Thirteen (10 page)

Her expression made me regret saying that.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I know you’ve gone through hell because you’re my daughter. I never intended that.”

I shrugged. “Honestly, the cost-benefit ratio comes out in my favor. I get a lot of mileage out of being your daughter and only the occasional threat on my life. Even that’s just in the last week or so. Which I suspect isn’t coincidental.”

“It’s not. The Fates have always been able to keep this angel gig a secret. If that’s not the case anymore, something’s broken down.” She paused. “Actually, lots of things have broken down. It’s hell over there. No joke intended.”

“The movement,” I said. “It’s got the demons divided, and that’s rippling through everything, isn’t it?”

“Not just the demons. The angels are split, too. The ascended ones, at least.”

“Are they supernaturals?”

“Most, but the divide isn’t along those lines. Some—former human and supernatural—think exposure is the best thing for everyone. Others, like me, think it’ll be a catastrophe. So it’s chaos, with the Fates and everyone else trying to keep order and doing a damned poor job of it. Balaam has had imps and demi-demons out for weeks, scouring the dimensions trying to find me. I’ve been slaughtering them left and right. But a full-blood angel saw me talking to one. Next thing you know, the rumor’s
circulating that I’m a double agent for Balaam, which is what a lot of them believe anyway.”

I remembered what Kimerion said. “They think you helped Leah escape, don’t they?”

Jaime sat up. “Seriously? Oh, yes, you freed the bitch who tried to kill Paige, so she could go back to earth and give it another shot. Maybe take your daughter out, too.”

“According to their theory, I wasn’t really all that upset about what Leah did with Paige. Considering Leah was working for Kristof, I probably had a hand in it so he could get custody of Savannah easier. Later, I came to feel a little bad about Leah getting a raw deal. So I agreed to free her for Balaam, to help this liberation movement, with her promise that she’d stay away from Savannah. When she reneged on the deal, I dragged her back to her hell dimension before she could tattle.”

“They believe that?” I said.

“In the angel corps, the ascendeds keep tallies of souls retrieved. Like notches on our swords. Trsiel”—she glanced at me—“my partner, keeps another tally for me. Enemies made. By this point, the lists are about equal. And I’m very, very good at my job.”

She pulled her feet up to sit cross-legged on the bed. “The Fates know it’s bullshit. But an angel
was
involved with Leah’s escape. They know that, too. So they put me on the case, also knowing I’m pissed off and eager to clear my name. All this means that there are multiple reasons why this sorcerer might have brought me over. Maybe he wanted an angel for the fight. Or he wanted an angel for a hostage. Or he wanted Balaam’s daughter. Or I was getting too close to finding out who freed Leah. Main point for now? He
did
bring me over. We need to find out who this guy was, which isn’t going to be—”

I held up a wallet. “Dead sorcerer guy’s wallet, complete with ID.”

My mother smiled. “Smart girl.”

“I’m a licensed PI, Mom, even if I do spend more time behind the reception desk than in the field.”

“All right then,” Mom said. “You and I can take showers, and then we’ll hit the road. Jaime? You just keep on resting. You don’t need to wash that blood out of your hair. It’s red anyway. And I’m pretty sure that
isn’t
puke—”

Jaime was in the bathroom, slamming the door, before she finished.

Mom grabbed the motel stationery and started writing. As soon as the shower started, she set the paper on the nightstand, got off the bed, and slung her sword onto her back.

“Let’s go, baby.”

“But …” I glanced at the bathroom door. “Oh.”

“Yes, we’re ditching the diva. I’d say she’ll kill me later, but I’m pretty sure that’s not possible, and even if it is, I’ll only end up back where I was this morning.”

“Someone has to—”

“Lucas has already sent a local operative. That’s what I was doing with her phone earlier—texting the motel address to him. Now come on.”

“Just a sec.”

“We can’t—” She began.

I grabbed Jaime’s cell phone. “We may need this.”

Mom smiled. “That’s my girl.”

The Cabal operative was due to arrive in five minutes. We were to meet him at the corner, where we could keep an eye on the motel until he arrived.

We didn’t speak until we got there. Then Mom said, “I don’t like tricking her either, Savannah.”

