Trick of the Light

Chapter 13

The day was shot. I’d known that from the beginning. Angels, demons, severed fingers, Griffin irritated with me and with every reason, more boring research to be done, and now this.

I cupped my cheek where Trinity, swear to my best pair of high-heeled demon-stabbing boots, had just bitch slapped me. “You said you could do this,” he said, reaching into his suit pocket for a handkerchief to wipe off his hand as if I were contaminated. I was surprised he didn’t pull out a bottle of antibacterial wash and scrub up like a surgeon. “And you are not living up to your claims.”

“You slapped me.” Bemused and stunned, I said it as if the sky had abruptly turned green and promptly fallen on my head,. “You actually slapped me.” Never mind I’d punched one of his men two days ago. That had to be done . . . as a lesson not to imagine they could force me under their control, that they couldn’t push me. I didn’t think they learned it, because this was pushing. I didn’t think I’d ever been slapped in my life. Hit, kicked, thrown against a wall, thrown over a wall, clawed, and stabbed . . . a demon carrying a mundane switchblade . . . I hadn’t seen that coming. All understandable with what I did. But slapped? I was insulted.

No, I was furious, which might be why I lost my temper. Completely. A luxury I rarely allowed myself.

“What are you, Iktomi? Thirty? Thirty-one?” He knew exactly how old I was per any documents on file with the city. He would’ve investigated me thoroughly the second he found out I was involved with Griffin and Zeke’s hunts, and more important, connected to the Light. He was only demonstrating how little I mattered by pretending to forget such routine information. “You are a child compared to the long history of Eden House, a child in this war.”

“And let me guess, ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child.’ ” I pulled my Smith from the holster at the back waistband of my black jeans and pressed the muzzle hard, right between his cold eyes. “What about ‘Spare the bullet’? Ever heard that one, Mr. Trinity?”

We were up in my room, where I was doing the research I’d planned on. Books and on the Internet. I hadn’t found what I was looking for yet, but I was close. Trinity had one of his two men kick open the door downstairs. I’d heard it and not been particularly surprised. Picking the lock would’ve been more subtle, but Trinity wasn’t in the mood for subtlety now. He was only in the mood for results.

They’d ascended the stairs as I stood up from the chair at my desk, fully expecting who it was. What I didn’t expect was for him to walk over and, without a word, slap me across the face. It was a slap full of contempt and no anticipation that you’d raise a pinky in self-defense . . . or revenge. How unfortunate for him that he was that lacking in perception. I decided a gun was too good for him and much more than I needed to take both him and attitude down.

I must have still had my mama’s advice on my mind as I moved the gun, aiming it at the men with him. I then gave him a swift knee to his crotch, swept his legs from beneath him to drop him on his side, and rammed the knuckles of my left balled-up hand onto the floor hard and fast. It was so close to the front of his neck that I brushed his skin and he knew, for a nicely unpalatable fact, I could’ve crushed his larynx if I’d wanted. It was a move I’d picked up in Israel, where the martial arts aren’t meant to be pretty and color coordinated—they’re meant to kill.

“It’s been a long time since you fought any demons hand to hand, hasn’t it, Mr. Trinity?” I asked as his eyes closed tightly in pain as he struggled not to embarrass himself by cupping his damaged-during-delivery package. “I fought one last night.”

His two men moved closer, then backed away when I narrowed my eyes and aimed the gun at them. “I’ll bet it’s been thirty years since you actually faced one down,” I added. “I kill demons all the time. I can kill you with a lot less effort, time, and firepower. And don’t think your boss is sending anyone to help you. Heaven let Eden House burn. Why would they save you?” I stood from my half crouch beside him. “Besides, I talked to Oriphiel this morning. It seems he has the same confidence in you that you have in me. I doubt he’ll care if he loses his middleman. How many Eden Houses are there anyway? How many Mr. Trinitys? I sincerely doubt you’re irreplaceable.” I put a booted foot on his leg and rolled him over from his side onto his back. “But I am. I’m the only one the Light speaks to. And you know what? That should have you kissing my feet, if not other parts of me.”

