Moonlight and Diamonds & The Vampire's Fall (30 page)

Chapter 9

B
lade pulled on a change of clothing and tossed his torn jeans into a sack he kept to collect the damaged stuff. His mother was able to fix some, and with the unpatchable things, she made quilts. With five shape-shifting children, she had a lot of torn clothing to work with. Yes, his faery mother was into making quilts. For the grandchildren, she'd say with a wink.

Stryke was the only Saint-Pierre sibling who had a child on the way. His wife, Blyss, was due next month. Blade wasn't ready to be a father, nor was his brother Trouble. He wasn't sure about Kelyn's designs on family. The youngest was a hard one to figure.

Zen had changed in his bathroom and emerged in slim-fitted purple jeans and a blousy white top with multicolored embroidery around the neckline, which further attested to her bohemian nature. On her feet sparkled rhinestone-encrusted sandals. She spun before him and he nodded his approval, which made her beam.

And Blade found himself turning away to hide his own beaming smile. He could get over the fact that a woman had been the successor in that struggle in the alley. But he didn't want to dismiss the bright and sexy appeal of her. Ever. Because how often did a man get to appreciate the bright and sexy?

The twosome hopped in his truck and headed to Minneapolis. The sun yet lingered on the horizon and painted the sky orange and crimson. Rush-hour traffic had subsided. And the city lights had blinked on. Forty-five minutes later, he parked before the Washington Street high-rise nestled on the bank of the Mississippi River, and Dez buzzed them in to her penthouse loft.

Dez was married to the phoenix vampire Ivan Drake, who sat on The Council, which oversaw the paranormal nations. Blade recalled his grandfather Creed mentioning that Dez had been French royalty over nine hundred years ago, an illegitimate daughter of a Merovingian king.

Cool.

He enjoyed listening to his grandfather's tales of life in medieval times and walking through the centuries. To have lived in a simpler world appealed to Blade. Though, he knew no time was simpler, only that it had less technology. And he wasn't sure he could give up the coffeemaker for swords and bucket-topped boots.

The door opened and a cheerful greeting from a slender woman with chestnut hair and clad in a black T-shirt and a long floaty white skirt encouraged Blade to cross the threshold and shake the woman's hand.

“Thank you for seeing us, Dez,” he said. He shivered then as a sort of electrical vibe ran down his spine. It was that witch radar he had. But it felt like something stronger.

“The wards,” Dez offered in explanation. “I softened them for your entry. And who is this?”

Zen stepped forward and peered through the threshold.

“This is Zen. She's lost her memory and we're trying to remember her past. Uh, and figure out
what
she is. She's had demons and angels after her.”

“And you have interesting blood. Or so Blade has told me,” Dez said, gesturing Zen enter.

When she attempted to cross the threshold, Zen was repulsed across the hallway. She hit the wall so hard, the sheetrock cracked. Tiny dust particles settled onto her shoulders.

Blade rushed to her side but she shook it off. “I'm good. Whew! What was that?”

“I've warded against all species,” Dez said. Arms crossed, the witch stepped out into the hallway and peered down into Zen's eyes. “I'm sorry, but I never take them down completely. It's not wise. I lowered the vampire and sidhe wards for Blade, but you are something else entirely, aren't you, my exotic one?”

“That's what we were hoping you could help us with,” Blade said.

“Do you mind if I place my hands on your head?” Dez asked Zen.

“Go ahead. Work your witch magic.”

The witch pressed her hands aside Zen's temples and placed her thumbs low, near the corners of her eyes. Closing her eyes, Dez bowed her head toward Zen's in a silent communion.

Blade stepped back and leaned against the open door frame. He wasn't sure how witches worked, and didn't have curiosity about it. That the wards had repelled Zen so violently, and yet she seemed to have brushed it off did make him wonder. Whatever she was, the woman was strong.

But not strong enough to have avoided getting amnesia from an apparent bump on the head. Interesting. If she were an angel, shouldn't she be able to endure a much greater blow?
Could
angels get amnesia? He knew nothing about them. With hope, Dez could fill him in on that, as well.

