by Celia Kyle
11
The second day at the clinics and it seemed like Sam would take two steps forward and one back. For every human he cured, more would come pouring in. The doctors and nurses treated them like drug addicts and poison victims; pumping stomachs and fighting to get the nastiness out of their blood.
We both knew there was nothing human medicine could do for these people. They needed divine intervention—they needed Sam.
My mate hesitated in the doorway of the patient’s room, the first of many we’d visit. I touched his back, offering silent support, but this was something he had to do on his own. He’d once been a true gel, a servant of On High. He needed to remember how to be that man.
He walked into the room, lowering himself into the chair beside the bed. The teen didn’t even look at him, but Sam spoke softly anyway. He offered the boy solace and support and even if the kid kept his gaze turned away, I could tell he was listening to Sam’s every word.
But he didn’t preach. He didn’t caution about fire and brimstone like I’d heard from other religious leaders. Sure, everyone had their own style when spreading On High’s message, but Sam’s was… real.
He’d been further down a dark path than this kid could imagine and he spoke from the heart when he told the kid that even if he didn’t think God had listened in the past, he was listening now.
The kid sneered at him. “It doesn’t make a difference, man. Nothing you say can do shit.”
“But I can.” Sam touched his thumb to the kid’s forehead.
A slight shimmer of light enveloped them both, an almost imperceptible glow. It was enough to make the kid gasp and shudder, his back arching while he stared at the ceiling with a vacant look. Like he saw something we didn’t, and I knew he was getting a glimpse at the good guy.
The boy heaved in a harsh breath and thumped back to the hospital bed, turning teary eyes on Sam. “What was that?”
My mate, the one I’d lost to evil, quirked his lips in a soft smile. “A miracle.”
A miracle in more ways than one.
“You have a choice when you walk out of here. Return to the streets—drugs and violence—and you’ll be on your own next time. This is a clean slate. Keep it that way, huh?”
The boy still wasn’t talking, tears still staining his cheeks, and Sam walked out. I hung back, watching the teen for a long moment, wondering what it was like to feel On High’s grace like that. It wasn’t like I’d ever find out. On High would hate me if He was capable of hate, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to choose the path that would put me in his sights.
But maybe this kid could swing it—keep his nose clean and meet the big guy. Maybe.
We spent the rest of the day at the clinic, me at Sam’s side while he helped—sometimes didn’t—everyone. I felt useless, doing nothing but leaning against the wall while he exhausted himself. I had no idea how he did it all without going crazy, telling these guys to choose the path to On High when he’d actually stepped off that road last year. But with each person he cleansed, some of the weight that dragged down his shoulders seemed to lift. He found solace in the knowledge that he could still do some good in the world.
Of course. Even as a fallen angel, he was a better person than me.
We hit every location with a large number of addicts and infected, so Sam could work his divine magic. (Okay, not magic magic, but I liked that it annoyed him when I called his divine grace magic.) We went out again the next day, as well. Curing more people while leaving Jezze working on her possible cure for tweens.
FYI, I thought On High was an asshole for not extending this cleansing shit to tweeners, but whatever.
I poked and prodded those that Sam cleansed, trying to find other leads on the drug. Near the end of the second day, we came across a kid who was more stubborn than the others. I’d gotten used to seeing Sam and those he helped fall into a fairly standard script. Denial, surprise, grateful. Not that it was monotonous or anything. It totally was and it wasn’t just because I have this anti-On High thing in my blood. It was just the same thing over and over. I told him to spice it up a little. Maybe let me call on some hellfire and show them where they’d end up if they didn’t accept On High in their hearts already.
I thought it’d be hilarious. He did not laugh with me.
But this one kid at the last hospital… He seemed to have a chip on his shoulder.
“Fuck. You.” He jutted out his chin as he pulled on his Barbour olive wax jacket. He might’ve been more intimidating if his coat didn’t cost four hundred bucks and he wasn’t tugging it over a Brooks Brothers button-down.
