Women of the Otherworld 09.5 - Angelic (2 page)

“You do realize that’s not how real pirates dressed,” said a deep voice behind me. Marius—another ascended—walked around me, slouched on the sofa, and paused to give me a slow once-over. “
Which is really a shame.
”

“Hey, angels can’t ogle,” I said, pulling my legs up primly.

“Can’t or shouldn’t?”

I shook my head and cast a spell to change into my usual attire—a blouse, jeans and boots. Marius looked like he was getting ready for a costume party himself, dressed in a toga and sandals. But he had an excuse. Most ascended angels were warriors in life. Marius had been a gladiator. He didn’t need to keep wearing the same clothing, but he viewed pants much the same way I saw skirts—a fashion torture to be avoided at all costs.

Marius had been about my age when he finally lost a bout. He looked at least a decade older, though, with graying hair and a leathery, square face. The scars didn’t help, but as with most warriors, they were marks of pride, and not something he’d consider having magically removed.

“I hear you got the djinn contract,” he said. “I thought you were on vacation.”

“So did
I
.”

“Shit. Damn Fates.”

I’m sure he didn’t say shit, damn or any such Anglo-Saxon curse. That’s what I heard, though. With angelhood we get a few powers, and one is a built-in universal translator. Marius spoke first-century Latin and I heard twenty-first-century English, which could be a little odd, like watching a badly dubbed movie, the lips rarely matching the words coming from them.

“If you need help, I’ve had plenty of experience with djinn,” he continued.

“You aren’t on assignment?”

“Nah.
I finished early and the Fates don’t have anything for me yet, so I’m just kicking back…” Seeing my expression, he stopped. “The Fates told you no one else was free, didn’t they?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What is their problem with you?” He shook his head. “Well, if you need help, I’m around.
Seriously.
Just ask.” He grinned. “For me, demon butt-kicking
is
a vacation.”

So the Fates put me on this assignment knowing not only was Marius cooling his heels, but he had more experience with djinn?
Enough of this bullshit.
I wanted out. Time to stop moping and bitching about it and get out.

Three

Before you take action, you need a plan. That’s the part I’m not so good at, and there’s no reason to do it alone when my trusted partner-in-crime was a consummate schemer. It also gave me an excuse to go see him. Technically I was still on angel duty—no conjugal visits allowed—but after the first year, I’d found a back door into our dimension of the ghost world. I didn’t use it more than once or twice a stint, though, and only for very short visits or they’d figure it out and plug the hole.

I slipped through to our dimension. Kristof wasn’t at his houseboat or the courthouse. Yes, we have courts in the afterlife. Ghosts have disputes like anyone else. Kris was a defense lawyer.

The third place I checked was the hockey arena. I popped in behind the bleachers. A middle-aged guy sitting at the back turned and smiled.

“Hey, Eve.
Welcome back. Looking for Kris?”

I nodded. “If you’re here, then Brianna’s playing, meaning Kris is playing.” I scanned the ice. “But where…?”

“Do you really need to ask?” He pointed.

I thanked him and headed for Kristof, waving to Brianna as I circled the rink. In the afterlife, all teams are co-ed. I’d played a few times myself, but I’m not good at games with rules. And I wasn’t the only one.

I slowed as I approached the penalty box. It had been two months since my last stolen visit. Kristof hadn’t changed, of course. Ghosts don’t. He’d never pass his death age of forty-seven. His blond hair wouldn’t continue thinning… nor would he regain what he’d lost. And no amount of hockey would tighten the slight paunch around his middle.

He still cut an imposing figure—broad-shouldered, six-foot-three, with a handsome face and piercing, icy blue eyes. He also cut an intimidating figure, having inherited his full genetic allotment of Nast arrogance, with a glare that could freeze a witness mid-sentence.

He wasn’t glaring at anyone now, though, despite his exile to the penalty box. In life, no one would have dared impose such a petty punishment on Kristof—he was too rich, too privileged,
too
powerful. In death, it was a welcome change of pace. Not that he ever learned from it, the punishment only increasing his resolve not to get caught the next time.

“Hey, you,” I said as I walked up behind him.

He turned, smiled, grabbed me around the waist and swung me over the boards. No mean feat, I might add—I’m six feet tall. Nor was plunking me on his lap any easier—I’m not the lap-sitting type. When I resisted, though, he only held me tighter, his mouth coming to mine in a kiss that made me stop struggling.

If there was one mistake I made in life, it was running away from Kristof. Too bad it had taken death to make me realize that.

He slipped his hands under my blouse, grinning as his cold fingers made me jump. “So, are you ready to start that vacation?”

