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Kheone peered around the corner of the red brick building. Smoke poured from its windows, and the flickering flames lit up the night. She held her sword at her side, waiting for the signal. A piercing whistle rent the night, and she reached through space to open a rift. Kheone jumped in first, her gathering following her and spreading out inside the smoke-filled building.
A mountainous she-demon stood at the far end, holding the sharp edge of a Bowie knife to Tailash’s kidney. Strung up by his arms, the rope looped over a hook on the ceiling, and his body hung limp. His head rolled back and forth, though, giving Kheone some hope he still lived.
They needed to get the angel and get out. The flames consumed the building, and the smoke made it difficult to see and breathe. A bright red flash behind the demon meant Michael had joined the fray. Hope and fury warred within her breast, and she led her gathering in a frontal assault. Part distraction and part desperate gambit, the onrush of nine angels armed to the teeth was a sight to behold.
The demon bared her teeth and drew back the hand holding the knife. Kheone put everything she had into getting there before the demon could strike. She failed. Instead of stabbing Tailash with her knife, the demon tore his throat out with her teeth.
It was the last thing the demon ever did. Michael loomed behind her, and swinging his great sword, lopped off her head. Her body collapsed to the ground, and the head rolled to Kheone’s feet. Too late to save Tailash, but the demon would never hurt anyone else again.
With another swing of his sword, Michael severed the ropes holding Tailash. Kheone swooped in and caught the angel as he fell. Blood gushed from the wound in his throat, and his head wobbled wildly.
“Shh, Tailash, we are here. You’re not alone.”
She looked up at Michael. The archangel kneeled next to Tailash, his hands shining with golden healing light. At Michael’s feet, though, sat a rough ceramic cylinder. A sigil glowed brilliantly red. Holy shit, it was another bomb.
“Michael! Bomb!” Kheone nodded frantically at the cylinder.
He looked down at the device and over to Tailash. Michael picked up the bomb.
“I am sorry. The needs of the rest of the angels must outweigh the life of one.”
Michael opened a rift and stepped through. The archangel placed the cylinder on the ground and held his sword over it. An instant after the rift closed, a strange note pierced the air.
Kheone waited for the bright flash of light and the darkness to follow. And waited. When nothing else happened, she examined Tailash. He was dead. Gently placing his head on the floor, Kheone rose and made her own rift, following Michael.
The archangel stood in a circle of flattened grass, the remnants of the bomb at his feet. She approached cautiously.
“Michael?”
He knelt and bowed his head. “I had no choice, Kheone. Had I not destroyed the thing, all of you would be dead.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know. Thank you.”
Kheone knelt next to him and examined the pieces of pottery in the center of the circle.
“It would seem we have located our murderer,” Michael said.
She stared at the evidence. The remnants of the device were all too similar to those found in the library, but something felt off.
“It would seem so.”
“You do not think it is the case?”
“How did the device come into the demon’s possession? And why would she have killed Serel?” she asked, mostly to herself.
Michael answered anyway. “She was a demon. That is all the reason they need. Perhaps Serel forgot demons are not to be trusted. Perhaps she surprised him. We will never know for certain, but we have found our killer.”
He rose, towering over her, and held out a hand. Taking it, Kheone pulled herself to her feet.
“Now what?”
“We return to the gatherings and announce our findings. Then, we go home.”
His finger brushed her jawline. She pushed it away.
“Michael—”
A flicker of anger crossed his face. He withdrew his hand and opened a rift to a spot a hundred feet from the burning building. The other angels stood in a silent circle around Tailash’s body, heads bowed, ignoring the light and noise of the rift. Michael and Kheone joined them.
Emric looked up at their approach. “Archangel. Lieutenant.”
The others raised their heads, murmurs rippling through the gatherings.
“I destroyed the device. The same kind killed Serel. We found our murderer, and justice was served,” Michael said.
In unison, they turned to regard the building, where the demon’s headless corpse lay. A few ghastly smiles appeared, and a few angels turned away in disgust. The rest showed no emotion, grimly focused on the task at hand, including Michael.
