Читать книгу Death Sword - Pamela Turner - Страница 10

5

Samael hated her. Karla refused to believe otherwise. Yesterday she had stood at attention for almost four hours. Today she tried to control an energetic hellhound bent on wreaking havoc in Old Louisville’s Central Park.

The leather leash chaffed her palms as Black Shuck tore across the grass, pulling his lead taut and yanking Karla off her feet.

“Take Black Shuck for his daily walk,” Samael had ordered before teleporting them. Karla gave a silent prayer of thanks the park was empty this early morning. She didn’t relish the idea of starting a panic riot.

“Black Shuck, heel.” The recalcitrant canine ignored her. Karla’s arm muscles ached and burned. Tendons, pulled tight, teetered on the verge of snapping. If her arms weren’t wrenched from their sockets, it would be a miracle.

Black Shuck slowed and snuffled around a large oak. Karla shuddered. No way she’d clean up his mess, park rules be damned.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, tugging on Black Shuck’s tether as he sniffed his prize.

“Can we go back?” She stifled a short laugh at the irony of her question.

Whoever said “You can’t go home again” was right. Sure, she could abandon Black Shuck, although she loathed the idea of unleashing a hellhound on an unsuspecting public, hop a Transit Authority of River City bus, go home, lock her doors, and forget this had ever happened. She’d continue living her mundane life and Xariel would have to find another half-human angel of death. Surely she wasn’t the only one. Not that she liked how Xariel, Metatron and Samael ordered her around as if she were a fresh-faced recruit. She didn’t remember volunteering to be an angel of death. Instead, she had been drafted and her former existence was being replaced by this new one.

She couldn’t deny she had changed, though, since the stabbing, had been transformed in some way. People didn’t undergo near-death occurrences without experiencing some psychological effects. It might be a renewed faith or an acceptance of the inevitable. Her experience had left her feeling detached, as if she were observing the world around her with someone else’s eyes. If asked to explain what she meant, she couldn’t, and that frustrated her.

Karla sighed as she looked at the amphitheatre where she and her friends watched Shakespeare in the Park during the summer. Who was she kidding? Even if she did escape, it’d be short-lived. Xariel and the others were angels. They would find her wherever she fled to, would hunt her down until she finally gave up. Whether she liked it or not, her fate seemed sealed.

She glanced down at Black Shuck. He gave her a dopey grin, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Karla rolled her eyes. Great. Like he’d care how she felt. Although the hellhound no longer growled at her, she didn’t want to spend any more time in his company than necessary.

Engrossed in her thoughts, she didn’t at first notice the smell of clove cigarettes. She looked up and choked back a gasp. Samael leaned against a pillar of the colonnade, arms crossed over his chest. The angel seemed impervious to the chilled air, dressed only in a Marilyn Manson t-shirt, black jeans and black boots. He frowned at her, a cigarette between his thin lips.

Karla released Black Shuck’s leash. He loped to Samael’s side and licked his master’s hand, tail thumping the hard ground.

Samael stroked the canine’s head. He turned to Karla. His piercing eyes unnerved her, made her feel like the proverbial bug in the bell jar. Although she tried, she couldn’t look away.

“Metatron told me you had different-colored eyes, one of an angel and one of a human.”

Karla shrugged.

“I can see why he wanted you. But why train you as an angel of death?” He gave her a disdainful look. “You’re not deserving of such a position and certainly not worthy to work under my command.”

“Not my idea. Metatron’s.” Karla swallowed, hoping Samael didn’t see through her false bravado. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans, heart trip-hammering in her chest.

“Metatron is used to getting what he wants. Fine. I’ll play his game.” He lifted a warning finger. “I’m your boss, not Metatron. You report to me. One mistake and there’ll be consequences.” He snatched Black Shuck’s leash from the ground. Both dog and angel vanished, leaving a thin trail of cigarette smoke in their wake.

Karla shuddered. She needed a shower. Samael’s derision seeped into every pore, defiling her. Even if she scrubbed her skin raw, she doubted she’d get rid of this feeling of unworthiness.

She staggered to a bench facing Fourth Street. A drink sounded good–something strong, with a burn.

Victorian and Italianate houses dominated the tree-lined street, serving as reminders of Old Louisville’s prosperous past. Where the three-story brick Victorians sported bay windows, high chimneys and decorative molding, the flat-roofed Italianate houses seemed more simple in design. Many of the buildings had been divided into apartments for University of Louisville students and local residents.

A southbound TARC bus rumbled to a stop, airbrakes hissing. Karla watched students board and regret gnawed at her. She’d planned to attend University of Louisville after finishing her two-year stint at the community college. No chance now.

“I hope Samael isn’t being too difficult.”

Karla turned to see Metatron sitting next to her. Dressed in Dockers and a University of Louisville Cardinals sweatshirt, he looked like a typical student rather than a supreme archangel.

“I’ll deal with him.”

