Good Intentions (33 page)

“Have you tried laying with a woman while she cries? Have you, real y?” It was a rhetorical question; Henry and his wife were the most openly affectionate couple anyone knew for miles. “Because I’l tel you, her tears do in fact leave me feeling unmanned. Quite so.” Henry waved his hand dismissively. “She’l get over this if you just get between them and remind her whose wife she is.” John looked ready to roar again, throwing his hands up in some gesture of rage, but then he stopped. The young man just didn’t have the words anymore. He didn’t want to leave angry. His hands fell , waving away whatever venom it was that he had been grasping for. “Her heart was never mine. She was honest enough with that. Never misled me. She loves will iam, and he loves her. Since before I was even a suitor. I’m just in the way here. The only real good I do as her husband is to lend my name to prevent less kindly men from laying claim to her.” “She’s your wife, John. It’s a sin.” “Tel me how love is a sin, Henry,” John sighed painful y. “Tel me how locking up a woman who was forced to marry me and breaking her heart serves a greater good than what they have together.” Henry’s silence made for a very quiet house. John didn’t have al that much, but with his father’s untimely death from il ness, it was at least his. It would be Katherine’s now, though, in al but name. That was fine. John wasn’t too terribly worried about the family name. “You’l look in on her?” “Yes.” “And keep your mouth shut?” Henry looked up at his friend a bit resentful y, but eventually softened. “You know I will .” John nodded. He hefted up his sack of food for the road, his bundle of clothing and the axe that had been in his

family since his grandfather’s time. There was no one else to see him off, but that had been handled in the days before. His land would be better tended through the aid of neighbors while he was gone than he could ever manage alone. They were al just happy that one of their own was answering the cal to take up arms for Christ, and wanted to do their part in support. John lingered only for a proper farewel to Henry before he walked out across his small farm and out onto the road. He had already said his goodbyes to his wife before this. That was why she wasn’t there when he left. She wept, confessing her sins to him, but she did not ask him to stay. She could barely bring herself to thank him. His Crusade, as it turned out, became more about fighting banditry than Saracens bent on holding Jerusalem. He lived another two years before he met his end, seeing far more action on the journey than he did in the Holy Land itself. He didn’t live to see Jerusalem fall , which was just as well . The aftermath would have broken his heart almost as surely as Katherine had. John was lucky, or perhaps able to make his own luck. He met fell ow Normans, men-at-arms who saw fit to train him and a few others to fight like warriors rather than peasants. That had been self-interest on their part, of course, and John performed more than a few favors in return. He earned a place among them. That place al owed him to journey with Robert I of Normandy rather than with one of the massive mobs of would-be Crusading peasants that succeeded only in burning and murdering Jews in Europe. several of those murdering peasants, in fact, died by John’s hand. It was only luck of the draw, he always claimed, that kept his name among those that were constantly cal ed to keep order and enforce some measure of justice among the Duke of Normandy’s men. It was luck that put him among those who spent their time settling feuds between Christian warriors, sometimes with words and other times with violence He put down three men who’d murdered their captain, and later even faced down and slew a knight who’d raped a merchant’s wife. Al that happened before they had even reached Constantinople. He may have been a failure as a husband, but he turned out to be an excel ent warrior, skill ed with sword and shield and spear. By the time they got to the Holy Land, it was joked around the campfire that John would have a hard time slaughtering Saracens enough to equal the number of Christians he’d kil ed. It was also quickly added that he had acted with good cause in every

case, of course. In the end, the joke was al too accurate. He only fought a few battles against the Saracens. In each, he acquitted himself bravely. He rarely had time or energy for plunder when al was said and done, though, and the more he saw of the Holy Land the more he wondered if his heart was really in the quest. He was there when Antioch fell . He fought heroical y, but his final battle came in the hours fol owing the taking of the city. There was a noblewoman who’d come with the Crusaders, beautiful and regal, with striking green eyes and golden blonde hair. John found her unsettling, but she had no time for one as lowly as him. She drifted from one lord to the next, attaching herself to the worst of people. In the willd hours immediately after Antioch fell , John found her with several men-at-arms and a clutch of cowering Saracen women. The noblewoman had accused the girls of swal owing jewels to hide them from their conquerors. She instructed the men-at-arms to retrieve them in any way necessary. John asked his comrades how they thought they would find the Kingdom of God by slitting bel ies of defenseless women. It came to heated words, and then blows. He was very good in battle. Quicker, smarter, sober. The three girls in question ultimately walked away from the matter, as did only two of the six Crusaders present. The others fell to John’s sword. He very nearly defeated them al . The strangely beautiful noblewoman, standing behind him with a dagger, intervened before the last two men-at- arms were kil ed. John did not walk away from that dispute. He had friends. He was avenged, at least where the other two men he’d fought were concerned. No one spoke of the noblewoman. No one really remembered her having been with the Crusaders when she eventually disappeared after the fall of Jerusalem. John’s belongings and treasures and pay, in defiance of al the cynical realities of the times, actually made it home to

