Whatever. Not her call. Way above her pay grade.
Claire turned the top sheet over to make sure she hadn’t missed anything of importance. Nope. Nothing. She jerked her bottom jaw from side to side, forcing the muscles around her mouth to relax. If this case was as important as Juliette said it was, she could use a little help here.
Weird. There was no stamp from a preparer or an administrator, and the layout was different than normal—more pages, but less info, somehow. She flipped through a colored graph and several pie charts and stopped at a diagram of boxes splattered with red dots. Claire turned the paper first one way and then the other. The visuals, pretty as they were, didn’t make much sense. Juliette said this file had come from the head office.
They, of all people, should do a better job. They’re just going through the motions too. That’s what really needs to change.
She slapped the file closed. Nothing inside was going to help her. Her main problem was Juliette and whatever her true agenda was. She gulped down the last bit of latte, which had long since gone cold, and went inside to call her boss.
As soon as she entered the house, Carothann reached out for her. Tendrils of golden magic leaped out from where the wand stayed when it wasn’t in her pocket: a red, velvet-lined box on her desk. Bright feelers curled into the air, searching for her. She and the wand had been connected like this right from start. The moment she had walked into the FGC wand repository as an apprentice, Carothann had nudged at her like a puppy asking for attention. Now fingers of magic wound around her arms and torso and gently tugged her to the desk.
She had been taught—all FGC operatives had—that the godmother’s intentions gave power to a wand, and practice made them both stronger. But from the moment Claire had clutched Carothann in her hand, she’d suspected the wand was more than it was letting on. What was holding it back, she had no idea. But there was power in its heartwood. The tip blinked, revealing just one of its many abilities. Juliette had left a message.
She directed a thought to the wand, and Juliette’s voice filled the air.
“Claire. Something’s come up. Why don’t you head over to the client, do a little meet and greet, and then you can catch me up to speed.”
Claire rolled her eyes. Figures. Juliette was going to let her do the heavy lifting and then swoop in at the last minute to take all the credit. She sighed and stilled her mind as she zeroed in on the fact that this case was not about her or Juliette; it was about a girl—hopefully, for once, a deserving one—who needed help.
“Take me to Frankie,” Claire said. Carothann pulsated in her hand, and they both slipped into the golden stream of magic that filled the room.
The smell of urine and neglect hit Claire before she had fully materialized in the narrow downtown alley. Old, deteriorating buildings rose on either side, and the homeless slept fitfully on the ground in clumps. Trash, and God knew what else, lay in thick piles between them. Still, it wasn’t the worst place she’d ever run a case.
She flicked Carothann. Magic swirled through her body like a tumbling rush of endorphins and ran up her spine. Blood surged; muscles contracted and released, and bones folded inward. The tingling started in her toes and raced everywhere. The pleasure verged on euphoria but ebbed before it could take hold. Transformations—one of the perks of the job—never got old.
Claire shook her new body. For this morning’s case, she had chosen an anime character that decorated a billboard outside her favorite udon place. She sported a small mouth, a dainty nose, and big, round eyes. Dark hair floated around her head almost as a separate organism. Frankie was an artist, so she should respond to this look. Speaking of Frankie…where was she?
A flash of movement from the dead end of the alley caught her gaze. A figure shrouded in a black hoodie darted back and forth in front of the bricks. Each hand held a can of spray paint, and the pressurized pssst of her work echoed in the small space. She moved fast; elaborate, interlocking letters in blue and gold quickly took shape on the wall. The style was so wild; Claire couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Artist, her ass. Frankie was a tagger. A bomber. Nothing but a common criminal.
She let out a deep sigh and put one foot forward as she began the long march down the alley. The muscles in her shoulders tensed. It was going to be yet another hard case. But all she had to do was make contact and then report back to Juliette. If she wanted in on this case, let her make the next move. Let her see for herself how hard operating in the field was when the girls were—
Get out!
The thought exploded into her mind in white-hot shards. Its sudden appearance chased out all reason. The desire to run away surged through her whole body, compelling her to move. She had spun on her heel before she fought off the impulse to sprint back to where she had come from.
Mind control!
Son of a banshee. A guardian angel was here. Mind control and how to resist it were key subjects in the FGC workshops, but no facilitator had mentioned the violence of the invasion.
She scanned the alley left and right. Nothing. But that didn’t mean a GA operative wasn’t there. Learning about their incredible ability to glamour—to resonate at a higher frequency and vanish—had taken up a whole afternoon of professional development.
“Frankie’s mine!” she hissed through clenched teeth and raised Carothann before her like a weapon.
GET OUT!
Pain shot through her head as an impulse to flee, even stronger now, tugged at her body.
“Fat chance! This is my client. Tell the GA I’m not backing down.”
She forced her feet to move down the alley toward Frankie, who, oblivious to the nearly silent screaming match, was still throwing paint up on the wall.
NO. A piercing wail like a wraith’s vibrated in her head, and Claire turned just in time to see the shimmer of the guardian angel racing full tilt down the alley toward her.
