by Jessa Slade
She refused to wonder if she was being unfair. Instead, she headed for the closed double doors and let herself out.
“Wait.” Nanette hurried after her. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t help here.” She went to the front bench and collected her coat. “The bombs, the verge, it’s out of my league.” Out of her league, maybe, but very much of her legion, the legions of darkness. She stared out through the leaded glass windows of the front door. The rectangles of framed night looked even blacker to her imp eyes.
God, why did the nights have to be so long?
“The buses won’t be running,” Nanette said. “Let me call you a cab this time.”
Bella nodded numbly.
“No.” Fane’s sharp denial was like a crack against the thin wall of her restraint. One more nudge and her own demon would come pouring out… “I’ll take her home.”
Yeah, there was the nudge.
She whirled to face him. “I don’t want you.” Her tone rang with the truth. And with the lie. Damn the demon’s double tongue.
Nanette clasped her hands in front of her. “Mr. Fane, it’s been a troubling night. I think maybe you should—”
“Ward.” His eyes glimmered with the gold sparks of his roused angel. “Your kind heart is not needed here.”
“Ex-warden,” she replied, much more mildly but with equal gold admonition. “A kind heart is always needed.”
Bella tensed. Was she going to have to jump into the middle of an angel war right here? Could this night get any worse?
After a long moment, Fane smiled tightly. It wasn’t a beatific smile of the sort favored by saints. It was more the sort an avenging angel gave as he listened to the blood of his enemies snap-crackle-pop on his flaming sword. “I think we have both been around the talyan too long. We have forgotten what we are.”
But Nanette did not soften. “I have not forgotten.” She touched Bella’s arm. “Shall I call that cab?”
Though she desperately wanted to take the angel-woman’s offer, Bella felt the weight of Fane’s glower like that missing sword dangling above her head. And she didn’t particularly want to leave him with the talyan. Who knew what he might tell them? “It’s okay. I need a ride and he has a decent car.”
Nanette nodded dubiously and went to the front desk to buzz them out.
Bella waved as they left but had to jerk her hand back before Fane slammed it in the closing door. She whirled on him. “What did you do with the orb?”
“I left it with the Bookkeeper. He’s trying to decide whether there’s a message from Thorne tucked inside along with the demons.”
“A message other than ‘fuck you’?”
“That part seemed pretty clear.” He crunched over the salt on the sidewalk as he headed for the Porsche. Bella trailed behind, staring down at her boots.
In the old days, salt was used as a defense against evil powers. The ability of salt to draw, purify and preserve on the corporeal plane had been extended to the metaphysical realm. Clothed in flesh, she felt nothing, but as an imp, she had avoided its sting. Did she dare rely on the protective power of potato chips?
She kicked a pebble of salt and watched it bounce across the pavement to hit Fane’s boot. He had stopped at the Porsche and was waiting for her, blocking the passenger door.
She wrapped her arms around herself, her coat suddenly seeming far too thin against the iciness of his glare. “Are we going?”
“Why did you use Nanette to show the wickedness in the orb?”
“Because the talyan and I couldn’t trigger that response.” She met his cold eyes with her own searing glare. “And neither could you.”
He pitched his voice low and intent. “The divine presence is still inside me.”
Who was he trying to convince? If she hadn’t been so miserable herself, she might have enjoyed mocking him. “Probably. But it’s buried so deep, I couldn’t get to it. Even when I tried.”
“I want to end evil just as much as Nanette. Her husband was killed by djinn-men, but I—” He slammed his palm on the car roof.
When he didn’t go on, Bella lifted her chin. “We all face demons. Some of us get to face them with angels inside. Some of us don’t. But the orb didn’t react to her desire to destroy it. It flinched from her love.”
His hand on the Porsche fisted, and his fingernails squealed against the paint. “I have that too.”
She curled her lips in a sneer. “You can’t even say it.”
He took a long step toward her and raised his hand.
Inadvertently, she turned her cheek, not that she thought he would hit her, but she had tried to punch him…
Instead, he laid his long fingers against her cold jaw and tilted her face up to his. His mouth—how did he stay so warm?—slanted over hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips with a power that left her gasping, opening to him.
He cupped his hand behind her head, sinking his fingers into her hair, and tilted her to his desire.
She closed her eyes and flattened her palms against his chest, giving in to the kiss, possessed by it, by him.
Finally, he lifted his head. “See?”
Slowly, she dragged her heavy lashes upward, knowing he would see the flash of cloudy gray cataracts. “I don’t,” she said. “So say it.”
She waited for him to show her she was wrong, but he only yanked open the passenger door for her and stalked away.
Tucking herself into the smooth, cold leather as she waited for him to come around, she wondered why she wanted so badly to be wrong.
Chapter 8
Fane peeled the Porsche away from the sidewalk. All the baby Jesuses were gone, so why did he still feel like there were a few dozen accusing eyes staring into the back of his head?
Maybe that was just his angel.
Battles weren’t won with love, he wanted to tell it. One birthday and two thousand years of history were still proving that.
