Fury of Angels Page 2

  He woke up naked in a few state parks.

  Once, he woke up on the roof of an apartment building in Hollywood.

  Another time, he got woken up by a security guard on the green of Dodger Stadium, not long after the sun came up. He’d been lucky not to be arrested that time. He’d been even luckier that his wings had already retracted.

  Usually, he woke up somewhere on his own property, though.

  He woke up in his own bed. Once, he woke himself up dive-bombing into the pool attached to his rental property… which was awkward, since he had new tenants as of two weeks ago, and while they hadn’t said anything, Dags strongly suspected they already thought he was eccentric-veering-into-insane.

  He’d only met them formally a few times. They were more studio people, and seemed nice enough, but they could hardly be expected to be chill about a deranged lunatic with wings dive-bombing their swimming pool in the middle of the night.

  Even if he was their landlord.

  “Here,” a booming voice said, making Dags turn.

  Ty was walking towards him across the grass.

  The action movie star and sports nut tossed him something while he was still a good five yards away.

  Dags caught it in reflex, turning it over in his hands.

  It wasn’t a ski mask, like he’d been expecting.

  It wasn’t even cloth. It was made of dark and light wood, and looked African, or possibly Native American. The carved face appeared to be a hybrid between a wolf, possibly a dragon, possibly a mythical bird. It had a canine’s triangle-shaped face, curved horns instead of ears, what looked like feathers carved into the edges, or possibly scales, or both.

  Blank holes cut in the wood served as eyes.

  Still holding it in his hands, Dags gave the other man a disbelieving look.

  “You want me to scare the hell out of people?” he said.

  Ty suppressed a smile.

  “No one will mess with you,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

  Dags exhaled. “I’ll probably break it when I land. Or break my face.”

  “Nah. You seem to have good instincts when it comes to not killing yourself. I’ve watched you land… a lot of times. Light as a feather. This last time, you came down on the balls of your feet with barely a bounce. It was like watching a bird land on a thin branch.”

  Dags blinked.

  It was strange to think someone else had seen him do that.

  Ty knew more about his flying than he did.

  As if picking up on some of what Dags was thinking, Ty grunted, folding his arms.

  “See?” he said. “You might be unconscious, but you’re not stupid in that state. Or violent. Or confused. You know who to avoid and who it’s okay to be yourself with. You landed in front of me because you knew you could. So the information’s traveling one way. It’s just not going the other way for some reason.”

  Dags thought about that.

  “Go on,” Ty said, nodding towards the mask. “Try it on.”

  Sighing, Dags did as he was told. Once he had it arranged over his face, he turned towards the other man.

  Ty broke out in a laugh.

  “Damn,” he said. “That is badass. You sure you’re not the dark angel?”

  “No,” Dags said grimly. “I’m not sure of that at all.”

  Ty’s smile remained, but a shrewder look came to his eyes.

  “I am,” he said, after a beat, shrugging as Dags took off the mask. “I wouldn’t be helping you if I wasn’t sure about that much.”

  Dags nodded, but felt his brow furrow.

  He’d never asked Ty about his beliefs.

  He’d never asked any of his new “friends” what they thought about all this, not really, not even Phoenix. Thinking about Phoenix, though, so soon after having thought about her before, and the time before that, and the time before that… brought a sharp pain to his chest.

  For a few seconds, it was difficult to breathe.

  “You miss her,” Ty said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Don’t you?”

  Dags gave him a sharp, wary look.

  There was definitely something strange about Ty.

  Dags didn’t want to be the first to bring it up, mostly because he didn’t want to freak the other man out, but Dags wondered about Ty more and more. Ty was the only human Dags had ever met who could see the red glowing irises of a human possessed by a demon. Ty also had a few too many “insights” that felt a lot more like mind-reading.

  He also had a pretty mind-blowing aura.

  Dags didn’t know if his new friend was a witch, a psychic, some kind of shaman, the reincarnation of a Buddhist monk, or what, but he was nervous about being the first one to bring it up, since Ty himself seemed pretty oblivious.

  He was about to brush off Ty’s question about Phoenix, to tell him one lie or another, but for some reason he didn’t.

  “Yes,” he admitted, meeting those dark eyes. “I miss her a lot. But I can’t be around her right now. Not until I figure some of this out. Even if she doesn’t understand that, you should.”

  Ty nodded.

  Something about that nod didn’t exactly feel like agreement.

  Dags was about the change the subject, when his friend spoke.

  “She’s the same, you know,” Ty said, his voice serious. “Like, suffering somehow, from you two being apart. Whatever you think you’re doing, whatever you think you’re saving her from… it might be too late, Angel-man. The damage is done.”

  Dags felt that pain in his chest grow colder.

  He felt it somewhere in his gut, too, guilt and shame, shame and guilt. Some days, it grew into a kind of existential dread. He felt the part of himself refusing it⏤refusing to face the truth he heard in Ty’s words.

  He knew the other man was right. He knew it.

  But he wanted to believe it was fixable, even now.

  He wanted to believe it was like any other kind of addiction. He told himself if he just waited it out, if he committed to doing the right thing, if he just cut both of them off, cold turkey, she could still be okay.

