Tread Lightly

by Catherine Lane

  One just as good as the other.

  Chapter 4

  One Day Earlier

  Heavy knocking pounded into Claire’s dreams. Someone was hammering on the front door super hard. “Claire? Level-one-plus? Are you in there? Can you hear me?”

  She jumped out of bed. “Hang on. Hang on. Who is it?”

  “Hugo. Level-ten-minus.” The apprentice who had taken Frankie. Was something wrong?

  Claire hurried through the living room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. From the moment she had said good night to Tamiel and her head hit the pillow, she had, surprisingly, slept like a baby, dead to the world. She looked around. Had the angel come back?

  No, the living room was empty. Her heart sank, but it was probably better if Tamiel wasn’t by her side when she greeted the apprentice.

  Hugo shuffled in the doorway, clearly unsure what to do next. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Claire, were you sleeping?”

  “Is everything okay with Frankie?”

  “Yes. She’s fine.”

  Claire pressed a palm to her heart. “So why are you here?”

  “Oh, Juliette has been trying to get a hold of you all morning. Didn’t Carothann tell you?”

  “No.” She pulled her wand out from the pocket of magic at her side. She had decided at the last minute last night to keep it with her rather than let it rest in its box. “It’s been acting up lately. I need to get it in to Wand Tech,” she said but silently vowed never to let the FGC touch it again.

  “Yeah. She said that must be it. When she couldn’t get a hold of you, she sent me. Get dressed. She’s waiting—” Hugo jumped back, squeezed his eyes shut, and popped them open as he gazed past Claire.

  She turned, although she already knew what had startled him.

  Once again, Tamiel must have stepped into existence—from out of thin air to two feet away.

  “Don’t look at it!” He jerked his head down. “It’s an angel!”

  “It’s all right. They’re not like that.” Claire turned to Tamiel and smiled. “You came back?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know it?” Hugo’s eyes went round as he raised his head and took them both in.

  “I do. She’s okay.”

  Hugo glanced back and forth between them. “Juliette needs you back at the office.” His tone hardened. “Immediately.”

  “No,” Tamiel said, her voice just as steely. “We need to go after Yakum.”

  Claire took a deep breath and held it tight. Defending an angel to an apprentice was one thing. Running off with her against a direct order from an FGC operative was something else entirely.

  Hugo and Tamiel stared at her, waiting for her decision. She let the panic run its course as her mind coalesced around the only thing that really mattered. What was best for Frankie here? Certainly not falling into Yakum’s claws or sitting in Beverly Hills doing one load of laundry after another or even hiding out at the FGC for the rest of her life. Frankie deserved her happily ever after. But FGC or GA? Status quo or take a chance? The decision could change the rest of her life. She froze as she saw herself going both ways in her mind’s eye.

  Carothann twitched in her hand. It jerked toward Tamiel, clearly pushing her in that direction. It knew somehow, and if she was being honest, she knew too. She gave Carothann a gentle squeeze of trust and thanks.

  “Okay. I’m with you.” She swiveled to face Tamiel.

  “You’re kidding? What am I supposed to tell Juliette?”

  Good question. She had no idea how all of this was going to play out, but she did feel sorry for Hugo. Life was hard for an apprentice, especially a male one, at the FGC. “Tell her I wasn’t here. Knock again in a minute and it will actually be true.” She closed the door softly in his face.

  “Come on.” She slid an arm under Tamiel’s—fought down the fluttering below her belly at the contact—and pulled her into the middle of the room. “You said last night you had a plan?”

  “The demon’s here?” Claire raised an eyebrow.

  Tamiel nodded. “Technically, Yakum is a fallen angel. Demons have no souls and can be conscripted to action—two completely different species. But yes, he’s here. Why?”

  Claire glanced around the brightly painted room flush with display cases and cartoonish lettering on the walls.

