Angel's Roar: Feathers and Fire Book 4 Page 8

  I didn’t even want to think about the Whispers and their seemingly conflicting comments in the Catacombs. Roland was the only one I dared ask about that, but he was gone. Maybe a little shopping therapy with Claire would make us both feel better.

  I noticed a woman a few tables away reading a magazine. Had she been looking at us?

  Or was my sleep-deprived brain making me paranoid?

  “I want to know what kind of woman you are, child. And so far, I’m not impressed.” Greta glanced at Cain and Dorian who were smiling sweetly, leaning forward as if to hang on her every word. “Although these two may help balance out your rough edges.” Dorian placed a hand around her shoulders in a brief hug of gratitude at the compliment.

  Greta blushed.

  I turned to Father David. “Okay. My patience is gone. Who the hell is this again? For a second there, I thought maybe the Pearly Gates had been left unguarded.”

  Everyone stiffened at that, and Greta’s face went right back to that lovely purple hue that matched her custom cardigan. I let out a measured breath, closing my eyes for a few moments. Then I opened them and turned back to Greta. “I’ve had a long night. Let me rephrase my question. Who the hell are you?”

  Cain clucked his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval. Dorian was openly frowning at me.

  Claire may as well have had a bowl of popcorn in front of her, her eyes twinkling merrily as she slurped her energy drink loudly. Wait a minute… Dorian looked suspiciously innocent. He must have somehow stolen it from me to feed Claire’s addiction. I let it go. One fight at a time.

  Greta answered through gritted teeth. “I am Greta. One of Father David’s friends from St. Louis.”

  “And that matters to me, why?” I asked with a brittle smile. Something about her just rubbed me the wrong way. Storming in here like the matriarch of women everywhere, holier than thou attitude, and I was expected to prove to her that I was a good little girl? She was obviously a poor judge of character if she believed Dorian and Cain were innocent cherubs.

  “Are you a devout woman of God?” Greta asked.

  “Can anyone be?” I answered her, waving a hand. “That’s a loaded question. I try to do good as often as possible.”

  “As often as possible…” Greta repeated, not sounding swayed.

  I nodded tightly. “I must have forgotten. What job did I apply for again? Why am I being interviewed?”

  Father David cleared his throat, cutting off Greta’s response. “Let us start fresh. Callie used to work for the Vatican. Although her methods are… unorthodox, she has a big heart and a kind soul.” Cain coughed again, and Claire burst out laughing – quickly pretending she had read something funny on her energy drink. She even pointed it out to Cain, but he gave her a frown before refocusing on Greta.

  Father David scowled at Claire before turning back to me. “Greta works for Nate Temple’s company in St. Louis—”

  I slid my chair back from the table, alert for threats. The soothing hum of patrons in the coffee shop seemed to suddenly cease, either in response to overhearing mention of Nate Temple or because of my sudden motion. “What are you?” I asked in a low tone, locking eyes with her. I hadn’t sensed a lick of magic on the old woman, but if she worked for Nate, she might be highly dangerous, and she obviously didn’t like me much. Had I ever heard him mention a woman named Greta? Now that I thought about it, the name did sound familiar, but I couldn’t remember why.

  Greta frowned at me. “I’m a humble old woman, girl. Sit back down. Now. You’ve caused enough problems lately.”

  “Excuse me?” I laughed in disbelief, not realizing I had actually stood up at some point.

  “I’ve heard about what happened at the Vatican. And what you’ve done in this city. Although you managed to do some good here, you did something terrible last night.” Her eyes darted about the room, and she leaned closer, speaking softer but still not that pleasant. “Sit. Down.”

  “What do you know about last night?” I asked, slowly sitting back down and scooting closer to the table. But I remained alert for an attack.

  “Attacking an Angel, of course,” she hissed.

  I blinked at her. Then it hit me. The winged cowboy?

  I suddenly felt very nervous. Was she really who she claimed? Did she really know Nate? Or was she using Father David to get close to me? “If I fought an Angel last night, then he was one of the Fallen…” I growled. “Nephilim fought beside me.”

