Angel Eyes Page 8

  Was I a mortal? Sasha had given me extra lives, so I wasn't just a citizen who knew magic. I was a damn wizard and had argued with Death himself on numerous occasions. Surely I should be allowed a little peek at the places they called home?

  I longed for it, wanted it, needed to belong and live here with the beautiful people. Except part of me knew that could never be, and that they may be beautiful but that didn't make them any nicer than anyone else. They could just do more, experience more, feel more, so they were extreme in personality types, hence why many had tried to kill me in one foul way or another.

  I was losing the plot, getting sucked into the place and finding it hard to even remember what our world was like. This was why I hated coming here, to the real homes rather than the barren wastelands that littered the Nolands as a whole and many parts of Faery where humans could spend time without everything being all wonky.

  "Okay, let's try this again," I said. "What can give it physical form? Can he really not hurt us unless he has it? Does that mean we're in the clear and all it can do is scare us?"

  "It can change things, hence the helicopter," said Sasha. "But it can't let you come to any physical harm or kill you unless it is manifest. And they can't do that just because they want to. There are rules. No, someone would have to be very remiss to allow one to take on a true human form."

  "Which is?" I asked, getting annoyed.

  "Leaving open access to places of magic, calling them by name and summoning them. Letting them tap in to true magic that is off-limits where they come from. A few other things."

  "Oh, that's all right then. I'm not about to do any of that." It was a relief, I can tell you, as things had begun to get worrying. But I knew my magic, and I wasn't about to open any Paths so it could tap into something it ought not to."

  "Um, Sasha," said George, the tone in her voice putting me on instant high-alert.

  "Yes, my sweet?"

  "I may have not closed the Path behind us."

  "Oh, I'm sure you did a fine job. As long as you tried then it will be closed, that's how these things work."

  "No, I mean I may have forgotten to close the Path at all. It's Dad's fault," she accused, stabbing a finger in my direction.

  "Hey, what did I do?"

  "You distracted me. I was all excited to be saving you and Vicky and I, er, well, it was my first time taking anyone along a Path I've made, let alone into Faery."

  "It's time to go," said Sasha hurriedly, looking about as panicked as I'd ever seen her. Which meant, she moved with total grace but faster than usual, still utterly unruffled.

  "No, if he's coming then I'll deal with him. Can you close off this end so he gets stuck back home?"

  "She can, so can I," said Sasha, affronted.

  "Then do it, now. Send me back, you stay here."

  Sasha nodded, knowing this was not something to discuss further. She wafted a hand and a portal opened, sparkling and black and then bright as the sun. I stepped through without pause, but something grabbed my jacket and I knew as my hand was gripped that it was Vicky. She never did do as she was told.

  Too late to protest, the Path slammed shut behind us. We split apart into constituent elements, pinged back together and into the barn exactly where we'd been before George and Sasha arrived, and I watched as the portal, Path, whatever the hell it really was, closed without a sound.

  Just as it did so, it spat out a tiny black dot, so small anyone else would have missed it. But I was looking for something, maybe the owner of a book that had entered the beginnings of Faery but had been trapped, but now it had been opened to send us back, it had returned too, and that meant only one thing.

  "Run," I shouted, and legged it for my own private portal. I had to get rid of this book. Fast.

  Laughter boomed, echoing off the barn's interior, sending dust streaming down from above as the wall to the back room collapsed and with it access to the portal.

  We turned, facing nothing but shadow in the dark gloom, and then something stirred.

  Feathers danced in the frigid air.

  "I don't think you'll make it home for supper, Vicky."

  "Me either."

  A Ruse

  "Stay here," I ordered Vicky as I untangled my hand from hers and stepped forward. She didn't argue.

  "Okay, okay," I said, hands up, knowing there was no choice.

  "You will return what is mine?"

  "Of course, you should have just asked."

