'Tween Heaven and Hell (18 page)

Chapter
Sixteen

Now, About that Prince?

When one is thought to have no soul, how does his soul
distress?

With slings and arrows fit for kings, young princes
can be pressed.

When I got to my office the next morning, Emo wasn’t there.
I was a little concerned about this, but not overly anxious, because I knew my
partner well enough to know he would deal with his pain in his own way and in
his own time. He would come to me when he was ready.

I flung my coat into its usual resting place and sat down
behind an overflowing desk. Basically, because of all of my comings and goings
with devils, demons and Angel Councils, I hadn’t had time to go through my
paper correspondence for several days. I gave a self-pitying sigh and started
plowing through it with vengeance. A few hours later, I uncovered a large
package from a dead guy. Deaver had evidently requested something to be sent to
me upon his death.

I opened the fat, yellow envelope and pulled out a thick
sheaf of papers. On the top was a letter.

Dear Mx. Phelps,

If you are reading this letter I am dead. I am sure you
have figured out that I did not die of natural causes. For the last several
weeks, my life has not been my own. I am caught up in a galactic mess of a
situation that has the extreme possibility of changing the course and future of
the human race. I am at a loss, which is why I’ve called on you. Nothing in my
experience has prepared me for the predicament I have found myself in.

First of all, let me tell you that there is no Advocate.
I told you that to get you to help me. I have been stung instead by my
inclinations toward making an unholy alliance. The devil I mentioned to you
when we spoke does exist. He and his kind have allowed me to live in the Church
if I would help them when they required it. At first their needs were small.
They asked for particular pieces of personal information about my cult members
and I, admittedly knowing the black marks against my soul this cooperation
would cause, gave it to them because I lusted for the power they allowed me
through their support.

But now, they have asked me for more than I can provide.
They have brought a young man here and imprisoned him in the church tower. He
is very young and frightened and I fear for his life. We have spent time
talking when his captors were not around. He has told me that he was betrayed
and that the royal court plans to destroy his soul in retaliation for something
of which he is only dimly aware. Either he is genuinely unaware or reluctant to
tell me. I am planning to find a way to release him at the earliest
opportunity, but he is imprisoned inside a circle of crosses that have been
touched by royal powers. His prison is secure.

I have been studying their ways and powers in an attempt
to learn how to breach the prison and I think I’ve made a breakthrough. But
lately I have felt an evil aura in the air around me and the one who brought
the young prince to me has looked at me with a new coldness in his terrifying
eyes. I begin to fear for my life. I need your help.

If I have been killed, you must find the young prince and
release him for me. You are his last hope. Save him for me and maybe my soul
will rest, despite my godless treacheries.

I have enclosed the name of my personal assistant. She
has probably gone underground and you will have trouble finding her because she
will be spooked by my death. She can help you. You must find her.

Also, enclosed in this packet is a check for your
services. It is everything I have and is nothing compared to what my deeds have
cost others. But I am trusting your good reputation as an honest creature to
take the funds and perform the task I have requested. Please don’t fail me, I
beg you.

Someone comes.

In Him,

Alexis Deaver, Cultist

I dropped the letter on top of the other papers and put my
weary head in my hands. Could this case get any more complicated? Now I was
being hired by a dead guy to find some devil prince who was presumably Nerul’s
son and who had apparently been imprisoned at the church by Dialle. I now had
several parties who were expecting me to find answers. But so far all I had
were questions.

Where was this young prince now? Had he escaped? Was he
still in his prison in the tower at the Church of the Twined Hands? Or had he
been sprung from there the night Deaver was killed? Why hadn’t I pursued a
career as a hair stylist?

Let’s see, I now had three clients on this case, all wanting
me to represent their individual interests, all opposing in nature. How was I
doin’? How could I win this one? The short answer was, there was no frunkin’
way.