  Her lips thinned, and she looked on the verge of having steam burst from her ears.

  Despite our intention of remaining quiet, many of the customers were studying us out of the corners of their eyes, pretending not to eavesdrop. The silence made it abundantly clear, though.

  “He was not Fallen!” she hissed softly, actually quivering as if I had personally offended her.

  I met her eyes levelly, forcing myself to think.

  She lies… the Whispers cooed in my head. I flinched at the unexpected advice but regained my composure quickly.

  “Get out, old woman. I’ve had enough judgment for one morning.” I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but my Whispers hadn’t steered me wrong yet. They’d actually saved my life a few times. But even without them…

  I didn’t like this woman. Who did she think she was? I wasn’t about to take any crap from this bitter woman. Hell, I didn’t even know if she was who she said she was. How could she know about Angels? Especially an attack that had happened only hours ago? An attack that had put Claire and I in very real danger.

  When Greta made no motion to move, I stood, snatching up my drink. “We’re leaving,” I said, staring at Claire.

  “We should talk further…” Father David pleaded softly, trying to calm me down. “What could be more important than this?” he asked, holding out his hands, placating.

  I walked around the table, grabbed Claire by the bicep, and pulled her to her feet. “Shopping,” I told Father David. “Bitches love shopping.”

  Greta hissed, repulsed by my crass language – especially directed at Father David.

  Claire nodded eagerly, understanding what shopping meant.

  Greta opened her mouth, but I ignored her and pulled Claire after me. Darling and Dear sounded much better than this crap. I had plenty of other people I could call if I wanted to verify details on the events from last night. One person who was definitely getting a call was Nate Temple, to see if he really knew anyone named Greta.

  Everyone in the coffee shop watched as I left, likely having sensed the hostility in our exchange with Greta, even if they hadn’t heard details. Maybe I had been shouting.

  Greta hissed something at me as I walked out the door, but all I caught was …Solomon…

  I turned to Claire. “Let’s go see Darling and Dear.”

  She squealed excitedly, but I could tell she was distantly considering the conversation at the table. “I don’t know if I brought enough money with me to shop there,” she finally gasped, sounding horrified.

  I gripped her shoulders, smiling. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to pay with money. Sometimes you just have to sell a part of your soul. Even a sleazy, shattered soul like yours has to be worth at least a bracelet or coin purse.”

  Claire chuckled weakly, but something about my face made her smile falter and her face pale.

  Chapter 17

  The bell jingled as Darling and Dear opened the door for us. The two owners – possibly in an open marriage, definitely amoral and likely immortal – stood side by side, smiling warmly back at me. Then their eyes turned to Claire and they leaned forward to take a big ol’ whiff.

  “Hmmm… a woman of the night,” Darling hummed. “I approve.” He absently combed his fingers through his long, sandy hair, his eyes dancing mischievously against his tanned face.

  “A woman after my own black heart!” Dear cooed, bumping her hip – somehow erotically playful – against Darling. Her vibrant red hair was thick and luscious, and only emphasized her perfect alabast
er skin. Neither broke eye contact with Claire, who was frowning as if wondering whether she should feel insulted about the black heart comment.

  “Um…” Claire replied, glancing from one to the other. “I’m—”

  “Claire…” Darling said, licking his lips as if he could taste it.

  “Stone…” Dear added immediately, winking knowingly.

  “Can we close the door before you two weird her out?” They turned to look at me in unison, arching their brows. “So it’s harder for her to escape, of course,” I added with an awkward smile.

  They blinked, turned to Claire, and then burst out laughing.

  They let us enter, closing the door behind us as we stepped inside, the smell of fresh, cured leather swamping me like a comforting blanket. Darling instantly wrapped his arm around Claire’s shoulders as Dear latched hers around Claire’s waist. I thought I saw her fingers graze Claire’s ass on the way, but my friend must not have minded too much, was too overwhelmed to notice, or I was imagining it. Then they were guiding her deeper into their store, leaving me to find my own way. I scowled, grumbling under my breath as they began telling her what she simply must have.