  The shadows shifted as if the being was thinking. I'd said it before, and I'll say it again, angels have no sense of humor. "I did." Did I mention this was an angel? No? Well, it was. One of the most despicable, horrid, annoying beings in all of creation. Smug too, because, you know, the whole God thing.

  "Oh, right, sorry. I forgot. I don't sleep well, keep forgetting things." Even as I spoke, all I could think of was if George was okay. I hoped she didn't feel too much to blame. It wasn't her fault. Okay, it was, but only this bit, the rest was on me. I took responsibility for anything that happened involving magic or my job, and I'd undoubtedly brought this down on myself. Hopefully, she wouldn't be too upset about her role in this. She'd done pretty well, especially for a newbie to the whole faery thing.

  "Give," came the voice, growing in maturity as the shadow evolved, fanning out as it took on energy, feeding on the magic it had ingested and absorbed from the Path to Faery.

  "Sure, it's over there, in the box. See, it's on that hay bale."

  Shadow too dark to be real shifted and I caught a silhouette of a face. Vicky gasped but I didn't turn to reassure her. This was a deadly business and I didn't want to spook anyone. The silhouette morphed and changed, horns receded, facial features popped out from the square-jawed blocky outline then stretched into something slender and elven, probably handsome knowing the damn angels.

  It growled in anger but moved nonetheless, heading straight for the silver box. No doubt recognizing it, believing its quest was over. The angel moved slowly, cautiously, constantly checking on me and Vicky and the barn in general. Once it got close enough, it snatched out fast with an arm that stretched the shadow, taloned fingers wrapped around the box then took on true human form, and at that point I pulled my arm from behind my back, shunted every ounce of will and magic I had into my wand, and the sigils activated in a very specific and very unusual, very seldom used sequence.

  I let rip.

  The shadow creature-cum-angel, and still not quite a person for the time being, ripped from the real shadows with an audible tear and zipped into the box. I slapped my wand toward the ground and the lid snapped shut.

  Then I breathed.

  Wasting no time, I turned and blasted the rubble, clearing a path to the portal, undamaged as not even angels can ruin something like this. "Come on," I shouted to Vicky, and she hightailed it after me.

  "Was that a—"

  "Yes, an angel. And now it's a very pissed off angel. So let's go."

  I grabbed her, pulled her through, and shoved her into the kitchen.

  "Make yourself comfortable for a while. Don't forget to be home for your family."

  "Arthur, don't you dare," she warned.

  "Sorry, but it's for your own good. Look after yourself. And it's been fun, Vicky. Honest it has. Sometimes. Love you."

  With that, I spun on my heels and plunged straight back through the Gate of Bakaudif to try to reason with what I imagined would be a very miffed, and already escaping angel direct from heaven itself.

  Barely Contained

  I clambered over the carnage of the wall and ran cautiously into the barn. It was getting properly dark now and the light of the portal still flashed across my retinas, half-blinding me. I took a moment to adjust, forcing fading magic into my vision until the after-effects cleared. It didn't help much, the dull weather and the encroaching dusk made everything take on a pallid, monochrome hue.

  All apart from one place. The silver box was vibrating on the bale of hay, white light spat and arced from t
he poor seal, the lid rattled, and the howls of one very pissed off angel deafened me. I summoned all I had left, stepped forward knowing there was no time to reconsider or think of a better plan until I knew he was going to stay put at least for a while, and I let my mind clear.

  Instead of worrying about family and friends and faery godmothers, I summoned up images of carefully constructed sigils in my mind until they manifest as light in the air. Glowing silver shapes that meant nothing to anyone but me, the mental images I'd perfected over years that held special significance, contained magic and spells, danced in the air.

  Magic may be a mental game, controlled by your will and determination, but you need to give that power form of some kind. These sigils held many spells each, contained direction and instruction imbued with forces that would see me ripped apart if not perfect. No need to speak the spells to get the magic to do my bidding, though it could be reassuring at times. The images themselves contained the words, my many hours of isolation while I practiced and made countless cautious mistakes until I got them right.

