Fallen Angels 01 - Covet (55 page)

When it seemed like he had himself under nominal control, Quinesha didn't ask a lot of questions. She just gave Gretchen one of her quick, hard hugs, asked if there was anything she could do, and hit the road when she was thank-you-but-no'd from the heart.

Gretchen locked the door up and put her purse down on the ratty wing chair by the TV. As Vin let his head fall back and his lids crash down, she was not surprised when he took a series of long, deep recovery breaths and held otherwise completely still.

“You want the bathroom?” she asked, hoping he didn't have to throw up again.

When he shook his head, she went into the kitchen, got a glass out of the cupboard, and filled it full of ice. Courtesy of her son, there were two things she always had in the house: ginger ale and saltines, also known as mother's cure-all. Even though Robbie was homeschooled, he played with other kids at the Y, and the sitters all had children who came down with flus and colds and stomach bugs. A mom never knew when she might need the magic combo.

Cracking open a fresh can of Canada Dry, she poured the soda over the ice and watched the fizz go crazy and foam up right to the top of the glass. As she waited for things to settle, she got out a sleeve of the crackers and put a two-inch stack on a folded paper towel.

Just as she was topping off the glass again, she heard Vin's gravelly voice from the living room:

“Hi.”

Her first instinct was to rush in to reassure Robbie—but she knew if she made it look like there was a problem, she'd only make things more dramatic than they already were going to be. Picking up what she'd gotten for Vin, she forced herself to walk calmly into the living room.

Robbie's hair was sticking up in the back as it always did when he got out of bed, and his Spider-Man pj's made him look smaller than he really was because she'd purposely bought them two sizes bigger than he needed.

Standing just inside the room, he was focused on their guest, his eyes wary, but curious.

God...her heart was pounding and her throat was tight and the ice in the ginger ale was rattling from the way her hand shook.

“This is my friend Vin,” she offered quietly.

Robbie glanced back at her and then refocused on the couch. “That's a big Band-Aid. You gots a cut?”

Vin nodded slowly. “I do.”

“From what?”

Gretchen opened her mouth, but Vin got there first with an answer. “I fell down and hurt myself.”

“That why you gots the sling, too?”

“Yeah.”

“You don't look so hot.”

“I don't feel so hot.”

There was a long pause. And then Robbie took a step forward. “Can I look at your Band-Aid?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Though it clearly cost him a lot of agony, Vin moved the strap of the sling off his shoulder and slowly unbuttoned his borrowed shirt. Peeling the cloth back, he exposed the padding and gauze and tape.

“Wooooooooow,” Robbie said, walking all the way over and reaching out. “Don't touch him, please,” Gretchen said quickly. “He's hurting.”

Robbie retracted his hand. “I'm sorry. You know...my mom's good at healing my cuts.”

“Yeah?” Vin said roughly.

“Uh-huh.” Robbie glanced over his shoulder. “See? She already gots the ginger ale.” Dropping his voice down to a whisper, he added, “She always gives me ginger ale and saltines. I don't really like 'em all that much, but I usually feel better after I eat 'em.”

Gretchen went over to the couch and put the crackers on the table next to Vin. “Here. This'11 steady your stomach.”

Vin took the glass and looked at Robbie. “You okay with me hanging on your couch for a little while? Truth is, I'm really tired and I need a place to rest.”

“Yeah. You can stay here till you're all better.” Her son put his hand out and introduced himself. “I'm Robbie.”

Vin extended his good arm. “Nice to meet you, my man.” After they shook, Robbie smiled. “I have an idea, too.”

As he headed out of the room, she said, “You want to get changed out of your pj's, please?”

“Yes, Mom.”

It took every ounce of control for Gretchen not to do the whole snatch and hug thing as he passed by—but he was behaving as the man of the house, and seven-year-olds deserved to have their pride. “You think that went okay?” Vin asked softly.

“I really do.” She blinked fast and sat down next to him. “And please drink some of that.”

Vin clasped her hand in a fast squeeze and then took a sip. “I don't think I'm up for the saltines.”

“We can wait on those.”

“Thank you...for letting me meet him.”

