Fall From Grace

by Eden Crowne

  “What did she do with them?”

  “Nothing. She was not responsible. However, their disappearance was linked to a demon she was tracking for her own purposes. Their deaths, the acolytes I mean, were nothing but a red herring to confuse us as the real plan went forward. She and I worked together to solve it.” The priest leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs.

  “Well? What was the mystery?” Evie demanded, completely intrigued as this new side of Father Cortez came into focus.

  “Another time, perhaps. We have your Fallen to contend with here and now.”

  “But...”

  “I do not think this happened only by chance.”

  “Funny, that's exactly what I said to young Josh a little while ago.”

  “Things are going to change.”

  “For who?” Evie was a little surprised by the serious tone of the priest. Usually he was relaxed and casual in the extreme.

  “You. Us. Your Reaper. You know my thoughts on free will.”

  She nodded, the two of them had talked of this often after her arrival. He was much more than her landlord. He was also her mentor. “Many choices are open to us and many destinies. There is no one, perfect way.”

  “Precisely. Things don't always happen to us. Often they happen because of us. We serve as the catalyst. You made choices today, as did your mischievous Reaper. The Fallen, too, must make choices. Each of these is like a sonic boom, spreading out in wider and wider circles.”

  The priest seemed very intent. Worried, almost. Had she done something very wrong today? Evie pulled her legs up into the chair and hugged her knees. She'd spent much of her time as an Avenging Angel avoiding reflection. Content to pursue the goals and missions set out for her by the Celestials. Focus on the job. Get it done. Enjoy the little luxuries of her born-again life. A passionate fling here and there as the world went on without her. The Reaper had made her question her mandate. That was wrong. Surely.

  The priest stood, tugging his sweatshirt into place. “The moles await me and you have your mission and your Reaper to deal with.” He stepped over to stand beside her. “Evie, life after death can, in many ways, be much more difficult than being alive. No matter your choices, you know I will stand by you.” And with that, Father Cortez saw himself out, shutting the door behind. She heard him clomping down the stairs in his boots as he headed for the garden.

  Through her windows she saw the sky was still dark. Dawn a few hours away. Shoving her doubts aside and thinking back over the course of events, she managed to fan the fires of her rage at least into glowing embers.

  Mandate or no mandate, it was time for a shower, real clothes and then she really, desperately, had to find a Starbuck's and get a double espresso over ice. After that, she would figure out how to track Trick McKitrick and kick his ass all the way to Hell.

  Chapter 6

  Trick McKitrick shivered, someone walking over his grave as his mother used to say.

  He was sitting in the offices of Barracuda Bail Bonds in Compton, a couple of blocks on the wrong side of the 91 freeway. The place was in a roomy old bungalow painted pale, sherbet yellow with white trim. One of the few houses left after zoning changed this to a commercial area, paving the way, literally, for a succession of interchangeable strip malls. By the front walk a neon sign in the shape of a sharp-toothed barracuda glowed, its bright green dollar-sign eyes blinking on and off. The company's CEO, bonded and licensed, Roman Barracuda, sat across the desk opposite him. Barracuda was the man's real name. Though whether he was a real man – as in human – Trick had serious doubts. Roman was just way too powerful in the juju department to be mortal. He dealt in a lot more than 'get out of jail' bail bonds for the average felon. The little house saw a frightening parade of supernaturals and humans looking, most often desperately, for protection charms and personal wards. Barracuda's was the place to go when a body needed to fly under the paranormal radar. Way under.

  “I need a charm to blur a Death Mark.”

  Roman raised his eyebrows several notches. He was a large black man with large black hair who had gotten stuck in a time warp somewhere in the seventies. The 1970s. Though he had lived through the 1870s and several seventies before that. Isaac Hayes, Otis Redding, Kool and The Gang, Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye – those and many other artists made the 1970s the decade worth remembering as far as he was concerned. Roman was wearing one of his favorite geometric-patterned, polyester wide-collared shirts, this one in maroon, tucked into matching plain maroon pants with a sharp crease sewn down the front of each pants leg. His tinted reading glasses, what they used to call Granny glasses back in the day, perched low on his broad nose. In the background, Barry White crooned a low-voiced ballad.

