Last Breath (20 page)

Raven choked back a laugh. “Right. Dark Iron wouldn’t spend five hundred dollars if it would save his mother’s life. He’s cheap. He hates you, but you’re out of his hair. You’re not causing any problems. That idiot in Ellicott City was just yanking your chain. There’s no hit on you.”

Good. Because I hated looking over my shoulder.

“Three mages died, and now Bliss?” Raven shook her head in disbelief. “What’s the use of being affiliated with Haul Du if Dark Iron isn’t going to have your back in stuff like this? Word gets out that any of us who aren’t his buddies are fair game…? Shit, we cut the wrong person off in traffic, and that’s it.”

She was right. It made me glad for once that I was no longer with the group and that I had a different group who always had my back. Being a Templar carried weight, but it wasn’t just the organization as a whole that protected me, it was my family. The Elders might, like Dark Iron, turn the other way if I got killed doing something they didn’t agree with, but my family wouldn’t.

I wanted Raven to have that, too. “I’ve got your back. I might not have the skills of Dark Iron and other mages in Haul Du, but I’ve got a big sword and a whole lot of loyalty. Consider it my vow—I won’t ever turn away when you’re in trouble. And I would never let a wrongful death go unavenged.”

Her eyes sparkled, suddenly wet and she sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I chose Haul Du over our friendship. It’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

I reached across the table and grabbed her hands, nearly knocking my plate of Scotch eggs to the floor. “It’s all water under the bridge, Raven. I’m just glad to have my best friend back.”

I
was
glad. I felt like I could conquer the world with Raven by my side. I had my family, I had new gamer friends, I had a detective who actually believed me when I told him about demons and magic. And now I had my best friend.

And once this was all over, we were going to have a major catch-up session. When this was over. I took a deep breath, knowing there was still a crime to solve. “Okay, so what does any of this Dupont Circle stuff have to do with Bethany being murdered? Or Ronald Stull being killed by an angel?”

Raven’s eyes met mine. “That’s why I wanted you to meet me here. When you said angel, I wondered. And when I found out Bliss was dead… well I started to put two and two together.”

Thank goodness someone could. “I’m glad you’ve got answers because I have no idea what an angel has to do with any of this.”

Raven pushed back her seat and stood. “Pay for your Irish eggs and come with me. There’s something I want you to see.”

R
AVEN DROVE US
the six blocks to Bethany Scarborough’s one-story house on the edge of town. The impatiens hanging in baskets from the porch roof were wilted, but it was clear Bliss had taken great care with her home. The grass was mowed in even strips. Flower beds were weeded and mulched. The only smudges on the windows were where a huge calico cat sat, pressing her nose against the glass. Raven pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

“She gave me this a few months back to check on her cat while she was away at a conference.” Raven grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s an hour each way for me, but like I said, she is—was—so nice. She didn’t want to put Grace in a boarding kennel. I don’t blame her.”

Grace was the gigantic cat who greeted us with a loud squawk and circled around our legs. I bent down and picked her up, estimating the creature’s weight at nearly twenty pounds.

“Does no one feed you? Is poor kitty starving with her owner gone? Aww, sweetie.”

Raven grinned and motioned to the automatic feeder in the corner. “Bliss wasn’t one to say ‘no’ when it came to her fur baby. I swear that cat weighs more than I do.”

I stroked Grace’s soft fur, feeling the vibration of her purr against my hand. “Who’s going to take care of her with Bliss gone?”

Not me. Not with the no-pet clause in my lease. It was bad enough that I was summoning demons in my apartment. A cat would get me tossed out on the curb. But… oh how I missed having a pet. Back home there had been cats and dogs and horses galore. We’d snuck them into the house every chance we got, even the ponies. I’ll never forget Mom’s face the day she walked in on our Sheltland pony in the dining room munching the flowers in their vases.

“Bliss’s sister is coming up from Florida.” Raven smiled wistfully as she reached out a hand to scratch Grace under the chin. “I’d take her, but Rocket would eat her alive.”

