Past Due, page 8
part #4 of Good Intentions Series
Zafirah snapped her fingers again. The gallery went dark, as did the hall beyond. Every light had gone out. "Sshh," Zafirah warned. Shadows grew even darker around the pair.
"Dwayne?" called Rico.
"I’m down! I’m hurt bad. He’s gone. Fucking vanished."
"We need to leave. Forget the piece," said Michiko.
"You came for it," argued Abdel.
"I came for you," she countered. "We’re too vulnerable here to unravel whatever curse is laid upon the tablet. Rico, gather your men."
The commando leader appeared around the planters with another teammate. Mahmoud saw them only as silhouettes against the light of the windows far down the hall, but it was enough. He raised his pistol for another shot.
Zafirah reached out from behind him to gently push the gun down. "You haven’t enough bullets for this fight," she whispered in his ear.
Rico and his comrade picked Dwayne up off the floor. Behind them, the rest emerged from the gallery. Mahmoud watched them retreat down the far hall.
"You have done enough," Zafirah told him. "More than enough."
* * *
The robbery lasted minutes. Its aftermath would go on for hours.
At first, the arrival of the police chased away Mahmoud’s fears and filled him with relief. As soon as he saw them, however, his savior disappeared. He understood his newest challenge when the questions began. He would have to tell the same story, over and over, without deviation or a single slip of memory, and with nothing to suggest the involvement of his ally.
It occurred to him that none of her aid left any mark. His shirt was mended, his wounds gone. The stone tablet remained in its broken display case. Whatever magic made it hot to the touch of thieves apparently vanished with Zafirah. Mahmoud remembered her interest in going unseen by their enemies as he told his story. He left her out of his account and hoped the cameras would do the same.
After the third or fourth round of questions and awaiting surely more, Mahmoud sat alone on a bench in the main gallery. Police, security guards, and museum staffers called to work in the middle of the night combed through the blood and debris along with the rest of the museum. His weapon had been taken, as had his phone and his identification. He wondered how long it would be before he could go home.
He wondered about the answers he did not have.
She came to him one more time, sitting beside him on the bench. No one else noticed her. By then, he was too tired to be startled.
"I owe you a great debt," said Zafirah. "You are a good man."
"Three other men are dead tonight. Their killers got away—along with a man I thought was my friend. I do not feel like I did much."
"You stopped them from taking everything they wanted. You made them pay in blood. These people do not scare easily, yet you made them doubt. You made them afraid. You also helped me get answers, and you kept me hidden. I promise you, it matters a great deal."
"Who are they? What did they want?"
"This was crime and sorcery and the reach of powerful families stretching back all the way to that piece in the gallery." She nodded toward the Sea Peoples exhibit. "I do not know the full story yet, but I am chasing it. Tonight brought me closer to those answers. For that, I thank you. I only wish I could’ve saved your coworkers. You have my deepest condolences. I promise you their families will be supported and the dead will be avenged."
Mahmoud thought to say something on that, but abandoned it. "Thank you."
She tilted her head. "You thank me before it is done?"
"If it is what you say, I believe you."
"Why?"
He nodded to her hands in her lap. "You work magic. Fire without smoke. I know what you are. If I know that, it is not hard to take the rest on faith." A weary sigh escaped his lips. "I would have thought knowing would bring fewer questions. Instead, I have so many more."
"You are not the first to have that reaction. I cannot tell you much without inevitably leading you astray. Being what I am does not make me an expert, nor the best example." Zafirah smiled. "But I will say that many who come to know such truths find it does not change who they are inside, or what they believe. Faith is still faith."
Police walked past, some in uniform, others not. They hardly looked Mahmoud’s way. He knew why. He also knew it would change once she left. "What will happen to me now?"
"Those thieves did not come looking for the trouble they found. They will not want to provoke that trouble again. With any luck, this is over for you."
"And likely this job," Mahmoud sighed. "My boss will not want me around after this."
