Fall From Grace Read online

  Evie talked while she inputted a name and number in his address book, “Sara Reynolds is an awesome young Witch who specializes in warding houses and protection charms.” She handed him back the phone. "Tell her Evie Grace recommended you and that you need her to 'Fast Pass' you to the front of the list. Sara owes me a favor. She'll bump up the wards around your house so you can sleep at night. Plus, she likes to surf too."

  Adam Lee's eyes brightened and he looked really pleased, "Thanks! I should have talked about this with Grandad but he and Grandma' are in Hawaii and all he says when I call is, 'why you waste money on phone call!' He's sort of an old school 'learn as you go' guy. Um, you had a reason for coming here, right? Besides helping me out.”

  That's right, she was there for her problem, not his. She'd gotten distracted. Again. Just like with Josh and the robbery gone bad. Blaming the Celestial HR department's job placement division, she reminded herself again that Evie Grace was an 'Avenging' not 'Guardian' Angel to the whole wide world.

  Evie handed over the bracelet and sat next to him on the couch while he examined it. She could see for herself he really did have the touch. His fingers glowed with a clean, silver light as he manifested. She liked Adam Lee already, and she was sure Sara would like him as well. The young witch had come out on the other side of a bad relationship and was finally ready to meet someone new. A handsome young man who was also in the magic business might do very nicely.

  'Augh!' Evie thought, 'there I go again, slipping out of avenging mode'.

  Finally he handed it back, nodding, "Talk to Roman. If this isn't his work, he'll know where to go. He and Grandad go way back. And I mean waaaay back. They like to fish together. Roman Barracuda. Voodoo. Not the kind you might think. Voodoo gets a bad rep. There are just as many good, powerful spirits in their celestial plane as dark ones."

  Armed with the address and a little more information about the man with the unlikely name of Barracuda, Evie left Adam Lee's. A short time later she swooped onto the front porch of Barracuda Bail Bonds in Compton. Before she'd even landed, she knew Trick had been here. The tingly, prickly sensation she got when the Death Mark was near went skipping over her skin. Faint though, very faint. Just a shadow of its real power.

  She'd taken the time to stop by La Brea bakery and pick up a large bag of rolls and muffins. Adam Lee said the Voodoo master, all appearances to the contrary, was a gentleman with southern-style manners. Evie was from Louisiana, southern manners was something she understood very well. Always say 'please' and 'thank you' and don't come calling empty handed.

  Barracuda laughed when she walked in, recognizing her immediately for what she was. "I told him he should have taken you to the Ritz Carlton. Just look at you! My, my. What was that boy thinking?"

  It took her a moment to make the connection between his comment and the airport hotel she'd woken up in. She felt her face flush and silently cursed the Reaper. And his big mouth!

  Barracuda took the La Brea bag from her, making “oh, you shouldn't have” noises. He peeked inside and meeting her eyes, gave a broad smile that reached right up to his eyebrows.

  Evie couldn't help smiling back.

  “Now don't those look scrumptious. Mmmm, mmm. Yes, still warm, too.” Taking her arm, he turned her around and escorted her to a large, claw-footed table that took up most of one corner of the space opposite Barracuda's desk. The inside of the office was painted the same creamy yellow as the outside. Long rows of bleached-blond wooden blinds softened the view on the big barred windows facing the street. The wooden floors were the same color as the blinds. Retro travel posters for the Caribbean that had to be from the 1930s or 1940s brightened the walls with big splashes of pink, yellow, green and blue.

  “Pansie, Rose Marie, come see what, um. Where are my manners. I am that sorry. I have not asked your name.”

  “Evangeline Grace.”

  “Come see what Miss Grace has brought.”

  Two women joined them from a connecting room directly behind the large desk and Evie tried not to stare as she shook hands with each in turn. They were quite the largest women she had ever seen. Both of them squeezed into tight black leather jumpsuits and police boots. And that hair. Red as a tropical sunset. Evie was quite certain they were only marginally human. The air around them sort of vibrated. Terrifying appearance to the contrary, the LaRue sisters were just as smiley as Barracuda and when they spoke, their voices were actually quite soft. She got the feeling all three members of Barracuda Bail Bonds were excited to see her and she wondered exactly what Trick had told them.

