Abe and Thomas were willing to have Townsend come to their house, but Charles opted to spare them the discomfort. His recovery was well along anyway, so after a flood of thanks, he took a taxi back to the St. Francis, where his room was waiting. Tenrael refused to let Charles take off the ring, and since none of them wanted Ten revealed to the city in his authentic demonic glory, he waited until dark and then flew to the hotel. Charles let him into the room through a window.
That night Charles felt good enough to leave dark bruises on Tenrael’s skin and to make him howl so loudly that Charles was forced to gag him with a pillowcase to avoid the wrath of hotel management.
They slept very well that night, Ten curled warmly around Charles.
When they woke in the morning—really, almost afternoon—Tenrael ordered Charles a room service feast: waffles with syrup, a fruit basket, enough pastries to fell an army, orange juice, tea, and hot cocoa. “This is going to kill me,” Charles said as he viewed the spread.
“It is better than being eaten by merfolk.”
“Considerably.”
Charles had demolished the waffles, a chocolate croissant, and an orange when a knock sounded on the door. He looked at Tenrael.
“Do you wish me to put on trousers, Master?”
“Screw him. I wish you to do whatever makes you most comfortable.”
Grinning, Tenrael remained naked. Charles was barely presentable in socks, trousers, an undershirt, and uncombed hair, but when he opened the door, Townsend appeared unaffected and greeted him with an affable smile. “Charles, my boy! It’s good to see you up and about.”
A part of Charles wanted to slam the door in his face, but he didn’t have any real complaint against the man, and after all, the Bureau was paying for the room. So he opened the door wider and gestured him inside. Townsend didn’t so much as blink at Tenrael, who stood with wings half unfurled and hands on hips, looking huge and fierce. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Tenrael.”
Ten nodded warily.
After a brief look around and a chuckle at the table overloaded with food, Townsend collapsed into an armchair near the window and set his hat onto a small table. He pulled out a silver flask and took a healthy swallow, then lit a cigarette. “So. You found the cause of the missing sailors and eliminated the problem. Very good.”
Charles was relieved. He didn’t question Ten’s killing of the merfolk—he’d likely have done the same if their positions had been reversed—and the Bureau tended to make quick work of creatures that harmed humans. But the killing hadn’t been officially authorized or, strictly speaking, entirely necessary. Townsend had seemed equanimous about Tenrael as a peaceful demon, but Charles had worried he’d feel differently about one who slaughtered.
“You know what happened?” he asked.
“I may have a few questions for you later, but yes, my sources have filled me in.” He didn’t clarify who or what those sources were, and Charles didn’t want to know. He was simply pleased he wouldn’t have to repeat the story.
“We can’t do anything about the people who were killed already,” Charles pointed out.
“You can provide some closure for their families, which is often a small comfort. Very little can be done for the dead themselves. I’m sure Agent Ferencz could tell you that.” A shadow of sorrow passed briefly over Townsend’s usually jovial features.
“Now what?”
Townsend shrugged. “You continue your work here until Donne’s recovery is complete. I’m still shorthanded, and the pair of you have clearly demonstrated your suitability for the task.”
“I came a hairsbreadth from being killed. That’s suitable?”
“You survived, and the dangerous creatures did not. That’s suitable.”
Charles didn’t know how to answer that. It wasn’t a very high standard, but it was practical. And Townsend was a practical man.
“We’ll stay,” Charles said after a pause.
Townsend clapped his hands. “Excellent!” He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray Charles would have sworn wasn’t there before, and he took another long swig from his flask. As much as Charles grumbled about being unable to drink alcohol, he supposed it was preferable to being compelled to drink, like Townsend and Abe.
“I notice you’ve taken possession of Tenrael’s ring,” Townsend said.
Charles instinctively stroked the metal. “He gave it to me.”
“I understand. When, exactly, did this happen?”
“After the merfolk attacked me.”
“How soon after?”
Charles looked to Tenrael, who further unfurled his wings. “Immediately after,” Tenrael said. “I lifted him from the water and set him on the ground. I could not revive him.”
“Hmm.” Townsend stroked his chin. “And when you thought he was dead, you slipped the ring on his finger. Why?”
Tenrael lifted his chin defiantly. “It was mine to give.”
“But why give a gift to a dead man?”
“In some places, heroes were buried in exquisite clothing, with the finest-forged weapons and with a kingdom’s worth of gold and jewels. Charles is a hero, and the ring was all I had.”
“I’m not—” Charles began, but both Tenrael and Townsend silenced him with gestures. Which might have been amusing under other circumstances.
Townsend stood and walked slowly to Tenrael. He looked more contemplative than aggressive, his brow drawn and head cocked. He stopped an arm’s length away. After he stared for a moment or two, a smile curled his lips. “How do you feel about Charles?”
“He is my Master. I serve him.”
“Yes, yes. All very consensual I’m sure, and I don’t give a fig about what arrangements other people have as long as they don’t impede my goals. But what I’m asking about is your emotional connection to this man.”
Charles, who’d been standing across the room, stomped closer. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“In this instance, it is my business. And it’s an important piece of information, not prurient curiosity. Tenrael?”
