The Darkest Night (4 page)

“How inclusive,” she murmured.

Too bad they’d never have room at the inn for traditions like hers.

She parked around the corner and headed up the sidewalk, heels crunching on the thick layer of salt pellets laid, no doubt, in preparation for the storm warnings that had been playing between the Christmas carols as she drove. The lake effect weather was almost as punishing as an angel.

Although the ache between her legs said punishment didn’t have to be a bad thing.

What a thought to be having on the steps of a nursing home. Santa would definitely be putting her on the naughty list.

She had to be rung into the facility—this wasn’t the time of year for residents to go wandering—but she wasn’t surprised to hear the welcoming voice as the door opened.

“Bella? Hello. What are you doing out on a night like tonight?”

“Hi, Nanette.” Bella had known the angelic-possessed woman would be working the holidays. Of course she would. After her husband had been murdered—collateral damage in the war between the talyan and impenitent djinn-men—Nanette had thrown herself into all sorts of charity work, as if she had something to atone for. Bella had heard through the talyan that Nanette volunteered at the nursing home; they’d steered her that way to keep an eye on her because they blamed themselves as much as Bella did and they knew better than the angel-possessed woman how atonement might never end.

Bella tilted her head, taking in the rumble of the TV—
It’s a Wonderful Life
from the overwrought sound of it—and the scent of apple cider. She held out the gift in her hand. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring you and your residents some cookies.”

“You made cookies for us? How sweet.”

As Nanette relieved her of the small burden, Bella saw no reason to correct either of the woman’s two mistaken statements.

She followed the soft squeak of Nanette’s shoes. “How are you getting along?”

“Good.” The squeaks stopped. “Okay. Better than before.”

Bella pursed her lips. “You are a terrible liar.”

Nanette sighed. “Even you can tell? Wait, I’m sorry, that was so rude. I didn’t used to be rude.”

“Blame the talyan.”

“Oh, I do.” Nanette’s voice was softer than her shoes and very faintly bitter. “And myself, of course.”

Bella swallowed. “Now it’s my turn to be sorry.”

“Don’t be. You brought cookies. Now what else brought you here?” Nanette thumped her hand. “Have a seat.”

Bella settled into the overstuffed chair. A whiff of old-person smell wreathed her for a moment, and she closed her eyes. Would she ever get to be old?

“I had a visit from Cyril Fane.” She lowered her voice. “He wanted me to get a message to the talyan. I was surprised he didn’t come to you.”

“I don’t see him or the talyan if I can help it,” Nanette said. “Only Sera Littlejohn, since her father lives here. But if you need me to help—”

“I’ll find them at the Coil soon enough.” Bella paused. “But I was wondering about Fane…” To her surprise, her voice trailed off.

“Are you blushing?”

“Blushing? No. It’s just hot in here.” She smoothed the faux fur hem of her parka. She couldn’t very well open it since she wasn’t sure what incriminating evidence might be on her dress. “It just seemed strange he would come to me.” Much less come inside her, although she was thankful he’d proven inclined to temptation.

“Not so strange, since I haven’t been around to take his messages.” Nanette’s tone turned sly, or at least as sly as an angelic possessed could manage. “And not strange he’d find you. Mr. Fane likes nice things.”

“Nice?” Bella infused the word with all her disbelief.

“Well, beautiful things,” Nanette amended, as if even when she was being sly she couldn’t stop herself from being honest.

Bella shook her head. “I just don’t want to get caught in the middle of some sphericanum versus talyan silliness.”

“Almost as bad, in its way, as the tenebraeternum.” A dark note of mourning colored the angel-woman’s voice. “The host and the league should both know better. The tenebrae demons are just evil.”

Bella’s throat tightened. “So true.”

“But Mr. Fane is a good man. Angels are, of course, but the man is good too. Strict and stern, sometimes, and uncompromising on occasion, and maybe a little humorless…”

Bella remembered the sound of his laughter as she climaxed. “Where is the good part?”

“I’m getting there. Just wait a second… He has pretty blue eyes. Celestial even.”

“No wonder I couldn’t turn him away.”

“Turn him away from what?”

Bella’s cheeks burned again. “I mean I couldn’t say no to passing his message along.”

