by Barb Taub
She straightened at a noise down the hall. Hand-signaling to Bain to stay, she moved back into the shadowed doorway alcove. A minute later, she heard a door close softly, but nobody entered or left the hallway. Was someone watching Claire’s office? Soundlessly, she eased down the hall until she could read the nameplate on the door that had just closed. Tony Montari—her first partner and all-round waste of good oxygen. She put her ear to the door and could just make out two voices, then the sound of approaching footsteps.
She was back in the shadows when the door opened, and Jim Anderson, a balding middle-aged Warden, came out carrying a clipboard. Standing in the open doorway, he called back into the room. “Look, Tony, I’m just not gonna do your damn football pool this year. You always win anyway.” He listened for a minute and snorted. “Hell no. You don’t get to blame the worm for not wanting to go fishing.”
Carey laughed to herself at Anderson’s bluster. The only reason the short, plump man had ever become a Warden was that he was one of the first to apply when the Agency was formed, back before the Academy started graduating trained cadets. He’d been first a medic and then in charge of a supply brigade for Haven during the war, and relied on his administrative skills to keep himself away from field work. But his sweet disposition and wryly self-deprecating humor made him a favorite. She could see why he’d want to avoid the acidic Tony, if only in the football pool.
Anderson headed toward her, his round face breaking into a smile as he spotted her waiting with the alert Bain at her side. “Hey, Carey. I heard you were away. How’s Marley?” His face fell. “I was real sorry to hear about Laurel. We don’t have that many Wardens left from the old days. Gonna miss her.” Carey nodded, and promised to pass along his regards to Marley. With a nervous glance for Bain, whose stiff pose remained guardedly aggressive, he headed off. Carey patted the dog and whispered, “Chill.”
When Peter Oshiro emerged from Claire’s office a half hour later, she was cross-legged on the floor in the outside hall, Bain’s head in her lap. “Hello, Carey.” His smile transformed his lean face, lifting golden skin over high cheekbones and crinkling his dark eyes. “It’s good to see you again. Claire wanted me to tell you to go on in so she can kill you personally.”
“I never saw you smile like that back at the Academy.”
He glanced back at Claire’s office door. “I didn’t have as much to smile about back then.” He was whistling as he headed down the hallway.
Carey was still shaking her head as she flopped onto the small couch in Claire’s office. “I’m never touching that desk again. Is there anything else in here I should avoid?”
“Carey Parker.” Claire was leaning against her desk, voice serene as always despite flushed cheeks and arms folded across her chest. “What part of Do Not Disturb were you having trouble understanding?”
“The part where it had anything to do with me?” Carey’s smirk faded when she spotted a copy of their group photo with Laurel, Frankie, and Marley. It sat next to a small framed picture of Peter. She pulled up Claire’s left hand to look at the elegant diamond solitaire, and sucked in a breath. “But it really is all changed, isn’t it?”
Claire nodded. “While you were gone, Peter helped me fight off an attack led by a soul-sucking fiend who turned out to be my father. That made us think…”
Carey snorted. “Yeah, I could see all the thinking going on in here.”
Claire smiled at the ring on her finger. “Anyway, Peter somehow promised six daughters to our family’s goddess.”
“And an excellent start you’re making on that.”
Despite red cheeks, Claire’s smile was a promise and a threat. You’re going down, Carey Parker. “You missed the reunion.”
Carey tensed.
Claire moved in for the kill. “So you owe me a dress-wearing public appearance. The wedding is the last Saturday in August. You’ll be needing a maid-of-honor dress. I’m thinking yellow. With ruffles. Give me any of your grief on this, and there may even be a hat with a scary-big bow.”
Carey’s eyes rounded in horror. “Um…I’m planning to be really busy saving the world in August. Could I take a raincheck?”
“Lots of ruffles. And—as maid of honor—you’ll have to give me a bridal shower.”
“Now I really have to find Marley.” Carey slumped down in her chair. “She’s the only one I know who could possibly think that’s a good idea.”
“Coffee?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Seated in front of Carey’s favorite indie coffee shop, whose outside tables optimistically defied Seattle’s annual rainfall statistics, they sipped Italian roast and exchanged news. Finally, Carey sat back and considered her friend. “So…you and Peter?”
