Fall From Grace (8 page)

Evie perched on top of the yoghurt shop watching
the second floor corner window in the tiny apartment building
opposite. Just six units, the place had the advantage of being only
a few steps from the beach. Its disadvantage took up the entire
first floor. A bar and grill that, judging from the decibel level
of the crowd, was generally more bar than grill. Evie sighed,
thinking how good an icy cold draft beer would taste right about
now. Maybe later. She needed a clear head. Her nerves were dancing
and the Reaper was leading every step.

Evening deepened to
night, the stars coming out in the indigo sky. Clear for now,
though Evie could see the fog bank hanging low, far out in the
distance. The clouds would move in later, blanketing the beach
towns in the coastal overcast so common to California. The noise of
the crowds along Pier Street ebbed and flowed like the waves on the
shore. Skateboarders popped, jumped, and twisted in front of the
bronze surfer statue at the end of the street, trying to out-do
each other. A police car stood parked nearby, lights flashing, the
only automobile allowed on the pedestrian mall. One of the
policemen leaned against the car, talking amiably to a couple of
fisherman with long poles heading for some night fishing off the
pier.

Evie yawned. Today
had been a very long, strange series of events, she reflected, even
for an Avenging Angel. In fact, particularly for an Avenging Angel.
The past twenty-four hours had been full of lessons. Whether those
were lessons she was teaching or learning remained unclear. Tonight
the fuzzy logic of the afterlife was particularly impenetrable.

Around two a.m. the
bars emptied out and the taxis waiting a block away filled up.
Trick strolled out of the apartment building, hands thrust into the
pockets of his jeans, apparently in no hurry. Crossing the Strand,
he headed towards the beach. There was a damp chill in the air
though the fog bank still hung far from the shore. Evie shivered.
Not quite understanding what she was doing or why, she silently
spread her wings and soared into the air, the night wind in her
face.

He
went to the water's edge and stood there for a long time, just out
of reach of the bright, white foam on the breaking waves. The beach
and the town were very quiet. Turning, he walked along the shore
almost until the breakwater where the air blurred every so slightly
around him. Pulling a
glamour
over himself, Trick trance jumped almost lazily
across the sand heading south.

Evie
followed from on high, flying in wide circles. There was no sign of
the Death Mark. Roman Barracuda probably had more to do with that
than a Celestial slip-up. Trick jumped past the giant power station
squatting incongruously on prime ocean-view real estate. The tall
towers stood like exclamation points, thick plumes of white smoke
drifting up into the sky. At Redondo Beach Pier, the Reaper stopped
to scatter a flock of pelicans squatting like vultures over the
Korean fish restaurants crowding the wharf. Slipping off his
glamour
, he chatted with
several of the night fishermen, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup
one of the elderly men pressed on him.

Hugging the coast,
Trick came after a time to the more rugged terrain of Palos Verdes.
Here, the Reaper finally stopped on a lonely stretch of beach. The
inlet was inaccessible from above and only barely visible from a
walking trail twisting on top of the cliff. Evie circled the beach,
checking for a trap. When she was satisfied there was no one or
nothing else except the Reaper, she drifted down through the few
low-hanging clouds just beginning to move in, to perch lightly on a
rough jumble of rocks near the water. The heavy seaside smell of
kelp, salt, and sand which Evie associated so closely with
California beaches was strangely absent, as though swept out with
the night tide.

Trick knew she was there. He had felt her presence on Pier
Street as he returned from the market. Knew she was watching his
apartment from across the street. That evening he had made one of
his favorite meals: pasta with a spicy
arrabiata
sauce smothered in pancetta
bacon and parmesan cheese, with crusty bread and a robust Tuscan
Chianti. He'd laughed at that, sitting in the little dining nook of
his place, watching the sunset. Trick McKitrick had come a long way
from his Arizona pan-fried steak and biscuits roots! Maybe that
wasn't necessarily a good thing. Life and death had certainly been
simpler then.

