Angelic Deals (Realms Unleashed: Red Angel Book 2) Page 5

  I moved to the other planner. This wasn’t even a planner, but a collection of notes with a couple of loose, folded papers shoved in between random pages. I plucked them out and unfolded them. They were the same kind as the notebook.

  The top of the first page had numbers; the rest was filled with scrambled writing, as if someone had been in the middle of calculating some kind of measurement, then got struck by inspiration and had to write things down as fast as possible before they forgot it. The bad writing continued on the second page, becoming more legible as it got to the end.

  …scroll of w/e in shuff? tomb.

  A slow, devilish smile curled my lips.

  I had seen writing like this before. This was how the hint the Hunters had received about the Souls Sword had been written. The boss had told me the information had exploded out of Warner in a flash, filling nearby people’s heads for a few seconds before disappearing, and they’d had to scramble to write things down as well as they could before it was gone.

  Nash had definitely been one of those. I checked the pages again—I’d have to examine them later at home—but one item was underlined. I couldn’t make out of the words too well, but I thought one might’ve been “abyss.”

  Fitting, I supposed.

  “Half-angel?” Zel asked.

  “Yeah?” I slipped the folded pages into my back pocket and glowered at the jar with the floating eye. Maybe there was a bag somewhere around I could use to carry it around.

  “The mortal is not dead.”

  SIX

  I whirled on my heels. “What?”

  Zel poked the body. “He’s not dead.”

  Cursing, I rounded the worktable and knelt by the guy’s head. There was a little blood, but that was all. No external injuries or holes in his clothes. I looked up at Zel. “Are you sure?”

  He gave me a knowing smile. “I might be immortal, but I’m well acquainted with the deaths of mortals.”

  Nope. I wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. Returning my attention to the not-dead guy, I pondered what to do next.

  “You could simply leave him there,” Zel said, as if reading my thoughts.

  I shook my head. “Can’t. He might know about Cabot.” Not to mention the two pages of Warner’s information shoved in the back pocket of my jeans. “He might be useful.”

  Calling an ambulance was out of the question. Emergency services were fine for the upstairs Market, but down here, they were a big no-no. Another bonus of dealing within the black market.

  I supposed there might be a doctor somewhere on the premises, but they would take time to find, and even more to convince them to come help. If whoever had done this heard about it in the meantime, they might realize things hadn’t gone to plan and come for another stab at offing the man—literally.

  I eyed Zel. “Can you fly him to a hospital?”

  He laughed.

  Should’ve seen that coming. I got to my feet and surveyed the room. What we needed was some kind of carpet, or rug, to use to roll him up. Spying a narrow door behind Zel, I nudged him out of the way to investigate. It opened into a tiny, bad-smelling bathroom with broken tiles and a tiny shower on the side. Perfect.

  Tugging at the shower curtain accomplished little, so I took a hold of the bar and pulled hard. It was one of those DIY rather than bolted to the walls, so it came down easily. Returning to the corpse—er, Nash—I spread the curtain in the narrow space by his body.

  We wouldn’t make it out of the Market carrying him as he was without notice, but if we rolled him up and used the back passages to take him elsewhere, people might think Zel had simply looted the room like everyone else.

  And I knew just where to take him.

  “Help me roll him in,” I said, taking hold of Nash’s shoulder.

  Zel didn’t appear convinced, but he took a hold of the man’s legs. Between both of us, we managed to roll him into the shower curtain.

  Once the guy was safely rolled up, a light of understanding came into Zel’s eyes, accompanied by a twinkle of mischief that didn’t bode well.

  “I see now,” he said, then looked pointedly from me to the roll. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow after dragging him around.”

  For the one-time offer of only one and a half favors, Zel agreed to haul the not-dead guy down to the Archivist.

  It was a huge risk, but also the only solution, really. The stairs to the Archivist were close by, and nobody ever went that way unless absolutely necessary. At this time of the day, we encountered barely any traffic, and that went down to zero once we took the spiraling stairs.

