Thomas Sniegoski - Walking In the Midst of Fire

“He’s from the Vatican?” Montagin asked as Remy nodded.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” the angel said, bringing a trembling hand to his head.

Remy’s phone began to ring. It was Linda.

“Look, let me get this,” Remy said. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and see if Bridget will give you something to eat? She was making shepherd’s pie this morning.”

“I love shepherd’s pie,” Montagin said, heading toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” Remy said into the phone.

“How are things?” Linda asked.

“Good,” he answered. He couldn’t bear to think of what might be waiting around the corner, if the news of Aszrus’ death got out. He had seen what a war fought between angels was like, and couldn’t even imagine this world experiencing something so devastating. “Got some things that I’m working on.”

“I was calling to see if you want me to take Marlowe with me, or if you’ll be home?”

“Would you take him, if it isn’t a bother? I’m not sure when I’ll be able to wrap things up, and I don’t want the boy hanging around with his legs crossed.”

“Oh, can’t have that,” she answered with a short laugh.

“Nope.”

“All right, I’ll let you go, then,” Linda said.

“Okay,” he answered, wanting to continue to talk with her, but knowing that the longer he was away from figuring out who, or what, had killed Aszrus . . .

“Give me a call later?” she asked.

“Sure,” he answered. “Tell the boy that I’ll see him later.”

“I will,” she said.

He was about to hang up, when he realized that there was something that he had to say. “Linda?” he called out.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” he said, and knew that it was completely true.

There was a long pause, and he could just about make out the sound of her breathing.

“Hello?” he asked. “Are you there?”

“I love you, too.”

“Good,” he said.

“Good,” she repeated, and then broke the connection.

Remy slipped the phone back into his pocket, and was considering heading back inside the study to see how Malatesta was doing, when he noticed one of the female staff members staring blankly ahead from the end of the corridor.

It was as if she was watching him, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Maybe sensing him was more like it.

“Hello,” he called out to her. “Is there something I can do for you?”

She advanced slowly, carefully, her fingertips running along the wall to guide her way.

“He’s gone,” she declared.

Remy was taken aback, but tried not to show it. “Excuse me?”

“The master . . . He’s gone.”

“That’s something you’re going to have to take up with Mr. Montagin,” Remy said, turning toward the door to the study.

“I knew it was only a matter of time,” she said. “Only a matter of time before the sin of the world had its way with him.”

Remy froze for a moment, then slowly approached the woman.

She was younger than she looked initially, straggly blond hair falling down across her face. She smiled, chasing away the years.

“He called himself a creature of God,” she began, her fingernails scratching at irregularities in the wall. “If that’s the case, I wasn’t aware that God was so awful and cruel.”

It wasn’t the first time Remy had heard that servants to the angels were treated less than humanely. Many of the divine creatures considered humanity little more than God’s pets.

Sea Monkeys in an aquarium.

Remy was standing directly in front of the woman now. The fingers that had just been picking at the wall wagged before him.

“Do you fancy yourself a creature of God?” she asked, and he caught a hint of disdain in her tone.

“Aren’t we all?” Remy asked.

The woman laughed, a high-pitched sound that very easily could have been tinged with madness. Serving angels certainly took its toll.

“What’s your name?” Remy asked her.

She considered the question for a moment before answering.

“Marley,” she said, almost in a whisper. “And you’re Mr. Chandler.”

“Remy,” he told her. “Call me Remy.”

Marley smiled again. “All right.”

“Why do you think that something bad has happened to your master, Marley?”

“It was inevitable,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Even the divine will fall when surrounded by so much . . . sin.”

“I don’t understand,” Remy admitted. “What was Aszrus surrounded with?”

Marley remained silent, picking at the wall again.

“Marley, what was your master doing that was so bad?”

Her face twisted up in disgust. “He was no better than the vermin that walk the streets,” she snarled. “He let himself be tempted. And it changed him.”

“Tempted by what?”

“Things, Remy,” she replied. “Are you tempted by things?”

“I don’t really understand what—”

“I’ll show you,” Marley interrupted, reaching out for his hand. She led him down the corridor, abruptly stopping just before the kitchen. She turned toward the wall and pushed on a wooden panel. “Secrets,” she muttered, as part of the wall slid inward with a click.

She led Remy through the tiny opening, closing it behind them and plunging the small hallway into total darkness. Remy altered the configuration of his eyes so that he could see where they were.

A stairway stood directly in front of them. Marley, still holding tightly to his hand, led him up the steps.

“Where are we going, Marley?” Remy asked.

She giggled. “Where the sins are, where he hid them.”

There was another door at the top of the stairs, and Marley paused briefly. She let go of his hand long enough to reach into the pocket of her maid’s uniform to extract a key. Feeling for the lock, she inserted the key and turned it, opening the creaking door.

“I was the only one he allowed inside,” Marley said. “The only one that he would let tidy up.”

She reached for Remy’s hand again, and drew him inside.

“This is where he would come,” she told him. “Where he would spend hours upon hours surrounded by his vices.”

Though he could see perfectly fine, Remy reached out to a table lamp to bring some light into the gloom. The light came on, and to say he was taken aback by what he saw there in the room was an understatement.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, taking it all in.

Marley stifled a laugh and crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest.

“These were his prizes,” she said with disdain. “His most cherished possessions.”

The room looked as though it might have belonged to a teenage boy, or maybe a first-year college student. Video game systems sat on the shelves of an elaborate entertainment center; empty plastic cases littered the floor. Aszrus appeared to have been a fan of first-person-shooter games. There were stacks of magazines just about everywhere: magazines about cars, about food, and porn—more porn than anything else, which complemented the plethora of pornographic DVDs stacked haphazardly beside a high-backed leather easy chair in front of a sixty-inch television monitor.

Remy slowly turned in the center of the den, taking it all in. There was a wheeled bar cart not far off, loaded with liquor—all top shelf. A tiny refrigerator hummed beside it.

On the table that held the lamp beside the easy chair, there was an ornate box, and he could only imagine what he would find inside. Remy reached out, carefully removing the carved lid. The inside of the case was compartmentalized: loose pot on one side, with rolling papers in another section beside it. In another section was what looked to be cocaine, and beside that what he guessed to be heroin. There was a hypodermic in its own thin section beside it.