“It’s been postponed.”

His fingers stopped. “Let me guess.
The Fates.”

I waited for him to finish cussing them out,
then
explained.

“Yes, they screwed me over,” I said after I told him everything. “But this is the last time.”

“I doubt that, whatever they might say.”

The referee whistled, telling Kristof his time was up, but he waved him off.

“When you’re done, we’ll discuss how to handle it,” he said. “I’ve had a few ideas.”

“Oh, I already know how to handle it. I’m going to get myself fired.”

I expected a hearty “about time.” Instead, Kris frowned, as if he hadn’t heard right.

“Fired?”

“Let go?
Pink-slipped?
Sacked?”

He studied my face, as if not sure I was serious.

“I’ve had enough, Kris.”

“I know. Let’s—
This
isn’t a good place. Hold on.”

He gestured to his captain, telling her he was taking off. Then he led me out of the arena to a playground behind it. There were few ghost children to play on that equipment—children continue aging until they reach adulthood—but most afterlife cities are exact replicas of human ones, stuck in a particular time period.

“You have every right to want to quit right now,” he began.

“Hell, yes. I had every right years ago. I’m pissed off.”
And not just at the Fates
. I’d expected Kristof to jump in with schemes to free me from my obligation. One look at his face, though, and I knew what was coming—some variation on “slow down and think about this.”

We might share the same “get the job done at any cost” mentality, but while I’d plied my trade alone on the road, Kristof had plied his as the second-in-command and heir apparent to his family’s multinational corporation. That meant we had very different approaches. He’d plot and plan, and proceed with care. I dove in where, well, where
most
angels feared to tread.

Sure enough, he started telling me to do this one job,
then
we’d discuss the situation when I returned. For now, I should simply make it clear to the Fates that this was a favor, and demand that I get twice as much time added onto my ghost leave.

“Which is exactly what I’m sick of doing,” I said, striding to the swing set. “Bitching, complaining,
negotiating
little concessions from them. It’s not enough anymore.”

“I know, but just slow down and—”

“So you’re not going to help me?” I said.

“Of course, I’ll help you. Just do this one job first,
then
we’ll have six months to plan—”

I teleported out before he could finish.

Four

Without Kristof’s help, I could forget any sophisticated exit strategy. That was fine, because I don’t do sophisticated. I like plain and simple, and there was a plain and simple way to get myself fired. Fast, too,
which was a bonus.

I recovered my sword and set out, transporting to a field in living-world Scotland. Distant castle spires shimmered in the early morning sun. I told myself, again, that I really needed to find a teleport code to get me
into
the castle, but using this one was safer, though it did mean tramping through a field of cow shit.
Even Trsiel—who’d given me this code—didn’t dare pop straight into the castle, for fear of alerting the Fates.
As for why my full angel partner had this code at all, let’s just say there was a reason the Fates had paired us up.

I looked at the castle.

“Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be what thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature.”

One of the long-haired Highland cows rolled her eyes.

“Hey, it’s the only Shakespeare I remember. I’m damned well going to use it every chance I get.”

I started tramping. The cows lumbered aside. Like most animals, they could hear and sense ghosts—they just didn’t realize that getting out of my way wasn’t really necessary.

So I trekked over the field, across the castle grounds, through the big doors, up the winding staircase… I really needed that direct-pass code.

Finally, I heard a tour guide ahead.

“And another Glamis ghost is believed to peer out that very window,” she was saying.
“The White Lady, Janet Douglas, widow of the sixth Lord Glamis.
A witch they say. She was burned at the stake for conspiring to poison King James V. Historians have never found any evidence she was part of the conspiracy, though, and her death is believed to be simple political revenge. Her ghost is said to haunt this staircase, constantly watching for the men who came to kill her.” She led the group around the corner, her voice fading. “And so, with all the stories I’ve told so far, you can see why this is considered the most haunted castle in Scotland.”

Actually, it was the
least
haunted. Having a high-ranking demon walled up here tended to scare off the regular spooks. I could see the White Lady, though, standing just where legend placed her, endlessly watching. She wasn’t a ghost, but a residual—an imprinted image.

I cut through the polyester-clad tourist brigade and stepped through the wall, coming eye to eye-socket with a silently screaming skeleton. It never failed. There were only a half-dozen of them along the wall, but I always smacked into one.

In the corner were more bones, piled up and covered in
gnaw
marks. Old bones, from a Scottish clan walled up in here for pissing off their lord. Still, knowing their souls were long gone didn’t keep a chill from going through me each time I saw them and tried not to picture the story the skeletons told.