Deon swished out of the door to the kitchen proper, atray held over his head like a waiter. With a flourish, he placed the tray on the bar and flapped his hand at the dark-haired blood-servant kitchen help. “I got this, suga’,” he said. “Go help Antony with the prep and bring out the queenie’s sandwiches when they come outta the oven. For you,” he said to Angie, “your aunt Deon has Oreos and milk and the best apples I ever tasted. Try one.” He popped a slice into Angie’s mouth and she chewed experimentally.
“I like it. But don’t expect EJ to like it. EJ’s got apeculiartaster.” She said it as if quoting someone else.
“There is nothing in the world wrong with being peculiar, honey child. I’ve been peculiar all my life. I’ll find that boy an apple he likes to eat, I promise.”
Angie dipped an Oreo into milk and counted to fifteen before removing it and sticking it into her mouth. By the time she finished the first Oreo, EJ had been carried into the food service area and deposited on my other side.
Watching everything in that still, silent way he had, he accepted an Oreo and a small glass of milk. Carefully, he copied his sister’s method of cookie-prep (though he switched numbers seven and eight) and ate it. He nodded as he chewed and then grinned, showing a mouth full of cookie-blackened teeth. “Hey, Ant Jane.”
“Hey, EJ.”
Deon convinced EJ to try an apple slice, and the kid accepted it, holding it up and staring at it as if it might bite him.
“I got a finder now,” Angie repeated.
“What kind of finder?”
“This one.” She handed me a small gold statue. It was the temperature of living flesh and though I knew it was only warm from her pocket, it gave me the heebie-jeebies. The “finder” was the Christ, dead, a three-inch-tall gold figure of Jesus, arms outstretched, feet crossed and displayed as if still being crucified, but attached to no cross. On the back, tiny bars stuck out, as if for mounting the figure on a wall or bedpost or lintel. There were tiny rubies on his crown of thorns and at each palm and the upper ankle, and a much bigger ruby on his side. There wasa strange shimmery stone above the head of the Christ. It was arcenciel blood.
Holy crap.
“When you get close to my angel, it will be hot,” Angie said. “Don’t get burned.”
“Where did you get this, Angie? And when did you get it?” Because if it was a magical angel finder it would have been nice to have this morning.
Angie looked around, almost furtive, as if seeing who could hear. Deon was busy chattering with EJ about the different kinds of apples; otherwise we were alone in the eatery.
“Angie?” I asked, a faint warning tone in my voice.
She slid off her tall bar stool to the floor and took my hand, pulling me to the main elevator. “Deon?” I asked. “You got this?”
“Shoo,” he said to me. “The girls and me got this.” He pushed open the door to the kitchen and called out, “Bring more apples. And some cheese crackers and all the different kinds of apple butter.” He turned back to EJ. “We have at least six varieties and they are luscious.”
“L’shus,” EJ repeated the new word.
I let Angie lead me and she took the elevator and hallways until we reached Leo’s office. “You were in here?” I asked, with a sense of foreboding.
She nodded, still looking guilty. “Just a little while ago.”
I tapped my tiny mic and said, “Send someone with a key to Leo’s old office.”
Two minutes later, a woman in my black security colors raced up and unlocked the door. “Thank you,” I said, without looking at her. “Wait out here.”
I stepped in front of Angie, pulled my side arm, opened the door, and walked inside. The office smelled and felt empty, that stillness that said no one had been breathing or moving in here for some time. But of course, a vamp could stand statue-still and not breathe... My gaze flew over the narrow hallway entrance and the walls of the office. Yeah. Empty. I was losing my touch. I should have let security clear the room.
“Here.” Angie was pointing to the once-hidden entrance leading into the room next door. This time I called for the security woman to precede us and clear the room. When she returned, she gave me a small nod and stood to the side as we entered. The room hadn’t been cleaned or decorated in ages, smelled musty, and was full of Leo’s old office furniture. Leo’s old desk was on its side, a C-clamp and two boards on the edge. Repairs, I guessed, from when I had demanded it be taken apart to find a magical doohickey. The tiny, private elevator was still there too.
“Angie, where and when did you find the statue?” I repeated.
Angie gave a long-suffering sigh and walked to the far corner of the room. She knelt and pushed at the floor molding in the middle of the wall. A small door flipped open. “It was in there. It called me in my between dreams but I couldn’t find it until today. My angel is in danger.”
The statue in my hand was still warm, warmer than my hand. It should have cooled off. “Well, crap.” What was a gold crucified Jesus, magically attached to an angel, doing next door to Leo’s office? Had Leo put it here? And if not Leo, then who left it in the hidden compartment? I dropped beside Angie and felt around in the small compartment. It was empty. And dusty. I ran a fingernail along the creases in the gold statue and scraped off grime. The dirt on it matched the dirt from the little hiding place. The statue had been hidden for a long time. I tapped my mic and said, “Who’s on comms?”
“This is Wrassler. What can I do for you, Legs?”
I grinned. “That’s way better than all that queen stuff. Who used the hidden-elevator-room next to Leo’s office last? I’m talking officially, not for storage.”
I could hear him tapping keys. “According to older records, Ming Zoya of Mearkanis kept an office there, back after they were first recognized as powerful Mithrans. Prior to that, when Amaury was MOC...” His voice trailed off. He started again. “Prior to that it was reserved, for a short time, for the Son of Darkness, Joses Santana.”
