Color of Angels' Souls (38 page)

When they arrived in New York, Allison never mentioned Jeremy's name, to Flint's great relief. She told him her plan, and they went directly to the police department. Allison sat down on the desk of detective Bonham, the officer who had given her his card in front of her apartment building when she was still alive. She looked absolutely adorable in the white miniskirt Flint had made for her, with her long legs crossed gracefully over his stacks of files.

“OK, Flint,” she purred. “Let's see if you have more success with him than your little girlfriend Lili had with Ventousi.”

Flint frowned, choked down his wounded pride, and did as he was told. He began talking to the inspector in the firm voice the Angels used when they manipulated the living.

“There's something fishy about this case. That researcher at the lab, the student, and the trader have nothing in common. The researcher was in her fifties and had brown hair, the girl was blond and barely twenty years old, and the guy was brown-haired and twenty-three. Serial killers are very methodical; they don't just kill at random! The whole thing doesn't make any sense, and you just know that there's something you've missed. They found a prepaid cell phone on the killer; he'd received several calls from another prepaid cell phone. So it probably wasn't a serial killer, but a series of executions by a hit man. It's clear as day, Inspector!”

The officer, who was working on an entirely different case, frowned exactly as Flint had a few seconds earlier, and started talking to himself: “There's something strange about those prepaid cell phones. Serial killers almost always work alone, but it looks like this guy had plenty of friends. And what about that katana? That doesn't seem right either. That's a heavy-duty weapon. It's pretty drastic: He didn't even make his victims suffer. It was more like an execution: one
whack!
and it's all over, nice and neat. And what about all the stuff he was carrying? He had a bunch of knives, like a real pro. Without that girl and her lamp, we never would have had a clue.”

Flint nodded, satisfied with his work. The inspector was developing his theory, just as he'd wanted him to. The old Angel kept on talking: “When they went to talk to the kids at the school, you saw a name on the list of students, a name that you'd heard somewhere before. At the time, you didn't give it much thought because you thought the student teacher was the victim of a serial killer. But think, now! Wasn't there a Peter Ventousi on the list? Ventousi! Like the name of the pharmaceutical company where the researcher worked!”

Allison bowed her head slightly in admiration. The inspector suddenly jumped to his feet.

“There was something fishy about that list of students … now where could I have put it?”

He started sifting through the stacks of files on his desk, passing his hands right through the perfectly bronzed thighs of Allison, who found it all terribly amusing. Finally the officer found what he was looking for: a sheet of paper with a list of about twenty names on it.

He quickly read through it. His face lit up.

“Yes!” he yelled victoriously. “I
knew
I'd seen that name somewhere before! It only took about sixty seconds for me to find the connection between the two murders. Incredible. Peter Ventousi, the son of the guy who used to own the drug company, was in the class where the student teacher worked!”

“But that's not all, Inspector,” Flint whispered in his ear. “See if there isn't another name on the list that would connect it all back to the murder of Jeremy Galveaux …”

Flint turned back to Allison.

“What's his half sister's name again?”

“Tachini,” answered Allison, who was fascinated by how easy it was to manipulate the officer.

Flint repeated the information, and the inspector began checking his file against the list of names. For a second time he jumped up excitedly: “Holy shit! I had all the information right in front of me and never even saw it! Too much fucking pressure, too much work … ah, this fucking job! The mother got remarried, her name's Galveaux-Tachini, and one of Peter Ventousi's classmates is a little Tachini! All three murders are connected!”

He grabbed his jacket and his list and ran out the door like his pants were on fire. Flint gave Allison the victory sign.

“Good. Now all we have to do is go find a junky,” she smiled as she hopped down from the desk.

Flint didn't understand.

“A
what
? Why?”

Allison gave him a radiant smile.

“So we can take our detectives on a little fishing trip, of course!”