  “Because this is a Real or Not Real Emporium. You know this place?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s either a warehouse full of odd and unnatural things from all over the world. Or it’s a tourist trap in the middle of Hollywood.”

  “Oh, I get it. Real or not real.” Tamiel smiled thinly. “That’s so smart.”

  Claire threw her a questioning glance.

  “You think the FGC invented hiding in plain sight? This is the perfect place for Yakum. Read it.” Tamiel pointed to a life-size statue right in front of them and the plaque at its bottom.

  “Did Black Mamba Man,” Claire read out loud, “just tattoo the silver-gray pattern on his face and file his teeth? Or is he really half snake? You be the judge. Real or not real?”

  Tamiel snorted. “Anyone who’s met Black Mamba on a dark night will tell you his teeth are not filed. They are naturally that razor-sharp.”

  “You’re saying he’s real?” If she were a betting woman, Claire would have put Black Mamba and his forked tongue firmly in the not real category.

  “Yeah. That’s one of Yakum’s children. Think about it. It’s diabolically clever. He has this place so he can desensitize the world to his children. They get publicity here as weirdoes, not supernatural hybrids. When humans run into them, they’re not scared. And Black Mamba and all his brothers and sisters have free rein.”

  “To do what?”

  “No one’s quite sure. But it can’t be good.”

  “What about that human pincushion guy?” Claire turned to a picture of a man on the wall behind Black Mamba. Safety and straight-edge pins pierced almost every square inch of his skin. He stared out of the photo with glowing, yellow eyes that up until a minute ago Claire would have sworn were a crazy pair of contacts.

  “Yeah, him too. But he’s not much of a threat. He’s always stopping to stick the pins back in. They pop out all the time.”

  “That’s just not right.” Claire shook her head. Her world had been so ordered before Tamiel. Sure, boring as hell, but predictable. Now everything she thought she knew was being turned on its head.

  “What does Yakum look like?” She envisioned a combination of all the weirdest people she had ever seen.

  “I’ve never met him. Just heard the stories that drift around. But I can target where he is. We all can if the angel is in our choir. Normally, we just don’t use the ability.”

  She headed off, but Claire couldn’t take her eyes off the pictures and statues of the strange new reality all around her.

  “Come on. The entrance to his lair is back over here.”

  Tamiel walked away with a steady step.

  Following her could easily be one of those things there was no coming back from. But, if anything, the last two days had taught Claire that standing still wasn’t an option either. She had been practically strapped into a straightjacket at work lately. Letting Abby’s Prince Charming run off with another girl had been as much about finding a missing purpose in her work as true love.

  Tamiel disappeared around the corner. Claire took a deep breath and entered into a room plastered with portraits of celebrities fashioned from gumdrops. Real, but shouldn’t be.

  Tamiel stood at the far side by a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, her hand already on its handle. She twisted back to Claire as soon as she caught up. “Ready?”

  Claire nodded although the heat rising from her chest told her she probably wasn’t.

  Tamiel opened the door with a lurch, and suddenly it was a whole new ball game.


  The colorful museum gave way to a long hall that slopped eternally downward. Dark stone walls and low lighting made the passageway almost claustrophobic, but strangely, the new surroundings comforted Claire. This was what a demon lair was supposed to look like. No, wait, he was a fallen angel, not a demon. Could she ever get rid of her preconceptions?

  Every so often the walls dipped into a nook, a perfect hiding place, and Claire pulled Carothann out of its pocket just in case.

  It shivered and jumped in her hand, thrilled, Claire guessed, to be released from the magic pocket. She liked this new Carothann. She loved its responsiveness and the growing connection between them. Whatever happened here, she was pretty sure she couldn’t go back to a wand with a filter.

  “How do you know where you’re going?” she asked.

  “The smell.”

  Claire sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “You will.” And she kept on walking down the unending hallway.

  The smell came at Claire slowly. Tickling her nose first with the scent of rotten meat and sulfur. She coughed and gagged as the odor turned sour, as if animals had crawled into the walls and died.

