They were in the alley behind the shops they deemed most likely. Two were closed, one was vacant with a ‘For Rent’ sign in the window, all had apartments above. The twins moved to the alley where their curiosity wouldn’t attract so much attention.

  “I can’t do it, Col.” Dov sat in the shade of a dumpster, back against the building. “I don’t think I can get up. My head’s spinning and my feet feel like lead.”

  “Basement window’s gone over here,” Col called weakly from the next building. “I think we can fit through and wait it out. Can’t be more than a few minutes.”

  Dov rolled onto all fours, “Got... Shit!”

  Col tried to laugh. “Think that’s milk. Got milk?”

  Dov was wiping his hand on his jeans as if whatever was on it burned. “It’s demon. Got demon, Col. Bet demon got Broadbent, too.” There was no doubt the grey dust was once a demon. Another pile was nearby.

  “No. We would know. Nardo would have heard about it. Broadbent got them. Not the other way around.” Col pulled out his phone.

  “You calling Canaan?”

  “No. Broadbent. He has to be nearby.”

  “He can’t or won’t answer. Canaan’s been calling every hour.”

  There was a faint buzz, a vibration near a short flight of stairs that led to a flimsy looking door at the back of a shop. The buzz was short, dying quickly as the phone gave out, but it was enough.

  “Good Fortune,” Dov repeated the name they’d seen out front.

  “I sure as hell hope so,” Col said as he forced the door open.

  Chapter 12

  The noise from the falling pots and pans startled her from her own restless sleep, her head pillowed on Broadbent’s chest. She’d been dreaming of him and a future seen in her crystal ball. This never happened in her waking life. When it came to her own future, the ball was a blank. She was happy and at peace in the dream, which made being pulled from it by the clattering crash all the more frightening.

  Without thinking, Pinkie reached for the old wooden bat she kept under the bed as protection from possible intruders, but she didn’t pull it out. The intruder she expected wasn’t human and as a weapon, the bat would be like straw in the wind. That didn’t mean her arsenal was empty, though.

  Broadbent was sleeping peacefully, eyes dancing behind his closed lids in a dream that placed a contented smile on his deathly pale face. She hoped the dream was of her as she bent to kiss the smile.

  The demon would have to kill her. That was the only way she would go with Abyar Adoriedes Mendeliadum. He probably planned to kill her anyway, in retribution for what she’d done. Knowing him as she did, he’d do it slowly and painfully, feeding on her pain and terror. She wasn’t fooled by his false sweetness. There was only revenge in his black heart.

  But if she had to die, she would do her best to take Abyar or his henchmen with her. She couldn’t let him get to Broadbent. If her hero was what she thought he was, he’d be a prize beyond price for a demon. The poor man was suffering enough on her behalf. He had nothing to do with this and, unable to protect himself, she would protect him as best she could. As long as he still breathed, he had a chance to survive.

  Refusing to give in to her fear, she grabbed the knife she’d found in Broadbent’s pocket, the one she’d cut her finger on. Then she took her place at the top of the staircase and called the power to her. Remembering her number one rule, she smiled as she spread her hands.

  The words flowed, old and ancient words she’d learned years ago, but had only used once. All spells took time and being out of practice, Pinkie took longer than she should have. It was difficult enough without her circle of salt and candles burning at the four quarters; earth, air, fire, and water. She’d asked for no blessing before she began, but then, she needed none. Death spells brought no blessings to anyone.

  Twice, she had to begin again, her concentration broken by her thoughts of what was going on below. She heard no sound of voice or movement, yet she was sure someone was there. It would be just like Abyar to toy with her before he pounced. He wouldn’t expect her to pounce back.

  On the third try, the spell began to work its magic. She felt the power fill her, expanding her chest and coursing through her veins. Her short hair stood on end, curls fluttering in a wind that affected nothing else around her. Her lips moved without sound, forming the curse, the essence of which began to materialize between her outstretched hands. A ball of swirling mist began to form, looking much like her crystal ball and similar in size; a shimmering bubble of energy that coalesced into an opaque sphere as the power built.