The rest was a piece of cake. Water was hardly an obstacle for Angels, who could see right through it as if it were air. Lili had told them the exact spot in the river where Ventousi had thrown his cell phone. Allison didn't know if the phone could be used as evidence by the police, but it was worth a try. Flint suggested to a junky that he hold up a grocery store, right across from the spot. The poor guy lost control of the situation when Allison, who was having the time of her life, filled the store clerk with almost superhuman courage and made him lunge at the robber. He fired in a panic, wounding the clerk in the shoulder, fled across the street to the riverside, and threw his weapon into the Hudson in front of witnesses before disappearing down a side street.

Allison waited patiently, and a few hours later she lent a hand to the police divers.

“It's not a revolver that you see there,” she whispered to the diver. “Oh no, it's a cell phone. That's weird. Now why would someone throw a brand new cell phone into the river? You should probably take it. You never know, maybe the guy who held up the grocery store threw it in along with his gun.”

Allison was delighted to see how easily she could speak to the living. She didn't say a word about it to Flint, who was so eager to show Allison how indispensable he was, but the power Caligula had given her was proving to be so potent that she never doubted for a second that she could get Ventousi to do what she wanted.

Except it would be much more amusing to watch him waste away in prison.

A cruel smile crossed her face as the diver made his way back to the surface, after she had also shown him where the junkie's gun was located.

Once the police had gotten their hands on Ventousi's phone, the rest was easy to orchestrate. Fortunately, the police had received a new software program a few months back that cross-referenced all the phone numbers that had been made to or from crime scenes, and highlighted them in red. As soon as the numbers from the phone were entered into the computer, the program indicated that one of the numbers belonged to the “grim reaper,” as all the newspapers were now calling Khan.

And so they sent an e-mail to Inspector Bonham.

Six hours later the cell phone was already at the forensics lab, and the next morning they were able to identify a fingerprint. Despite the protests of his lawyers, Ventousi was forced to provide a set of his own prints. Unluckily for him, they matched. It wasn't enough evidence to keep him locked up, but they put the screws on him to try to force a confession. The thick clouds of Mist that emanated from Ventousi were pure anguish, and Allison fed off him hungrily, stuffing herself so much that an anxious Flint finally had to pull her away.

“Thanks to Caligula, you're already red enough,” he told her. “Be careful! If you eat too much you'll disappear. I didn't do all this to lose you now, my pretty.”

He continued to see her as a little Cherub whom he would be able to manipulate however he wanted. An obedient little Barbie doll that would keep under his heel. Allison continued to obey him, thinking all the while that the wake-up call for Flint was going to be … very difficult. For the time being, she still needed him to get her revenge, and once she had, he would truly understand what it meant to suffer.

The wheels of justice were now slowly turning, and there was nothing more they could do for the moment. Allison suggested they head back to Washington for phase two of her transformation. She had loathed the first phase, but the power it had given her was so exhilarating that she wanted even more. Much more than the Mist, the almost limitless power she could feel coursing through her had become a drug. A hard drug.

As for Flint, he had no intention of allowing Allison to see Caligula again, but he agreed to return to Washington because he had finally received the message he had been waiting for over the last three months. It was a note from Lili, carried by one of her “pets,” a certain Connor. He had quickly flown to New York to give Flint her message, but didn't look any too happy about it. He quietly passed along the information to Flint while Allison was busy with the inspector interrogating Ventousi.

One of these days, an Angel would have to invent some reliable form of communication in this world, because it was bothersome to always have to leave notes made of Mist to let other Angels know his whereabouts, or be forced to use messengers. Ever since the living had invented portable phones, Flint had been itching to get his hands on one.

The note was from Lili, who was ecstatic. And victorious.

Mission accomplished. He's all mine.

Flint rushed Allison onto the first flight back to Washington the next morning. She couldn't understand why he was suddenly in such a hurry, but was only too happy to comply since it would bring her closer to the source of her newfound power. When they arrived, Flint immediately took her to a luxurious apartment she had never been to before and ushered her right into the bedroom, where she saw two people with familiar faces, still lying in bed in each other's arms.