  With a resigned sigh, I followed, inhaling the pleasant aroma permeating the labyrinth of a shop these two… beings ran. I wasn’t entirely sure what or who they really were, but they had treated me kindly, dealt fairly, and their wares had helped me survive more than one scuffle intact when I very realistically should have just died.

  I slowed as I passed a placard that looked new – or at least recently dusted off.

  Darling and Dear – Armorers of the Apocalypse. Established…

  I frowned, leaning closer to rub off the corner, which hadn’t been fully cleaned off.

  “Found that in an old box. Even the dustiest of boxes can have hidden pleasures…” Darling whispered directly into my ear.

  I gasped, spinning, but he was easily a pace away, not French-kissing my ear canal like he had sounded. His eyes twinkled as he smiled back at me.

  His words hit me, and I translated the double entendre.

  Darling and Dear were grossly inappropriate. If you thought their comments could be interpreted as dirty or scandalous, that was probably their intent. And you had probably missed a handful of other sleazy references they had uttered. But they rarely spoke casually, their comments usually hiding multiple meanings. And some of those hidden meanings were very important, as if they attempted to conceal their advice in X-rated riddles.

  With Darling and Dear, a dirty joke could actually save your life.

  Long story short, these mysterious leather workers were into sex. Which kind of made sense, I guessed. They sold all sorts of leather goods to all sorts of interested parties. “Is it true?” I asked, pointing a thumb at the placard.

  He shrugged, waving a hand. “Who else would you trust to keep all you silly mortals safe during such a highly violent disagreement?”

  I blinked at him. “Disagreement,” I repeated in a flat tone. “The Apocalypse.”

  He smiled.

  “Right. I should probably make sure Claire isn’t halfway through an orgy.”

  He shrugged, as if the likelihood was entirely possible, before leading me deeper into the store. I studied the goods around us, nodding absently as we passed the various… departments. Satchels. Bracelets. Armor. Shoes. And several areas that were a hodge-podge of different items, some looking very ancient.

  “Did Temple like his satchel?” Darling asked in an amused tone.

  “Oh, his purse?”

  Darling frowned, glancing over at me. “Satchel,” he repeated in a warning tone.

  I rolled my eyes, wondering if I would ever see the day where men admitted the truth. Changing the wearer’s sex didn’t suddenly make a purse a satchel, but it was funny to see that Darling carried the same delusion as Nate.

  “He loved it. Got some good miles out of it in Hell, apparently.” I watched Darling out of the corner of my eye, waiting for a reaction.

  Darling just nodded matter-of-factly, humming to himself as his fingertips adoringly brushed a whip as he walked by a… darker, date-night section of the shop. I saw a few masks and chained cuffs before I averted my eyes. Right. Freaks needed BDSM gear too, I guess.

  Hearing that Nate had gone down to Hell hadn’t caused a glimmer of surprise or interest in Darling. Who the hell were these two, really? Even Nate’s godly friends had been surprised to hear about Hell.

  But Darling? Just fondly fondled a bedroom prop at the comment.

  “Waiting for me to compliment your incredibly sexy new hairstyle, or does something else trouble you?” he asked, not turning to look at me.

  I smiled at the compliment but continued my search for Claire. How big was this place? I could hear her talking, but the volume hadn’t changed, as if we were just walking in circles around her.

  “Many things trouble me. Like why all these gangs are forming in town? And why is no one doing anything about them?”

  Darling grunted. “Vermin.”

  I nodded. “I agree. The gangs are vermin, and should easily be handled without me having to step up and slap around a few thugs in the middle of the night.”

  He turned to look at me. “Oh, right. The gangs are vermin, too.” He nodded, continuing on.

  I frowned at his back. “Wait. Who were you talking about if not the gangs?”

