The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (18 page)

She was wearing a white blouse, light blue
jacket and skirt. Her hair, normally buoyant and full hung loose at
her shoulders. Then Karen saw the dark rings under her eyes.

“You look tired.” Cawood leaned forward as
Juanita dropped into the chair.

“Of course I’m tired! I didn’t sleep a wink.”
The Mormon’s white teeth flashed angrily.

“What’s wrong?”

“I went by your place last night.” Juanita
crossed her legs and arms angrily. “And called until two.”

“Oh, I was out late.” She saw the Mormon’s
eyes glare. “At the office. Here.”

“Stop lying.” Juanita’s accent grew with her
anger. “You were not here either. I live in the Tower too,
remember?”

“I—did you come by here?” Cawood looked
around the room, rose weakly to her feet. “You must have missed
me.”

“And did security miss you too?” Juanita’s
voice grew louder. “Just stop lying to me, Karen.” Her anger
softened momentarily. “Are you in trouble?”

“No.” Sister Cawood moved shakily around her
desk to lean in front of the Mormon. “No. I’m not in trouble. Are
you
okay?”

“
Am I okay
? I wait up all night
worried about you, and that’s all you have to say!”

“Well.” Cawood cautiously moved forward, her
peripheral vision on the door. “I want to know.”

“Yes, I’m okay.” Juanita looked up at her, by
her posture Cawood knew she wanted to be held. “Whatever that means
to you. I guess you’re in love.”

“In love?” Cawood’s head spun—
vertigo
!
She wrestled with nausea. “I thought we talked about…”

“Not with
me
.” Juanita stood up now
and moved close. “With someone else.”

“What?” The nun lowered her voice, and hoped
Juanita would do the same. “In love?” she whispered, shaking her
head.

“Whoever you spent last night with.”
Juanita’s eyes flashed. “And who you’re lying for now!”

Cawood struggled to maintain her composure as
memories of the night before convulsed in her. The floor felt
flimsy beneath her—she steadied herself against the desk.

“I’m not in love.” She recognized Juanita’s
crestfallen look. “With anyone
else
.” Then under her breath
she said, “But I shouldn’t,
we
shouldn’t have to report to
each other.”

“But if we are friends first, then what could
it hurt.” Juanita’s look was penetrating. “You’re blushing. I knew
it!”

Cawood stepped in closer. Part of her was
becoming insanely, obscenely aroused by Juanita’s perfume. It was
the hangover—all those toxins cleansing out…and Juanita smelling,
being so fresh and close. She whispered into the Mormon’s ear. “We
stopped being friends first when we started being lovers.”

Immediately, Juanita’s voice softened. “Then
what is it that you cannot tell a lover? We always speak from the
heart. That is…” She looked to the door and whispered, “Why I love
you.”

Cawood shrugged. She knew it would look like
reluctance to Juanita, but it was guilt crushing her down. “I’ll
tell you then. But only because of what we have.” She clasped
Juanita’s soft hand and dropped it. “I was with Able.”

Juanita scowled. “With?” Then the idea became
ridiculous to her. But the implausibility of a physical liaison
with the minister did not diminish her jealousy. “What then, what
were you up all night with Able for?”

“He—you have to swear you won’t speak of
this.” Cawood felt more guilt twist her guts as Juanita nodded
innocently and crossed her heart. “Able saw another Angel.”

“Another Angel?” Juanita’s lips almost broke
into a smile. “Oh no.”

Cawood knew that everyone in the Tower knew
of Able’s first vision of an Angel and resulting redemption. The
revelation had inspired the building of Archangel after all. But
everyone Cawood knew had taken the vision as a psychological
occurrence—a vision inspired by the minister’s potent but guilty
mind. No one thought it was an actual visitation.

“Why would he see an Angel?” The Mormon was
puzzled. “What has he done this time?”

“Oh, this one. I don’t know. He claims the
Angel came to him with a new mission.” Cawood felt unsteady and
needed the support of her desk again.

“What mission?” Juanita stepped forward
yearning for closeness. “A mission from—
God
?”

“That’s what I took it to be.” Now that they
were so close Cawood yearned for the comfort of the Mormon’s
embrace. For a second she wanted to confess the truth.
I’m a
whore
! But their connection was a sin already—the new filth was
tantalizing.

“What mission?” Juanita was struggling with
some inner joke.