I walked to the bed, took the book I’d “borrowed” from the library, and said casually, “When you’re done writhing in pain and self-pity, I’ll be downstairs and maybe . . . maybe we’ll talk. If you puke, avoid my rug and have one of your pathetic minions clean it up, and when you start plotting your revenge”—I smiled—“and I know you will, be sure you wait until after you have the Light to carry it out. Otherwise, Mr. Trinity, you’ll be carried out by Eden House pallbearers. As far as I can tell, you’re no better than a demon. If I don’t have a problem with killing them, why would I have one with killing you?”

I certainly didn’t have a problem beating the crap out of an old guy. I suppose that made me a bad, bad girl. But the fact that he was in his late sixties, early seventies, didn’t make it harder mentally and only easier physically. A bad girl, but a practical one. He might have the Sean Connery look, but Connery never would’ve gone down that easily. Mr. Trinity was a disgrace to his profession. As they say in so many professions, there are no retired demon hunters, only dead ones. Trinity might not have gone soft, but he’d gotten slow.

But slow or not, he hadn’t forgotten how to use a shotgun.

He pulled the trigger as he stepped through the door at the bottom of the stairs. The slug from the gun of one of his bootlickers hit the ceiling directly above me, causing plaster dust to drift down onto me. It landed in my coffee as well; black with six sugars, extra sweet like me, but it had gone cold anyway in the twenty minutes I’d sat there thumbing through the book. I looked up, brushed at the black and copper swirls of my shirt, and ran a hand through my hair to see white dust fly. I won’t deny a shiver passed down my spine. I was relatively sure he wouldn’t shoot me off the bat. I was tough, but I had nerve endings like anyone else, and they had minds of their own when it came to the sounds of massive booms near my body. Feeling it and showing it though were two different things. “You know”—I pushed the ruined coffee away—“I’m surprised you had the balls to do that . . . especially considering what I did to them upstairs.”

“You think I can’t kill you, Ms. Iktomi,” he said lev elly. “But I can hurt you. Cripple you if I like. You will give me the Light, and you will not make such unseemly trouble again or I’ll shatter one, perhaps two kneecaps, and watch you crawl to the Light, leaving a trail of blood and screams behind you. Do we have an agreement?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it as he pulled more ammunition from his suit pocket and reloaded the shotgun. A little slower than he’d once been, but not soft, and still a man to be reckoned with. “I think we might.” I nodded, reluctant, but you can’t play two sides against each other if you don’t have both sides present. Kimano would’ve told me that justice wasn’t worth my life, but it wasn’t justice—it was vengeance, pure and simple. And Kimano wasn’t here to tell me anything.

“Although some respect on your side would help quite a bit,” I added pointedly.

“That is unfortunate as I’ve yet to see any reason you deserve it. You’re a mediocre merchant of mediocre alcohol in a less than mediocre establishment. You live and run a business designed to promote nothing but sin. Why two members of my House found you in any way worthy enough to join them in fighting an evil beyond your limited comprehension, I cannot fathom.” He aimed the shotgun again, this time at my chest. “If I do kill you, the House of Eden might not find the Light in my lifetime, but neither will any demon. Think upon that.”

What a way with a compliment he had. At least he didn’t call me a harlot or Jezebel or Whore of Babylon. It was an unexpected and pleasant surprise. “Don’t think they won’t be pissed about that, Mr. Trinity. I already have two jockeying for it.” From the tightening of his lips, this was apparently news to him. Good. “You’re right. If you kill me, they won’t have the Light—they’ll only have you. Are you that anxious to go meet your big boss? With your ironclad, I’m sure, faith, I bet you can’t wait . . . even if you have to be skinned alive strip by bloody strip and your internal organs eaten while your heart still beats to get there.” I shifted my view back to the book and turned another page. “I admire a man of your conviction.”

I heard the metal of the gun’s muzzle clink once, twice, three times against the floor. Trinity was thinking, but what? He was a fanatic. Fanatics are almost impossible to reason with or outthink. “ ‘Thou shall not kill,’ ” I reminded him softly, my eyes still on the book.

“We honor ‘Thou shall not murder,’ and killing a soldier in a war is not murder, especially if that soldier is fighting against God.” I heard his footsteps slow and measured.

“I’m not a soldier.” Any demon could tell him that wasn’t true. “And I’m not fighting against God.” Heaven maybe, but not God.

“But are you fighting for him?”

