Bailey
I woke up with more snakes than I could count in my face, and none of them were my husband’s crimson-hooded cobras. The snakes were a great deal smaller than Quinn’s, and I realized they were attached to two young whelps. I couldn’t figure out how I’d gone from a mine to a posh bedroom, but I didn’t mind having two children treating me like a pillow.
I did, however, mind the lack of Quinn nearby to snuggle with. I also minded the headache piercing through my eyeballs to dig into my brain with a sharp, pointy stick.
Napalm hated me.
Stupid, delicious, yummy napalm.
To make matters worse, I needed to go to the bathroom, and I had no idea how to escape the clutches of two sleeping gorgon children without waking them.
“Quinn,” I whined, well aware if my husband was in hearing range, he’d show up.
He hated when I whined.
Sure enough, my husband showed up, and he smiled at me. “I have your medication in the other room, and I’ll order you something for breakfast.”
“You are the best husband.” That was close to telling him I loved him, right? I needed to figure out why my mouth hated spitting out those three important words. I could do it even with a headache. I just had to concentrate. “I love you, but I need to pee.”
Crap. That wasn’t quite right. I’d accomplished the important part and would give myself a gold star for effort later, but I’d gone and messed it up by blurting too much.
Quinn laughed, approached the bed, and rubbed the little girl’s shoulder. “Beauty, you need to get up, little one. Bailey needs to use the bathroom.”
Like me, the little girl whined, but she turned and latched onto Quinn, which gave me enough space to scoot away from the little boy.
Unlike his sister, he was having nothing to do with my escape, and he tightened his grip. His snakes stirred, and they nuzzled my cheek.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t dislodge the little boy. I stared at Quinn with wide eyes.
My husband dared to laugh at me, shifted Beauty to one arm, and worked his arm around Sylvester. “All right, Sylvester. You need to come with me so Bailey can wake up. She’s not feeling well. You can take a bubble bath as soon as she’s done using the bathroom.”
Both children seemed to be fans of bubble baths, as they both clung to Quinn and woke up enough to stare at him with wide eyes. At first, I thought they were hopeful, but then Beauty’s lip began to tremble.
“She’s going to be fine, Beauty. She’s just really tired from helping a friend, and she ate something that upset her tummy. She’ll feel better after she takes some medication and has breakfast. You two need breakfast, too.”
I crawled out of bed, and while I meant to stand and walk like a normal, functional adult, I smacked into the carpet.
Quinn chuckled and nudged me with his foot. “I love you, too, my beautiful, but you need to get yourself together. It’s your turn to go through hours of questioning to make sure the FBI and CDC can do their work.”
I groaned, gave up all pretenses of being a mature adult, and crawled to the bathroom, which fortunately wasn’t far. “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, I fell asleep.”
“I would offer you coffee, but you’d be upset because your coffee is so much better. There’s tea.”
“I don’t want minty grass. I want coffee.” I made it to the bathroom door, used the frame to get to my feet, and leveled a glare at my husband. “I’ll accept bad coffee, but there better be coffee.”
“If you make it through your shower without falling asleep, I’ll provide coffee.”
My husband’s ultimatums didn’t need any work, and after glowering at him, I slipped into the bathroom and began the tedious process of restoring myself to base functionality. During my shower, I discovered I’d been nipped by at least fifteen snakes, and one of the biting assholes had been Francisco, as he liked trying to poke heart-shaped patterns into me with his teeth.
It would take days for my cleavage to recover from Francisco’s perverted attempt at art.
“Quinn, did you have to?” I complained loud enough to be heard over the shower.
As I hadn’t locked the door, Quinn cracked it open and poked his head inside the bathroom. “What have I done now?”
“Fransisco bit a heart into me again.”
With a smile that did a good job of convincing me I should invite him into the shower, he replied, “The children were upset after I put you to bed, and it was easier to calm them while shifted. He got ideas while I was distracted. I’d be sorry, but you were restless, and his nips seemed to calm you down, so once I saw what he was doing, I let him get away with it. Then the others joined in because they were jealous.”
“The physical requirements for this to happen are disturbing. Your head must have been on my stomach.” I pointed at my chest, where Francisco had left his mark. “Right in the cleavage, you!”