  She could still be okay.

  Chapter 2

  Koreatown

  Dags was heading back in the direction of Hollywood when he got the call. When he saw who it was, he fitted his headset around his ear and picked up.

  She didn’t bother with a greeting.

  “I need you for something.”

  Dags rolled his eyes at where his phone balanced next to his gearshift.

  “Hey, Kara.”

  Reaching down, he rubbed Steve McQueen’s ears absently. As per usual, the dog managed to twist himself into a pretzel to maneuver his head into Dags’ lap while he drove. Most of the husky-shepherd’s body remained in the back seat.

  “Did you hear me?” she said in his ear. “I need you. Are you working right now?”

  “Not technically,” he said, reluctant.

  He was exhausted.

  They’d done three more rounds of the flying stints.

  Ty was getting better at provoking him into flight, but the results hadn’t been any different. All he could think about was going home, taking a thirty-minute shower, eating Chinese take-out, and passing out on his couch with his dog, probably with some bad martial arts movie playing in the background.

  He’d been trying to decide which Chinese place to hit on his way home as he picked up the call. Now, hitting the gas and changing gears and lanes in his black and chrome 1969 Ford Mustang Boss, he wove around cars, making his way up Santa Monica Boulevard.

  Before Kara could answer, he added,

  “This isn’t a great night, Kara.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sarcastic. “I guess I should tell the criminals that. Or maybe just get you booted off the lucrative new private-contractor gig I set up with your rinky-dink outfit, just so I could call you about this precise type of thing.”

  Dags scowled.

  He knew what she was saying.

  She thou
ght whatever this new thing was, the thing she was calling about, it was connected somehow to the demon-angel thing.

  “I have to take my dog home,” he said.

  “So take him home. Then come back out.”

  “Where am I going?” he sighed, still weaving his way through traffic.

  “Koreatown. I’m on my way there now. Can you be at the old Bullocks building on Wilshire in thirty or so minutes?”

  Dags frowned, thinking.

  “Closer to an hour,” he said.

  “Dags⏤”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Without waiting, he disconnected the call.

  He’d just passed Wilshire, and had nearly made it to the border of West Hollywood.

  Scowling as he felt the picture of his evening plans fading, starting with the shower and takeout he’d been looking forward to for the past forty or so minutes, and ending with the early night he’d envisioned, he gunned it faster up Santa Monica, hoping to cut the amount of time it took him to get to Koreatown from his house in the Hollywood Hills.

  He was glad Kara called him.

  He was glad, he reminded himself.

  He was damned lucky she was helping him track that son of a bitch… Lucifer… or Uri… or whatever the hell that thing was.

  Dags’ high school pal, Uri, had gone way underground since Dags last saw him that night under the Hollywood sign. Despite Uri’s smirking mention of the two of them getting coffee, Dags hadn’t heard a word from his old friend. He hadn’t run into any of Uri’s demons, either, so Uri must be keeping them on a tight leash.

  Dags knew the only way he’d ever find him was to follow every lead of possibly-demonic activity that cropped up in Los Angeles.

  That was a lot of ground to cover on his own.

  Still, he really wanted that shower.

  The sooner he got this over with, the better.

  Dags pulled up to the curb on the block where the old Bullocks building lived, right behind what looked like an unmarked police car.

  Using the toe of his boot to nudge out the kickstand, he parked his bike, a matte-black, Indian Scout Bobber, and twisted the key to kill the engine.

  He was pulling off his gloves, stuffing them in the pocket of his jacket, when he saw Kara Mossman, Detective II, Homicide, LAPD. She was talking to a baby-faced uniform cop gripping a gourmet coffee cup in one hand.

  Whoever the guy was, he looked afraid of her.

  Not surprising, really.

  Kara could be terrifying in her own, non-supernatural way.

  She saw him and turned, frowning as soon as she laid eyes on him. Without bothering to formally end her conversation with the uniform cop, or even tell him she was going, she began walking purposefully towards Dags.

  She wore a black pantsuit, a royal blue blouse, low boots, and her badge tucked into the edge of her slacks next to her sidearm.

  “Did you hear anything?” she said, before she’d even reached him.

  “Hear anything?” He stared at her. “Like what?”

  Kara exhaled, shaking her head like he’d just said the stupidest, most exasperating thing in the world. In terms of reactions to things Dags said, that wasn’t exactly unusual.

  It wasn’t even unusual from people who weren’t Kara.

  “It’s all over the news, Jourdain,” she said in annoyance, still looking at him like she couldn’t believe the things that came out of his mouth. “There’re about to shut down this whole section of Koreatown. They’re blocking off Wilshire between Vermont and the park. I was worried you wouldn’t get here in time.”

  Motioning with her head and hand for him to follow, she began putting on blue-tinted, latex gloves as she walked back in the direction of the building’s entrance.

  “The squints are all over the building,” she added over her shoulder as she walked. “We can’t get in their way or contaminate the scene, but I wanted you to see it as fresh as possible. Definitely before they start moving the bodies.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, handing him a second set of gloves.