“Thank you for being so good with him.”

“I'll stay on the couch, okay?”

“Yup and we can do our lessons in the kitchen. I home-school him, and today's Monday.”

“I love you,” Vin said, turning his head to face her. “I love you so goddamn much it hurts.” She smiled and leaned in, kissing him. “That might just be your shoulder talking.”

“No, it's closer to the center of my chest. I think...it's called the heart?

Not sure, as I haven't had one before.”

“I believe that would be the heart, yes.”

There was a pause. “You still going to move into my farmhouse?”

“If it's still okay with you, yes.”

“You mind having someone else in one of the guest rooms while you're there? You know, a fellow tenant? It's a big place, and there's this maid's room over the kitchen that he could use while you and Robbie have the whole run of the second floor. And I can vouch for the guy. He's neat and clean, quiet, respectful. Known him a long time. He's trying to get his life back together and is going to need a place to stay.”

She stroked his face, and thought they hadn't known each other for all that long if you counted the hours...but considering what they'd been through, it was as if everything needed to be measured in something like dog years. Or more.

“I think that would be great.”

They kissed again quickly and he said, “If it doesn't work, I'll leave right away.”

“Somehow I think it's going to be fine.”

Vin smiled and sipped a little more. “I haven't had ginger ale in years.”

“How's your stomach—”

Robbie came back down, still in his pj's. “Here, this'll help!”

As he held out his favorite Spider-Man comic book, Gretchen took the soda so that Vin could accept the gift.

“This looks really cool,” Vin murmured as he put the comic on his lap and opened the first page. “It'll take your mind off things.” Robbie nodded as if speaking from decades of experience. “Sometimes when you hurt, you need distraction.”
Distraction
came out
discrackshion.

“I gotta go get ready for school. You stay here. Drink that. Mom and I will check on you.” Robbie marched out of the room like he'd arranged everything. And just like that, Vin was in like Flynn.

Again with the fresh grass.

Although at least this time, Jim knew where the fuck he was.

As he opened his eyes and got a whole lot of bright green and fluffy, he turned his face to the side and took a clear, deep breath. His whole body hurt, not just where he'd taken the bullet, and he waited for things to quiet down a little before he attempted any flashy moves like...oh, lifting his head or some shit.

Guess this facedown business meant he was really dead—

A pair of perfectly polished white bucks overtook his visual field, and above the natty shoes, a set of linen slacks pressed with a knife edge hung with the perfect break at the ankles.

The bottom cuffs were jacked up sharply, and then Nigel knelt on his haunches. “How lovely to see you again. And no, you'll be going back down again. You have more missions ahead of you.”

Jim groaned. “Am I going to have to die first before I come here every time? Because no offense, but for fuck's sake, I can just give you a cell phone to call.”

“You did very well,” Nigel said. The

man...angel...whatever...extended his hand. “Very well indeed.”

Jim gave the springy ground a shove and turned himself over. As he shook what was offered, the sky was so bright he blinked fast and let go quickly so he could rub his eyes.

Man...what a trip it all had been. But at least those two people were okay.

“You left out one crucial piece of information,” he said to the angel.

“The crossroads was mine, wasn't it. When that bullet went flying, the key choice in all this was mine, not Vin's.”

“Yes, it was. When you chose to save her over yourself, that was the critical turning point.” Jim let his arms flop down at his sides. “It was a test.”

“You passed, incidentally.”

“Go, me.”

Colin and the other two dandies came over, and all three of them were dressed as Nigel was, in pressed white slacks with cashmere sweaters that were peach and yellow and sky blue, respectively. Nigel's top half was done in coral.

“You guys ever wear camo?” Jim grunted as he propped himself up on his palms. “Or does that offend your sensibilities.”

Colin knelt down and actually put his knees right on the grass—which suggested Heaven had Clorox bleach in its laundry room. “I'm rather proud of you, mate.”

“As are we.” Bertie stroked his wolfhound's head. “You succeeded marvelously.”

“Marvelously indeed.” As Byron nodded, his rose-colored glasses winked in the diffused light. “But then I knew you were going to choose wisely. All along, I was sure, yes, I was.”