“I may have used you as a pillow while telling the kids a story.”
Damn it, I couldn’t even get mad over that. “Let me guess. The scaly bastards snuck up my shirt to complete their fiendish plans to mark my person.”
“Francisco started it. I would be sorry, but it’s a really nice heart, and you look lovely.”
“If you’re trying to be invited into the shower, it’s working. You should come join me. You can wash my back.”
And every other part of me.
Quinn laughed. “The children will be staying with my parents tonight, so you’ll have to wait until then. My parents begged, and the children seemed interested because they want to have a big family of people to coddle them. It’ll help them adapt to staying with humans—and my grandparents can reverse accidental petrifications. Hurry up so I can get you fed and get your medication into you.”
“But I want you to join me in the shower.”
“And I want to join you in the shower, but I have a bunch of law enforcement officers in the other room, and they’re keeping an eye on the children. Once they’re done with their questioning session, we have wedding planning issues to discuss, and then we get to spend until Christmas indulging in each other, seeing the sights, and playing with the children.”
“Can we go straight to the indulging?”
His smile truly did unfair things to me. “I’m afraid not, my beautiful. You’re all right? If Francisco’s bites are bothering you, I’ll scold him later.”
“I’ll scold him later, thank you. And cuddle him. But it looks like most everyone needs to be scolded. Did they all have to take a turn nipping?”
“The one on your shoulder was from Beauty. Her brother startled her, and she nipped. I scolded her only as much as necessary, but make sure you keep that in mind when we’re out; they’re both young enough still they nip defensively.”
“It’s a good thing I’m immune to snake venom.”
“It really is. You’d be frothing at the mouth otherwise. Are you feeling any better?”
“I’m feeling like I’m alone in this shower.”
“I’ll take a shower with you later,” he promised, backing out of the bathroom. “I’ve ordered breakfast for you and the kids, and it should be here soon.”
I took that as a hint I needed to hurry up or risk losing my breakfast to a pair of hungry kids. I blitzed through the rest of my shower, piled my hair in a towel on top of my head, and changed into a pair of my favorite jeans, which would torment Quinn until he managed to get me out of them.
It would be a long day for both of us.
The hotel room’s living room had turned into an investigation site with papers scattered on every available surface. Despite Quinn’s claim the children were present, I couldn’t spot them. “Where did my babies go?”
“Kidnapped by my parents. You get three breakfasts because my parents have decided they will be rampaging through Vegas and exploring the city. My grandparents went with them.”
“Which grandparents?”
“All of them.”
“That’s too many grandparents.” I shook my head and wondered how I’d even eat one breakfast. I glanced at the various law enforcement officers, and I pointed at the CDC representative responsible for a few too many torture sessions. “Fiend!”
Roberto laughed. “Good afternoon, Bailey. How are you feeling?”
“It is not afternoon. Quinn said he had breakfast for me. Three of them. Breakfasts happen before noon.”
Quinn laughed, stepped around the various piles of paperwork, picked me up by my waist, and set me in front of the couch. “Make the woman some space so she can eat. And breakfast happened after noon because I called the front desk and asked really nicely for breakfast. I really wasn’t expecting my parents to take the kids, so you really do have three breakfasts to choose from.”
“Why choose?” I asked, plopping down on the couch between Roberto and an older man in a suit, likely some form of FBI goon ready to make my life miserable. “Bring the orange drink thing that makes the hangover go away, put coffee in reach, leave food. When the morning ritual has been completed, you may talk to me.”
Quinn chuckled but obeyed, and I attacked the glass of orange-flavored liquid that would bring relief within minutes. Once I chugged it so it could work its magic on me, I went for the coffee to restore my base ability to function.
My choices of breakfast included pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausage, hash browns, more pancakes, and an entire jar of maple syrup for my enjoyment. It wasn’t just maple syrup, it was the real stuff, the kind I drooled over in the grocery store but usually refused to pay horrendous amounts of money to buy for myself.
I made it through three pancakes and a stack of bacon before my stomach informed me I was no longer at immediate risk of starving to death. “Okay. You can talk to me now, but if you want me to talk without food in my mouth, you have to wait a while.”