With a heavy exhale Dez stepped back from Zen and looked about as if she were emerging from a long sleep. Zen opened her eyes and Blade saw they were now pink. He'd never seen that color iris on anyone before.

“What?” Zen asked them both.

“Your eyes are pink,” he offered. “What does that mean, Dez?”

The witch swept a palm up her arm as if cold. “I honestly don't know. I can't get a read on her. She's...not anything. Specifically.”

Zen quirked a brow. “Well, I have to be something. Human?”

“Oh, no,” Dez said quickly. “I can feel power rushing through you. It is immense. Supernatural. You can't feel it?”

Zen shrugged. “I did kill an angel an hour ago. That wasn't due to strength, but rather the halo I'd picked up from the ground.”

Dez cast a wondering glance at Blade. He nodded. “We had an altercation before coming here. An angel tried to kill her.”

Dez had no reply, but now she did shiver, rubbing a palm up one of her arms.

“I cut her palm and she healed instantly,” Blade offered. “She also bleeds blue, but then it quickly changes to black.”

“Yes, so you said. And an angel after you? Your arm,” Dez noted. “Can I see?”

Zen held up her arm, the inside of her elbow exposed so Dez could study the markings. The witch looked them over carefully, her long fingers tracing the air above her arm, but did not touch Zen's skin.

“They look sidhe in nature,” she said carefully.

Blade studied the markings over Dez's shoulder. “They don't look anything like Kelyn's markings.”

“The breeds of sidhe are vast, Blade. Some have markings to denote tribes or birthright. Others are completely without such notable skin designs. If I knew any more about Faery and its occupants I'd be a far wiser woman. I regret that Faery is not one of my more studied banks of knowledge.”

“If Zen has sidhe markings, then why are demons and angels after her?”

“You're sure it was an angel? It's not often they fall to this realm.”

Blade unhooked the circular weapon from the back of his leather belt and handed it to Dez. She didn't take it, but nodded knowingly.

“Well, well,” she said. “A halo. The angel had that on him?”

“Yes. It's the one Zen used to slay it. One slice took him out and reduced him to angel dust.”

“Interesting. And remarkable. I need some tea. Yes, a lot of tea.” Dez strode back inside the loft, and Blade followed.

Then he remembered and looked back at Zen, who stood just outside the threshold, clutching her backpack. He had the notion that she was like one of the oddball kids that never got invited to the cool kids' table.

“I can wait out here,” Zen said. “I'm fine.”

“Dez? Can you let down your wards so Zen can enter?”

“I haven't a clue what ward that would be. And I refuse to drop them all. Not wise in my profession. I'm sorry, Zen. I'll leave the door open.”

“No problem.” Zen squatted against the wall.

At that moment she looked...lost. Her pink eyes fluttered a glance across the threshold and she wrapped her arms about her chest.

Blade resisted reaching out to her. The urge to pull her against him and offer reassurance surfaced. Because it felt right. Connection tended to soften fears and worries. He knew that. He wasn't a hermit who denied himself touch or communication with others.

But it was easier to not offer that comfort, to keep up the shield around his heart. He wore the scars from caring too much about a woman—scars he'd deftly hidden from Zen when he'd taken her home to change. He wouldn't so easily embrace another helpless female again. But he would stand before her with weapons in hand and a fierce determination to protect. That part was easy.

“Won't be long,” he muttered, and walked inside.

The south wall of the loft featured floor-to-ceiling windows and overlooked the Mississippi. Pale floorboards and white furnishings gave the area a clean feeling. Didn't look like a witch's home, but then, Blade decided pentagrams and hex bags were just movie lies. The real witches blended into society and took advantage of their surroundings to create the illusion of being merely human.

“Ivan is in Berlin,” Dez said as she put a pot of water on the stove. “You'll have to say hello for me to your grandfather Creed next time you see him.”

“I will.” He sat before the kitchen table where he could keep Zen in sight through the open doorway. She gave him a little wave and he winked at her. To Dez he asked, “You think she's faery?”