Jim focused on Colin. “What else are you guys hiding from me.”

“I'm afraid things are on a need-to-know basis, dear boy.”

Jim let his head fall back on his spine and he stared at the milky blue sky that seemed at once miles away and close enough to touch. “You don't by any chance know a fucker named Matthias, do you.”

As a soft breeze rolled on by and rustled through the blades of grass, the question went unanswered, so Jim struggled to get to his feet.

When Bertie and Byron leaned in to help him, he put them off even though his ass was about as steady as a pencil standing on its eraser.

Jim knew what was next. Another assignment. Seven souls out there and he'd saved one...or was it two?

“How many more do I have to take care of?” he demanded. Colin swept his arm over to the left. “See for yourself.”

Jim frowned and looked to the castle. On the top of its towering wall, curling in the breeze, was a massive triangular flag in brilliant red.

The thing was incredibly bright, as vivid as the green of the grass, and as it waltzed in the breeze, he was transfixed.

“That is why we wore pastels,” Nigel said. “Your first flag of honor is unfurled and nothing save the grass of the earth here should rival it.”

“That's for Vin?”

“Yes.”

“What's going to happen to them?”

Byron spoke up. “They're going to live out their days in love, and when they come herein, they shall spend an eternity together in joy.”

“Provided you don't cock things up with the other six,” Colin interjected, getting up. “Or quit.”

Jim leveled his finger at the guy like it was a gun. “I don't quit.”

“We shall see...we shall see.”

“You are such a prick.”

Nigel nodded gravely. “He very much is.”

“Because I am logical?” The angel didn't seem concerned at all—or
a

'tall,
as he would say—with the label. “There is a point in every endeavor when one feels the burn of too many vertical steps. We have all been there ourselves and so have you. We shall just hope that when you reach that point—”

“I'm not going to quit, asshole. Don't you worry about me.”

Nigel crossed his arms over his chest and stared flatly at Jim. “Now that Devina knows you and you've taken something from her, she's going to start targeting your weaknesses. This is going to get much harder and much more personal.”

“The bitch can bring it on, how about that.”

Colin grinned. “It is a bit of a shock we two don't get along better.”

Byron cleared his throat. “I think we should all just take a moment to support Jim as opposed to challenging him more. He has done a wonderful, brave thing, and I for one am quite proud.”

As Bertie started chiming in and Tarquin's tail wagged, Jim held out his palms. “I'm cool—Oh God, no hugging, no—”

Too late. Byron wrapped surprisingly strong arms around Jim and embraced him, and then Bertie was next, with Tarquin rising up and putting his paws on Jim's shoulders. The angels smelled good; he had to give them that—just like that smoke that had come from the cigars Eddie had lit up.

Fortunately, though, Nigel and Colin weren't the brothers-inside-arms types.

Sometimes you lucked out.

Funny, Jim was a little touched, though it wasn't like he'd admit it.

And abruptly, he was also ready to go back into battle. That flag, that tangible symbol of success, was a serious motivator for some reason—maybe because in his old life headstones were how he measured whether he was getting the job done, and that waving banner was far more attractive and uplifting.

“Okay, here's the deal,” he said to the group. “I've got something I need to do before my next case. I need to find a man before he gets killed for the wrong reasons. It's part of my old life and not the kind of thing I can walk away from.”

Nigel smiled, his strangely beautiful eyes locking onto Jim's as if they saw everything. “Of course, you must do as you wish.”

“So do I come back here after I'm done or...?”

More of that all-knowing smile. “Simply take care of things.”

“How do I get in touch with you?”

“Don't call upon us. We shall call upon you.”

Jim cursed under his breath. “You sure you don't know Matthias?”

Colin spoke up. “You do realize that Devina can be anything and anybody. Men, women, children, certain animals. She is pervasive in her numerous forms.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Trust no one.”

Jim nodded at the angel. “Not a problem, I got plenty of experience with that shit. One thing, though...do you guys actually communicate with me through the TV or did I lose my damn mind?”

“Godspeed, James Heron,” Nigel said, raising his palm. “You have proven yourself worthy against our enemy. Now do it again, you tough bastard.”