Metatron crossed an ankle over his knee. “Of course. Don’t hesitate to let Xariel or me know if you need help.”

Karla nodded. She stared skyward, unsure of how to continue. “Look, I know I can’t change your mind about my being an angel of death, but...”

“What?”

Karla scraped soles against the cobblestones, gathering her thoughts. “Everything’s changing so fast. It’s confusing.”

“I see.” Metatron closed his eyes, arm resting across the top of the back of the bench. He seemed deep in thought. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. “I suppose it is a shock. My fault. I assumed your mother would tell you about your angelic heritage.”

Karla chewed on her lower lip, debating whether to ask the question that had bothered her ever since her encounter with Xariel. “Can you answer me something?”

“Sure.”

“Am I dead? I mean, really dead?” She gave an involuntary shudder. “Will I start rotting, that kind of thing?”

“No.” Metatron’s surprised look could have meant anything. Karla’s stomach tightened as she waited for the bad news. The pause which followed was only a few minutes, but felt like gut-wrenching hours. “Xariel didn’t tell you?”

“What?”

“He couldn’t bring you to me unless he released your angelic side.”

“Okay...” Metatron’s explanation was as clear as a quadratic equation, and she sucked at math.

“The stabbing served two purposes. One, it released your angelic side, which had remained dormant until now. Also, it allowed you to experience what it feels like to die.”

She wanted to say, “Geez, thanks,” but refrained. Couldn’t they have let her “die” in her sleep or something when she was old? “I still don’t understand why you’re so interested in me.”

Metatron smiled at her. “You’ll find out soon enough. Trust me, I know this all seems confusing, but there is a method to our apparent madness.”

“And I thought I was the mad one.” A tinge of bitterness undercut Karla’s retort. While Metatron’s evasive response annoyed her, getting angry about it wouldn’t change anything. No point in blaming him. If anyone were responsible for this mess, it was her mother. Not that Lisa had seemed interested in stepping up to her responsibilities. She’d abandoned Karla and her father shortly after Karla was born. For years, Karla believed it was because of her heterochromia iridium, that her mother was ashamed of her daughter’s different-colored eyes. Her father never confirmed nor denied her speculation. Either he hadn’t known or he wanted to spare her the truth. Now it was too late.

Had her dad known about Azazel? What was her real father like? Karla stared across the street, swinging her legs. She glanced at Metatron, but his eyes were closed and his head tilted back.

“Pretty unfair, isn’t it?” he asked after a few minutes, eyes still shut.

Had he read her mind? Karla stared at him. If so, it explained how Xariel had known about her escape. “Yeah,” she admitted.

“You’re upset.”

“No, not really,” she hedged. “I guess I’d like some say in this, but I’m trying to deal with it.”

Metatron nodded. “Good. The more you resist fate, the more it will ensnare you.”

“You mean like Oedipus Rex?”

“Exactly.” He opened his eyes and turned to her. “Have you learned to teleport yet?”

“No.”

“Xariel can teach you. It’s an innate skill for angels. I’ve never known a human to do it. Since you’re half angel...” He smiled. “You’ll enjoy it once you get used to the physiological after-effects.”

Karla wanted to deny she’d ever get used to the room-spinning vertigo and sensation of wanting to hurl that followed teleportation. It wasn’t fair it didn’t seem to bother Xariel or Samael. Her strong reaction probably resulted from her being half human, she theorized. She was about to ask Metatron if this were true when she noticed Xariel approaching them from the direction of nearby St. James Court. He held a tie in one hand.

“Damn, why the last-minute call?” Drops of water glistened in his hair. “I was in the shower.” He looped the tie around his neck and adjusted the length.

Metatron shrugged. “Running late?”

Xariel finished knotting the tie. “Didn’t get in until early morning. A soul wasn’t exactly cooperative.” He gave Metatron a sidelong glance. “Maybe you should join us drudges in the field for some real work instead of being a pencil-pushing desk jockey.”

Metatron frowned. “Is someone looking to pull a double shift tomorrow?”

“All right. All right.” Xariel turned to Karla. “Boss says I’m to take you home.” He held out his hand. “Ready?”

Karla hesitated before putting her fingers in Xariel’s palm. Teleporting ranked up there with drunken nights spent grasping the bed and praying for the room to stop spinning.

“Hepburn Avenue, right?” Xariel asked.

“Yeah.” It didn’t surprise Karla they knew where she lived. She pointed across the street. “Let’s catch the TARC.”

To her surprise, Metatron agreed. “You can teleport later. We don’t want to draw attention.”

“The bus?” Xariel’s eyes widened as if in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You’ll be fine,” Metatron assured him.

A TARC bus pulled to the curb across the street. Before Xariel could argue, Karla pulled him across the tarmac. They boarded and she dug out fare.

“Two transfers, please.” She handed Xariel one and slid into a window seat.