Preppy asshole, party of one.
“Son,” Sam’s voice remained calm and soothing. I would have just junk punched the asshole. “I’m offering you—“
“I don’t need any help from some Jesus freak. You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.”
He headed for the door and Sam moved to follow him. “You don’t understand. You’re not just risking your life, but your eternal soul.”
The kid flipped Sam off, middle finger raised high, and I was tempted to snap it off. “I know where my soul is going. I don’t need to hear about it from you.”
I watched the kid walk off and I couldn’t throw the sense that something was… off. He’d rubbed me the wrong way and not just because he ordered from the J. Crew catalog.
Sam shook his head. “Some are beyond redemption.”
“Maybe.” I tilted my head, the kid striding through the automatic doors. “There’s something else with that one.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t sound like the victim type or a jonesing user. More like…” I frowned and then opened my eyes widely. “Like a dealer.”
Sam and I shared a significant glance.
“Let’s go. Maybe he knows about the source.” But something in my gut told me it was more than maybe.
We tailed the kid through the city streets, following his shiny Mercedes, and I was kinda gratified to see that it was a few years old. Mommy and Daddy hadn’t spoiled him entirely. Sam and I kept far back enough to be out of sight and it helped that my wolf could follow the boy’s scent. It was powerful and strong enough to catalog the nuances of the teen and his car’s aroma. Before long, the trail led us to a rundown old house in a pretty beat-up neighborhood, the kid pulling his shiny car into a garage that’d seen better days.
We parked on the road and watched the house from our spot across the street, searching for signs of anyone else inside. As far as I could tell, by sight and scent, it was empty save the teen.
“Let’s see what pretty boy’s hiding.” I climbed from my car, nudging the door closed before heading across the street. Sam was a warm presence at my back. Even with some of his grace returned, he still held the warmth of Hell.
I didn’t bother knocking, just slammed my boot heel into the lock and smashed the door in. In this kinda neighborhood, people really should have better security. Unfortunately, there was no one in the room to appreciate my dramatic entrance. That didn’t mean the rest of the house was empty. I stayed on alert, hating my werewolf nature when the house’s scents crept into my nose. The living room looked a lot like Jacob’s: beer bottles, take out containers, and baggies marked with the dem rune littering the place. The place reeked of decaying food and I breathed through my mouth.
Na-sty.
“Where’d he go?” We moved through the house, checking rooms and peeking into spaces, but came up empty, finally meeting again in the living room. “There’s no one here.”
I headed into the kitchen, looking for any other signs, and what I found there was a lot more disturbing than the filth that surrounded us.
“Shit,” I rasped.
“What is it?” Sam followed me into the room and stopped short at my back. “Fuck.”
Apparently mostly fallen gels with a little bit of grace could still curse. Fun.
Me? I stared at the ground, hating life. A pentagram drawn i
n blood stained the center of the kitchen floor, the red liquid dry and aged to a dark burgundy. Black candles marked each point of the star, a few still smoking as if they’d been quickly snuffed. I crouched and reached out, letting my fingers drift through the rivers of magic that surrounded the dark circle.
This was my kind of magic, the kind that was used to summon demons from hell. My ceremonies tended to be a little more lighthearted, but I had Satan’s blood in my veins. This was what humans had to deal with.
“We’re inside the city limits. Would this sort of magic work with your ban in place?”
I pulled my hand back and pushed to my feet. “I’m not sure.” Technically, I kept the dems out of Orlando with a sort of magical force field. The kind that the ships from Star Trek might have used, but I refused to admit my secretly trekkie status. It blocked them from crossing the city’s boundaries. Which meant that theoretically, someone might be able to use a summoning spell to circumvent that since the demon wouldn’t technically cross a border.
Which was a big old fuck up on my part.
If nothing else, this could explain how a demon could have made a move on Orlando despite my ban.
