by RJ Blain
“My brother is an eternal bachelor. His succubi are convinced should they be chosen to be his bride, they will find themselves in holy monogamous matrimony until the End of Days. They are not wrong. Some parts of his angelic nature remain. Frankly spoken, he has no loyalty at the moment, but should he give his loyalty, it will be for all eternity.”
“Why does that sound like a warning?”
“Because it is.”
“I’m going down there to browbeat him into helping my brother, not join any succubi in seducing him. I’ve heard incubi are a good time, though.” As I doubted angels had much conception about humans and their preferences, I added, “I’m not into other women.”
“What makes you think my brother lacks the abilities of an incubus?” The amusement in Michael’s tone annoyed me into scowling.
I took a few minutes to think about that. “I really don’t have the time for commitment right now, but hey, I’ll seduce the bastard if it means he’ll hurry up and make with the magic to fix my brother. I’m not above using my feminine charms.” I stood up, took hold of my beautiful tail, and showed it to the archangel. “Look at this beautiful fur. This tail is worth at least one brotherly transformation.”
“If you say so.”
Three
What sort of asshole names a cargo ship the Attack Goose?
According to the address Michael gave me, some asshole had shipped a child on a fucking industrial cargo ship. My tail puffed, and nothing I did convinced my fur to lie flat. It would have to do, as I couldn’t afford to take the time to go home, take a cold shower, and brush my coat to restore it to order. Unfortunately for me, the address was in a rather secure complex, which would make getting to the little girl interesting.
I’d start with the security gate, and if they gave me a hard time, I’d gain access another way.
With my tail still puffed out and my ears lying flat, I approached the closed steel monstrosity of a gate with its guard post. “Excuse me, but I was given this address. I’ve been tasked with picking up some very important cargo from a ship.” I referred to the slip of paper. “The ship is the...” I stared at the name scribbled on the sheet, blinked, and read, “Attack Goose.”
The guard snickered.
I glared at the paper. “What sort of asshole names a cargo ship the Attack Goose? Come on. Is that even the ship’s name?”
“It is. It’s a privately owned ship out of Canada, and the owner hates geese. The ship is real, and she just arrived. Do you have the docking number for your cargo?”
That explained the long string of numbers and letters on the bottom of my paper, which I handed over to the security guard. He picked up a phone, relayed the number, and after a moment, he hung up. I waited, my ears perking forward as the guard hadn’t turned me away while laughing.
“Okay. Do you have a vehicle?”
My brother’s car, with my idiot rodent brother trapped inside, waited at the street, as I hadn’t been brave enough to drive it to the security gate. I pointed at it. “The sporty one over there.”
“Drive it on in. You’re going to go straight in, go to the third stop sign, and turn left. Follow that street until you see Pier A. Turn right and park wherever your find a spot. Give one of the cargo hands your docking number. They’ll bring you your cargo. You’ll sign off, and then you can come out the same way you came in, and I’ll let you out of the gate.”
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”
“Expected trouble?”
“Well, yes.”
“Don’t worry about it. We usually get a few small item pickups every time a ship comes into port. The owner of the vessel often opens his ships up to smaller freight.”
I opted against notifying the man the cargo was a living, breathing human. As far as I was concerned, taking the little girl to the CDC would put an end to any possibilities of human trafficking, which I appreciated.
It wouldn’t make her life any easier, but I would cross that bridge again later, and if I really didn’t like what the archangel had set up, I’d insert my foot in his ass.
Kicking an archangel’s ass seemed like a pretty good way to go if I were to make an unexpected exit from life. The headline would be amazing.
I retrieved my brother’s car, discovering Jonas had made himself a nest and indulged in a nap in the short time I’d been speaking to the guard. As promised, the guard opened the gate for me, and I followed his directions to Pier A, where a frenzy of activity surrounded a massive cargo ship with Attack Goose proudly painted on her side.
I supposed if the owner could afford such a huge vessel, he could name it whatever he wanted. After a few minutes of figuring out where to park, I moved my brother to the backseat, earning a disgruntled squeak before he returned to his sleep. Armed with my slip of paper and docking number, I found an employee. It took several tries before I found someone who could help me, and he took my paper out of my hand, boarded the ship, and left me waiting like an idiot. I stayed out of the way of the people scurrying around, waiting to unload the freight containers, the kind I expected to be on a train.
The man brought me a box and handed it over. “Good luck. She’s a screamer.”
“Don’t I need to sign for her?”
“No.” He left me with the box, and I peeked inside, torn between furious anyone would just dump a baby in a box and hand her over to some strange cat lady and pleased I wouldn’t have to deal with more paperwork.
I took her to the car, buckled the box in, and pulled away the pale yellow blanket. A baby with tufts of curly black hair slept, and while she’d been dumped in a box, someone had made an effort to make a nest for her. Several diapers were crammed into the box at her feet along with a baby bottle and a jar filled with cream-colored powder.
