Faith Hunter - Seraphs

“I’m cagey that way,” I agreed solemnly.

“Be careful. And keep those amulets on,” he said, sounding rueful. “Please.”

I smiled at him, seeing him for a moment in memory, a radiant reddish-gold aura sparkling with green light. Feeling his hands on my bare butt, kneading. I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I’ll try to contact Lolo,” I said. “Maybe she’ll let something slip. Or maybe she’ll answer a direct question. But before you go, I have a bit of information that might shed some light on all this.” Or might not. I still wasn’t a hundred percent certain that I had really seen what I thought I’d seen. It could all have been illusion created by the Darkness, and if so, would only cloudy the muddy waters even more.

Quickly I told them the vision I had seen beneath the Trine, of the seraph with clipped wings, the cherub, and Zadkiel. I finished with the caveat that it might not have been real, but even so Thadd looked at me like I was nuts. “Seraphs in a hellhole?” he said. “I don’t think so.”

Because I doubted what I had seen myself, I didn’t get riled at his reaction—but it was a near thing. Rupert patted my shoulder, checked his watch, and stood. “Whatever,” he said. “We can talk about angels and demons later. Let’s get Thadd something from the shop. Something to convince his boss this visit was business.”

As I followed them to the door, I took a small amulet from my necklace and handed it to Thadd, careful not to touch him. “Here. Put this over the tooth marks on your neck. It’ll fade the bruises in about an hour. Keep your scarf on until then.”

“You bit me?” he asked, hunger freshly alight in his eyes. His fingers found the raspberry red places on his neck. His mouth parted and he surged toward me.

“Down, boy,” Rupert said, grabbing the cop and pulling him to the stairs.

“Yeah.” I ducked my head under the amused expressions of my friends. “I bit you. Sorry.” They closed the door in my face. I was alone in the loft, which smelled strongly of caramel, less strongly of ginger. Seraph and kylen pheromones changed with emotion, just as humans’ and mages’ did. When Thadd fought, he smelled of ginger. When he was aroused, the other scents were more powerful. Like now.

Forcing the rising heat back down again, I pushed the kitchen table away and got a bag of earth salt. Though used, it was potent enough to scry for Lolo. The old bat and I had a lot to talk about, not that I’d ever call her that to her face.

I poured water into my sterling silver conjuring bowl and lit a candle before sitting within the circle, at the open space in the salt ring. Spine erect, I crossed my legs yogi-fashion and closed my eyes, blew out a tension-filled breath and drew in a calming one. Again. And again. Serenity fluttered close, just out of reach, held at bay by mage-heat that still quivered through my nerves. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get any closer to calm today, and dropped the final handful of salt, closing the conjuring circle.

Power seized me. The fire of creation burned along my nerves and bones, pulling at me, tempting me, but as usual in the last few weeks, I batted away the temptation to take creation power for myself, to use as I willed, and stabilized the energies needed to scry for Lolo. Once, rejecting the temptation would have been difficult, nearly impossible, and many mages never gained any kind of restraint. I should have been worried about having such control, as it had been the gift of an outside force, but I wasn’t. Never had been.

My heart beat slowly, my blood pumped, breath moved through my lungs, and all glamour fell away. Scars bright, my body pulsed with a pink coral radiance, and a lavender underglow, as if I sat on a pillow of lavender light. But there was no big purple cobra this time, so maybe I was getting lucky. Luck, fickle and random, was something else I didn’t like to depend on. Only fools depended on the providence of good fortune.

My loft shone with power. Every window and doorway, and even the floor surfaces were charged with pale energy, glowing with subtle shades, their purposes working together to form the harmony that was my home.

Calm, relaxed, I called on Lolo. After several minutes, the water in the bottom of the bowl began to shimmer, brightening with an image. In it, a female form sat on a pile of pillows in a dark room. A flute played in the background. Drums beat a slow, steady rhythm. Candle flames bent in an unseen breeze. The priestess was in her chambers, attended by her musicians and acolytes. Finally, she had deigned to answer my call.

I repeated the incantation for scrying one last time as the vision came clear and tightened on the face of the seated woman. Lolo’s black-on-black eyes looked out at me from the water, her lips turned up serenely. Her voice filled my head. What you want, girl? she asked, her Cajun accent present even in her mental voice.

“Four things,” I said aloud. “I want to know how to call for seraphic help without calling mage in dire.”

Yes, Lolo said. I can teach you dis ting. It part of you visa.

“I want to know what the visa can do and how to use it to its full potential.”

Dat too, she said.

Good. Small steps. Now the bigger things, I thought. “I want to know if you were involved in the breeding of Thaddeus Bartholomew.”

Lolo’s eyes flickered once, and her tranquil smile faltered. I’d not have noticed had I not been watching her so closely. “Last, I want to know about the seraphs in the pit of Darkness.”

Her hand lifted and the vision wavered as if I had lost focus for a moment. And then she was gone. The water went dim and I could see the silver bottom of the bowl.

I had lost her. Though I tried twice more to call the priestess of New Orleans Enclave, I failed. The water in the bowl remained only water, reflecting back the candle flame. I swore silently, thinking I should have put stones on the bottom for added power. When I knew my attempts would continue to be futile, I recharged the defensive amulets placed around the loft; not that they seemed able to keep the incubus out, but they were all I had. Marginally satisfied, I reached over and opened the circle, the energies flowing back into me.

As I cleaned up the salt, I thought about Lolo’s face when I asked my last questions. Her shock. Her dismay. There had been no disbelief, no denial, only surprise that I had asked the questions. Only distress that I knew to ask. And something akin to alarm. Perhaps I hadn’t failed after all.

At the end of the workday, I was feeling antsy. To banish the remnants of mage-heat, I dressed in work clothes and went out back to the old post-and-beam stable, one of several in a row. Zeddy, Jacey’s teenage stepson, was there before me, mucking out the stalls by lantern light as the geldings—Audric’s palomino Clydesdale and my huge black Friesian—and Rupert’s mule munched feed and hay. I grabbed a shovel and started on the far side of the barn, feeling the pull of muscles in my shoulders and back. The air inside was brisk but not miserably cold, heated by the bodies of the horses and the activities of two workers. Building up a sweat, Zeddy and I worked in silence, Jacey’s stepson nearly a match in size for the workhorses. We had cleaned the stalls and most of the common area when the horses threw up their heads, inhaled and blew, snorting. Clyde stamped in agitation. The mule trumpeted a heehaw of fear.

“Miss Thorn?” Zeddy said. “Something feels wrong.”

The stink of brimstone and sulfur blew through the cracks in the barn. Seraph stones. I gripped the shovel and moved to the doors facing the back of Thorn’s Gems. Holding the shovel like a bowstaff, a martial art weapon, I eased open the door to the night, the lamplight a wedge revealing snow trampled with three-toed footprints. “Spawn!” I shouted, as something crashed against the door and I jumped back. Mage-sight kindled instantly, turning the world shades of pink, indigo, purple, and pale yellow.