The next couple days didn’t get anywhere with Aaron. He continued to insist Kels was in danger, but would not divulge any information. He also refused to speak to either Starks or Levins, which caused plenty of cursing in the pit.
The other angel had been spotted lurking in the Smyths’ neighborhood, but nobody could get a good enough look to get an ID on him, and he was never in one place long enough to get picked up by SITO.
I was more and more unsettled by the situation and pretty convinced we had the wrong guy.
“How long can we hold him?” I asked Levins after another intense conversation with Aaron. My stomach was still knotted from my time with the angel and my ears were warm from the rush of emotions that had passed through me while I talked to him. Aaron had known the other agents were on the other side of the glass, and he spent the time sitting in a cross-legged position, his wings calmly unfurled behind him, answering my questions in low, one word answers. It was insanely frustrating. But in contrast to his cool exterior, his eyes bored into mine silently pleading. Just before I left he whispered so faintly, I barely caught it, and I knew no one else had heard it.
“Let me go. Please, I need to be watching over him.”
Somehow I knew he meant it, which propelled me to talk to someone about it, and so I ended up talking with Levins.
“We hold him until someone complains,” was Levins’s snorted response.
“But he’s complaining.”
“So?” Levins looked at me like I was an idiot.
“I thought you said we couldn’t hold him much longer?”
“Connelly, that’s not your priority,” she snapped and that was the end of it.
I let the conversation go, but Aaron’s warnings continued to bother me that evening. Restless, I paced around the apartment. Something wasn’t right about the situation. My head went in circles thinking about the interviews I did with Aaron, but nothing clicked, nothing made sense. I had never dealt with a case like this before. Granted I had never dealt with a Code Red before, but I didn’t expect to feel this helpless. It was like we were all spinning our tires in knee-deep mud.
My cell phone rang and Shirako’s drunk yell sounded on the other side. Feeling wound up and tense, I did the unthinkable, I agreed to go to the goth club with my goony coworkers, Shirako and O’Meara. I needed to get out and clear my head or unclear as some may say.
Wednesday nights were a big night for the gothic scene in Santa Rosa. A lounge on the strip turned its pop music dance floor over to the gothic crowd, and it became a mecca for the dark subculture of the derelict, the saturnine and the haunting. The bartenders smeared on black lipstick and eyeliner, the goo goo dancers wore rags and lace-up leather boots, and the dance floor filled with people who looked like they had just stepped out of the Black Forest or Dracula’s castle.
I kept it simple with a black tank top that showed off my tats and what cleavage I could muster up out of my small breasts, along with some heavy black combat boots. O’Meara was dressed as plainly in a black t-shirt and black jeans. We entered ahead of our other companion who was loudly drunk. Shirako wouldn’t settle for simple dress on goth night. He sailed into the club, six-foot-four inches of black leather and red glitter topped off with red contacts, a black cape, and his horns out for the world to see. The crowd loved him, enveloping him in a dark wave.
O’Meara and I rolled our eyes at each other and headed through the shadowy club to the bar, avoiding the swaying limbs dancing to the dark flowing music.
The boys were a ways ahead of me drunkwise, as they had pre-partied at home, but I was determined to catch up and fast. I had long suspected that the famous Irish drinking blood actually came from daemons. It was one of our social assets, the ability to imbibe a lot of alcohol, and it went back thousands of generations. In Ancient Greece, Silenus, an old daemon philosopher, claimed the only safe way to mingle normals and daemons was to make sure both were thoroughly intoxicated.
I grinned at the thought of a bunch of ancient ancestral daemons and normals partying together around a big bonfire, and downed another shot, as O’Meara pounded the bar and roared for more, disturbing the other patrons. A sullen pair of skinny white androgynous normals rolled their eyes behind limp black hair and peeled themselves away from the obnoxious meathead. I watched them go regretfully; one had been kind of cute.
“Allow us to be a part of your mystery, oh Dionysis!” O’Meara held up his glass. I smiled and held up mine.
It was an old toast, but it was a dear one to daemons. Silenus’s sons, Nysus and Pan had continued their father’s philosophy. Pan enjoyed the parties and was loved by normals, but Nysus was the life of the party and was beyond loved. He was worshiped long after his death and his name was even given the Greek genitive for god; dio-. He left a legacy. For decades normals and daemons coexisted in Ancient Greece, merrily intoxicated under the Dionysian Mysteries. Of course gradually as daemons slipped from normals society, so did the Dionysian Mysteries, and Nysus and Pan’s legacy faded into mythical creatures, nymphs, satyrs, and fauns.
But us daemons kept the memory alive. We knew Dionysus and Pan had been real flesh and blood people, and to this day, deep in the forests of old Europe, the daemons in Greece still celebrated the Dionysian Mysteries.
The music was starting to pick up, pounding through the bar. This set was more industrial than flowing, made for stomping boots and fist-pumping dancing. The lights were low and cool colored, bringing out the eerie beauty of the painted faces of the dancers on the floor. O’Meara and I found a table far enough away from the dance floor to be out of the danger zone, but close enough that we could watch. I needed a lot more alcohol to brave the dance floor, even if the music was catchy.
“May the devil chase you every day of your life and never catch you!” Shirako yelled merrily, joining us to down another whiskey.
I laughed, the alcohol starting to take hold. The Irish toast was an inside joke with us, and it was one of my favorites. We all pounded the table with our fists in time to the music and took another shot.
“What an interesting toast,” a female voice from behind me purred.
O’Meara and Shirako froze with silly drooling expressions. Recognizing the voice, I turned slowly my heart pounding. Galina and two girlfriends stood behind us. She was smiling, her girlfriends were smirking. The lights flashed around us, as I tried to find something smooth to say.
Unfortunately Shirako seized the moment. “You demonic babes are something else!”
