Angel Eyes Read online

  "Sure," said Candy, and while she made it we took a table.

  The usual digital stuff was brought out, Vicky and Ivan confirming the transactions to my account, and hers, had been completed, then I slid the book across the table. Ivan pocketed it without a second glance.

  "Thank you. The First will be most pleased. He's happy with the arrangement, Arthur, if you are?"

  "I guess. Why'd you get rid of Steve though? Thought he was supposed to give me the details, manage the deal?"

  "We no longer felt it necessary. You proved your worth, your trust, no need to complicate things."

  "You mean you wanted to save money?"

  "Correct. You don't run a successful business by spending when you don't need to."

  Ivan was a practical man, was smart, and had done a damn good job of improving the vampires' position since he gained control of the underworld in the city, his influence spreading. He now ran, either directly or indirectly, most criminal activity in the country. He was fair, but he was no fool, and he was ruthless when he had to be. I liked him. He saved my daughter; I could never repay that kind of debt.

  "Poor Steve," said Vicky.

  Candy placed Ivan's coffee down and said, "Yeah, he's been a nightmare since you gave him the elbow. Moping about the place."

  "Business," said Ivan. "Thanks for the coffee."

  Candy got the message and retreated. This wasn't for her ears.

  "So, I have another job for you."

  "What, now?"

  "Cool," said Vicky, eyes sparkling.

  "Yes, now. Today. It must be today."

  "Man, I need to sleep. I'm dead on my feet. You too, Vicky."

  "You can rest all day. This is best done tonight. Double the usual rate."

  "Fine," I said, not really keen but also unable to turn down a job with such a great payout.

  "I get double too," said Vicky, glaring at me, daring me to try to haggle. I'd learned my lesson about that, didn't have the energy.

  "Sure, you get double too."

  "Yes!" Vicky punched the air. She was such a noob.

  "I want you to get—"

  The bell rang above the door, and we turned.

  A goon fell in with a loud crunch as his face hit the tiles, then the other one crashed in on top of him.

  Both dead.

  I hate the mornings.

  No Deal

  "You expecting company?" I asked, eyeing the dead dudes wearily. I heaved myself out of my chair, but I was in no mood for this crap, just wanted a lie down.

  "It's becoming an annoying habit," said Ivan. He frowned as his slender, tall frame shuddered almost imperceptibly, but he didn't get up.

  I sidestepped the goons and peeked cautiously around the doorway but there was no one there, no sign of the assailant. Ivan was already on the phone calling for a clean-up crew, voice calm and unflappable.

  Candy rushed over and glared at Ivan, but she said nothing. When he hung up he fished in his inside jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her. "I came prepared. This is for your trouble." Candy snatched it, grumbled, then went back to pretending not to listen in.

  "You don't seem very surprised," I said, taking my seat.

  "Are you in danger?" asked Vicky, all concern.

  "It's a minor annoyance, nothing to worry about. Now, about this job."

  "Deal's off. You're up to something, I don't want to get involved."

  "Not even for double money?"

  "No." Like I needed the money. Sure, it was always good to make hay while the sun shone, but I wasn't starving or anything.

  "Okay, triple. Final offer. Ask no questions, just do the job. And tonight."

  Vicky turned to me hopefully, and said, "I want to build an extension. Please, Arthur."

  "Buster's hat! The money you've had from me, you could buy a new house for cash."

  "I like it where I am, thank you very much."

  I sighed. "Fine, what's the job?"

  "Another book. Should be easy."

  And it was.

  What came after, that's a whole other story.

  Home at Last

  I dropped Vicky off then took the trashed car to a guy I knew and swapped it out for some bland piece of crap. Feeling the paranoia kick in, I drove around the city for half an hour then parked up outside the new place I'd bought specifically so nobody would know where I housed the Gates of Bakaudif, or one of them at least.

  With a final paranoid check, as the bastards really were out to get me, I pulled my hat low, grabbed my gear from the car, put the nonsense of the night behind me, and walked to the front door. Wards were still in place, nothing felt fishy. I got no tickle at the back of my neck, so did the necessaries and entered.

