The Devil You Know (16 page)

“Why is Gabriel interested in Vivian?”

But with one thrust, the angel had managed to push the rod of metal further into his stomach. I sensed the exact moment when his heart burst from the impact. A freshet of blue blood gusted over the angel’s pale lips, then he shook all over and lay still. The hand I held began to soften. I let it go and stood back, watching as the angel’s body charred and disintegrated in fast forward, even as the blood spattered on the floor. Within seconds, all I had was a microphone stand lying in a pile of dust—dust that was even now beginning to stir, it was so fine. I knew that within minutes that too would vanish so that no trace of the angel was left behind.

I sat on the floor and tried to recover. I found one more cigarette in the crumpled pack in my jacket. I lit it.

Heaven had closed its doors. There was no more Grace, no more forgiveness for sin. The angels were able to hunt my kind with impunity. Hell, the angels could hunt human beings without repercussions. God had stepped down and left us to our own devices. That meant the earth was finally, truly, a battleground between angels, demons, humans and those like myself and Vivian who walked between the worlds.

Well, fuck.

I made it backstage to the dressing room in record time. In a shitty little honky-tonk like this, that meant a little area partitioned off with crates that was part of the larger storage area for the bar’s liquor. A single naked bulb illuminated the cramped little room where some amps, guitars, and one of those cheap rollout sofas filled the space. All the comforts of home.

Josh Summers stood by the back door with a guitar case in one hand and a leash in the other. No suitcase or gym bag for his clothes. Good to know the guy had his priorities straight. The leash he held was attached to an absolutely humongous Rottweiler who sat on the floor, panting his guts out. Lovely. I wasn’t exactly on the top of the Christmas card list when it came to animals.

I stopped within twenty feet of Josh. The dog had stood up and begun belly growling at me.

“Easy, Tiger,” Josh said.

Had he really named a Rottweiler
Tiger
?

“Who are you?” Josh said. I noticed he didn’t mention if Tiger would attack me or not. I stayed put anyway. In my present hurty state, I was in no mood to wrestle a Rottweiler.

“Your sister Vivian sent me,” I told him, sounding hoarser than I’d expected. I didn’t like the way my mouth felt swollen and full of blood. I moved my hand around under my coat, pressing against various bad places, hoping my magic would hurry up and heal me already. I thought about saying “You’re in trouble. Some bad guys are after you,” but then realized that Josh would expect clarification on that point. Instead, I decided to act on my instincts and said, “Josh, your sister is in trouble.”

Josh shook his head. “Why didn’t she call me?”

“She didn’t want you involved.”

“And you do?”

“You need to know what’s going on,” I said to deflect him. “And we need to get out of here
now
.” With the second angel dead—who, it appeared, was the magic wielder—the spell that held the timelock was going to start unraveling. Fast. When a timelock spell starts to do that, it means the magician who laid the spell—in this case, the Cherub—is dead. That’s significant because when an angel dies, it creates a kind of sonic pulse. Other angels can sense that pulse and they usually waste no time investigating. Hope you’re following me so far.

What all this means in layman’s speech is that in about five minutes we were all going to be ass-deep in angels. Angry angels. A Host of them. With Dominion to kill whoever they wanted to, if what the dead angel had said to me was true.

Mostly, that meant me.

“It sounded like a bar fight going on out there,” Josh said.

“It was,” I said. “Outside, now!”

Josh started to move, thankfully. He led Tiger out to the alley behind the bar. I followed, trying to maintain dodging space between me and Tiger, who had started growling again.

“Tiger, stop,” Josh said, sounding uncomfortable. I know he was wondering if letting Tiger at me wasn’t a good idea.

“My car is this way. We’ve got to get out of here before . . . police arrive.”

I mean, it wasn’t entirely a lie.

I hurried down an alley toward the street. Josh followed me to my car, Tiger piloting him on. “Are you going to take me to Vivian? How do you know her?” he asked.

I stopped and turned to face Josh. Tiger backed up so he was wedged between Josh’s knees. He was still growling at me, and I knew we were going to have to work on our relationship some. “When Vivian was eighteen she told you she accidently killed her boyfriend Mitchell,” I said, hedging on the bet that Vivian and Josh were close, really close, the way brothers and sisters should be. According to the report I’d read, Josh had taken care of Vivian all the way up until he’d lost his vision. “She still deals with the guilt of that every single day.”

Josh paled but I could see that what I had said was true. “You really know Vivian,” he finally said.

“Yeah, Josh, and she needs you right now. Badly.”

Down the alley I saw a shimmer of bright lights. I knew what that meant. A door was opening. Through the almost blinding luminescence I could see tall creature-things emerging. A lot of them. With faintly glowing eyes. Shit. Things had just gone from
bad
to
get the fuck out of Dodge
. Immediately, Tiger began growling again. He didn’t like the agents of the Throne any more than I did. Good boy!

