by Tanya Huff
Squinting through the tinted glass, Dean realized the thin, blonde woman behind the wheel was on the phone. When he tapped on the driver’s door window, she opened it a finger’s width but continued looking down at the laptop open on the leather upholstery of the passenger seat. “Ma’am, you don’t need to call for a tow. You’re barely off the road; you can just back up.”
She ignored him and kept talking. “…telling you the bank beat by nine cents the average estimate of sixty cents a share.”
“Ma’am?”
A slender hand in a burgundy leather glove waved vaguely in his direction. “But you’re forgetting that volatile capital markets allowed a forty-five percent increase in fees, and that’s where you can attribute most of the profit growth.”
“I’m after heading back to my truck now.”
“Look, Frank, it was loan volumes that brought the interest income up nine percent to three hundred and thirty-seven million dollars.”
“Ma’am?”
“Three hundred and thirty-seven million dollars, Frank!”
“Never mind.”
Claire and Austin were waiting inside the truck.
“I guess the driver’s all right,” Dean told them as Claire lifted Austin off the driver’s seat and onto her lap, “but she wouldn’t actually talk to me.”
“She? Should I go?”
“Got three hundred and thirty-seven million dollars?” When Claire answered in the negative, he grinned. “Then I doubt she’ll talk to you either.” Putting his glasses back on after carefully wiping the condensation off the lenses, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“A new Summons; stronger than these little roadside things.” She rested her chin on the top of Austin’s head. “It feels strange.”
“Is it the angel, then? ’Cause if I wasn’t scared abroad by Hell, an angel won’t trouble me much.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Only one way to find out.” He pulled carefully onto the highway. “Which way?”
“North.”
“So, dear, when you call yourself a demon—is that a club?”
“No.” Byleth sagged farther down in the back seat, the shoulder belt preventing a really good slouch. “It’s not a fu…”
“Language.” Half turning, Eva raised a cautioning finger.
“It’s not a club.” Byleth had no idea how the mortal woman did it. Something about her tone of voice, her expression, evoked an instinctive obedience. If the Princes of Hell could figure it out, they’d be…well, since they were already ruling Hell, nothing much would change but the shouting. Hell could do with a little less shouting in Byleth’s opinion.
“It’s not a gang, is it?” Harry asked, trying to catch her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Because I know how seductive gangs can be. Black leather and motorcycles and…”
“Harry.”
Under the edge of his tweed hat, Harry’s ears pinked.
Eva half turned again. “Harry had a bit of a past before he met me.”
“I’ll bet he did,” the demon muttered.
“What was that, dear?”
“It’s not a gang.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
The day was not going as planned. Coercing the old man into driving her to Toronto had somehow turned into a cheerful family outing. With snacks. She should have walked out right after that big homemade breakfast and found some punk kid who’d just got his license and who’d do anything she asked if she just bounced those really annoying breasts at him in a promising sort of a way. Not that she’d keep the promise, of course. Her kind excelled at broken promises.
“Shall we play license plate bingo, dear?”
Fortunately Harry answered before she could.
“Byleth’s too old for that, Eva. Remember what our lot were like at her age?”
“The boys,” Eva began, but Harry cut her off, one hand leaving the steering wheel just long enough to pat a rounded knee.
“The boys played to make you happy, but our Angela drew the line about the same time she started high school.”
“I suppose,” Eva sighed. Then she perked up and half turned one more time. “Where do you go to high school, dear?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, you have to get an education, dear. After all, knowledge is power.”
“Power is power,” Byleth snarled. She should have power. She should be able to reach into the dark heart of humanity and twist it to her purposes. Not only had some extra anatomy put an unexpected crimp in her plans—and she was so going to kick that angel’s ass when she found him—but her current minions gave her very little to work with.
“Hey, Mr. Porter, that guy in the import flipped you the finger as he passed.”
Which is not to say she didn’t do what she could.
“Harry, that’s no reason for you to drive faster,” Eva warned.
He smiled at her briefly. “Of course not.”
But the speed crept up.
It didn’t take much to keep it rising.
The inevitable siren brought a smile and a frisson of anticipation.
Lips pressed into a disapproving line, Eva kept silent as Harry pulled over and turned off the engine.
Behind them, a car door slammed and footsteps approached along the gravel shoulder. When Harry rolled down his window, Byleth straightened to get a better look.
“License and registration, please.”
The Ontario Provincial Police constable was tall and tanned, his hair gleaming gold in the winter sunlight. His eyes were blue, his voice was deep, and his chin had the cutest cleft. The breadth of his shoulders filled the window.
“Do you know how fast you were going, sir?”
In the back seat, Byleth sat up straighter, tugging at her jacket.
“I’m sorry, Officer. Some kid passed me in a sporty little import, and I guess I just rose to the challenge.”
A quick swipe of her tongue across her lips. Did she still have any lipstick on? She knew she should have put more on at the last rest stop.
“You can’t let other people do the driving in your car, sir.”