“She’s twice the size of Rocket.” I’d met Raven’s Frenchie several times and marveled that such a sweet, energetic dog could harbor such a profound hatred toward everything feline.

I set the cat down on a nearby chair, feeling rather bummed that I wasn’t bringing her home with me. Lease or not, I missed having something, or someone, for company in my apartment. But I doubted Raven had brought me here to meet Bliss’s cat. As cute and obviously loved as the creature was, the calico wasn’t a familiar. It took the right animal, the right bond, and a substantial amount of time to create a familiar—so much time that many mages claimed it couldn’t be done, that any familiar had to be a pre-existing magic-imbued animal that came across the mage and chose them rather than the other way around.

“See?” Raven waved a hand around the room.

That’s when I actually looked. And saw. “Bliss was an
angel
-worshiper?”

Raven winced. “No! She felt they were the more appropriate spirit to commune with and to ask guidance of. No one knew but me. The only reason
I
knew is because I was taking care of her cat and stumbled across one of her charms.”

“So she hid all this when she went out of town?” I walked around the room, amazed. The prints that covered the walls were all of museum masterpieces—and all featured scenes that included angels. None of that would have hinted at more than a slightly obsessive interest had it not been for the sigils. Worked into the embroidered pillows, the drapes that covered the windows, the lampshades were sigils of angels. It was crazy.

“No. We’ve all got some protective work in our homes, and it’s not like anyone in Haul Du would recognize an angel sigil. After I found the charm, I looked a few up and figured it out.”

“Was she summoning them or something? Why else would she hide this from the group?” The only difference between this and what the rest of the members of Haul Du did was that there were no lesser angels. They were
all
big dogs, and they were
all
dangerous. It wasn’t that summoning a demon was preferable, it was that summoning something that didn’t have the power to destroy a small city in the time it took to exhale was preferable.

“What do
you
think Dark Iron would do if he found out Bliss, the mage who wouldn’t even attend a Goetic summoning, was communing with angels?”

I winced. She would have gotten tossed out. I’m surprised she hadn’t been tossed out the first time she refused to attend a Goetic summoning. Dark Iron didn’t like it when people didn’t follow his rules.

“And Bliss would never summon an angel.” Raven continued. “She did communicate with them, but it was always through the veil.”

That was a relief. Most demons refused to give you the time of day unless you brought them over, but angels must be different. Well, more than the usual differences when compared to demons.

“Do you think she might have summoned one out of fear? Maybe she knew the Baltimore group was after her, and brought forth an angel to protect her?”

Raven gave me a look. It was the look she gave me when I was so far off base it wasn’t even funny. “Bliss wasn’t an idiot, and she wasn’t incapable of defending herself. If she was worried about those mages she would have stepped up her home and personal defenses. She would have charged a set of charms, or an amulet. She wouldn’t have gone nuclear and summoned an
angel
.”

Yeah. I guess not. “Would it be okay to look around?”

Raven nodded. “That’s why I brought you here. I’m hoping between the two of us we can find something to let us know why Bliss was killed, who specifically in Fiore Noir killed her, and what Araziel has to do with any of this.”

I was pretty sure the list of names we had would lead us to who did it but I knew what Raven meant. Again I thought about the Stranger. Sometimes the one holding the knife wasn’t the real killer.

Raven picked up a statue from an end table and walked purposely into the bedroom. The room was Spartan compared to the frill I’d expected. White, French country style furniture lined the room. The powder-blue comforter and throw pillows were unadorned with lace or the embroidered sigils that filled the ones in the living room. Besides the reading lamps, the only object on any of the bedside tables was a book.

Leather-bound. And covered with enough magic to blow my hand clear off my arm if I touched it.

Raven raised the cat figurine and brought it down on the cover of the book. “
Aprire!
”

I ducked as bits of porcelain exploded across the room. The black leather of the book shimmered, then turned white.

“Rock beats paper,” Raven commented. I laughed, thinking how much I’d missed her. She picked up the book, brushing the porcelain dust from the cover before she handed it to me. “Here. You look through this while I check her kitchen and the downstairs.”