  Pansy and Rose Marie LaRue, Roman's collectors, were behind him in the other room, the door open, filing paperwork and keeping an eye on Trick. They probably outweighed their boss by several pounds and all of it pure muscle. Except maybe for five pounds of bright red hair tortuously tossed and teased. Not too many Barracuda customers skipped bail with the LaRue sisters on the job. Or gave their boss any grief.

  Roman burst into laughter.

  Trick ran his hands through his hair, “No, really, Barracuda. I sort of left an Avenging Angel tied up with my flaming lasso in a hotel by the airport and she sort of wants to kill me.”

  Roman sat back in his chair, a big old-fashioned wooden office chair with an upholstered back and seat, “Does this have anything to do with the last amulet I gave you?"

  "Maybe. Well, yea."

  “Hmmm." He stared critically at Trick. "Was it a nice hotel?"

  "Sort of Holiday Inn-ish."

  "Full service?"

  "Express."

  "Fool!" Roman managed to squeeze a lot of contempt into that one short word. "You are asking to be killed. An Avenging Angel deserves a suite at the Ritz Carlton or the Grand Hyatt at the very least. And a trip to Disneyland. What were you thinking?"

  He wasn't thinking, obviously. At least not with his head when he got mixed up in this mess.

  "Did she want to kill you before you tied her up at the Holiday Inn?”

  Trick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “Actually, that would be a 'yes' again.”

  He peered at Trick over his glasses, “She is going to hand you your cowboy ass on a collection plate and then she is going to use that sword of hers to cut out your heart. No 'sort of' about it.” He gave a hearty laugh and slapped one broad thigh as though it was a very good joke. Trick could hear the LaRue sisters in the back room giggling along with him.

  “Nice. Can you help me postpone that delightful scenario or not?”

  He was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. The phone on the desk rang. An old-fashioned sort, just one generation up from a rotary dial. He held up a finger to Trick as a signal to wait. Picking up the phone he said in a flat, business-like voice, “Barracuda Bail Bonds, how may I direct your call?”

  Trick listened in as Roman tried to calm a seemingly distraught woman in Spanish on the other end. Swiveling around, he pulled a file out of the top drawer of the tall metal cabinet behind him and threw it down on the desk, all the while making soothing noises to the woman on the other end. He jotted some notes in the file and with a few final words of encouragement, hung up.

  “Pansy, Rose Marie?” He called over his shoulder, “Little Estella Barraza's no good husband Paco is in trouble with the law again. Draw up a contract and get a motorcycle messenger to deliver it to Eagle Rock. And see you leave out the interest charges. Tell her we got a special going on or something. Don't want to hurt her pride.” He jotted down an address on a bright pink post-it note.

  Marie leaned her not-inconsiderable-self out of the doorway, her hair nearly as wide as the frame, and grabbed the note. “Poor Estella. Four kids, two jobs and nothing to show for it but that husband who drinks up her pay and shames the family name. What say we arrange a little accident for ol' Paco, Boss? He could accidentally fall in front of the Light Rail
over there by Avon after he gets out on bail. You just know he's going to head to Santa Anita Racetrack."

  “You think she'd thank us for this if she knew? She's had four kids by him.”

  “And twice that many trips to the emergency room from his fists,” Rose growled.

  Roman's eyes drew together in an angry “V”. The room grew dark and two shadows rose up on either side of the big man. The shadows writhed and swayed and Trick drew back in his chair. One had horns. The male, he thought. The other obviously female, with a fish tail that flipped up and back.

  “That's an evil thing to do. Hit a woman. Hit your woman. We don't like that> We don't like that at all, do we?”

  He seemed to be addressing the dancing shadows. Trick could have sworn they nodded their insubstantial heads in agreement.

  “She got insurance, Pansie, Rose Marie?

  Marie smiled, extending an admirable set of fangs. “We'll make sure to back-date some right now. She and the kids will be okay.”