I flinched and smiled apologies at the girls. The three of them were quite a trio, tall in tiny, pleated, plaid skirts and knee-high fuck-me boots, slammed home by bare midriffs and tall hats. I recognized Galina’s thick hemline on all three of them, and my heart sank. They were all full-blooded daemons. By the predatory expressions on her friends’ faces, I knew what this was. They were slumming. I had seen it before, too many times. Full-breeds, out looking for a little excitement, went to the clubs to mix it up with some lowly half-breed or sapiens. I swallowed the bitter taste and prayed the boys would not make too big of fools of themselves, knowing full well they would, and that they wouldn’t care about it, especially if it meant sex tonight.
Galina squeezed in next to me at the table. I wondered what she wanted and felt a little sick. As tipsy as I was I wasn’t okay with being used, not by her, not by anyone.
The other girls left to dance. Shirako followed. Although he was obviously panting over the girls, he maintained a cool distance from them, which I was grateful for. At a goth club hitting on someone was a much subtler process than at your average club. The interested party pursued, but left space for comfort on the dance floor. If Shirako had blatantly tried to grind on one of the girls, he would have broken social protocol and embarrassed us all.
Not much of a dancer, O’Meara blearily stared down into his whiskey glass. He knew Shirako would rope both girls in for them. That left Galina and me alone in conversation.
“So what’s the scene like around here?” Galina called over the music.
I shrugged. “Depends on what you like,” I responded loudly trying to play it cool.
She said something else. I stupidly nodded my head without understanding a thing she said. I hated conversing in clubs.
“My friends and I just moved into town!” she yelled louder. “We’re looking for things to do!”
I nodded again, tapping my foot nervously to the music. My tongue felt like it belonged to a stranger.
“You’re tats are awesome!” she said, placing one hand on my arm.
I swallowed, not sure what to do. The whiskey was making Galina’s hand feel red-hot. I had to remind myself that I hated being fetishized. O’Meara, who had no such qualms, grinned, watching us slyly through the corner of his eye. Galina moved her hand slowly up my arm, her thickly lined eyes gazing at me. My stomach turned and down lower burned.
I stood up abruptly. “I just remembered! I have to be back at the office!” I hollered over the music.
O’Meara and Galina stared up at me in confusion. I hoped they didn’t hear the slur in my voice. “I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I smashed some cash in O’Meara’s hand to pay for the drinks and bolted out of there.
The cool night air slapped my face, and I almost turned around. What was I doing leaving that gorgeous woman in the hands of two horny half-daemons?
Ha, she can take care of herself! That was pretty obvious.
Determined to get away from a situation that could only end up with me being hurt, I shoved my hands in my pockets and clomped my boots down the street. I wanted sex just as much as the next person, but I wasn’t going to lap up the little crumbs she was offering me like a begging dog. Not with someone I worked across the hall from.
Lost in thought I wandered through the empty streets until the boots started to pinch. I looked around and realized the SITO office wasn’t that far away. As if someone else had control of my body, I walked in that direction.
The whiskey had started to settle in my head, but it was still buzzing through my veins. I unlocked the front door and made my way down to the basement. The musty claustrophobic smell bowled me over, and as I scuffled with my keys, I pushed down the urge to vomit.
I opened the door and promptly shut off the recorder; no need for Starks to know about my drunken visit to the prisoner.
Aaron was frantically prowling the perimeter of his confinement.
“Aaron.”
He stopped and stared at me without recognition, his eyes bloodshot and wild and his wings fluttering behind him. Growling at me, he resumed stalking about the room. I swayed backward, surprised by the growl. I growled back and giggled. He ignored me.
“Aaron!” I tried again.
He stopped, swaying. “I cannot do this, you people will kill him,” he moaned. His wings drooped.
“That won’t happen.” I tripped over to the mesh. “Come here,” I said softly.
He shuffled over. “Why are you here?”
“Press your hand against the mesh,” I commanded.
His hand raised limply, and he did as I said. I brought my own up to meet it, and touched his gently.
He cocked his head to the side, his wings lifting slightly. “Are you drunk?” he asked.
“No,” I spluttered. “Okay, ma-bye.”
I laughed and hiccupped. I was more giddy from the rush of being there in the middle of the night alone with him than drunk, but I was a little tipsy.
He shook his head and pulled away his hand, disgusted. “And you’re in charge of my case and Kels?”
I looked at him wide-eyed. “What makes you think I’m in charge?” I swayed a bit and gripped on to the mesh, forgetting my earlier fear of what he could do to my fingers. “Ha, the CIU don’t trust me enough to put me on Code Red cases, I’m always stuck in CPU. I got lucky on this one.”
He looked at me exasperated. “I do not know what you mean by your codes, but I do know you promised me you would help me, and now you show up here drunk.”
The comment sobered me a little. “You are right, this is unprofessional. But you have to know, I’m not the one in charge here. If I was you would be out there already. Believe me, cause I believe you.”
He stared at me intensely. The area below my belly throbbed in the same way it had when Galina had stroked my arm. My head is messed up.
“How is Kels?” he asked softly.
Surprised by the change in tone I muddled through my brain for an answer.
“He’s good. There has been no susspissouss activity. You were it.” I hiccupped again.
“But there was another angel hanging around him?”
“Well, ma-ybe.”
He muttered to himself. “You know if word got out that SITO was holding me for this long without reasonable suspicion I could get out of here, and not have to rely on an irresponsible devil.”
I stepped back as if slapped and clenched my fists. How dare he speak to me like that? I wasn’t that far gone to understand what he had just called me, again. The giddiness stemming from what I was doing faded. I sobered, grasping fully what he thought of me. He was just like all those other full-breed pricks, anyone that wasn’t them was inferior.
It pissed me the fuck off.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” I asked. “Here you are prowling around some poor kid who has no idea who he is, and you think it’s strange you were picked up by SITO?”
He ignored me.
I stalked forward and slammed my palms on the mesh. “And the one person who has any inclination to help you whatsoever, you call a devil?”
He wouldn’t look at me. Glaring at him I tried to calm my breathing, but I couldn’t. I was so angry. Starks and Levins treated me like I was a kid, Galina thought she could use me, and now this angel, who I thought I was connecting with, was being a dick.