  The power of the spell had not yet reached its peak when two figures appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Pinkie needed only a few seconds more, but time had run out. She tossed the swirling orb down the stairs and sliced the paring knife across her wrist. Too late, Pinkie realized she’d made a deadly mistake. These men were like Broadbent.

  “No!”

  Blood spurted and the glowing ball of energy exploded.

  The two blond giants at the foot of the stairs threw up their arms. The roiling mass of iridescent energy shot out in a wave, surrounding and washing over them. It continued over them and crashed into the wall behind them. The air seemed to expand and then contract as it whooshed in to fill the void where the wall and the workroom behind it once stood. There was nothing left but a few pieces of shattered plaster and broken glass. Mist from the vaporizing potions hung over everything and then it vanished, too, leaving behind a mixture of scents that irritated the eyes and nose.

  “Holy crapoly,” one blond giant said.

  “You can say that again,” said the other.

  Remnants of the spell lingered in the stairwell in glistening swirls. One of the giants reached out with his hand to touch a tendril of it.

  “Cool.”

  The air expanded again as the ball of energy reformed to return to its point of origin.

  “Duck!” Pinkie shouted.

  The two looked behind them and leapt as one, not to safety, but through the energy swirls hanging in the stairwell. The concussion wave backwashed over them. Pinkie was thrown back into the kitchen, one giant on top of her, the other beside them.

  There was a crash of glass as the kitchen window shattered. They felt it hit the building next door and heard the rattle of drainpipes as it skittered up the brick and into the night. An oblong hole in the wall was all that was left of the window and its frame.

  “You’re not going to blow anything else up, are you? I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  Pinned beneath the massive body, there was little she could do even if she wanted to. Staring up at his vivid blue eyes, she saw humor there. But she also saw something else. His face was unnaturally grey and covered in a thin film of sweat.

  “You’re sick,” she whispered. “Is there some kind of disease travelling through your people?” That would explain Broadbent’s sudden illness. Maybe these two had a cure. “Can we stop it?” she asked as the young man rose and held out his hand to help her to her feet.

  “Nah,” he answered, “Too much sun is all.” Which seemed strange since it was dark outside. “Oh shit, you’re bleeding.”

  He tossed his jacket over a chair, yanked his white tee shirt over his head and tore strips from it which he wrapped and tied tightly around her bleeding arm. “That was stupid,” he said and Pinkie assumed he meant stabbing herself and not his tearing the shirt to ribbons. “Dov!”

  “In here.” Another blond head, with a face identical to the one standing next to her, poked out from the bedroom door. “Found the Professor.” He grinned. “And you owe me twenty bucks.”

  Following them into her bedroom, Pinkie didn’t find anything funny in their laughter.

  “He’s sick, delirious,” she snapped. “He was thrashing around and I was afraid he’d hurt himself.”

  She watched as they untied him and began to peel away the charms she’d taped to his body. She flinched when the one called Dov pulled a knife from his jacket similar to the one she’d used to draw her blood. He used it to flick through the string holding the charms to his wrists and ankles.

  “What were you trying to do with this shit? Weigh him down?”

  “They’re charms. I thought they might help. He said not to take him to the hospital. Did I do wrong?”

  Broadbent began to stir. He moaned loudly and began to thrash when they tore the bandages from his abdomen.

  “Shit, Col,” Dov muttered when he saw the deep puncture wound that looked so much better than it had. “Did you do this?” he asked her angrily.

  “Shut up, asshole. Would she bandage him after she stabbed him?”

  “She tried to kill us!”

  “It was an accident. I didn’t mean it. I thought you were... them.”

  “Who?” They both stopped and stared at her.

  “D-demons,” she sputtered. If they were truly like Broadbent, they would understand. If not, they’d think she was crazy.

  They understood.

  “How many?” Col asked sharply.

  “He fought four. One got away.”

  They stripped the rest of the covers from him, checked his arms and legs and roughly turned him over, showing no mercy when he fought them.