The sea always calmed
him. Made him feel that his problems were small and insignificant
in the greater scheme of things. Washing clean the evil he had seen
and done. He gave a bitter laugh; as if that were possible. To be
clean again. At the inlet he shed his clothes and walked out into
the waves. Diving into the sea, he surfaced swearing as the cold
hit him The bite of the water eased as he swam back and forth
parallel to the beach, lap after lap until he was out of breath.
Turning on his back, Trick let the sea carry him as he floated,
watching the stars, picking out the few constellations he knew. The
clouds were moving quickly now and as he floated, the gray wall
crept slowly forward until it blocked out the heavens
completely.

When he was very
small, he and his mama would pull the rocking chair off the porch
into the yard. There, wrapped in blankets against the chill of the
desert night, they'd search the sky for the Pearly Gates of Heaven.
Mama said if they were very lucky they might catch a glimpse.
Sometimes they thought they did. There were always falling
stars.

“Those are Guardian
Angles,” she'd told him. “Soaring down to Earth to save some happy
soul.”

Tonight there was a
true Angel nearby. Unfortunately the last thing she was interested
in was saving a soul-lost Reaper. He pushed away thoughts of his
mother, gone so very long. What would she have thought of him now?
Flipping over, he swam slowly back towards the shore, trying to
calm himself. Trying to come to terms with what had to be. He was a
Reaper, not a man, and he had made his dark bargain.

Tonight could not end
well, but it needed to end one way or the other.

Trick walked out of
the waves, shaking the sea water from his hair. Evie watched him.
Watched the lithe, graceful way he moved. Watched as the water ran
down the fine, firm lines of his body, dipping and curving along
the tight abdominal muscles and running in rivulets over his narrow
hips and strong legs.

Evie jumped down from
the rocks and drawing her sword, walked towards him.

Vengeance is
mine.

The air shimmered as he summoned some of his
power, warming himself in the chill air. All the remaining moisture
on his skin rose in steamy waves as his body flushed with heat. He
looked up and saw her.

A wave crashed around
them, the sand shifting beneath their feet. Neither the Reaper nor
the Angel moved.

“You murdered four
innocents in Hungary and now you must pay the price, Reaper.”

He stared from the
burning sword to her face, the question in his eyes obvious.

That
question, more than anything else, stayed her hand when she could
have struck. When she
should
have struck. He knew what she was: vengeance, not
mercy, her mandate. Yet he didn't run. In the alley he hadn't run
either. He'd protected her from the Fallen and held her while she
healed. She had attacked him in the hotel room, not the other way
around. After binding her with the flaming lasso, he
fled.

The only thing Trick
McKitrick had injured was her pride.

“I'm not going to
hurt you.” He spoke in a slow, measured tone as though to calm a
wary animal.

His words took her by
surprise.

“Why
would you want to?” She raised her sword a little higher, “I mean,
aside from
this
.”

There was a heartbeat
of hesitation before he answered, “Indeed.”

“My Death Mark is
still upon you. Despite your protestations of innocence and your
attempts to blur it with Voodoo magic.”

He gave her his
dimpled smile. “Oh, you know about that, do you?”

She nodded, “I have
met Mr. Barracuda.”

“He's quite a
character, isn't he? A real powerhouse in the magic department.
Though he follows a very different celestial pantheon than you or
me.”

“Don't change the
subject.” She pointed up. “Death Mark. Above your head.”

Craning his neck, he
looked, “Can you really see it? I thought the magic was still in
effect.”

“Look harder.”

Narrowing his eyes, Trick summoned a measure of power, peeling
back the layers of reality around him to really
see.
And with his vision, the night
came alive
.
In the
waves he heard the resonant bark of a selkie, still in seal form,
calling to her family. Farther out in the deep water, the trilling
song of sea nymphs mixed with the sound of dolphins laughing. And
above his head, there it was, burning very faintly, still only a
shadow of itself, a fiery cross within a circle. Barracuda's spell
was working, but it was no match for the Angel's vision this
close.

"How did you find
me?” He pointed up, “Not with the Mark, I wager."

