biggest mistake of my life, but looking back now, if I’d never met him, I would never have been turned, and would have died of old age more than two centuries ago, and you and I would never have met. So maybe that connection was meant to happen in order to lead me to you.

  “So you’re saying that everything we’ve been through has led us to this moment?” B asked, his voice laced with a tinge of hope.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, let’s set the rest of your bones.” Mara leaned over and reached down for B’s other hand.

  Before she could react, B sat up and grabbed her with his freshly set hand, drawing her face towards his. He felt his heart leap as their lips touched ever so gently at first. He had dreamed of kissing her since the first time he’d laid eyes on her face, and could only hope that the feelings she’d admitted to were true. Her lips moved softly upon his, her tongue darting out to lick along the line of his lips. B opened his mouth and let her in, their tongues sliding together sensually as his body came to life. It was a feeling he thought he’d never fully experience, the blood pounding in his veins, his heart jumping in his chest. Mara’s arms came up to circle him, one around his back, the other sliding up his neck, her nails raking along his scalp near the nape of his neck. The tiny shivers from her sharp little nails were more erotic than any sexual experience he’d ever had. B’s heart felt like it was soaring free. Maybe there really could be a happy ending for him.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  The Doppelgänger

  The shape shifter stopped and checked out his new reflection in a shop window as he made his way down the street. Thanks to the unconscious cop he’d left lying in his cruiser one alley down, he was set for the next few hours. He adjusted the hat and straightened the shoulders of his uniform. Not the most comfortable disguise, but it was the most expedient way to get the information he was after. Two doors down was the entrance to the police station and he quickened his pace. It was always best to look like he was in a hurry — people were less likely to stop him and get into lengthy conversations where he could be caught as an impostor.

  Chaos reigned as he entered the station. A variety of small-time criminals were sitting around waiting to be booked. The receptionist waved at him as he made his way by; he tipped the brim of his hat at her and eyed the motley crew. A few girls that had clearly been picked up for solicitation, possibly some of their johns, some corner drug dealers, and a few teenagers that were probably pinched defacing property. Officers were bouncing from interrogation rooms to their desks, furiously pounding away at their keyboards. Paperwork was being filed, and the offenders were slowly being booked into the system. The shape shifter laughed to himself, it would be so much easier if these humans took care of things the same way demons did in Sheol. If one of the Iustus demons, those charged with handling issues of justice, caught guilty thoughts and memories in the mind of their offender they were authorized to exterminate them. No fuss, no muss, and most importantly, no paperwork. In effect, demons really were an environmentally-friendly sort.

  The shape shifter surreptitiously took a peek down at his nametag. Chalmers. He did a quick sweep of the desks and saw the one with the matching nameplate. He made a beeline for “his” desk and dropped onto the squeaky, rolling desk chair. He pulled the computer keyboard towards himself across the crappy, old, metal desk that had probably been here since the early nineties. He grabbed the mouse and shook it around until the screen popped up requesting a password. He shuffled through Mr. Chalmers’s memories like a deck of cards, coming up with the password…his dog’s name. Shaking his head, the shape shifter entered “Kinki” into the password screen and hit enter. He was in. Using his newly found knowledge of the police services computer system, the shape shifter navigated the variety of programs he’d accessed with ease. Within a few minutes, he’d located Mara’s address.

  “Making some headway with ID’ing a suspect in your B&E?” An Officer Holmes asked, breaking the shape shifter’s concentration.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a lead on an eyewitness. Going to head out to interview her.” The shape shifter closed the screen, locked the computer, and got to his feet.

  “Good luck, man. I know that case has been a real bitch.” Holmes clapped him on the shoulder and headed back to one of the interrogation rooms.

  “Thanks.” The shape shifter called out to the other officer’s back.

  Now he had a cover for getting into the apartment building. He’d flash his badge at the concierge and tell them he was there to interview a witness. Sometimes these dumb humans had their uses, even if they were few and far between. He walked back to the alley and opened the door to the cruiser. He reached in and grabbed Officer Chalmers by the shoulder, tossing him onto the ground. He landed in a heap wearing only his striped boxers and a wife beater. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, reversing out into the flow of traffic. With any luck he’d be at Mara’s apartment in five or ten minutes. He flicked on the siren and the lights…better five than ten. He dodged in and out of traffic as drivers scrambled to get out of his way. He could get used to this.

  He whizzed by buildings, cars, and pedestrians as he sped through the downtown core towards Mara’s apartment. The only thing missing was “Highway to Hell” blasting on the stereo. His tires burned rubber as he rounded a corner much faster than the vehicle was equipped to; he actually felt the tires on the opposite side of the car leave the ground for a split second.

  He squealed to a stop in front of Mara’s building and jumped out of the car, leaving the lights flashing as he dashed to the front door. Putting on his most official expression, he approached the shocked concierge, pulled out his badge, and flashed it with authority.

  “I’m here to question one of your residents, a Mara James, in apartment 1503.” He flipped the ID closed and put it back in his breast pocket.

  “Yes, officer. Please, go right up. Just…is Ms. James okay? She’s a lovely woman, a good tenant, never any trouble. She’s a doctor at the hospital. Has anything happened to her?” The poor concierge stuttered and stumbled.

  “Don’t concern yourself over Ms. James. She is a potential witness to a crime I’m investigating. We’re on a tight timeline, so I’ll just go on up now.” The shape shifter gave the concierge a calming smile.

  “Oh, thank goodness. We’d be devastated here if anything happened to her. She’s so well-liked.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Go to the fifteenth floor and make a right. Here’s the spare key.” He handed the key across the counter to the shape shifter. “Thank you for your service to the city. You officers never get enough credit for all you do.”

  The shape shift
er gave him a little salute as he headed for the elevator. He’d originally planned to scale the building and do some breaking and entering of his own, but this whole cop cover he had going on was making this assignment so much easier. He punched the call button and the doors opened almost immediately. The sounds of easy-listening, elevator music assaulted his ears. Maybe scaling the building had been a better idea.

  Exiting the elevator, he turned right and went two doors down. He fit the key into the lock and opened the door to Mara’s apartment. He closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to alert any neighbors to his presence. What he saw surprised him. Most of the women he’d stalked or spied on took pride in decorating their homes, and had a variety of knickknacks and artifacts from their past. This apartment was surprisingly bare.

  He started digging in drawers, pulling them out and dumping their contents on the floor for an easier search. There was nothing promising here — letters and tax documentation from her work at the hospital, junk mail, cable, and phone bills. Everything was painfully generic. He left the disaster he’d made of her living room and entered her bedroom. Throwing open her closet doors he found clothes — piles of scrubs hanging neatly in a row, jeans, sweaters, tee shirts, and dresses. None of those dresses were fit to be worn outside of Halloween. He reached out and fingered the material. They were well-made with expensive lace, the cut and design of each gown was several centuries old. Mara was definitely a part of their world. Looking up, he saw an old letter box stashed away on the top shelf of the closet. He reached up and pulled it down. Taking it over to the bed, he sat down and raised the lid. A sparkling diamond tiara sat on a bed of velvet. The matching earrings and bracelet sat beside it. He had no interest in her jewels. The rewards promised to him for bringing down the fallen far outstripped the value of diamonds. He tossed them aside on the bed cover. Reaching in, he pulled out the velvet and threw it on the floor, revealing something far more interesting.