by T. R. Hamby
Mel was still looking struck as they pulled away from each other.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Fantastic,” Barry said, looking over himself. “God, I feel great.”
“You must have been actually withdrawing,” Gabriel murmured thoughtfully. “You were itching, twitching. You said you felt like you were bursting out of your skin. That was what your body wanted to do.”
“Yeah,” Nora said slowly, looking at Barry. “It’s why you haven’t been eating. You were craving….”
And she wrinkled her nose. “Whatever that was.”
“That was delicious,” Barry said, touching his stomach. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“I would say most people haven’t,” Mel suggested.
“But you feel all right?” Gabriel said, touching his arm.
Nora worried too--she was sure this kind of Talent had never been seen before. What if it affected Barry badly?
But he grinned, and she let out a sigh of relief. “I told you, I feel great. Almost like--I don’t know--this is my destiny, or whatever. It feels right, you know?”
“Not really,” Gabriel laughed, “but I’ll take your word for it.”
Barry looked over himself, his smile turning into a frown. “They did this to me,” he murmured quietly.
He looked at them. “Why?”
“I know why,” Mel said, and everyone turned to look at him. “It means you can fly over the park. You can see better than us. You might be able to spot Ceres.”
There was a silence as they all considered this.
Nora studied Barry, who was nodding vaguely. Everyone had been disturbed by his reporting of a new Being four weeks ago. Nora hadn’t been sure how to feel this whole time….but she had to admit, now that she saw Barry’s Talent, They were becoming more trustworthy now.
Barry was serious. “Right. I can do that.”
“Just make sure you’re a human every once in a while,” Gabriel said, and Barry smirked.
They spent the rest of the day searching, with Barry flying miles ahead.
Nora continued to wonder if they had bitten off more than they could chew. The park was vast, and Ceres could be hiding in any of it. The polis had complained of hikers still roaming the area, too stubborn to leave and too far away to be dragged out. They were in danger, but she wasn’t sure how well they could protect them.
Then she had an idea.
“Fires,” she said, and Mel and Gabriel looked at her. “Barry could patrol at nighttime--see where the remaining hikers’ campfires are. Then we’ll know where they are, and where Ceres could be hunting.”
Mel considered this, and nodded. “You’re right. We’re not going to get far this way anyway.”
So when the sun began to set they returned to the car. Nora and Mel were quiet, while Gabriel and Barry murmured in the back, clearly still energized by Barry’s newly discovered Talent.
Mel slipped his hand into Nora’s, and she smiled, just making out his face in the darkness.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
She thought for a moment. She was still tired--still slowed down, negative--but she was feeling better. She was in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, with the man she loved, and two of her dear friends. They would try to watch the Northern Lights tonight, and she was looking forward to eating some Swedish cuisine. They were getting close to catching Ceres, and back in London Michael and Gilla were hunting down Palmer.
She finally squeezed his hand. “Better. Getting there,” she replied firmly.
“Good.”
He hesitated, then said, “I have an idea.”
“Oh god.”
She didn’t like his tone.
“I know,” he replied. “I’m not trying to make things harder for us--but this might be the best way to track that bitch down.”
“Go on.”
He squeezed her hand. “I think we should split up, like you said. Once Barry finds where the other hikers are, we’ll pick two of them to follow. So, essentially, we’ll be camping too. That gets us closer to Ceres than going back and forth between the house and the park.”
Nora considered this. She had never been camping before. And as beautiful as the park was, overnight camping in Sweden in the middle of autumn did not sound attractive.
But they needed to find Ceres, and Mel was right--going in and out of the park would be a waste of time. They would have to rough it.
She let out a sigh. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“It means we can go shopping. You’d look sexy in a snowsuit.”
“Oh, whatever.”
“I mean it. I’ll have to be careful.”
“Will you shut up?” Nora shot back, smacking his arm, and he desisted, snickering.
Michael
Nora Rossi, that tiny little genius.
Michael sat at the kitchen counter, scanning the bank statements that had finally shown up in his account. There were many--thousands--but as he went down the list, he found that the earliest transaction was made just three years ago.
Palmer was an Angel. That motherfucker.
“She was right,” Michael said, and Gilla looked up from her laptop.
He swiveled his around so she could look. “Nothing past three years.”
She frowned. Can’t be his only bank account, she signed.
“No, but it looks like his personal account. Purchases at Louis Vuitton, shit like that. A big purchase for that club near Trafalgar Square.”
He could see her ears perk up. The Post?
Michael frowned. “Yeah.”
Gilla swung her laptop around, and he looked: It was a flashy article, with the headline, 10 THINGS ABOUT KELLAN PALMER. Underneath was “Number Two,” and a small paragraph about his frequent visits to his club. It even had a helipad for Palmer’s arrival from a different city, which Michael was sure couldn’t be legal.
But if Nora was right, then a simple look--or a simple touch--could get Palmer anything he wanted. That girl never stood a chance.
Gilla touched his arm, and he looked at her. I think I should go there, see if he’ll try and pick me up, she signed.
When Michael hesitated, she added, We have to do this.