I searched through the kitchen and found a nasty, dirt-crusted bucket. Good enough to do the job. It didn’t take long to fill it and then dump the contents over the pentagram. It wouldn’t do much to stop the teen if he was determined, but it’d annoy him, which made me happy.
We searched the rest of the house, finding nothing more than an open window in the back bathroom. It looked like the guy had spotted us and fled. I followed the kid’s path, trying to pick up his scent, but the smells were too strong to sort through. There was too much crowding the air and I shook my head.
Preppy boy got away. For now.
Frustrated and annoyed, we headed back to Momma R’s. I thrummed with the need to get to Bry, my hands itching to hold him in my arms, and I couldn’t resist the pull to go to him. When we got there, we found a tall, wiry-limbed fairy corralled by Jezze and Momma R. His bright pink hair stood on end, his eyes bugged wide, and I wondered if one of them had just given the guy an electric jolt.
Momma R held out a cup of tea and he eyed it warily. He leaned farther away when she tried to shove it in his hands. “You sure this is safe?”
Jezebeth and her mom exchanged a look and Jezze spoke. “Of course, absolutely safe.”
Good thing Jezze wasn’t human. On High didn’t like liars. I suppressed my snort. If the cure Jezze was working on was really safe, they would have given it to Bryony instead of finding another tween to test it on. But I kept my mouth shut. If the cure turned the fairy into a newt or made him explode, I’d rather find that out before we gave it to Bry.
Though, I felt marginally sad if he got really hurt. Marginally. Damn dads and their good hearts.
The fairy took the tea and sipped it, staring at us over the rim the whole time. His hands shook and I wasn’t sure if it was because of nervousness or the infection. He kept drinking though, swallowing it down before stumbling back onto the couch and almost immediately falling asleep.
I padded forward and stared down at the guy, looking for any color change or shift in shape. If he went poof, I could hop up the stairs and shower dead fairy off of me.
“Is that supposed to happen?” I refrained from poking him.
Momma R placed the back of her hand on the guy’s forehead. “The recipe includes a mild sedative.”
“NyQuil,” Jezze supplied and I arched a brow at her. She just shrugged. “Sometimes good, old-fashioned human medicine is a good shortcut in a magic potion. Whatever works, right? Human medicine and mystical ingredients sometimes jive and give us a better result.”
“We’ll have to observe him.” Momma R dabbed at his face with a wet rag. “Make sure the fever goes down and he’s not suffering any hallucinations when he wakes up.”
I nodded. “Let me know.”
The itch to see my kid still plagued me and I glanced at Sam, wondering if he wanted to visit Bry, too. He’d fallen because of Bry. Did he want to… But it was as if my mate read my mind and he merely shook his head. Right. Fallen angel, sick innocent. Not a good combo.
So I headed upstairs—alone—to check on him. I moved into the room, my steps silent. “Hey, kiddo.” I peered into his crib, his sleep still restless. “Tempmomma is gonna have you better real soon, okay? Auntie Jezze and Momma R are working on it and you’re gonna be just fine.”
I wouldn’t allow for any other result.
I reached in and stroked his tiny nose. He was so small, so weak. I brushed his hair off his face and the demon mark on his arm caught my eye. The sight of it made my gut twist into a knot. Hopefully Jezze’s potion would cure Bry, but I had the feeling it would be a good treatment, but wouldn’t purge it from his system. The demonic influence would remain and I needed to track down the source and put a stop to it once and for all.
“You’re gonna be okay.” I leaned down, kissed his forehead, and then tucked him in before heading back downstairs.
Back in the living room, I glanced at the sleeping fairy and his presence teased my mind, reminding me I still had another errand to run. Dammit. “I’ll be back,” I told Jezze. “If that works,” I gestured at the empty tea cup, “there’s someone else I need to give it to before we try it on Bry.”
Jezebeth gave me a confused frown but didn’t ask. That was the joy of best friends—unbreakable trust.
“Do you need help?” Sam stepped out of the shadows.