  Dead on my feet, I walked straight to where the gate was hidden behind the plasterboard, felt the familiar tingle, and stepped through into my barn. I hauled open the huge doors, the smell of hay and fresh country air beautiful after the stench of the city, drove out in the battered Jeep I'd grown attached to, then closed the doors and headed home feeling the years drop away like dandruff.

  Driving through lanes, past herds of cattle and grazing sheep like clouds on grass, and seeing the Cornish countryside in general lifted my spirits, told me everything wasn't so bad and that life was good. The closer I got to home, the happier I became.

  By the time I'd parked and crossed the cobbled courtyard as chickens pecked at my feet, I had a genuine smile on my face.

  I'd made it home in time for breakfast, something I'd always tried to do, although dinner was the one meal me and my daughter, George, never missed having together if we could possibly help it.

  Inside the house, I frowned at the dark and silence, walked through the hallway crammed with books and general tat, and into the open, immaculate, beautiful, clean, and light kitchen.

  Sighing, I took off my hat and jacket, put my wand on the counter, then breathed, relaxed for the first time since I'd left the night before to go do this job. Now I had another one, but I decided not to think about it. Time for that later. First, coffee, then breakfast. But where was George? She was usually up by now.

  Ah, Sunday, the day of rest. She'd be deep under the covers, catching up on sleep. My head nodded forward and I got a sharp pain in my neck. I'd fallen asleep just thinking of bed.

  I shook my arms and legs, jumped up and down a few times and made funny noises to jolt life into my old bones, then set about preparing a feast. After coffee, of course.

  Forty minutes later the table was laden. I heard the stairs creak, and the most perfect, wonderful person in the world shuffled into the kitchen looking like she'd had a fight with a tiger and lost.

  My daughter. The one ray of light in an otherwise dark, unforgiving world.

  "Morning," I said brightly, angling my head to indicate the feast on the table.

  "Garumpff," she responded, or something suitably teenage and non-verbal.

  "I made breakfast," I said, beaming.

  "Urgle," she replied before slumping into the chair, her wavy auburn hair spilling forward, tips soaking up coffee and baked bean juice.

  "Tuck in, I made loads." I brought the toast over and sat, inordinately pleased to feel normal.

  "What are you grinning at? You look weird," accused George, staring at me suspiciously.

  "Nothing. Just nice to see you. Did you have a good Saturday night? Go anywhere cool? Any boys there?" I asked casually, not really interested at all.

  "Ooh, subtle. I told you, there's no boys at the moment. I'm too busy."

  "Hmm."

  "Don't start!"

  I held my hands up in protest. "Didn't say a word."

  "Good. And yes, I was with Sasha, but I didn't stay long in Faery."

  George had taken to calling the land of the fae, Faery, as no human is allowed to know the real name, or utter it. But George, who was, to all our surprise, half fae, had been spending a lot of time there with my faery godmother, and I did not like it one bit. In fa
ct, I hated it. It was dangerous. Fae were sneaky, could be cruel, and played games no human could hope to understand, let alone win. George was my daughter and I worried.

  I was worried when she turned up on my doorstep the night her mother died, and I'd worried ever since. I had the gray hairs to prove it. And I loved her with all my heart, and she loved me, and I wasn't used to being loved, even after her living with me for several years.

  We fought to begin with. She was sullen and remote, only came as she had nowhere else to go, but I welcomed her, told her what was mine was hers. She never once, ever, took advantage of that beyond what any regular kid would do, let alone one who was training to be a witch then found out she was fae and began to grow in magical ability faster than I'd have liked. Meaning, at all.

  "Hello? Earth to Dad." George waved her arms about in front of me, smiling.

  "Sorry, need to sleep."

  "How was it? Did you get the book?"

  "Yep, no problem. Got another job tonight though. But not until after dinner."

  "Oh, okay. But by no problem do you mean loads of bad guys, lots of running, lots of nonsense, and Vicky being, er, Vicky?"

  "Haha, that's exactly what I mean."

