Thaumatology 12: Vengeance (6 page)

‘Huh?’ Lily asked, looking confused.

‘Never mind, shekushka. Life just got a little easier, that’s all.’

Milbank, March 29
^th
.

Avery Sachs sat in his heavily warded office wearing headphones so that no one else could hear the recordings he was listening to. He had arranged for the surveillance operation under the premise that the generator projects were high profile and those working on them should be watched for security purposes. There had been attempts to use the generator at Battersea for nefarious purposes, and attempts to kill both Cheryl Tennant and Ceridwyn Brent in the past. It was a matter of good stewardship to keep an eye on them now.

In truth, however, the counterintelligence officer had had other motives. He had explained the use of purely electronic bugs due to the interference they might get using scrying around the High Energy Thaumatology building, but in reality he did not want Ceri Brent to know what he was up to. He suspected that she was suspicious of him, and she was right to be. The last couple of weeks of recorded chatter had confirmed what he thought and given him some other information which was, quite frankly, beyond what he had even considered.

The problem was how to proceed. He was quite sure that one of his agents, Jennifer Mayhew, had been killed to protect Ceri’s secret. He was also quite sure that those responsible for that murder were gone. Ceri had found the body for him, with a lot of effort; she had not killed Jenny. But Sachs was still not sure that it was a secret that should be revealed.

Reaching out, he stopped the tape he was listening to and slipped off his headphones, a frown wrinkling his brow.

‘What am I going to do with you, Ceridwyn Brent?’ he mused to the empty room.

Part Two: The Fall of Angels

Soho, London, March 30
^th
, 2013.

Ceri inched her dress down a little as she scanned her tables for signs that anyone might be in need of further inebriation. The garment was short enough without a slight tendency to shift up her body over time, especially when she was dodging groping paws. Not that she minded excessively, but there was nothing under it and there were decency laws.

The full moon was long enough past that the werewolves on three of her tables were just naturally ebullient, but they were still in a playful sort of mood. That was both checked and enhanced by the presence of Michael on a stool at the bar. Having her mate there meant that no one got very serious, but they felt they had more latitude for messing about. Werewolves could be contradictory creatures, but Ceri was used to them by now.

On the other side of the room, mostly, the fae were out in full force. The Seelie, and a reasonable number of the more modern Unseelie, had decided that the Tir inna Nok was
their
club: it was named after their version of paradise; one of the waitresses, Ophelia, was a Sidhe; and the theme was fae. All of that meant that the fae clientele had rocketed since the reopening. There were even fairies and sprites in, occupying one end of the bar where Carter had put small tables and chairs in just for tiny customers.

Alec, the werewolf bartender, had suggested the placement, then regretted it, and then decided it was not as bad as he had initially thought. Even the prank-prone sprites were loath to annoy the big black-fur, and the fairies were prone to flirting with him outrageously, confident that he would not actually take them up on the offer.

Alec was particularly happy tonight, and so was the immaculately dressed Carter. For the first time in several weeks, Cheryl had decided she could afford a Saturday night out. She was perched on a stool beside Michael, clad in a short tube of a dress which made the most of her figure. Her red hair was piled up into a slightly chaotic up-do which somehow suggested that she intended things to get a little wild later. Since both men shared her affections, they were both rather pleased about that.

‘Not so many undead in,’ Sasha commented as she walked back from a table run. Sasha was an attractive blonde with several vampire customers whom she liked.

‘In truth, they have been thinner on the ground since we reopened,’ Carter replied, ‘but they do seem lacking tonight. It’s not that long since the full moon though.’

Sasha nodded. While the fae had decided the place was theirs and came in constant numbers, along with humans who found the awesomely beautiful creatures exciting, the werewolf-to-vampire ratio naturally varied with the moon and always had. Vampires were more common when it was dark, werewolves when it was bright.

‘I like the new hair, Ceri,’ Sasha added, changing the subject entirely.

Ceri’s hands were drawn to pat at her new cut. She had gone back to shorter, if fuller, and her black hair now had more red around the fringe. ‘Long was starting to get annoying, but I’m pleased with it like this.’ She grinned. ‘Besides, Lily has enough to go around for all of us.’

On cue, the half-succubus strutted back toward the bar. Her long, auburn hair was currently thrust up into a ponytail by means of a conical, silver and ruby ornament which she had picked up in the Demon Realm as a gift from an admiring Lord. Ceri had checked it over before allowing her to wear it, but she had to admit that it was a gorgeous addition to a gorgeous woman. She suspected it was also a sneaky, indirect way of currying favour with the Overlord, and it had worked if only because she had gained some respect for that demon’s intelligence.

‘You’re looking happy, Shivika,’ Lily said, smiling at Ceri.

‘Where do you get these pet names from?’ Sasha asked. ‘What do you call Lily? Shek-something?’

‘Shekushka,’ Ceri replied. ‘It’s Devotik, demon language. It means “sweet little morsel.”’ And Ceri was not going to explain Shivika. Carter knew it meant ‘Mistress’ but he seemed sanguine about Lily using it since she did seem to be employing it more as a pet name than an honorific. ‘And I
am
happy, yes. Crazy as it sounds, this is relaxing. No need to think, no great responsibilities, just aching feet and happy customers.’

‘I can get behind that idea,’ Cheryl agreed. ‘Well, not the aching feet. I am taking the rest of the weekend off, now that you’ve supplied me with some able assistance.’

‘Going to Chilcomb?’ Lily asked.

‘The three of us are,’ Alec replied.

‘Alec will drive me back on Monday morning,’ Cheryl said, ‘but tomorrow it’s going to be a relaxing day with nothing to do but entertain my men.’

