Fall From Grace (7 page)

“Evangeline
Grace.”

“Come see what Miss
Grace has brought.”

Two
women joined them from a connecting room directly behind the large
desk and Evie tried not to stare as she shook hands with each in
turn. They were quite the largest women she had ever seen. Both of
them squeezed into tight black leather jumpsuits and police boots.
And that
hair.
Red
as a tropical sunset. Evie was quite certain they were only
marginally human. The air around them sort of vibrated. Terrifying
appearance to the contrary, the LaRue sisters were just as smiley
as Barracuda and when they spoke, their voices were actually quite
soft. She got the feeling all three members of Barracuda Bail Bonds
were excited to see her and she wondered exactly what Trick had
told them.

After a few minutes
of bustling back and forth between the kitchen and the office, they
were seated around the table in artfully mismatched upholstered arm
chairs drinking tea from delicate porcelain cups. It took several
muffins and a lot of small talk before Evie could politely steer
the conversation back to the purpose of her visit.

Barracuda knew
exactly who Trick was and didn't try to pretend otherwise. Client
confidentiality however, he explained, was an issue."You know, I
like that cowboy, Miss Grace. We all do."

Pansie and Rose Marie
nodded emphatically, setting their hairdos quivering.

"Despite the slippery
slope he's been on this very long time, Trick's never lost his
humanity. Can't say that for many lost souls. I have hope for that
boy. You absolutely sure you have to chop him up?"

Evie sipped her tea.
She had been thinking that same thing. Pondering all day on what
Trick said. Especially when he asked if she never questioned the
Death Mark or her orders. She hadn't, she realized. Ever. But then
the Celestials had never put her in a position like this. No, that
wasn't quite fair. She was at least partially to blame for setting
herself squarely where she was. Could her Death Mark be wrong? Duty
said 'no'. Follow orders. Stay within the chain of command. She
sighed to herself. She had never been that good at following orders
blindly. In fact, that's probably what got her killed back in New
Orleans.

What
was going on? With her. With him. The way he made her feel from the
first moment he walked into that West Hollywood bar. An elusive
longing for what Evie couldn't say, couldn't articulate to herself
in a truly coherent way. Even alive she had never quite felt
like
this
. She'd
told the young Guardian Angel it was okay to fall in love with his
charge. The same advice did not,
could
not
,
apply to an Avenging Angel and her quarry.

Barracuda waited,
watching the play of emotions across her face. He was an excellent
judge of character, an important talent in both a bail bondsman and
a Sorcerer. "I'll tell you this much. McKitrick was raised in the
desert and he hates it with a passion. Can't get enough of the
water, swims like a fur seal. Try following the Pacific Coast
Highway and see where it takes you. And if you can avoid chopping
him up, I think you won't regret it."

The LaRue sisters
nodded enthusiastically once more, their tall hair bobbing up and
down.

Roman asked if Evie
had tracked Trick with only the burnt-out bracelet as a guide.

“Oh no, can't take
credit solely for that.” She admitted. “Adam Lee over near
Chinatown pointed me in this direction.”

“He's a nice boy,”
Pansie said sincerely. At least Evie thought she was Pansie, it was
hard to tell them apart.

“Grandaddy Lee's a bit of an institution here in town.
Powerful JuJu. Not that they call it that. Damn fine fisherman,
too. Bet he's got those
mahi mahi
fish wishing that wrinkly little old man
didn't
never
come
to Hawaii.” He barked out a laugh.

Some
time later, brushing the crumbs from her lips, one hand on the
doorknob, ready to go, she asked, "He wasn't by any chance bleeding
when he was here, was he? Hopefully from an injury
I
caused him? Did he tell
you he took my clothes and my phone, leaving me tied up and
naked?"

Roman laughed, so
hard he started to wheeze again, "That boy is just begging for an
Angelic ass-whupping! He wasn't bleeding. He owed me, though, and I
took my payment in blood. Did you sniff that out?"