I studied him for a moment, thinking about how nice it’d been to have him around the last couple of days. Almost like we were an old married couple, comfortable with each other without the sex. I’d even gotten to the point that I could be in his presence without thinking about jumping his bones every five minutes. It was every fifteen now.
But this was something he couldn’t really help with.
“No,” I shook my head. He couldn’t do this, but I… I decided to put some trust in him—in this new version of him. “Stay here. Keep an eye on things and protect.” I swallowed hard. I needed the man I loved to care for the boy I lived for. “Take care of him. I won’t be long.”
I went back to my car and headed to the address Mayor Boyd had given me. It was time to pay a visit to Little Miss Meadow.
12
Meadow lived in a tiny, rundown apartment complex on the other side of town. Small and rundown didn’t mean bad. There were plenty of decent, lower-middle class neighborhoods where good, hardworking folks lived.
This was not one of them.
I drove past some suburban homes, kids playing outside and dogs barking in the yards. Everything seemed sunny and cheerful and then… I turned the corner. A veritable shithole was crammed dead center in the pretty suburban landscape. The buildings were covered in graffiti, parking lot cracked and broken, and the entire place looked like it should have been condemned long ago. I caught sight of a couple of rough-looking figures lurking in a stairwell, probably up to no good.
The lawn was overgrown, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have said the place was abandoned and taken over by the homeless. But the people who lived there weren’t squatters. They were simply so poor, and quite possibly stoned, that they didn’t care about their environment as long as rent was cheap. Not that poor equated stoners, but if a dem was looking for an easy place to find a foothold, the desperate and poor was a good place to start.
I parked and left my car unlocked. There wasn’t anything worth stealing, but if they wanted to look, I didn’t want them busting in my window to do it.
I headed up the external stairs and knocked on Meadow’s door while trying to ignore the pervasive stench. Down the hallway, a stained, old, dirty mattress was propped against the corner and I didn’t want to even think about what caused those stains.
It seemed the high-class mayor had taken to “slumming it” when it came to finding a mistress.
The door slowly swung open, a large, brown eye peering
out at me. Not concerning, I’d be wary in this neighborhood too. The large, burnished brown ear that flopped into place amid her copper curls though… Yeah, apparently Boyd had developed a taste for the exotic.
Meadow eased the panel open farther, confirming my suspicion. Her upper body, complete with large breasts hardly hidden behind a skimpy halter top, was all human. Well, minus the pointed ears. The rest of her was all golden red fur and cloven hooves.
Boyd liked him some faun.
Staring at her knees, the way they bent like a goat’s, I wondered how she got on her knees for the mayor without falling over. Which brought up other interesting mental images and I internally shook my head.
“You Meadow?” Because of course a faun would have a name like Meadow.
“Who’s asking?” Now that I could see both eyes, I noticed their glassy, unfocused appearance. Drugged. It certainly explained the “erratic and emotional” behavior the mayor described.
“Your lover boy sent me.”
She looked up at me, or rather, over my shoulder. “Is it tea time? I do rather enjoy a spot of tea.”
All right then. I wondered if she was chatting with a white rabbit and a crazed guy wearing a weird hat. “Yes, it’s tea time.” I’d learned to humor the crazies. “A very special tea that will make you feel better.”
I glanced past her into the apartment. There were a few bags of the demon drug littering the floor. “Yeah, definitely no more sugar for you.”
I helped her wiggle into some clothes to hide those hooves from any humans we might pass and then left her resting on the stained and tattered sofa. I gathered up all the drugs I could find, tossed them into a metal wastebasket and fried it all with a quick shot of hellfire. Enough to get rid of the drugs without entirely misshaping the container. It was only a little lopsided when I was done. I just had to make sure that once she got clean, she stayed clean. I didn’t want to leave any temptation behind.
I led her downstairs, catching a few nasty looks from tweens who’d shown up while I was inside. They obviously knew enough not to mess with me, and it didn’t look like Meadow had any friends who’d be too worried about her being dragged off.