  After a few minutes of bustling back and forth between the kitchen and the office, they were seated around the table in artfully mismatched upholstered arm chairs drinking tea from delicate porcelain cups. It took several muffins and a lot of small talk before Evie could politely steer the conversation back to the purpose of her visit.

  Barracuda knew exactly who Trick was and didn't try to pretend otherwise. Client confidentiality however, he explained, was an issue."You know, I like that cowboy, Miss Grace. We all do."

  Pansie and Rose Marie nodded emphatically, setting their hairdos quivering.

  "Despite the slippery slope he's been on this very long time, Trick's never lost his humanity. Can't say that for many lost souls. I have hope for that boy. You absolutely sure you have to chop him up?"

  Evie sipped her tea. She had been thinking that same thing. Pondering all day on what Trick said. Especially when he asked if she never questioned the Death Mark or her orders. She hadn't, she realized. Ever. But then the Celestials had never put her in a position like this. No, that wasn't quite fair. She was at least partially to blame for setting herself squarely where she was. Could her Death Mark be wrong? Duty said 'no'. Follow orders. Stay within the chain of command. She sighed to herself. She had never been that good at following orders blindly. In fact, that's probably what got her killed back in New Orleans.

  What was going on? With her. With him. The way he made her feel from the first moment he walked into that West Hollywood bar. An elusive longing for what Evie couldn't say, couldn't articulate to herself in a truly coherent way. Even alive she had never quite felt like this. She'd told the young Guardian Angel it was okay to fall in love with his charge. The same advice did not, could not, apply to an Avenging Angel and her quarry.

  Barracuda waited, watching the play of emotions across her face. He was an excellent judge of character, an important talent in both a bail bondsman and a Sorcerer. "I'll tell you this much. McKitrick was raised in the desert and he hates it with a passion. Can't get enough of the water, swims like a fur seal. Try following the Pacific Coast Highway and see where it takes you. And if you can avoid chopping him up, I think you won't regret it."

  The LaRue sisters nodded enthusiastically once more, their tall hair bobbing up and down.

  Roman asked if Evie had tracked Trick with only the burnt-out bracelet as a guide.

  “Oh no, can't take credit solely for that.” She admitted. “Adam Lee over near Chinatown pointed me in this direction.”

  “He's a nice boy,” Pansie said sincerely. At least Evie thought she was Pansie, it was hard to tell them apart.

  “Grandaddy Lee's a bit of an institution here in town. Powerful JuJu. Not that they call it that. Damn fine fisherman, too. Bet he's got those mahi mahi fish wishing that wrinkly little old man didn't never come to Hawaii.” He barked out a laugh.

  Some time later, brushing the crumbs from her lips, one hand on the doorknob, ready to go, she asked, "He wasn't by any chance bleeding when he was here, was he? Hopefully from an injury I caused him? Did he tell you he took my clothes and my phone, leaving me tied up and naked?"

  Roman laughed, so hard he started to wheeze again, "That boy is just begging for an Angelic ass-whupping! He wasn't bleeding. He owed me, though, and I took my payment in blood. Did you sniff that out?"

  "Yes, and if I can, so might someone else. Watch your back, Mr. Barracuda."

  Slipping back i
nto stealth mode, she did as the big man said and headed towards the sea. They'd been in West Hollywood during the attack, yet Trick had brought her all the way across town to El Segundo, near LAX. Why come here unless he knew the area well? She picked up the Pacific Coast Highway, everyone called it the PCH locally, from the point nearest the hotel. It actually wasn't that far from Compton and the bail bondsman. Hmm, which direction? Evie scanned the busy road. North towards Santa Monica, or South towards Redondo Beach and beyond? Evie had the burned amulet bracelet still. She was hoping it might give her a sign. After all, the complex web of spells binding the magic had been tuned to the Reaper's frequency. She flew a few test flights in both directions. The tingling grew imperceptibly stronger to the south.

