I wake up alone. Not that I’m surprised. Even if Drake came back to our room last night, he probably would have been repelled by my stench. I didn’t bother showering. Hell, I didn’t bother even taking my sweaty clothes off other than my shoes and socks.
Yeah, it was kind of on purpose.
I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, but I dropped as soon as I had the quilt tucked under my chin. And slept the whole night through. No dreams, no waking. Nothing but rest.
It’s freaking cold in here and I hop up to get the fire going again. I’m no Girl Scout, but I manage to get a decent fire started before I head to the bathroom. I keep my mind occupied with stupid things like what to wear for the review and where I’ll be going next. Diversion so I don’t think about the big things. And so I don’t have to think about Drake and Allison kissing and where he’s been all night.
Hair and makeup done, teeth brushed and flossed and every other bathroom-duty checked off, I walk back into the bed room and pull up short.
“Hey,” Drake stands there in the same clothes as last night.
“Hey,” I answer back, tucking my towel a little more securely around me, “Just get back?” I don’t wait for his answer before turning to my clothes to search for something appropriate to wear – like I actually know what’s appropriate to wear at a review board in Hell.
“Yeah,” he sighs, “Look,”
“You look tired,” I cut him off, “I’ll just be another second while I dress and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Claire,” he frowns.
“I am your guardian, Drake, not your – mother,” I almost said girlfriend, “Have a wonderful day with Sherri while I go to hell.” I close the walk-in closet door and dress quickly. I don’t have a lot to choose from, but I pick a pair of raw-silk pants in black and an emerald silk blouse. I layer a black cashmere cardigan over it and top it off with a pair of black satin kitten-pumps with black sequins across the tops.
When I step out, Drake is in the bathroom. I grab my purse, phone and IPad. And then my laptop. I have some time – I really should check in again.
There are two conversations going on as I walk to the kitchen – both equally interesting. Sherri and Allison are whispering about Drake and me on one side of the room and Clark and Moira are whispering about me on the other side.
I feel like I just walked into the junior-high cafeteria all over again.
“So hot.”
“Why her?”
“So proud.”
“What the heck?”
Jojo would have booked it out the front door and as far away from this as possible. She doesn’t do conflict. Ever.
Thus her cat obsession and stream of broken hearts. Drake’s right in a way – she’s a doormat.
I – however – am not.
“Good morning, everyone. So glad that I’m the topic of conversation this morning, but unfortunately the press-conference won’t be until this evening. You two,” I glare at the women, “Can speculate on the back porch. Scurry off now,” I shoo them out with my hands until they close the door.
Moira is trying very hard not to laugh. Clark’s wings flutter in an “Oh you did not just do that” twitch.
Oh yes I did. And I’ll do it again. Drake can screw himself. I don’t need a man – never have and never will. Done and dusted – I am Drake’s guardian – not his girlfriend or anything else.
Despite our intimate moments, he’s still a bi and has his own agenda. I will sort out his lies later – just another string of men in my life who’ve lied to me.
“So – bacon?” I ask.
“Where’s Drake?” Moira asks casually.
“Who the hell cares?” I snap out.
“Ah,” Clark gets up, clearly uncomfortable, “I’ll just – um – go get that thing – uh – in the other room.”
“Coward,” Moira whispers to him, but he is undeterred in getting out of the line of fire. Moira gets up calmly and begins serving up breakfast. I sit down and open up my laptop.
“Get up on the wrong side of the bed, did we?” she asks, amused, as she sets a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs and a large mug of coffee next to me.
“The wrong side of an empty bed,” I rip off a bite of bacon with as much savagery as I bit that demon’s finger. Typing one-handed, I log into work.
“Seems to me you shouldn’t jump to conclusions before you hear the boy out,” she observes, sitting across from me.
“No offense, Moira, but I’ve known you all of five minutes,” I peek over my screen at her before taking another savage bite, “Drake’s a bi. They’re all self-serving in the end. And that kiss was certainly no conclusion – more like an introduction. It doesn’t matter anyway,” I hunch over my screen again.
“Kiss?” she asks, pouring milk into her tea, “What kiss?”
“The kiss he gave her last night,” I tell her after chewing my eggs, “After their very exuberant hug. He didn’t even look my way. Didn’t ask if I was all right.”
“I didn’t see a kiss, Claire,” she says calmly, “I saw two friends reuniting and him checking her closely to make sure she wasn’t a threat to you again. Yes, he was very close to her, and I can see how, from your angle, you could have gotten the wrong impression. And she probably did too. But you had already stomped away in a huff before he could get to you.”
“I thought angels couldn’t lie,” I snarl at her, finishing up my pipeline.
“We can’t,” she says, steepling her fingers, “How many times has jumping to conclusions failed you in the past, hmm?”
I sit back and cross my arms, completely channeling my inner fifteen-year-old. Drake had just said that he wanted to see me jealous and the minute I actually am, I get smacked down by a fairy-god-angel.
“Who keeps pet soul-suckers,” I remind myself.
“I do really want to know what you did to bring her back, my dear,” she plows on despite my pout, “But that can wait. And even though she hasn’t expressed it, Allison is very grateful for what you did. She has her defenses, too,” she gives he the hairy eyeball, trying to make a point, “Drake did stay out all night with her – but only doing what you told him to do. Chaperon her while she fed. I think – if you think about it – you will find that you were looking for an excuse to push him away before he hurt you. Just like you did with your other young man.”
