Rob Thurman - Grimrose path

"I'm not the teacher"-he coughed a dry cough, the same as you gave after a long sleep-"anymore?" His hand tightened on Zeke's again.

"Not for a while at least." I patted his chest now covered in a hospital gown. "It'll do you good. I think you might've forgotten we all have lessons to learn. We're all teachers and we're all students, and I'm thinking, sugar, you're due a little detention."

"Not a little. A lot. A lot." The glower was directed at me over a shoulder, and I obediently relayed the message, using my fingers to comb through Griffin's tangled hair, but the blood and dirt were there to stay until the next shampoo, the hospital version or strawberry scented.

"I almost feel sorry for you when he does speak to you." I gave up on his hair.

"He is speaking to me." He raised his free hand to rub unsteadily at his head. It had to hurt. Being pulled out of a coma wasn't going to change that. "Just because it's not with words or thoughts"-he closed his eyes-"doesn't mean anything. What he feels…" The hand fell back to the bed as Zeke's head bowed. No words, but they were communicating and it was heartbreaking to see, as necessary as it was. Now Griffin would have a whole different guilt to deal with. I hope he dealt with it better than the unnecessary ex-demon one.

"I'll go get the nurse. They'll give you something for the pain once they get over your practically supernatural recovery. Just don't tell them quite how supernatural." I patted him again, his shoulder this time, the same spot I gripped when I reached across the bed to touch Zeke. "I'll be back in the morning." I'd only be one in a crowd in the next few minutes. I'd let Zeke have what small amount of extra room there was going to be. Miracles tended to suck the oxygen and space out of a room, and now that I had Griffin back, both my boys safe and whole, there was a catastrophe heading my way-heading everyone's way. Mama said there was always a catastrophe coming. Someone's world was always coming to an end. It wasn't our worry to change every ending, only the endings we could. Know your limitations, girl, else you become one yourself.

This time though, Mama didn't know. One ending could be every ending this time. One fall could be everyone's fall.

"Thanks, Trixa, for saving me." Zeke gave a discontented grunt. "For helping Zeke save me," Griffin corrected himself.

"My not-so-great pleasure. Don't get yourself in trouble like that again, not the self-made kind anyway. Besides, I was only along for the ride, to make sure Zeke didn't tear Vegas down to the foundations to find you." I paused at the door to look back at both of them, but particularly Griffin. "Remember that. If I wasn't here, what Zeke would've done and I can't say I blame him. He's listened to you for all his life"-all the one he could remember-"so now I think it's time you listened to him for a while." I held up a finger. "Except on running over grandmas driving tiny ecofriendly hybrids with your big satanic bus. Listen and learn, but there are limits."

I raised three other fingers to join the first and give them a quick wave good-bye as I left. They needed the time, and I would only be a third wheel to that bicycle… or a second wheel to the unicycle. Codependency, it isn't ever a good thing in the human world, but in the supernatural world, sometimes it could be the very best thing-for some the only thing that kept them sane.

I notified the nurse, who ran for the doctor. I called Leo to tell him to skip the hospital and go home for the night. Then I followed my own advice, ducked under the frame that had once held glass, and walked through my door. Despite the gaping hole in it, I knew nothing would be missing. In this neighborhood, no one except desperate drug addicts tried to steal from me. And if a stranger tried, he wouldn't leave this neighborhood without an ass-kicking he wouldn't soon forget. My neighbors loved me. Free-alcohol Fridays made sure of that. As I stood on the shattered glass Zeke had left earlier-one more chore for the morning-all the lights came on simultaneously. The jukebox, which was decorative-it hadn't worked since about the time they'd stopped making records-came to life, and the sounds of "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen filled the room. It could've been worse. It could've been "Teen Angel."

Because that was who was waiting for me, minus the teen part. Shoulder-length blond hair, white wings barred with gold, and eyes the color of the water where the Titanic had sunk. Dark gray-blue. Oh, and he had a sword.

The angel quirked his lips very slightly. "You wouldn't believe what a bitch it was getting this through airport security."

I shot the jukebox with the gun hidden in the dead plant by the door, put the weapon back, and then dropped my face into my hands. I liked Ishiah. I trusted Ishiah to a certain point, which was big for a trickster. But I did not need this. I didn't want this. I didn't even want to see it. Not now. I was exhausted. I had too much on my plate and I just wanted to sleep.

"Trixa," the voice coaxed. "It won't be like last time, my word, not that you have anyone but yourself to blame for that." There was that attitude. That disapproving, condescending attitude. "I'm here to assist you. Only that. There will be no last time this time."

Last time. I didn't want to talk about the last time. I didn't want to think about the last time. I wished the last time could be erased from time itself altogether, because I would never live it down. Not until my dying day.

Last time. Why did he have to bring it up? I considered taking out the gun again and doing to myself what I'd done to the jukebox.

Hallelujah, my ass.

More like Hellelujah.

I went downstairs in the morning, late… around eleven, but it was a long night and I'd called Zeke around eight a.m. to hear Griffin was doing well, but was still an asshole. Reassured about his physical health if not the lack of improvement in his assholery, I went back to sleep for another two and a half hours. When I did get up, I dressed for success after showering. No sweats or T-shirts for running or the occasional footy pajamas for comfort sleeping. I wanted this particular angel to know I was in business and meant it as well. With a thin long-sleeve sweater in psychedelic swirls of dark red, bronze, and black; black jeans and boots; and a flashy gold and garnet of earrings to match the tiny stud in my nose.

Leo was there… at the opposite end of the bar, staring unblinking at the angel who had taken a stool at the other end. He might have spent the night on that stool, or on the couch in Leo's office, gotten a hotel… I didn't know. Last night I'd walked past him without a word and gone upstairs to sleep. Where he did the same didn't worry me. He more than could take care of himself, the scar on his jaw told you that. Now he was staring as unblinkingly back at Leo, giving just as good as he got until he heard me. Then he swiveled, took me in, and gave a grave nod. "The new look becomes you. And from Mica to Trixa Iktomi. That suits you as well, but a last name? How human of you."

Mica had been like Cher or Madonna. One name needed only,for the last time I'd seen Ishiah-who wasn't technically an angel anymore, although I'd known him when he had been one, making his list of who went into the Roman orgies and who walked righteously by. Stick up his ass the same as all of them. Not worth wasting your breath on with his "Thou shall not this; thou shall not that" sanctimonious attitude. But when he went native… retired and became a peri, he mellowed. Slowly, but he had. The last time I'd seen him, the infamous last time, he hadn't been bad at all, especially considering what we'd done to his bar. At the time, although he was retired, I hadn't considered him on our side by any means. It was one of the few times I'd been… not so much wrong, but not quite right either. When Ishiah had gone native, he'd thoroughly done that deal. He tried to stay neutral… like Switzerland, only without the corrupt banks.