Jessa Slade: The Darkest Night

Even if the view was a little hazy.

With the night wearing on, there wouldn’t be anyone where she was going. The whole point was no one would see her, so it didn’t matter she couldn’t quite see them.

She circled her chosen route quickly, just in case anyone was watching. This was the fourth year she’d done it, and so she’d had to hit some places for the second time. She’d made the afternoon news last year, and she didn’t want to be prime time this year. She squelched the guilty feeling. Another side effect from being near an angel.

On her way back to the club, she passed through a familiar neighborhood, and curiosity nipped sharper than the guilt. Well, that wasn’t such a terrible thing. Curiosity had never hurt anyone.

She touched the curved rim of her cat’s-eye glasses wryly.

The nursing home where she pulled up was decorated for the season with a small herd of white-lighted reindeer, an umbrella-style fake Christmas tree, an inflatable menorah, and a large nativity scene with the plastic wise men draped in kente cloth colorful enough to burn through even the haziest cataracts.

“How inclusive,” she murmured.

Too bad they’d never have room at the inn for traditions like hers.

She parked around the corner and headed up the sidewalk, heels crunching on the thick layer of salt pellets laid, no doubt, in preparation for the storm warnings that had been playing between the Christmas carols as she drove. The lake effect weather was almost as punishing as an angel.

Although the ache between her legs said punishment didn’t have to be a bad thing.

What a thought to be having on the steps of a nursing home. Santa would definitely be putting her on the naughty list.

She had to be rung into the facility—this wasn’t the time of year for residents to go wandering—but she wasn’t surprised to hear the welcoming voice as the door opened.

“Bella? Hello. What are you doing out on a night like tonight?”

“Hi, Nanette.” Bella had known the angelic-possessed woman would be working the holidays. Of course she would. After her husband had been murdered—collateral damage in the war between the talyan and impenitent djinn-men—Nanette had thrown herself into all sorts of charity work, as if she had something to atone for. Bella had heard through the talyan that Nanette volunteered at the nursing home; they’d steered her that way to keep an eye on her because they blamed themselves as much as Bella did and they knew better than the angel-possessed woman how atonement might never end.

Bella tilted her head, taking in the rumble of the TV— It’s a Wonderful Life from the overwrought sound of it—and the scent of apple cider. She held out the gift in her hand. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring you and your residents some cookies.”

“You made cookies for us? How sweet.”

As Nanette relieved her of the small burden, Bella saw no reason to correct either of the woman’s two mistaken statements.

She followed the soft squeak of Nanette’s shoes. “How are you getting along?”

“Good.” The squeaks stopped. “Okay. Better than before.”

Bella pursed her lips. “You are a terrible liar.”

Nanette sighed. “Even you can tell? Wait, I’m sorry, that was so rude. I didn’t used to be rude.”

“Blame the talyan.”

“Oh, I do.” Nanette’s voice was softer than her shoes and very faintly bitter. “And myself, of course.”

Bella swallowed. “Now it’s my turn to be sorry.”

“Don’t be. You brought cookies. Now what else brought you here?” Nanette thumped her hand. “Have a seat.”

Bella settled into the overstuffed chair. A whiff of old-person smell wreathed her for a moment, and she closed her eyes. Would she ever get to be old?

“I had a visit from Cyril Fane.” She lowered her voice. “He wanted me to get a message to the talyan. I was surprised he didn’t come to you.”

“I don’t see him or the talyan if I can help it,” Nanette said. “Only Sera Littlejohn, since her father lives here. But if you need me to help—”

“I’ll find them at the Coil soon enough.” Bella paused. “But I was wondering about Fane…” To her surprise, her voice trailed off.

“Are you blushing?”

“Blushing? No. It’s just hot in here.” She smoothed the faux fur hem of her parka. She couldn’t very well open it since she wasn’t sure what incriminating evidence might be on her dress. “It just seemed strange he would come to me.” Much less come inside her, although she was thankful he’d proven inclined to temptation.

“Not so strange, since I haven’t been around to take his messages.” Nanette’s tone turned sly, or at least as sly as an angelic possessed could manage. “And not strange he’d find you. Mr. Fane likes nice things.”

“Nice?” Bella infused the word with all her disbelief.

“Well, beautiful things,” Nanette amended, as if even when she was being sly she couldn’t stop herself from being honest.

Bella shook her head. “I just don’t want to get caught in the middle of some sphericanum versus talyan silliness.”

“Almost as bad, in its way, as the tenebraeternum.” A dark note of mourning colored the angel-woman’s voice. “The host and the league should both know better. The tenebrae demons are just evil.”

Bella’s throat tightened. “So true.”

“But Mr. Fane is a good man. Angels are, of course, but the man is good too. Strict and stern, sometimes, and uncompromising on occasion, and maybe a little humorless…”

Bella remembered the sound of his laughter as she climaxed. “Where is the good part?”

“I’m getting there. Just wait a second… He has pretty blue eyes. Celestial even.”

“No wonder I couldn’t turn him away.”

“Turn him away from what?”

Bella’s cheeks burned again. “I mean I couldn’t say no to passing his message along.”

“Little messenger girl,” Nanette said. “Like the angel at Christmas, bringing words to the waiting.”

Not like that at all.

She stayed a little longer when Nanette asked if she’d be willing to walk through the halls. “Some of our residents don’t have many visitors, and, well, sometimes if they see someone, they can tell themselves it’s family.”

Bella agreed, but only because she was amused an angelic possessed would be so adept with this lie. Maybe that’s why it was called a white lie.

Most of the residents were more interested in the angel on the TV than the one in their midst, but they all had coos for Nanette and a few “hello, dears” for Bella.

“Such lovely hair,” said one of the old ladies. “Pretty as a poinsettia.”

Bella touched the ridiculously wayward mass. “Thank you, ma’am.”

From behind her came a gruff scolding. “Tempting the devil. More devils every day.”

“Pastor Littlejohn,” Nanette said reprovingly. “We don’t talk that way here.”

“I’ll talk as I like. I preached it for forty years. If I don’t keep an eye out for the devil, who will?”

Bella angled her face, tracking the age-roughened voice. “Maybe it’s time to let someone else take up the fight.”

“Who? I thought I knew everything before, but I didn’t know what to look for. Now I do.” His voice rose, taking on the cadences of the pulpit. “They are in the shadows when we look away. They are in the darkness and the freezing cold. They are in us!”

Nanette shushed him. “There are no demons here. And it’s winter in Chicago, so of course it’s cold and dark.”

The pastor’s tone sharpened. “You are too innocent to see them, but I see them all around—”

Bella interrupted his tirade. “The demons should be home for the holidays, shouldn’t they? They could be roasting their chestnuts in hellfire and singing carols backward.”