He had me there. No, I wasn’t precisely fighting for him. I was fighting for myself and my own. Luckily, I found a way around answering his question, not that I didn’t have a lie ready and waiting on the tip of my tongue. “There.” The thrill that ran through me this time was triumphant. There it was. Finally. I ran my fingers over the glossy black-and-white picture. At least it had once been black and white. Now it was black and a pale yellow. “I’ve found it. The next signpost. The last signpost.”

For a moment he forgot to care whom I was fighting for and moved close enough for a look at the picture himself. “This is where the Light is?”

“No.” It was a bleak picture, but beautiful as well. “But this is where the last bread crumb lies, the one that tells us where that caver Jeb hid the Light.” The caver who had been tortured to death . . . by whom, I still didn’t know. I had no evidence that Mr. Trinity had anything to do with it, but I wasn’t about to jump to the conclusion that he wasn’t capable of having it done either. Look what he was willing to do to me.

It made sense that Jeb, the Light—the mixed-up conglomeration of the two of them—would choose this. I thought the shark had been all the Light’s idea—it seemed to have a wicked sense of humor—and all this, leaving a difficult and annoying trail, seemed more than sentient enough for humor to exist in the Light. But with this, the Light had let Jeb have his way. Cavers were desert to their heart and bones. And deserts were rock and sand, caves and scorpions, mines and ghost towns. Rhyolite was one of the bigger ghost towns in Nevada.

There was information everywhere on it, but that drugged-out musician couldn’t make things that easy. Couldn’t give me a name or a glimpse of a highway sign or even a feeling in one particular direction. All I was able to get was the flash of the inside of a building and not even a clear flash. Just a haze of sunlight dancing in different colors of amber and green, so much of it that it almost reminded me of the light seen through a stained-glass church window. That was all I saw—a blurry amber and green glow, a wood floor beneath my feet, and the sense of an L-shaped building. Small. I must have looked at the same place in twenty different pictures before I realized it was the semi-famous Bottle House of Rhyolite. Built mainly out of beer and medicine bottles, it was one of the star attractions in the ghost town. But I hadn’t been there and none of the pictures showed what the inside of the building was like. After so many times of looking at photos of the peculiar thing, it had finally hit me. The sun was shining through the bottles. Our drugged-out, french-fried friend had been standing inside the Bottle House bathed in that odd light. Sightseeing, he’d probably thought. I knew he had no idea an ancient caver and a far more ancient crystal had anything to do with the fact he’d ended up there to drop the last bit of Light that wasn’t in me or tied into the crystal’s whole.

I leaned back in my chair as the overwhelming sense of relief hit me. Not only were the House, the demons, and I pushing me, the Light was also pushing. It wanted to be found. Soon. It wasn’t entirely safe from discovery where it was, not for long. It needed to be in hands that understood it; knew what it was made to do. It had whispered I was the lesser of evils when it first curled into a corner of my brain. I hoped it hadn’t changed its mind. I rubbed at my eyes and slammed the book shut. “Thank—”

“God?” Oriphiel’s smooth voice was back. And he wasn’t alone. Two more angels of the same silver persuasion stood behind him. I wondered if that was what happened when silver angels fell . . . They became gray demons.

I glared at him as he stood beside Trinity. There had been no flash of light this time. One second he wasn’t there; the next he was. It was kinder on the retinas, I had to say. Trinity himself took four steps back when the angels appeared, to put himself firmly where he belonged—in the shadow of Heaven’s hand. “No,” I contradicted. “Thank me. I’m the only one doing the heavy lifting of the three of us. So how about a little prayer of gratitude aimed in my direction.”

“Blasphemy.” Trinity murmured the accusation more harshly than he had days ago.

Oriphiel wasn’t as upset. Why be upset with the ant that waves its antennae at you in rage when you crush his hill? How pointless. “You do as you were created to do. If you find the Light, it’s only because Heaven wishes you to find the Light. How amusing you think yourself that important. You exist only to do Heaven’s work. Or you can choose Hell, if you haven’t already with this pitiful life. As you said, you have free will.” His smile was carved with an ice pick. He made the ever-frozen Trinity seem like a raging bonfire. “As much as we would like the Light, I cannot help but hope you’ve chosen the latter. Writhing in hellfire, devoured by a demon, that seems as right for you as a serpent-tainted apple.”