“Have you seen the man’s smile? And his tattoos?”
“Frankly, I’ve seen more of both this morning than I’d ever want to know about.”
“My door was locked. And there was a sign.”
“And?”
“And if I’d known you were in town, I’d have warded it. There might have been barricades.”
“Damn right.”
Claire looked up from petting Bain, who was shamelessly leaning against her leg. “What happened with Mr. Tall Dark and Inked? I thought you two…”
Carey pushed her coffee away and was starting to get up when Claire barked, “You can just park your butt right back on that chair, missy. You broke into my locked office when I was in the middle of an important…discussion…with my fiancé. You. Owe. Me.”
“He lied to me.” Carey whispered the words to her coffee cup. “I know I can’t trust him. My head gets that. But Claire…I just don’t know what to do with all the leftover stuff.” How do I stop knowing that when he sleeps his eyelashes are so dark they make his eyelids look bluish? Or what his tattoos mean? Or that he burns toast, tells bad jokes, and doesn’t love me?
“I told Director Jeffers it was a stupid plan. I wanted to warn you, but he’d already given the Accords Metro pass to Iax and your phone wasn't picking up.” Claire’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, but her voice was calm. “You want Peter and me to kill him? The Danielsen Woods behind my house is a good place to hide bodies. Only it really needs to be soon, because my goddess will want me to cut back on that sort of thing once the kids start coming.”
“I appreciate the thought, but I need his help right now. And besides, I’ve already made him take on the most frou-frou little purse puppy ever born to wear a pink leash and rhinestone collar.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “You used to be seriously better at revenge than that.” When Carey only shrugged, she changed the subject. “Okay. So what’s the plan?”
“I’m waiting for Outsiders to grab me. Hopefully, I’ll find Marley or Connor that way. Then Yosh—I mean Iax—will help us get away.”
Claire stared. “Your plan sucks.”
Carey swirled the cooling coffee at the bottom of her cup. “Of course it does. But after you get through fixing it, I’m sure it will be much better.”
“Yeah, well… I’m pretty busy, what with this wedding coming up and all. I don’t know how much time I have to help you with strategy. Now, if I just had a maid of honor. That would certainly free me up.”
“No ruffles and I get final dress approval?”
“Deal.” Claire smiled. “Come for dinner at my house tonight, and we’ll start making a real plan.”
“Um…no offense, but…”
“Don’t worry. Peter will cook.”
Carey had barely made it back to her jeep when Claire called with apologies. “I forgot to tell Peter it was a secret, and he mentioned the dinner to Director Jeffers. Now Jeffers says he’s coming too, and he wants Iax there.
Carey gave Claire a detailed and anatomically improbable message to pass on.
When she stopped laughing, Claire flatly refused. “Peter and I are trying to clean up our language before I meet his mother. We have to put ten dollars into the wedding fund every time we use…well,
just about any word you just said. I figure delivering your message might pay for most of the reception. Besides, you’re the one who said you would need Iax. So pull up those big-girl days-of-the-week panties and get over here tonight.”
Carey growled and hung up.
A minute later, her phone buzzed an incoming text.
Claire: Peter says dinner @7. Bring Tuxedo Cake from Macrina Bakery. And ice cream. And some wine.
Claire: Chateau Ste. Michelle Chardonnay would work for me.
Carey: Just how much apologizing am I going to owe you?
Claire: I’ll let you know if you ever get there. Hold your breath.
Claire: And Iax says pick him up from Accords office because you made him blow up his car.
Carey: You take him.
Claire: Can’t. Rode in with Peter on his bike today.
Claire: His classic Paris-Dakar eat-your-heart-out-Carey-Parker BMW motorcycle.
Claire: Did I mention I have the most awesome fiancé ever?
Carey: Bitch.
Claire: Love you too.
Carey: Fine. But Peter has to let me ride his bike.
Claire: Just keep telling yourself that’s going to happen.
Chapter Twenty-Three
June 2011: Seattle
Carey’s jaw was clenched, her grip on the jeep’s steering wheel white-knuckled as she avoided looking at the man in her passenger seat. The trip might have been accomplished in total silence if not for her other two passengers.