"You deserve better, anyway. No other consequence will come down on you. I will make sure of it." She handed him a notecard taken from the tour guide’s desk. "Call the number on the back. Tell them Zafirah sent you for an interview. They are wealthy, but also good people, and they will pay well for a brave and honest guard."
He stared at the note and the accompanying phone number. "Thank you."
"As I said, I am the one who owes you. Goodbye, Mahmoud."
She was gone when he turned his head to say the same. He knew better than to feel surprised. Mahmoud tucked the note in his pocket.
Zafirah walked unnoticed through the middle of the main hall. Guards and investigators took no notice of her. For the last half hour, she had taken on disguises and nudged their findings to ensure Mahmoud’s legal safety. She needed only a moment for her own interests.
The tablet lay where it had all along, with the broken glass now swept away amid a curator’s check on its condition. Her spell of protection was long expired. Only a single guard stood nearby as a check against too many hands wandering by. Tired as he was at this hour, it wasn’t hard to go unnoticed. Zafirah passed him by with hardly more than a gesture of magic to encourage his inattention.
She studied the tablet, finding no familiarity to the inscriptions. The display placard offered only a reliable academic date range for the piece and conjecture over its nature. She produced her cell phone from its sealed plastic bag in her pocket and took several pictures.
Scholars and scientists could not decipher the language, but with a touch of magic, Zafirah saw much more. The inscriptions glowed to her eyes. Only faint traces remained of the ancient sorcery bound to the stone. The spell upon it had been discharged long ago. Zafirah pondered invocations of family and service and the power of magic. Others spoke of freedom, of escape, broken chains and the cloak of night.
Zafirah took note of the unique colors and flourish of the magic, meaning only to commit the Practitioner’s style to memory in case she saw it again. She didn’t expect it to look familiar. The connection danced and dodged away from her, refusing to be named. She knew she had seen it somewhere up close. Recently.
She couldn’t name it until a new friend passed by, walking with more investigators. "Five men, yes," said Mahmoud. "Dressed like soldiers in combat, but all in black. Like something out of American movies."
New friends, she realized. Of course.
Zafirah left the display case, still unseen by mortal eyes on her way to the exit. With so many mortals around, she was bound to catch the attention of rather different eyes. She did not hide from them. Once outside, she said, "There must be plenty of you here by now. I would speak with at least one of you. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting."
White light shimmered at her side, emanating from a man wearing only pale pants over his dark-skinned and statuesque body. Bright wings framed his impressive figure. The intensity of his halo blurred what was surely a handsome face. "What is it, Zafirah?"
"Ah. You know me." She looked him up and down with undisguised appreciation for his image. "If only it were mutual."
"It is not cause for pride," said the angel.
"That’s a matter of perspective." Zafirah wondered how much of an unseen audience she had by now. Any other angels present did not give themselves away. "I must speak with Rachel."
"I know many named Rachel," said the angel.
"Then you know exactly which Rachel I mean."
His halo dimmed with intrigue. "She’s not local, you know."
"I’m aware. I also know what century this is. I have a phone."
Chapter Five
Vacation Plans
They usually gathered at night, when most of the mortal world took to the safety of homes and beds. The simple company of their own kind provided natural comforts. They shared stories, sought counsel, and resolved disagreements. In most places they gathered at houses of worship, ranging from cathedrals to mosques to humble chapels and shrines. In Seattle, the angels gathered at St. Mark’s Cathedral on Capitol Hill—right up until the brief tenure of the previous angel in Dominion over the city.
By sole virtue of personal habits, without proclamation or an expectation that anyone would follow, the next in Dominion shifted the nightly gathering to the top of the Columbia Tower in downtown. The curving black skyscraper provided the best view of the city. Such a practical feature spoke to her priorities: Keep Watch. Do Work.
Her tenure was uniquely brief. Her exit, abrupt. With spring coming on, her successor would soon surpass the length of her service in Dominion. Much was said to dispel any impression that the change was a punishment. Much more was muttered behind her back. None of it meant as much to her as the lasting nature of the changes she’d made. Night fell over the city, most mortals returned to their homes, and guardians with free time drifted not to the cathedral, but to the top of the tower.