  “What is that?” Claire asked, holding her hand up to her nose.

  “The smell of bad choices.” Tamiel turned to her and waved a hand. The fresh mountain breeze, always swirling around her, surged through the tunnel, and Claire dropped her hand.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Get ready. We’re close.”

  They rounded a corner and dead-ended at a large wooden door built into the stone wall. Rusted iron straps and bolts fastened together thick wooden planks, and it looked as if it had been standing there since the beginning of time.

  “There could be hellhounds,” Tamiel said softly in the quiet before the storm.

  “Okay.” But Claire had no idea what to expect. There were never any hellhounds in birth blessings and makeovers. Her hands, especially the one clutched around Carothann, began to tremble. She fought down the surging impulse to race back to the museum. “Look. You need to tell me what to do and when,” she said instead, putting her future squarely in Tamiel’s hands.

  “Yes, but go with your instincts. They’re good.” Tamiel gave her a smile. “We make a very good team.”

  The flames inside Tamiel’s eyes surged as Claire met her gaze. Any other time, such a look would have sent butterflies soaring in her belly, but the adrenaline rushing through her veins kept them at bay.

  “Here we go.” Tamiel pulled her sword from the scabbard on her back and pointed it at the door. Flame leaped from its tip and bored into the keyhole. The door swung open with a creak worthy of any haunted house.

  Inside, two canine-like creatures, all legs and muscle, raced toward them down another dark corridor, their sharp teeth bared. Snarls echoed off the walls. They were fast, but Tamiel was faster. She was on them with astonishing speed and brought her sword up and down in a blur of flame.

  The blow crashed down on the hellhound in front but did little to stop it. Roaring with fury, it lashed out with its teeth, but Tamiel had already bounded up and over the creature, yanking her knees up out of its reach. The hound twisted while she was in the air and snapped, missing only by inches.

  All yours. She threw the thought into Claire’s head. Finally, some direction! Claire blasted the creature with a shot from her wand. The hellhounds yelped, but her attack did little harm. Just as the one in front rocked back onto its hind legs, ready to pounce, a shout came out of the darkness.

  “Sit!”

  Both beasts went down on their haunches.

  “Heel.” The hellhounds, which had been snarling monsters just seconds before, retreated, trotting down the rest of the long hallway as if they were promenading in a dog show.

  Claire peered into the darkness, but she could only make out a tall shape at the end of the corridor.

  “Sorry. They’re just for appearances. Not quite the welcome I was going for.”

  “Yakum?”

  “The one and only. Nice to meet you, Tamiel. And you too, Claire.” With a hellhound on either side, he walked forward into the dim light.

  Claire gasped. He looked so much like Tamiel. The only difference was in the way they were dressed. Instead of liquid silver, Yakum sported a finely tailored suit that hugged a similar wiry body. His lovely features read only slightly more male than female. But his eyes struck Claire like a slap. They were Tamiel’s eyes—deep, luminous, and filled with the exact same fire. Mother Chimera.

  She jerked her head away. Had he met her glance? Was this a trap? Was she glamoured? Would she even know? She didn’t feel any different—still like herself.

  But who knew. She was in way over her head.

  “What took you so long?” Yakum’s pitch was low and musical. Even his voice resembled Tamiel’s. “Come, come.” He ushered them down the hall.

  Claire didn’t move. She had imagined this attack playing out very differently. Certainly not as a leisurely stroll with a fallen angel and a couple of hellhounds.

  Yakum waved to Tamiel, who also had frozen. “Please. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment, cousin.”

  They’re cousins! Claire flinched. This was a trap!

  No. Tamiel’s voice sprang up in her head even before her thought was complete. We don’t know each other. We’re just in the same choir. We’re all cousins.

  Claire threw a questioning look at Tamiel. Shit. Was the angel reading her mind now? At this moment, though, Tamiel’s closeness was her only lifeline in this gigantic mess.