Could you call someone a prick if he didn’t actually manifest one when he was on Earth? Ah well, if the sentiment was there . . . “Don’t be a prick if you don’t have one to back it up with.” I pushed the chair back and stood. “As for the original tattletale crying to Daddy, it’s a shame God came up with man before he did spines. Must’ve been a lot of flopping around in the garden for a while.

“And if you think we’re going yet, you had better pull up a bar stool and wait. If you want more wine, you’ll have to go somewhere else. I’m not serving you. Or you.” I added those two words in address to Trinity. “Until my friends are back, I’m not going anywhere. Oh, and Mr. Trinity?” I said as I passed him. “My friends aren’t your friends anymore and they haven’t been for a while. I’m sure you’ve been around long enough to block telepathic or empathic probes, but my boys aren’t stupid. They fight demons because it’s right. They worked for you to accomplish that, but they learned over the years.”

“Learned what?” he said stonily.

“That Oriphiel isn’t the only prick in town.”

When I reached the phone, I hit REDIAL and pretended to order a pizza into another wretched voice mail recording. Not much in the way of breakfast food and I hoped the son of a bitch actually sent one as a cover story. As much as Eli had angered me right now, he was the only demon I could get in contact with. Solomon had, much like a married man, never left his number and his club was still burned to the ground, so no go there. I didn’t want to be standing with Griffin and Zeke at the Light’s last clue if Eden House went postal, the three of us surrounded by the holy choir—Heaven’s wrath on one side, Trinity’s blazing Eden House shotguns on the other.

Eligos was trying to mess with my head with the fear that he had Leo. I knew he didn’t have Leo. That didn’t change the fact that I’d known the demon was a killer all along, but if he followed us to Rhyolite, at least that would be one more knife up our sleeve. I didn’t have to like Eli. In fact, I could despise him for the murdering monster he was. It didn’t change the fact that I could also use him and respect what he brought to the table. I’d seen Oriphiel’s face when Eli had whispered in his ear. The angel was afraid of the demon, which made Eli serious shit, a deadly weapon, and a good advantage. As long as I didn’t forget he didn’t care whom he killed to get the Light—angels, humans, or me.

As for Solomon? Who knew? He’d tell you he cared, that he didn’t want to kill, but would that stop him?

Sooner or later, I would find out.

Zeke and Griffin arrived back from burying the finger about two hours later, an hour after the pizza had shown up. It was a double garlic anchovy special. Eli—smugness incarnate. Too bad for him that I rather liked garlic and I loved anchovies. It did keep Trinity, Goodman—who’d shown up not long after the angels—and the other two Eden Housers at a distance. The angels kept their distance as well, but I doubted it had anything to do with the pizza. It could’ve been any number of things. Some angels, like Oriphiel, had superiority complexes and considered humans just a bundle of walking sin waiting to happen. Others were mystified by the entire mammal experience; still others were following orders of middle management . . . there to do the job and not get involved with the natives. It was the rare angel that wanted to hang around and chat. They existed, but you didn’t often see them with Eden Housers.

These angels took a table in the corner, folded their hands, and froze into three identical positions. Com muning silently with one another over the plan or taking a nap. Who knew? The only difference between the other two and Oriphiel was eye color. Oriphiel’s were as silver as his hair. The angel to his right had pale brown eyes and the one to his left dark blue. The rest was the same: faces, suits, hair. Like a cluster of Stepford Angels, which made me think Oriphiel was the sole middle-management angel of the group. The other two were there for orders only. No equal, free-will birds here to divide the glory with. It was all for Oriphiel . . . oh, and Heaven too.

Oriphiel was so much more like humans than he ever knew. I didn’t see Trinity sharing any of the information about the Light with the other Houses or there would be out-of-state Trinitys here. It spoke volumes that there weren’t.

“Fuck,” Zeke said succinctly at the sight of Trinity and the angels. Swatting in annoyance at Lenny who was perched on his shoulder, tugging at the random stray copper strand, he repeated it. “Fuck.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I sighed, then nodded at the now-cold pizza. “Want a slice? Keep the vampires away.”

“Vampires do not fear garlic.” One of the angels had come out of his coma.