"What up, Mei? How’d the break-up go?"
"Straight to 911, as it happened." The dark-haired angel turned from the northwest view to her new visitor and stopped short before saying more. "Rachel, where did you get hors d’oeuvres?"
"Huh? Oh, there’s a shindig in the Tower Club downstairs." Heedless of Mei’s stare and looks from the dozens of their peers around the rooftop, Rachel dipped a prawn in the small dish of cocktail sauce on her crowded plate and popped it in her mouth. "Good shit, too. I loaded up. You want any?"
"Where—how did you get it up here?"
"I used the service exits, obviously. Can’t ghost through the walls with a plate of goodies."
"You went right in there and took it?" Mei glanced left and right. Most of the other angels minded their own conversations, but she felt eyes upon her—or, more likely, eyes upon Rachel, who didn’t seem to mind at all.
"Yeah. It’s free." Rachel shrugged. "Some bullshit political fundraiser. Not like those fuckers were gonna give the leftovers to the poor until I gave them some grief about it. Seriously, this is what’s been missing from our get-togethers. We do all the same social shit mortals do at bars or coffee shops. We should at least get our fuckin’ snack on. Ought’a put an open bar up here, too." She popped a cream puff into her mouth. Mei stared. Rachel bit down once so she could speak. "What?"
"Never mind. Why are you asking about the break-up? How did you know?"
"Because you said your girl Chrissy was gonna wait ‘til finals were over for this quarter before she told her punk-ass boyfriend to fuck off. My guy’s about done with his finals so I figured it must be time. I’m guessing shit went sideways if it involved 911. She okay?"
"She’s been saying that since December," said Mei. "You’ve been waiting for this?"
"Yeah, I listen to my people. Might not be in charge now but I still care. How’d it go?"
"He started ranting about being done wrong and making it right. Then he went off about his guns. That’s when Chrissy called the police. He ranted his way into getting arrested. She’s with her cousins."
"Good for her," Rachel said, then muttered, "Guess it’s a day for police stuff."
"Is that why you’re here?" asked Mei. "You don’t always come by now that, um…now. I figured you had better places to spend your free time."
Rachel laughed. "You can say I’m not the head bitch in charge anymore. I’m not offended." She held up the plate again. This time, Mei took a cream puff. "The boss wants to see me. It’s probably about the cop stuff, but that’s only the most obvious fuckery I’ve been near today, y’know? Plenty of other shit sticking to my heels."
"Lovely imagery. Oh wow, these are good snacks," Mei conceded.
"Mm-hmm!" the blonde whimpered.
Mei stopped. "Rachel."
"Huh?" Her eyes fluttered.
"The food isn’t that good."
"It’s amazing."
"You don’t even have any in your mouth now."
Rachel took in a deep breath to gather her resolve. "It’s not the food. Good grub, but no. You’ve seen through me." Her voice cracked.
"What is it?" Mei asked.
"It’s Alex and Lorelei."
The other angel stepped close to touch her arm. "It’s okay, Rachel. You can talk to me. What is it? Are you okay?"
Rachel looked left and right. No one was listening in. She lowered her voice. "She must have gotten Alex good and riled up today, because he is fucking the hell out of her right now and I can feel so much."
Mei let go of her. "Oh."
"It’s the bond, y’know?" Rachel breathed. "It’s all I can do to keep it together. Sometimes it comes and goes, but tonight is wow."
"Uh-huh." Mei stepped back.
"It’s almost like he’s fucking me instead of her." Rachel’s eyes kept fluttering. "Bent over the couch with his hips just slamming against that ass like he’s punishing her and holy fuck it’s so deep and it’s only making her more sexy-powerful. Once he’s worn down she’s gonna wreck him like a fucking lust goddess, and… and…" She inhaled sharply again. "I’m getting all wound up and I can’t go bang it out with them until I see the boss. In the meantime, I can’t keep it together if I don’t focus on something else. Anything. Else."