“I suspect she isn't anything right now.” Dez leaned a hip against the end of the white marble kitchen counter, positioning herself between Blade and the door. “I'm still considering the part where you encountered an angel with its halo. They don't normally have their halos when they come to this realm. When they fall from Above the halo falls away. The angel then seeks a muse—one specific female born for him—to mate with and ultimately give birth to Nephilim. If the angel ever does find its halo, it can be used to restore its earthbound soul, and thus the angel becomes mortal. Perhaps it was another angel's halo?”

Blade shrugged. “Could be.” He set the halo on the table. It was thin and clattered like cheap tin. At first glance, not a quality weapon, but to use it was another story. One slice down the angel's back had taken it out. He was going to hang on to this thing. “Zen has one, as well.”

“What?” Dez turned to the doorway and Zen nodded in confirmation.

“It's in my backpack.” She lifted the canvas pack from the floor. “Do you want me to show you?”

“No,” Dez said hastily. “I don't like that power being in my home. The one Blade holds makes me nervous enough. It's only the angel dust that would truly interest me.”

Zen pulled out a crunchy pink paper shopping bag from her pack and shoved it toward the threshold. Dez looked to Blade.

“The remains of the angel she slayed,” he confirmed.

The witch took the bag and inspected the contents. “The feather, as well. It contains most powerful magic. I can use this.”

“It's yours,” Blade said. “For talking with us.”

“Bless you.”

The teapot whistled and Dez poured three cups. She stepped over the threshold and handed a cup to Zen, then returned to sit across from Blade. For a woman who had walked through nine centuries she looked no older than midthirties, and reminded Blade of a classic movie star with her perfect hair, smooth complexion and elegant moves.

He couldn't imagine living so long. If life intended to toss emotional challenges at him just for living he wasn't sure he wanted any more than the usual human's lifetime.

Then again, he never backed down from any challenge. Bring it all on. What didn't kill him only made him stronger.

“So when an angel falls,” he said, “it immediately begins searching for its muse?”

“If it's the type of angel who has a muse,” Dez explained. “But first and foremost the angel walks the world. It's a knowledge walk. They can walk the world in a day, crossing oceans and passing through cities at a speed that renders them imperceptible to all around. They glean facts and information about their surroundings. It's how they insinuate themselves into this realm.”

Blade narrowed his gaze on Zen. “For a chick who lost her memory, she keeps saying she knows so much.”

“I do,” Zen provided. “I don't know why, but I do.”

“If she was walking the world...” He considered the possibilities. “Maybe when she was passing through Tangle Lake, the bus hit her and jarred her out of that knowledge walk.”

Zen tilted her head in wonder.

It was just a guess, but it made sense. But that implied she truly was an angel. He wasn't buying that just yet. Because the part where her blue blood turned black remained suspicious.

“I suspect—” Dez sipped, lingering over the lavender steam that wafted from the delicate porcelain “—she's in the process of becoming. The halo...” Dez turned and studied Zen. “Did you bring the halo you claim as your own with you to this realm, Zen?”

“I don't know. When I came to after the bus hit me, it was in my hand. I've kept it with me. Figured whatever it was, I must have valued it to have held it through such an experience.”

“So you could have either found it, or...come to this realm with it in your possession. Which doesn't make sense. It would have fallen away from you had you actually fallen.”

“
If
she was an angel,” Blade said.

“Exactly. Yet I get an odd sidhe vibe from her. You do know that betwixt Above and Beneath lies Faery?”

Blade pushed the tea away. The sweet smell wasn't for him and it actually made his eyelids heavy, as if he needed sleep. He'd heard about the location of Faery from his mother many times. It was imperceptible from the mortal realm and often overlapped less-populated areas of this realm. “So?”

“So.” Dez set her teacup on the porcelain plate with a clink. “Besides the existence of a specific demon race who possess angelic origins, there is also a race of sidhe who originated as angels. They fall and get caught on this realm and become sidhe.”

“If that were Zen's case, then why would angels
and
demons be after her?”

“That I don't know. I'm sorry I can't be of more help.” Dez turned her shoulder so her back was to the doorway. She spoke quietly. “I know about your trouble with demons. If she happens to be demon, then...what?”