  George knew what I did, I never lied to her, often told her all the gruesome details, and she didn't judge, didn't accuse, call me a bad man. Our world was not the ordinary world and we were not, for our sins, ordinary people.

  I studied her while she ate, and damn but she was beautiful. Large green eyes, pointed chin, sharp cheekbones, that amazing hair, and a body I never looked at as that would be weird. She wasn't your typical young woman, even apart from the magic. She didn't dress down or follow fashion, often wore pencil skirts with vintage blouses and heels, always classy.

  But her mother had been fae, not that we'd known until Sasha told us, so that explained her beauty. She certainly didn't get it from me. But she was still young, impressionable, and prone to being moody now and then, which she probably did get from me. Insomnia will do that to a guy, not that she had trouble sleeping.

  "You're weird sometimes," she said with a mouthful of fried egg.

  "Am not, you are. I was just looking at you. You're such a good girl."

  George's neck flushed but she smiled. "Idiot."

  We continued breakfast, just the two of us, and it was perfect in every way. Even when I fell asleep and scalded my nose on a sausage.

  Curse My Brain

  Beat, I hauled my weary ass up the stairs, did that stupid thing where you hop about trying to get your trousers off, rather than just sitting on the bed to do it, finally got naked, shuffled into the shower, cleaned my scrawny, hard body until it shone pink, then collapsed on the sheets, shivering.

  I pulled the duvet up to my chin, shifted about until I had a nice dent in my pillow, got all warm and toasty, and closed my eyes with a sigh, mind empty.

  Sleep, the mini-death I longed for every night. So elusive was this glimpse of the final frontier that I often wondered if people were lying when they said they slept all through the night, every night.

  Why couldn't I do that? Why couldn't I even get a few hours of peace?

  I remained motionless, and each time a thought or worry came to me I pushed it away, forcing my mind to empty and to still. But sleep eluded me. I was exhausted, had been working all night, chased by bad guys, killed quite a few, completed the job and got paid, and yet still my body refused to succumb to what it needed most.

  Shouldn't have had the coffee, not that it ever made any difference.

  I glanced at the clock only to find I'd been lying there for an hour. This was ridiculous, and damn frustrating. I began to think about Vicky and her newfound gift, or maybe curse. Ever since she'd discovered her link to Ivan, and their shared ability to shift around the time of a full moon, she'd been like a thing possessed. Ivan taught her the rudimentary rules of her lycanthropic metamorphosis, how to maintain that inner sense of self rather than become the animal like most regular shifters did, and he'd helped her deal with it. But she was new to it, had only had a few changes, and didn't seem to be taking it seriously as far as I could tell.

  She was setting herself up for a serious fall if she didn't watch it. I'd warned her repeatedly but she dismissed me as being a nag. Me, a nag! That was rich coming from the woman who couldn't say five words to her kids or husband without three being an order.

  Thoughts switched to George, and boy was there plenty to worry about there. Concerns about her new life as part of the faery world crowded in, but I caught myself and stopped the thoughts dead. I'd never get to sleep at this rate; this was the last thing I should be doing.

  So I repeated the usual routine, stilled my mind, pushed thoughts away, and just lay there, trying not to get worked up about my lack of rest.

  Hours later I must have finally dozed off, as when I woke I was starving hungry, the day was dull, dusk mere minutes away, and the house was quiet. Exhausted, I nonetheless got out of bed and dressed in clean clothes. I went downstairs and put some coffee on then found the note from George. She'd gone to visit a friend in Mousehole, a small fishing village that was overrun with tourists every summer and quiet as the grave during the off-season. Just the fishermen in the harbor, and the locals. Nice and quiet how I liked it.

  She'd be back for dinner, she promised, about seven, so that gave me a few hours to do whatever I wanted, then I'd start cooking. I decided to make a full roast, it was Sunday after all, and it was traditional. But first, I had some planning to do. Or, I guess, Vicky and I did.

  I checked my email and found that Vicky had done as promised and had been hard at work, even though it was a family day for her. She was a whiz with all things dodgy on the internet, the result of years being unable to sleep, just like me, although for different reasons, and was one of the best hackers in the country, although you'd never believe it to look at her with her tight ponytail, her mom sweaters, and her permanent smile and obsession with her two girls. But she'd always had a dark side, craved excitement, and until she'd hooked up with me the way she found that release was by doing dodgy stuff online.