  Shadowing the highway, Evie flew in low circles over each block. Despite the name, you could barely see the ocean from the Pacific Coast Highway at street level until you passed Manhattan Beach, and then only sporadically for many miles into Orange County. Early rush hour traffic slowed the busy thoroughfare to a crawl in the southbound lanes as the road snaked past strip malls, fast food places and apartments. Near Hermosa Beach she got a definite buzz from the bracelet. Turning away from the highway, she skimmed the sidewalk getting closer and closer to the shore. Along the Strand she dropped back into human form and walked the popular bike and pedestrian path that ran for several miles along the little South Bay beach cities. She stopped at the bronze surfer statue at the end of Pier Street to look around. The street's namesake was actually only the simplest of piers stretching out over the green-gray waters. What brought locals and tourists alike to Pier Street were the dining and drinking establishments (especially drinking) lining the last few blocks. This stretch had been turned into a pedestrian mall. Happy hour was in full swing and the terraces of the bars already crowded with tourists and locals enjoying the glow of the sun as it set into the sparkling Pacific.

  Evie shaded her eyes, walking first towards the sea. Nothing. Changing direction she walked up the street. Midway between a souvenir shop full of 'Hermosa Beach Lifeguard' T-shirts, and a yoghurt place, she felt it. A definite spiritual sort of tug. Pulling her glamour back on, she searched out a vantage point with a good view of the block.

  Oddly enough she didn't need magic to spot him in the end. He walked right by, just a few feet below, carrying a plastic bag of groceries from Ralph's Market. Searching for the Death Mark, she couldn't quite bring it into focus. Had Trick been right? Was it all a mistake?

  She stood, flexing her wings and flipping the loop up on her sword's scabbard. Her job now was to swoop down, sword in hand, and execute him. Take revenge for the murdered innocents in Hungary. Shifting the bag to his hip, Evie watched as Trick stopped to talk with someone at the terrace of a restaurant called Sharky's. He laughed at something the other man said and flashed that big, easy smile she had seen in the West Hollywood bar, automatically running his hand through his thick hair. She was an Avenging Angel and she better get started with the vengeance part of her job description.

  But maybe not quite yet.

  Chapter 8

  The Fallen walked in, tailed by three massive black dogs. Roman looked up from the computer screen to stare impassively at the little group over his glasses. If he was surprised to have a Fallen Angel walk through the front door of Barracuda Bail Bonds, he didn't show it. The LaRue sisters barely glanced away from their paper work in the back room.

  “Let me guess,” he rumbled in his deep baritone. “You're looking for the cowboy.”

  The Baron gave him the ghost of a smile, “Should you mean a certain Reaper, then yes, I am looking for him. If you know what is good for you, you will give me answers to everything I ask.”

  Roman did not smile back. He did not like people – living, dead or otherwise – coming into his office and telling him what to do. “Is there a particular reason why I should give you any information concerning him? Besides out of the goodness of my big, generous heart?”

  The Baron kept smiling, though his eyes reflected a very different emotion. Snapping his fingers, the dogs stood in that impossibly erect position and rolled back their fur revealing the fearsome beings beneath. He snapped his fingers again and despite the bright sunshine outside, the room was plunged into darkness. Cold air seeped up from the floorboards.

  “Do you really have no idea who I am?”

  Roman gave an exasperated sigh. He rose from his office chair, muttering, “Don't see why I have to put up with this bull shit.” There was a click and bright lights overhead flooded the room with light. “People comin' into my office makin' trouble for me and snappin' their damn celestial fingers in my face.” He stood, staring over his little tinted glasses down at the Fallen. Rather a long way down. Barracuda was impressively large, built on truly generous proportions and none of it running to fat.

  The Fallen stared back, his glare positively icy.

  Reaching down, Roman turned Otis Redding's 'Dock of the Bay' a few decibels louder on the old record player flanked by oversized speakers sitting to one side of his desk. “Like I don't have enough trouble of my own. Sing it Otis. Wish I was sittin' at the dock with you.” He kept on muttering as he flipped through a large pile of files stacked precariously on one of the speakers. “Human kind skippin' bail, taking my hard earned money. If that weren't enough, we got shifters, supes and Vamps all crawlin' in with some sob story needin' somethin' for nothin' to get them out of the trouble they got their own damn selves into!”