“Fuck off, Aaron. You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out.” My hands fell to my sides again and I whirled around. I knew it was partly the whisky talking that had made me so brave. I didn’t want to look at him anymore. I reached for the doorknob.
“Sarah.”
I paused, annoyed that my hand was trembling.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out softly.
I turned half way and glanced back.
He looked at me full in the face his eyes pleading.
When I didn’t move away from the door, his eyes dropped to the floor and he continued, “I am so afraid that something will happen to Kels while I am trapped in here. I let my emotions get the better of me. I promise I will never call you that again. Forgive me?”
I took a deep breath but didn’t move. “Aaron, I’m going home. Get some sleep would you?”
“Yes, I will try,” he responded, his wings drooping down.
It took all of my strength to walk out that door. I was still fuming, but I wasn’t sure who I was mad at anymore. Tears gathered around my eyeballs. Blindly I called a cab and made it home. Upset and confused and horny I collapsed in a heap on my bed and cried myself to sleep.
I awoke in the gray hours of predawn. I stared up at the ceiling. The whiskey had run its course and was replaced by a small headache. I got up and rummaged for coffee. Restless and hungover I turned on the television, but it didn’t stop my mind from churning. I thought about what Aaron had said, and what I had told him. Was it true? Would I really let him go if I could?
Yes I would. And he had told me how to get him out. Cradling my coffee mug, I picked up my cell phone and dialed information.
“City and State please,” the operator said.
“I’m looking for The God Times Newspaper, New York.”
“Hold please.”
The automatic machine gave me the number and then dialed it. I rubbed my horn stubs. Both Homo angelus and Homo daemonis had newspapers, under the guise of Christian periodicals. Usually if one slipped out into the Homo sapiens world non-Christians ignored it or found it ridiculous and Christians assumed it was a mockery of their faith and threw it away.
“Answering service for The God Times.” My thoughts were interrupted by the late-night operator.
“I have an anonymous bit of information one of the journalists may find interesting,” I said, my heart pounding.
“Hold please. I’ll connect you.”
The laugh track of the television show on in the background howled.
I spent the next day buried in paperwork at my desk, fretfully avoiding Galina and the pit for very different reasons. Every time my phone rang or someone knocked at the door I jumped nervously, but nothing seemed to have resulted in my spontaneous phone call from the night before. I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or disappointed. I ate lunch in my office planning on hiding from the world the whole day, but I was interrupted by Levins appearing at my door just as I bit into an egg-salad sandwich.
“Have some news,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” I asked casually, my mouth still full. I struggled to swallow the suddenly dry bread.
“It’s about the Smyths.”
I put down my sandwich and wiped my mouth, curious and relieved. “What happened?”
“Apparently Mr. Smyth has been called away on a sudden business trip. It’s a little suspicious, but he’s going to be out of the country for the next three weeks.”
I stared at her. “Do you think the trip is connected with Subject 342?”
“We don’t know.”
My cell phone rang. It was as if Mrs. Smyth knew we were talking about her.
“It’s Mrs. Smyth,” I said anxiously.
Levins nodded for me to pick it up.
I was not surprised by the news that Mrs. Smyth’s, “dearie husband was called away for three whole weeks, and could I just believe that?” But I was surprised by the news that, “her sister just fell really ill and is in the hospital, so she just must go and visit her, but she can’t take Kels because she doesn’t want to risk him getting sick, and so would I mind taking care of him just for a few days?” I agreed, hiding my unease, and hung up.
“What was that about?” Levins asked.
I stared down at my phone. “Mrs. Smyth will also be gone, her sister’s sick,” I said slowly.
I heard Levins’s sharp intake of breath and looked up.
“Connelly, this may be serious.” Her dark eyes flashed. “Maybe you should try the detainee again. Starks is out, we’ll see what he thinks when he gets back.”
I fought the nausea that threatened, unsure if it came from last night’s whiskey or the sudden turn in events. The idea of facing Aaron after last night made me want to curl into a ball under my desk and never come out.
Starks was gone the rest of the day, so Levins decided to wait until the next day to try to interview Aaron again. Relieved, I slunk out of the office that evening and went straight home to nurse a sudden headache. My attempt to sleep was poor and I spent most of the night thrashing around on my bed, wondering about the Smyths.
I dragged myself to work the next day, worse for wear. Midmorning, I was surprised by Galina knocking on the door to my office.
“I brought you some coffee. You look like you haven’t slept well.” She smiled shyly, standing at my office door, dressed in a sleek black skirt that hugged the curves of her hips and butt. Her vest pushed her cleavage up and out of her button-up, white shirt.
I had a moment of regret of my stupid move the night before last.
“Thanks Galina, you are saving my life,” I said, truly grateful for the coffee.
“Are you going to get some sleep tonight at least?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m planning on it.” Tomorrow was the start of my babysitting gig with Subject 342. I wanted to be fresh when I packed off his parents.
“About the other night,” she said, fingering the button on her vest nervously.
I looked away from her, unsure what to say. The silence stretched.
“Well, I just wanted to say,” she began.
Starks stormed in interrupting the tension. Galina whirled around and skittered back to her desk. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or annoyed at Starks for stopping the conversation. I wondered what Galina had wanted to say.
“Jesus, scare the poor kid,” I said.
“Huh? Oh, she’s a creampuff get off my back.” He scowled at me.
I opened my mouth to defend Galina and shut it again when Starks tossed a letter on my desk.
“Looks like we have to let him go,” he said.
“Aaron?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I forced my trembling fingers to still, as I picked up the letter. Starks grunted and walked out again, slamming the door to my office so hard it bounced off of the wall and creaked open again.
I opened the letter.
“It’s an official release statement.” I hadn’t heard Levins approach. She stood in my doorway. “Turns out hanging out in the park around Subject 342 didn’t have enough suspicion of intent for us to hold him much longer, and since even you couldn’t get him to talk with all of your late night chats we’ve got nothing on him. Someone got wind of what was happening and the higher ups intervened.”