That was clever. He wasn’t only the cutest thing she’d seen since she arrived, he was smart, too.
“Now 113km in an 80 should be a three-hundred-dollar fine and six points off your license, but…”
Why didn’t he look at her?
“…I’m going to let you off with a warning. This time. If I pull you over again…” His voice trailed off.
And he was merciful.
Handing back Harry’s paperwork, he finally glanced into the back seat, but his gaze slid over her like she was completely unworthy of being noticed.
Arms folded, brows in, she slid back into her slouch, achieving new lows. What the hell did she care about merciful anyway?
“Thank you, Officer.”
“Drive safely, sir. Have a good day, ma’am. Miss.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Whatever.”
He glanced into the back again, then he smiled at Harry. “Teenagers, eh?”
“Teenagers, eh?” Byleth mocked as the officer returned to his cruiser. “What a jerk.”
“Good-looking man, though. Wasn’t he, dear?”
“I never noticed. And what are you smiling about?” she demanded as the Porters exchanged an amused glance.
“Nothing.”
“Good.” Glaring straight ahead, she refused to acknowledge the police car as it passed, repeating, “Jerk. Jerk. Jerk. Jerk,” vehemently under her breath.
“Careful, Austin.” Scooping him back up onto the seat, Claire wore a worried expression. “Are you all right? You were sound asleep, and then…”
“And then I wasn’t. Yeah, I know.” He got his legs untangled and climbed over to her right thigh, where he could stand and look out the window. “Something we passed woke me up.”
“Do you want me to pull over?” Dean asked.
“No.” He put a paw on the glass and watched the traffic across
the median speeding south. “It’s gone now.”
TEN
“YOU ARE SO NOT LIKE WHAT I IMAGINED an angel to be. Your hair, your clothes…”
“My genitalia,” Samuel added a little mournfully.
Diana made a disgusted face and shoved mittened hands deeper into her pockets. “I wouldn’t know, and I’d really rather you quit mentioning it.”
“Them.”
“Whatever.”
“Why?” For no good reason, he jumped up and smacked the No Parking sign, checking out of the corner of one eye to see if the Keeper was impressed. She didn’t seem to be.
“They’re just not something people talk about in public.”
“Should we go someplace private?”
“You wish.”
“For what?”
“Pardon?”
“What do I wish for?”
“Well, if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”
“But if I knew, you wouldn’t have to tell me,” he pointed out reasonably as they turned the corner onto Yonge Street. Across the road, a double line of people stood stamping their feet and blowing on their hands. “Those people are cold. Why are they standing there?”
“Best guess, they’re waiting to get into the electronics store for the Boxing Day sale.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Because it’s a sale.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought you had Higher Knowledge.”
“I do. The 26th of December is called Boxing Day because in Victorian England that’s when the rich boxed up their Christmas leftover for the poor.”
“Really?”
“It’s one theory. But it still doesn’t explain that.” He waved a hand at the crowd across the street. “Most of those people are anxious, over half are actually unhappy, and although they’ll be saving money, they’d all be better off if they just didn’t spend it. A new stereo won’t give meaning to their empty, shallow lives.”
Diana grabbed the back of his jacket as he stepped off the curb. “Where are you going?”
“To tell them that.”
“I’m just guessing here, but I think they know.”
He half-turned in her grip. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. It’s a human thing; a new stereo will help them forget their empty shallow lives.”
“Human memory is that bad?”
“Well, duh. Why do you think platform shoes and mini skirts have come back? Because people have forgotten how truly dorky they looked the first time.” Diana shuddered. “Me, I’ve seen my mother’s yearbook pictures.” She hauled him back up onto the sidewalk. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“You’re not supposed to be.” His situation had deteriorated farther than she’d feared. “Come on, I’ll buy you…” She checked her watch. “…lunch and we’ll talk.”
“…and that’s why you’re here.” Diana peered over the pile of fast food wrappers in front of the angel. “Are you blushing?”
“You said your sister…you know,” he mumbled.
“I really think you’ve got more to worry about than my sister’s sex life.” Elbows up on the table, she ticked the points off on her fingers. “One, angels are, by definition, messengers of the Lord, but because of the way you came into being, you have no message, thus leaving you with a distinct identity crisis.”
“Thus?”
“Don’t interrupt. Two, you can’t return to the light, so you’re stuck here even though you have no reason to be here and no visible means of support. Three, from what I’ve seen so far, the boy bits seem to be doing all the defining.”
“The what?”
She sighed. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Oh. Them. No, they’re not.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“No.”
“Yes. You shouldn’t be perpetually hungry. You shouldn’t know what a six-liter engine is.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you shouldn’t be looking at my breasts!”
Ears burning, he locked his gaze on her right eyebrow. “You’re a Keeper. You could send me back.”
“Only if you want to go.” Pushing a desiccated French fry around with a fingertip, she sighed again. This was, after all, why she’d come to Toronto. It had only taken a small prod from St. Patrick for her to realize that an angel designed by committee would need a Keeper’s help to go home—her help. “The problem is,” she said slowly, “if I send you back, you won’t be you anymore. You’d just be light.”