“I love him.” Said with all the simplicity of an incontrovertible truth.
To Charles’s surprise, Townsend didn’t scoff or argue. “Ah” was all he said. “I see. Interesting.” He walked to the window and gazed out as if fascinated by the view of Union Square. “Do you know anything about merfolk’s bites, Charles?”
“They fucking hurt.” Although the wounds were healing rapidly, he was still sore.
“Yes, yes. But that’s not all. They’re venomous, you know. Quite toxic. A single bite will put a victim into a stupor, paralyze him, and eventually stop his heart.”
Charles realized he was rubbing one of the fading marks on his arm and stopped. “I had a lot more than a single bite.”
“Precisely.” After staring out the window for a few seconds, Townsend turned back to Charles and lit another cigarette. “I wasn’t completely candid with you about the nature of the ring. Not out of malice,” he added quickly. “It simply didn’t seem necessary under the circumstances.”
“What didn’t you tell me?” Charles growled through gritted teeth. He’d allowed Tenrael to wear the damned thing and had never considered whether Ten might be harmed by it. He should have known better.
Tenrael settled a calming hand on his shoulder.
Not remotely cowed by Charles’s hostility, Townsend exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I said the ring makes a creature appear human. Not exactly true. It makes Tenrael appear human because, due to his long-term association with humanity, he has incorporated human ways into his nature. The ring just plays that up, you see.”
Charles didn’t see, not exactly, but he got the gist of it, which was good enough. He was never especially eager to delve into the intricacies of magic anyway. Just thinking about magic made his skin feel squirmy. “So?”
“So when Tenrael wears the ring, he takes on the appearance of a human man. That was all I intended, I promise. I thought it would make your time here easier. What I find intriguing is what happened when you wore it.”
“It didn’t make me look like a human man.”
Townsend waved a hand dismissively. “You already do, more or less. It doesn’t take an enchantment for you to pass—just hair dye and sunglasses. No, my boy. In your case, the ring seized on a different part of your constitution.”
Charles’s back itched horribly. “My father,” he rasped.
“Indeed.”
“I didn’t grow wings.”
“That’s because you destroyed them. If you hadn’t, perhaps the ring would have made them large enough to be serviceable.” As if that idea was nothing but an idle thought, Townsend went blithely on. “And under the circumstances, even the biggest wings wouldn’t have done you much good. Angels are immortal, Charles. Even harder to get rid of than his kind.” He nodded at Tenrael, who was almost gaping. “You can’t kill an angel with venom, or with drowning, or with exsanguination. They… can be injured. Some injuries may take a very long time to heal. But they won’t die.”
Charles’s mouth had gone too dry for him to speak. He sat heavily on the edge of the mattress, crazily wondering why not-dying was affecting him more than almost-dying.
But Tenrael had apparently recovered enough from his astonishment to ask, “As long as he wears the ring he cannot be killed?”
Townsend gave a broad shrug. “I don’t know. If I were you, boys, I wouldn’t try to test the enchantment’s limits. But I’m pretty sure that as long as that jewelry is on his finger, Charles will be considerably more durable.” He paused and said, as if to himself, “Hmm. I wonder if he’ll age.”
If Charles hadn’t already been sitting down, that would have done it. No aging. That meant he wouldn’t have to leave Ten alone someday.
But Townsend apparently wasn’t finished. “As a custom-made enchantment, the ring wasn’t supposed to work for anyone but Tenrael. I think the magic transferred because Tenrael gave the ring over willingly—and because of his feelings for you. Love has a powerful effect on magic.” He made a wry face as if he didn’t always consider that to be a good thing.
Townsend took a last drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out. “Well, duty calls. I have business elsewhere. Grimes, you can give a full written report after you return to LA. Consider the ring bonus pay. I’m looking forward to a very long future of working with you both.” He clapped his hat onto his head and marched to the door. Before reaching for the knob, he stopped and turned around. “There’s one more thing.”
Charles braced himself. What could Townsend possibly add at this point? “What?” he demanded with as much bravado as possible.
“Remember what I said about a badly injured angel needing time to heal?”
“Yes.” Charles’s heart was tap-dancing in his chest.
“Maybe what looks like abandonment might, in fact, be something else.”
Before Charles could respond, Townsend was gone.
Unless you counted nearly dying after a merfolk attack, Charles had never in his life fainted. He sat on the bed wondering if this might be a good time to try it. But before he’d made up his mind, Tenrael launched himself on top of him, flattening them both onto the mattress. He said something in a language Charles didn’t understand, stopped himself, and continued in English, whispering into the shell of Charles’s ear. “Yours. I will be yours for a thousand years, and a thousand years more, and a thousand years after that.”
Charles held him tightly, suddenly frightened at the enormity of it. “That’s…. Jesus, Ten. You gave me immortality.”
“You gave me freedom. It is an excellent trade.”
“I… I’m not the poetic type. I don’t talk about….” Say it, you coward. He took a deep breath. “I love you, Tenrael. If we have eternity together, I’ll love you that long.”
Tenrael kissed him. And after that, they didn’t need words. Their bodies spoke for them, passionately.