“Well he doesn’t seem to have bad designs on the kid.” I said, not acknowledging her accusation.
“Be careful Connelly.” Levins folded her arms, narrowed her eyes, and stared at me. “O’Meara found the recording panel shut off the other day when he went in to check on the detainee.”
Carefully I folded the letter and looked straight at her. “He did not tell me anything that I have not told you,” I said quietly.
She looked at me hard and slowly nodded. “Okay. Just be careful.”
A few hours later I was still pouring over paperwork when a familiar low voice filtered into my office. My pulse throbbed, and I peeked through the opened crack of the door. Aaron was leaning on the counter of the reception flashing his white teeth at a flustered Galina. I felt a surge of jealousy of Galina’s pert nose and perky breasts but dampened it quickly. I wondered if I should go out there, if he wanted to see me, if my breasts would be compared to Galina’s, if I would be an unwelcome interruption to their flirtation.
My desk intercom buzzed. Hastily I raced for it, bumping my knee hard on the corner of the desk. I bit down on the curse that threatened to explode out of my mouth. The intercom buzzed again, and Galina’s voice came through.
“Connelly?”
A little out of breath, I pressed down the speaker button while rubbing my tender kneecap. “Yeah!”
“Aaron uh, the det-, uh angel, is here to see you if you have a moment?”
I was giddy, irritated, and uncomfortable. “I do, show him in,” I said.
I stood up as Galina opened the door wide for him and caught his swift glance over her breasts.
“You can close it Galina, thank you.” I adopted a brisk professional tone, perversely wanting to hide my jealousy of both of them and my desire for either of them from the other. Thinking about it made my head hurt.
Aaron watched me, amused, as Galina did what I asked. I sat down unsure what to do with my hands. I wanted to rub my horn stubs, but I settled on twirling a pencil in my fingers.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I want to thank you,” he said after the door had closed behind us.
“For what?” My fingers stopped twirling the pencil, and my eyes met his direct gaze.
He didn’t say anything. I looked down and my fingers started their rotation again.
“Sometimes things are better left unspoken,” I heard him say.
I felt a little squeamish. Mustering all the courage I had, I opened my desk drawer. “If you ever change your mind and want to talk about Kels, here’s my cell number.” I placed my card on the edge of my desk. There was a roaring in my ears, and I almost snatched the card back.
“Thank you,” he said, picking up the card.
He held out his hand. The roaring settled and I shook it. His palm was soft and warm.
I pulled away quickly. “I’ll walk you out.”
His expression was amused again. I walked out of the office without looking back. Galina watched us, as I held the front door of the office open for the striking angel. He saluted both of us and walked out.
“Connelly that angel is gorgeous.” Galina said her breath heavy.
“I know,” I responded absentmindedly. Her comment hit me, and I glanced at her. “You would date an angel?” I asked, curious. Full-breeds usually did not mingle with the other species.
Galina shrugged. “It’s a bit old fashioned to keep the species separated don’t you think? It’s kind of like the idea of keeping sexuality in its archaically bound definition.”
Her response stunned me. What happened to the perky, sexy, “creampuff” secretary who didn’t have a thought in her pretty little head?
She smiled brightly at my bemused expression. “Can I help you with anything else?”
Her switch back into flirty receptionist mode threw me, and I shook my head, perplexed. Maybe I had the wrong idea in the club, maybe she was more than another full-breed daemon looking for a good time.
The phone in my office demanded to be answered with a loud long repeated ring.
“I’m fine, I’ll let you know,” I managed to say before tearing myself away from the reception desk. I went to answer it, slower this time, settling into my chair before picking up.
“Connelly here,” I said.
“Sarah, it’s your dad, you weren’t picking up your cell.”
I sat up, concerned. My father never called this line. “Dad, hi, what’s going on?”
“I have some information. Do you still have that guy locked up?” he asked.
“No he was just released, why?”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“I found Subject 342’s mother.”
“What?!” I almost knocked my knee again springing out my chair.
“Well I found DNA that matched Subject 342 in the Ulster Biomnis lab records. It’s a Jane Doe from Evanshire.”
“Dad that’s great! Send me the information SITO can probably track down the identity.”
“Sarah, I didn’t find her lab results because of her pregnancy.”
“So you found it from some blood test?” I asked, puzzled.
“No Sarah.” My father cleared his throat. “She was murdered.”
I sank back down into my chair.
“How?” I managed to whisper.
“She had been burned to death. The lab work was from an autopsy to find out who she was; her body was unrecognizable. They never solved the case, it was about three years ago and she’s been labeled as Jane Doe ever since. Sarah?”
“Yeah Dad,” I responded. My legs felt like dead weight and my arms were tingling.
“Be careful okay? You are dealing with some really dangerous people. I’m going keep this between us, no need to worry your mum.”
“Okay Dad.”
I put the phone back on the hook and stared at the wall. Kels’s biological mother had been murdered. Aaron was a free man, just when information came up that was definitely enough suspicion to hold him longer. I ran my fingers through my hair and rubbed a horn stub. I needed to figure out how I could tell the pit such crucial information without getting into trouble or getting taken off the case. I would never be allowed near a Code Red again, if what I had done was ever discovered. I buried my face in my hands.
Slowly, as I breathed through my fingers, an idea formulated. Sitting up I woke up my laptop and pulled up the information of the lab where my father had found the Jane Doe.
“Ulster Biomnis Laboratory, how may I direct your call?” A woman answered their listed number.
“Specialty cases please.” I could have said I was with SITO, since the lab specialized in Homo daemonis work, but I was feeling cautious.
“Transferring you to specialty cases.”
Elevator music came on.
“Coakley here.” A man’s raspy voice cut through the tinny ping ping of what may have been Van Morrison’s Brown-Eyed Girl.
