Rob Thurman - Trick of the Light

And where did angels and demons go when they “died”? Because it was death, at least for a demon. They didn’t go back down to Hell for a little detention and pop up again later. At least, I’d never seen one that had. Once the brain was gone, it was gone for good. What then? Per their doctrine, there was no place higher to step up to for the angels and no lower for the demons, right?

Curious.

So was death really and truly death for them? The nothingness of nonexistence?

Maybe I’d ask this one. “Hey,” I started, until a familiar elbow impacted my side. Leo. He knew exactly what I was thinking. He usually did.

“Sorry.” I gave in, not graciously, but I did give in. A great woman had once said, The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity. That did describe me down to the molecular level, but, sadly, there was a time and place. This was not it. I nudged my thoughts back to the more important matter at hand: the Light.

The angel that was here to fetch it was a man in the same way that demons are men. Although, to give credit, demons were women too. Same MO. Female demons were just as drop-dead gorgeous as the males, sweating unbelievable sex appeal, the eye of a hurricane of pheromones—the whole nine yards. Demons were equal-opportunity salespeople. We’ll take your soul, male, female; bring whatever you have and we’ll be whatever you want. But now that I thought about it, the few angels I’d seen had always been male. It made me a little sorry that I hadn’t shot this one after all. Sexist pigeon.

Instead, I asked, “What do you want here?” I knew very well what he wanted. “Never mind,” I dismissed him. “Whatever it is, you’re not getting it. Take a hike, or a flight, and don’t look back. Turning into a pillar of salt would be the least of your concerns.”

I hadn’t seen his wings, but now I noticed a shimmer of dark purple-blue light hit a curve, almost as if the wings were there but made of glass. Solemn, promising eyes of the same twilight color peered through his white-blond bangs. “Trixa. Leo. We’ve been waiting for you.” Then he smiled and I was in that twilight . . . a glorious spring one, warm and silken. Surrounded by it. Caressed.

I looked over to see a faint sweat over the cords of Leo’s neck. “Really?” I said, surprised. “You go that way now and again? I had no idea.”

“No, I don’t. And you do have an attention span. Use it,” he gritted, flushing lightly before turning his head to the right. “Well, shit,” he said in disgust.

Solomon, our Solomon, stepped out of the darkness there. I knew he was up to his neck in this—might’ve even killed Jeb himself. It hadn’t looked like a demon kill—had lacked a certain level of violence and definitely didn’t smell like demon—but it wasn’t beyond him to fake it to look otherwise. I had no idea who had done Jeb in, Eden House or a demon. Either way, Solomon was in the game; that I’d known for some time. “Whatever this molting chicken has to tell you isn’t worth hearing,” he said, giving a dismissive nod at the angel.

“That’s probably true. It’s probably true about you too.” I met his gray eyes as I took a step toward the curve of light in the sand.

“If that’s what you imagine it to be, do you think it will be that easy?” he asked with a shadow of amused arrogance underlying the question.

“You never know. Not until you ask nicely.” I did ask—in my mind. I asked quite courteously if I might enter. I heard nothing, saw no mystical signs, but took a chance anyway and stepped over. I felt nothing more than a warm tingle that shimmered from my head to my toes—not to say that wasn’t enjoyable and it definitely beat disintegration or slamming into an invisible wall, which the angel promptly did. “Look at that, Solomon,” I said, giving the angel a sassy and unrepentant smile as he hauled his holy ass back to his feet. “See where a little politeness will get you? A nice invitation—that’s what.” I tossed my gun to Leo. It was allowed through the same as I had been. “Stay out here and play duck shoot?”

“Be happy to,” he said with a cold smile, and pointed the barrel at Solomon’s head.

I rapped politely at the metal door and bent my head to climb in. John Wilbur was a tiny man sitting on an equally tiny orange and brown couch, his small hands clasped as he rocked back and forth. The desert had withered him to a raisin of a man. Small, dark, and wrinkled.

“I’m Buddhist, you know. Picked it up a few years ago,” he said immediately, his voice four times bigger than he was. “They ain’t right. I have my own ways. They ought to be leaving me alone. The two of them. Trying to talk me into coming out. Talking and talking and lying and giving me the smooth.” The skin around his small eyes spiderwebbed as he gave me a snaggle toothed grin. “Tossed one of my Buddhas through the window at the one. Surfer boy.” That would be our bleached-blond angel. “He had a dent in his head for a good minute.” That was good to know. Things could leave our bubble of protection, but nothing could enter, not without permission. Although I didn’t think it was Wilbur ’s permission I had received, I thought that was via the tiny bit of the Light left here, and it was only a tiny bit. From what I’d heard of the Light, this display was a firecracker compared to the atomic bomb. Heaven, Hell, and Earth weren’t moving against one another for the ability to protect a trailer.

I looked down at Wilbur, holding a cheerfully green ceramic Buddha in his hand. The place was littered with them. Fat, laughing Buddhas. Skinny, solemn Buddhas. One was even in a hula skirt. I liked that about Buddha. Throughout history he had never minded a laugh at his own expense. He had never minded any good-natured laughter at all. We should all be that happy.

“Good for you.” I smiled. “Toss me one and let’s see if I can get the dark guy in the high-roller suit.”

I missed Solomon with the green Buddha, but only because he turned to dark mist and sank into the ground. “Cheater,” I said under my breath as he immediately rose again.

“You don’t throw like no girl.” Mr. Wilbur tried for another grin, but it wobbled. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?” He shook his head. “The bastard should’ve warned me first, but ain’t no way I’d take it then, right? Even with his talk of a better world. Making things right. Crazy old bastard. Couldn’t understand a damn word he said half the time.” He sighed and wiped at an eye. “Twitches now and again,” he mumbled. Straightening, he squared his small shoulders and said, “Jeb said after he had time to hide that damn thing away, it’d be no problem. No reason for anyone to come looking for him and it would be safe. The Light would be safe. Well, it might’ve been gone, but he wasn’t. Neither am I.”

I didn’t know how whoever found Jeb had done it. Whether it was through Wilder Hun, probably, or some other way. But I suspected they had found Wilbur precisely the same way Leo and I had. Demons and angels had been lurking out of sight at Jeb’s wake, avoiding the warm lemonade, but getting the same information we had. And wings made better time than my car. Popping in and out of existence wherever you pleased was a quick commute too.

“Who came looking for Jeb?” I interrupted. “Who killed him?”

He shrugged listlessly and shook his head. “I dunno. Doesn’t matter now anyway, ’cause here we are. I don’t have it. Jeb showed it to me, shiny gewgaw that it was, but he didn’t give it to me. Not really. They won’t believe me though, those out there.”

“No.” I met his eyes squarely. Wilbur wasn’t completely correct about the Light. A minute amount of it had stayed here, but at least Jeb hadn’t given him up. It wouldn’t have been much comfort, so I kept the thought to myself. I also thought that whoever had killed Jeb could’ve had a telepath with him and it wouldn’t have mattered. A little Light here, a little Light also in Jeb. I imagined it had left enough of itself in him to hide any information he had on its location. Pretty smart for a rock. Less smart on me as I still didn’t know who’d killed Jeb.