Lili.

And Jeremy.

Flint couldn't help but grin as he contemplated their two naked bodies, while Allison scowled down at them with utter contempt. But Jeremy was already taking action. He sprang from the bed, crashed headlong into Allison at full speed, dematerialized, and pulled her through a series of walls along with him. Before she had time to react, they had tumbled headfirst down an elevator shaft, just as Jeremy had planned. Lili's apartment was on the top floor of a fifteen-story apartment building, and the brief fall nearly knocked both of them senseless. It may not have been very gentlemanly of him, but as they were plummeting earthward he had made sure Allison would be on the bottom. The impact only left her groggy for a few minutes—he knew she wouldn't really be hurt.

Spurred on by a sense of urgency and danger, he threw her over his shoulder and sped off while Flint howled with rage, making all the Angels in the vicinity shudder.

Jeremy had prepared his plan well in advance. He soon reached the place where he had hidden the Mist chair (luckily for him, Lili never went into her kitchen, or she might have wondered where it was), and had also stashed the bonds he would use to tie down Allison. He needed to make sure she didn't disappear before he could explain everything to her.

When she finally came to her senses, the young woman found herself tied in a chair. With bonds of Mist. Strong bonds. Furious now, she glared at Jeremy in his ridiculous loincloth. Because of the little fool's stupid plan, she had lost her cool new shoes, ripped her super Mist dress, and somehow threw out her back, even despite her new powers.

He would soon regret it.

Allison looked around the dark space where he had imprisoned her. A small, barred window near the ceiling lit the gloomy room, and no living humans or Angels were anywhere to be seen. They must have been in a cellar, and it was probably Jeremy who had brought the Mist chair she was sitting on.

He stared at her longingly.

“Allison, I missed you so much!”

She only stared at him with contempt; he was careful not to get too close, even if she could tell he was dying to put his arms around her.

“Yeah, I could tell, Jeremy, after what I just saw in the bedroom!” she jeered.

“Oh, that?” he smiled. “I did it on purpose, of course! It was the only way I could get you to come back. If I hadn't, Flint never would have let you go.”

OK. He was right about that. She raised an eyebrow.

“You slept with Lili, and your excuse is that you only did it to see me again? You've got a lot of nerve, pal!”

Despite her jealousy, Allison couldn't help but admire Jeremy. He told her the truth, so simply, without the slightest hint of regret.

“Allison, they've been toying with us right from the start,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “When Flint carried you in his arms because you were afraid of heights, he clouded your mind. And I'll bet you all the Mist in the world that the idea of running away in the middle of the night without telling me wasn't yours, was it?”

Allison didn't answer, her mind going a mile a minute. She suddenly realized that, every time Lili or Flint had touched her, she had been filled with rage—a thirst for vengeance that was so foreign to her nature. Ah, the clever old fox! Flint had really pulled the wool over her eyes. That said, she didn't regret it. She would take the new Allison, so strong and determined, any day over the puny and frightened little idiot she'd been her whole life.

“… and so,” continued Jeremy, whom she hadn't been listening to, “I realized that two could play at that game, and that it was time I started doing the manipulating. And it worked. I spent the night with Lili and you arrived the next morning at the crack of dawn. Like magic. Flint fell into my trap—I knew that he was still in contact with Lili!”

Jeremy looked very satisfied with himself. Allison started to test her bonds. She didn't feel like talking anymore. Especially not with a little twerp like him.

“You realize these bonds won't hold me for long, don't you?” she growled like a caged animal.

“But long enough for you to listen to me. Allison, they were leading us on! Flint is—”

“Madly in love with me!” Allison cut in brutally. “So crazy about me that he took me to see Caligula, who has been force-feeding me his power for the last three months. Which is why I can do … this!”