“Coakley, name’s Shirako,” I said in a gruff voice, hoping it was asexual enough to confuse the listener. “I’m agent for the Northern California division of SITO. We’re looking for any history of unusual criminal activity in your area in the last four years, because it may be connected to a case here. I was directed to speak with you. Could you fax over any relevant lab work, attention Shirako?”
“When do you need it?”
“ASAP, this is a Code Red.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, much appreciated.” I hung up the phone with a sigh of relief. A killing by burning should be suspicious enough. Shirako wasn’t one to question why a big clue fell into his lap and just smart enough to claim it as his own finding. Hopefully he wasn’t too dense to connect Jane Doe to Subject 342.
Still shaky, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk. My 9mm .380 Automatic Colt Pistol rested in the back of the drawer on a cushion of papers. I never used it because, even with its light compact cartridge that was easy to conceal, it was too much of a risk to my cover in a playground full of kids.
Carefully I strapped the holster it around my torso, slid the piece in place and pulled my jacket on to cover it. This Code Red was getting a lot more serious fast. I packed up my briefcase and tried to keep down the panic rising in my chest. A potential killer had just been inside my office and was now walking free. I snapped the briefcase closed and marched out the door.
“Galina, tell anyone who comes looking for me that I went home, I want to be well rested for my first day undercover with the Code Red,” I said, hiding my trembling hands.
She looked at me wide-eyed and nodded.
Later that evening I tried to track down Jane Doe’s real identity on SITO’s network and on the internet. The television blaring in the background, I tried not to think about what I had done. My cell vibrated. I wasn’t surprised to hear Levins’s voice on the other line.
“Connelly, we’ve got a problem,” she said. I listened as she outlined Shirako’s “keen” detective work, and the necessity for upping the surveillance on Subject 342. They had called in reinforcements from the closest SITO offices. People were out hunting for Aaron and someone would be on guard at the Smyths’ at all times.
“Connelly, be careful,” she said before she hung up.
I would be. I had let my ego and emotions get the best of me, and now there was a psychotic killer on the loose. Aaron had seen me coming from a mile away and manipulated me easily. I was an idiot, a big dumb stupid rookie.
The next afternoon I packed the gun carefully in my saddlebags. As much as I wanted to wear it I couldn’t justify risking its exposure to the Smyths. I threw my backpack on over my motorcycle jacket, kicked the clutch pedal into neutral, started the engine and pulled on my helmet. I adjusted the helmet until my horn stubs fitted neatly into the custom made pockets and gripped the throttle pushing more gas into the engine. As deafening as the sound was, I still got a rush from cranking my bike. It was the middle of the day, nobody was home to be bothered by the noise. I slammed my foot on the clutch, throwing the bike into first gear and was off.
I was slower than usual on the freeway, the heavy saddlebags throwing off my balance, but I had given myself plenty of time to get there. I had been ready early, my anxiety not allowing me to sleep well and causing me to rise with the sun.
I reached the Smyths, kicked the clutch into neutral and coasted to the curb. Shutting off the bike I counted the number of unassuming vehicles surrounding the house. There were three plus the audio surveillance minivan. SITO was not taking any chances.
I wondered what Aaron would think of that. Would he be happy? Or would he be annoyed it was harder than ever to get a hold of Kels? I shuddered with the thought. Was he the psychopath behind Kels’s mother’s murder?
My booted footsteps tread heavily on the walkway to the front door.
“Sarah!” The door was thrown open, and I resisted the urge to shriek.
A frazzled Mrs. Smyth greeted me. “Sorry Dear, didn’t mean to startle you, but I heard your bike coming. We’re almost finished packing, and the airport car service should be here in an hour, but Kels is throwing an impossible temper tantrum.”
Her normal anxiety soothed me. “I’ll just bring in all of my stuff and then go take care of Kels, go back to packing,” I said.
“I mean it’s just wild right? That we would both have to leave on the same day? Thank goodness you happened to enter our lives just at the right time.” Mrs. Smyth squeezed my hand in her plump one gratefully and left me standing in the open doorway.
I watched her race back up the stairs, a heavy feeling in my throat. If I was Mrs. Smyth I wouldn’t be all that grateful. And it wasn’t wild, it was concerning.
A whirlwind of packing and of screaming five-year old filled the next hour. Finally a black taxi sedan pulled up next to my bike and honked. There were many kisses bestowed on Kels, who was still sniffling, by his mother. His father gave him a gruff hug and me a firm handshake.
Then they were gone, leaving an empty lonely house behind.
Kels slipped his hand in mine. “Mommy is coming back right?” He looked up at me his lower lip trembling. “Last time my other mommy never came back.”
My chest hurt thinking about his other mommy and what had happened to her. I wondered if the poor little tyke had any idea. I kneeled down next to him. “I promise your mommy and daddy will be back, and that they will think of you the entire time they are gone, and I am sure that your other mommy loved you will all her heart.”
Kels nodded his blue eyes still puffy from crying. I vowed that this mommy would be back.
“C’mon my little buddy, I’ll teach you how to make grilled cheese sandwiches.” I led him inside and shut the door on several pairs of watching eyes.
That night the phone rang. The line went dead when I picked it up. The next morning it rang again, and again went dead. Later that morning, I was sure I saw a face peering in the kitchen window. The rest of the day I watched Kels like a hawk. We didn’t leave the house even though he begged to be taken to the park. I was uncomfortable risking being parted with our shadowy bodyguards even for a moment. Instead we played hide-and-seek in a confined area of the house. Luckily the kid could play hide-and-seek for hours. Unfortunately I could not, and finally I had to turn to the television for entertainment. While the rounds of video games and cartoons blurred into each other, I replayed the conversations I had had with Aaron over and over again. He had been so genuine so sincere about his concern for Kels. He had played me for the fool. I was a fool.
That evening the phone rang again. I picked it up trembling.
“Hello?”
“Sarah?”
I almost gasped in relief to hear Mrs. Smyth’s voice and quickly adapted a cheery tone. “Hi Mrs. Smyth!”
“I’ve landed in Philly and have arrived at the hospital. I just wanted to check in with my little angel.”