She sits, sipping her tea and looking smug while I frown more and process what she just said. I hate that she’s right. I had a really good anger roll going on, and she just completely deflated me in less than three minutes.
“Finish your breakfast, dear,” she gets up and starts loading the dishwasher, “We have to leave soon.”
I sneak back into our room after eating – with the excuse of putting my laptop away. Drake is sprawled across the bed diagonally, my pillow length-wise at his side.
“Hey,” he blinks at me sleepily.
“I was trying not to wake you,” I put my stuff down on the desk and sit on the edge of the bed, “We’re leaving.”
He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers, “Good luck, angel,” he says, “I want to hear all about it when you get back.”
“Get some sleep,” I smile and lean down to give him a soft kiss, “I’ll see you soon.”
He closes his eyes and I move back across the room.
“I was right, you know,” he says when my hand hits the doorknob, “You’re sexy as hell when you’re jealous.”
I turn back to him, but his eyes are closed and he has my pillow pulled up to his nose.
Damn bi’s.
Moira, Clark and I step out the door and down the front steps. There are horses hitched to – uh – a basket. On wheels.
“Is this for real?” I ask them, “We’re really going to Hell in a hand-basket?” This is even better than a nun-bi named Mona Little. I really, really need to start writing all of this stuff down.
“It’s rather a special arrangement,” Moira winks at me, the amusement in her eyes evident, “But yes, this is our mode of transport. The ride will be shorter than you think.”
Clark opens the door and helps us both inside before climbing up himself.
“Uh,” I ask when he shuts the door, “Who’s going to drive the horses?”
“It’s probably best that you don’t see the driver,” Clark settles in next to Moira in the coach, “But you’ll want this,” he hands me a handkerchief scented with lavender and rosemary.
I start to ask why, but the stench that rolls through the coach as it rocks side to side has me covering my nose and mouth immediately. I hear the reins slap once and we shoot off faster than I can peel-out in the Jeep.
Clark and Moira both have their noses and mouths covered too. There are no windows in the coach, just an overhead light that gets brighter as we rocket along. I can’t hear anything outside of the three of us breathing and occasionally shifting as the coach goes faster and faster.
And then we stop suddenly, which lands me face-first between Clark’s legs.
Um, awkward!
Moira helps me up while Clark and I deliberately don’t look at each other. I rub my chin – which hit the wooden seat between his legs hard – and pull a splinter out.
Moira hauls me up on my seat while Clark opens the door and checks that the coast is clear. Satisfied, he picks Moira up by the waist and sets her down. He holds a hand out to me while I step down, but we still don’t look at each other. Being that close to Clark’s crotch was obviously something neither of us planned on.
We’re in a garage. The horses are gone – I don’t know how. There are a lot of other carriages here. Some look like what I would expect. Most don’t. There’s one that looks like a police box.
I want to go home in that – especially if it has David Tennant in it.
But I’ll settle for Matt Smith.
Moira leads me, and Clark takes up the rear. Both of them have their wings flared around me like I’m Lindsey Lohan going to another arraignment. I can’t see anything through their wings.
Up. Walk. Turn. Up. Turn. Turn. Walk.
I’m finally pushed into a chair but still have my wing-shield blocking me. I can hear several voices, but none of them clear enough to make out any words. I resist reaching out to touch their feathers, remembering what David told me.
I’m pretty sure my angel curtain isn’t for a dramatic entrance, as Clark occasionally displays. I’d be willing to bet they are protecting me – and I’ll gladly take it. So I take out my IPad while we’re waiting.
I know Hell has wifi – I paid the invoice while I worked for Luc. But I’m not shoe shopping this time. I pull up my notes and review everything I’ve put down about Drake’s transfer, his dream, my B13 form and response to that demon’s counter-motion, why and how I banished him and what I saw and heard in the cockpit before I did so.
In other words, I’m cramming one last time before my final.
The voices drop and I hear a gavel bang. Clark and Moira don’t drop their wings, but Moira lifts the end of hers just enough for me to clearly hear what’s being said now.
“…inquiry into the banishment of one demon, commonly known as Clay, by one redeemer, named Claire Elisabeth Saint, and his counter-motion against said redeemer. Are all present?” It’s Lil’s voice, and I suddenly have to stifle the giggles as I picture her dressed like Judge Judy.
“Present and accounted for,” Luc answers.
“Swear them all in. Leave the redeemer for last,” Lil instructs.
“Clay,” Luc calls him. I hear his cowboy boots thump against the floor, “Do you swear to tell the truth to the best of your ability?”
“Oh, boy,” I drop my head, “This isn’t going to be good.”
“I swear,” Clay agrees.
Moira’s wing closes and I review my notes again as various others are sworn in. I don’t know if she’s being dramatic by leaving me in the dark about who else is there or giving me a chance to pull myself together, but it doesn’t really matter. Lil and Luc are leading the inquisition – oops! inquiry – and this is really not shaping up to be a good omen.