  It’s going to be okay. Tamiel followed Yakum but, despite her words, didn’t sheath her sword. When she passed, she squeezed Claire’s arm with her free hand.

  Just a fleeting touch, but calm flooded her body. Suddenly, a meeting with Yakum didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world. Nice. She needed that. On the other hand, she’d make the exact same move if she had a client who wasn’t behaving. If I had powers like hers, that is.

  Claire glanced at the wooden door behind her. Leaving now was the smart move. But where would she go once the door shut behind her? Not the FGC.

  This was a trap! It was just a snare of her own making. She had laid the groundwork with all her blatant infractions over the last two days. Now, she could only move forward. Claire tightened her grip on Carothann and forced her feet down the hall.

  The corridor opened into a large, circular stone room. The walls rose into a dome, and it was furnished with heavy wooden furniture. Chairs, a table, and wardrobes filled the space around a giant hearth where a blue fire blazed.

  Claire sniffed the air. Gone was the hideous stink. Unbelievably, now it smelled like a citrus grove.

  “Yeah,” Yakum said as he made his way to a throne-like chair against one of the curves of the wall, “the smell is just a diversionary tactic. Don’t want any unwelcome visitors.” The beasts padded over with him. One even put its muzzle, the size of a football, on Yakum’s knee when he sat down.

  “Sit, sit.” He pointed to two padded chairs nearby.

  “Thanks, we’re good,” Tamiel said.

  Be careful. The thought popped into Claire’s head. He’s a wily one.

  She shook her head to clear it of Tamiel’s influence. Forget what everybody else thought. Time to think for herself!

  She studied Yakum. He didn’t look slippery or evil. In fact, fine worry lines surrounded his eyes, and there had been the slightest shuffle to his step as he crossed the room. Actually, he just looked tired. Was that part of the ruse?

  “Yakum, we’re here to stop you from killing Frankie,” Tamiel said.

  Notes almost like bassoons and cellos filled the air. He laughed musically, just like Tamiel. Although this laugh was in a minor key, almost a sad melody. “You got it all wrong, Tamiel. Like they always do up there.”


  Tamiel flicked her gaze upward and sighed heavily. “Why don’t you enlighten us, Yakum?”

  Claire bit her lip. Again, this wasn’t at all how she had thought it would go down. She thought they would race in, Tamiel’s sword ablaze, Carothann at full power, and destroy whatever and whoever was in this chamber. Good would win, Frankie would be free of the crushing evil surrounding her, and finally Claire could close her case.

  Instead, Yakum and Tamiel were throwing barbs at each other like siblings at an awkward family reunion. This, whatever this was, was…anticlimactic.

  “You’re after the wrong culprit.” Yakum smiled thinly.

  Tamiel leveled a glassy stare straight at him. “Really?”

  “Yes. The one who’s causing all this trouble is…” He paused and rubbed his hands in dramatic effect. “…Francesca.”

  “What?” Tamiel and Claire echoed each other.

  Tamiel jumped at him, her sword blazing hot in a nanosecond.

  Yakum held up a delicate hand. “Hear me out.”

  Sword aloft, Tamiel trembled. The tendons in her neck throbbed as she fought to gain control. “No games,” she said finally between clenched teeth.

  He threw the other hand up as well. “Of course. But this will go better if you put away the sword.”

  Tamiel lowered her weapon, and the flame died along its edge.

  “Away,” Yakum repeated.

  “This is all you’re getting. Now talk.”

  “Okay. Brace yourself. Francesca may look human. She got that from her mother, the lovely creature that she was. But believe me, inside that girl is all fallen angel. And not the good kind.”

  “There’s a good kind of fallen angel?” Claire found her voice.

  “Of course. There’s always good and bad in everything. Nature tries to maintain a balance of some sort. Don’t they teach you anything at the FGC?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t even know where she got the bad from. Certainly not me.”

  Tamiel’s head dropped to her chest.