I’d have to sort that mess out if I needed to feed her before handing her over, but I figured the CDC would be able to help me take care of the little girl as needed.
People sucked. At least Michael had foreseen the loss of my first scrap of paper, giving me the address for the CDC headquarters on a full page along with a statement relaying everything he’d told me.
The archangel’s signature shimmered on the page and glowed with a soft, gentle light.
It took me almost an hour to reach the CDC’s headquarters, where I parked in the public lot. The baby continued to sleep quietly. Unable to tolerate the thought of carrying her into the building in a fucking box, I put her diapers, bottle, and jar into my oversized purse along with my idiot brother, who squeaked his protests over being treated like cargo.
“Deal with it, Jonas. If you hadn’t been an idiot, you wouldn’t be in a tiny cage right now. We’ll talk after I handle this.”
I eased the baby out of the box, and aware she needed to have her head supported, I cradled her in my arms, cooing at her in case she woke.
She did, and she stared at me with dark eyes. She inhaled, and I braced for her screaming, but she cooed back at me instead.
I stroked her hair, startled at how soft and thick it was. “There’s a good little girl. Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
I hated I’d have to let her go, hated the lies I knew I told, and wondered how much trouble I’d get into if I just ran with her. I understood the basics.
The reality of my situation squished any hope of keeping her. With an entire mafia out for my brother’s blood, my need to deal with the Devil, and everything else life insisted on throwing at me, I wouldn’t be able to guarantee her next meal or clean diapers.
That wasn’t fair to her.
Damn it.
I didn’t even like babies. Babies weren’t cute—except she was, with her big dark eyes, her chubby little cheeks, and her whisper-soft coo and pudgy, reaching hands. She kicked at the blanket, wiggling in my arms.
With my free hand, I offered her my fingers as a toy. With surprising strength, she grabbed hold onto my fur, brought my palm to her face, and rubbed.
Why
couldn’t I take her home with me? Disgusted with everything about the situation, I forced a smile, pretended I didn’t want to cry, and kissed her forehead. “It’ll be okay, little baby.”
One day.
Maybe I’d make a second deal with the Devil, going behind the archangel’s back and making certain someone took care of her later in life. Maybe I could make the Devil go deal with the assholes who’d abandoned her.
I could work with that. What was one extra demand added to my list? If I could get the Devil to do the impossible with my brother, how much more could he possibly charge me for a good deed destined to ruin his reputation if anyone found out about it?
Storming the gates of hell and taking over seemed like my best and only option, because the Devil wouldn’t do a bunch of nice things without a damned good reason. Ruling over the Devil’s hells would be annoying, but I didn’t have to keep the place for all that long. He could have it back once I was done with it.
Of course, I might need it long enough to make a very warm reception for any assholes who hurt the little girl I held. Ruling hell for a minimum of eighteen years would annoy me, but some sacrifices were worth making.
The Devil would just have to live with being my minion until I finished my work and claimed her all for myself. With the baby drinking up attention, I spared the few extra minutes for her to satisfy her desire to try to mark my hand as her territory. Rather than cry, for either food or a diaper change like I expected from an infant, she yawned, gave a final kick or two, and resumed her nap.
The anger and resentment over my lot in life roiled to the surface, but I refused to frighten the baby. As always, I bottled everything inside, settled my purse over my shoulder, and carried her into the headquarters armed with the letter an archangel had written to make sure she got to where she needed to go without incident.
The security guard took one look at the note, paled, and asked me to sit and wait until someone came for me.
Within five minutes, an older gentleman in a pristine black suit with a red tie strolled over. I appreciated his lack of a smile; it somehow seemed more honest to me.
“I’m Francis Lemon. I have read the letter written on your behalf, and I’ve called to verify its authenticity. I’ve prepared the basic documentation, and as you’re her current guardian, you will need to sign them. With an archangel vouching for the situation and determining she is at risk without United States citizenship, the government has opted to naturalize her despite her lack of American ancestry. You will need to verify under oath that you retrieved her from the vessel, she had no one with her, and all of her possessions.”
“Are we counting some diapers and formula as possessions?”
“No.”
“She doesn’t have anything, then.”
Mr. Lemon scowled. “While we are aware that the household she is intended for has blood ties, we would like to take a few precautions to ensure she does not become a victim. With an archangel expressing concern, we have cause. However, it requires some paperwork, and there are some fees for the handling of the situation.”
The fees would be a problem, but I had my brother’s annoying car, and I already planned to make the mafia he’d tangled with kiss my pretty spotted ass. “How much?”
“A hundred a year.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. It mostly consists of a legal requirement for an agent to verify the whereabouts of the child until the age of sixteen, at which point she will be considered old enough to handle most matters on her own. It will require any future guardians to meet with the agent, with her in attendance, to ensure she has not been unlawfully sold. The penalties for violating this are quite severe. Considering the circumstances, it would be wise.”
