Heaven and Hellsbane (16 page)

My brain spun and for an instant time seemed to stop, creeping forward horror-movie slow. Fred’s angelic sword sailed in a wide arch toward the woman on the floor, her mouth stretched open in a soundless scream.

I couldn’t move fast enough to stop him. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough even if I could. But just before his sword met the woman’s throat, another sword materialized to collide with Fred’s, and out of nowhere Eli’s body stood protectively between the avenging angel and his target.

In one quick move Eli parried and attacked, driving the other angel away. Fred slammed into the brass railing. As fast as the action started, it stopped, as though one of them called a mental timeout.

“Interfering again, Elizal?” Fred straightened, tugging the bottom of his jacket and lowering his sword to his side.

“Stopping you from making a grave error. This woman is not a gibborim. She can still be saved,” Eli said.

“Can she be saved? Perhaps. Should she be saved? Wisdom suggests not. I think you do not grasp the severity of the situation. These gibborim have already bested magisters. With angelic swords it is conceivable for them to move on all seraphim, on the Council itself. They must be stopped. All of them, including those who possess the mere potential.”

“That’s not your call, Fraciel. You were given leave to destroy the gibborim only. The others, potential or not, are to be left unharmed.” He turned and strode back to the woman, reaching a hand out to her. “I can save you, but in return you must sacrifice some of the life you now know. You must dedicate yourself and your power to making amends for the sin of your existence. Do you agree?”

I wanted to scream at the lady,
Don’t do it! Don’t do it!
But I knew it was the only way. She was a loose cannon the way she was. Either Eli would let her be marked as an illorum, or the demon Bariel would eventually mark her as a gibborim. I liked to think she’d live longer as an illorum once she took and used the sword Eli would give her.

The woman blinked up at him, her gaze flicking from his hand to his face and back again. After a few tense seconds she reached out and slipped her hand into his.

“Another female?” Fred asked.

“Another nephilim,” Eli countered and a spike of jealousy squeezed my chest. I breathed through it, knowing it was wrong in so many ways. He tucked the shocked woman under his arm and looked at me. “Your business meeting is waiting in the lobby. Good luck.”

“Very well, Elizal, take her,” Fred said, as if he had a say in it. “But this matter is not resolved. I will rejoin you shortly, Emma Jane.”

The next instant, Eli vanished with the girl under his arm and half a heartbeat later Fred disappeared too. The elevator lurched into motion again—I hadn’t even realized it had stopped. A warning bell dinged just as the shiny doors slid open and a collective sigh hissed over the crowd clogging the hallway outside.

“Finally,” someone said followed by other mumbled agreements.

Dan pushed to the front. “Emma, are you okay?”

I stepped out and let him lead me through the crush of people. “Yeah. What happened?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said.

I shrugged. “Oh. Nothing. I mean, well, you know…” I leaned in to him and whispered, “Angels. But it’s taken care of. Did Gertrude show up?”

“Yeah. She’s over here.” We crossed the glimmering lobby to the striped chairs and Fred who’d already teleported to where we’d been waiting.

Gertrude Newberry was not what I expected. By the name I’d pictured a wrinkled sixty-year-old shuffling around in a maid’s uniform struggling to make ends meet in the same job she’d held for the past thirty years. I mean, who gets ahead with a name like Gertrude?

The shapely, thirtysomething woman in a formfitting business dress and red-soled, black heels, was not a person who should be named Gertrude. Lara Croft? Maybe. Attila the Hun? For sure. But Gertrude? Hell no. She wielded the clipboard and walkie-talkie in her hands like a sword and shield.

“Miss Newberry?” Dan said and the woman turned, removing her designer glasses in a graceful, sexy move she’d probably practiced.

A warm wash of desire rolled through me and it took a half beat before I realized it was coming from Dan. I glanced from him to Gertrude and back again and my belly soured. I clenched my jaw, biting back anger, and turned my full attention on Attila the Gertrude. Jealousy’s so not my color, but I hadn’t been prepared for competition.

“It’s Miss,” she said. She wore her caramel-brown hair in a tight bun at the crown of her head and just enough makeup to soften the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her lipstick was understated, her eye shadow a perfect complement to her hazel eyes, and her cheekbones were high enough to make any model envious.

“Sorry,” Dan said, grinning before throwing me a sheepish glance. He cleared his throat, flattening his flirty expression. “
Ms.
Newberry is the hotel’s events manager, among other things.”

“Hi, Ms. Newberry,” I said, maturely offering my hand. “I’m Emma Hellsbane.”

She shook hands like a teamster—short, strong, then release. “Yes. Officer Wysocki said you hoped I could identify someone in a photo?”

“Right.” I dug the picture from my back pocket, unfolding it to show her. “This man. I know it’s blurry, and it would’ve been like, twenty-four years ago.”