Normandy. It was enough to provide a real measure of security. His wife had given birth to a child within nine months of his departure, who came to bear John’s name. No one ever accused Katherine of bearing another man’s son. Nor did Katherine ever tel anyone that on their wedding night, John had dried her tears and promised, despite his broken heart, to never take her without her consent. Nor did anyone speak il when, a year after John’s death and that of will iam’s first wife, widow and widower were married. John died shortly after the blonde woman had torn his wedding band from his hand. His last thoughts as he bled out from a dagger in his back in the dirty streets of Antioch were of his wife. His last prayer was that Katherine would live a long, happy life full of love. She did. * Alex remembered nothing of his dreams that morning. They were gone from his mind in the first seconds of his waking, distracted as he was by the arousing touch of the woman at his side. Lorelei could share only in dreams of his desires. In the couple of hours of sleep that he’d needed, he had several about her. It left her feeling very appreciated. She didn’t dwel much on the other disjointed, fleeting images that ran through his unconscious mind after that. She paused in her attentions just long enough to murmur, sweetly, “Good morning, my love.” Alex shifted, stretching out a bit in the large bed without opening his eyes. “Master,” he corrected with a grin.

He felt her shudder, responding to that one word with excitement. Her body, draped over his legs, tensed and clung to him a bit more tightly. “Oh,” she smiled widely, “now he wants to play.” * The informal congress of angels had only grown in numbers overnight. A great many of the seraphim had descended from Heaven to be there, along with no small number of the ophanim. Angelic lords and Heavenly bureaucrats attended as well , but they had responsibilities that could be put on hold. For the guardian angels, it was somewhat the reverse; while they were greater in overal number, fewer in proportion to the other ranks of angels were able to tear themselves away from their charges to be present at the church. Some, particularly the lords and ophanim, took everything seriously. Others, such as the seraphim, tittered and speculated and made a much bigger deal of everything than was really necessary, but that was their way. The guardians were a mixed bag, but in having the greatest constant contact with human diversity, this was no great surprise. Some found the events in Seattle alarming; others found in them a great sign of hope, or at least a reaffirmation of purpose. The balance had held for mil ennia, and while the angels stood to keep the Pit in check, the lack of actual movement had become very boring indeed. Even in Heaven, everybody loved a good scandal. Immortal beings who saw each minute and day pass no faster or slower than the mortal world knew how to enjoy small things. Events in Seattle hardly threatened to reshape the world, but they still made for great gossip. Nothing this juicy had happened since the end of the First World War. So many were in attendance that the meeting had moved to St. Mark’s Cathedral, a landmark building overlooking Lake Union from its position on Capitol hill . That Saturday morning, the sun shone brightly through scattered clouds as angels stood al over the grounds in pairs and small clusters talking about both current events and their vastly intertwined pasts.