“Okay,” I said to myself as I felt desperation taking over,
“I need a plan.” I placed my palm over the Identi-pad on my information unit
and it hissed to life. Standing up to pace, I started dictating. When I was
done about thirty minutes later I had something to start with and felt better.

My first task was to try to locate the assistant. With that
goal in mind I turned to my televisual and said, “Transmission. DD Raoul.” A
few seconds later, his dark, exhausted face swam into view on the screen.

“Pretty Astra. You’re sure a crashin’ lot better to look at
than these holograms of last night’s victims I’ve been starin’ at all day.”

I smiled at him and, as usual, my heart went out to him. He
was a good man with a really terrible job and he did it with as much class and
passion as he could muster up. “Please tell me you haven’t had any more trouble
with the you-know-whats that you and I discussed at the Church of the Twined
Hands last week.”

His face crumpled into a frown. “Unfortunately, yes. I
have.”

I allowed an eyebrow to peak in surprise. “You want to
meet?”

His frown smoothed into a smile. “Always. Where and when?”

“How about midnight, at Darla’s?”

“Darla’s it is. I’m lookin’ forward to it, Astra. You’ll
never know how much.”

He faded away on a sad smile. I walked away from the blank
screen and grabbed my coat. If I was going to meet Raoul at Darla’s at
midnight, I had plenty of time to visit the church before going home to change.
I figured I had to at least check out the prison in the tower Deaver had
written about. I was pretty sure Prince Nille wouldn’t be there, but maybe I’d
find something that would lead me to him.

I had the door open but didn’t quite make it out before Myra
shimmered into the room. I bit back my impatience and closed the door again.
“Hey, angel. What’s flyin’?”

Myra lifted an eyebrow at me and turned away. “Coffee. Your
office.”

I bit back a snarl and moved into the tiny food service area
that I had installed in a windowless corner of the office. Moving quickly, I
punched in an order for one cup of strong, black coffee and carried it to her.
To show her that I was in a hurry I didn’t sit down behind my desk. I hovered
near the door and watched her sip the coffee and then close her eyes on a
satisfied sigh. “I’d almost go to hell for coffee.” Her eyes flew open as she
realized what she’d said. She raised the almond shaped blue orbs toward the sky
and murmured quickly, “Just a figure of speech of course, no blasphemy
intended.”

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and scowled
at her. “I was just heading out, Myra. What did you need?”

She ignored me as she took another sip. Finally she looked
up at me and smiled. I felt my skin crawl. “I know I don’t want to hear this.”

She laughed. “You’re always so cynical, it isn’t one of your
more attractive traits.”

“Bite me.”

Myra’s smile faded a bit but her eyes sparkled. She loved to
irritate me and she was so good at it.

“Well?” I tapped my foot and glared at her. She didn’t seem
to notice.

“Well, what?”

“Dammit, Myra!”

She stood up and set down the coffee cup reluctantly. Then
she moved toward me with a smile. “I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

I felt my blood turn cold. “Fetch me?”

“Yes.” She reached for me and I jumped away. “I don’t want
to be fetched right now, I have work to do.”

Myra stood glaring at me with her hands on her hips. She
reminded me of my mother. I half expected her to use my full name in that way
that told me I was in deep shit. “I see. Well in that case.” She shimmered
away.

I stood there staring into space for a minute, feeling a bit
guilty to tell the truth. And then shrugged and turned toward the door. I ran smack
into my angel. She giggled, placed her hand on my head and I immediately felt
myself being shimmered toward that light again. The worst part of it was that,
since I couldn’t move, I spent the entire time it took to shimmer into council
chambers staring in stupid surprise at my sneaky damn angel.

When we met the light and I could speak again, I let loose a
string of foul curses that would have embarrassed even the tacky, degenerate
company I usually find myself keeping. After one particularly unfortunate
string of obscenities, Myra, scowling, asked me if I was finished.