Finally, she lifts her wing again, “All necessary and relevant hellions have been sworn in. As always, it is not necessary to swear in any angels. However, I must remind you all that this is a review board and the final decision is up to the six of us. I will also remind all of you that the redeemer is not to be harmed in any way while this inquiry is in session. Do I make myself clear?”
A murmur of agreement goes around, “You may present the redeemer,” Lil states.
They let their wings down and move away from me. Moira rounds the table and sits next to me and Clark goes to the other side of the room where the witnesses wait. He sits next to Jill.
Oh God, Jill.
She’s wearing a scarf – which I think is mine – around her head to cover her baldness and she looks like she’s lost a lot of weight. She was never fat, but now she looks emaciated. Her eyes are on Lil and she won’t look at me. Clark pats her hand and she bites her lip.
“Crap,” I whisper. It never even crossed my mind that she would be here. But of course she would – she is a witness too.
“Suck it up, Buttercup,” Moira whispers back, “You can fall apart later.”
I give her a curt nod and stand when the angel acting as bailiff walks up to me, “Do you swear to tell the truth about any questions you are asked in this inquiry?” he asks.
“I swear,” I respond, even while wondering why my question is different.
I glance around again, now wondering who else is here. “Here,” Moira hands me a small mirror, “So you can see who’s in the gallery behind you.”
“According to the standard B13 form filed,” Luc starts. I am listening, but I’m also scanning with the mirror, “The redeemer states that she banished the demon in retribution for an attack that said demon did against her – entering her home and attempting to kill her.”
“Why didn’t the redeemer banish him at the time of the attack?” one of the three angels on the panel asks.
“The redeemer is young – still her birth-age – and didn’t know at the time how to perform a banishment,” Moira stands and states.
“So noted,” Lil nods, “The redeemer also states that the demon told her – quote, ‘Your head will be my proof but your body will be my prize.’ Would you care to comment on that?”
“No,” Clay says.
“No – you wouldn’t care to comment, or no – that’s not what you said?” Luc asks.
“I plead the fifth,” Clay states.
“The fifth amendment to the United States constitution does not apply here,” another angel addresses him, “Answer the question.”
“Then I plead a fifth of Jack,” Clay plops a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass down on the table in front of him and proceeds to pour himself a shot. Lil bangs the gavel again.
“You will remember your oath, Clay,” she warns him, “Answer the question.”
“No, I don’t have anything to add to that,” Clay states and knocks back his shot.
“Very well,” Luc continues, “According to the paperwork filed, Ms. Saint was disrobed at the time,”
Wolf-whistles and cat-calls and chants of “woo-woo-woo!” echo around the room. Lil bangs her gavel and the bailiff walks through the gallery until things settle down. “That’s enough,” Lil admonishes them, “If you can’t control yourselves you’ll be ejected from the proceedings. Please continue the statement,” she tells Luc.
“And she used a statue of Buddha to defend herself with,” he continues reading.
“Why was Ms. Saint unclothed at the time?” one of the angels asks.
“I was asleep,” I answer before Moira can.
“Do you always sleep in the buff?” the angel asks.
“Almost always at home,” I explain, “Miami is still plenty hot and humid – even at night.”
“Fair enough,” she nods and goes back to her notes.
“When said statue broke, she attempted to use the – does that say pole?” he asks.
“Observe evidence A,” Moira turns on the projector and shows a picture of my statue on-screen, “The actual statue was collected by Miami-Dade PD, but this is an exact replica. The statue itself is the Indonesian-style Buddha’s head only supported by a metal pole through the middle and secured to a square marble base. The statue broke at the pole close to the base,” she waves her laser-pointer around, “Which landed on Ms. Saint’s foot. Having just the head on a stick remaining, Ms. Saint attempted to impale Clay in self defense.”
“Do you agree that this is the article in question?” Lil asks Clay.
“I guess so,” he shrugs, “I was too busy watching her chest heave to really notice what she had in her hands,” he grins and winks at me.
More murmurings from the gallery and Lil bangs the gavel again until they settle down.
“It goes on to state that Clay knocked the statue aside and Ms. Saint jumped onto the other side of the bed and locked herself in her en-suite,” Luc reads.
“Yup,” Clay nods.
“Wherein she smashed the lid of her toilet tank onto her counter top to give herself another weapon,” he reads, “Really? That was pretty ingenious of you,” he gives me his Hollywood smile.
“Stop that,” Lil hisses at him, “Focus.”
“Yes, dear,” he drops his eyes to the paper again, “And she then opened the door and attempted to shove said broken porcelain into demon’s neck. Is that correct?”
“She’d of been better off aiming for my abs – little thing like that,” Clay chuckles.
“Is that a confirmation of events?” Lil asks.
“Sure,” he gives her a wink and pours another shot, “Sounds like how it all went down to me.”
They drone on and on. Moira or I answer all questions asked us and Clay sits there drinking and agreeing with everything. Once they finish with the initial attack, all three angels probe me to make sure that there isn’t anything that was missed.
“Deep breaths, Claire,” Moira holds my hand through it, “Give them free access – it will be over soon.”
I nod and blow out a breath. Once they’re done, I feel a little dizzy.
“Request a short recess to allow my client to recover from the probe?” Moira stands and asks.
“Ten minute recess granted,” Lil bangs her gavel and Moira whisks me away so fast I don’t have a chance to fully-close my eyes.