"Yes, and if I can,
so might someone else. Watch your back, Mr. Barracuda."

Slipping back into stealth mode, she did as the big man said
and headed towards the sea. They'd been in West Hollywood during
the attack, yet Trick had brought her all the way across town to El
Segundo, near LAX. Why come here unless he knew the area well? She
picked up the Pacific Coast Highway, everyone called it the PCH
locally, from the point nearest the hotel. It actually wasn't that
far from Compton and the bail bondsman.
Hmm
, which direction? Evie scanned
the busy road. North towards Santa Monica, or South towards Redondo
Beach and beyond? Evie had the burned amulet bracelet still. She
was hoping it might give her a sign. After all, the complex web of
spells binding the magic had been tuned to the Reaper's frequency.
She flew a few test flights in both directions. The tingling grew
imperceptibly stronger to the south.

Shadowing the
highway, Evie flew in low circles over each block. Despite the
name, you could barely see the ocean from the Pacific Coast Highway
at street level until you passed Manhattan Beach, and then only
sporadically for many miles into Orange County. Early rush hour
traffic slowed the busy thoroughfare to a crawl in the southbound
lanes as the road snaked past strip malls, fast food places and
apartments. Near Hermosa Beach she got a definite buzz from the
bracelet. Turning away from the highway, she skimmed the sidewalk
getting closer and closer to the shore. Along the Strand she
dropped back into human form and walked the popular bike and
pedestrian path that ran for several miles along the little South
Bay beach cities. She stopped at the bronze surfer statue at the
end of Pier Street to look around. The street's namesake was
actually only the simplest of piers stretching out over the
green-gray waters. What brought locals and tourists alike to Pier
Street were the dining and drinking establishments (especially
drinking) lining the last few blocks. This stretch had been turned
into a pedestrian mall. Happy hour was in full swing and the
terraces of the bars already crowded with tourists and locals
enjoying the glow of the sun as it set into the sparkling
Pacific.

Evie
shaded her eyes, walking first towards the sea. Nothing. Changing
direction she walked up the street. Midway between a souvenir shop
full of 'Hermosa Beach Lifeguard' T-shirts, and a yoghurt place,
she felt it. A definite spiritual sort of tug. Pulling her
glamour
back on, she
searched out a vantage point with a good view of the
block.

Oddly enough she
didn't need magic to spot him in the end. He walked right by, just
a few feet below, carrying a plastic bag of groceries from Ralph's
Market. Searching for the Death Mark, she couldn't quite bring it
into focus. Had Trick been right? Was it all a mistake?

She stood, flexing
her wings and flipping the loop up on her sword's scabbard. Her job
now was to swoop down, sword in hand, and execute him. Take revenge
for the murdered innocents in Hungary. Shifting the bag to his hip,
Evie watched as Trick stopped to talk with someone at the terrace
of a restaurant called Sharky's. He laughed at something the other
man said and flashed that big, easy smile she had seen in the West
Hollywood bar, automatically running his hand through his thick
hair. She was an Avenging Angel and she better get started with the
vengeance part of her job description.

But maybe not quite
yet.

The Fallen walked in, tailed by three massive
black dogs. Roman looked up from the computer screen to stare
impassively at the little group over his glasses. If he was
surprised to have a Fallen Angel walk through the front door of
Barracuda Bail Bonds, he didn't show it. The LaRue sisters barely
glanced away from their paper work in the back room.

“Let me guess,” he
rumbled in his deep baritone. “You're looking for the cowboy.”

The Baron gave him
the ghost of a smile, “Should you mean a certain Reaper, then yes,
I am looking for him. If you know what is good for you, you will
give me answers to everything I ask.”

Roman did not smile
back. He did not like people – living, dead or otherwise – coming
into his office and telling him what to do. “Is there a particular
reason why I should give you any information concerning him?
Besides out of the goodness of my big, generous heart?”