  The Fallen was only half listening, his focus elsewhere, expecting no further trouble from the bail bondsman.

  “There! That's what I'm lookin' for.”

  Glancing up, the Baron saw Barracuda scatter a small amount of ash from a tiny, square white envelope in his very large hand. It drifted lazily onto the polished wood floor.

  Barracuda gave an exaggerated snap to his fingers in imitation of the Fallen. From the ashes, a mass of shadows rose up, one after the other, until they entirely surrounded the Fallen's group. In a heartbeat, the shadows took form and shape, solidifying into a host of horned and fanged demons: red, blue, and green. The LaRue sisters strolled in almost lazily unfurling leathery wings the same blood red as their hair. Around them the air shimmered and in their arms, a pair of huge, organic looking guns appeared.

  Reaching under the desk, Roman pulled out a short, tasseled spear that popped and buzzed with such dark energy it seemed to blur the outline of its Master. Resting the weapon in the crook of one arm, he glared at the Fallen. “The real question is, Baron, do you know who I am? This is my house. You have crossed my threshold and I have the power to whip your angelic ass if you disrespect me or mine anymore.”

  This time a true smile appeared on the fearsomely handsome face of the Fallen Angel. “Well played, Voodoo King. You are right. I have been rude to you in your home.” He reached into the inside pocket of his velvet suit, pulling out a small leather pouch. He stepped forward and the host around him tensed. Holding up one hand in a placating gesture, he slowly emptied the bag, spilling out a handful of glittering gems.

  “I should have made my intent clear. I am, of course, willing to purchase this information and pay well for your time.”

  Barracuda didn't even look at the gems. “And if you had just asked me nicely, I would have told you exactly what I told that Avenging Angel for free. Who, by the way, said please and thank you, and brought a bag of fresh rolls from La Brea bakery, excuse me very much, Mr. Baron. Yes, I know who you are.”

  With a quick motion to the three dark beings, the Fallen transformed them back into the large sentinel dogs. He sat down and crossed his legs. The tension in the room scaled down several notches. “Accept the gems, your Highness, as my apology for being so brusque. I have been much in my own magic and forget the other gods have their own guardians who command just as much respect. Hubris is truly a sin.” Running his long, tapered fingers down one pant leg, he smoothed the fine material. “This little matter is of some personal importance to me. So
if you would, please, tell me of the Reaper and,” he kept his voice deceptively neutral, “the Avenging Angel who pursues him.”

  Chapter 9

  Evie perched on top of the yoghurt shop watching the second floor corner window in the tiny apartment building opposite. Just six units, the place had the advantage of being only a few steps from the beach. Its disadvantage took up the entire first floor. A bar and grill that, judging from the decibel level of the crowd, was generally more bar than grill. Evie sighed, thinking how good an icy cold draft beer would taste right about now. Maybe later. She needed a clear head. Her nerves were dancing and the Reaper was leading every step.

  Evening deepened to night, the stars coming out in the indigo sky. Clear for now, though Evie could see the fog bank hanging low, far out in the distance. The clouds would move in later, blanketing the beach towns in the coastal overcast so common to California. The noise of the crowds along Pier Street ebbed and flowed like the waves on the shore. Skateboarders popped, jumped, and twisted in front of the bronze surfer statue at the end of the street, trying to out-do each other. A police car stood parked nearby, lights flashing, the only automobile allowed on the pedestrian mall. One of the policemen leaned against the car, talking amiably to a couple of fisherman with long poles heading for some night fishing off the pier.

  Evie yawned. Today had been a very long, strange series of events, she reflected, even for an Avenging Angel. In fact, particularly for an Avenging Angel. The past twenty-four hours had been full of lessons. Whether those were lessons she was teaching or learning remained unclear. Tonight the fuzzy logic of the afterlife was particularly impenetrable.

  Around two a.m. the bars emptied out and the taxis waiting a block away filled up. Trick strolled out of the apartment building, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, apparently in no hurry. Crossing the Strand, he headed towards the beach. There was a damp chill in the air though the fog bank still hung far from the shore. Evie shivered. Not quite understanding what she was doing or why, she silently spread her wings and soared into the air, the night wind in her face.