“Crap – ow! Ow!” I whimper and push my fists to my burning eyeballs. It’s better than having my brain melted, but my eyes are streaming and my nose is running and I feel like I just got hit in the eyes with pepper spray.
One of the many self-defense classes that Jill, Jojo and I took together was run by a retired cop, who insisted that we all go through the same lessons as the police cadets do. Which also meant getting sprayed in the face with pepper spray. If you closed your eyes, you had to go back and do it again. I kept my eyes open the first time. Jill went back once.
Jojo went back seventeen times.
“Oh, Claire,” Moira pushes me to the sink and turns on the water, “I’m so sorry. Here – wash it out.”
“No,” I back away and start fumbling for the paper towels, “Water will only make it worse. Damn it, Moira, I can’t see a thing,” I find the towels and grab a handful.
“I’m so sorry,” she tries to help me, but I bat her hands away, “I was just so concerned about getting you to safety that I didn’t think. The second that gavel pounds, you are fair game.”
“Everything all right in there, ladies?” Clark knocks.
Moira cracks the door, “I didn’t give her enough time,” she tells Clark in Angelic, “Her eyes are burned. She’s blind. What have I done?”
“Moira, my love,” he sighs, “How could you be so careless?”
“I know,” she’s genuinely panicked, “What if it’s permanent?”
“Permanent?” my brain squeaks.
“I highly doubt it,” Clark chuckles, “She took the equivalent of an EMP when she diffused that bomb and she recovered in a couple of hours. I’m sure she’ll be fine. But she’s clearly not in any condition to continue today. Why don’t you go ask the panel for a continuance and I’ll see after her?”
She leaves. I’m still trying to get my spewing sinuses under control. Never mind my eyes. Our mucus membranes are tied together. Set one off and all of the rest of them start up. When we cry for emotional reasons, our lymphatic system gets involved and allows us to purge toxins and build-up.
When we cry as a result of an injury, the same biological response in our mucus membranes kicks in, but so does our adrenal glands. Which is also why I’m shaking like a detoxing addict.
“Can you open your eyes yet, Claire?” Clark asks me and puts a hand on my shoulder to orient me to his location.
“No,” I sniff and then blow again, “I don’t see anything but red right now.”
“Do you need anything?” he asks me, concerned.
“Two Aleve and all of the medical gauze you can find,” I blow again, “And probably some new clothes.”
“Moira’s gone to ask for a conveyance,” he tells me, “But I doubt she will be successful. I’m so sorry, Claire-Beth. She didn’t do it maliciously.”
“I know,” I tell him, trying to wipe the snot off my face. He hands me more paper towels. I can’t even imagine what my makeup looks like now, “There’s something wrong with all of this,” I start but he cuts me off.
“I’m sure you’ll heal,” he tells me.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I mop my face again, “I’m talking about the review board.”
“It seems to be going very well,” Clark says.
“That’s the problem, Clark – it’s going too well,” I respond, “Clay’s not even trying. But even beyond that, something else is off. I can’t figure it out – I almost had it before all of this,” I blow again, “But I can’t think right now.”
“I’ll be right back,” he tells me, guiding my hands to the sink-edge and the box of paper towels between the bowls, “Do you need Drake?”
“No,” I try opening my eyes for the first time, but it’s like staring at the sun, “Don’t you dare tell him what happened either. He’ll just put himself in danger by insisting on being here.”
He leaves and I drip into the sink, taking shaky breaths. If the pain would stop – just for five minutes – I could pull myself together long enough to possibly get hold of myself and figure out what’s off about this whole thing.
“Claire?” Moira’s gentle knock comes, “I talked to Jill,” she tells me when she comes in, “There are eyedrops that she can prescribe that will numb the pain. It won’t return your sight – you’ll have to heal from that on your own. But it will help you get everything else under control. Do you want me to go fill it for you? Lil agreed to an hour, so we have a bit of time.”
“Yes,” I nod and sniff, “Please. Tell her thank you for me.”
“I’m worried about leaving you alone,” she takes my hand, “Especially now. You’ll be a sitting duck.”
“I’ll be fine, Moira,” I try to smile, but I’m sure the effect isn’t very good since my whole face is still tear and snot covered, “And I know it was an accident. I’ll probably be good as new in the morning. Let’s just get through this, ok?”
“I still don’t like leaving you alone,” she counters.
“You’re wasting time,” I tell her, “Just go – Clark will be back soon.”
She gives me a squeeze and walks out the door. I pull my cardigan tighter around me – knowing it needs a really good washing in Woolite – but I’d rather drip onto a cotton cardigan than a silk blouse.
I feel around for the light switch, palming it off when I finally find it. It helps a little. And I review everything in my head again:
“Three angels, Luc, Lil and some arch-demon that I don’t know,” I think, “Moira representing me – why? I’m not human – I shouldn’t need representation. I’m just as much angel as the rest of them are, even if I don’t have wings. Weird…
“Clay doesn’t have any representation. Is that because he’s a demon or because he waived it? Does Hell have a D.A? Damn it – I wish Stacy was here with me. She would probably know…
“Clark and Jill in the witness-box – for the first attack, probably. Obviously not Jamie – they wouldn’t have a human testify. God, this hurts,” I sniff and blow again.