  “Stop! You’re hurting him!”

  They ignored her and ripped her makeshift bandages away from the wounds on his back.

  She’d washed them thoroughly and used the antiseptic she had in her medicine cabinet. The cuts were deep, but in no way life threatening, or so she thought.

  Every one of the gouges on Broadbent’s back was red and inflamed. The skin had already closed over the wounds, but the area was swollen with infection.

  Col pulled a small vial from his pocket. “There’s more in the van, he told his twin.”

  Dov was already moving toward the door. “On it. I’ll bring the van to the back door.”

  Col’s next order was for Pinkie. “I need towels.”

  Pinkie didn’t hesitate. She ran to the bathroom and gathered up all she had. She was only gone for a few minutes at most, but when she returned Broadbent was pushing himself up off the bed and fighting Col’s attempts to hold him down without doing more damage to his back.

  Pinkie dropped the towels at the foot of the bed. She moved to the head and began to stroke her hero’s head which was once again bathed in sweat. Bending over the bed, she whispered in his ear.

  “Shhh, Pookie, shhh. I’m here and everything’s all right. Col’s going to help us. He’s going to make you better.” She kept whispering and stroking until Broadbent calmed. Then she gently kissed his cheek and turned to Col. “He settles down when...What are you grinning at?” she asked sharply.

  Col’s goofy looking grin got wider. “Pookie?”

  During one of his rougher spells, Pinkie had called him by the name and it seemed to fit. It was the name she’d given her favorite toy from her childhood; a stuffed monkey made from socks. She’d carried it everywhere as a toddler for security, she supposed, and kept it long after she grew out of the need for such things. The original Pookie was still in her drawer under her tee shirts. She’d found it among her grandmother’s things.

  “Didn’t anyone ever call you by a pet name?” she asked defensively.

  “Yeah, sure, but I doubt anyone ever called the Professor by one. Pookie?” he sputtered. He shook his head.

  “Aw, Gracie, don’t cry.” Dov entered the room with his phone to his ear. “Canaan’ll be P-Oed if he thinks I made you cry and you know how he gets when he’s P-Oed. No! No fuckin’ way! Stay right where you are. Tell the others we’re bringing him home. Yeah, yeah, you do that, but don’t cry, Gracie. Promise me. Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He slipped the phone in his pocket. Looking from Pinkie’s frown to his brother’s grin, he asked, “What’s up?”

  “She calls the Professor Pookie.”

  Dov snorted a laugh as he pulled two small bottles from his pockets. They were larger than those Pinkie used for her potions, but held no more than a few ounces. “No shit? Pookie?” He looked at Pinkie and raised his brows. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she snapped. “Are you going to help him or let him die while you joke about it?”

  “He’s not gonna die, but he’s not gonna live it down, either.” Dov handed the bottle to Pinkie and shrugged out of his jacket. He handed that to her, too, and then took the bottles back. “This is going to be messy. Don’t want the leather ruined. Oh,” he added to his twin, “We’re supposed to tell him Gracie loves him.” He patted Broadbent’s feverish cheek and told him in a voice ordinarily used for toddlers, “Gracie says she loves you, Pookie. Be a good boy now. You ready?” He took the cap off one of the bottles.

  Col picked up the knife from the nightstand where Dov left it. “Let’s get on with it.” Blade poised over one of the healing wounds, Pinkie stopped him.

  “Wait! Aren’t you going to sterilize that? Disinfect it?”

  “Nah, we don’t get infections.” He drew the blade along the line of the wound.

  Pinkie gagged at the putrid smelling stuff that welled up out of it. She slapped her hand over her mouth and choked into her hand, “Then what do you call that?”

  “Poison.” Col used a towel to wipe the greenish pus from Broadbent’s back. Using his fingers, he spread the new wound open as far as he could. “Go for it.”

  Dov tipped the bottle over the wound and poured some of the contents directly into the open wound. Acrid smelling smoke rose up from it and Broadbent roared with pain. Pinkie attacked.

