Rob Thurman - Trick of the Light

“As if that’s news to me,” he said with an almost-indulgent smile. “So, what do you know about the Light of Life?”

Ah. Not a routine seduction visit. Hun the pervert had sold me out or else Solomon had followed another rumor. Solomon was here for a reason far from sex and a very good reason it was too. The Light of Life. And why not? Solomon had to be one of Below’s top players. Who better to send looking? And as he said, there was a war on. Not an out-and-out war. More of a cold war. No angels storming Hell, no demons assaulting Heaven. Not yet. The demons simply didn’t have the numbers, and if you didn’t have that, then you needed some other edge. Such as the Light.

“I know you’re nowhere near that to me yet.” I tilted my gaze over the mug’s edge. “Not the light of my life. Not my reason for being. Not my pookie-bear. But you keep trying, Solomon. Maybe one day you’ll get there.”

He stood in a motion so smooth and fast he put a cheetah to shame. Slamming both hands down on the table, he demanded darkly, “You’ve been sniffing around. Don’t think I don’t see that. Don’t for an instant think I don’t know. Now, tell me about the Light.”

I nodded at his right hand, where my second combat knife had just been embedded through the flesh and bone into the table beneath it. This time it was the other way around—a demon underestimated me. “I know a Snoopy Band-Aid should take care of that.” I also knew the hand was quicker than the human eye. And demons were quicker than that, but not in this case. He appeared sincerely surprised. Why, I wasn’t sure. If I had one knife in my one boot for his chest, what did he think I had in the other one? Tickets to Spamalot ?

Men.

Demons.

I might have miscalculated with the second category last night, but they returned the favor on a daily basis. Although usually not Solomon. Outside of the House of Eden’s hunters, I might be the only nondemon he respected. But apparently he didn’t respect me quite enough. I thought I’d just changed that and that put me one up on what Solomon thought of Eden House hunters.

Hunters . . . Zeke. Griffin. I put the mug down as Solomon yanked the knife, blood dripping from the serrated edge, from his hand. Pretty. But not pretty enough to make me forget. If Zeke had died, I would’ve killed Solomon the moment he’d stepped from the shadows. I’d have taken that shotgun and ended whatever this thing was we had between us. I’d tried so hard not to let anything interfere with seeking vengeance for Kimano, but Zeke and Griffin, no matter how much I wanted to deny it, had stepped into a place close to his. To the right, to the left. Not his spot in my heart, but near . . . very near. My brothers, whether I wanted them to be or not—whether they screwed up my plans or not. They had done it and I’d seen it coming, tried to stop it, but in the end . . .

That Zeke was in the same shape made Solomon the luckiest demon alive.

“You really should be Eden House. You’re quick. So very quick.” He flipped the blade, ignoring the black blood staining his fingers, and offered the handle to me. “For a human.”

“I’m a savant. Some are good with music, some math. I’m very, very good with sharp things.” I took the knife and gave an internal sigh at the cleaning job lying ahead, bound to clog up the dishwasher. “Some of us might be born hunters, but that doesn’t mean it’s the path we have to choose. Officially. I like my independence. I don’t need any little social clubs like Eden House to back me up.” I gave a triple flip of the blade and caught it by the black rubber handle again. “What could they possibly have to offer me except chains?”

His hand had healed in an instant, the same as his chest had. “You’re not telling me a thing, are you?”

I waved fingers at him and drank more of my tea. “Don’t worry. I’m not telling Eden House anything either. If God wants the Light, Above will have to come begging to me, just like you did. And they’ll get the same thing right now. Nothing.”

“God?” he repeated, appearing genuinely astonished. “You think God has anything to do with this? With Eden House?”

I frowned. “He doesn’t?”

He shook his head. “And you thought you knew it all, didn’t you? No. God has been hands-off since the Rebellion. The angels with free will have taken it upon themselves to form a middle management, if you will. To carry on Heaven’s work or what they think Heaven’s work might be. God didn’t start Eden House. Man did. And then angels took advantage of it. Why soil their lily-white hands when they can get Man to do it for them? Why fight demons when Eden House will train soldiers to stand in their place?”

“And what does God think of all this?” I asked.

Shrugging lightly, he replied with a trace of melancholy, “I’m a demon. I don’t know God’s word or will anymore.”

“And the angels?”

“I don’t think they know either. God is the sun to them now, warm, loving, but silent. Distant.” He was silent as well for a moment, remembering or thinking, before he finally mused, the gray of his eyes lightened to an almost silver, “You’re fortunate that I find you so . . . unique. Be careful of your back, Trixa. You humans, so fragile.”

From most demons . . . I would’ve said all demons up until then . . . that would’ve sounded like a threat. This didn’t sound like that. This sounded different. Like Solomon was different. But what was that difference? There was a thought that kept turning round and round in my head. A little kid’s whirligig, spinning. Always spinning. Black, then red, then silver, and which was real? Which was true?

Black.

Red.

Silver.

“I didn’t mean for you to be hurt. I didn’t mean for our game to go this far,” he said softly, eyes inscrutable. “We’re angels, you know. Fallen, but still angels.”

Then the door opened behind him and he disappeared into the shadow of it. Sank into the puddle of darkness on the floor. Angels . . .

Who ate souls, but had to if he wanted to survive. An angel who bargained for souls, but always gave fair trade. Gave you what you asked for. Even the Better Business Bureau couldn’t fault him there.

Angels or demons or both . . . and I had a headache. But I also had a client and this one couldn’t wait.

“Did you find him?” She was thirteen years old and not living on the street, but not precisely living off the street either. Her hair was long, lank brown and hadn’t been washed in a few days, and her frame was skinny but not too skinny. She was getting food somewhere. She probably hung out around the shelters. I didn’t ask her name because I knew it. Alone. She was alone in the world and when she thought of herself, that’s probably the only thing she called herself. Alone. Until a few weeks ago, but the past few days had been a return to that alone.

Kimano, Zeke, Griffin, Solomon, the Light . . . they were all things beyond me at the moment, but not this. I grinned and whistled. There was a skittering of paws and a dog just as brown as its owner came speeding out of the kitchen, half a hot dog still hanging from his mouth. Brown, yes. Lank like the girl, no. He was round like a beach ball.

Wary blue eyes turned clear in an instant and she scooped up the homely hound. It snarfed the last of the meat and licked her face enthusiastically. “Koko.” She didn’t care about her own name, but the dog . . . the dog had a name. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as she hugged him and when they opened again, they were just as wary as in the beginning. “How much?”

“This one’s pro bono,” I said, grinning back at the dog. Two of a kind we were. We saw life and hot dogs and seized the day. Carpe diem. Carpe canis. Beef canis. Pork canis. Kosher canis. As long as it had mustard and relish, we were good. Right, doggy? The tongue lolled at me in what I was sure was agreement.