“Little messenger girl,” Nanette said. “Like the angel at Christmas, bringing words to the waiting.”

Not like that at all.

She stayed a little longer when Nanette asked if she’d be willing to walk through the halls. “Some of our residents don’t have many visitors, and, well, sometimes if they see someone, they can tell themselves it’s family.”

Bella agreed, but only because she was amused an angelic possessed would be so adept with this lie. Maybe that’s why it was called a white lie.

Most of the residents were more interested in the angel on the TV than the one in their midst, but they all had coos for Nanette and a few “hello, dears” for Bella.

“Such lovely hair,” said one of the old ladies. “Pretty as a poinsettia.”

Bella touched the ridiculously wayward mass. “Thank you, ma’am.”

From behind her came a gruff scolding. “Tempting the devil. More devils every day.”

“Pastor Littlejohn,” Nanette said reprovingly. “We don’t talk that way here.”

“I’ll talk as I like. I preached it for forty years. If I don’t keep an eye out for the devil, who will?”

Bella angled her face, tracking the age-roughened voice. “Maybe it’s time to let someone else take up the fight.”

“Who? I thought I knew everything before, but I didn’t know what to look for. Now I do.” His voice rose, taking on the cadences of the pulpit. “They are in the shadows when we look away. They are in the darkness and the freezing cold. They are in us!”

Nanette shushed him. “There are no demons here. And it’s winter in Chicago, so of course it’s cold and dark.”

The pastor’s tone sharpened. “You are too innocent to see them, but I see them all around—”

Bella interrupted his tirade. “The demons should be home for the holidays, shouldn’t they? They could be roasting their chestnuts in hellfire and singing carols backward.”

Nanette coughed.

After a moment, the old man grunted. “You watch yourself, missy. Nothing a demon likes more than a disbeliever.”

“So I’ve heard. Just keep watching, Pastor.”

Nanette urged her away. “Sera visits every week, but she can’t let him see her or he screams for hours. We don’t know if it’s his preaching or his dementia, but he sees the teshuva demon threaded through her soul.”

“He doesn’t see the demon. He sees the reflection of it in her eyes. Tell her to wear polarizing sunglasses when she’s with him and they’ll be fine.”

Nanette’s footsteps stopped, then pattered to catch up as Bella moved toward the front door. “Really? I’ve never heard such a thing. How did you know?”

Bella shrugged. “I’ve screamed once or twice myself.”

Nanette buzzed her out after offering to call a cab, which Bella graciously and without further explanation refused. The angel-woman followed her out onto the porch. “Sera said she’d be coming by for Christmas. I’ll tell her to bring sunglasses for her and Archer. And I’ll let her know you wanted to speak with her.”

That hadn’t exactly been what she’d said, Bella reflected. The female talya who had been a thanatologist specializing in modern death rituals had an unusually—and uncomfortably—perceptive eye, sunglasses or no. But she thanked the angel-woman and made her way down the crunchy sidewalk.

“Happy Holidays,” Nanette called.

Bella waved and kept walking.

But at the closing click of the door behind her, she stopped. Then she turned a right angle and prowled into the yard.

A porch rambling the front length of the building, festooned with plastic garland and icicle lights, had lots of nooks and crannies, and the obstacle course of holiday-themed statuary offered extra hiding places. But Bella sensed nothing amiss besides the eyesore of décor. Something was keeping Pastor Littlejohn on edge, but what could one old man discern that would have escaped Nanette with her angel and Sera with her repentant teshuva demon?

With a shake of her head, Bella aimed for the sidewalk again. As she passed the nativity scene, she snagged the illuminated infant out of the plastic hay. The cord snapped free and the light went out. The visible light anyway.

She tucked him under her arm and returned to her car where she tossed him into the trunk with a dozen other statues from her earlier stops. One of the more secular minded churches had even had its cookies for Santa out already, which would now bring more joy to the nursing home residents than the inevitable rats. Bella figured she was doing everyone a favor, though she doubted anyone else would see it that way.

Then again, no one on earth saw the way she did. Maybe she’d carelessly forgotten for a few moments in an angel-man’s arms, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She had another savior now. She’d found Jesus. A whole lotta Jesuses.