She flinched from looking at the picture to stare at me. “How old do you think I am?”

“Oh. No. I realize you weren’t working here at the time. But I thought maybe he was still around when you started, or, I don’t know, maybe you have a record of former employees you can check.”

She leaned over the photo again, slipping her glasses back on and studying it for another few seconds. She straightened. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t think he was ever an employee. But I can tell you where he did work.”

“How?”

She pointed at the photo, and the bright orange tag he wore on a lanyard around his neck. “I recognize that ID color. We host a lot of events for different companies. That’s the one the Bedford Conglomerate uses.”

“Bedford?” The name was familiar and I looked to Fred, trying to remember where I’d heard it.

As though he’d listened to the question in my thoughts he said, “Perhaps Elizal mentioned the name in association with his, uh…student…
Joan
.”

I shuffled through information and memories filed away in my brain. Joan of Arc—Eli had told me a Fallen calling himself the Duke of Bedford was responsible for her torture and death. But that’s not where I’d heard the name last.
Where was it?

Then it hit me. Last year on the island of Capri, Italy, Eli had walked a thin line between invested observer and interference when he’d teleported me out of reach of an attacking demon horde. They’d been posing as Bedford Company employees on a business a trip.

But before he whisked me to safety Eli had said that he’d recognized the Fallen with them acting as the company’s CEO. He knew him only by the human persona he’d adopted when they’d first met—John of Lancaster, first Duke of Bedford.

The Bedford Company.
The Duke of Bedford.
Could this be a picture of the fallen angel who’d killed Joan of Arc? Was my angelic father—the angel I’d spent the past year searching for—the same Fallen who’d allowed Eli the precious seconds he needed to save my life last summer? But why?

“Maybe you could check with them,” Gertrude said. “Those places usually have employee files with photo IDs. He might still be with them. Who knows, you might get lucky.”

Lucky. Who me? Not friggin’ likely.

Chapter Sixteen

It wasn’t long after I’d hung out my shingle and started my career as an intuitive consciousness explorer that I realized being a psychic is a lot like being a doctor. The second people find out what you do, they ask for free advice.

“Are you Madame Hell… something? That psychic lady Channel Six did a story on a while back?”

I’d done the interview with the cute guy from WTAE three years ago to try to drum up business. It’d worked, even if he had treated the interview about as seriously as if he’d been interviewing a dancing monkey or a talking horse. Whatever. Turns out, there really is no such thing as bad press. But after that I stuck to print ads in the local papers and yellow pages.

Intuitive Consciousness Explorer

Explore your past, present, and future.

Don’t pay for the answers you want. Get the answers you need from Madame Hellsbane.

Call for an appointment or party rates: 412-Hel-bane

Today though, I’d cleared my schedule to do some major sleuthing on my laptop. Dan had gotten me access to the Bedford Company mainframe computer and their employee records folder. The face-recognition program he’d
lent
me had spit out three possible matches to the blurry photo I had of the man who was possibly my angelic father. But—because my life often sucks…and hard—only two of the possibilities actually had photos for me to compare.

The missing mug turned out to be none other than the CEO of The Bedford Company.
Of course it did.
Apparently, he wasn’t required to submit a photo. And since the program couldn’t eliminate him, it listed him as a possible match. Not exactly damning evidence.

I needed a picture to show Eli. I needed a picture to see for myself if he was the same Fallen from last summer. But just in case I was totally wrong, I wanted to check out the other two as well. See if I could figure out where they were twenty-four years ago, see if there was anything weird about them.

Weird, in this case, was a good thing. It meant that they might not be human, and not human would likely mean fallen angel. Finding Daddy dearest was the only way I’d be free of all this angel-and-demon crap and have half a shot at a normal relationship with Dan—if I could convince him to give us another try. That’s all I wanted. I was almost positive about that.

Still, I didn’t see why I couldn’t cyberstalk these guys while catching some rays at Pittsburgh’s Point State Park, and listening to the live bands they had playing for the regatta. But I wouldn’t get anywhere if I was busy doing free readings for every half-naked boat freak who recognized me.

Unfortunately, however, a potential client also meant money, and I certainly wasn’t allergic to that.

I slid my wide-rimmed sunglasses down to the tip of my nose and squinted up at the half-dressed couple from my beach towel. “Madame Hellsbane. Yep. That’s me.”

The girl jabbed her elbow into her guy friend’s ribs and smirked. “See, I told you.”

The guy gave a halfhearted shrug, unaffected. They were both about nineteen, maybe twenty. He was cruisin’ the park in his Bermuda bathing suit bottoms—buff, muscled chest bare—and she had her tiny, red bikini top and jean short-shorts. If they were dating, it wouldn’t last long. They were both trying way too hard to attract attention—
anyone
’s attention.