  He nodded, the shadows melted away, and the light returned. “Let's do it. You,” he jabbed a finger at Trick, “however, do not have four hungry, wide-eyed, crying children and are not a charity case. What were you plannin' to give me in exchange for this so-called Death Mark charm you think I might be able to provide?”

  Trick was only too aware that everything he had right down to the clothes on his back belonged to his Master. He could run up some cash on the 'company' credit cards except Roman was generally not interested in money for supernatural transactions. Vague promises of paying Roman back in kind in the future weren't much good since both he and Trick could see that future was looking a little shaky right now.

  Roman gave him a big smile. “Well, cowboy, good thing your survival does not depend on your brain power! I got an idea. How about you give me a few vials of your blood. Reaper blood is mighty good to power up death spells against a certain class of demons. All it takes is a drop or two. Now, if you'll just step into the kitchen with me.”

  Not even waiting for his reply, Roman scooted away from the desk and walked towards the back of the house. Trick got up to follow. He didn't have much of a choice. What the hell was he doing? First with Evie and now here. It was only a question of who found him first – his Master or Evangeline Grace. And if it was the Angel? There was no happy ending to this story.

  Trick ran his hands through his hair. Damn, he didn't understand her effect on him. Or probably he did. Was it the Martini? She held it in a funny way, like a big glass of burgundy or something. Swishing it around. He liked the way she held that glass. Or the thing she was doing with her hair when he walked over. He shook his head. A man doesn't mess with orders from a demon as powerful as Trick's Master because of the way a woman holds a glass or plays with her hair.

  A spell.

  That's what this had to be. Some kind of Angel magic. Damn it, why did it have to be a woman Angel? Maybe if it had been a man he could have gone through with his Master's orders. Then he'd be free and not facing a world of hurt from both sides of the supernatural divide.

  He paused for a quick look out the front door, scanning the night sky. No sign of a pair of furiously beating white wings. Wouldn't be long now, though. Charm or no charm.

  Chapter 7

  After tossing the sheet and putting on some real clothes, Evie stopped for a blessed infusion of iced espresso coffee. Some LA Starbuck's opened as early as four in the morning, thank heavens. She allowed herself a little time to just sit and enjoy the strong, bitter flavor of the coffee on her tongue, looking out the window at the cars speeding by. The commuter rush started early in SoCal.

  Soon, she was winging it back to the hotel by the airport. The building was crawling with police and firemen. Every inch of the street outside lined with satellite van's and local news crews. Network helicopters circled overhead. Bewildered guests, many still in their pajamas or clutching blankets, were wandering around the parking lot. A few stood shouting and shaking their fists at what had to be hotel manger. Evie cringed at the mayhem she had caused. However much it was really Trick's fault, she fumed.

  Winging past them all in stealth mode, Evie scrambled through the broken window to retrieve Trick's burnt-out protective bracelet. Luckily forensics hadn't been allowed in yet due to the unstable nature of the floor. She found the bracelet where Trick had tossed it, in the bottom of the little trash basket pushed back under the desk.

  Evie was hoping a shadow of the spell's former power still clung to the bracelet. Flying up on the hotel roof, she ran the little charms and amulets through her fingers slowly. In her former life she had been a vice detective. A New Orleans vice detective no less. The Big Easy was not easy on cops. How ironic and yet appropriate, she often thought, that she was still in the same line of work more or less.

  Yes, there it was. The bracelet had a distinct style of the paranormal, a little buzz of energy with a feel all its own. Trick said it had hidden them from the Fallen. Fallen magic was very formidable. That narrowed it down to a pretty short list of SoCal wizards with the power to generate a Celestial cloaking. Her assignments often involved tracking supernaturals for vengeance. That made it her business to keep up with the ever changing population of witches, wizards, vamps, demons and whatever else crawled, flew, or slithered into L.A. County. Of course if the Reaper had gone out of State, she was screwed. It could take weeks to track the maker down.