Xariel slumped in the seat next to her. He glanced around at the other passengers, who eyed him with stony stares. As the bus lumbered toward downtown, he pretended to smooth out an invisible crease in his tailored slacks, checked the soles of his shoes for non-existent gum, tugged at the knot on his tie, and shifted in the hard plastic seat enough times that Karla turned to him and glared.

“Teleporting’s quicker,” he insisted.

“Get over it.”

He huffed, sinking farther in the seat. Karla stifled a grin.

“Ride much?” Xariel asked after the bus stopped to pick up and disgorge passengers.

“Can’t afford a car.” Propping her elbow against the window ledge, she watched Old Louisville, Spalding University, the Unitarian church and the Main Library flash by.

They reached Broadway and disembarked. The connecting bus rumbled on the corner, waiting for the green light. It crossed the intersection and both human and angel were swept up into another small crowd climbing aboard. Here it was standing room only. They grasped poles and balanced themselves.

The bus lurched forward. Xariel grimaced as he steadied himself. “This is why I hate buses.”

Karla ignored him. She leaned over, pressed the yellow bar a block before the driver reached the Bardstown Road-Baxter Avenue junction. They jostled their way to the exit, stepping off. Karla pointed down Baxter Avenue. “Hepburn’s over there.”

She loved the Highlands. Whereas Old Louisville was more university-centered, the Highlands catered to the bohemian crowd. Independent businesses, many with a “Keep Louisville Weird” sign in the window, shared space with a Starbucks or KFC.

“Where do you live?” she asked as they crossed Highland Avenue.

“Old Louisville. St. James Court.”

“Seriously? Why Louisville? Why not–”

“Heaven?” Xariel shrugged. “I like it here.”

They reached a Victorian in desperate need of renovation or demolition. Karla pulled a key ring from her jacket pocket.

“My apartment’s on the second floor.” She led the way up a steep flight of stairs, stopping in a small hallway. For a moment, Karla debated inviting him inside. “It’s not much. Kitchen and living area.” She unlocked the door and placed her hand on the doorknob. “I have some instant coffee.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up.” Xariel turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Next time, we’re teleporting.”

Right. Lovely.

If Xariel read her mind, he gave no indication. Instead, he turned, heading downstairs. Karla watched until the front entry door closed behind him.

* * * *

Xariel wanted to kick himself. Why hadn’t he stayed? He liked Karla and she didn’t seem averse to him. No other woman since Delilah had held such sway over his emotions.

It didn’t help that sexual frustration nipped at him like a hyper Jack Russell terrier, thanks to the upcoming new moon. Not that he’d reveal his curses to Karla.

He closed his eyes, concentrating. Foreboding overcame him the moment he arrived in his living room. He looked over, drew a frustrated breath.

Samael had commandeered the sofa.

“What do you want?” The chief of satans was the last person Xariel wanted to see.

“Since when are you a chaperone?”

Hands trembling, Xariel poured himself a tumbler of Crown Royal. “Metatron asked me to take her home.”

“Sure you didn’t volunteer?”

“Yes.”

“You would’ve.”

Xariel shrugged. “Believe what you want.” He knocked back half the whiskey and set his glass on the fireplace mantle.

Samael swung booted feet onto the coffee table. Xariel frowned but said nothing. “I see you still collect Louis the Fifteenth furnishings.”

“Thanks to you.” Samael might be an ass, but Xariel gave him credit for introducing him to antiques, an area in which his boss was somewhat of an expert.

Samael smiled. “I’m glad you still like something about me.”

“Why’re you here?” Xariel failed to keep aggravation from his voice.

“You know why.”

Xariel sighed and downed more whiskey. “Karla.”

“Right.” Samael nodded toward the bar. “Aren’t you going to fix me a drink?”

“Scotch and soda?”

“You remembered. I’m touched.”

Xariel mixed Samael’s drink and handed it to him.

Samael raised his glass. “Reminds me of old times.”

“Whatever.” Glowering, Xariel sipped his drink.

“You wound me.” Samael placed a hand over his heart, emitting a dramatic sigh.

Xariel resisted saying “Bite me.” Samael enjoyed taking figures of speech literally. Instead, he wished the other would leave.

As if he read his mind, Samael rose. “Thanks for the Scotch.”

Xariel nodded. He took Samael’s glass, following his boss to the front door. The visit didn’t mean anything. Samael enjoyed annoying him, nothing more.

On the porch, Samael gripped Xariel’s arm with a vise-like hold. “This is a friendly warning. Don’t become involved with her. You know what’ll happen if you do.”

Xariel shuddered, invisible scorpions crawling under his skin. He knew Samael’s motives were insidious, but he didn’t want to believe his boss would be so cruel as to hope Karla would die if they had sex. Then again, Samael was a misogynist of the worst kind. He didn’t kill women, but he had others, including Xariel, do it for him.

No doubt Samael wanted Karla gone. But why?

Xariel decided he needed another drink.