It was all motion and power. She couldn’t make out any features—the glamour was still strong around it. But she could tell that it was coming right at her.
Claire’s heartbeat thrashed in her ears, and her breath came out in rasps. Information from the FGC handbook popped into her head. She flicked Carothann, and a golden flash, supposedly as deadly as a spree of bullets, flew straight at the angel.
And bounced harmlessly off it.
The angel ate up the space between them as if it were inches instead of yards.
Claire backed away with quick, jerky steps. Forget going on the offense. She flicked Carothann again. Magic threads wove into a shimmering mesh, instantly settling over her as she switched tactics to a defensive stance. Energy hummed through the air. Would the shield be any protection against the force of nature barreling down on her?
Claire screwed her eyes shut, braced her feet firmly against the mesh, and waited for impact.
And waited…and waited.
Claire’s eyes popped open; the angel was already three strides beyond her, racing to the back of the alley, a flaming sword outstretched in one hand.
Claire’s legs almost buckled. The angel wasn’t after her; it was after Frankie! Was it going to kill her?
“Stop!” Claire cried.
Frankie spun at the cry and took in Claire with one glance. Her body stiffened. “I’m not doing anything.” She tucked the cans behind her back and met Claire’s gaze with a teenager’s practiced innocence. Clearly, she couldn’t see the angel rushing right at her. Or the burning sword swinging right for her head.
“Duck!” Claire’s warning echoed through the alley.
Frankie crouched at the last possible second, but the sword had already struck to the right of her and was lodged in something dark and scaly that had impossibly skittered up from the pavement.
Was that a freaking…demon?
Growling, the monster threw out a dark, claw-like hand toward the ang
el’s head.
The angel dodged the blow a second before the talons could hit. It bounced up and stabbed at the monster, so fast that the sword blurred through the air, a dart of light and heat.
The creature was just as quick. It twisted from the thrust, taking the blow on its massive, scaly arm, and swiveled to give the angel its back, layered with thick black scales. Shifting its attention to Frankie, it unhinged its jaw. Two razor-sharp rows of teeth shone in the morning light. The creature lunged at the girl with another inhuman growl. Frankie couldn’t actually see the danger—it must have been shielded and glamoured as well—but she could certainly feel it.
“Oh my God!” she cried. The cans clattered to the ground, and she flattened herself against the wall in an attempt to get away from the creature. The monster took the angel’s next blow harmlessly on its armored back and lurched, mouth wide open, toward the girl.
Help me! The angel’s scream burst in Claire’s head.
This time, Claire let the suggestion take hold of her and shake her out of her lethargy. She jumped to the angel’s side.
The monster had turned and was waiting for Claire’s arrival. Its talons clutched around her throat as soon as her feet hit her mark. Claire’s breath hissed out of her as the creature squeezed and crushed her windpipe. She crumbled. Darkness without end poured into her, running through the talons and down her neck, boring its way to her soul. Dizziness and pain hit her as if she had been pierced with a thousand knives. Her vision went black, and her world began to narrow.
The whoosh of a rippling flame slashed through the air. Metal clashed against bones, and an intense heat scorched her cheek. A shriek that wasn’t human filled the air as the hand around her throat loosened. The darkness receded like a tsunami wave. She gasped as the air flooded back into her lungs and sight returned to her eyes.
The monster pulled its injured arm to its chest and turned its rage back on Frankie. It clamped its good hand around her shoulder and began to drag her down into the gaping hole in the pavement that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Frankie cried out. Her hands slashed at thin air as she twisted and turned.
Together. Now.
The angel’s thoughts exploded in her mind, but this time without pain. The blinding light, instead, gave her strength, and she spun Carothann to the monster, certain of what she had to do next.
The angel was already poised, its sword aimed at the middle of the creature’s back around heart level.
Into the sword. Claire threw the thought at her wand. Carothann bucked and surged, like a horse released from the bridle. Magic poured from the wand and drove straight to its target. The flame on the sword turned a deep blue as godmother and angel magic coalesced. Claire poured everything she had into her wand, and Carothann jumped and twisted, red-hot, in her hand. The angel’s sword vibrated as a primal humming echoed through the alley. But still, the angel didn’t move.
“Come on,” Claire cried. “I can’t hold this much longer.”
Just as the monster was about to sink into the ground with Frankie, the angel lunged and slid its sword into the monster’s back. It plunged through the thick hide as if it were fine leather. The creature dropped Frankie away from the hole, shrieking in agony.
The angel gripped the sword with both hands and dug in deeper. The blade popped right through the front of the creature with a shuddering crack.
The monster’s eyes blazed with fury and then went cold. The life ran out of it, and it, too, crumpled, dropping out of existence as it tumbled back into the hole.
The smell of burning, rotted flesh rolled over Claire. Gagging, she almost fell to her knees as well, but the angel pulled her back up with one hand and collected Frankie with the other. The girl was limp in the angel’s grasp.
When had Frankie fainted? Claire hoped it had been sooner rather than later for the girl’s sake.