“He said. Well...” She reached out to caress
the Mormon’s shoulder. “It was something about redeeming an
Angel.”

“Redeeming an Angel.” Juanita frowned now,
though humor still twinkled in her eyes. “A
fallen
Angel?”

Cawood shrugged and nodded, hesitant to take
further part in this betrayal of confidence.

“Not Satan?” Juanita closed her lips and then
let go with a great ring of laughter. She bent over, resting her
hands on Cawood’s shoulders. “Satan?” She laughed again, this time
Cawood couldn’t resist. Such a weight of guilt was upon her that
the absurdity of Able’s concerns grew ludicrous.

“Redeem the Devil himself…” Juanita’s smile
was wide. “Oh, that Able he does fancy himself a handy servant of
God All Mighty.”

Chuckling, the nun pressed a hand over
Juanita’s lips. “Hush…don’t say Satan!” They both giggled.

“Well who else would it be, Karen? The good
Lord wouldn’t waste Able Stoneworthy’s time with anything
less.”

Again the pair of them curled over with
laughter. Tears of shame burning in her eyes, Cawood broke into
giggles. “Tomorrow morning!”

They both started laughing uncontrollably
again.

“Around eleven...”

They were overwhelmed and collapsed into each
other’s arms. They continued like this for some time, Cawood
immersing herself in the release.

A quiet knocking on the office door
interrupted them. The nun straightened up. “Yes. Come in
please.”

Jane’s broad-cheeked face came in the opening
door. She smiled apologetically then stepped into the room
smoothing her tasteful skirt and jacket. “Excuse the interruption,
Sister.”

Cawood wiped at her eyes nodding. “That’s
fine Jane, how can I help you?”

“Excuse me, Sister Powell. I didn’t hear you
enter.” She looked politely back to Sister Cawood. “I didn’t like
the look of Sister Cawood this morning, and with her having to nap
earlier on…and with the sounds in here, I thought she might have
taken a turn for the worse.” She smiled hesitantly.

“Thanks Jane.” Cawood walked away from
Juanita and back to her chair. “I feel much better from my nap.
Sister Powell and I were reliving our times at the mission at the
Mexican Crater.”

“Oh.” Jane smiled at Juanita. “It is nice to
have friendship when the spirits are low,” she said now directly to
Juanita, “Our Sister Cawood has not been herself lately.”

The Mormon smiled at Cawood and then joined
Jane at the door. “Don’t you worry.” She slid a reassuring hand
over the secretary’s shoulder. “We’ll both keep a close eye on
her.” She looked back at Karen. “She’s doing important work! All
that divinity is wearing on a mortal.” Juanita winked and smiled.
Cawood’s guilt was now firmly back in place and held there by
Jane’s Catholic concern.

“I’ll drop into your office later.” The nun
smiled in a knowing way and nodded.

“You will.” Juanita nodded slowly and then
smiled at the secretary before leaving.

Cawood looked at Jane and tried to cover her
shame with words. “I want to thank you for looking out for me also.
I’ve been involved in a project of some importance.”

“With Reverend Stoneworthy!” Passion leapt
into Jane’s eyes.

“Yes.”

“I knew it.” Jane took two steps in. It was
now that Cawood noticed her secretary held an envelope in her
hands. “I can always tell.” Jane looked to the ceiling, color
coming into her cheeks. “Reverend Stoneworthy is such a passionate
fellow.” She hugged her hands to her bosom as she entertained a
secret notion. “He is such an inspiring man; don’t you think he
would have made a great Catholic?”

“He is a great friend to us,” Cawood said and
nodded.

“I like to watch him. When I can. His face. I
imagine, it’s the way, well forgive me, but it’s a
saintly
face.” Jane’s eyes moistened with sorrow or lust. “And I like to
watch what goes on behind it. He’s such a godly man. Seeing him I
know there is hope for us.”

“Of course there is.” Cawood dropped into her
seat. “While there are people like Able around.”

“Indeed. And your own good work, Sister,”
Jane said. “Though he’s working you to death with his project I’d
say…” Then she lifted the envelope in her hand. “Oh, I’d almost
forgotten.” She walked toward the desk. “I’m unfamiliar with the
return address but a courier dropped it by just moments ago. I
didn’t want to disturb you with it, since you were poorly.” She
squinted her eyes at the writing on the envelope as she paused
before Cawood’s desk. “I don’t know it. The address. And the
name...” She slid her glasses on and held it close. “Brother Raul,
it says.” Jane’s expression was thoughtful. “Dear, do you suppose
he’s a man of the cloth?”

