Cian
When I'd mentioned this other angel to Vinny, I'd purposefully left out that I did not like this person, and when I'd said we'd "met," our encounter had been less than a pleasant bumping-into. If I'd included the fact that she'd nearly killed me last time we talked, Vinny would have attempted to talk me out of this, and I didn't need him trying to stop me. It's not like anyone could, anyway. If it was going to help Lucie, then it was going to be done.
Caprice Martinez was less angelic than me.
That is saying something.
But I spoke the truth, especially considering I was outside her exclusive nightclub at the moment, and all kinds of things happened in that place. Most of those things were restricted from national television.
I was dressed in all black, my hood up to hide my face from anyone who might use my identity against me. The brick wall I leaned against was cold underneath my shoulders. The thick aroma of alcohol and even of marijuana scented the air around me, and I tried not to vomit. Whatever Caprice was up to was not something our employer would prefer, but that much was expected from an angel who'd been around so long that she no longer cared, and no one cared that she didn't care.
I glanced up at the stars above my head; the sky was clear tonight. I'd better not regret this.
The moment I'd been waiting for finally happened; I heard the door to the nightclub open, followed by blaring music swiftly muffled, and a few men's voices so similar that they seemed to meld together into one. I couldn't pick out how many of them there were, but that wasn't the point. I listened to their voices carry on the wind, and when they got close enough, I stepped from the shadows.
The men, who were all different versions of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, didn't notice me, which was part of the plan. It was not a well thought-out plan, but it was a plan, nonetheless.
With a sigh, I took a step forward and bumped into one of the Tall, Dark and Handsomes. He snarled down at me with cold eyes, but didn't make a move to fight me. Wise. "Sorry, sorry," I muttered, as if I was, then went along on my way, nearing the entrance.
I glimpsed the neon sign hanging above the glass door; the design was of a pair of darkened angel wings. Black Winged was the name of the club. "Nice, Caprice," I said under my breath, then continued.
The bouncer at the door folded his arms when he saw me; he wore a crisp, black suit that tensed at his broad shoulders, his eyes concealed behind black shades. He stood beside a scanner, as stern as stone. When I started for the door, he put a hand to my chest. "You got an invitation, kid?" he growled.
Kid. I was not a kid. Doing my best at ignoring the name, I produced the invite I'd pick-pocketed off one of the men from my pocket. It had been too easy to retrieve. It was a small, insignificant piece of laminated paper with a barcode on it, but it was my key to success. I promptly slid it on top of the scanner, and was rewarded moments later with a beep and a glinting green light.
I couldn't see the bouncer's eyes, but knew they narrowed in skepticism. He muttered as if he really, really cared, "Welcome to Black Winged."
I thanked him with a smile and entered the club. It was immediately more difficult to keep my lunch down.
Alcohol ambushed my nostrils, giving me an instant headache. The bass from the speakers was thunderous, enough to make my blood jump underneath my skin; thousands of voices shouted over each other to be heard. There was cigarette smoke and hookah lingering in the air like toxic clouds. The ceiling stretched high above my head, and the chandeliers hanging from it were neon blue angel wings, twirling slowly in a circle. The dance floor underneath the shimmering wings was a moving mass of people in glow-in-the-dark clothes, glitter adorning their skin like jewelry. The bar at my far right was overrun with party animals who probably didn't need any more to drink.
I wanted to go home, but I had an order of business to pursue.
I went to the bar first, shoving through people unapologetically to reach the bartender, a wiry guy with glasses who couldn't have been much older than me. He, too, had glitter on him, highlighting his cheekbones and temples. I tapped my knuckles against the bar, which was glass, as a lot of things in this place were.
Glasses glimpsed up at me as he mixed a cocktail, overhead light creating a glare against his spectacles. He yelled over the music, "Can I help you?"
I leaned over the bar to make sure he heard me. "Where's Caprice? Your boss. I need to talk to her."
He stopped mixing, his eyes slimming. Handing off his cocktail mixer to another worker, he eyed me again and then motioned for me to follow him. I did so; he snaked around the bar and into a well-hidden corridor. The lights were dim above our heads, but did their jobs better than the lights in the almost complete darkness of the rest of Caprice's club. The door to the hallway thudded behind us, drowning out the music, thankfully, but not the smell.
In this light, the bartender looked almost ferret-like, beady eyes over a long nose. He also appeared very distrusting. I flipped my hood back to look more genuine. "What do you need with Caprice?" he asked me.
I couldn't help grinning at him. "What are you, her little guard dog?" I chuckled, but Glasses's expression told me this was in no way humorous to him. I coughed to stifle my laugh and reached into my back pocket, producing a business card. It was Caprice's, the one she'd given me the night we met. It was a stroke of luck I'd found it in my desk drawer.
I handed it off to the bartender. "Caprice knows me. She wouldn't have given me her card if she didn't want me to visit, now would she?"
His beady eyes flicked over the card perfunctorily. He dropped it to the ground. "Who the hell are you?"
That was note number one: He could curse. Not an angel, which I'd been expecting. "Just get me Caprice," I ordered again, folding my arms. I was getting kind of tired of this; I hadn't planned to be here all night. "Do you not trust me, or something?"
Glasses scoffed. "Of course not—"
"Nick, go back to work," came a voice that I was pleased and also dismayed to hear.
I looked over the bartender's shoulder, and met Caprice's assertive gaze. I at first didn't recognize her, since she'd cut off her long and luscious black hair, and now had a neat, close-cropped style with a few curls in her dark eyes. Other than that, she looked no different: same elegant gait, same blood red lipstick, same tattooed Bible verse on her right collarbone: The day of death better than the day of birth.
