Kelley Armstrong - Haunted

"We should be going," I said. "We have a lot to do-"

"Of course you do," Balthial said. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Eve, and I am looking forward to renewing the acquaintance when you ascend."

"Yes," Shekinah said. "It was indeed a pleasure. And if you require any assistance with this quest, any assistance you might not be currently receiving, you may contact either Balthial or myself through the Fates."

At that, Trsiel's jaw set so hard I feared he'd start snapping teeth. The other angels nodded a farewell, as serene and composed as ever, and faded away.

"What the hell is her problem?" I muttered when they were gone.

Trsiel's jaw relaxed into a crooked smile. "Shekinah and I have some… philosophical differences. Balthial and I do, too, but he's better at hiding it."

"Seems like there's more than p hilosophical differences between you and them."

Trsiel tensed. His gaze studied mine, as if trying to interpret my meaning. Then he relaxed again and reached for my hand.

"Let's go see Amanda Sullivan," he said. "I'll explain on the way."

"So the Nix has resurfaced in the living world?"

He nodded. I laid my hand in his, and he teleported us there.

WE EMERGED IN A DARK, DANK ROOM THAT STANK OF something indescribably awful.

"Guano," Trsiel said in response to my gagging. When I gave him a "huh?" look, he translated. "Bat shit."

"There's a special name for it? Can't imagine why that never entered my vocabulary before. What's guano doing in-"

I stopped as my brain made an abrupt logical click. Where there's bat shit, there must be… I looked up, way up, and saw rows of little bodies suspended from the ceiling. I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest.

Trsiel smiled. "You'll wrest a burning sword from an angel, but you're afraid of bats?"

"I'm not afraid of them. I just don't like them. They're… furry. Flying things shouldn't be furry. It's not right. And if I ever meet the Creator, I'm taking that one up with him."

Trsiel laughed. "That I'd like to see. Your one and possibly only chance to get the answer to every question in the universe, and you'll ask, 'Why are bats furry?' "

"I will. You just wait."

As Trsiel prodded me forward, I tried hard not to glance up. Judging by the damp chill and the flying rodents, we were either in a cave or a really lousy basement. The stacks of moldering boxes suggested option two.

"I thought we were going to the jail," I said.

"We are."

I scanned the room. "I think your teleport skills need a tune-up, Trsiel.'"

"Close enough."

He led me through a door and into a cleaner part of the basement. As we walked, he made good on his promise to explain about Shekinah and Balthial.

Earlier, Trsiel had mentioned a structural reorganization in the angels' ranks, whereby only ascended angels went out into the world on missions. The full-bloods did other tasks, higher tasks. Most of the full-bloods were more than happy to leave the daily grind as "divine instruments of justice" to the ascendeds. A few, though, like Trsiel, chafed at this new world order like career beat cops assigned to desk duty. Can't say I blamed him. Give me the down-and-dirty life of a warrior over a sanitized office job any day.

That, Trsiel explained, was part of his "philosophical difference" with Shekinah and Balthial. They were glad to be out of the trenches, away from the taint of humanity, while Trsiel embraced that "taint," and all that went with it.

"It's not that I want to be human," he said as he led me through the basement. "It's just that I don't see anything inherently wrong with being human. Wait-oh, this way." He swerved around a corner. "It comes down to one question. Who do angels serve? We serve the Creator, the Fates, and the other divine powers. That's a given. But do we also serve humanity? I think we do."

"And they disagree?"

"Vehemently." He paused at the bottom of a rotted set of unused stairs, then took my elbow and guided me up them. "So that's part of the problem. The other part, not unrelated, is that I'm younger than they are."

"So you weren't all created together?"

"For full-bloods, there were three waves. As the human race grew and expanded, the Creator saw the need for more angels. I'm from the third wave, the last one. Since then, the ranks have been increased by recruited ghosts. The ascended angels."

"So how old are you?"

"Only about a thousand years."

I sputtered a laugh. "A mere tot."

He tossed me a smile. "Well, according to the old ones, that's exactly what I am. A child-a willful, uncouth, inexperienced child-one who definitely shouldn't have been assigned this job."

"Seems to me you're doing just fine."

Another smile, broader. "Thanks."

We found Amanda Sullivan sleeping fitfully in her cell, jerking and moaning with dreams… or visions of the Nix. I hoped they gave her nightmares, horrible nightmares, the kind that disturb sleep for months and scar the psyche forever.

Again, Trsiel offered to scan Sullivan's brain for me. I refused.

Since he'd been here only minutes before, he knew exactly where to look for the visions, and zipped me over to that part of her sleeping brain without so much as a glimpse at the putrid wasteland elsewhere.

As we coasted to a stop, I braced myself. Colors and sounds flickered past. A man's face twisted in anger. Ripples of simmering frustration. A pang of envy. A woman's taunting laugh. A newspaper clipping. More clippings, like a scrapbook. A grainy photo of a sprawled body. An announcer's voice with feigned gravitas, words cutting in and out. "Deaths." "Wounded." "Notorious." "Manhunt." A wave of excitement. Then harsh words raining down like hail. "Stupid." "Ugly." "Useless." "Wasted space."

The images flipped faster, out of focus, like a movie reel hitting the end. Then nothing. I waited, straining for voices, but nothing came. After about ten minutes of this, Trsiel pulled me out. When I opened my eyes, I saw Sullivan on the cot, sleeping soundly.

"So that's it?" I said. "She's gone?"

"It seems so. Her old partners aren't connected to her all the time."

"We can't sit around here, popping in and out of this woman's brain, hoping she links up with this new partner again."

"And what would you suggest? Unless you noticed more than I did, there wasn't anything to go on. Only a few news articles with no solid connection to the partner herself."

"No? What are they, then? Random images?"

Trsiel shook his head. "The Nix is plucking them out of her memory, showing them to her, hoping to incite a reaction."

I slumped against the wall. "So we have nothing, then."

"Be patient. More will come."

We spent the rest of that night in Sullivan's cell, with Trsiel logging in to her brain every five minutes, checking for fresh data. At about four, he suggested I go hunt down the little boy, George, see how he was doing. Very considerate… though I suspect he was just tired of watching me pace.

Morning came, and a guard roused the women for breakfast. Sullivan stayed in bed. The other women were released from the cells, but no one even stopped at Sullivan's door. Maybe she wasn't a breakfast person.

After every other woman had filed out, Sullivan rose, groggy and sulky, and yanked on her clothing. A few minutes later, a guard brought her a food tray.

"It's cold," Sullivan whined, without even taking a bite. "It's always cold."

"That so?" the guard said, hands on her broad hips. "Well, Miss Sullen, we could always let you go down and eat with the rest of them again. Would you like that?"

As Sullivan turned away, her hair tumbled off her shoulder, revealing a slice across her neck that had yet to scab over.