“Please get in the car,” I said, running around the front end of the car and jerking open the driver’s side. A few seconds later the car rocked as Josh let Tiger in the backseat. Then he jerked the passenger side open and slid inside next to me.

I started the car, hoping Tiger was properly car-trained. I checked my rearview mirror, flinching at the scary, glowy things there, then stomped the gas and tore out into the street. The last things I needed were angels on my ass and a giant dog pissing all over my upholstery.

On the way back to Blackwater I got to know Josh Summers better.
He was actually a pretty cool guy. He’d seen all kinds of front-line combat in the Marines. Definitely a fighting man—a man after my own heart. Some Al-Qaida extremists had driven a truck loaded with explosives into the US Marine Corps headquarters in Afghanistan. It had exploded with the force of twelve-thousand pounds of TNT, killing over fifty of Josh’s fellow Marines and injuring over a hundred more of them. Josh had been among the injured. The Marines gave Josh a Medal of Valor and sent him home. Vivian took care of him until he could function on his own again. Now it was him, Tiger, and his steel guitar most nights, he said.

It occurred to me that for a guy who’d had his entire life screwed up by religious extremists, he was in pretty good spirits. “How do you deal with something like that?” I mused. “I’d be mad as hell.”

“Mad at the guys who blew up the base?” Josh said with genuine interest. “The whole cell died, Nick. There’s no one left alive to be mad at.”

“I mean, it doesn’t seem fair. So fucking useless that something like that should happen at all.”

“Oh I was pissed, believe me. But then I got over it.” He dug a small silver cross out of his shirt. It glinted in the lights of the parkway and pretty much guaranteed that we’d never have a date. “He helped me get through it. Him and Vivian.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t believe.”

“Let’s just say God and I aren’t on speaking terms at present.”

“You lost someone,” he said, and tucked the cross away.

My jaw hurt where I was clenching it. “He lets a lot of shit go on that shouldn’t go on.”

“Like He should be cleaning up all our messes? I mean, we’re not children, Nick.”

Were we really having a theological debate in the middle of the Pennsylvania Turnpike? Jesus. “You’re like some kind of country western song,” I said as I worked on sticking paper napkins from Dairy Queen up my bleeding nose. I’d meant it as a compliment. “Like something George Jones would sing about.”

“How old are you?” he asked. “Everyone listens to Keith Urban now.”

“I remember Lynyrd Skynyrd. And hair metal. I have no idea who Keith Urban is.”

Josh grinned. “What the hell is my sister doing with an old, cynical fart like you?”

“We have some common interests.”

“Not music, obviously. My sister likes pop. Pussycat Dolls, Lady Gaga, that type of thing.”

“The chick with the weird hair.”

“The chick with the weird hair, yeah.”

“And that’s why you play Robert Johnson covers.”

“Touché.” He looked at me then. “You’re a salty one. No wonder my sister likes you. She doesn’t usually date guys unless they’re a
challenge
.” He got serious then and turned his head to face the road. “What kind of trouble is she in now?”

I thought about what I could tell him. Not the truth, obviously. I didn’t foresee that going over well. So I settled on the facts as the police knew them. And on my suspicions that someone from Vivian’s past might be involved.

Josh was quiet a long time. I watched the night-lights of the turnpike flicker over his face through the windshield. In the backseat, Tiger whined. “Jesus. They gonna convict her?” he finally asked when he had pulled himself together sufficiently.

“Not if I can help it. But Vivian needs you. She wants to see you.”

I saw Josh press his lips together. Adopted siblings can be closer than blood relations, mostly because they choose to be close. “Can we pull over at a rest stop? Tiger needs to pee. And so do I.”

I knew there were no rest stops on this particular stretch of highway, so I pulled into the first available all-night Kwik Fill. Josh got out and let Tiger pee at the edge of the parking lot. He then got a bright blue doggie apron out of his guitar case and slid it over Tiger’s back. The apron had big white letters on it that read
Guide Dog: Please
D
on’t
P
et
M
e – I’m
W
orking
. He then went inside to use the john. I followed him in. The counter girl gave the two of them a disapproving look before spotting the apron.

While Josh was taking care of his business, I collected some sodas from the refrigerated section of the store, then picked up some Halloween Tastykakes. As an afterthought, I also picked up some Beggin’ Strips for Tiger. I took my purchases to the counter and yawned while I was paying for them. It occurred to me that I hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. I probably looked like shit dragged behind a bus. Thankfully, all the damage the angels had dealt me had been to my belly and ribs under my jacket. My nose had stopped bleeding five miles back. I looked like hell, when I thought to check in the security camera above the counter—paler than usual, with dark rings under my eyes like some strung-out meth addict—but not so frightful that the college-age cashier should run off shrieking into the night. I hoped.

She gave me a pitying look as she handed me a new pack of Camels and my change. “Rough night?” she said.

I scratched at my beard. “Rough life. The whole world’s going to hell.”

“I know what you mean,” she said to be friendly. She shook her head and popped her gum. “I wonder when the President is going to turn this country around.”

I shrugged and left the store.