Rob Thurman - Trick of the Light

And Griffin . . . a high-level demon. Not as high as Solomon or it would’ve been him on the outside and Solomon undercover, but still high-level. Who knew how many he’d killed? How many souls he’d damned? The Light didn’t let him know. I still felt a small tickle of it in my head. I felt how it took Hell from Griffin’s mind and Heaven from Zeke’s, took those memories away forever. Griffin wouldn’t know what he’d done, so he’d be free to be the good man he was now. And Zeke would be able to hold on to the scrap of free will he’d managed to wrangle for his own and keep working on it. Who knew? Someday . . . a long time . . . but someday, he’d learn, he’d get it right. They looked up as the Light, which existed to protect, protected them from themselves. It brightened as it rained down on them. Glass and scales became flesh. They became human again.

Except for the wings.

Zeke’s glass and crystal turned to the very traditional feathered kind—all copper as his hair with only the faintest barring of cream at the bottom. Griffin’s were the same dragon wings of before, only less tarnished . . . a brighter gold. They were beautiful, the both of them, just as they’d always been.

“Leo.” I met brown raven eyes the size of lemons. “Take the Light to the Hearth.” Hearth and home. We would have a home now. A safe harbor. A place no angel or demon could breach, one where they could never kill one of our kind again—where the very first who’d walked this world could be the very last as well. One eye winked and he was gone, the wind from his wings nearly knocking us all from our feet. It would have if I hadn’t already been sitting, courtesy of my wobbly legs. I felt the Light caress my mind, saying good-bye, holding me as I imagined Kimano doing; then it was gone . . . every last mote of it. Off to its new home.

Sanctuary. Finally. No more Kimanos. No more païen dead.

Of course, that’s not to say one had to go there right away. Yes, if all out-and-out war came between the three: angels, demons, and the païens . Or if you needed a rest after a hard hundred years of work tricking those who deserved it. You could go at any time. It didn’t mean you had to stay, hidden from the world if you didn’t want to . . . sheltered from the tricks and the dangers. The surly girls and fat dogs. The desert wind and an old Indian who never forgot you, no matter if you were coyote or human. The bar fights and the pool games. The red balloons left tied to benches. The fields of spring flowers and the tsunamis that drowned islands beneath the sea. You didn’t have to give up the good, the bad, and the miles and miles of everything else that stretched between.

I mean, where would be the fun in that?

Getting out of Leviathan turned out to be relatively simple, although none of us knew how to fly a helicopter.

“How old are you? Really?” Griffin asked. “You told us you were twenty-one ten years ago, but you said you’d been looking for Solomon a damn sight longer than that. So that picture you have of your brother in your room, the black and white—”

“Was taken when black and white was your only option, about sixty years ago.” It was Kimano, Leo, and I. Leo had been the raven, as usual. I think he did it to irritate his father who had two ravens of his own, annoying little spies that they were, sitting on Odin’s shoulders. I’d been the coyote in the picture, and it had been the old American Indian who’d recognized me at the gas station yesterday who’d taken the photo for us. It was nice when someone remembered the old ways. I’d given him a red silk bandana for that, clutched in a pointed furry muzzle then. I’d given him a truck for it yesterday.

“And I’m old enough to know you don’t need to know.” I waved my arms at them imperiously to be helped up. “Still young and hot, got it?” The two of them let each other go, reluctantly if my eyes were good, and they were.

“I just liked to think if I’m older than you, that I could finally give you shit instead of the other way around, big sister,” Griffin drawled.

“Look at the ex-demon with his big-boy pants on now,” I snorted. I took his hand and Zeke’s with my other and managed to get upright and stay that way. “It’s not the age of the brain cells, boys; it’s how you use them. Do you want to talk about what you did with yours before you came to Vegas?”

He grimaced. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.” But I let go of his hand to give him a sympathetic rub of his back. It would take a lot of processing to come to grips with being what you imagined to be the worst evil in existence. They actually weren’t. Only the second most evil, but there was no need to get into that and it probably wouldn’t make him feel much better anyway.

We païens had our own version of demons, but oh so much worse.

“So we’re all old. Any of us know how to fly a helicopter?” Zeke said, more to the point than anything Griffin and I had brought up.

“Never needed one. Wind beneath my wings and all that.” I held out my arms beside me and shook my head. “But that’s over. I won’t have my own again for a while.”

“Why?” Griffin took his turn and asked, the thick hair a tangle from the wind of Leo’s flight.

I shrugged a little uncomfortably. “I showed off a little. I didn’t just want Solomon dead. I wanted him afraid, terrified, and I wanted him to suffer. For my brother. I pulled together a lot of forms at once. Too many. My battery has been drained for a while.” I wasn’t sorry I’d done it, but there are consequences for everything. Especially vengeance—big vengeance. I’d known the price. Kimano was worth paying that price.

“Then you’re stuck in your original form?”

I laughed as I touched his gold wing. It felt like silk strung between smooth metal. “This isn’t me. It has been one of my favorite forms though. And I’m only stuck in human form for four or five years or so. It’s not that long.” It wasn’t. Although the human vulnerability rather sucked—no healing, no making wounds disappear as I shifted form. All human. I did like this Trixa though. I’d thought carefully about who she’d be. I’d wanted to be all things, not just one. I wanted to be literally all ethnic varieties on the planet. I might appear mostly Asian and African, but I hadn’t stopped there. You named it and it was in me. Caucasian, Arabic, Polynesian, Aborigine . . . everything. It was rather clever: If there is a pheromone component to race and gender, anyone would be naturally inclined to trust me or be attracted to me, because in a small genetic way, they were family. To have your foot already in the door with everyone you met, what more could a trickster want?

Not that it seemed to work with Leo’s bimbos of the moment. Nothing could penetrate their own Light, their own shield—one of stupidity.

“You can choose any form you want?” Zeke asked curiously. “Why not one with bigger boob—” Griffin elbowed him hard and we were back to where we’d been weeks ago. Zeke without an internal filter and Griffin saving his ass. It was . . . wonderful. The best.

“You better go get your guns out of the helicopter,” I ordered, “if you’re going to talk trash like that, and because the two of you are about to take your first flight. The first one you’ll remember anyway.”

While Zeke cursed inside the copter trying to get the weapons locker open and cursed Leo while he was at it for not waiting to give us a ride, Griffin at my side said quietly, “I’m a demon.”

“No, you were a demon,” I corrected, cupping his face. “You’ve been human since you first came to Vegas to watch over Zeke for literally all of your human lives. That proves that you, Griffin, are one of the most hon orable and truly good men I know.” He opened his mouth, doubt written all over his face. “And,” I added, “you wanted to know how old I am? More than six thousand years old. Old enough to have known many good men. More bad men, but many good ones too. You rank at the top. I promise you that.”