  Using the dead man's phone – a crappy pay-as-you-go handset with no GPS – she called the acolytes' office at St. Jude's. Bless their little devoted hearts, the place was staffed 24/7. They seemed to have no problem talking to her on the phone, it was only face-to-face that sent them into a panic. Within a few efficient minutes, Evie had the addresses she needed scrawled on the back of a Starbuck's napkin she found stuffed in her hoodie's pocket. This morning she was wearing a pair of low-heeled boots and her favorite style of flared yoga pants. Angel tested and approved, she smiled to herself. She'd topped them with a black tank top modified with velcro straps fastened around her wing bones and a cream-colored Abercrombie hoodie presently tied around her waist. When her wings were folded up and put away with their magical prestidigitation, they didn't take up any space and she could slip the hoodie on. Only when they snapped to attention did she need the specially-tailored velcro tops.

  Bracelet in hand, she began to visit each of the Wizards on her list in turn.

  Some were pleased to see her.

  Some were appalled.

  One fainted.

  Ironically, the one who fainted was the Wizard who steered her in the right direction.

  She laid him down on the couch in his living room and gave him some water and an aspirin she found in the hall bathroom once he came to. The address was his home, not an office. A little thirties' style cottage bordered by a tiny lawn and blue hydrangea bushes behind what looked like a new cedar fence. He apologized for fainting, saying he'd mistaken her for an Angel of Death.

  "I'm a little new at this," he explained as she rubbed ice on his wrists scrounged from the freezer. She was near Chinatown, and this Wizard, Adam Lee, specialized in luck magic. Business luck. He was a good looking young man, clean cut, tan and muscular, wearing an Abercrombie Polo shirt and khaki shorts. He looked more like he was planning on spending the day surfing at Huntington Beach rather than reciting esoteric spells over a Feng Shui altar, and Evie told him so.

  "Grandad retired just a few months ago and passed his mantle of power to me. He and my grandma' raised me. Love them to pieces. I hadn't really planned to go into the family business but like it or not, I have the touch. Not something you can ignore, you know? Spirits can be kind of chatty. On the plus side, I'm my own boss and I can spend the mornings surfing if I want. Except, you know, damn it can be spooky. My nerves are shot." Also, he explained, he and his pals had just finished a Stephen King movie marathon and he was sleeping with the lights on.

  Evie laughed at finding a Wizard afraid of the dark.

  His face fl
ushed, "I've never even seen an Angel before let alone talked to one. I do luck magic, you know, nothing dark."

  She knew that the moment she set foot over the threshold. The place was cheerful and bright and the energy smelled clean as a field of green clover. She doubted Adam Lee could come up with a black arts spell even if he tried. That didn't mean the darker side of magic was quite so ignorant of him. There was a tingling down her back. Maybe it wasn't just his imagination keeping him up at night.

  "Sorry. Not everyone recognizes us at first, even magical folk. You must have a strong power to read me so quickly."

  He flushed even deeper.

  “I don't want to scare you, but because of your energy, magic is drawn to you and that means the supernatural beings who wield it as well. This isn't your grandfather's place, am I right?”

  She hardly needed to ask that, the living room looked like a Hollister store with palms and overstuffed upholstered chairs on bright cotton paisley patterned rugs. A big, boldly striped surfboard was mounted artfully above the couch.

  “What? No, no. He invests in real estate, you know? He gave the cottage to me when I took over the business. Generally I see clients at our office. I'm surprised you even had this address.”

  She'd asked the busy worker bees at St. Jude's for where she could find the Wizards and they must have taken her at her word. They were very resourceful.

  “Just because you're a Luck Wizard doesn't mean you can't make enemies from your clients' competitors who might hold a bit of a grudge. Your protection wards against evil are almost nonexistent around the house.”

  The flush drained away from the young wizard's face and Evie was afraid he might faint again. “I didn't know. I mean, I never even thought about it.”

  “Don't worry, you'll be okay,” she soothed, patting him on the shoulder. “Give me your cell.”

  He pulled the phone out of the deep front pocket of his shorts and handed it over.