I started when she said angel, before realizing it was just a nickname. “Kels!” I called into the next room where the little half-angel was playing with his Legos. “It’s your mommy!”
The blond curly head was next to me in an instant. He held the phone carefully and put it up to his cheek. Gently I moved it so his ear was against the speaker. While he was talking, I used the opportunity to stroke his hair and study the top of his head. Angel halos were nothing more than a cranial ridge about an inch high, not as easily seen as the horns of a daemon. Some speculated they evolved to help cushion the head against bumps during flight. The Smyths had allowed Kels’s curls to grow unruly, but even through the thick hair I could feel the beginning of a small circular lump. He continued to chatter with his mom about all of the playtime he had had with Saaraa. I made a mental note to give him a bath tonight and check on the status of his wings. I left him attached to the phone, and while he was diverted, I rummaged in my saddlebags and placed the 9mm on the mantle of the fireplace, behind a smiling picture of the Smyths, out of Kels’s notice and reach.
“Mommy wants to talk to you Saaraa.”
I went back into the hall and took the phone from Kels.
“Hello Sarah, I forgot to give you the information for Kels’s teacher and preschool. It’s all on the bulletin in the kitchen by the fridge.”
The idea of Kels in preschool out of SITO’s protection made my stomach churn. I wondered if it was necessary to have him attend. Aaron knew who I was anyway, so it wasn’t as if I could pretend I was a normal nanny. I reassured Mrs. Smyth that things were running smoothly and that I hoped her sister started to feel better, before hanging up and biting my lip.
I checked on Kels who was happily absorbed in building what he had claimed was a cow out of red and blue Legos. I picked up my cell and called SITO.
“Report Connelly.”
“Delilah is Starks available?”
“He said to transfer any calls from you even if he was not.” Delilah’s tone was amused at my new status.
I wished Starks’s newly found concern for my reports was coming from something other than the precarious situation my charge was in.
“Okay transfer me, thanks.”
“Starks here. What’s up Connelly?”
“Is it necessary to keep up the cover and send Subject 342 to preschool since the suspect is aware of my true identity?”
There was mumbling and then silence on the other end. “Levins!” Starks yelled into my ear.
“Ow.”
“Sorry, thought I had put the phone down.”
I could hear Levins’s voice and brief murmurs.
“Connelly?” Levins came on the line.
“Yeah.”
“Aaron is not our only suspect. The other angel lurking around has been identified. It’s Gaap, another member of the Anakites. We’re not sure if the two are in communication or even connected, we’re just assuming so. In case they are not, your cover needs to be solid. Take the kid to preschool; we’ll have agents on him there. What’s the name of the school?”
I gave her the name of the school written on the paper on the fridge and hung up.
The house phone rang again. I picked it up, wondering what more Mrs. Smyth wanted.
“Hello?”
The line was dead. I toyed with the idea of telling Kels my holster was just a special kind of belt.
That night I gave the kid a bath, luring him in with toy boats Mrs. Smyth had stockpiled in the linen closet. As I scrubbed his back, I gently ran my fingers along the shoulder blades. Over the hard bone the tissue was soft and raised. Mr. and Mrs. Smyth would need to have a conversation with SITO sooner than later. He was going to have it all, wings, a halo, and sapien parents. Poor kid.
“Ow Saaraa.” Kels had stopped splashing his miniature submarine and was reacting to my fingers digging into his wing sprouts.
I hastily pulled my fingers away. “Kels I want you to promise me something.”
He regarded me solemnly.
“Pinkie swear,” I said holding out a pinkie.
“Pinkie swears.” He gripped my pinkie with his.
“Does your back ever get itchy?”
He nodded.
“Do you start wanting to scratch it against the wall?”
“Sometimes it is very itches.”
“Don’t do that okay? It will be very bad for your back. You pinkie swore.”
“Okey, Saaraa.” Accepting the strange request as only a child could, he returned to his marine warfare. I smiled down fondly on him, remembering the time my father had told me about my horns. He had been so proud of them, stubby as they were when I was five years old, and it had made me proud. Of course he probably hadn’t realized they wouldn’t get much bigger. I hoped I would get the chance to tell Kels about his specialness the way my father had told me.
It was almost a relief to bring Kels to preschool the next day and not be cooped up in the house. We took the Smyths’ Prius since I only had my motorcycle.
“Miss Armstrong says we’re going to make pasta monsters today.” Kels bounced around in the back seat as I pulled up to the school.
I laughed at his enthusiasm and got out to open the back door.
He scrambled out. “Bye Saaraa!” he said, waving his arms at me while running up the steps to the preschool.
The before mentioned Miss Armstrong waved at me. I waved back and stood there for awhile observing the school. SITO’s presence could be detected everywhere, from the lone janitor sweeping leaves to the electrician on the telephone pole. Feeling better I got back into the driver’s seat.
“Connelly, report.” Delilah answered my call.
“Where does Starks want me now that Subject 342 is in school?”
“Levins is waiting for you at a diner down in Southside.” She gave me the address.
Southside was the industrial part of town. The diner was a seedy, rundown grease-box that only Levins would enjoy. The parking lot was empty with the exception of a few workers from the nearby plants. A man in cargo overalls splattered with paint, shuffled by. He looked at the out-of-place Prius without curiosity. I locked the doors and rubbed my horn stubs. The food here was not for the faint of heart.
Levins had chosen a booth far in the back, two cups of coffee—black—waited, the steam curling into the dim atmosphere. I walked through the diner, feeling like an actor in an old hardboiled crime movie. All that was missing was my trench coat and the cigarette smoke.
“Connelly. You packing?”
Her first question threw me because it felt like it came direct from an old murder mystery movie. I fumbled with the zipper of my black hoodie and revealed the holster underneath. She nodded in approval and tossed a briefcase on the table, opening it with a click.
“So, we’ve got a few leads. We’ve got a connection between Aaron,” She pulled out the new mug shot taken by SITO. “And Rahab.”