Chapter 4

Fane steered the Porsche through the darkness of the industrial district, watching the passing streetlights as if they might reveal answers to some of the dimness in his own head.

He'd brooded for only a couple of days, possibly a new record for him. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit.

He had to admit, being with Bella had knocked something loose. Something besides his morals. The way she’d taken what she wanted had reminded him, if he was cut off from the sphericanum, he had to take matters into his own hands. Which he should have done before but he'd been brooding.

At this time of night, the warehouses were abandoned, everyone gone for the night and maybe trying to sneak in a few extra days of vacation. Light gleamed from only one building, sullenly low and striped with black from the security bars, but light. He parked outside the @1 headquarters and went to the door.

The glass was smoked so he couldn't see inside, but he pushed the intercom button and waited. And waited. Then he pushed it again and held it down.

“I know you can see me,” he said.

After a moment, a grumpy voice answered. “You're right. That's why I didn't answer.”

“Let me in.”

“I can't think of a single reason...” There was a muffled discussion of multiple voices. “Oh fine.”

The door buzzed, and Fane pushed inside.

The foyer, which would have been a front desk area for a real business, was empty except for the steel buttresses reinforcing the walls and ceiling. It looked like a combination cathedral and apocalyptic bunker. Which, Fane figured, it basically was.

To his disgust, the angel inside him eased, the prickles that often marched his skin relaxed. He'd always wondered what kind of divine entity willingly left heaven to inhabit a human host. Was unending war against evil so enticing? Or maybe his angel hadn't left willingly. Maybe that's why it seemed to find a strange comfort amid the talyan.

Though he'd ever let them know that.

He stood staring up at the steel beams, lost in the darkness at the ceiling, until the thud of boots interrupted him.

Since the talyan were capable of absolute silence—even the females who occasionally chose stilettos—he knew the stomping was for his benefit.

He didn't look down. “You got my message?”

“We did. So why are you here?”

Fane finally straightened. “How's it going, Jonah?”

The talya crossed his arms over his chest. Well, he crossed one arm. The other arm was missing from the elbow down and had been replaced by a wicked hook. Talyan carried a mean grudge, and Fane had been instrumental in tricking Jonah's soul mate into taking on Corvus Valerius in the final fight of his evil life. “We didn't really need the sphericanum to confirm what we already knew.”

Fane steepled his fingers—a cheap shot since he still had both his hands even if he didn’t have his sword—but a pointed reminder of who held the high ground here. “I thought it was important the tenebrae energy in this city is either dissipating or being diverted.”

“We don't deserve a holiday?”

“Wouldn't know. We've never gotten one.”

After a moment, Jonah inclined his head. “Nanette talked to Sera yesterday. If the tenebrae are undergoing some sort of transformation, we'll figure it out.”

“And you don't need my help,” Fane finished.

“Didn't I say that? I'm pretty sure I implied it.” The talya flexed his biceps.

Obviously the angel's comfort in the place was a direct reflection of the teshuva's willingness to accept it. Or maybe, once again, the difference between men and their preternatural symbionts was too vast to be overcome.

Still, he'd come here to make the effort.

“I want my sword back,” he said.

“We don't have it. Thorne does. We have only a few shards left of the ancient abraxas extracted from Alyce. Certainly not enough to forge a new sword.”

Fane lifted one brow. He hadn't brought up forging anything. Which made him wonder what exactly Liam Niall, with his background as a blacksmith in Ireland, was doing with the remains of the ambraxas. “I don't want a new sword. I want mine.”

“Then I guess you shouldn't have lost it.”

Fane's belly cramped with the memory of the sword piercing his flesh. Worse was the pain of it pulling away, out of his reach. He forced himself not to wince. “I didn't lose it. Thorne took it. And I want it back. I'm willing to help you to make that happen.”

“The angelic possessed have nothing to offer us besides the abraxas. Without that...” Jonah shrugged.

Fane cracked his knuckles. The other option was to crack said knuckles across Jonah's jutting chin. “I can fight.”

“Not like a talya. You'll die.”

“Then I'll die.”

Jonah studied him. “For a sword?”