“I never said—”

“I can see it in your face. Yes, I would have rather just told her to stay behind, but as much as she bitches about staying out of the action, she’d never have agreed.”

“And if she came she’d be likely to get hurt. So it’s better for her if we leave her behind.”

“Exactly.”

“And her lack of offensive powers means she’s not much help in a fight, which means she’d just be an extra person to look after.”

She exhaled. “Do you want me to deny that, Savannah? I won’t. My main concern is her getting hurt.”

I checked my watch, then eased back under the shade of a tree, in case Jaime decided on an uncharacteristically short shower and looked outside for us.

“You don’t agree,” Mom said.

A bubble of panic popped inside me. Of course I did. I always agreed with my mother. She knew best. She took care of—I took a deep breath and silenced twelve-year-old Savannah.

“I … agree in principle, but I wouldn’t have handled it the same way.”

“Good,” she said, so emphatically I jumped. “You aren’t a carbon copy of me, Savannah. I don’t want you to be. I want you to be your own person. In this case, I stick by my decision. We agree to disagree. And we push on. Unless you want to …”

She nodded back toward the motel.

I shook my head. “It’s done now, and I’m guessing that’s the Cabal guy’s car turning the corner.”

The car did belong to the man Lucas had sent for Jaime. He was a typical operative, a completely unassuming guy who could probably win an Ultimate Fighting title with one hand tied behind
his back. We checked his ID—Lucas had texted Mom his details. He’d also sent us a code phrase, which the guy repeated.

The operative didn’t ask our names. Didn’t display an iota of curiosity, except when he noticed the glowing sword on Mom’s back. Even then, all he did was blink. Mom said, “We’re ditching our friend to go to a Dungeons and Dragons convention.” He didn’t even smile. Jaime was going to love this guy. And love us all the more, not only for deserting her, but for forcing his company on her.

He left. We waited until he reached the motel door, then took off before the fireworks began.

JAIME

Jaime stood under the shower, eyes closed, letting the steaming water massage her neck and back. It might be a cheap motel, but apparently, midday, no one was using the water and she got all the hot water she wanted. And she wanted a lot. Even after twenty minutes of scalding, she swore she could still feel blood and filth in every pore.

She was not, as she always admitted, cut out for a life of adventure. Not unless it came with rich food and soft beds and perfumed baths. And Jeremy. After four years together, he was the key ingredient in her life, even if it did mean the occasional morning spent, drugged and sick, on a dirt-and-pest-encrusted prison cot.

Thinking of that cot, Jaime emptied the rest of the mini shampoo bottle on her head. As she lowered her hands, she noticed dried blood deep under her long nails. With a shudder, she scraped it out and tried not to think of where it came from. When that failed, she played the “what I’ll do when all this is over” game, which had gotten her through many an ordeal in the past. Jeremy had made her play it just last evening when she had been feeling helpless sitting around Cortez headquarters as everyone else raced off to action.

Italy, Jeremy suggested. A week in an Italian villa, just the two of them. Maybe more than a week, if they could both swing it. That was usually the sticking point—their own schedules and responsibilities, Jaime’s career and Jeremy’s Alphahood. But they never complained or wished things could be different. They weren’t kids. They’d built their own lives before they’d met and they still led them, taking advantage of any time when those lives could intersect—which made them feel like kids sometimes, ducking out on their responsibilities to play hooky together. Those interludes would grow more frequent when he stepped down as Alpha, and someday maybe they’d even live together, grow old together. But for now, this worked, and you don’t mess with what works.

A distant knock startled her. She turned off the water and listened. It must be housekeeping or pizza delivery—hell-beasts and evil sorcerers don’t knock—but she wasn’t taking any chances.

The knock came again.

“Is that our door?” she called.

No one answered. Jaime wrapped a towel around herself, stepped out of the tub, and cracked open the door.

The beds were empty. She pushed the door. The whole room was empty. She heard a muffled man’s voice outside. As she strained to listen, the phone by the bed rang.

She looked around. Weapon. She needed a … She grabbed a glass from the sink and went to break it, then realized it was plastic. “Goddamn cheap motel,” she cursed.