The photo of the steely-eyed angel, Rahab, was placed next to the one of Aaron. I couldn’t help compare the gentleness in Aaron’s features. Firmly I clamped the feeling down.
“They’re both Anakites right? I thought we already knew that?” I asked.
“More than Anakites. They’re brothers.” Levins placed the report in front of me.
Trying to swallow the more damning evidence against Aaron, I read over the paper—I worshiped my brother—Aaron’s words ran through my head.
“Are they the only siblings?” I asked.
“Looks that way. Their father was the leader of the Anakites a few decades ago. The boys grew up with the doctrine. Rahab was groomed to be the leader, Aaron his second.”
The puzzle pieces were falling together. Still, things did not quite add up in my head. There were too many pieces missing. Why were the Anakites interested in Kels? Just because he was different? Why was Aaron here and not in Egypt hiding out with his brother?
“We also tracked down the identity of Jane Doe, Subject 342’s mother. One Rhianna Sherwood D.O.B. ten, twenty-five, seventy-nine.”
On top of the growing pile of background checks she added another photo. I stared at the picture of the pretty, redheaded, freckled girl and something nagged me in the back of my mind.
Levins toyed with her coffee mug.
“Aaron has disappeared. We’re skiptracing him—searching airports, train stations, bus depots but nothing.” She raised an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I responded defensive. “I don’t have a clue where he is. I would tell you if I did. I’m not an idiot.”
“That remains to be seen,” she said.
I sulked into my coffee. I guess I deserved her suspicion, but she couldn’t know that.
“I do have some good news though.” She raised her cup of coffee to her lips, slurping a tiny sip. The cup was set down without a sound. “We have narrowed in on Gaap.”
“So he’s not with Aaron?” I asked.
“No, he is not, nor has he been seen around Subject 342 again. He actually has not done anything to warrant arrest,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. “All he does is hang out in a residential hotel. We think he may be waiting for orders. From Aaron maybe?” Levins mused to herself.
I took a hesitant sip of the coffee and made a face. It was bitter shit. I wouldn’t even call it coffee. Suffering through the swallow, I eyed the diner for something to ease the taste. The waitress caught my glance and sauntered over.
“More coffee?” she asked, snapping her gum.
I shook my head. Levins slid her mug over.
The waitress poured the coffee and looked Levins up and down. “You sure have pretty hair,” she said.
Levins pursed her lips, and I sank down in my booth. This was not going to end well. Levins did have pretty hair, gorgeous in fact. The dark chestnut brown tight curls matched her glowing skin, but what really made it stand out was the light dusting of natural gold highlights. She kept it short so the tight, gold-tipped curls sprang out around her ears and over the top of her head. It was beautiful, even if she didn’t mean it to be.
“You mind if I touch it? I never seen hair like that on a black girl. It looks so soft.”
This waitress doesn’t have clue. I sank down lower.
Levins looked up at the girl, eyes flashing. “Only if I can rub my darkie hands all over your lily white belly for good luck,” she said with an exaggerated accent.
I looked away when the waitress looked at me. After all, she asked for it.
The girl sniffed and flounced away.
“Fucking normals,” Levins muttered. “Why they think it’s appropriate to touch someone else just because they’re different, like some animal, I’ll never get.”
I kept my expression neutral and rubbed my horn stubs. Since people never asked to touch my skin or hair I didn’t really have an intelligent opinion on the matter, although I guessed it would get pretty annoying.
Her mug in one hand, Levins dug through her briefcase while swallowing coffee faster than I could blink. That damn waitress was going to have to come back for another round soon. I decided I didn’t care, there were more important things to be worried about.
“Levins, do you know what the Rites of Moloch are?” I asked, remembering my conversation with Aaron.
“Moloch. You said you knew the story behind him?”
“Vaguely, didn’t all of us kids tell horror stories about the angel of fire?”
Levins nodded. “After your buddy mentioned the Rites of Moloch I did some research and printed out a bunch of crap. I’m still going through it.” She pulled out a stack of papers and began reading. “According to all sapien accounts, the term Moloch is rooted in Hebrew and Arabic language.” She pointed to the text. “It closely resembles the Semitic word king, I’m guessing our ancient pal tried his hand at ruling, but had loftier goals. The name Moloch is also the name of a god in the ancient Levant world.”
“Right you had said something about that earlier.”
She continued, “So the theory is: our buddy Moloch was a Homo angelus living with the first developing civilization of Homo sapiens. He goes a little nuts on the power they give him and becomes a bit of a pyromaniac as well as a misanthrope. You put two and two together and bam!” She clapped her hand to her fist.
I jumped.
“The Anakites, as we also talked about earlier, existed about the same time. They were more aloof, in fact not much is known about them except they kept separate from the sapiens, believing the two races to be unequal. They weren’t into the whole Sargon mixing the species thing. Thought they were too good for the normals. Of course this is in a time their population still matched the population of the bunny-like propagating normals.” Levins gave me a once over. “And before they knew about you devils.”
I bristled, remembering Aaron’s insult.
“Honey, don’t get your panties in a twist. Just giving you shit. Far as I’m concerned wings, horns, black, white, we’re all just a mess of meat underneath anyway.”
I damn admired the woman and her sass. “So the rites of Moloch?” I asked.
Levins perused the text in front of her. “Here.” She began reading. “In the nineteenth century with the population explosion of Homo sapiens from the industrial revolution and expanding global communication, the Homo angelus population became outnumbered five to one. The discrepancy increased with the rapid evolution of technology in the twentieth century. There were several socioeconomic and cultural backlashes to the sapiens population explosion including, but not limited to, an anxiety to preserve the ‘purity’ of the angel species. Several historical texts support the proposal that multiple purist groups appeared in the late nineteenth century to eventually fall under the umbrella of the largest group, the Angelus Purists.”