The Baron kept
smiling, though his eyes reflected a very different emotion.
Snapping his fingers, the dogs stood in that impossibly erect
position and rolled back their fur revealing the fearsome beings
beneath. He snapped his fingers again and despite the bright
sunshine outside, the room was plunged into darkness. Cold air
seeped up from the floorboards.

“Do you really have
no idea who I am?”

Roman gave an exasperated sigh. He rose from his office chair,
muttering, “Don't see why I have to put up with this bull
shit.” There was a
click
and bright lights overhead
flooded the room with light. “People comin' into
my
office makin' trouble
for
me
and
snappin' their damn celestial fingers in
my
face.” He stood, staring over his
little tinted glasses down at the Fallen. Rather a long way down.
Barracuda was impressively large, built on truly generous
proportions and none of it running to fat.

The Fallen stared
back, his glare positively icy.

Reaching down, Roman turned Otis Redding's
'
Dock of the Bay
'
a few decibels louder on the old record player flanked by oversized
speakers sitting to one side of his desk. “Like I don't have
enough
trouble of my own.
Sing it Otis. Wish I was sittin' at the dock with you.” He kept on
muttering as he flipped through a large pile of files stacked
precariously on one of the speakers. “Human kind skippin' bail,
taking
my
hard
earned money. If that weren't enough, we got shifters, supes and
Vamps all crawlin' in with some sob story needin' somethin' for
nothin' to get them out of the trouble they got their
own
damn selves
into!”

The Fallen was only
half listening, his focus elsewhere, expecting no further trouble
from the bail bondsman.

“There!
That's
what I'm lookin' for.”

Glancing up, the
Baron saw Barracuda scatter a small amount of ash from a tiny,
square white envelope in his very large hand. It drifted lazily
onto the polished wood floor.

Barracuda gave an
exaggerated snap to his fingers in imitation of the Fallen. From
the ashes, a mass of shadows rose up, one after the other, until
they entirely surrounded the Fallen's group. In a heartbeat, the
shadows took form and shape, solidifying into a host of horned and
fanged demons: red, blue, and green. The LaRue sisters strolled in
almost lazily unfurling leathery wings the same blood red as their
hair. Around them the air shimmered and in their arms, a pair of
huge, organic looking guns appeared.

Reaching under the desk, Roman pulled out a short, tasseled
spear that popped and buzzed with such dark energy it seemed to
blur the outline of its Master. Resting the weapon in the crook of
one arm, he glared at the Fallen. “The real question is, Baron, do
you know who I am? This is
my
house. You have crossed
my
threshold and I have the power to
whip your angelic ass if you disrespect me or mine
anymore.”

This time a true
smile appeared on the fearsomely handsome face of the Fallen Angel.
“Well played, Voodoo King. You are right. I have been rude to you
in your home.” He reached into the inside pocket of his velvet
suit, pulling out a small leather pouch. He stepped forward and the
host around him tensed. Holding up one hand in a placating gesture,
he slowly emptied the bag, spilling out a handful of glittering
gems.

“I should have made
my intent clear. I am, of course, willing to purchase this
information and pay well for your time.”

Barracuda didn't even look at the gems. “And if you had just
asked me nicely, I would have told you exactly what I told that
Avenging Angel for free. Who, by the way, said please and thank
you, and brought a bag of fresh rolls from La Brea bakery,
excuse me very much
, Mr.
Baron. Yes, I know who you are.”

With
a quick motion to the three dark beings, the Fallen transformed
them back into the large sentinel dogs. He sat down and crossed his
legs. The tension in the room scaled down several notches. “Accept
the gems, your Highness, as my apology for being so brusque. I have
been much in my own magic and forget the other gods have their own
guardians who command just as much respect. Hubris is truly a sin.”
Running his long, tapered fingers down one pant leg, he smoothed
the fine material. “This little matter is of some personal
importance to me. So if you would,
please
, tell me of the Reaper and,”
he kept his voice deceptively neutral, “the Avenging Angel who
pursues him.”