Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Fifty One: Answers

The beer hall was unusually quiet. That was the first giveaway.

Arlen entered without ceremony, flanked by Usk and Akiva. Jesper, Darin and Raziel followed at a more discreet distance. Arlen hadn't wanted Darin to come, but there'd been no arguing with him; he'd just walked out the door after them, and pretended not to hear any efforts to get him to turn round. Arlen had deliberated over bringing Ashe or Calder, but decided against. Marick had too much vested interest in Calder, and Ashe was smart, but she wasn't part of his original crew and he had needed someone keeping an eye on Silas and Leon. She'd taken to babysitting duty about as gracefully as a farting bull in a pottery shop, but that was tough shit. Tonight he needed to know exactly who was at his back, those he'd known for the longest.

Marick's door was already open, and the only Devils present were the usual loiterers who never seemed to leave. That was the second giveaway.

"Stay close," he muttered to Usk, low enough that only he and Kiv would hear it. "You know the signal."

As long as he was still alive to give it, he thought sourly, feeling a mirthless laugh bubble in his chest. He'd somehow slept like the dead last night, like his body was fucking practicing. He needed all his wits about him, true, but it really said something when even his organs were pessimistic about his chances.

He walked up to the office door, chest tightening as if resisting the approach of a blade. Marick sat behind his desk, eyes already on him. As Arlen paused in the doorway, his employer beckoned him in with a smile he didn't trust at all.

No one jumped out him; there were no sudden moves to send him reaching for the knife he'd hidden on his thigh. But Marick was not alone; as Arlen entered and pushed the door to behind him, a slender figure stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the room.

Every nerve in Arlen's body prickled with alarm.

"Sir?" he forced out. He hated his body for betraying him; his heart pounded in his throat and his scar twinged like he'd run ice down it. He didn't want Marick to see him rattled. He suspected that the entire point of this meeting was to try and scare him shitless, and he didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"There's no need to be alarmed, Arlen," Marick said, his voice too light, too neutral. "Ilan has never had anything to do with Cael."

The Angel in the corner inclined his head. "Well met."

Cael was only the most recent reason out of a great many that Arlen never wanted to find himself in the same room as an Angel, and Marick knew it.

"Ilan has been helping me straighten out a few problems. It's come to my attention that both you and your apprentice have found yourselves on the shitlist of Cael's estate."

Arlen tore his eyes from the Angel. It was difficult; it was always better to keep them well inside one's field of vision, but he was determined that Marick didn't see how rattled he was. "It's possible. We haven't been able to confirm."

"Well. In that case, you're welcome. Not only was it identified, it's been resolved. They will not be bothering either of you in the foreseeable future."

Arlen didn't trust that for a minute. The 'unless' was implied. Now to wait for the threat that came with it.

"Thank you, sir." Chewing glass would have been more enjoyable than this, but if he wasn't getting assassinated just yet, he didn't want to tempt fate. He still couldn't help but prod back a little. "I thought you said Ilan had nothing to do with Cael? With all due respect."

No whisper of displeasure showed on Marick's face, but after so many years together Arlen really would have been stupid to think that meant there wasn't any. "He didn't. Ilan is a lawyer of sorts. Very talented at smoothing over tensions."