  The corridor leading to the Archivist’s bunker was as grim and awful as it had been the week before. Horrid smells assaulted my nose, and the feeling of running out of air sped my breathing until I came dangerously close to hyperventilating.

  As far as Zel went, he appeared unperturbed by the horrors contained within the corridor, and he’d even hummed as we went down the stairwell, clearly having the time of his life.

  I pressed on the door’s buzzer with my elbow.

  When no answer came, I simply leaned against it and looked up at the security camera, eyebrows arched.

  A crack in the air announced a microphone turning on. “No,” said the Archivist’s receptionist—a creature of myth and legend who I was pretty sure was the demonic spawn of Cthulhu.

  “Get the Archivist on,” I said.

  There was a pause, then the Archivist came on the line. “No.”

  I produced the jar with the eye and waved it in direct view of the camera. “Don’t you want your stuff?”

  “Not worth that much.”

  I thumbed toward the curtain roll on Zel’s shoulder. “Nash was selling Warner’s secrets. If he ever wakes up, you can get them out of him.”

  The door’s lock clicked.

  I hid my grin as I pulled the door open and waved for Zel to go ahead. He slipped in and I followed, closing the door behind.

  The world’s most depressing reception room greeted us as annoying Christmas jingles wormed into my ears. It smelled of mildew and dying green things, which was surprising given the only green thing in the room had died ages ago.

  Zel dumped Nash on the sofa, eliciting a loud groan out of the furniture in question, and we got started on the business of unrolling him.

  As we tugged and pressed, Zel said, “I wonder if the part-angel knows something about the Red Angel.”

  “Maybe you should ask her,” I said sweetly. Inside, I crossed all my imaginary fingers that the Archivist wouldn’t simply blurt my secret out, not without a big payment, and not with me standing here. I had sworn her to secrecy upon pain of death, and I was counting on her happiness at being one of the very few to know who I was to not give into temptation. She did love to keep her hard-to-find information close to her sundressed chest.

  My guess was that down the line, once the new information honeymoon glow dimmed somewhat, I’d get blackmailed into giving some blood or God knows what in exchange for her to keep my secret. I could only hope it would take a long time. Maybe if I was lucky, she’d croak before that happened.

  One could dream.

  Once Nash had been unrolled, I took out my phone and browsed my contacts. We might’ve removed him from his killer’s path, but the man still needed some kind of medical attention; otherwise, how would I get any information out of him? It would be best if help came from someone unaffiliated with the black market, so they wouldn’t know he was still alive.

  The removal of the body would still raise some questions, but this was the black market, and hey, cheap, crystallized human bits had to come from somewhere.

  The mental image made me shudder, and I pressed on Davis’s number before I could dwell any longer on it.

  He answered fast. “Yes?”

  “Hi, Davis. I need a favor.”

  “And I need you to pay rent.”

  I winced. “This might help with that.”

  “I somehow doubt it.”

  “Please?”

  “Fine. Spit it out.”

  I told him about Nash and the need for some kind of doctor. Grudgingly, Davis agreed to send someone, and I knew I wasn’t going to see my bike for at least four more months.

  That was okay, I told myself, feeling the most ridiculous need to weep. Using the bike during winter sucked, anyway.

  “Where’s my eye?”

  I jumped with a scream. The Archivist was crouched on the sofa’s arm like some kind of wrinkled white vulture in an orange sundress.

  “Well?” she demanded, the tip of her pink tongue darting out to touch her lips.

  Pressing one hand to my chest to calm my heart, I took out the jar. She made a grab for it with her creepy bony fingers, but I leaped away, smashing my leg right into the low table.

  Blinding pain shot up my bones. I valiantly ignored it to hobble farther away. “Before I give it to you, do you know anything about Cabot?”