“But that’s what I am.”
Diana shook her head. “That’s not all you are. If I send you back, then the you that I’m talking to, the you that’s experienced the world, he’ll disappear. I’ll have killed him.”
“Killed me?” When she nodded, he frowned. “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You already know about it.”
“Figure of speech, Samuel. I was agreeing with you.” She dropped her chin onto her hands. “I don’t know what to do, and I really hate that feeling.”
“Tell me about it,” Samuel muttered, unwrapping a fourth…something that seemed to involve chicken ova, a slice of pig in nitrate, and melted orange stuff probably intended to represent a dairy product. He’d eaten the first three too fast to really taste them, which all things considered, had probably been smart. “So, what you do think of the idea that I am the message? That I’m here to help people?”
“How? And don’t give me that look,” Diana warned him. “I’m not being mean, I’m being realistic. You can’t even help yourself.”
“I’ve been managing.”
“No. You haven’t. Can I think of an example? Hmmm, let’s see.” She leaned forward. “How about: without me, you’d be covered in pigeons.”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“And pigeon shit.”
His brows drew in. He didn’t know they could do that. It was an interesting feeling. “I’m still a superior being, I can figure stuff out.”
“How do you know you’re a superior being?”
“I just…know.”
“So does every other male between twelve and twenty,” she snorted, folding her arms. “But that doesn’t solve their problems either.”
Samuel stared at her for a long moment, then he smiled. “I could be insulted, but I know you’re only saying that because of your own sexual ambiguity.” He took a large bite and chewed slowly. “I mean, you say you’re a lesbian, but you’ve never actually made it with a woman although you did make it with a guy and it wasn’t entirely his fault it was such a disaster.”
Her lip curled. “If you were to choke right now, I wouldn’t save you.”
They left the highway just north of Huntsville, heading southwest on 518.
“We’re close,” Claire insisted when Austin pointed out the total lack of anything but Canadian landscape around them.
“Close to what?” he snorted. “The edge of the world?”
“We need to turn right soon. There.” She pointed. “Is that a road?”
It was. After another thirteen kilometers of spruce bog and snow, they passed the first house. Then the second. Then a boarded-up business. Then, suddenly, they were in downtown Waverton—all five blocks of it.
“Park in front of the bank.”
Braking carefully, Dean peered down at the thick, milky slabs of frozen water. “I don’t know, Claire; it looks some icy.”
“We’ll be okay.”
“If you’re thinking of using my kitty litter to make it okay, think again,” Austin muttered, climbing up onto the top of the seat.
“You mean because I’m only a Keeper with access to an infinite number of possibilities and wouldn’t be able to get this truck moving without a bag of dried clay bits designed to absorb cat urine?”
“Essentially…” He paused to lick his shoulder. “…yes.”
Lips pressed into a thin line, Claire reached into the possibilities and slid the truck sideways across the nearly frictionless surface,
bringing it to a gentle stop against the slightly higher ice sheet that was the curb.
Dean released the breath he’d been holding and forced the white-knuckled fingers of one hand to let go of the steering wheel long enough to switch off the engine. “You need to warn me when you’re after doing something like that,” he said, still staring straight ahead as though he intended to keep the truck from ending up at the New Accounts desk by visual aids alone. “Sideways is not a good way.”
“Sorry.”
He turned to face her then. “Really?”
“No.”
“Austin!”
“Just giving him the benefit of my experience. You’ve never been sorry when you do that sort of thing to me.”
“When have I ever…?”
“Plevna. December 12th, 1997.”
“How was I supposed to know claws don’t provide traction? It was an honest mistake.”
“Uh-huh.”
Yanking her toque down over her ears, Claire got out of the truck. “He scored the winning goal,” she pointed out to Dean as she closed the door.
“How did you hold the stick?” Dean wondered, pulling on his gloves.
Austin’s head swiveled slowly around. “I. Didn’t.”
“Oh.” His hindbrain decided it might be safer to back away, making no sudden moves. He caught up to Claire by the corner of the bank.
“Someone set this fire,” she said, looking up at the damage. “And that opened the hole.” Hugging her own elbows, she shook her head. “There’s a lot of nasty coming through for the size. This might take some time to seal up; can you keep me from being disturbed?”
“You got it, Boss.”
“You haven’t called me that for a while.”
Their eyes locked.
“You haven’t told me what to do for a while.”
“Maybe I should start.”
“Maybe you should.”
A muffled “Get a room!” from inside the truck redirected their attention to the matter at hand.
“Excuse me, Miss!” Mr. Tannison, the bank manager, hurried toward his damaged building from his temporary office across the street, upstairs over the storefront shared by Martin Eisner, the taxidermist, and Dr. Chow, the dentist. “You can’t stay there. Bricks could fall.” He forgot about the ice until his front boot surrendered traction and he began to slide. Before he could steady himself on the truck parked in front of the bank, a large hand caught his arm and set him back on his feet.