He pedaled the gas, letting the buck of the engine distract him. This time of the morning, the empty street unrolled in front of him, asking nothing, wanting nothing.
Unlike certain other beings he might mention…
“Where are we going?”
And thus began the asking. “Home.”
“You missed the exit for the Coil.”
“My home,” he clarified.
“No.”
“I’m driving,” he pointed out.
“This is a kidnapping.”
“Right. Snatching someone else’s body for your own use. What would you know about that?”
As he said it, he winced. That was cruel, even for him.
Bella didn’t move a muscle, just stared out the window.
What did she see of the night with her imp eyes? Could it be worse than the heartbreak he’d known was out there, even before the angel had come to him?
He didn’t want to remember those days. These nights were hard enough. He gripped the steering wheel as if he could throttle down the memories even as he geared up the engine.
“My house has safeguards,” he offered finally. “More focused than your artifacts. You’ll be safe there.”
“Why?”
“The sphericanum gives all its wardens—”
“I mean why are you giving me a place now?”
He clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t about to leave you at the club without any protection.”
“You did a Vegas-worthy impression of it when you started to drive away with all my Jesuses and without me.”
“I intended to come back.” He’d just been so shocked. And angry. At her for lying about what she was. And at himself, for lying with her.
So now that he did know what she was, how did he justify that last kiss?
He couldn’t. There was no good reason on earth for that kiss.
“Listen,” he started again. “I’m not the bad guy here.”
“No, it’s Thorne who wants to detonate tenebrae bombs on a bunch of vulnerable old people at Christma
s…” She snapped her fingers. “Oh wait. You wanted to do that too, didn’t you? To somehow turn the tables on him. If you aren’t the bad guy and then you turn the tables, you become the bad guy.”
Fane grimaced at the tortured logic. “I’m not going to argue about this with you.”
“Because I’d win,” she shot back.
“These are hard times for all of us—”
“Yeah, what was it you said? This season can be such a ‘spiritually difficult’ time for people like me who…” She tucked herself tight, clutching her arms close to her body as if she was remembering the flow of blood from her scars.
Fane swerved to the side of the road. Beyond the narrow ribbon of park, the lake was an unrelieved blackness, like an invading force waiting behind the city walls. He grabbed Bella’s chin and forced her to look at him. He didn’t know what she saw, but he didn’t want her picturing Mirabel’s last Christmas night.
“That wasn’t you,” he reminded her. “You didn’t hurt yourself.”
“No,” she said softly. “I was the one who hurt her.”
He released her. “We all have our sins.” Wasn’t that exactly why he needed his abraxas? How could he make things right without it?
At least she was silent the rest of the way.
Some of the big homes in his neighborhood were dressed up for the holiday, tasteful swathes of twinkling lights punctuated by only the occasional reindeer, which was amusing since most of his neighbors were the conservative sorts who would shoot anything with a rack that impressive or call the exterminator if their holly bushes were nibbled by the real thing. No plastic, blinking nativity scenes though; that would be totally against HOA rules.
Behind the security fence—which he’d installed after being broken into by a certain stripper talya—his house was dark, without even a wreath on the front door. For an instant, he imagined all the baby Jesuses adorning his yard.
So wrong. He punched in the security code at the gate, and the wrought iron rolled aside. He steered the Porsche around the half-circle drive, pointing it toward the gate in the event a quicker-than-usual getaway was needed.
Bella swiveled to keep the house in view. “Will the sphericanum shields let me in?”
“No one else figured out what you are. I’m guessing the safeguards here will be equally clueless. I think you’re one of a kind.”
“It really is a wonderful life.”
He waved away her sarcasm. “Great idea. You can watch holiday movies until we end Thorne. I think Nanette brought me all of them when she was still a ward in my sphere. She tried to use them to explain divine possession after my angel came to me.” He shook his head and reached for his door.
Bella made a small sound of surprise. “Nanette taught you? I would have thought it was the other way around.”
“The angel that came to me is more powerful, but she’s had hers since she was a child. Mine came…later.” He pushed out of the car and went around to open her door, but she was already out and walking toward his front door.
He followed, a little suspicious of her sudden willingness. But maybe she’d just accepted she had no other options. He knew the feeling.
She paused on the front step, and he reached around her to unlock the door. He flicked on the interior foyer light, and the crystal chandelier sent glitters of light across the marble tile and over their feet.
But she lingered a moment. “I’m not sure I feel anything.”
“I should have brought the little bomb and cracked it open here. Not even the stink of sulfur would remain.”
She tilted her head. “Couldn’t we use that against all the tenebrae?”
He hesitated. “The sphericanum does. But there’s a price.”
She took a breath, as if she was about to ask more, but then she let it whistle out of her on a sigh. “Isn’t there always?” She walked in, holding her coat tight around her.
He hadn’t noticed before how chilly it was. He didn’t spend much time in the house. He had his business to run—the cleaning company had been scheduling red wine removals since Thanksgiving—and the sphericanum to avoid and now the league and Thorne… All of which seemed much more welcoming in some weird way than the big, empty house.