Griffin frowned. “Don’t go there. There are no such things as vampires. Demons are enough, all right? So shut up about any damn vampires.” He was right. For Griffin, demons were more than enough evil in this world. It would be cruel, with the loss of his brothers and sisters in arms to tell him differently. He didn’t need to know and it wouldn’t do him any good, not now.

Griffin’s mood, normally easygoing, had not improved with the burial detail or what he saw before him. “And for that matter, why the hell do you bother to show up now? The House is gone. Most everyone’s dead. If you can’t show up when we need you, why do you come down here slumming with your dirty servants at all?”

Zeke shook his head as Lenore flew off to pick at what was left of the pizza. “Leo.” He retwisted his braid that the bird had done his best to destroy. “You should tell him.”

Tell him how I knew Leo was safe. Griffin needed that. He needed one less of his friends to be dead. But I couldn’t tell him how I knew. Leo had been in on my plan for a long time now. He wouldn’t want me endangering it with loose lips about where he might be. I could do something else for Griffin though. Hopefully it would be enough. “Griffin.” I turned him away from the angels of whom his opinion seemed to drop drastically. He was losing it all. His House. His friends. His faith. “Griffin,” I repeated. “I can’t tell you where Leo is or how I know he’s safe, but touch me. Know that I’m telling you the truth.”

He focused on me. “You’d let me?”

“You deserve it and you need it, so go on.” I dropped my shield just a fraction, the one I’d long ago built up against telepaths and empaths. I waited until I felt the lightest of touches as he felt the truth.

He smiled, weary face relieved. “He is all right. You do know.”

“I do.” I smiled, just as I slammed the shield back up in time to have an angel’s psychic probe hit and bounce off. One of the silver boys winced as if he had a headache. “That’s what you get for trying to walk in uninvited,” I said with satisfaction. “It must just kill you that humans have it too: telepathy, empathy, and even other psychic talents you don’t have.” Fire starting didn’t mix well with feathers.

Eden House had always said it was God’s plan, giving humans those powers—to fight the demons on even ground. More and more it was clear they didn’t have a clue what God’s plan was and never had. This was the most prime of examples. An Eden House rogue board president, Trinity, meets Above’s middle management while the CEOs are on vacation, and a merger is born. Any big corporation could tell you how that worked—it didn’t.

Zeke had moved to stand at Griffin’s shoulder, but his gaze wasn’t on demons. It was on Trinity and the other three Eden Housers. “How was Florida?” he said without emotion. “Bring us a postcard?” Griffin might have come to see what Trinity was . . . not a good man, no matter that was the side he claimed. But there had been good people in the Vegas House, and he had liked them, felt as if he’d belonged. Griffin was a social creature and he hated Trinity now. Trinity had tried to use him while planning on rejecting him and didn’t seem to give a damn his own House had burned.

Zeke had considered those in the House comrades, but he couldn’t go further than that. His bonding emotions extended to Griffin and to a lesser degree to Leo and me. He missed his comrades, but he had never had emotions for Trinity one way or the other—until now. He didn’t care if Trinity and all the Houses of the world rejected him—as long as he had Griffin. He did care, however, how it made his partner feel. He cared a great deal. As Griffin looked after him, he looked after Griffin . . . although in a slightly more homicidal way. “We missed you at the battle,” he went on, and his Colt Anaconda was in his hand. I had a feeling Zeke didn’t plan on missing Trinity now . . . or a good chunk of the wall behind him.

If he killed Trinity, Goodman and the two others would be at his throat in an instant. Truthfully, I wouldn’t put my money on them. Shotguns against the Anaconda, that didn’t really matter. Them against Zeke, that was the meat of the matter. And meat was what Zeke would make of them. But there were the angels—at least one a high-level angel—and whether they could take Zeke or not, I didn’t know.

Nor was there any need to find out. When I found the Light, I wanted a virtual crowd around me. Demons, angels, humans. Whatever it took to muddy the waters. If they were preoccupied with one another, they wouldn’t be concentrating on me. If Eli showed up with the price I was charging for the Light, if Solomon showed up to demonstrate what side he was really on—angels, demons, humans—it was going to be one massive brawl.

Finally, after all these years, Kimano could rest. I could rest.

As for Heaven, Hell, and Earth . . . let the pieces fall where they may.

My way.