‘Which is an idea
I
can get behind,’ Carter stated, his lips shifting as he tried not to smirk excessively.

Ophelia walked back from her tables, put her tray down with several empty glasses and a pile of cash on it, and sighed. ‘I honestly never thought I’d be doing this, let alone enjoying it.’ Reaching her arms up over her head, she stretched languorously. A couple of wolf whistles sounded from various parts of the room. She grinned, but did not look around. ‘I definitely didn’t think I’d find a bunch of horny werewolves lusting after my body quite so tolerable.’

‘That was not just the wolves,’ Michael pointed out.

‘And we said you’d do well,’ Sasha pointed out. ‘You were all “I can’t do this” the first night and look at you now. I’m still not getting the reaction from the fae you do.’

Ophelia looked at the blonde thoughtfully for a second. ‘I think we need to get you a little glamour. Nothing too excessive; a little goes a long way. Just a little fae magic and they’ll be eating out of your hand. I’ll arrange something.’ She held up a hand, palm toward Sasha. ‘Freely given, no strings attached.’

Lily’s eyebrows went up. ‘Are you sure you’re Unseelie, Ophelia?’

The raven-haired Sidhe gave a shrug. ‘I’m a very modern Unseelie. Sasha takes my tables on my breaks. If my customers are happier with her, I get bigger tips. Besides, she’s cute.’

Sasha, used to compliments given her looks, actually blushed.

Kennington, March 31
^st
.

Michael sniffed at the large joint of meat, still on the bone, which had been placed in front of him. Sundays had changed a little since they had rather more people in the house. There was a dining table in the study so that everyone could sit around it, though Twill still preferred not to subject others to her eating habits, so she and Ishifa just had drinks. There were differences, and there were differences, however, and Michael was not entirely sure that roast demon meat was not a change too far.

‘What did you say it was called again?’ he asked.

‘tukta,’ Ceri replied.

‘Just try it,’ Lily suggested.

‘You know,’ he told them, ‘Twill does really amazing beef, and pork, and venison…’

‘Thank you, Michael,’ Twill said, ‘but try this. You never know, you might like it.’

Looking as though he was clearly about to be poisoned, the werewolf sank his teeth into the haunch, biting off a small chunk and then chewing for a second. His mouth stopped moving and his eyes widened.

‘Told you,’ Lily stated, grinning.

Michael swallowed; speaking with your mouth full in front of Twill was just asking for sarcasm. ‘I mean, it’s not Twill’s fae venison…’

‘That would be asking a lot,’ Ophelia commented as she started on her own plate of food.

‘Okay,’ Michael said, followed by another, far larger, bite.

‘Okay?’ Ceri asked.

Michael nodded, still chewing. ‘Okay,’ he said a second or two later, ‘if you really want me to go over there with Cheryl and Carter, I’ll go. Just…’

‘I’ll make sure they have some tukta in the larder,’ Ceri said, beaming.

~~~

Philip Rogers watched as his congregation filed out of St Marks, nodding to those he knew, smiling at those he did not. It was Easter Sunday, an important service, and there were far more there than usual. There had been something of an upturn in numbers recently, though he was not sure whether that was entirely a good thing.

First there had been the battles between opposing armies of angels during the Witch Hunter business. He had been a little more involved in that than he might have liked after Doctor Brent asked for his help. A few of his parishioners knew about that and they seemed to approve. Then there had been several very violent Samhains culminating in the fall of the dragons. Everyone
knew
that the supernatural was real; they could turn on the TV or read the newspapers to see it reported, but the last year or so had really thrust it into people’s faces. Many had become more… spiritual as a result.

Of course, there were many who had become more interested in magic. Rogers had heard rumours that demon and devil worship had increased in some areas. Some had turned to spiritualism and there was a roaring trade in mediums, both real and fake. Some, however, had seen angels on the news and taken it as a sign that God was real. For a man who believed in faith, they were not quite what he wanted to see. They had what they thought was
knowledge,
not faith. It was not quite the same.

With the last person gone, Rogers turned and walked back into the church, closing and locking the door behind him. He was walking down the aisle toward the vestry when he spotted someone still sitting among the pews.

It was no one Rogers recognised. He looked young, well-built, attractive in a slightly unkempt way, and healthy, but his expression suggested pain or sickness. He sat, almost sprawled, on the narrow seat with his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his head rolled forward.

‘I’m afraid I have to lock up for the night,’ Rogers said.

The young man looked up. His eyes were a startling blue and filled with such incredible pain that the vicar took an involuntary step back.

‘I… fell,’ the man said. ‘The pain…’

‘There’s a hospital close by…’

‘They can’t help me, Philip. I came here to be forgiven. I know not what for, but… Even here His voice is silent.’

Rogers swallowed.
He fell…
‘What is your name?’

‘Jehoel. Or that was my name. Now… I can’t hear Him. Why, Philip? Why can’t I hear him?’

Rogers looked at the man. He was either what he claimed to be, or he was insane, and there was probably only one person who could resolve it one way or the other quickly.

‘Let me get changed,’ the vicar said, ‘and I’ll take you to someone who might be able to help.’

~~~

Ceri had not been one of the people who turned to religion after the fall of the dragons, so when she opened the front door of High Towers and found the local vicar standing there supporting a handsome young man in faded jeans and a T-shirt, she was a little surprised.

‘Philip,’ Ceri said, recovering quickly and putting a pleased-but-surprised tone in her voice. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

‘Uh… sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but… This is Jehoel and he thinks he’s a fallen angel.’ Rogers was looking apologetic.

Ceri frowned, blinking her Sight on. The man calling himself Jehoel was solid enough, and that was unusual for an angelos, but he had an energy core around his soul bridge and his medians were all wrong. Whatever he was, he was not human.