Quinn moved enough files so he could sit on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. “I filled everyone in on what I knew about Audrey, but they need you to fill in some blanks.”
“We missed blanks from the first investigation?”
“Apparently.”
Huh. I hadn’t thought that was possible. I’d essentially crucified my husband on the cross of his sexiness factor, not that he’d seemed too upset over my blabbing about his prowess. “What did we miss?”
“Who she might have been in league with.”
“Beyond that incubus, I don’t know if she was in league with anyone,” I confessed. “Or if she was, I wasn’t aware of it.”
“That’s what I said, but they think we may have missed something. Well, we did. Who gave Audrey the gorgon dust that infected her with the gorgon virus?”
“I am still having trouble thinking of gorgons as being infected with a virus,” Roberto admitted. “It’s not usually on the CDC’s radar to worry about gorgons infecting humans.”
Quinn scowled. “Because it’s not typically a contagious disease. Not really. Most gorgons are a natural species. Gorgon dust is basically a toxin that can change someone into a gorgon—and if the infection is potent enough, it can be spread. As a general rule, gorgons shun the manufacturing of dust. It involves too much sacrifice—or murdered victims. Or the bodies of a loved one. I’m concerned over what I saw at that mine.”
“There were a lot of gorgon bodies,” I whispered. “And a child.”
“And they were likely going to be converted into dust. In a way, I regret you torched that gorgon. I would have enjoyed peeling information out of him.”
“Peeling?” I asked with wide eyes.
“I would have used your potato peeler, the one I picked up at the restaurant store because you saw the demonstration of it tearing through a pineapple.”
“Not my peeler!” I wrinkled my nose. “I hid the rusty one you wanted to get rid of under the sink because I couldn’t bear to throw it away. You could use that one.”
“Alas, we can’t peel information out of the bastard, so we’ll have to be satisfied with thinking about it.”
I considered our conversation. “We’re not good people sometimes, Sam.”
My husband smiled at my use of his first name. “I know, but he got off lightly. He deserved a far worse death than you gave him.”
“So, I killed someone who might have been important.”
“He would have tried to kill Janet. You made the right choice. You made the right choice killing Winfield, too. He definitely would have tried to kill Janet. And the only reason you weren’t killed is because of your heritage. You took an entire ampoule of ambrosia.”
I marveled at my husband’s neutral tone. “Did someone give you a chill pill? Because you are way too chill for this discussion.”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“You’re not a zombie.” I spent a moment admiring him. “You’re very pretty.”
He chuckled. “I’m certainly glad you think so.”
Roberto cleared his throat. “While I know we’re interrupting what’s supposed to be the start of your vacation, it’s critical we figure out how this happened in the first place.”
I chomped on a piece of bacon, sighed, and shrugged. “It’s obvious that John Winfield got involved because he wanted to get revenge on me and Janet. I didn’t take sufficient care with his fragile male ego. He also disliked having to answer to Janet, a woman. He was a sexist, unprofessional pig. He deserved to be pancaked by an angry unicorn.”
To make it clear I had zero cares that I’d killed the piece of shit, I stabbed my last pancake with my fork, twisted the utensil, and dunked it into a puddle of maple syrup. I took my time with chewing, too.
My husband raised a brow. “That’s disturbing for even you, Bailey.”
“What we don’t know is when Audrey may have gotten into contact with John Winfield. This could be relevant,” the FBI goon beside me stated. I considered asking him for his name, but I opted against it. If he wanted me to know—or care—who he was, he’d tell me. Until then, I’d do my part, answer his questions, and hope he left so I could attend to more important matters, mainly my husband.
“Why could it be relevant?” I asked when no one spoke and the silence began to bug me.
“He may have used his connections within the police department to get information on your whereabouts, which ultimately may have led to your kidnapping. In fact, I’m speculating that there may be something to the connection to Chief Morriston, as only the cops directly working with a chief, or other chiefs, would have any reliable data on where a police chief is going. Chief Quinn, your position would have been monitored, and it would have been very easy to determine where you would have taken your wife the night she was kidnapped. You have a preference for that hotel, and it’s noted in your file.”