“Those of the Nairobi gathering, see to your dead and wounded. Those of Kansas City, your duty is complete. Dismissed.”
The Nairobi angels carefully lifted Tailash’s body and carried it through a rift.
Her own gathering congregated around her. Michael stood a few yards distant, watching.
“I know this isn’t the outcome we wanted, but you all performed admirably,” Kheone said. “Tonight, we mourn Tailash’s passing. Tomorrow, we celebrate our victory. All the cheesecake you can eat!”
Wry smiles greeted her announcement, but the mood lightened considerably. They would be okay. She opened a rift home, and her angels walked through. Before she could join them, Michael pulled her aside.
“You and I still have a conversation to finish.”
“Come join us tomorrow. We’ll talk after.”
He gave her a sharp nod and walked away. She followed her gathering through the rift.
Kheone rubbed her temples, the beginnings of an ache informing her she had made too many rifts today. Unable to do anything about it right now, she pushed aside her worry. Although the headaches seemed to be accelerating, they did not stop her from performing her duty. With any luck, it wouldn’t come back to haunt her.
Her angels dispersed to their rooms, except for Emric.
“Hey, LT, I’m going to find Maj,” they said, bouncing up and down in anticipation.
“Go,” she said with a kindly smile.
The smell of smoke and blood sent her running for the showers. Kheone had one more meeting today, and she did not wish to smell like a funeral pyre. The hot water streamed down, easing the ache of her muscles and washing off her cares for the moment.
All her work, all her worry, her short-sighted bargain with the annoying demon, all for nothing. Some other demon had acquired a bomb and used it as demons often did: indiscriminately, without thought of the consequences. With the immediate threat dead, they could finally relax a little.
That left the question of what to do about her demon problem. Shax had done everything in his power to help her. Kheone considered their bargain fulfilled. It was time to free him from his obligation, so he could finally do what he had wanted all along: save his own skin and run. Grief washed over her, grief she had not felt at Tailash’s death. She could not miss Shax, miss his arrogant face, miss his warm voice, miss the fevered desire he kindled within her. This was for the best. Kheone couldn’t take much more of her conflicted feelings.
She shoved her arms into a jacket and opened a rift to the museum as the bell tower struck seven. Bracing herself for the headache and vertigo which would follow, she failed to notice the rather large puddle and stepped right into it. The water soaked her sneakers.
Slow claps greeted her. Shax stood by the tree, a smug grin on his lips, and his eyes twinkled with amusement in the dim light. He was much better dressed for the weather than she, his heavy leather jacket a strong bulwark against the piercing winds. The demon was even smart enough to wear gloves. No longer impervious to the elements, she really needed to think more like a human when it came to weather.
“Damn you, Shax,” she murmured to herself.
“That ship sailed a long time ago, Blue.” He had sharp ears.
The vertigo hit hard as soon as Kheone took a step out of the puddle. She fell to her knees on the concrete walkway, pain shooting through her legs. Clutching at the matching agony in her head, she failed to notice Shax rushing over. His firm arms held her, his body pressed against her, soothing the pain. Kheone looked up at Shax, the smirk he constantly wore gone, replaced by something she would call worry. Could a demon worry?
She pushed him away and stood, regretting it in the next breath. Gone was his warm support, replaced by the brisk night air. Her vision blurred from the rumbling truck trying to take up permanent residence in her skull.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shrugged. The demon did not need to know how weak her power was nor how much she regretted pushing him.
“Just tired. I haven’t slept much since Serel died.”
He gave his lips a wry twist. “I know the feeling.”
The Midwestern winter wind blew against her neck and face and turned her feet, still encased in wet sneakers, into icicles. She should have picked an inside place to meet. Turning up her collar and tucking her hands into her pockets, Kheone sat down on the bench. Shax joined her at the far end, removing his gloves. He offered them in an odd gesture of chivalry, but she shook her head. He draped them over a leg and leaned in, giving her his undivided attention. His dark eyebrows drew together as the worry he showed earlier returned.