"Mr. Horne," she said in her honeyed voice, striding a few steps forward. Her fitted red dress not only splashed against her bronze skin, but simultaneously showcased her bodacious curves. "How nice to see you again, little one."
I rolled my eyes. "Let's skip the greetings," I said, as Nick realized this had nothing to do with him and scuttled out. Caprice and I now faced each other alone; she was on one side of the hallway, and I on the other. "I just need to ask you something."
She laughed. "I'm your mentor now, is that it?" she taunted, and then her wings sprouted from her shoulders, as alluring and elegant as she. The feathers were matte and dark in the flickering lights above us, rising and then sloping down towards the ground. Caprice cackled again, then surged forward, her wings carrying her quicker than feet ever could.
I was too slow, which angered me. She slammed me to the ground. Kneeling over me, Caprice gripped my neck and grinned into my face. Her smile was not one of kindness. "I'm no one's mentor," she said, squeezing my windpipe tighter to make sure I sputtered, "especially not a mortal's."
"Just...because..." I struggled, reaching up to claw at her fingers. She dug her dagger-like nails into my skin, deep enough to draw blood; I gasped. "Just because I'm mortal doesn't make me...less than you."
"Please," Caprice muttered, stepping off of me. I rolled onto my side, clutching my chest, trying to catch my breath. Caprice's voice came from above me now: "Look at you. You're pathetic. You think the Order chose you because they wanted you? No. You were a pity project, Horne, just like your idiot brother was."
I sprang up, gritting my teeth. "Don't you dare talk about Vinny like that," I hissed at her. "You don't know anything about us."
She tapped a heeled foot against the ground, regarding me with obvious condescension. Her wings disappeared back into her shoulder blades, and she rolled them back with an exhale, turning away from me and sashaying down the hall. "You came here because you want something, didn't you, little one? What might that be? If you want your brother sent back, I can't touch that."
I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, and likely failed. I was beginning to regret my visit. "I didn't come here about Vinny."
"Oh?" she stopped walking, glancing over her shoulder at me. "What's the big deal, then?"
"There was a murder in a house on 12th Avenue. You must have taken care of the soul, didn't you? I need you to tell me what he said."
Caprice paused for a moment, raising her eyebrows at me. Her hands went to her hips, head tipped slightly to the side. She had the look of a frustrated mother regarding her child, and it only soured me further. Caprice, along with all other angels, it seemed, treated me as some kind of amateur, an apprentice, an intern. They refused to admit that I was just like them, and there was nothing I could do to make them. I'd given up a long time ago. "Why is this so important to you?"
"It should be important to everyone," I told her. "There's something big behind this. I don't care if you don't want to admit it. Tell me, Caprice. Was he afraid?"
"Duh," was her laconic reply. "They always are."
"What was the last thing he saw before he died? Please, Caprice. If you just tell me this, I won't bother you anymore." I dared taking a step forward, holding my hands out to her, palms up. Begging was something I hated to do, but I had no other choice. For Lucie. For Lucie. "Please."
Caprice's expression softened. She said with a reluctant breath, "We can talk in the next room."
"The next room" looked like something out of a movie, and thus made me feel as though I didn't belong there. The floors were dark concrete, the furniture worn and way too soft, the fabric upholstery mismatching and dissonant. The walls were as dark crimson as Caprice's lipstick, and there were more winged chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The clinking of wine and shot glasses came from the mini bar in the corner as Caprice's servants, of sorts, poured her something to drink. They were all dressed like the bouncer outside her club, nondescript and simultaneously threatening. It appeared she had built herself somewhat of an empire.
Caprice muttered a thank you to the man as he handed her a glass of red wine. She appeared to be only a decade my senior, yet her true age shone in the elegance and sophistication she exuded. "He was a rich guy," she told me, holding her glass with dainty fingers.
"Obviously."
She narrowed her eyes. "Rich people are the worst when they pass. They think they don't deserve it. This guy was no different."
Leaning forward in my chair, I blurted, "What was his name?"
"Richard Hall," Caprice answered. "He owned a technology company. Made big money from it, too. Now, I don't know who killed him or why, but I can tell you what he told me."
I gave her a look to silently press her on, but she just smirked at me and sat back in her chair. "You have to tell me something first, little one."
I exhaled. I guess I should have been expecting this; Caprice was nothing if not extremely stingy. When she had an advantage over someone, she preferred to keep it. "What is it?" the sentence was a question, yet my voice didn't show it.
"You told me there was something 'big' behind this. It's an incredibly vague description. I need to know why I'm telling you all this. You want revenge? A profit? What?"
"Fine," I said, and sat back again, raking the amber strands of my hair from out of my eyes. I licked the scar around my lips. "You wanna know why? I'll tell you why. There's a girl I know who just lost her brother. It looked like an accident at first, but I'm doubting it now. Too many strange things surround his death. She deserves to know what happened to him, what really happened to him, and I'm taking every chance I got. That's why."
Caprice's expression hadn't changed. "A girl, hmm? That's different. Is that something mortals are into these days? Love?"
My face twisted. "Caprice."
She gave a long, theatrical sigh, waving me off. She set her drink down and folded her nimble fingers. Some of my blood had dried on the tips of her nails; she picked the evidence off in disdain. "Hall said he saw a shadow," Caprice informed, lips pursed, as if she didn't really want to do this. "A shadow came at him and the next thing he knew he couldn't breathe, felt blood pouring from his skin. That's all he said. The guy's brain was scattered."
I bit my lip and got to my feet, flipping my hood up. Shadow. He saw a shadow?Regarding Caprice, I said, "Thank you. That's all I need. I'll be going now."
I started for the door, but Caprice's voice stopped me.
"By the way, little one," said Caprice, and though my back was to her, I could see her smiling. "Careful with emotions. They get in the way of the truth."