Clark comes back first. I should have told him to get my makeup case as well. No doubt I look like a drag-queen after a Cher concert. Waterproof-mascara only works so far.
“Here,” he takes my hand and puts the pills in, “I’ll turn the tap on for you.”
I cup water and swallow. It will still be twenty minutes before the Aleve starts to kick in, but knowing that some relief is on the way helps.
“I’m assuming you don’t want to change yet?” he asks me.
“No sense in ruining two outfits,” I respond, “Moira and Jill have gone to get me some numbing drops. Once the pain is gone, we can take care of the rest.”
He rubs my neck from the back, “Have you come up with anything else, Claire?” he asks.
“No, it hurts too much to think,” I tell him, throwing another soggy paper towel in the sink next to mine, “How’s Drake?”
“I didn’t see him, actually,” Clark chuckles, “Sherri and Allison said that he left for town as soon as they got the fence fixed and he hasn’t been back since.”
“He probably needed to feed,” I think as I hear the door opening again.
“Why are the lights off?” Moira asks and flicks them back on. A grunt of pain passes my lips. A grunt of annoyance passes Clark's.
“Did you get the drops?” I ask before he can chastise her.
“Yes,” she replies, “And Jill lent me her emergency makeup case from her purse too. She said to tell you to take your drops like you normally do, but do it at least three times. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” I nod, although inside I’m swooning with relief. Jill’s “emergency” makeup bag contains more than my entire makeup collection. I never understood how she didn’t have back problems from carrying all that stuff around in her purse, but right now I am grateful.
And Jill knows that I can’t stand anything around my eyes. It’s a good thing that I have perfect vision, because just the thought of an eye exam where they push that pad onto your eyeball or shoot a puff of air into it is enough to make me queasy. So, when I do have to use the occasional Visine, I have to drop it onto my finger and then put my finger onto my eye as I’m hunched over. I can’t do that look up and drop it in thing.
I just get a wet face.
Clark helps me wash my hands thoroughly as Moira opens the box and pulls the plastic safety-tape from the lid. She hands it to me and Clark helps me line it up over my finger. “One, two, three,” I feel them drop onto my finger in a tiny, perfect bubble of relief.
“Turn the light out, Moira,” Clark tells her, “She’s got to open her eyes and right now, even that amount of light is like stabbing her brain with a screwdriver.”
Moira flicks the light off and I push the drop onto my eyeball.
“Oh my god,” I murmur as the pain instantly vanishes. I’m sure later I will deny it, but right now, this is better than an orgasm. I can tell Clark is generating some kind of very mild light as he helps me with another dose, but it’s so low it doesn’t bother me. Two more in my right eye and then three more in my left.
I sag against the counter when it’s done, thankful that my tears have stopped. I blow my nose one last time and splash cold water on my face. My makeup is probably long gone, but it won’t hurt and might actually help reduce the redness and swelling.
I pat my face dry and Clark gives me a gentle squeeze before walking out so I can change and get myself together again.
“I truly am sorry, Claire,” Moira says as I unbutton my cardigan and blouse.
“I know,” I tell her, dropping my ruined clothes to the floor and reaching around the stall-wall for where I think I heard Clark hang my replacements.
“Here,” Moira places a blouse in my hands. It is silk, by the feel of it.
“What color is it?” I ask, thinking that I don’t remember packing any other silk blouses.
“Kind of a ruby,” she tells me, helping me find the buttonhole and button, “Looks really good with your hair color.”
“I know I don’t own that,” I think, “Wonder if the buttons have little angels on them like that cardigan.”
Instead of another sweater, Moira helps me into a suit jacket – another thing I know I didn’t pack.
“Now, just relax,” she tells me, “I have to turn the light on again, but you should be ok now. Jill told me how to do all of this. We’ll put more drops on some gauze and then wrap your eyes up so they stay in place. You won’t be able to see, but this will get you through the rest of the review. Then a couple of flicks of foundation, some powder, blush and this gorgeous lipstick – Cherry Tart – and we’ll be good to go.”
With no sense of time, I just stand still as Moira finishes me off. Well, I don’t stand so much as crouch so she can reach me, but at least I’m getting a good thigh workout from all of this.
“Better, Claire-Beth?” Clark asks as Moira leads me out of the restroom.
“Much,” I smile in his direction, “Except that I can’t see my IPad anymore to review my notes.”
“Is what’s bugging you in your notes?” he asks me, and I can hear him opening a door in front of us.
“I don’t,” I pause and think for a second, “No. No, it’s something else.”
“Then try to work it out. Moira’s got your defense down-pat. She’ll let you know if there’s something you’re needed for,” he whispers close to my ear, “If you need me, touch the bottom button of your suit jacket.”
Moira hands him Jill’s makeup case and he leaves. She then helps me to our table and I find the chair and sit down. But she positions herself directly behind me, her right wing curled protectively around my side and her left angled up and straight out to deflect any attack that Darius might try, “We have about three minutes until we’re called back into session,” she explains, “I’m not taking any chances.”
Personally, I don’t think there’s much to worry about. I was left alone – blind and very vulnerable – in Hell’s bathroom for twenty minutes and nothing happened. I may still be blind, but I’m not vulnerable any longer. My eyes don’t hurt and the Aleve has kicked it so my residual headache is fleeing quickly.