I looked at Griffin and he wrapped his fingers around Zeke’s wrist. He didn’t say “Safety on” to halt Zeke, but I imagine he thought it loudly enough that Zeke heard it in his mind. He had to have because he growled and moved away from them all, not showing them his vulnerable back once. Lenore had flown back to his shoulder with a shred of anchovy in his beak and was eyeing the angels with suspicious, beady eyes. He swallowed the bit of fish and squawked at the angels, “Whom the angels named Lenore.” But these angels hadn’t named Lenore. He had more or less named himself, and he definitely didn’t consider himself birds of a feather with them. “Nevermore. Nevermore,” he hissed with dark emphasis. That the angels didn’t give him a second glance was their mistake, a huge one. Forgive me if I didn’t bring it to their attention.

We waited a few more hours. What I had to do might be better done in the dark with no tourists around. Better safe than sorry. It gave me a chance to get the rest of the plaster dust out of my hair and pull it up in a twist with loose curls springing everywhere. It also let me brush my teeth free of garlic, because offending Trinity wasn’t worth offending myself and half the city to boot. I didn’t bother with makeup this time. If I was going to wear war paint at the end of this day, it would be made of blood. But hopefully we’d get past this last bread crumb without a fight. Don’t get me wrong. There would be a fight, but I wanted it at the end . . . when I claimed the Light. When everyone tried to buy it from me or take it from me.

Then there would be blood.

Finally we left, and “finally” truly was the word for it. Except for Griffin, Zeke, and Lenore, the company wasn’t entertaining. The angels and their servants didn’t play pool or darts. Or talk. Or do much other than blink balefully at us (that would be Goodman), coldly (Trinity), and not at all (the angels). It made my eyes water to watch the latter; unmoving, unblinking, they were like silver and marble statues, nothing like Malibu Angel from Wilbur ’s place. I don’t think they even breathed—although in human form they would have to. At least, I thought they would.

Zeke spent his time gathering up weapons, some of his that he kept here and some of mine. Since he seemed to have enough for Griffin and me as well as him, including three shotguns, I stuck with my Smith. I did make sure to slip several speed loaders in my messenger bag just in case. I expected Trinity or at least Goodman to protest, but they didn’t. I guess having three shining warriors of Heaven on your side evened the odds and then some from their point of view.

Rhyolite was about two and a half to three hours north of Vegas, taking U.S. 95. There were ten of us. We took three cars—mine, held together by once-shiny red paint and sheer hope, and two of the Eden House cars, big, black, and official looking. “Why aren’t they white?” I asked Griffin, who sat beside me in the passenger seat. “Isn’t white all that is holy and good? Pearly gates? Fluffy-white-cloud cities?”

“Too hard to keep clean with all the dust and sand,” he grunted, sliding down and pushing the seat back to close his eyes. “And demon blood.”

“So cleanliness is better than godliness, not just next to it? The things you learn.” I looked at the brown-gold skin of my hands on the steering wheel and grinned. “And pure white isn’t all that. I could’ve told you.”

“I was born pasty. It’s not my fault,” Zeke grumbled from the backseat.

I reached back with one hand and smoothed his copper hair. “No, sugar, none of this has ever been your fault.”

He looked confused for a moment, then did what Zeke did best with confusion—he ignored it. “What are you going to do with the Light when you get it?”

“More to the point, do you think either side will let you keep it or choose whom to give it to?” Griffin murmured, his eyes still shut, obviously still wiped from the night before. Emotionally and physically. The death of so many comrades. That was triply hard on an empath as it was on the rest of us. “It’s going to be a massacre.”

“Yes, indeed it is.” My grin tightened to something with very little humor. I put my sunglasses on and ramped the speed up to ninety.

“Sounds fun,” Zeke said seriously. “Can I kill Trinity then?”

“Kit, when the time comes, you can kill anyone you want,” I promised. Griffin opened his eyes and shot me a questioning glance, but I didn’t answer. When it was time, he’d see—see if he’d still serve Heaven or serve anyone but Zeke and himself. I wasn’t the only one whose life was going to change. He and Zeke were going to have to make a choice, and I had to say I was really curious to know the way they were going to go. Maybe even worried. You try and raise them right, but in the end, they have to make their own way. Make their own decisions. I shook my head.

Kids.