The angel pulled both of them down the alley and deposited Frankie gently on the ground next to a homeless man who still, after everything, snored softly. Was this the angel’s doing? If so, the angel’s magic was strong—stronger than hers.
“You okay?” it asked.
As she turned to face her rescuer, Claire’s eyes widened. Its voice out loud was nothing like the battle cry in her head. The intonation was soft and melodious and circled around her, soothing her shattered nerves like a balm.
Claire nodded, unable to speak, and raised a hand to her cheek—not burned at all.
“Good.” The flame on the sword died, and the creature sheathed it in a scabbard on its back. She hadn’t noticed that before.
In fact, there were lots of things to observe now that it had dropped completely into her dimension. She took the chance and ran her gaze up the angel’s body. It was tall, slender, and taut with muscle. Some sort of silver clothing clung to it, moving as if it were more liquid than material. Holy Harpy, what a great figure.
Actually, now that Claire was looking carefully, the creature read female. Narrow, boyish hips, but there was something definitely female about the way she stood and the swelling at her chest. That Claire had ever thought of her as an it was criminal. In fact—a shiver ran down her spine—the angel was drop-dead gorgeous, all lightness and grace.
No wings. That was a surprise. She had always assumed that angels had wings like the mythologies said. Not that the folklore got anything right about fairy godmothers. As far as anyone knew, there was no fairy in them at all.
The angel bent down to draw Frankie’s arm into a more comfortable position, and her shirt, flowing around her, caught the early morning sun and glistened as if she stood under a silver waterfall. That wasn’t in the mythologies either.
Claire’s gaze traveled to her face. Her jaw was strong, her cheekbones chiseled. Her dark, straight hair was cropped short at the sides and long on top. Dark bangs fell over her eyes. Claire’s breath caught in her throat.
Wow. How had she not noticed the eyes sooner?
They had no color. Live flame danced where the irises should be: bottomless pools of light and heat. Try as she might, she couldn’t pull her gaze away. She was falling into their orbits. One more moment and she would be gone.
Claire blinked repeatedly and jerked her head away. Enough of this. No wonder humans fell under their glamour.
Never let a client look an angel in its eyes. Once they’ve imprinted, there is no way to break the spell. Even an apprentice knew that. She couldn’t let those eyes anywhere near Frankie. If she had a hard time dragging herself away, Frankie would be lost. Claire shifted toward the front of the alley so the angel would have to face away from her client.
Be polite, don’t engage, get her out of my case. That was now the plan.
“Thank you for saving me from that…that…” She looked back to empty space in front of the brick wall at the end of the alley. Only the pulpy arm remained, and already it was melting into nothingness.
“Demon,” the angel said. “For lack of a better word.”
A new rush of adrenaline surged through Claire. A true, honest-to-goodness demon. Was there really a plan for this scenario?
“I’ll take the thanks,” the angel said, “but I didn’t save you. We defeated it together.” She ran her gaze down Claire’s body. “Actually, I think we made a good team.”
Claire’s stomach churned. “The Guardian Angels and the Fairy Godmother Council can’t team up. I—”
“You know, that’s only a rule on your side. But don’t worry. I’m not here for Frankie. She’s all yours.” To punctuate her point, the angel reached up and touched Claire briefly on her forearm. As soon as her fingers dropped, a lightness surrounded Claire, and the last vestiges of the demon’s darkness in her chest curled up into thin wisps and withered away. Her fingers, her touch, were the softest Claire had ever felt.
“Why…why are you here?” Claire forced her mind to focus.<
br />
The angel gave her a look that she couldn’t read. “The demon. Why else?” She smiled softly. “Stay safe, fairy godmother.”
The angel disappeared into the morning air with a soft poof. No glitter, no golden light, just a slight breeze that ruffled down the alley and brought with it a whiff of freshly cut pine and mountain lavender. The homeless all around Claire sighed as the scent of the forest drifted into their dreams.
Something made her look back down the alley to the blue and gold swirlings of Frankie’s graffiti. From this far back, letters and then a word took shape and rose like a beacon to whoever passed this way. The letters curled in on themselves and formed the word HOPE.
Frankie.
Between the angel’s eyes and her touch, Claire had almost forgotten. She dropped to her knees and studied the poor girl on the ground. Honey-brown hair framed a classically beautiful face—high cheekbones and full lips. Her features were about as symmetrical as it got. Take away the hoodie and the grime, and she could be a true princess on looks alone. The story of her mother’s death and interfering stepmother was almost archetypal. And—Claire glanced back down the alley at the masterpiece on the wall—she was, after all, supremely talented.
Was this deserving girl the case she had been waiting for all these years?
Claire gently shook her shoulder. She wanted to be the first thing Frankie saw when she awoke. She didn’t think the angel was coming back, but who knew with their type. Every FGC lecture told her that she didn’t want to be the fool who let her guard down.
Frankie’s eyes blinked open. They widened, and her breath quickened before she registered Claire. “Oh my God. Where is it?” She scuttled back against the alley wall and shook her head violently.
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