I listen as immortals shuffle back in. I can feel them – sense them. Most I can only recognize by their types, but some of the signatures I know. I know Jill is sitting next to Clark again. I know Darius and Matt and Rick are picking through the seating in the gallery to find their original seats and I know that Stacy is right behind them, intent on hooking up with Rick.
I know that Clay is hanging back in the doorway, waiting for the right moment to make his grand entrance. And I know that Lil, Luc and the rest of them are having a heated argument just behind the door to their private chambers.
I know the bailiff is scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble and I know there are more guards here – both demonic and angelic – than before. I feel Natalia slip in just before the guards close the doors.
“Weird,” I think right before Lil bangs her gavel.
“The inquiry is now back in session,” she announces, “Time?”
“Ten twenty-two,” the reporter announces and I have to steady myself against the table. This is way beyond coincidence. Something huge is going to happen – and happen very soon.
Clay walks in – purposely late – and swaggers to his seat, “Miss me, darlin’?” he drawls and I can hear his boots thunk against the table in front of him.
“A few changes to the schedule due to someone’s slow reflexes,” Lil starts. I hold my middle finger up to her under the table until Moira kicks me, “We’ve gone through the initial attack and have read the depositions from the witnesses involved. As you can see – or not,” she sniggers at me, “Both depositions corroborate the sequence of events as stated on the B-13 form. Normally, Redeemer, we would sanction you for putting a human in danger. However, it is our understanding that there is another part to this story that may mitigate said sanction. We will now hear testimony regarding the events of Virgin Air flight 6669. But before that, a few housekeeping updates. Luc?”
“I must remind you all again that all cell-phone use, including pictures and video, is strictly forbidden,” he starts as the words “events of Virgin Air flight 6669” echo in my head. It seems so long ago now. I wonder where Butch is and how he’s doing – the rest of his unit too. I wonder when the next time is he’ll get to see his Becca. I roll the memories through my head – Bill’s gruff voice, Captain Pierce’s uncomfortable face as he watched me interrogate Charlie –
“I object!” I leap to my feet and shout out.
“You object to lunch being served at twelve-thirty?” Luc asks me, dubious.
“Sit down, Claire. This isn’t Law and Order,” Moira tugs at my hand.
“No,” I pull my hand away and face the panel, “Everyone is supposedly here and accounted for, right?” I ask, but don’t wait for an answer, “Then where is the imp, Darius?” I turn to him, “He was Clay’s co-conspirator on that flight. And even if Clay isn’t here to answer for the bomb, Charlie was still a witness to my banishment. Where’s the damned imp, Darius?” I ask again.
Lil bangs her gavel to stop any side-bars from starting up and addresses Darius, “Where is the imp, Darius?” she coos at him, but the steel behind her voice warns that he’s in pretty deep doo-doo.
“Rebecca!” he bellows through the room.
“She’ not here – and neither is he,” I tell him, “I may be blind, but I can still sense. They never showed up. She’s the she that contracted both of them. Your dear little Rebecca screwed you good.”
“Son-of-a-fucking-bitch,” he poofs away. Lil’s gavel bangs for order, but Clay’s meaty hands pull me to him and his tail is pushed into my chest right in front of my beating heart.
“Back off,” he warns everyone, “I may not be able to kill her, but I wonder how long it would take for her to regenerate her heart. I’ll do it,” he hisses as Clark and Moira both approach, “Don’t think I won’t,” he drags me backward a couple of steps and digs in further until I whimper, “You’re smarter than you look, darlin’,” he whispers in my ear and licks my lobe, “We’ll meet again – I promise. And next time I just may let you nibble away at my foreskin instead of my finger. Right before I ram my fullness into your dripping p-“
I don’t let him finish. I use what I know and grab his tail in both hands and tear a chunk out of it with my teeth. Savagely. Brutally. I feel muscle and sinew and blood and skin rip from him and I shake like a Great White with a seal in his mouth.
“Argh! Fucking cu-“ he pushes me away and I fall to the floor as Moira and Clark descend on him. I still have his “meat” in my mouth, but even though it’s choking me, I don’t spit it out.
Pan – all or all-encompassing.
Demonium – pertaining to or about demons.
Pandemonium – the current situation in the room I’m in.
I feel an arch-angel reach for me. Natalia. I’m surprised.
“Spit it out, Claire,” she tells me softly, “I’m sure it doesn’t taste very good.”
I struggle to stand and hear the zips of a plastic bag opening, “Evidence bag,” she tells me, helping me up, “I’ll put it where it belongs. Did you know if you have a demon-part, you can track him wherever he is?” she asks as I spit out the contents of my mouth, “I think that is going to sting him far more than a little skin off his finger,” she zips the bag up, “Your grandmother once did me a great favor, and now I return it,” she lays her hand over my eyes and I feel a gentle heat, “You’ve done well so far, Redeemer. There may be hope for this planet yet.”
And then she’s gone.
Clark and Moira are still battling with Clay and Lil is banging her gavel furiously. The whole thing is out of control and there’s so much brimstone wafting through the air that I feel faint.
“All charges are dropped against the redeemer,” Lil bangs her gavel again, but it sounds like a million miles away, “Panel adjourned.”