“I know, I know.”
He ran his hands through his hair, thinking. “We don’t know when he’ll show up.”
She raised an eyebrow and clicked a couple times on her laptop. Then she turned it again, and Michael looked: It was Palmer’s Twitter account, with a post made just an hour ago: Back from Manchester! Ready for tonight! #ThePost
Michael rolled his eyes. “Not very private, is he?”
He’s a personality, Gilla signed. I’m sure he makes money off his posts. Especially when they advertise his club.
“Anything on the investigation?”
She shrugged, her expression dark. No fingerprints, of course. They found footprints in the mud outside her window, but Palmer isn’t allowing them to search his place for shoes, and they’re not pushing it.
“‘Everything he touches turns to gold,’” Michael recited under his breath. “He’s getting them to leave him alone.”
That’s not all, Gilla continued. The lead detective on the case is hinting that he believes Palmer has nothing to do with it, and that the accusations against him are false.
“Christ,” Michael sighed, running his hands through his hair.
Twitter isn’t happy, Gilla signed, pointing to her laptop. “What are the cops doing,” “Palmer is guilty,” #TakeHimDown.
“So he can’t reach them from long distances,” Michael replied, nodding. “Which means he either needs to speak to his subject or touch them.”
I guess we’ll find out, Gilla said, and she looked nervous.
He couldn’t help but smile. “We’ll have to find you something to wear.”
They had only brought essential clothing when they moved to London.
She blushed, and he grinned. Don’t be sil
ly.
She hesitated, then signed, He might want to kiss me….or something. If he’s interested.
Michael felt a surge of anger at the thought.
He tried to maintain his composure. “He’ll be interested. You have a Presence--a strong Presence. He’ll think you’re an Angel. And, of course, you’re gorgeous.”
She flushed and smiled. It wasn’t often he complimented her on her beauty--he had issues with compliments in general; he always felt awkward giving them.
But she frowned. I can’t speak to him.
Michael took a deep breath and sighed, his anger surging again. “I think he’ll find that intriguing. Sexy, even. And he seems the type who likes to talk; he probably prefers people who don’t interrupt.”
Gilla thought, fidgeting with the keys on her laptop.
Finally she signed, So I meet him at the club, and hopefully we hit it off. You can’t be nearby; he’ll sense you.
He sighed again. “You’ll have to text me.”
Gilla nodded. Okay.
So they stopped by Bond Street to find a dress. They settled on Prada--Gilla had to look expensive. A gold sequined dress, that barely reached her knees, was determined to be the best--mostly by Michael, who had a hard time refraining from staring at her. Gilla got her hair and makeup done, and by the time she was finished it was half past six. She got a small knife, and, with Michael’s help, secured it in a strap on her thigh.
They decided she would go at eight, and she sat on the sofa--careful not to disturb her hair and makeup--while they waited.
Michael had turned on the news, but nothing was reported on the investigation, and they were too distracted to pay attention anyway.
Gilla signed again, What happens if he wants to kiss me?
Michael ground his teeth together. He had hoped, foolishly, that this wouldn’t be a possibility.
There are other things he might want to do, she continued, and she looked nauseous.
Michael was quiet for a long moment, thinking. They could avoid some of his advances, maybe, but not all of them. Gilla had to be convincing. Michael hoped that tonight would be quick--Gilla would accompany him to his place, immobilize him, kill him. The only thing Michael would have to do was standby.
But that was only one possibility, and they had gotten used to things going to hell.
He sighed. “You’ll have to act like his power affects you, that you’ll do what he wants. I don’t know, Gilla….I just--all I can say is only do what makes you comfortable,” he said lamely.
He didn’t know what else to say.
She thought, studying her hands. She looked very squeamish, and Michael kicked himself, thinking of all the horrible things Bakker had done to her--things that she still didn’t speak of. She still had nightmares, from time to time. How could Michael let this monster get near her, touch her?
Finally she sighed. I’ll figure it out, she signed shakily. It’s not like he’ll get me to fuck him on the dance floor.
Michael flinched at the word.
We’ll have to go somewhere private, and then I’ll kill him, she said, nodding to herself. It’ll be quick.
Michael nodded. She looked a little relaxed now, taking deep breaths.
He reached for her hand, and she looked at him, her deep blue eyes shining. “You’re….all right with killing him? Because….I can do it.”
He could hear the hesitation in his voice. He was still uncomfortable with killing, even if his victim was a monster. He hadn’t killed….not since Lilith, technically. He was afraid, and overwhelmed with remorse.
Gilla seemed to understand. She slipped her arms around him, pulling him close, and he laid his head on her shoulder, careful not to tousle her hair.
They didn’t speak of Lilith. Michael knew Gilla hated what he had done, though she loved him still, without question. Sometimes he wished he could forgive himself. Just forget about it.
He pulled away, and she kissed him. Eight o’clock was drawing near.
Gilla
She was nervous as all hell. Just the thought of Palmer’s greasy little hands on her made her gag.
But Gilla had to do it. How many women had Palmer assaulted? There was at least one, and now they were missing. Probably dead.