They sat in silence for a moment. She had come here to give him his freedom, and yet, she dreaded the upcoming conversation. Kheone nudged the feeling. Somehow, even knowing what he was, he had become important to her. Heaven help her.
“What do you have to report?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
Warm eyes for such a cold heart. He reached behind his back. Kheone tensed, reaching for the knife on her belt. The warmth dimmed as he pulled out an envelope.
“I found Serel’s notes.”
“But how?”
He waved away the question. “You’re freezing. We don’t have time for how. The important thing is Serel translated the entire spell to destroy the Gate to Hell.”
“But Heaven’s Gate was destroyed, too. Something must have gone wrong.”
“That is an understatement.”
Kheone laughed half-heartedly. She needed to tell him now.
“Thank you, Shax, for your work on this, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The demon who killed Serel is dead. It was pure coincidence she found Serel in the library. Serel was a scholar, not a warrior, and lost the fight. We were wrong.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s awfully convenient.”
Anger rushed through her. “Are you calling me a liar?”
He held up his hands and leaned back. “That’s not what I said. I just wondered if you got the whole story before the demon died.”
Mollified, she shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. She’s dead, and we can move on. What else does Serel say?”
“I haven’t finished the translation.”
Shax studied the envelope before handing it over as though he regretted having to do so. Why? It should thrill him to quit this bargain and flee the city. Perhaps he could find a place with no demons or angels and build a quiet life for himself. As long as he kept his head down, Michael would have no reason to go after him, and Kheone was disinclined to tell the archangel of her recent working relationship with the demon.
Her finger grazed Shax’s as she accepted the papers. A fiery tingle shot up her arm. She yanked it away, and the heat rippled through her body. Kheone risked a glance at Shax. Those amber eyes of his flashed with the same fire she felt. He looked to the side, and when he returned his gaze to her, the spark had vanished.
Had she imagined it?
“I’m not good with reading and writing languages, especially ones I haven’t used in a few thousand years,” he said with a cool dispassion, belying the inferno they had shared a moment ago. “I hope you’re a better scholar than I am.”
Kheone gave him a half-smile while she looked at the pages. “I’ll manage.”
She tucked the papers into her own jacket before rising from the bench.
“Thank you, Shax, truly. I didn’t know if I could trust you, but you proved yourself to me. You don’t need to run afoul of Aeshma. Go now, before my brain kicks in, and I let Michael know you’re in his city.”
Kheone tried to soften the last with a smile, but the amusement in Shax’s eyes died with her words. He took a deep breath before he stood, too. He pressed his lips together and looked away. She got the feeling he wanted to tell her something else but was unsure how she would take it. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, he held out a hand.
“It’s been a, well, let’s not say pleasure. It’s been an experience working with you, not against you, for once, Kheone. Good luck.”
She looked at his hand and back up at his face. He’d had ample opportunity to thwart her while still fulfilling their bargain. He could have held onto Serel’s notes. If he had betrayed them to Aeshma, the duke would have attacked long ago. Kheone ignored his hand and wrapped her arms around him in a firm embrace, surprising both of them.
The tension in Shax’s body melted, and he leaned into the embrace, encircling her with his arms gently, as though he knew he couldn’t hold on to her.
“Godspeed, Shax. May you find what peace you can.”
Kheone pulled away. Shax reached over and tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, sending burning tendrils of need through her. Her eyes locked on his lips, and she wondered what they would taste like, how they would feel. She would never find out, now. An awkward silence later, Shax cleared his throat and walked off without another word, his white hair a crown of light drifting through the dark night. She watched until he disappeared behind the museum.
Kheone opened her last rift of the day and stepped into her room. Another wave of sorrow filled her chest like she had left a part of herself behind. Fighting off the knife blades in her head, she stumbled to her bed and collapsed upon it, falling asleep with her cold, wet shoes still on.