Except now Bella was here.
He went to the central wall unit to reactivate the external alarms and crank the heat.
“You’re freezing. Let me get you something warm to drink.” He held out one hand toward the hallway stretching back to the kitchen.
His guest drifted past him, still clutching her coat. Were the sphericanum safeguards somehow bothering her?
Down the hall, she trailed one fingertip along the picture frames. He turned his head to study the images since he couldn’t remember what they were. They’d been included with the house. Did she see the black and white images, or since photographs would lack all meaning to an imp, were the squares little more than empty space?
As they crossed into the kitchen and he hit the light switch, she said, “I thought you were married.”
He stumbled, though he knew the mahogany was glossy smooth. “What?”
“I thought you were married.”
The words burned worse the second time. “Why would you think that?”
She waggled her left hand at him. “Duh.”
Reflexively, his hand tightened into a fist, driving the edge of the gold band into his palm. “So you thought that and you still…”
“I figured if an angel-man was willing to leave some of his shine around my place when I needed it, I wasn’t going to say no.” She leaned her hip on the counter. God, she must know the pose made him think of that night. Of course, his head hadn’t gone there a hundred times without any prompting whatsoever. “But there aren’t any signs of a wife and family. No woman—even a stay-at-home wife—keeps hallway frames so dust free, which means you use your cleaning service. So maybe you’re just like a priest, wedded to your holy war.”
“Maybe not.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ear. “I was married once. She left.”
Bella’s jaw dropped. “She left you?”
“With a quickness.” He turned away to open the cabinets and stared blindly within. Even when he was home, he didn’t cook for himself, so he barely knew what he’d find. Tabasco, sugar, WD40… Ah, instant coffee. He grabbed the packets like a lifeline.
“What was her name?”
“Does it matter?” He filled two mugs with water and put them in the microwave.
“Presumably to her it does. And to you at one time. Now I’m wondering what kind of woman leaves an angel-man.”
“I wasn’t one then.”
“Ah.”
He punched the timer with more force than necessary, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means ‘Oh, I see’.”
“You don’t.”
She pulled a face at him. “No need to remind me.”
“Nobody saw, which is why our baby died.”
For a long minute, only the molecules of the coffee, viciously pushed by the microwaves, moved in the room. Fane realized he was holding his breath, as Bella was too.
He let it out with an explosive burst just as the microwave dinged. He snatched open the door and grabbed the mugs, stupidly. Scalding coffee slopped over the backs of his fingers.
He hissed out a breath.
“Cyril…” She whisked to the freezer and triggered the door. Ice cubes rattled into her palm.
He fumed. She was a blind demon, never in his house before, and she knew his kitchen better than he did.
She reached for his hands. “Where?”
“Everywhere.” The note of despair in his own voice shocked him. “Never mind.”
“Just…shut up.” She pushed him onto one of the high stools tucked up under the counter and smoothed the ice over his knuckles, her thumb brushing his ring. “Not as bad as birnenston. You’ll live.”
Birnenston—the toxic ooze left behind by t
he tenebrae—burned like napalm, nasty, clinging and seeping ever deeper. Of course the thin coffee wasn’t that bad. Except…why did the throbbing in his hands seem to be sinking through him, making its way to his heart?
He stared down at their joined hands, hers pale and slender, his big and flushing angry red where the coffee had spilled. “Her name was Nicole.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“Everyone called her Saint Nic.”
“For putting up with you, no doubt.”
“Maybe she had an angel in her, and I never knew. She had our angel—our child—and we didn’t know…” He flexed his hands against the spreading ache. “We didn’t know until too late about his heart defect. There’s wasn’t anything we could do. Except pray.”
“If there wasn’t anything you could do, why do you still feel responsible?”
“I don’t.” But he did, and lying about it didn’t change anything, any more than staying up all night reading about hypoplastic left heart syndrome could change a diagnosis. “I don’t blame myself for Max’s death. I blame myself for not being able to make it right for Nicky afterward. We just couldn’t make it right again. For weeks, she didn’t speak, and when she finally did, she said she couldn’t stand looking at me. Every time she looked at me, she thought of Max. She said she cried just so she wouldn’t have to see me through the tears.” He clenched his hands, and the ring seemed to hold the heat, still burning though the rest of him was ice. “No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t love her enough.”
“Is that how it works?” Bella sounded genuinely curious, and somehow the fact she was a demon who wouldn’t know any better made the question reasonable and soothed the raw edges of his wounds. “If we hope and pray enough, should we be able to save a life, save a love?”
“Yes,” he said fiercely. “Otherwise, what does it matter? What does anything matter?”
“Don’t ask me.”
He reversed the clasp of their hands, so he was holding her. “Now do you see why I need to find my abraxas, why I have to defeat Thorne? This holy war is all I have left, and without it… It will all have been in vain. I couldn’t love enough, but with the sword, I can kill enough.”