"I used to be a
detective."

He
laughed at that, how ironic. “Really? I mean
really
, really?”

She nodded, “New
Orleans police department. Seven years. Vice squad.”

“Well, I'll be
damned."

“You already are if
you killed those four people.”

“
What people,
god damn it!” The question in his eyes was back.

“The ones guarding
the Relic.”

At the word “relic”
all the hair on the back of his neck stood and he shivered.

Evie lowered her
sword, pointing it directly at his heart, “Why were you in that
alley?”

His
face grew suddenly wary. Ah, Evie thought,
that
was the right question to ask
the Reaper here on this empty Southern California beach.

Trick channeled what
energy he could into his shield, trying to deflect that damned
Angel vision of hers from boring a hole into his heart; seeing the
truth and the lies hidden there. His Master had promised to end his
contract, free him to live a normal life span as a human again.
Just this one, last, dirty job.

Kill an Angel.

The promise of
freedom so very sweet. What was one more death? There had been so
many in the darkness since he met the demon. Angels weren't really
human, were they? And then he saw Evie in the alley with the Fallen
and the rich taste of freedom turned to ashes in his mouth.

Another wave crashed,
the water up to his knees. He moved closer to her, through the wet
sand until the sword point pressed against his chest. A small
trickle of blood ran down the fine, fair skin of his belly.

Her sword glowed more
brightly as if sensing its quarry. Ready to strike.

“I'm going to come up
the beach and get my clothes, Evie. Please don't smite me, at least
not yet.”

Focusing her power,
she rose up into the air on the downswing of her great wings,
tossing the sand in a whirlwind. There she hovered warily, sword
still ready.

With one of his
crooked smiles, he said almost to himself, “I'll take that as a
'yes'. I hope.”

Evie
attempted to keep her concentration on his face as he walked naked
across the loose sand towards the cliff face. He kept his hands at
his sides. Weaving no spells, summoning no weapons. He was exposed
to her completely, knowing she could strike him down. Almost daring
her to. She let her attention wander to his chest and then
elsewhere.
Damn
.
She dipped in the air as her wings suddenly lost their lift.
Landing clumsily, she tried to cover her lapse by clambering onto
another tumble of rough, weathered rocks, taking the high
ground.

He
ran his hands through his hair, shaking out the last of the sea
water. A gesture Evie could not help find very attractive. Damn
it
again
.

By the cliff face he
grabbed his jeans and tugged them on. He stared at Evie,
silhouetted against the sky. Tall and strong, yet purely feminine
in form. A woman, not a girl or a bundle of sticks pretending to be
one. Her dark brown hair, tangled and twisted from the flight,
partially hid her face. He clenched his fists, overcome by a
sudden, powerful desire to go to her. Kiss her deeply. Run his
hands through her hair, over her shoulders, down her back to the
soft swell of her bottom and thighs.

He faced her, “I
didn't kill anyone in Hungary, no matter what your Death Mark
claims. I've killed plenty of things since my transition, not them,
Evie. Not them. I was in the alley for another reason.”

“The Fallen?”

He gave her a swift,
searching glance. “Partially. They call him the Baron. He and my
Master currently have shared interests.” Trick paused, searching
for the right words. “Have you heard of Gogmagog, the land of the
demon clans?”

She shook her head,
“Is that another word for Hell?'

He
laughed, “Good lord no! What are you thinking? It's an actual
place, though not in the mortal world. There's a far wider pantheon
than the one you serve and the Universe, no the
Multiverse
, is a complex place. The
spiritual plane even more so.”

“That is only slowly
being made clear to me.”

“Think of the demon
world as Europe in the seventeenth and eightennth centuries. A
crazy quilt of fiefs, kingdoms, and principalities always looking
over their shoulder waiting for the neighbors to pounce. Things
would probably be a lot worse here in the mortal realm if the demon
lords and ladies weren't so busy scheming and stabbing their allies
in the back, quite literally. My Master needs the Baron's help in
his interpretation of Manifest Destiny and a big land grab.”