  She pounded on Dov’s back with her fists. “Stop! Stop! You’re burning him! I won’t let you hurt him. I thought you were his friend.”

  “Damn, girl, pull in the claws! I’m not hurting him.”

  “That,” she pointed to the man thrashing on the bed, “Is hurting him and he’s been hurt enough.” She would have thrown her body over Broadbent’s if Dov hadn’t held her back. “He did this for me. I won’t let you hurt him more.”

  “It’s holy water. It’s the only thing that neutralizes demon poison.”

  Col went back to work, opening another wound.

  Pinkie stopped fighting the one that held her. “Holy water?” What else would an angel use to cleanse a demon’s damage? It was what the poor man had been asking for from the beginning.

  Dov nodded. “Yeah, and it hurts like hell. There’s no way around it. If we don’t use it, it’ll only get worse. We’ll clean out the worst of it and take him home.”

  Home? She could only think of one place an angel would call home.

  “Can’t he stay here? With me?”

  She had to wait for another shouted howl from Broadbent before she got an answer and she was so busy kissing his face and stroking his hair and telling him it would be all right, she almost didn’t hear it.

  “If we don’t bring Professor Pookie here home to Grace, she’ll kick our asses and if she drops that baby, it’ll be all our fault.”

  “Shit, Col, everything is usually all our fault anyway.”

  “Who’s Grace?” she asked while they worked.

  “She’s the Lady of our House of Guardians.”

  It made sense, didn’t it? Broadbent was her Guardian Angel.

  “Will she mind if I come with you when you take him home.”

  “Hell, no, she won’t mind. Matter of fact, Gracie’s gonna insist on meeting you.”

  Something in the way he said it made Pinkie ask cautiously, “Because I’m a witch?”

  “Partly, but mostly because you call Broadbent Pookie.”

  Chapter 13

  “She’s a Daughter of Man alright, but she can’t possibly be Broadbent’s, um...”

  “Lover?” JJ laughed and grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl. “Gee, Hope, what makes you say that? Is it the pink hair or the half dozen toe rings with the tiny bells?”

  The women were gathered in Manon’s cozy parlor where they always gathered for what the men laughingly called their pow-wows. The room was packed with furniture and every surface was covered with mementos of the older Frenchwoman’s long life. The fire blazing in the hearth made the room too warm, but the younger women ignored it. Lately, Manon was always cold and no matter what the weather, she wrapped her shoulders in a heavy shawl. Like her mind, her body was fading. Her face was still beautiful, but no one would mistake her for the stunning middle aged woman they would have only a few months before.

  Though she sat with them, her eyes travelling from one to the other as they spoke, she didn’t comment as she used to. Sometimes, the others weren’t sure she followed the conversation at all.

  Hope ignored the peanuts and went for the plate of cookies. “If she’s not his, um, you know, we’ve got a crazed stalker on our hands. She’s been up there for two days and she doesn’t want any of us near him.”

  Grace nodded as if it were a possibility. “I’m beginning to wonder. Canaan says the Professor’s still sleeping, but she won’t leave him for a second and she keeps the door locked. Have any of you been inside?”

  “Nope,” JJ drawled out the word. “When I brought the food up, she took it from me, said thank you, polite, not friendly, and closed the door.” She shrugged. “She lets Dov and Col in. They think it’s funny. Col says she’s okay.”

  Hope didn’t place much value on the twins’ opinion. “She’s pretty and she blows things up. Of course they’d think she’s okay. I don’t find their endorsement reassuring.” She leaned forward and confided, “Nico was ready to kill them the other night.”

  As promised and much to everyone’s relief, Dov and Col brought the injured Guardian home along with the woman who’d tried to blow them up. They’d taken care of the worst of it, but the wounds were deep and needed to be reopened and cleansed more thoroughly. Canaan didn’t think the demon claw marks were serious enough to cause such a swift and devastating reaction, but when Dov told him about the metal rod and how deeply it had been imbedded, he changed his mind.

  “Shock and blood loss,” he’d concluded, but he didn’t change his mind about the twins.

 

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