A Gift of Wings (11 page)

“And why should we be concerned if Lucifer loses power?” Adrigon interrupted. “Lucifer is no longer a great favorite of ours.”

Once again, Kev inclined his head in assent. “We do not, of course, expect the Metatron to be concerned with the leadership struggles of the Dark or the Fallen in general. But, in this instance, the Light could be affected by these struggles. If Lucifer loses his power over this—recalcitrant—element among the Dark, then they will see no need to even attempt to maintain peace with the Light. You have stated that the violation of the Alliance is a declaration of war, but I would respectfully disagree. I humbly submit that it is a mere salvo, a calculated attempt to get the Most High to call for an end to the Alliance. It is the end of the Alliance itself that would be the declaration of war.”

“But if the Dark has fired this first salvo, as you call it,” said Tatriel, “then has not war already been declared?”

Kev considered his response, taking a grim satisfaction—albeit minuscule—in the apparent accuracy of his guess about the Metatron’s speaking patterns. “While we would agree that whoever committed this act intended it to start a war, we neither consider it, in and of itself, a declaration, nor do we believe war is inevitable. First, we would respectfully submit that we do not know for certain that this act was committed by a member or members of the Dark. Second, even if it were, that act was in no way condoned by the Dark at large, nor was it in any way sanctioned by the Dark’s leadership. I speak the truth when I say that Lucifer does not desire warfare with the Light, nor do the Fallen.”

When Kev finished speaking, the members of the Metatron silently rose to their feet. He followed suit, uncomfortably aware of his Dominion guards stepping nearer to him, their swords at the ready.

“We will take your words under advisement,” said Galiel coolly.

Margash then closed the meeting. “We thank you for your visit,
Ha-Satan
. You are dismissed.”

Kev directed the small ceremonial bow to each of them in turn and then, flanked by the Dominions, made his way back to the ante-chamber. Before he was allowed to leave, he had to submit to the indignity of another pat-down. He wondered where or when the guards thought he could possibly have acquired any weapons—at least one of them had kept an eye on him the entire time. When he was given permission to step back through the Gates, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. As far as he was concerned, he couldn’t get out of there soon enough.

CHAPTER 8

For her first foray into the world of job hunting, Lucky decided it only made sense to target places where she thought it might be fun to work, like the Suq—or one of the neighborhood book stores. After leaving the OI, she walked across the street to the closest book store on her list, the Seminary Co-op. She knew that one was a long shot, since most of the employees were university students, but she thought it was worth a try. Besides, she liked wandering around in the cramped little store with its narrow aisles and shelves and tables full of books. It didn’t take her long to find out that her assumption had been correct, but the manager gave her the bad news kindly. Lucky thanked him for his time and readied herself for her next attempt.

Back on the sidewalk, she headed north on University toward 57th Street—and 57th Street Books. Filled with
New York Times
best sellers, shelves of classic and contemporary fiction, poetry, cookbooks, art books, and children’s books, the store was one of Lucky’s favorite places. She had been known to spend an entire afternoon there, browsing the shelves and collecting volumes, before curling up in a chair with a stack of books to peruse more closely in order to decide which one or two she would purchase. A couple of blocks beyond 57th Street Books was Powell’s, a used book store with a huge stock of popular fiction and non-fiction as well as scholarly volumes in various disciplines. Lucky nearly salivated at the possibility of being able to spend several hours each week working in either of the stores. She hoped that one or both of them would be hiring and would be willing to take her on.

She was pleased to find that the managers at both stores were, in fact, looking for help and were happy to take a copy of her résumé and consider her as a possibility. She filled out applications at both places. She couldn’t resist a brief stroll through the fiction, poetry, and history sections of both stores, but she resisted the urge to buy anything. She decided she should be judicious about the money she spent before she found a job.

As she turned her steps toward home, she felt positive enough about her afternoon’s adventure to want to celebrate in some small way. She wondered if Mo was around and would be interested in getting a coffee or something. She was disappointed when, after several rings, she was dumped into voicemail, and her friend’s recorded voice spoke into her ear, “Unfortunately for you, this is not Mo. It’s just her voicemail. Leave a message though and she might call you back.”

“Hey, Mo, it’s Lucky. I’ve been passing out one-page summaries of my education and brief work life in the sunny hopes that maybe someone will offer a poor girl just out of high school a job. I was hoping maybe you were available and could meet me somewhere for a little while.”

She flipped her phone closed with a sigh. Apparently, home was in her immediate future after all.

She hadn’t even made it to the end of the block, when her phone rang. It was Mo, her voice slightly desperate. “Lucky! I’m so glad you called. I’ve been dying for an excuse to get out of the house. Where do you want to go? Wherever it is, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Lucky laughed. “What about the Med?” The restaurant was back in the direction from which she had come, but it was one of her and Mo’s favorite meeting places.

“Okay, maybe ten minutes, but no longer than that. See you in a few.” Mo hung up without waiting for Lucky’s response.

Smiling, Lucky shook her head, as she pocketed her phone and turned back toward 57th Street. She had no doubt Mo would make it to the Medici in ten minutes. She would have made it in five if will alone could overcome the laws of physics. Mo was one of the most strong-willed people Lucky had ever met. Whatever obstacles stood between Mo and something she wanted had better watch out, because Mo wasn’t going around—she was coming through. Sometimes, Lucky wished she had half Mo’s drive and confidence.

She strolled to the Med, since she was so close, knowing she’d arrive before her friend. She had just gotten seated in one of the carved and graffitied booths, when Mo rushed in and propelled herself onto the opposite bench.

“Good timing.” Lucky grinned at her friend as the blonde girl caught her breath.

“Thanks. I strive to ever exceed the expectations of myself and others. You said something like that on your résumé, right? Or wait, I guess that’s better suited to a cover letter. Whatever.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’m sure you put it wherever it’s supposed to go.”