Blood rushed in Cawood’s ears. Distantly she
heard Jane say, “My goodness! Oh, you look terrible I’ll go get
water.”

Cawood gasped for breath against the rising
tide of darkness.

25 – Special Arrangement

Balg kept a lot of skulls in his office, and
the majority of them were human. There were horned and fanged
versions of exotic or otherworldly shape, but there was no doubt
that human skulls were the Demon’s favorite. Skulls decorated the
ends of table legs, served as decanters for liquor, and crowned the
backs of the large wide chairs that sat on either side of the desk.
Smoke issued from the eyes of a particularly large cranium that
Balg used as an ashtray. A long brown Cuban cigar was thrust like a
spear through a ragged hole in the temple.

The Demon grinned at Felon with carnivore
teeth. Moments before, Passport led the assassin up the stairs they
had used to reach the Games Room and over an open companionway to a
door facing the stern. The Demon’s assistant held it open for him,
and then left. Balg was waiting.

The Demon was dressed in a dark purple silk
tuxedo. His horns were more pronounced than on the last occasion
they met, and his nose seemed wider, more goat-like. The room
itself was alternately shadowed and lit by numerous thick candles,
giving it a murky quality that made discernment of the actual decor
difficult. As the candles flickered, shapes would appear from the
gloom: an ancient bust of a long dead Roman senator, and the face
on a forgotten Rembrandt emerged from the deep dark shadow. The
desk itself was massive, carved from a single chunk of some extinct
species of tight-grained black wood.

“Felon.” The Demon rose, flexing inhumanly
broad shoulders. “Sorry I’m late. Success sucks. I’m always fucking
working.” His eyes glowed momentarily. “Let me start by
complimenting you on the professional job you worked on Stahn.” He
clapped his taloned hands. “You are an artist. Honestly. A fucking
artist. Please, please! Sit down.” The Demon gestured to the chair
opposite his.

Felon took the seat, half-turned, keeping his
peripheral vision on the door.

The Demon pointed to a large leather sack on
the floor beside his desk. “Your payment and a bonus too, for
carrying out your orders so fucking perfectly.” When Felon’s
expression failed to change, or carry anything, Balg’s face
drooped, and then flashed again into a hungry smile.

“I’m sorry I’m doing things this way. I know
you don’t like surprises.” Balg dropped back into his chair.

Felon’s mind worked on a theme. Both Balg and
Passport were using the word ‘surprise’ with a frequency worth
notice. Something was up.

The Demon continued, “I have something I
would like to discuss with you, and since you are not in the habit
of expressing gratitude with a friendly visit, I thought it would
be wise to entice you to drop in by other means. I want to talk to
you about killing an Angel.”

Felon scowled, his eyes shifting to the
shadowed corners of the room.

“I just got back from a big meeting that I
engineered myself, and claim full credit...” The Demon smiled
wickedly across the desk, his pleasure evident. “As you know, the
world has slowly divided into camps since the Change began. Groups
of powerful beings, and families, organizations acting in
cooperation with groups of influential humans: this that, it’s
complicated. Deals are being made anyway.” His face fell into mock
pathos. “And the killing, Felon—the killing…it has got to stop.”
Balg’s eyes twinkled with crocodile tears.

Felon eyed the Demon.

Balg’s face flushed suddenly. “Like that
fucker Stahn!” The Demon grimaced. “I guess that’s funny now that
he ain’t fucking no more. But Stahn didn’t follow the rules. We had
a deal, me and Stahn. What did he do?” The Demon laughed. “But I
didn’t bring you here to talk about family.” Balg snatched up his
cigar, snapped it between his teeth and dropped back into his
chair. He puffed away, glowing eyes studying the assassin. Mirth
and anger flickered about his bestial features.

Felon watched the Demon in turn. He had long
ago stopped trying to read their inner workings by their
expressions. His greatest defense came from careful study of their
body language and posture.

Again, a tiger’s smile crossed the Demon’s
face. His eyes glimmered with power. He laughed, powerful fingers
pantomiming a piano in front of him. “You are a joy to watch, dear
Felon—
inscrutable
Felon. You are buried fucking deep, and
yet you give yourself away at times. Control fellow.
Control
. You hate too hard!” Balg straightened his muscular
form and took a long pull on his cigar.