  “Everyone,” he replied, smiling over his shoulder. “Both high and low.” Then he was briskly walking away again, leaving me sputtering behind him as I rushed to catch up. Was that a subtle nod to Angels and Demons or some other group I wasn’t aware of?

  “Hey—”

  He rounded on me so suddenly that I grunted, skidding to a halt as I lifted my hands out.

  My palms struck his chest and I crumpled to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. My vision swam, and then flipped upside down as something squeezed my sides and shoulders. Then the world blurred and my head lolled back. “There, there, Callie. Sometimes I just can’t help myself… It will be better if we just go somewhere private and get this over with…”

  Despite my fear, I was as helpless as a babe as everything began fading to black.

  The last thing I saw was a rack of whips, and a tan hand casually picking one out.

  Chapter 18

  Warm, supple leather cradled my body in a loving hug, pressing against my cheeks.

  I came to with a panicked gasp. Darling had attacked me! I was restrained! He’d taken—

  I saw him sitting across from me, one leg crossed over the other, a blue fire blazing in a hearth behind him. He was smoking a cigar, fiddling with a rust-colored ascot beneath his open collared dress shirt. “I would come closer, but I didn’t want to startle you,” he murmured in a soft tone.

  I let out a breath, trying to gather my thoughts. I wasn’t in danger.

  “What… happened?” I asked in a whisper.

  “Instinct. You ran into me shouting Hey and I reacted… prematurely,” he chuckled. “I hear it happens to the best of men.”

  I just stared at him, not rising to the low joke. “You shut me down by… touching me?”

  He shrugged absently, waving a hand in a whorl of smoke. “You have too much on your mind. You are brimming with questions. You need to hear some questions.”

  I blinked at him, slowly shaking my head. Maybe I was still disoriented from whatever he had done to me. I had touched him and dropped like a rock. I must have felt him carrying me to the chair, but it had felt so sinister. Just fear from being alone with a dangerous… being? Or was it sound advice? That I really didn’t know much about these two leather-makers. I saw a leather whip leaning beside the fire place and flinched, remembering seeing a tan hand picking it up before I passed out.

  He followed my gaze and let out an amused chuckle, reading my thoughts. “It was in the wrong spot. From my… personal collection,” he admitted with a shrug.

  I didn’t feel any welts or anything, so let it go.
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  I was suddenly very eager to find Claire.

  “She’s fine. Just shopping. You can hear her.”

  I felt my skin crawl, realizing he had read my thoughts without permission. But he was right. I could hear Claire clearly, speaking with Dear about a pair of leather pants. Like they were just around the corner, but…

  We were in a closed room. I glanced over at the door casually, noticing that the walls around it were actually smoked glass and that I could make out vague silhouettes on the other side from the racks of coats, boxes, and shoes outside.

  “You’re safe. We’re all here.”

  I slowly turned to look at him. He took another long puff of his cigar, and I could have sworn his eyes pulsed blue, like lightning, behind the smoke.

  “What did you mean that I’m full of questions, and that I need someone to ask me questions. That doesn’t make any sen—”

  “Since you refuse to see, let me introduce you to my friend, but I’ll warn you, she’s expensive.” My mind reeled as he interrupted me to use a homonym of my cut-off word sense to so adroitly change the topic. He pointed with his cigar to my right.

  I turned and almost fell out of my chair.

  A beautiful, topless, exotic woman stared at me from the floor. I definitely hadn’t ever met her, but almost everyone in the world could have pointed her out, recognizing her face.

  But she wasn’t entirely human.

  She lay on her stomach in a familiar pose, feline paws folded one over the other, neck arched regally as she considered me. Her lion’s tale twitched back and forth, and her cocaine-white feathered wings were tucked in close to her body. But from the neck up she was a stunningly beautiful, dark-haired woman.

  The Sphinx.

  “If I poke my finger through your eyes, will your jaws open wide?” she asked in a lazy purr like poured honey.

  I blinked. “Um, probably in sheer agony, yes.”

  She tsked disapprovingly, turning to Darling.

  He rolled his eyes. “Scissors. Everyone knows that one.”