“I’ll tell you when I’m finished, you sneaky, damnable,
slithering demon from the wrong side of the spiritual tracks…” I stopped when
my angel cast her eyes meaningfully toward the front of the room, where I
finally realized the entire council waited, with celestial mouths hanging open,
to provide me audience. I swallowed the rest of my dialogue and tried a weak
smile. “Hey.”

The High Council stood and nodded at Myra, who swung
haughtily away from me and floated, yes floated, toward her seat at the council
table.

“Mx. Phelps. I want to thank you. The council has very much
appreciated your impromptu, little lesson in gutter language. It isn’t often
that we hear words of such color in these chambers.”

I tried a weak laugh that was strangled off by his dark
glare. “Sorry, sir. But I do have a life and I deeply resent being pulled here
on a whim.”

His scowl deepened. “A whim, Mx. Phelps? This council does
not function on whims. You will just have to resign yourself to the fact that
you have been called into our service and nothing you do from this point on
will be entirely your choice. You cannot hope, with your low and I do mean low,
Mx. Phelps, status, to know more about how these things should be handled than
does the Angel Council. The idea is preposterous and borders on sacrilege. Do I
make myself clear?”

My teeth were grinding together so hard that I thought I’d
have to gum my dinner that night, but, political creature that I am, I simply scowled
at him and nodded.

He heaved a sigh and lowered himself back into his gilded
chair. “Good. Then let us continue. What have you learned?”

I took him through the adventure at Nerul’s court, leaving
out most of the details on my growing powers and my discovery that Emo was a
disenfranchised royal. I figured old High and Mighty could find those things
out for himself since he appeared to think he was so special! Okay, it was
childish but, Hades, it was all I had at the moment.

I informed them of the letter from Deaver and was surprised
to note that they didn’t look surprised. I felt my blood pressure rising at the
High Council’s unwaveringly, blank expression. As I finished up by relating my
intended plans for the evening,
before
I had been so rudely interrupted.
I looked at him with what I hoped was an accusatory expression. “You knew about
the Prince being held at the Church.”

His HighCouncilness stared at me for a long time. He
appeared to be weighing the possibility of not telling me anything. But apparently
he wasn’t ready for Advanced Gutter Language 201 at the Phelps University.
“Yes. We have followed the developments in this war very closely since Nerul
was evicted from the court of Dialle the First some two thousand years ago.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you already know
everything you’ve dragged me here to report?”

The High Council shook his head sadly. “Alas, no, Mx.
Phelps. We followed the abduction of Prince Nille by Princess Rayanne, but we
have lost his trail. We need your help to find him.”

“Why?”

He cocked his head at me and frowned. “Why, Mx. Phelps? Do
you question our intentions?”

“Yeah. I question your intentions. Why do you care what
happens to the evil progeny of a monster like Nerul?”

A collective gasp rose from the council table. My angel
stood up and focused her most forbidding scowl on me. “Astra! Hold your
tongue.”

The High Council raised a hand to Myra. “Sit down, Myra.
I’ll overlook her impertinence because I recognize that she has been put into a
difficult spot.”

“Difficult would be a vacation.” I know I should have held
my tongue but, well, you probably have me figured out by now.

The High Council shook his head and looked at his nearly
glowing, cappuccino-colored hands for a long moment before speaking. When he
raised his head I was surprised to see a sparkle dancing in the brown of his
gaze. “Mx. Phelps, you really should make more of an effort to hold your devil
in check, especially while in these chambers.”

I thought about that for a second and then nodded. Even I
could agree with that.

The High Council stood and floated around to me, motioning
as he rose for the rest of the council to stay seated. He stopped in front of
me and looked down into my eyes. His voice, insinuating as always, deepened as
he lowered it to speak only to me. “I cannot explain, Tweener Phelps, why the
council has taken a special interest in this young devil. You must trust that
we have good reason to want him found. All is not as it seems in this
situation.”

“That’s an understatement of galactic proportions.”

He nodded. “I will tell you this. Your friends in this are
not necessarily your friends and your enemies may not be what they appear.”