Her normally reserved Aussie was delirious with joy to be reunited with Hell. After a thorough licking, the two dogs began wrestling in the jeep’s rear cargo space. Bain’s pretend growls punctuated excited baby barks and puffs of smoke.
Her scolding—“Bain! Calm down.”—came at the same moment as his stern, “Hell! Chill.” There was a moment of silence before Hell, overcome with ecstasy at the sound of Iax’s voice, threw herself over the seat in an attempt to make it to him.
He reached back with one long arm and scooped the puppy into the front seat. Holding the squirming furball at eye level, he fixed Hell with a stern gaze. “We talked about this, young lady. You were going to be on your best behavior so we’ll be invited back. That means no chewing, no peeing on the furniture, and absolutely no setting anything on fire.”
Hell wriggled in bliss as her little tongue swiped his face. She gave an encouraging yip. Without meeting Carey’s eyes, Iax reached into his backpack and handed Hell a mangled shoe. Growling puppy-sized threats, she shook the battered leather, and began chewing contentedly.
“You gave her your shoe?” Carey had not planned to chat with him until well after the next subzero day in hell. Damn his charming bastard self.
“’Course not.” He pretended shock. “She got hold of one of Anderson’s shoes back at Accords. I took the other one too so he wouldn’t know Hell chewed his shoe to death. But Carey, it was a mercy killing. Those damned shoes had tassels.”
He shuddered, but she noticed his big hands didn’t stop petting Hell.
I’m in so much trouble.
Carey hadn’t been to Claire’s house in several years, so she had to concentrate on navigating the narrow twisting roads after leaving the freeway north of the city. The sun sinking toward the snow-frosted Olympic peaks was painting the sky in extravagant pinks and oranges as she reached the lane leading to the Danielsen woods. She parked her jeep behind Kurt Jeffers’ black Porsche at the end of the lane, turned Bain and Hell out to take care of business, and joined Iax and Kurt in silent worship of the perfection that was Peter’s classic BMW bike.
“Peter says to get in here and stop drooling on his chrome,” Claire’s voice called from the wide porch. “Do you remember the password to get past the ward?”
Whistling for Bain, who came back shepherding a bouncing Hell, Carey held up the signature pink Macrina cake box.
“Nailed it.” Claire waved them toward the cedar-shingled Craftsman bungalow. Standing at the center of a sea of summer wildflowers, its pillared porch and lit windows spilled warmth and welcome.
The two dogs raced for the worn porch steps only to have Hell flop back on her little butt in frustration when she tried to climb them. “Hey, there, pup. Could you be any cuter?” Claire lifted the tiny dog onto the top step next to Bain. Both dogs froze, staring at the sofa-sized porch swing. Or more accurately, at the cat reclining across its entire length.
Carey had heard about the feline goddess who powered the Danielsen witches’ spells, but this was the first time she’d seen Bygul. She had to admit that the sight of a long-haired silver-gray house cat the size of a Labrador would have been a surprise. But when the cat flowed down to the porch floor in a curiously wavering stream only to reappear in her lion-sized avatar, she was pretty sure that Kurt and Iax’s wide eyes and open mouths swung back to Claire in mirror image to her own.
“Seriously?” Claire was all about disgruntled. “You’d think a goddess who kept out of sight for a thousand years could be a bit more discreet. But since we’re apparently all here…” Claire waved a hand at the giant cat. “Goddess, I’d like to present Director Kurt Jeffers, and Wardens Carey Parker and Iax Zahavi from the Accords Agency. Kurt, Iax, and Carey—this is the Goddess Bygul, Warrior and Champion of Asgard, Companion to Freya, and pain-in-the-butt to seven generations of Danielsen witches.”
Bygul rose to a full sitting position, her tail curled elegantly around her feet. She inclined her head at the introductions, but her gaze fixed on Hell. The tiny dog’s eyes had begun to glow, and she bounced toward the cat goddess.