Much of that conversation stopped, however, at the wordless arrival of a proud, triumphant guardian angel. No one had expected to see her come in from the sky. She flew down from the skies under her broad, glorious wings. Many angels were shocked by her appearance. The guardians, however, were at worst struck with surprise—and many of them, by contrast, genuinely cheered. They looked on with interest as the lovely blonde landed and strode to the doors of the cathedral. Rachel passed through the front doors without opening them, swaggering as she walked and waving to others inside the foyer. “What up, gangsta!” she waved to those she passed. Coming to the doors to the chapel, knowing full well that the main focus of the gathering would be inside and what it would concern, Rachel felt no reason to be shy or subtle on entry. Rather than fading straight through the double doors, she grabbed the handles and threw them both open wide. As she expected, conversation stopped. Angels in her path parted like the Red Sea. Toward the altar, she could see Hannah, Lawrence, Vincent, Caleb and others al turning toward her. She threw her arms and wings wide, calling out, “How ya like me now, bitches!?” Eyes popped. Jaws dropped. Hands flew over mouths. “Y’al felt that sudden, unprecedented shift in the battle of good and evil? That motherfucker’s al mine. That’s my boy, that’s his chica, and that is al my good judgment! What?” She looked directly at Vincent, who seemed like he was about to speak. “What? What you got to say about that?” “Rachel, you—” “WHAT?” Rachel bel owed over him tauntingly. Her face was dominated by a wide grin. “I was going to—” “WHAT?”

“Please stop—” “WHAT?” Vincent gave up trying to speak with a scowl. As he did, though, a tal er, grander angel beyond him, facing away from the conversation at first, now turned to look upon Rachel. She stopped taunting. “Oh,” she said, straightening up. She made an awkward wave with an even more awkward, self-conscious smile. “Hel o, um, Mister Archangel Michael. Um. Sir.” * It infuriated Lydia to have to wait al day before nightfal , but that was simply the nature of the beast. She was used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it, or at least seeing others hop to the task of satisfying her desires without hesitation. Sometimes, though, the realities of life meant that some things had to run on their own schedule. Hours ago, the sketch artist she had requested Carlos locate for her had arrived at their mansion on Capitol hill . He fit the bil precisely as she’d hoped: hungry, talented, and with the sort of criminal history that implied there were no guardian angels looking after him. He was pleasantly handsome to boot. Lydia went straight to work with him. Before long, she had solid, effective likenesses of Lorelei and the brat she’d been with – not that any sketch could truly capture the beauty of a succubus. Lydia also had the young artist completely, utterly enraptured. She al owed him to kneel before her as she sat in a chair in the study, slavishly licking between her spread legs while she pondered her options. Seducing the young man was unnecessary as far as maintaining his services went, of course. The money Carlos would pay was more than good enough to keep his loyalty and his silence. Lydia preferred to secure loyalty

personal y, though, rather than relying on a network of connections. It also simply felt good. He wasn’t as talented as her current husband, Carlos. Nor was he as good as Paco, or Chuy, or several of the other bodyguards here in Seattle, or Carlos’s father, or a couple of Carlos’s rivals within the family business. still , he offered up at least a casual degree of pleasure. Lydia sat with her legs spread wide, still clad in her short, green silk bathrobe with only its bottom spread open for her new servant’s access. She gave him no outward indication of excitement. She found it amusing to leave him wondering if he was satisfying her or not. She had already forgotten his name. He looked up at her longing for some sort of approval or word of appreciation, or even just a glance of acknowledgement, but he was out of luck. She genuinely wasn’t thinking about him at al . Instead she considered the necessary changes in plans for the immediate future. After her wedding to Carlos in Ciudad Juarez a month ago, Lydia had grown eager to wrap things up with him. She had made more than enough inroads on his al ies and associates in the cartel to use them at her whim in the future. Carlos was a serviceable pawn, but his soul was overdue in hell . The only thing that kept him alive at this point was Lydia’s curiosity about his cartel’s expansion into the Pacific Northwest and what she could gain from it. She had been about ready to claim her final satisfaction from him. Manipulating him and cuckolding him at every turn had grown a touch dul . Her fixation upon him as her next victim did wonderful things for his sexual prowess, of course, but that would happen for her next prey, too. As they arrived at the restaurant last night, she had pondered how much she wanted to tel him about her rampant infidelities and how far the ensuing bloodshed would go, and whether the amusement factor would be worth the degradation of her growing cadre of enthral ed gangsters and cartel luminaries. Al that adorable violence and anguish and discord that erupted whenever one of her lovers found her in bed with another never really got old… …but then there was Lorelei. No horns, no wings, and absolutely no shame about it. The instant friction and hostility between them was no surprise, but for one of Belial’s whores—even one so infamous—to take such an arrogant and dismissive tone to the most favored of Baal was intolerable. The unanswered questions behind the whole incident were intolerable, as well , and thus she would need to have the matter investigated.