Her eyes opened wide. She stared at Mei, who stood speechless. "So. I’m glad Chrissy made that call," Rachel said assertively. "Seriously. It’s rough, but she did the right thing. You can’t fuck around with someone whose first response to hurt feelings is threats of violence. You gotta lock that shit down hard right from the start, no fucking around, or—"
"Rachel, he’ll see you now," said a voice behind her. She turned with a polite smile, meaning to acknowledge him with thanks.
Instead, she broke her plate off against his face. Crackers, cheese squares, and shrimp fell to the deck around the angel now on his backside. He clutched his face in shock.
"What the fuck, Donald?" She brought one foot back for a kick at his crotch. Mei intervened, tugging Rachel back by the arms. Other angels stepped close in case they were needed. "Who the fuck let you drag your sorry pasty ass here? To this city?"
"I’m an angel of the host," Donald began indignantly.
"You’re a milk carton ad for missing integrity," she retorted.
"Oh, and you aren’t?"
"Motherfucker, I will shove this entire skyscraper up your ass. People won’t be able to get in or out ‘cause the doors will be blocked by your bleeding butt cheeks."
Donald blinked. "That doesn’t even make sense."
"All of it, Donald. You think I can’t stretch you out all the way? You wanna test me?"
"Rachel, stop. Please," broke in another voice. Onlookers moved aside as he approached. His white shirt was open at the middle, baring his tanned, fit abs and pecs. The hand that pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation fell away, revealing handsome features with a short black goatee and mustache. "Donald, when I said, ‘Could someone please find Rachel?’ I obviously didn’t mean you."
"Javier, what is he even fucking doing here?" she seethed.
"I’ll explain. Please," Javier answered evenly. He held out a hand. "Let’s walk."
"We’re on a rooftop. It’s built for punting assholes, not walking." Her eyes still hadn’t come off Donald, who only now got to his feet.
"We’ll find a corner," said Javier. "Come on."
Mei let go of Rachel’s arms. The blonde angel stepped toward Javier, but glared at Donald. She pointed at him, then with both hands gestured to the boundaries of the rooftop. "The whole tower. Watch me," she said.
Javier calmly took her hand when he could, bringing her to another corner of the rooftop as Donald receded into the crowd. "I’m sorry," he began. "I meant to tell you before now. Things got a little busy and you don’t always come by, but I should have made sure you knew."
"The fuck is going on, Javier? What the shit? He’s not a guardian again, is he? They can’t be giving him another chance after all he did. That shit went on for like two fucking millennia!"
"He’s not a guardian, no. He’s a messenger—the low-grade kind, not like you were. They’ve got him running back and forth around the region. No mortal interaction involved. No interaction is even allowed."
"Why does he get a job like that?"
"There aren’t enough angels to go around," said Javier, though nobody needed a reminder. "It isn’t like they’d throw him in the Pit."
"Why not?"
"Rachel."
"You think I’m not serious? That fucker tried to kill Lorelei, and I live with the damage he did to Alex. That shit is real."
"Which is probably why he wasn’t allowed anywhere near you until now. Even this was an accident. Again, I’m sorry."
Rachel let out a long, aggravated breath. She knew he wouldn’t be expelled or condemned. The hosts were bound to get some use out of him. She didn’t expect this, or to see him again so soon. "He better not come anywhere near Alex or Lorelei. Or any of our friends. And he knows exactly who I mean by that."
"He knows," said Javier. "I’ll remind him myself, and I’ll deal with him if it happens."
"Or any of their friends," said Rachel.
"That could quickly become unmanageable," Javier chuckled, but then bowed his head to her scowl. "Rachel, he cannot interact with mortals anymore. His powers have been stripped to his essence. He’s a messenger between angels hoping to redeem himself from a two-thousand-year abuse of power."