  “Here. Put these on.”

  “Bodies?” Dags grimaced, taking the blue latex gloves from her. Sticking one under his arm, he started to put the second one on his hand. “Bodies, as in plural?”

  She gave him a hard look. “I’ll let you see that for yourself.”

  “Do I need to wear the whole hazmat suit?”

  She grunted, giving him a hard look. “No. They finished with the area I want to show you. The gloves are just in case you feel the need to poke at things.”

  Dags followed her, silent, past a handful of uniforms loosely guarding the sidewalk in front of the old, art deco, department store building. Even more police milled inside⏤so many, their bodies clogged the area just past the main doors.

  Finishing up with the gloves, Dags pushed his way through behind Kara, keeping his head down, his eyes on Kara’s back. He could feel the uniforms watching him, measuring them with their eyes. He knew they were probably wondering who he was.

  Dags also knew he evoked strange reactions in some people.

  It was something he’d noticed since the Change.

  For the same reason, he tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible, hunkering down to slide through the ocean of blue and black cloth, guns, utility belts, night sticks, glints of metal in the form of badges, watches, rings.

  He saw hostility, confusion, even fascination in a number of their auras, despite his attempts to remain invisible. He even saw flickers of sexual interest.

  Dags had no idea what it was about him exactly that made him so visible to other people since the Change, but he hated it. He didn’t exhale his held breath until he was past them, and inside the high-ceilinged foyer.

  On either side, glass cases showcased relics from the building’s history.

  The building itself was the real work of art; its gold ceiling and symmetrical, art deco lines cut a tunnel-like shape across the length of the lobby floor. Everything shone with different shades of gold. Rectangular lights high above bled a greenish-gold glow, which further tinted the brassy walls, the different shades of gold and gold-brown tiles under his feet, the gold display cases, the gold fixtures.

  Dags had only a few seconds to react to the building’s architecture, though.

  He could smell it.

  His sense of smell had grown keener since the Change, too⏤a detail that didn’t thrill him a lot of the time, and especially didn’t thrill him now.

  Blood.

  He could definitely smell blood.

  He looked at Kara, who motioned him forward, past the first few rows of glass cases. The smell of blood grew stronger as they ventured deeper into the high-ceilinged hall, but Dags still didn’t see any bodies.

  Frowning, he scanned the floor, glancing through openings on the other side of the long, rectangular lobby, a lobby so symmetrical and dated-looking, it made him feel he was inside a kind of optical illusion.

  There were differences between the two sides, however.

  It was darker on the opposite end of the lobby, which enhanced that elongating effect, making it look almost like a receding tunnel. The tile appeared to be darker, as well, and patterned differently. It had almost a marbled look, at least at a distance.

  A series of black doors lived on both sides, just inside the glass wall.

  Dags realized they were elevators.

  It really was darker in that section of the foyer. Significantly darker.

  He wondered if they’d neglected to turn on all the lights.

  Still, he didn’t see any bodies.

  “Why am I here, Kara?” he said.

  His voice pitched lower, without him consciously willing it.

  He found he was walking differently, even though nothing around him signified danger. Hell, he was surrounded by armed cops. None of them seemed particularly inclined to shoot him, so they shouldn’t pose a danger to him.

  Even so, he strode forward with his weig
ht lower, grounding himself solidly in his heels, not quite a combat crouch, but not quite a normal walk, either.

  He found himself overly-conscious of the weapons Kara carried.

  Two guns.

  Thirty-eight Special in a holster at her ankle. Forty-five caliber, Kimber Custom II in her side holster. He had no idea how he knew either thing, or how he knew exactly how to load, fire, and operate every aspect of both guns. He had no idea how he knew he could easily kill every cop in the building with just those two guns, along with whatever weapons he picked up from others of them along the way, but he did know that, and it unnerved him.

  It was that weird weapons thing of his, another distinctly unwelcome addition to Dags’ overall makeup since the Change.

  It was also why he never carried a gun himself.

  Well, almost never.

  “Kara?” he said.

  She nudged him with her elbow.

  When he glanced at her, she was staring up, at the high brass ceiling above the bank of elevators. Coming to a stop, Dags followed her gaze.

  It took him a few seconds to realize what he was looking at.

  Once he did, he flinched, stepping back in reflex.

  He knew now, why it was darker on this side of the building.

  Bodies covered the ceiling.

  Bodies covered the overhead lights.

  Dags stared up at them, his jaw loosening in disbelief. At first it looked like they were suspended up there by some invisible means; then he realized they were held up by their own limbs. Arms and legs and feet were jammed under and into and between the decorative brass rails making up that part of the ceiling.

  The way it had been done verged on artistic.

  It also darkened the whole lobby around the elevators.

  When Kara stopped him, Dags had been about to walk directly under the first of them.

  Now both of them stared up.

  Dags felt physically sick.

  “What the⏤”

  “You see why I called you?” she said.

  Her voice was equally grim, and low, even though she looked around to make sure no one worked within hearing distance. He saw flickers of unease in her aura, what might even have been fear.

  That was unusual verging on jaw-dropping.