Quinn’s expression turned neutral, which I recognized as his anger beginning to bubble to the surface. “Winfield wouldn’t have had access to that information, but Morriston would have.”
“Correct. And if you were distracted with a situation dealing with your wife, you would have been in a position to be ousted from your position—or transferred due to poor work performance. Unfortunately, your work performance wasn’t hampered due to your accrued paid vacation time and sick leave. Even police chiefs have allowances for family emergencies, and the kidnapping of your wife certainly counts. This is where things become complicated. If Chief Morriston was involved with your kidnapping, it counts as the assault and interference of a government employee and it would also be considered a deliberate attempt to interfere with law enforcement. The punishment for this is severe in the state of New York. Chief Morriston’s rank would make the punishment even more severe.”
“Do I want to know what an FBI agent considers to be a severe punishment?”
“A complete stripping of all of his memories and a complete rehabilitation as a civilian. If possible, his magical abilities would also be stripped. Chiefs have a great deal of power, but with power comes responsibility. There’s too much potential for corruption.”
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” I muttered. “Realistically, what is the probability of this Chief Morriston fellow being involved?”
“Higher than we like. So, have you ever met him before?”
I glanced at Quinn. “Have I?”
“I have no idea.”
I looked the man in the eyes and said, “I have no idea. What does he look like?”
The agent reached across the table, picked up a stack of folders, and flipped through until he located a photograph, which he held out so I could see.
The unfortunately familiar face of one of my father’s friends stared back at me, and I wrinkled my nose. “Oh. Asshole. Yeah. Pimple Pecker. He’s one of my father’s friends.”
My husband’s brows shot up. “Pimple Pecker?”
“He’s in love with his own pecker and needs to invest in a skin treatment plan. What do you want? I was like five when I came up with it. I thought I was clever at the time. Anyway, he’s an asshole, and it’s definitely safe to say we have a non-functional relationship. The last time I saw him, I was sixteen, he grabbed my ass, and I would’ve kicked him in the shins if my father hadn’t been glaring at me at the time.”
“He grabbed your ass?” my husband asked, his tone dangerously soft.
Crap. I gulped, my eyes widening. “Well, uh. Yes. He’s a dick. And he thinks with his dick. And I may have said some unfortunate things. You know how I am, Sam. I can’t help it!”
“Whatever you said, it wasn’t sufficiently harsh,” Quinn snarled, and he hopped to his feet, walked across the room, and picked up a phone from the computer desk. He dialed a number, and after a pause, he said, “Grandfather, I need you to verify the truth about a situation.”
He hung up, and the archangel popped into existence in a flash of golden light.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask for me,” he said.
I made a ward against evil. “Archangels are extra assholes, and as I have a child named Sylvester, you need a new name.”
“You can call me Sariel, as that cat is out of the bag now.” The archangel glared at his grandson. “I can’t believe you brought my brother into this.”
“I didn’t, not exactly.”
“He really didn’t. He bargained with a lesser devil.” I wrinkled my nose.
Quinn sighed. “You’re never going to let that go, are you? It’s part of our job, Bailey. If a devil gets into trouble on the mortal coil, they can bargain their way out of traditional punishments. The favor I did was only partially work related; I prevented it from becoming a major incident, so he owed me a direct bargain and something that would help law enforcement in general. So when that devil couldn’t pay back the bargain, the Devil did, and as it was to help recover Janet, it fit the requirements.”
Sariel grumbled, and I almost expected the archangel to start cursing. “It annoys me that you speak the truth. He’s going to be absolutely insufferable. And I heard about Easter, you little punk.”
Quinn grinned. “You’re always telling me I should be more open with the family. I am.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
I realized why the archangel was so grumpy, and I pointed and laughed at him. “You like your brother, and you have to admit it, because you’re an archangel and you can’t lie about it. Sucker.”
The archangel sighed. “This is payback for when I chased you around that arena isn’t it?”
It was now. “Yep.”
“All right. What did you need verified?”
My husband looked me in the eyes and asked, “Bailey, is it true that Chief Morriston grabbed your ass when you were a minor?”