  The Archivist licked her lips again, all her attention focused on the floating eye. I shook it for the hell of it and watched her eyes move rapidly up and down like they were tethered to the thing. I inched closer to the exit door.

  “Cabot,” I reminded her. “What do you know about him? Do you have his address?”

  “Proprietary information,” she said.

  “To whom?” asked Zel.

  The Archivist dragged her attention away from the eye to wink at him. “Cabot, of course.”

  Great. “You know where he lives?”

  She went low until her hands were resting on the carpet. With her white hair loose and falling over her shoulders and arms, she looked like something out of a Japanese horror movie. My instincts screamed at me to get off the carpet and jump onto the dead potted plant.

/>   “I can find out, if you’re so interested,” she said, balancing her weight on her arms.

  “And what’s it going to cost me?”

  She suddenly straightened in a feat of agility. Seriously, she was old as dirt. How was she so agile? “We can discuss later, yesss?”

  Hah, no. “No way. Payment agreement first.”

  “If you insist.”

  And since this was already going to cost me half my soul, I added, “What about the Book of Souls. Do you know why Ward is still searching for it?”

  She leaned back, allowing her legs to slide down on both sides of the arm until she was sitting astride. “It’s a beautiful book.”

  Her tone was too casual. “How do you know?”

  A slight shrug. “I’ve heard things.”

  “Just not where I can find Cabot or why Ward still wants the book? You know, I’m starting to think your online subscription is not worth the money, after all.”

  She joined the tips of her fingers and tapped them in waves. “I am old and forgetful. Who knows what treasures are buried deep within my databases? Only one way to find out.”

  “Does the subscription come with your email?” Honestly, might be worth it if I never had to come face to face with her again.

  “Mayyyyybeeeeee?” She craned her neck to look at Zel, and I was reminded again of horror movies. The old kind that depended on dolls and marionettes. “Hello, handsome. Have you any gifts for me today?”

  His gaze dropped to Nash, still unconscious on the sofa.

  The Archivist giggled. “Good point! For this one, I shall answer one question just for you.”

  “Hey, it was my idea to bring him here,” I said in outrage. I shook the eye again. “Plus, I brought you this.”

  She gave me a blank look and said, “But he can pay in items,” as if it explained everything.

  Licking one finger, I pressed it to the wall.

  Her eyes zeroed on the spot; her muscles tensed.

  “Nuh-huh.” I raised my arm as if to wipe the tempting saliva-wet spot with the cuff of my jacket.

  She hissed in warning but remained still.

  “One more question,” I said. “Who is Bree?”

  “A weapons expert,” she said, expression so intent I was amazed her eyes hadn’t turned into detachable drills and shot into the wall. “Works at night.”

  Shit. Summoners looking for weapons. Again. If the random guy was right and this Bree knew something about Cabot… Damn. I hoped it wasn’t another Vow of Conquest situation.

  I stepped away from the wall and put the jar with the eye on top of the coffee table. “You will call me when he wakes up.”

  It wasn’t a question, and the Archivist simply nodded, attention still riveted on the bit of wall.

  And since Nash was probably going to be down for the count for a bit longer, it was time for me to get some actual work done so one day I could be somewhere near being current on my rent.

  I lost no time in getting out of the Archivist’s reception room and practically ran for the stairs. Once the disturbing smells faded away, I slowed my pace until I reached the end of the stairwell, where I stopped to calm my breathing.

  Zel, having absolutely no trouble with his breathing, chose that moment to grab my hand.

  “What?” I asked, surprised.

  He brought my hand up, uncurled my fingers, dipped his head, and licked the same fingertip I had.

  “No! Ew!” I tugged my hand free and wiped it against my jeans. “Do you know how gross that wall was? What is wrong with you?”

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “It does taste strange.”

  I shook my head in disbelief and began walking again. “Honestly, you two should get married. You’re two peas in a pod.”

  “The part-angel does not awaken those kinds of feelings in me. She does not fit me. You are more curious to me.”