  They wobbled and wavered and I forced the last of my energy into them until they became almost solid things. Then they shrank as the box vibrated and the angel howled its anger. With a flourish of the hand, I sent them to the lid and they slammed it shut as they settled into the silver, etching themselves deep.

  Then I breathed.

  All was silent, all was dark. All was not well.

  A Delivery

  I called Ivan and asked if we could meet at his headquarters. I didn't want Candy or any innocents involved in this, and with events less than certain with Cerberus I sure as hell didn't want any more bodies piling up. Last exchange had seen Cerberus wipe out a couple of Ivan's guys, or I assumed it was them, and I frankly wasn't in the mood for such games.

  What I didn't tell Ivan was what had gone down. That was his fucking problem. He agreed to the meeting although he sounded seriously pissed off—he wasn't a man to take kindly to arrangements constantly being changed and he was meant to have had the book early this morning. Tough shit, we'd been kind of busy with exploding helicopters and Cerberus and what have you. Oh, and pissed off angels.

  Plus, I knew it wouldn't be long before George and Sasha showed up and I didn't want them anywhere near this being. Hell, I didn't want to be anywhere near it, but this was my mess and I'd clear it up myself. So, get it away, keep family safe, and palm off the problem onto someone else.

  Namely, Ivan and the vampires. They wanted the book, they could have the bloody box it came in too.

  What did I need? I scanned the barn but could think of nothing. I had my arms, I had my legs, I had my hat, I was good to go. What I didn't have was much of a plan beyond passing this major hassle on, but I felt no guilt about that. The vampires had more resources than me, Mikalus obviously knew what he was letting himself in for by requesting the book, so, in the words of a famous philosopher who's name escapes me: Fuck 'em, and fuck 'em sideways.

  Nervously, I picked up the box and sent out psychic feelers to check the wards were in place and holding up. It came as a surprise to find they were. They wouldn't last long, but they should give me enough time to get out of there and give Ivan the box, and that was about as good as I was going to get. I carefully wrapped the box in a piece of oily rag I found on the ground, put it in a small leather satchel, put the book in there too, slung it over my shoulder, and marched through the gate back into the city.

  The moment I stepped out the other side, my phone rang.

  "Ivan?"

  "There has been an interruption to our peaceful life, Arthur, and I have to deal with it immediately. Can we do this later?"

  "No, we can't. You want the book, you can have it now or not at all."

  There was a long silence, he wasn't expecting that. "Very well. But please push our appointment forward half an hour, if that is okay with you?"

  I hated it when he was polite like this. Never trust a polite gangster, let alone a vampire you've just been rude to, it means they are seriously annoyed. "Sure, fine. But half an hour, that's all." I hung up.

  The wind taken out of my sails, I did the only sensible thing under such circumstances and put the kettle on. The kitchen in this house was nice enough, basic but comfortable to use now and then when I was passing through, and as the gate was built into the arch of one of the doors leading to the garden I often stopped for a cuppa. Just instant, I hadn't bothered making it a truly homely place, but there was milk in the small fridge and right about now it sounded perfect.

  I poured a cup, wrapped my hands around it, and wandered into the living room, smiling to myself as I had a little time to relax and be calm and quiet, begin to build my magic back up by taking some immersive rest in the Quiet Place so I wasn't totally tapped out and almost a citizen.

  "Vicky?" My smile turned to a frown. "Bloody hell, woman, what are you doing here?"

  "Woman? Who are you calling woman? What, we've gone back to the sixties have we? Should I wear a mini skirt and let you pat me on the bum?"

  "Um, sorry, didn't mean it like that."

  "That's what all the chauvinists say. Watch it."

  She had a point, so I changed the subject. "You're meant to be on your way home. You can't stay here, it's too dangerous."

  Vicky stood defiant, like an angry gnome, chest heaving in frustration, white pom-poms jiggling comically. "Did you stop it? What happened?"

  "It's in the box, for now. But it's dangerous as all hell. You should leave."