“Can you tell me if my boyfriend is going to propose to me this weekend?” the girl asked.

I looked from her to the guy next to her and back again. “I take it this isn’t your boyfriend?”

“No.” She snorted, though the guy didn’t look nearly as amused. “This is Jamie. My boyfriend is Mike. He’s way hot. He drives a Mustang. Jamie drives his mom’s minivan.”

“I told you, that’s only temporary.” Poor Jamie’s tan cheeks flushed.

The girl shrugged and focused on me. “So can you?”

I pushed my sunglasses up and folded my legs yoga-style. “Call him.”

“Huh?” she said.

“Call your boyfriend on his cell.” I set my laptop beside me. “I need him to be thinking of you to get a reading.” I didn’t really. I could follow her thoughts of the guy to him, but it would speed things up if he were already thinking of her when I searched for specific answers.

She pulled a pink cell phone from her back pocket but didn’t look like she wanted to use it. “What do I say?”

“Anything. Say hi. I don’t know,” I said. “Whatever. Tell him it’s you. That should be enough.”

“Don’t do it, Katie,” Jamie said, crossing his arms under his thick pecs. “He told you he’d be studying. Besides, this kind of thing is just a scam anyway.”

I glared at him despite the fact that he couldn’t see my eyes behind my dark glasses. “You guys interrupted my day to ask for a free read, not the other way around. You don’t like the way I do it, go find another psychic trying to get a decent tan somewhere in the park.”

He huffed with a quick
pfft
…and looked away while Katie dialed Mike.

Just for shits and giggles I opened my senses to Jamie. Something had him wearing a sourpuss, and I couldn’t help nosing around in the top layer of his thoughts to find out what.

His thoughts screamed through my head as easily as if he’d been projecting them through a bullhorn.
Finally, a whole day without that douchebag making her nuts and this crazy chick tells her to call him. Jeezus, I hope he’s really studying. This could go bad fast. Katie doesn’t deserve this shit.

“Mike?” Katie said into her cell phone and her gaze flicked to mine. “It’s me…Katie. I uh…just wanted to say hi and um, see how the studying was going.”

Katie’s thin, sculpted brows creased and a few seconds of awkward silence passed. “Mike? What was that? Is there someone at the apartment with you?”

I closed my eyes and called on my power, reaching deep inside me to that swell of energy that wasn’t human but was as much a part of me as my arms and legs and heart. Like the nylon string of a fishing pole I cast my power out, following the mental connection from Katie across the city to Mike—finding her words, her name, her image echoing through his mind. Once I’d found him he was as easy to read as if he was standing at my side…at least it was easy for me.

God, did she really hear Amy laughing?
Mike thought.
Shit, I seriously don’t feel like dealing with her paranoia. Thank God, Amy’s not like that. Maybe if Katie trusted me a little more I wouldn’t have to cheat just to get a break from her crazy shit.

I closed my mind to the dirtbag before I caught an STD or something. “You can hang up.”

Katie blinked at me, nodding, “Sss…sorry, honey. I’ll call you later and explain.”

She hung up and slipped her phone back into her pocket, flashing a hopeful smile. “So is he? Is he going to propose to me this weekend after he takes his last final?”

Jeezus, I hope not.
My gaze flicked to Jamie, and a hunch had me reaching out to his thoughts again.

That jerk doesn’t deserve her. I’d have cut him loose a long time ago if it weren’t for her. What the hell makes him so special? Why can’t she go for a decent guy like me?

Why’s this Hellsbane chick staring at me like that?
“What?”

It took a half second to realize he’d said it aloud. “Oh. Nothing.” I looked back at Katie. “To answer your question…I don’t know.”

Jamie snorted. “Knew it.”

I ignored him. “I
do
know that if he does pop the question, I’d advise that you think long and hard before you give him an answer.”

“Why?” Her big, long-lashed, eyes blinked slowly.

“Because driving a Mustang doesn’t necessarily make him a good husband. And because there just might be someone better for you out there.” I glanced at Jamie. “Someone who’s just waiting for you to notice him. Someone closer than you think.”

Katie followed my head turn, her skinny brows going high just as my phone rang. I dug it out of my bag and saw the number. “Sorry, guys. I’ve gotta take this.”

I thumbed the accept button. “Hey, Dan. What’s up?”

“Nothing good,” he said. He was using his cop voice—cold, emotionless. “There’s been an…incident. I need you to meet me.”

My stomach did that weird quivering thing it does when my sixth sense kicks in telling me things were about to get dicey. “Sure. Where?”