“If sixteen counts as a minor, yes. He copped a feel of my breasts when I was fifteen, too. It was an ‘accident’ in the swimming pool.” I wrinkled my nose. “Honestly, I didn’t even remember it until I saw that ass wipe’s picture. He just managed to piss me off.”
“She speaks the truth.”
My husband’s calm expression cracked, his cheek twitching. “Sexual assault of a minor is enough to lose him his rank, and if he found out I had married Bailey, she might have been inclined to talk about the situation—which would give him sufficient motive to have her targeted. If Audrey went to Winfield after the 120 Wall Street incident, and Winfield went to Morriston for additional information on Bailey, then he could be complicit in her kidnapping. He knew if she spoke up, he could lose his job.”
The FBI agent grunted. “And the statute of limitations doesn’t apply in assault cases of a minor because of the nature of the crime. Sariel’s confirmation of the incident would be sufficient to start a case on his character. Or lack thereof. Bailey, please forgive me for having to ask this, but did the assaults escalate?”
“No,” my husband and I said at the same time.
I grabbed an unused napkin and flung it at him. “Not a single word out of you. I wasn’t raped. Groped, yes. But not raped. And he always did it when my asshole parents were close enough to keep my mouth shut because they trusted him over me. And hated me. Still hate me,” I said with a shrug. “I really completely forgot about it. I think there’s a psychological term for that, isn’t there?”
“Psychological repression or thought suppression,” Roberto announced. “It depends on if you were doing it unconsciously or not. Thought suppression is when you deliberately forget about the event to dodge the trauma. Sariel? Can you tell which category she falls into? Either would be evidence of sufficient trauma to warrant pursuing in court.”
“I won’t prod into my granddaughter’s memories without her permission.”
I waved my hand. “Prod away, Sariel. I have nothing to hide.”
Quinn stared at me with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open.
“What?”
The archangel stood before me, leaned over the coffee table, and unwound the towel from my head and ran his fingers through my hair, brushing away the tangles. “You’re a master at hiding, Bailey, but my grandson loves you because of it. He’s just surprised you’re so open about this. He expected you to retreat into your shell. You’ve grown a lot in the past few months. I will be gentle, but you may remember things you wish you had forgotten.”
“If this will help resolve this, do what needs done. I can handle it.”
“It’s possible that once upon a time, you couldn’t. And if it’s discovered your parents were complicit in these assaults…”
If I hadn’t been aware of my grandfather’s true nature, his icy tone would’ve terrified me. “The Devil said there was a special place in hell for them.”
“There is. But how special, I suspect I will find out. You are free to say no, but would you like me to evaluate your childhood? If anything, you will know I understand. You’ll be able to move out of their shadow.” Sariel stretched his wings, and bands of green and gold colored his feathers. “I may rethink my intention to have them at your wedding as guests dependent on what I see. I try not to prod too much into the past.”
“It sucks, you’ll probably be scarred for life, and it’s a good thing you don’t have a head, as I really don’t want to see your expression.”
“It will be an unhappy one.”
“Yeah, that’s why I don’t want to see it,” I admitted. “It’s easier when I can’t see the pity.”
“You are too strong a woman to pity, Bailey, even if you can’t see that for yourself.” Sariel tucked my hair behind my ears. “You are less likely to remember much if you keep your eyes open. It’s one of those funny things about human minds. It will feel as though I’m tickling the inside of your head. I apologize for that, but it’s inevitable.”
“Are you going to talk about it or just do it?” I asked, debating if I wanted to torment the archangel by undressing my spouse with my eyes while he poked around in my head.
Then again, I didn’t like sharing. At all. When it came to Quinn, I was happily jealous and greedy. Selfish, even.
The archangel chuckled. “That you are.”
“In case you weren’t sure, gentlemen, angels are assholes. It’s a truth of the universe.”
While I mostly focused on my husband, I was aware of the FBI agent gaping at me. “You just called an archangel an asshole.”
“If he had a head and tilted it to the side really far, he might be convinced I actually like him,” I replied. “I could even be talked into confessing I love him despite him being an angel.”
Quinn laughed. “I’m proud of you. You said it without looking like you swallowed a toad. If you don’t run to the bathroom this time, I’ll be forced to reward you appropriately later.”