  I sent him a sidelong glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Instead of answering, his large hand landed on top of my head and pushed down.

  In the next instant, I felt something fly right overhead. It smashed into the wall of the T-intersection in front of us.

  A brick.

  SEVEN

  We spun around to find a vaguely familiar man standing a bit away, a wild look in his eyes.

  “You,” he exclaimed, throwing another brick.

  I jumped to the side as it crashed into the floor. I searched my memories, trying to remember who I had pissed off in the last few weeks. He didn’t look like a Hunter, and— Oh. It was A, one of the part-demons who’d come for me at Nasty Inc.

  He pointed a furious finger at me. “You broke my friend’s nose!”

  Dang. Loyalty amongst part-demons. The Hunters would be so disappointed. “My bad?”

  He snarled and rushed me. I ducked, avoiding his punch, and put some distance between us, which wasn’t easy since the corridors weren’t that wide.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, dancing away when he attempted another punch. “It was an accident.”

  He feinted an attack. I fell for it, and he managed to grasp my jacket. Turning, he threw me against one of the walls. I landed with an oumph and brought up my arm in time to shield my face from another punch. Goddammit, that hurt.

  Using the momentary reprieve as he readied another punch, I tackled his midsection, pushing him against the opposite wall. An inelegant melee ensued, ending with my neck in a headlock and my hands attempting to keep his other arm from punching me in the face.

  We trotted back and forth in the corridor like ten-year-olds in their first fight.

  Zel, I noticed, simply watched the show, leaning against a wall, thumbs hooked in his jeans’ belt loops.

  “A little help?” I managed in a high-pitched voice.

  He unfurled from the wall, making A keep still. I held my breath. Finally, he’d prove useful. The last time I’d been attacked—by A and his friends—he’d joined the fray like a kid on Christmas Day. I hadn’t even needed to beg.

  A took a few steps back as Zel approached, dragging me along.

  “This does not concern you, angel,” he snarled.

  Zel lifted a hand, commanding silence. Heart pounding, I waited to see what he’d do next.

  He walked up to my rear and retrieved my phone from my back pocket. Walking backward, he gave me a beatific smile.

  “Here,” he said. “Now you don’t have to worry about it getting broken.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  A let out a bark of laughter and resumed the struggle to slam his fist into my nose. Zel looked at my phone.

  He frowned. “How do you unlock it?”

  Was he for real? I abandoned my grasp of A to give Zel the middle finger, then aimed my elbow at A’s groin. It didn’t hit gold, but it got close enough that he yelped and loosened the arm around my neck. It allowed me to get free and step away.

  Why the heck wasn’t Zel helping? Was it because it was only a one-on-one? I spared him a fast glance. His hands were toying with my phone, but his eyes were riveted on us, a slight expectant gleam in them.

  Wonderful. Next, he’d start placing bets.

  And as long as he was paying so much attention, I couldn’t use my Red Angel claws to defend myself.

  I saw A move in the nick of time and adjusted my body, earning a punch to my side rather than my gut. I grunted in pain. That was going to leave a good bruise. I still had some from last week. Perhaps I needed to find a gym and go back to practicing my fighting skills. Or maybe Davis would spar with me, use the opportunity to let loose some of that late-rent resentment.

  A moved again. Twisting, I grabbed his jacket and pushed him toward the wall. He stumbled but recovered fast, spinning and lurching at me. I slapped his hands away, but he got a grip on my neck and threw me to the floor.

  I landed on my knees and hands, then instinctively rolled away, barely missing his kick. My back hit the wall, and I watched his sneaker bear down on my face.

  For a moment, I thought I was done for. A rushing noise filled my ears as the Red Angel instinct roared to life, demanding I let loose and end this lowlife maggot’s existence.

  Thankfully, my muscles moved on instinct, forcing my body to curl up in time and roll away. I forced myself to get on my feet and take control of the situation.