§

After having spent the last hour answering the questions of Detective Ed Yearly, who just showed up on my doorstep flashing his badge and saying things like official police business, and ongoing investigation, like I was a perfect stranger, I got a call from Dan telling me to meet him downtown at the bus terminal. I still wasn’t sure what was going on when I parked in the lot outside of the Greyhound bus terminal and walked through the front doors only to be stopped a few steps in by Dan’s buddy, Officer Weinbaum.

“Hey, Larry. Dan called me down. What’s going on?” My gaze skipped past him to the cluster of cops at the door to the bus bay outside, then farther down the terminal to where several other cops had separated witnesses to get statements.

“Ms. Hellsbane. Yeah. I’ll let Officer Wysocki know you’re here. He’ll fill you in. Have a seat.” He gestured to the molded plastic seats along the wall, as he squeezed the trigger button on his shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie. “Wysocki. She’s here.”

Ms. Hellsbane?
That probably wasn’t a good sign. Crap. I kinda hoped I’d win Dan back before we started dividing up the friends. “Larry, what happened? What’s all the fuss about? Give a girl a little heads-up.”

“Just have a seat, ma’am.”

“Um, okay. Whatever I can do to help,
Officer
.” I smiled at him and took a seat, trying to ignore the feeling that I was being treated like a suspect.

I looked back down the long terminal—the florescent lights overhead washing everything in a sickly light. One by one I met cop eyes before they turned away. Everyone getting a good look at the
She
Larry had announced was here.

Perfect.
I straightened, crossed my legs, and folded my arms, head high. Then I found an interesting spot on the wall across the aisle from me to study.

“Emma.”

“Dan.” I flinched, then sighed in relief, happy to see a trusted face. I pushed to my feet. “What on earth is going on? No one will tell me anything and you sounded so…official over the phone.”

“There’s been a murder,” he said. “At least we think it was murder. Several actually. Truthfully we don’t know what the hell happened.” He huffed, exasperated. “Just follow me. See for yourself.”

My stomach clenched, sixth sense kicking into high gear. We walked down the terminal toward the doors to the bus bay. The small cluster of cops and witnesses moved aside, staring as we passed. Curiosity got the better of me and I called up my power, tapping into the cloud of thought floating through the ether inside the terminal.

She’s the one,
someone thought.

That’s Madame Hellsbane, the woman from the ad,
came another person’s thoughts.

Do the cops think it’s her fault? Did she kill them?

They’re all connected to her.

Those are the ugliest shoes I’ve ever seen.

I refused to glance down at my vintage moccasins and followed Dan through the glass door. There were more cops standing around outside and at least five marked cars—lights flashing, engines idling in the large covered bus bay.

The Greyhound terminal was normally loud with the constant coming and going of buses. But this time there were only two parked in the long spots—one nearest the terminal doors—windows dark, engine off—and one at the far end. Unlike the nearer bus, the other bus had its internal lights on, and inside a light flashed every few seconds from the police photographer’s camera.

I could see him and at least two other men inside the bus as we neared—one talking, the other taking notes. But there was something splashed inside the windows making it harder to see through in spots.

Dan stopped at the bus door—one foot resting on the first step, his latex-gloved hand gripping the silver bar railing. He looked back at me and dug a set of blue crime-scene gloves from his back pocket and shoved them in my direction. “Put these on. I should warn you, this is bad. Real bad. I’m only showing you because I think it might have something to do with your…area of expertise and I thought you might get a better…I don’t know, read on it if you were at the scene.”

I swallowed hard and nodded as I slipped on the thin rubber gloves. Everything inside me screamed to turn around and walk away…run away, but I followed Dan up the black nonslip steps and turned just as he stepped aside into the front seat. Suddenly I had an unobstructed view and I almost puked.

“You okay?” he asked.

My hand to my mouth, I forced the bile out of the back of my throat and did my best to nod. The three officers I’d seen from outside looked up at the sound of Dan’s voice and took it as a cue to leave. I sidestepped into the driver’s seat as they filed past, gripping the privacy shield behind the seat to keep my knees from giving out.

The men’s quick retreat brought the odor of rancid meat in an invisible wave behind them. The stench wafted over me, and my stomach protested again, shooting bile up my throat, making me swallow it back.

“Sorry about the smell,” Dan said. “The bus was left running with the air on, but it’s pushing eighty-five out there today and the records show that this bus got in last night. Doesn’t take long for a dead body to start decomposing.”

I nodded again and forced myself out from behind the driver’s shield. God, I didn’t want to see this. How could this have anything to do with me? I hunted fallen angels, demons, creatures that bled white mist or black ooze.

There was so much blood.

I stopped at the second row of seats, any farther and I’d step in something I didn’t want to identify. I counted twelve victims—the nearest sat alone at the window in the third seat, most of the others were farther back side by side. All of them were headless.

“What the hell happened?” I wasn’t positive that I’d said it aloud until Dan answered.