“Grandmother?” my brain tries to register the concept. Yes – theoretically – I realize that two angels got together to create my father and two more (hopefully) got together to create my mother. But I never really thought about it before. Which four angels they are and do they even know about Jojo and me? Do they care? And exactly how old are my parents anyway? According to Dad’s documents, he was forty-eight when he “died.” Is that the truth or another lie that I have yet to uncover.
In the split-second that my brain fires off all of those questions, the room feels like it’s pitching on it’s side and my disorientation gets me grabbing for support. I see spots – the first thing I’ve seen since my eyes were burnt – and then…
I reel and reach out for support, finding a pillar. It’s square and painted by the feel of it, but I’m too disoriented to open my eyes yet. Not nauseous – I have a really strong stomach. But taking deep breaths and waiting for the vertigo to go away.
I hear someone retch close by and shakily stand up and open my eyes. My bindings are gone and I can see again – somewhat blurrily, but things come back into focus soon.
I’m on the lanai of my condo, and it looks like a bomb went off. There are chunks of concrete torn up from my patio and thrown in the pool, which is half-empty and looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since I left. My hot-tub has something resembling blue jello in it and the pump has been ripped out. There’s spray paint across every inch of my fence surrounding the back yard – a lot of it very crude. Turning slowly – still keeping my hand on the column for support – I take in what’s behind me.
“Oh God, it’s worse,” I sweep it all in. My patio furniture – my wrought iron patio furniture – is melted into a slag-heap. The glass table top is shattered and pebbled around it. The chandelier is broken off by the wires and smashed. More graffiti. More broken concrete. French doors pulled half-off their hinges and just a tangle of broken glass and splintered wood. Broken windows.
Another retch – from someone else – has me turn toward the outdoor fireplace. Rick is leaned over with Matt patting his back. The fireplace has been spray-painted, but looks more or less intact. Next to them, Jill sits huddled in her “I am not going to puke” pose, her face pale and sweaty.
“What happened?” I ask, taking in a deeper breath than my tiny, rapid pants thus far.
It takes Matt a few seconds to compose himself, but he finally stands too, “I would guess that the vacuum caused by so many immortals leaving at once sucked us up and took us here,” he glances around, “In Syria.”
“Not Syria,” I wince, “It just looks like it. This is my condo.”
“Wow – love your decorator,” he mumbles dryly.
“That would be Rebecca,” I take a deeper breath, feeling better now, “And her friends. If the outside is this bad, I really don’t want to know what the inside looks like. Rick, you feeling better?”
“Yes,” he lifts his head, “Sorry about the mess.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to notice with all of this,” I wave my arm around, “It’s fine – really. Jill, you doing ok?”
She nods briefly but keeps her head down. She’s not good. I know that.
“Great. Then do you want me to make you some eggs? Over easy so you can break the yolks and watch it flow out?”
She’s retching before I even finish and Matt has to hop out of the way. Jill hates eggs. Even the mention of them – even when she’s sober – will get her gag-reflex going. And really, it’s just best for her to get it out now. Her “I’m not going to puke” face never works.
Once she’s done, I glance around again. I may have landed back in Miami, but apparently my stuff didn’t. No purse, no phone, no IPad, no luggage. The view through the broken French doors is enough to confirm that I have no service inside either.
“Do you think one of you can carry her next door?” I ask, eying the walking-casts still on both of her feet, “I doubt she can make it there herself.”
Hell, she looks like she weights all of ninety-pounds right now. I could probably carry her, but I need to give them something to do while I sort all of this out.
Rick picks her up gently and Matt and I follow along. Once inside her condo, I direct Rick to the guest room on the bottom floor. He lays her out on the bed. Her pills are next to the bed and I ask them to get her a glass of water.
“Claire?” she asks me weakly.
“Shh, we’ll talk tomorrow. Here,” I open the bottle and shake out a pill. Matt hands me her glass, “Take this and rest. I’ll be right outside the door.”
I’m angry. Well, I’m usually angry. Seems like most of my life has been spent being angry about one thing or another. And anger isn’t all that bad, to tell the truth. It keeps me focused on the here and now – or, at least that’s what I tell myself.
I race upstairs and pull Jill’s digital camera out from the top shelf of her bedroom closet. I check to make sure the battery is charged. It is.
“Rick,” I call to him when I hit the bottom of the stairs, “Would you mind going next door and shooting all of the damage – in and out? I doubt there’s electricity and I wouldn’t trust it if there were. Please? While there’s still daylight?”
“Um, sure,” Rick glances between me and Matt.
“Oh – sorry,” I stumble on, “I don’t have my phone or anything else, so I kind of need Matt here. Don’t go anywhere where you don’t feel safe.” I bat my lashes and pull off my jacket for effect.
It works.
Once he’s out of the house, I turn my attention to Matt, who is already thigh-deep in trying to figure out what’s going on.
If I didn’t need him so much, I would Forgive him just for being so on-game all the time.
“Well, obviously,” Matt starts, still scrolling, “Rebecca was the one behind the coup and hired Clay and the imp. She busted the imp out while we were all distracted and we have yet to find out where they all ended up.”
“No one knows or no one’s talking?” I ask.