I didn’t argue. Yes, I was a Templar and all that, but Raven had decades of magical knowledge. After my disastrous afternoon with not one but two demons, I was happy to let her face off against any magical protections while I read Bliss’s grimoire.

I settled down on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the pops, crackles, and occasional yelps from the rest of the house. Each mage composed their personal grimoire according to their own needs. For some, it was simply a reference book of spells with notations about changes and additions, successes and failures. For others it was more of a diary, a memoir of their magical journey. Bethany Scarborough’s grimoire was the latter. Early pages were filled with charms, dates, and notes referencing other books. The more recent entries started halfway through the volume. I hesitated, realizing that she’d color-coded her sections from that point forward depending on which angel spirit she was working with.

It was fascinating. Bliss was careful, opening a line of communication with an angelic spirit that only allowed the pair of them to message back and forth. Early communications were through dreams and synchronicity, which meant Bliss had to do a considerable amount of interpretation. Slowly she winnowed her list of spirit contacts down until she was opening her mind in meditation to only a few of them.

The last month she’d only communicated with one angel—Araziel. The last entry had me catching my breath. She’d trusted the angel enough to open the veil and allow him through. She’d invited him in, allowed him physical entry onto this plane.

Angels weren’t like demons. They couldn’t be bound. They couldn’t be constrained within a circle. That’s why no one messed with them. Bliss had. Her grimoire was full of entries of how she and the angel had conversed about the nature of divinity, the issues surrounding humanity. One evening they’d discussed the smell of leaves after an autumn rain, the beauty of a sunset, how soft Grace’s fur felt under Bliss’s hand.

I shut the grimoire, feeling lost, tiny, inept. I’d known Araziel was off his divine leash, had seen his victims, but what was I going to do about it?

Bliss said she’d closed the veil leaving the angel on the other side, but not without a gift. When summoning demons, there was always an offering. Evidently there was similar protocol when inviting an angel into your presence. How had the angel remained? Everything in her grimoire painted Bliss to be a cautious mage. She wouldn’t have screwed up and left an opening for the angel to return. Or would she?

I rubbed the mark on my side, remembering how the smoke demon had appeared this afternoon. I hadn’t summoned him, and when I’d banished him last time I’d done it the Templar way. There were no loopholes, yet he’d been able to return today without my requesting his presence. He’d marked me, and evidently that gave him an opening through the veil so he could cross at will. I wondered if Bliss had been similarly marked?

Did… did angels do that? I know they were supposed to be spirits of good, full of God’s grace. But good was a rather subjective concept, and as a Templar we’d come to view angels with a wary eye.

I looked down at the white leather of the journal grimoire, smoothed my hand over the unmarked cover. Araziel. Maybe he’d marked Bliss with much kinder intentions than the demon had marked me. But even if he’d had good intentions, he’d killed. His role as a psychopomp, as a reaper of souls had taken a dark turn.

Or had it? Tremelay had said the two junkies had enough heroin in their system to have died anyway. And maybe Ronald Stull
had
been struck by lightning. That would make Araziel less of a murderer and more of a… I don’t know, a Kevorkian angel. Not that I condoned that sort of thing. At least not in all cases. And there was something else. I got the feeling there was something I was missing in these three deaths.

“Kite? Aria?”

“Yeah. Still in the bedroom.”

“Can you come down here? I want you to see something.”

I put the grimoire back on the bedside table and made my way down to the basement of the house. Unlike Tempest, Bliss hadn’t converted hers into a magical space. At least, not a traditional magical space. There was carpet on the floor, a huge sofa with chocolate brown plush upholstery and crimson accent pillows. A flat-screen television hung on the wall, a bookshelf piled high with movies under it. Across from the television sat a giant fluffy pillow. It was the sort of thing I’d expect someone to buy for a Great Dane bed. And in front of the dog pillow was an altar.

Altar was the only way I could describe it. There was an oak cabinet a foot high with a ring of candles on top. In the center was a mortar filled with fragments of burned paper and herbs. She’d meditated here, communed with her angel spirits here, sent her prayers heavenward on wings of smoke and ash here.