  "No, we're a team, and I'm not going anywhere." Vicky glanced at her watch. "Um, not yet anyway. I've got an hour then I have to go home. But until then."

  "Until then, what? This isn't safe. I'm almost out of magic, there's an angel in my satchel, and Ivan's busy for a while. I need to rest, get some magic inside of me, then go give Ivan exactly what he deserves."

  "You are not going to give my brother a murderous angel," shouted Vicky, her protective nature seemingly having transferred from me to her insane brother.

  "He knew what the book was, knew how dangerous it was. He didn't tell me, he didn't tell you. How's that for brotherly love?"

  Vicky frowned and her shoulders sagged. "I hadn't thought about that."

  "I have. He deserves this. We don't." I sipped on my coffee, watching Vicky as she seemed to shrink and fold in on herself. I hated seeing her like that, it really got to me, as I knew that above all else she craved intimacy and deep relationships and it wasn't something I found easy to give.

  She so wanted everyone to open up, to share emotions and for us all to be a true family. I wanted that too, but it wasn't how I was wired. I hardly ever spoke of my past or my feelings as I'd spent too long alone, too long putting up this grim facade so I could beat down the bad guys and face the hardest criminals without flinching.

  "Did I ever tell you how I came to be a wizard?" I asked.

  "No!" Vicky was instantly animated, eyes wide and ears practically waggling she was so keen to hear.

  "If I tell you, do you promise to go home afterward? I want you to be there for your family. You need to start thinking about how dangerous this stuff is."

  Vicky considered her options. "Deal," she said.

  We shook.

  "Let's go into the kitchen, I need more coffee."

  After the coffee was poured, we sat at the simple pine table and I became lost in thought, fiddling with my hat.

  "A long, long time ago," I began.

  The Hat

  "Arthur, stop messing with your hat!" Vicky glared at me, the excited mood somehow having vanished.

  "Hey, whoa, what's your problem? I'm about to open up here and you're all angry."

  "Because you're doing what you always do. You're stalling. You're trying to think how to tell me things without actually telling me too much. I'm your friend, so whatever you tell me, we'll always be friends."

  "I'm not so sure about that. I've got a, shall we say, checkered past."

  "And I know that. I
've seen what you can do, I'm involved in it too. I've killed people."

  It was true, she had. Some on purpose, others because of her shift. You wouldn't think it to look at her, but Vicky was stone-cold at times.

  I stared at my hat, my very personal hat, then put it back on my head and glared at Vicky.

  "What's with the hat anyway? I know it's how you got your nickname, but well, it's just a hat isn't it? I know, magic, blah, blah, but you could make any hat magical. Right?"

  "Yeah," I grumbled, "but this is my hat."

  "Ah, is it the hair?"

  "Huh?"

  "You know, the gray?"

  "I am not going gray!" I protested. "And anyway, it's distinguished."

  "Whatever." Vicky stood and made another coffee and I winced but tried to hide it as she turned. I stared at the spillage on the otherwise pristine counter, then at the drawer full of tea towels. "Just clean it up, you utter freak," she sighed as she carried the coffees to the table.

  So I did.

  Nerves settled, I sat opposite my troublesome sidekick and sipped.

  "So, what's with the hat? If you're gonna stall telling me how you became a wizard, tell me about the hat."

  I sighed, but figured it was about time she knew a little more of my history. And anyway, I'd started this. I wanted to share, it would do me good to open up, but it wasn't easy. Harder than sitting in a room with an incensed angel in your satchel. "Okay, but this is strictly between us. Nobody can know. I've never told anyone. Understand?"

  Vicky leaned forward, eager beaver that she was. She loved gossip and secrets, lived for this stuff. "Scouts honor." She smashed her salute into her head then rubbed at the red mark.

  "Muppet."

  "Beardy."

  "Ruiner of kitchens," I countered.

  "OCD to the max," she replied.

  "So, my hat has been with me right from the beginning."

  "Beginning of what?" asked Vicky, already engrossed.