Over the past few months, he’d done an excellent job of training me into doing what he wanted using his body as an irresistible bribe. “I love you. Please reward me appropriately later.”
The archangel chuckled. As warned, the inside of my head tickled, but I ignored his poking and prodding in favor of my husband. His smile promised the best kind of trouble in my future.
“All right. I’m done,” Sariel announced.
I blinked. “That’s it?”
“My grandson is a most excellent distraction. You were so focused on him you couldn’t have cared less about what I was looking for in your memories.”
“I’m so proud of you, Mr. Archangel. You’re not nearly as stuffy and formal as usual. If you had a head, I would make Quinn find you a cookie.” I sighed, and aware I couldn’t afford to dodge the truth, I asked, “What did you find?”
“About what I expected having met those humans. They have earned their special place in my brother’s keeping. I’m in no mood to be merciful on their souls.”
“Abuse?” Quinn clenched his hands, and after several deep breaths, he relaxed.
Even a month ago, I’d instinctively flinched when he balled his hands into a fist. The first time he’d done it around me, I’d frightened both of us with my reaction.
“Yes. And Chief Morriston’s behavior was worse than she remembers, and I can verify all incidents and draw up the accusations per mortal laws. I can also verify the presence of psychological scarring, and I will file the appropriate mortal paperwork required to bar her from taking the stand. I will have the truth of my words verified by another archangel and my brother, using my viewing of her memory as evidence.”
I blinked. “You can do that?”
“Angels may always opt to take on the burden of witnessing on behalf of a mortal. But it requires what I did to you, a complete exposing of your memories and soul. Not everyone is as open as you.”
“Me? Open? Have you met me?” I pointed at myself, and then I pointed at my husband. “You should hear some of the shit I say to him because I’m nervous.”
“That is different, although I find it rather amusing how often you lie to try to hide just how much you adore my grandson.”
“It’s his fault!”
“Yes, it is. It is a good thing that he, on an instinctual level, is aware of when you’re fibbing. It doesn’t hurt he’s learned to speak your language, which involves a great deal of flailing, babbling, and running to the bathroom to hide when you’ve blurted some form of affection in a public space.”
“Has everyone heard about that?” I complained.
Quinn grinned. “I thought it was adorable, honestly. I don’t mind when you blurt things because you have no idea how to handle how much I love you. I know the truth.”
“All right. So my parents were assholes, and they’re friends with an asshole who may have been out to get rid of me. Something I’m entirely used to, for the record. On a scale of one to ten, Sariel, how much of an asshole were my parents to me? Outside of the bullshit I can’t seem to forget no matter how hard I try?”
“Those things you cannot forget are defining moments, little granddaughter. To take them from you would be to change you completely. Some things may be best left undisturbed. I see no need to force you to relive such painful things.”
“Psychological repression?” Roberto asked.
“Yes. To force her to remember these events would be traumatic for no good cause. Unfortunately, that sort of abuse is not well defined under mortal law. Mortal punishments would not fit the crimes they’ve committed, and she does not need money tainted with their sin. No, I believe I have a better thought on how to deal with them.”
My brows rose at that. “How?”
“I’ll let my brother and his devils deal with them. And He would never welcome such filth into His heaven. He is not as forgiving a father as some might believe. Mercy is only for those who are capable of mercy. They reap what they have sown, and they had no mercy for you, and will find no mercy at His hands because of that.”
I wondered what the archangel had found in my memories to anger him so much.
“You will never know,” he promised. “The little you remember now is all that you will ever remember, for I have taken that burden upon my shoulders.”
I couldn’t understand why, and tears burned my eyes, but I fought against them.
Sariel patted my cheek. “You already understand why, Bailey. Did you not welcome those little children into your heart for no reason other than because someone needed to love them? I can, so I did. I will be in New York for a while so that justice might one day be served.”
The archangel disappeared in a flash of golden light.
I lifted my chin, refusing to bow beneath the onslaught of emotions roiling within me. No matter how hard I thought about it, one question rose above all others. “Do you really think Morriston would have been involved with this just to make sure I disappeared? Could so much of this have happened because of what he’d done when I’d been a teenager?”