She looked down at her clothing, left in a puddle on the floor. She tugged out her belt and held it in one hand. As she eased from the bathroom, she clutched her weapon and prayed that Eve
wasn’t
out there or she’d never live this one down. Eve still liked to remind her of the “sock puppet” incident, when Jaime had used a sock to hold onto a glass shard in case she needed to
fight off a cult of crazed humans who’d discovered magic. Jaime had considered the makeshift weapon rather ingenious, but admittedly, it did pale next to Eve’s sword.

The phone was still ringing.

“Ms. Vegas?” the man outside the door called. “Could you please answer that?”

Jaime looked at the phone. She’d never heard of them being used as a method of instant death, so she crept toward the nightstand, gaze fixed to the door. Then, still holding the belt, she lifted the receiver with the same hand.

“Jaime?”

Just that one word and she dropped to the bed, sighing in relief, weapons falling. It was Jeremy.

“Jaime? Are you there?”

“Yes. Alone. In a motel room. With a stranger knocking at the door. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

She tried to put a little edge in her voice, but she wasn’t very good at edge. She was mostly just relieved to discover she wasn’t going to need to defend herself, dressed in a towel, armed with a belt.

When Jeremy explained that she’d been abandoned by her friends, and that Lucas had sent a baby-sitter, she did feel a spark of righteous indignation, but only a spark. Yes, it pricked her ego to be left behind, but she knew she was better off out of it. What did annoy her—really annoy her—was that Eve hadn’t given her the opportunity to make that decision herself.

“I know,” Jeremy said when she complained. “She felt this was better.”

“Not better. Easier. She’s quick to wield that damned sword, but not nearly so brave when it comes to personal confrontations. All those messy emotions. Blood is so much easier to clean up.”

Jeremy chuckled—that rich, deep chuckle that made her
insides flip, and she yearned to just stretch out on the bed and talk to him. Forget everything that was going on. But there was still a man standing outside her door and she should probably get dressed before she let him in.

“Yes, I would prefer that,” Jeremy said when she said as much to him. “He might not, but I would.”

She laughed. “All right, then. My adventure is over, thank God.” She paused. “But if you hear from Eve …”

“You’re mortally offended at being left behind.”

“Exactly.”

The poor guy had been waiting long enough. So, wrapped in her towel, Jaime opened the door an inch, told the man she was just popping into the bathroom to dress, then scampered off. At least a minute passed before she heard the motel door close. Anyone smart enough to be assigned as her escort would have the sense to realize that a sneak peek at Jaime Vegas in a towel wasn’t worth the risk of offending the werewolf Alpha.

She was almost finished dressing in her hastily wiped clothing when she heard another knock at the outside door. She frowned. The guard had come in—she was sure she’d heard him moving around the bedroom.

A high-pitched voice. “Mommy? Why’s the door locked?”

A sigh from the bedroom. The guard called back. “You’ve got the wrong room.”

“Mommy?” Louder pounding. “Is that you, Mommy?” Jaime threaded her belt through her slacks, then opened the bathroom door. The guard—a dark-haired guy in a suit—was staring out the window, his lips pursed.

“It sounded like a little girl,” Jaime said.

He glanced her way. “It is. I’ll get rid of her. But I’ll ask you step back in there until I do.”

Jaime nodded and retreated. He waited until she’d shut the door. She heard him undo the chain.

“Who’re you?” a girl asked.

“Not your mommy. Now, if you’ve forgotten your room number, go down to the office—”

“What did you do with my mommy? I heard her in here.” Jaime sighed. The girl sounded old enough to know better, but she kept insisting that her “mother” was in there and the more the guard argued, the more distressed she got.

Jaime stopped fussing with her wet hair and reached for the door handle. She could clear up this “mommy’s voice” problem by just sticking her head out.

As she twisted the knob, the guard yelled, “Hey! What do you think you’re—”

“I’m looking for my mommy. You’ve got her in here. I know you do.”

“Get back here, you little—”

A growl. Then a gasp of pain.

“What the—?”

A crash. Then the patter of footsteps on carpet. The guard’s cry, muffled, then garbled. Jaime yanked off her belt, wrapped it around her hand, and turned the knob slowly, her bare foot braced against the bottom. She eased it open, just enough to peer through and see—