“I’ll pay that. Can I pay the entire amount in advance?”
“Yes, you can do that. The payment will be due in thirty days.”
I did the mental math. If I scraped together every penny I had from every account I had, I would have enough—barely. I’d be stuck on paying for anything else, but I could make the payment on time. “Okay. That’s good. Where will I need to pay?”
Mr. Lemon pulled out a slip of paper and offered it to me, and I discovered it was a printed invoice for the first year of the service, a list of what the government would do in exchange for payment, and a file number. “Call the number on this invoice, and they will direct you on how to make a payment. If you’re paying by check or cash, you can bring it to any CDC or FBI building. Either agency can handle the payments for this. You may also take your payment to any United States courthouse for processing. If you’ll follow me, we’ll handle the signing of the paperwork, issue her passport, and take care of everything else she needs to ensure her general protection.”
“May I ask a question?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Isn’t this a little excessive? I mean, I tried to get my passport once. It was not easy.”
“You don’t have your passport?”
I shook my head. “My original birth certificate isn’t readily available, and I was a minor at the time I requested it. Seventeen. They needed a parental signature.”
“Estranged?”
“Orphaned.”
“What’s one additional passport being processed tonight? We have the ability to pull up vital records as necessary, so we’ll take care of that upstairs. We have angelic verification of your identity, so you won’t need a parental signature or supporting documentation. There will be a small fee to process the passport, but as there’s an angel involved, you’ll get to skip the expedition fees.”
Huh. For the first time in my life, was I actually experiencing the reward of having done a good deed? If I ever crossed paths with Michael again, I’d have to ask him about that. Aware of the archangel’s claims about the baby’s treatment, I kissed her head and rocked her. “Can I ask a possibly strange question?”
“Of course.”
“Is it possible to pay for more frequent checks on her? I don’t know the household she’s going to, but I don’t trust them.” I hesitated, but as I toed lines anyway, I added, “Michael gave me reason to believe there will be problems. But I can’t keep her.”
I wanted to.
I didn’t even understand why.
Mr. Lemon’s expression darkened. “Normally, I would say it’s not, but I will make an exception. The fee may be higher, but we have learned to trust the word of angels—and archangels. And archangels do not interfere with mortal affairs without good reason. How often would you like her to be checked on?”
“I would pay to have it done once a month if I could.”
If anything, only to make certain her future guardian walked a narrow line.
If something happened to her, I wanted to know—and I wanted to know immediately.
“I think an arrangement can be made, and I have a few ideas on how to make sure the guardian doesn’t do anything inappropriate. But the day she turns sixteen, she’ll be on her own. And if she were to run from a potential situation earlier? Well, arrangements can be made to make certain she is able to take care of the necessities. That can be extended later into life as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“When guardians are flagged as problematic enough a divine interferes, there are steps the government takes to smooth things over. When she’s sixteen, she’ll have an easier time with obtaining a driver’s license, especially in terms of permanent residency issues. She’d be able to get an exemption for her license, as well, in that she won’t have the curfews newer drivers face, as we can’t control her work hours. She’ll also be legally able to work at a younger age. It’s a permanent flag on her record, which employers, landlords, and the government sees if her name is run in the system.”
“She doesn’t have a last name.”
“That’s fine. We have a special form for that, so as long as her first name is unique, she has a birthdate in the system, and she has some other information, which the gover
nment will provide to her and only her, she’ll be able to function.”
“Will her lack of a last name be a problem?”
“No, not really. Not with the flag in place. Please come with me, and we’ll take care of this somewhere a little more comfortable. Will you want to take the baby to her new guardian yourself?”
If I met the guardian in my current mood, there would be a murder, I wouldn’t be able to storm the gates of hell to help my brother, and my life would be even more of a mess. “Can I decline? I’d rather this person understand the government is carefully watching her. However, if I could have a copy of her passport, birth certificate, and whatever other official documentation that is available for her, I’ll hold them safe for her.”
And, down the road, perhaps I could hunt for her and make sure she had a happy adulthood even though her childhood would be less than ideal. Something was better than nothing.
I could live with my guilt for that long—and once I had the Devil doing my bidding, I could make a real difference.
As far as plans went, I delved into the dark depths of insanity, but what was one more impossibility added to what I already intended to do?
“Yes, of course. I will make sure to send a pair with backup to impress upon the guardian that the CDC and FBI will be keeping a close eye on the situation.”
I allowed myself a grim smile. “I don’t suppose you can recruit an angel or devil or demon for that task, could you?”
“Normally, I would not mention something like this, but should you ever have children, ma’am, you’ll be one hell of a mother. You’ve gone into momma bear mode, and you haven’t even had custody of her for more than an hour or two at most.”