My husband heaved a sigh. “I don’t think so. I know so. Cops aren’t infallible, Bailey. My station weeds out the bad seeds early; I can’t abide by those types nearby. I sense them like a hot poker against my skin. And once I’m aware of them, it’s my nature to discover their sins. Justice for all is the oath I swore, not justice for only those who are rich enough, white enough, magical enough, vanilla enough, or what have you. For all. Even if it means I discover one of my cops beats his wife and I must stand trial against him for learning the truth. Or if it means I have to answer a call because a cop’s wife called another cop fearing for her life, knowing it would get back to me so I might help her and her children. We have a hard job, and some forget why we do as we do. And sometimes, it’s a matter of absolute power corrupting absolutely. We aren’t perfect.”
“You are,” I whispered.
Quinn shook his head. “No, I’m not. It took me a long time to learn what those odd feelings meant. People have suffered because of my ignorance. I do my best. But I’m not perfect. I have no doubt that there are men in the world who would do anything to protect the power they have—or reach for more of it because they’re unhappy with where they are in their lives. Someone who is friends with the Gardeners isn’t someone who would be satisfied with what he has. And you would have been a threat to that. Targeting Janet makes sense if his goal was to get rid of you. You would put everything, especially your life, on the line to protect her. And you did.”
I had. “They just didn’t know it’s useless to target me with ambrosia.”
“Let’s just say I’m rather happy you’re ridiculously durable.”
I was. “What happens now? What other questions do you need to ask us? What can we do to determine if he’s guilty?”
The FBI agent shook his head. “While we do need to get to the bottom of this, the archangel has all of the evidence we need to move forward with the case. We have sufficient ties to file charges with what we have. We need to build a case from this, we need to get more information on the gorgon dust and rabies cases, but I’m confident in saying we have enough evidence to prove this whole mess is somehow connected. With luck, we’ll be able to piece together how and why. Sam if you remember anything, call me.”
“What about me?” I demanded.
The FBI agent grinned at me. “You heard the archangel. He’s taken that burden from you. I look forward to grilling an archangel. It’s not every day I get to be a dick to a divine and he has to put up with it. I’m considering it a Christmas present.”
I changed my mind about not caring who the FBI agent was, and I thrust out my hand. “Hi. I’m Bailey, and I think we should be friends.”
“Chuck Levenger. You’ll be seeing a lot of me, although you’ll dodge the questioning sessions. You’ll just have to deal with us questioning your husband.”
“I’m counting that as a Christmas present.”
He shot me a salute. “Excellent. This changes how we’re going to move forward with this investigation. Honestly, I’m expecting this to be a bunch of dead ends, but we’re better off than we were a few days ago. We’ll be in touch, but I doubt we’ll make much progress over the holidays, outside of filing charges and preliminary hearings. The holidays will delay things. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the charges, I expect Chief Morriston will be released on bail.”
Quinn stiffened. “What if he runs?”
Everyone else in the room sighed, and Chuck held his hands up in a gesture of hopeless surrender. “I’ll be recommending to the judge to deny bail, but I’m not going to hold my breath. But, stranger things have happened, and our side will have two archangels and the Devil verifying the truth of the situation. Maybe justice will be served quicker than I think—and without a fight.”
My husband lifted his hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose before pinching it. “This sounds like a disaster in the making.”
“If he’s wise, he’ll run and disappear, never to be seen again. If he gets out on bail and decides to run. If he is never seen again, I can live with that, you can live with that, and most importantly, your wife can live with that.”
I could? I thought about it, and upon reflection, realized he was right. I could live with the man running off and never surfacing or bothering me again. “It wouldn’t bother me very much,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t be happy about knowing an asshole is out there that might target some other teen, but if he cleans up his act and acts like an angel for fear of having his memory wiped and his magic taken, that’s punishment enough, right?”
My husband didn’t look convinced, but I’d figured him out better since we’d been married.
He’d never be convinced everything would work out unless there was no longer even a shadow of a doubt he’d secured my safety. I got to my feet, circled the table, and took up residence on his lap, grabbing hold of his wrists and wrapping his arms around me. “That’s punishment enough, Sam.”
“If you’re certain,” he conceded with a sigh.
“I’m certain.”