Nephilim. Mary Ann Loesch
anymore.”
Nathan shut the door and strode over to the windows behind the couch, staring out into the night. The cops still worked on the homicide down the street. The red and blue glare of their presence flashed on the walls of the surrounding buildings.
“I saw you before,” he said, sensing her tense again. “You were standing outside my shop. Most people only see an empty building, but not you. You could see it, but you didn’t go in.”
“I’m not really interested in getting a tattoo.”
“Few people can resist the temptation to come inside Hell’s Leak once it’s revealed to them,” Nathan said. When she didn’t respond, he prodded. “You followed one of my customers.”
“I did, but to tell you the truth, that was a letdown. Nothing much happened there.”
“That you saw.”
“Unless his tattoo has something to do with his inability to, shall we say, close the deal with a woman, then what I saw wasn’t too exciting.”
Nathan gave a low chuckle. “The tattoo has everything to do with it.”
“Maybe you’re overestimating your skills.”
“Check the papers tomorrow. You might change your mind.”
Faye looked at the newspapers spread out on the messy coffee table.
“Are you a big fan of the Austin American Statesman, Mr. Ink?”
“I keep track of current events. Especially if they pertain to me.”
She picked up one of the papers, and scanned it. Her brows knitted . Nathan wondered if she would see them. Would she be able to tell which articles related to his clients?
“Azal sent you,” he said. Her fingers stiffened on the paper before she tossed it back to the table.
“Not exactly.”
“But you know him.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Do I detect a hint of dislike for Azal? The lucky one? The bringer of good fortune,”
“He’s a showoff.” Faye stood. “And, yes. He visited with me earlier tonight. Azal thinks you are a rogue angel, that you tattoo people with designs of the seven deadly sins.”
“I do. That’s not a secret among my kind.”
“Azal is under the impression the mortality rate of your clients is high once you’ve tattooed them. He wants me to investigate you, see how far rogue you’ve gone.”
“And will you?”
“I don’t play for the Heavenly All Stars anymore.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Pure chance,” she said. “You caught my healing act on the street. I hadn’t decided if we were going to meet at all.”
“Some angels might call that fate,” he said, marveling at her resistance to the confines of a higher power. He couldn’t help but admire it.
“I’m no angel,” she said.
Nathan nodded, pushing away the grin that sprung to his lips. He concentrated on her cool green eyes, trying once more to probe her thoughts. She shook her head at him.
“Uh-uh. That path is closed. Stay out of my head.”
He ignored her, trying to get past the basics. She was about medium height with blond hair, which she wore pulled up into a loose bun. Bustier than the average girl, she was definitely not unpleasant to the eye. Athletic legs probably meant she jogged or walked a lot. He liked the way her feet looked in her green high heels–delicate, but ready for an ass kicking. She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but he knew that could just be a glamour spell. The interesting thing, the thing that made him curious, was the scent she carried. She had the soft smell of the ancients and yet, it was just as she said. Faye McCoy was not an angel. So what did that make her?
“I’m twenty-seven,” she said, and grinned. “I know you were wondering.”
“All right. So your name is Faye McCoy, and you have some sort of gift that allows you to take pain from others,” Nathan said, and leaned against the windows. “You’re in touch with angels, though you claim not to work for them, and best I can tell, you are not one of us. Does that about sum it up so far?”
“You forgot about the part where I’m supposed to investigate your rogue activities,” she said.
“Right. Azal is making you his errand girl.”
He had to give her credit. She managed to ignore the goad in his words. Faye closed her eyes, and Nathan felt a slight pressure in his head as she tried to probe his thoughts. Though impressed with her tenacity, he kept his mind locked. At his warning look, the pressure faded away.
“You must be very special if Azal came to me.” Faye moved closer. Her scent wrapped around him, and to his surprise, he felt a stirring of desire. “We didn’t part on good terms.”
“I am special.”
“Especially arrogant maybe. I believe your sin is pride.” She laughed. “I haven’t seen anything that leads me to believe you are above average. So far my best summation is you are a messy angel who asks a lot of questions, and is rude enough not to offer a glass of water to someone he knows is in pain.”
“I don’t have any clean glasses.” Nathan picked up one of the newspapers from the coffee table. “Take this. It might assist you in your investigation. I think you’ve recovered enough to slip away unnoticed now.”
“Trying to get rid of me by providing dirty secrets, are you?” She took the paper, folding it under her arm as she started for the door. Once there, Faye turned back to him. “You can’t fool me, Mr. Ink. You gave me the tourist version, after all. This pigsty of an apartment is what you wanted me to see. It didn’t work, you know. I can pierce the veil to the truth.”
She closed her eyes. With a wave of her arm, the room transformed. The boxes, books and clutter vanished, revealing a tidy space. An ornate wooden bed replaced the old mattress on the floor. Art hung on sandstone colored walls capped at the ceiling by white crown molding. Several sconces placed about the room gave off various degrees of warm and soothing light. There were shelves and bookcases, holding all kinds of trinkets and oddities as well as books. Tucked into the wall between two CD racks filled with music sat a massive stereo system. The small spotless kitchen area revealed a stainless steel sink, refrigerator and stove. A glass cabinet held amber glasses and light brown plates.
“You must really like IKEA,” Faye said.
Nathan heard her high heels click on the stairs as she left, and a few seconds later, she appeared on the sidewalk. She walked away without looking up.
He found he wanted her to look up.
Before he could examine the feeling, another figure standing on the opposite side of the street caught his attention. The glow of a street lamp illuminated the worry on his old colleague’s, Azal, face. How the angel of good fortune had changed!
Well, that’s not my problem, Nathan thought, and drew the shade down on the window. Settling on the red couch, he opened a carved brown box on his coffee table, pulling out a pack of American Spirits and a crystal ashtray. As he lit a cigarette, his mind lingered on Faye and the job she had been commissioned to do. He knew there were some angels who considered his methods unconventional, but still, he got the job done. If he couldn’t take a little creative license with the work, then what was the fun in being an angel?
With a gentle wave of his arm, he cast out his power and the wall sconces dimmed. Better. Now he could think.
What did Azal really want? Why send Faye to check on him? The rogue label–just a convenience, a red herring. Perhaps the time had