Carey reached a protective hand toward Hell, but felt Iax’s arm reach across her stomach. Wait. Finally the cat inclined her head, her rough tongue making a sweep that tumbled the puppy to rest at Iax’s feet. Padding gracefully to him, she swiped her tongue across the tattoos on his arm still blocking Carey. Then with a bound, the cat cleared the porch and disappeared into the night. Hell gave a satisfied yip and bounded over to attack Claire’s shoes.
Carey sucked in a deep breath and stepped away from the big hand pressed to her stomach, only to come face-to-face with Claire. The witch’s eyes were narrowed thoughtfully on Iax’s arm where the goddess had licked it. He was shaking it, and staring at what looked like a tiny, sore-looking new swirl in the shape of a cat. Claire’s eyes met his briefly before she turned to the puppy yipping threats against her shoe. The puppy whose glossy black coat now contained a tiny white cat-shaped mark across her chest.
“You know, witches are not really dog people.” Claire’s stern words and face might have been more effective if she hadn’t already been cuddling the fur baby against her neck as she shepherded them into the house.
Inside, they stood awkwardly in the entry hall between the living and dining rooms. Claire looked at Peter, sighed, and pulled fifty dollars out of her wallet, adding it to a box on the hall table labeled “Wedding Fund.” Then she looked Iax in the eye and told him exactly what she thought of him. Peter added another fifty dollars to the box. “What she said.”
»»•««
Although Claire’s reminiscences about their Academy days and Peter’s occasional glowering in Iax’s direction pointedly excluded the former Warden, the dinner Carey had dreaded was surprisingly full of laughter and memories. It was only afterward, when they gathered on the porch for cake and coffee, that tensions rose again. Carey was perched on the wide porch railing, her back leaning against one of the squared porch columns. On the nearby swing with his arm around Claire, Peter was talking to Carey about shared acquaintances, with time out for frequent sidelong glares aimed at Iax.
“So.” Claire cleared her throat. “I’ve been going over everything Carey told me and trying to fit it into a bigger picture.”
She spread several pages of notes onto the low porch table in front of the swing. “And you know what I got?”
They all looked at her.
“Right. I got nothing. So I started pulling pieces away, the way Carey used to do with her
connections game board. Guess what was left?”
Claire turned to Jeffers. “You were. At every point. You were in the war, you were at the Academy, you were at the Accords Agency. You were Narcorial’s brother. You were Marley’s lover.” Both Carey and Jeffers shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll bet if I dig far enough, there would be some connection with Carey’s sister Gaby.”
Claire paused as if awaiting his reply, then rolled her eyes at his silence. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
Carey nodded to Claire and took over. “When we went to Watchers Court, the Metro said you had no gift to give up, but you told us you weren’t human.” She pointed to him. “So who are you? What are you?” At his scowl, she smiled faintly. “Sir.”
Kurt transferred his glare from Carey to Claire, then walked to the edge of the porch, his back to them all. He braced hands on the railing for a moment, staring up at the stars. When he turned around, the group behind him sucked in a collective breath. It wasn’t just that his hair was deep red waves no longer laced with silver. Or even that sleek auburn crescents and a shaved chin had replaced his trademark bushy eyebrows and beard. No, it was the ancient knowledge that looked out of those eyes.
Carey recognized it immediately. On rare occasions, she’d seen it in Harry and even thought she’d glimpsed it once before in Kurt’s eyes. She groaned. “Not another damn angel.”
“Not damned.” Jeffers grated out. “Yet.”
“So before you and Harry took the fall option, you were…what?” Carey caught herself sharing a glance with a stunned Iax and deliberately looked away. “Angel buddies?”
Jeffers looked indignant, but finally spoke. “There are a few themes common to lots of creation stories, such as divinities who attempt to pass along divine knowledge to help humans. One of these was known as Raziel.” His phrasing was formal and his small bow elegant, but his voice was the same clipped growl they had known for years.
Carey nodded, satisfied, as a critical piece of the jigsaw puzzle slid into place.
Jeffers cleared his throat. “Carey, you already know most of Harry’s story, but I don’t think the others do. Raziel was a favored Prince among the angels. He sat at his Creator’s right hand, and gave a Book containing the wisdom he had witnessed there to the humans. Some say Solomon’s wisdom came from Raziel's Book, others claim that it powered the Ark that Noah built. Certainly, it infuriated other angels.”