  Which was exactly what she'd done for me. For us, I guess. She was getting paid too.

  I opened the attachments she'd sent, studied the layouts, the alarm system, the grounds, all the usual stuff, and couldn't see much of a problem. Vicky had already set up a blackout of the alarms, they'd go off when we needed them to, so we wouldn't be caught on camera or trip anything. This joker of a collector, and you'd assume they'd have learned by now, didn't even keep his books in a strong room, but had them in his actual library, on display in ordinary glass cabinets.

  Easy peasy.

  After that I set about making dinner, tried to get the small TV to play a Buster Keaton short, but, as usual, couldn't get the damn thing to work, so had to wait until George came home. She sighed and smiled when she arrived, but let me chortle away to his antics, rolling her eyes as usual, and then we ate roast chicken, onion gravy, potatoes, veg, and even had Yorkshire puddings too. A perfect evening with my daughter.

  Once finished, and the kitchen cleaned until it sparkled, George whipped out a fat hand-rolled cigarette, the only one I was allowed each day, our deal as she hated smoking but I loved it. I pulled aside the full height glass doors at the far end of the kitchen, breached the cold, and stood in the rain, smoking, enjoying every puff.

  Then it was time for action.

  Gear grabbed, I kissed my daughter, put my boots on at the front door, and stepped out into the courtyard.

  My senses were immediately on high alert. I bristled, and if I'd had hackles they would have been raised, but the security lights weren't on, the wards were all in place, and whatever had been here was gone. But something had been here, and the number of people who knew where I lived was very limited, although not as limited as I'd have liked.

  I looked up into the dark night as something drifted down. I put out my hand and a single, fluffy black feather came to rest in my
palm. Birds? Weird.

  Body buzzing with anticipation, I headed back into the urban jungle and the madness it contained. A madness I thrived on, needed, craved more than nicotine.

  A Bad Feeling

  "That was way too easy," I said, pulling the prize out of a leather satchel to look at it again.

  "What do you mean, easy?" Vicky scowled as she wiped at her face, then shook her fingers to get the worst of the mud off.

  "I mean, I've got a bad feeling about this."

  "You always have a bad feeling." Vicky dropped the bags onto the straw in the barn and pulled out wet wipes and a change of clothes. "If you don't mind?"

  "Oh, beg pardon." I turned away while she cleaned herself up a little, used to her ways now. One minute she couldn't care less if I saw her naked, the next she was all coy. I think it was the shifter thing. The closer to a change she was, the less concerned she became with decorum.

  Jobs were never like this, something stupid always went wrong since Vicky had started tagging along. Um, actually, all my previous partners had a similar affect, or maybe it was just me. We'd had no issue with the security, I took the silver box without incident, no deadly gasses or poisoned darts, Vicky hadn't screwed up while I was inside the house, and we'd made a mostly clean getaway.

  Sure, there was the dog, and the running, and the loss of Vicky's jumper to said dog, and her falling flat on her face in a repeat of the day before, but I'd told her to wear boots rather than plimsolls. But would she listen? No.

  Apart from that, we'd got away clean. We'd hightailed it to the portal, come right through and emerged in the barn, and the whole thing had taken two hours start to finish. Weird. Unsettling. Easy.

  Bad.

  "So, what's next?" asked Vicky, tugging at my sleeve.

  "You wanna do something?"

  "Sure, it's the middle of the night, no way can I go home and sleep. I'm too hyped."

  "Yeah, me too. Let me stash this, then we'll head back, kill a few hours." I stowed the simple silver box, decoration minimal, seventeenth century and worth a small fortune in its own right, after taking another peek inside. The book it contained was so worn the binding was as thin as the paper it held, the leather soft yet cold. It felt almost fluffy, like eiderdown, and the magic screaming at me from within made me certain that keeping the book closed was the smart thing to do. And, for once, I did the smart thing.