She paused and looked up at the waiter, who put glasses of water in front of them and asked if they were ready to order. “I need coffee and chocolate, and lots of both.”

“Are you sure you need any more energy?” he asked with a grin.

At her nod, he responded, “I think we need a second opinion on that.” Looking at Lucky with one eyebrow raised, he added. “What do you think? Is it safe to give her coffee and chocolate?”

“Only if the coffee is decaf,” Lucky laughed. “But don’t skimp on the chocolate. Hell hath no fury like Mo when she’s cocoa-deprived.”

“Got it,” the waiter turned back to Mo. “So, is that a decaf coffee and a Vaguely Reminiscent or a mocha?”

Mo pursed her lips and considered for a moment. “Let’s make it a mocha
and
a Vaguely Reminiscent.”

“Excellent choice. And for you?”

Lucky barely heard the waiter’s question. All her attention had been irresistibly drawn to a man who had just entered the small room and was now taking a seat at a table for two just across from their booth. Nothing about his appearance seemed at all out of the ordinary. Well, perhaps the long, black trench coat he wore was a bit of overkill, given that it was a reasonably warm September afternoon; otherwise, he looked completely normal. He was middle-aged, had short dark hair shot with gray, and he sported a small, tasteful moustache. Wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose as he tried to find the right focal point to read the menu through his bifocals. Yes, he seemed quite ordinary. But something about him was wrong. Every internal alarm bell Lucky possessed was ringing at full volume. She had no idea why. The man hadn’t even looked their way. Although he was going to soon if she didn’t stop staring.

“Lucky?”

Mo’s voice finally penetrated her preoccupied thoughts, and she turned to look at her friend, feeling slightly dazed. “Hmmm?”

“Uh,” Mo jerked her head toward the young man who was taking their order, “he’s waiting for you to tell him what you want.”

“Oh, um, sorry. A mocha for me too. And could you bring two forks for the Vague Rem?”

The waiter looked at her a little oddly, but said only, “Sure, no problem.”

Before heading toward the front of the restaurant to place their order, he stopped to take that of the man in the long black coat. Lucky again found her gaze drawn to him. This time as her warning bells clanged, her head started to throb. She turned quickly back toward Mo as pain lanced behind her right eye.

Mo leaned across the table toward her and looked into her eyes. Tilting her head ever so slightly to the left toward the man in the coat, she asked, “What gives? Do you know him?”

Lucky gave a tiny shake of her head, which caused a series of pains to spiral out from the invisible knife sticking into her skull. “I’ve never seen him before,” she said weakly.

Mo frowned, and her face took on a look of concern. “Are you alright?”

“I have a headache,” Lucky responded, lifting her glass to take a long drink of water. “It’ll probably go away soon.”

“Do you want to go? We can cancel our order.”

“No, we can’t. He’s bringing our stuff out right now.” Lucky paused until the waiter had placed their drinks and the mocha mousse pie on the table. “I’ll be fine. The caffeine and sugar should help.”

Mo grimaced. “Yeah, since you didn’t specify decaf for yourself.”

Lucky chuckled. And it didn’t cause the right side of her head to feel like it was going to explode. Good, she was feeling better. Unable to help herself, she looked out of the corner of her eye toward the man at the small table, who was now drinking a cup of coffee and scribbling on a notepad. As her gaze passed over him, another pain shot through her skull. Okay, so that was completely weird. Not only did this guy totally freak her out, but just glancing at him hurt. Well, the solution to the latter was not to look at him anymore. She wasn’t sure what to do about the former. He obviously posed no threat, yet every fiber of her being screamed out that he was beyond dangerous. It made no sense whatsoever. Lucky fought down the panic that threatened to well up inside her. Maybe she really was losing her mind. Was this how paranoid schizophrenia started?

Pushing that thought aside, she took another sip of her mocha followed by a bite of the pie. She savored the chocolate dessert, concentrating on its flavor and texture in her mouth. By the time she had swallowed that bite and another, she was much calmer.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mo asked.

Lucky thought a moment before she replied. She wanted to confide in her best friend, but she wasn’t sure how to begin. Too many weird things had been happening to her lately, and she didn’t want Mo to start having doubts about her sanity. She had plenty of her own, thank you very much.

She had just opened her mouth to speak when the man in the black coat rose to his feet. Taking a few bills from his wallet, he tossed them on the table, before turning to leave. On his way toward the door, he stepped around a waitress who was carrying coffee and dessert to another table, and as he did so, he glanced toward Lucky. Their eyes met only momentarily, but it was long enough for her to see that his were a sulfurous yellow that glowed with an eerie light. Lucky was blinded by the pain that exploded behind her eyes. She cried out and pressed both palms to her head.

“Okay, that’s it,” Mo said, standing up and coming over to kneel beside Lucky. “As soon as you can move, we’re out of here. We’ve got to get you home.”

“No, really, it’s alright,” Lucky breathed, lowering her hands. “I’ll be just fine in a minute. He’s gone now.”

“Who’s gone?” Mo asked in surprise. Then, “Oh, you mean the man in black that you’ve never seen before? What is going on, Lucky? Talk to me. I’m your best friend, and I’m worried about you.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Lucky sighed. Then, with a grin, she added, “But I want to finish my mocha first.”

“I guess you are feeling better.” Shaking her head in mock disgust, Mo abandoned her kneeling position and resumed her seat across the table from Lucky.

After several moments, she broke the silence with a frustrated sigh. “Well, since you’re apparently refusing to tell me anything while we’re here, I guess I’ll fill you in on the latest about the country club dance.” She paused, then continued with a pointed look, “Mom said that in addition to a date, I can bring a friend.”