Levins paused and scanned the text, muttering. “Yadda, yadda, ah, here we go, one of the most controversial of these smaller groups was the Anakites, named after what some believe to be the original Homo angelus people of ancient Israel. The Anakites believe the holy scripture of the Old Testament is in fact written for angels, not sapiens, and that they are Abraham’s chosen people. They also claim a blood connection to Moloch, a rogue angel of ancient Israel. Moloch has become their idol, and the Anakites have developed an unsavory reputation for their ‘Rites of Moloch’ a mysterious initiation rite into the Anakites that not much is known about. It is believed to become a true Anakite an angel must undergo the purification of Moloch which is through fire. The mythos surrounding the rites include the burning of one’s own body parts and more extreme the-” Levins stopped reading.
“What?” I asked.
“Motherfuckers.” She crumpled the page in her hand.
She was quiet for a long time. I stared at her anxiously.
“They burn sapiens children, because they believe it purifies their blood,” she said at last.
It was like I had been punched in the stomach. Innocent children—Aaron how could you—I sank my head on the table and gasped for breath. Kels’s mother had been burned to death. She must have had something to do with the Anakites. Kels.
“Connelly.”
I stiffened and pulled myself up.
“Pull your shit together.”
I nodded weakly.
“That’s why we do what we do, to lock up asshole goons like these.” She shoved the paperwork back in the briefcase. “Lock ‘em up or something else,” she muttered.
I shuffled the paper and photos in front of me into a neat pile, pushing Aaron’s photo underneath. Cold-hearted crazy ruthless killer; I had to redefine him.
The briefcase was snapped shut, the bitter coffee drained and with one last evil glare at the waitress, Levins left. I gave her a few moments so we would not be seen walking outside together. When I finally reached the Smyths’ Prius a yellow slip of paper flapped feebly in the wind, imprisoned by the wiper blade. I wondered what parting shot Levins had left for me.
Book of Leviticus 10:1 was scrawled across the paper.
It was not Levins’s handwriting.
My head shot up and my eyes darted around the empty parking lot. Flustered I got into the Prius and gripped the note in my hands above the steering wheel. I couldn’t remember if the Smyths had a bible in their house or not, and I wasn’t sure if going to my place was worth the risk.
I turned the car on and it noiselessly left the parking lot. The way the Prius was quiet under five miles an hour creeped me out, but in this case I was happy to be silent. The engine accelerated once on the road, and I sped in the direction of my apartment. I mused on the idea of going back alone without backup. It wasn’t like I couldn’t handle myself. And besides they were after Kels, not me. I stopped at a stop sign and stared in the direction of my home.
“Don’t be an idiot, Connelly,” I muttered and thumbed the headpiece into my ear.
“Report Connelly.”
“Delilah, patch me through to Starks?”
“Ten-four.”
“Thanks.”
“Starks here, that you Connelly?”
“I wanted to pick up something from my place and thought it’d be a good idea to call in some backup.” I stamped down on my pride screaming I was being a coward.
“Smart Connelly, you got it, they’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said.
I yanked the headpiece out of my ear. “Look at me, I’m growing,” I muttered at my bruised ego.
I had to admit I breathed easier when I spotted one of SITO’s dark SUVs down the block from my building. Careful not to acknowledge the backup in case enemy eyes were watching I hurried into my flat.
My breath came out in a whoosh to see everything in order. I grabbed a shopping bag and scurried around, filling it with random clothes and things. Lastly I grabbed the worn bible in my living room. I looked longingly at the coffee table drawer where my stash was kept. I checked my cell phone; it was almost time to pick up Kels from preschool. After a moment of hesitation, I yanked open the drawer of the coffee table and dug in the stash for a rolled joint. There was one left. I smiled and put it carefully in the pages of the bible. Considering my current situation I was going to need to unwind at some point. I shoved the bible in the shopping bag and left my apartment.
I returned to the car and dropped the shopping bag in the front seat. The Prius silently pulled away. I glanced back at the SUV in my rearview mirror, a dark reminder of the danger I was in, or rather Kels was in. Gripping the wheel I pressed down on the gas and roared away. It was time to pick up Kels.
Relief shot through my heart when I caught sight of his curly head tumbling down the school steps. I hadn’t realized how worried I was.
“Saaraa look what I did!” Kels waved a heavily laden piece of cardboard. The glue had dried in droplets and goblets, but the pasta was going to stick.
“Is this your pasta monster? It’s wonderful!” I hugged the kid and opened the backdoor. He clambered in. Growling monster noises snorted at the back of my head, as I waved to Miss Armstrong up on the stairs. She waved back, surrounded by flailing pasta monsters and a few flying pasta pieces. I was impressed by her composure. Then again she didn’t have rogue angels and SITO breathing down her neck.
We made it home with only a few bruises on my arm from the pasta monster before a sharp rebuke got him to sit back. Once inside the house, it didn’t get much better. Kels was wound up from his glue extravaganza morning. When my back was turned he found Mommy’s glue to plaster glue on everything, on his Legos and on his shoelaces and on his teddy’s legs and on his rubber balls and on his Mr. Potato Head’s face. I spent the afternoon chasing him into his naptime and frantically rinsing the trail of toys covered in drying goop.
The glue was confiscated at last, pried out of fingers curled against the chest of the child’s sleeping body. Muttering curses of exasperation mixed with affection I picked up the worn out kid and put him on the couch. The glue went high up on the bookshelf.
I clicked on the television, volume low, and pulled out my bible. The joint rolled out onto my lap. Regretfully I stuck it in between the back page and flap. Flipping the bible back to the front, I thumbed through the pages to the Book of Leviticus:
10:1. And Nadab and Abiu, the sons of Aaron, taking their
censers, put fire therein, and incense on it, offering
before the Lord strange fire: which was not commanded them.
10:2. And fire coming out from the Lord destroyed them: and
they died before the Lord.
10:3. And Moses said to Aaron: This is what the Lord hath
spoken. I will be sanctified in them that approach to me:
and I will be glorified in the sight of all the people. And
when Aaron heard this, he held his peace.
I put the bible down thoughtfully, still confused. What did it mean? Who was it from? Was it a warning?
Did Aaron leave it?