She had to kill the bastard.
The Post was very exclusive. Gilla, standing in line, could see names being checked on a tablet. She knew she wouldn’t be on the list. She subtly tugged at the neckline of her dress, exposing her cleavage. She would have to get in on looks alone.
It worked. The bouncer took one look at her--she tried not to shiver--and let her in, holding the door open for her.
Gilla stepped inside. The club was very high-end. There was still dancing, still neon lights swirling, cyberpunk playing. But there were quieter places as well--little alcoves where couples drank champagne. A bar was on the far side of the club, and people were crowding it.
There he was. Kellan Palmer, dressed in a blue button-down, was lounging against the bar, gazing at the dance floor with mild interest. He was frowning slightly, and Gilla wondered if he could faintly detect her Presence.
She took a deep, deep breath and started toward him.
It was okay. She could do this. She had to.
He was frowning harder as she approached, and looked in her direction. He took her in, and smiled quizzically.
“Are you what I think you are?” he asked, clearly trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible over the din.
Gilla smiled and nodded.
“Wow. And here of all places,” he said, taking her hand. “Enchantee, ange.”
Gilla beamed, though it was difficult to do so. She felt a sort of flush creep up her arm, its source Palmer’s hand. She had a big urge to hang onto his every word, to do whatever he wished.
His Talent was strong, but she was stronger.
He straightened, studying her hungrily. It seemed the dress and makeup were working. “Tell me, then. Why Earth?”
This part was tricky. Gilla hesitated, then touched her throat, shaking her head.
Palmer frowned, puzzled. “What? Your whole life?”
Sure, why the hell not. She nodded sadly.
“Huh.”
And he asked the bartender for some drinks. “That’s very odd. I’ve never heard of an Angel having….you know, human impairments. Did Father single you out?”
Gilla shrugged.
He tsked, and handed her a drink. “Typical of him, I guess. Is that why you’re down here? Get away from everything?”
She nodded, glad he was supplying answers for her.
He nodded too. “Me as well. There’s just not enough control for me Up There.”
Gilla felt her face twitch. I bet not, she thought icily.
But she smiled when he looked at her again.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said. “Why come to my club? Did you know what I am?”
Gilla shook her head. She gestured to the dance floor, then to herself, and shrugged.
He seemed to understand. “You like to have a good time,” he said, nodding. “How very human of you.”
Gilla pretended to laugh, in her silent way. Palmer smiled fondly, reached out and touched her hand again.
“How long has it been since you’ve had a mate?” he asked, smirking.
Gilla felt a strong urge to answer, that same flushing sensation traveling up her arm and throughout her whole body.
She would have to play along, though she was repulsed. She gave a sultry smile, to which he grinned, squeezing her hand. She shook her head, and he chuckled.
“Long time, huh? I’m not surprised. There are few men who deserve someone as lovely as you. But speaking of mates….”
He looked to his right, and Gilla stiffened.
She could feel another Presence. Another Angel was here, and they were slowly approaching.
“Cecille,” Palmer said, holding out his hand.
Gilla looked: A beautiful woman, dark-skinned with long
shining hair, was sidling up to them. She looked at Gilla with surprised interest, taking her place under Palmer’s arm.
“Oh my. Hello there,” she greeted, amazed.
“There are other Angels that walk the Earth, you know,” Palmer teased, and Cecille elbowed him in the ribs.
“Not many in London,” she replied.
“This is my mate, Cecille,” Palmer said, looking at Gilla.
He frowned. “But I don’t know your name.”
Gilla was prepared for this. She got out a pen and paper from her purse and wrote it down. She heard amused chuckles, and she couldn’t help but flush. Assholes.
“Helena,” Palmer said, looking at the paper. “Very beautiful.”
“She is very beautiful,” Cecille said, and there was a faint purr in her voice.
Gilla tried to maintain her smile.
She couldn’t believe it. Two Angels, a male and a female. How much did Gilla want to bet that Cecille was helping Palmer with his victims? Maybe she had even killed Emily Stanton.
Palmer took her hand again, and she felt a strong urge to follow as he escorted the two women from the bar.
They found an alcove and sat down in the booth. Palmer played with Gilla’s hand, and she fought hard not to recoil.
Two Angels. She had to tell Michael.
Palmer leaned forward to talk to the server, and Gilla carefully withdrew her phone.
2 angels, she texted, before tucking it away.
They had champagne. Cecille and Palmer talked over the music, and invited one of the dancers to dance on the table--to Gilla’s chagrin.
“Let’s have some shooters,” Palmer said, and Cecille and the dancer laughed and nodded.
Shots were supplied, and Palmer touched Gilla’s hand. “You’ll want one of these, Helena,” he murmured in her ear.
Gilla felt that same urge again, to do everything he said.
Oh, no. She didn’t want to drink--she was a lightweight. Having Angelic qualities didn’t change the fact that she was still human. Alcohol still affected her just as much as when she had been mortal.
She needed to focus. She couldn’t get drunk. But Palmer was making her, and she had no choice.