“Probably some of both,” Matt glances at me with a geeky grin, “Darius is – of course – on a rampage. I’m sure he’ll be by here sooner or later, but you’d better hope for later. It wouldn’t be the first time he shot the messenger.”
“Yeah,” I reach a hand to my throat, “Got that. Any news on the angelic front?”
“I don’t see anything right now,” he says, still scrolling, “Oh – this is interesting.”
“What?”
“Apparently, an email from headquarters came in right before the inquiry,” Matt frowns, “And Darius put a stop on a lot of orders he’d previously issued. Can’t tell what the email was or what he halted, but he doesn’t usually stop on a dime like that. Curious.”
“Thank you Stacy,” I say to myself, “Anything else?”
“Hold on,” he says, swiping across, “Let me get to the more mundane things. You never know what you’ll glean out of Accounting or HR.”
I wait.
“There’s an all-staff meeting at eleven,” he tells me, “Just signed employees. Probably to announce that Rebecca’s no longer with us. Oh!”
“What?” I ask more forcefully.
“There’s a lot more than usual in Darius’ petty cash account,” Matt tells me, “It will take me a while to track down the allocations, but it’s like ten-times higher than usual.”
None of that is helpful right now. I have a ruined house and a seriously-sick friend and zero communications with Clark, Moira or Drake. Plus no luggage.
“Do you think you could turn that into a phone for a minute?” I ask him as his eyes snap up to mine and he grins again at my smile. I’m teasing, of course, but serious at the same time. Who knows when the last time was that Jill ate, and I’m pretty hungry myself.
He resets and hands it to me. I dial the number by heart.
“Gracias for calling Manny’s. This is Manny. Whacha’ want?” his happy voice growls out.
“It’s Claire, Manny. Back in town unexpectedly and hungry as a gator. You ready?”
“Si, mi amiga,” he laughs.
I finish the order, being extra-careful with Jill’s and pausing, “Manny, I don’t have my purse or anything with me. Can I pay you later?”
“Of course, mija,” he chuckles, “You get mugged?”
“No, my stuff is – uh – on another transport,” I grimace. I’m such a bad liar, “Are you slow enough to have someone deliver it?”
“Si – I send Raul,” he agrees.
“Ok, have him come to Jill’s. My place is under renovations,” I grimace again.
He reads back the order and tells me fifteen minutes or so and I hand Matt his phone back.
“I’m going to grab some of my extra stuff Jill’s holding for me,” I tell Matt, “The food should be here in fifteen minutes or so. Do you mind hanging around and eating before you take off?”
“Of course not,” he grins, “It’ll take at least an hour to get a cab here anyway. You do what you need to do. I’ll keep an eye on Jill and bring in the food when it comes.”
When I come back downstairs with a couple of days-worth of clothes, Rick is back from the war-zone next door and Matt is just putting the food down on the island.
“It’s not pretty, Claire,” Rick says, handing me the camera, “Hope you have good insurance.”
“I can’t report it to my insurance company,” I sigh and pull down some plates, “Sublets aren’t covered.”
“Bummer,” Matt says, flipping through the pictures, “This is going to take months to fix. Hope you’ve got a healthy savings account.”
“I’ll deal with it when I’m back for good,” I shake my head when Matt offers me the camera, “I’ll look at them later. I’m going to see if I can get Jill to eat something. Don’t worry about the dishes – I’ll do them. Just lock the door behind you when you leave, ok?”
“You sure?” Rick asks.
“Of course I am,” I look up from where I’m arranging Jill’s food for her, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, um,” Matt says, clearly uncomfortable, “You do kind of have a reputation for having anger-issues.” He winces like he’s expecting me to smack him.
Instead I laugh, “I suppose I deserve that,” I admit, “But, honestly, Jill’s my best friend. I’m not going to yell at her. I’m not going to hurt her. And I’m certainly not going to let a guy get between us. We’re going to talk – that’s all. I’m over it and I’m going to tell her that.”
“Told you,” Rick winks at me, but is talking to Matt, “You kids don’t understand that time and perspective work wonders. Do you need anything else, Claire?”
“If either of you have the ability, can you get hold of Drake and tell him where I am? I don’t have my phone and I’m sure Clark and he are worried sick,” I add.
“Sure,” Rick nods, “Good to meet you in person, Claire.”
“You too,” I smile at them both, “I never got a chance to thank you both for your help – so thanks for the plane. And thanks for helping me today too.”
“No worries,” Matt manages after swallowing a bite of his pulled-pork sandwich, “Darius gave us both very generous bonuses and an extra week of vacation.”
“Did you get into trouble for helping me the night Jill got attacked?” I ask him.
“Course not,” Matt chuckles at me, “By the time I got to work Monday morning, he’d gotten over it. He was just glad that it was over and Jill would be all right.”
“He’s a very confusing arch-demon,” I observe, more to myself than to them, but both of them chuckle at me.
“He’ll blow his top first,” Rick says, “But once he calms down, he can be quite reasonable. He’s actually one of the best arch-demons I’ve worked for. As long as we do our jobs and keep the humans both ignorant and sinning, he pretty-much leaves us alone.” Matt nods in agreement.
“Well, I’m going to take Jill her food now before it gets cold,” I walk around the counter to give each of them a hug, “Remember to lock the door behind you, ok?”