Page 28 of Trick Of Light

It hurt to know he’d been lying to me, but at the same time, would I have believed him? A kyrie I understood. Not angels. And could he even be an angel on earth? In heaven, he’d stood in front of me without incident. In San Francisco, on the mortal coil, perhaps just him being in his true form might have turned us all to dust. I had no idea. I would have to ask him when I saw him again.

If I saw him again.

It was impossible to say where I was, and yes, he’d found Marcus, and I was his mate, so our connection should have been stronger, but I was betting Gabriel had dropped me into a hole no one but him could find. And maybe not even then. It was possible that in his rage, a portal had opened and I was dropped in. He was furious with Raphael, and the best way to hurt him was to attack me. And Raphael wouldn’t forgive him for that, but neither would he abandon the other angels, Anahel, or Leith and Ryan, by letting them fight alone. He couldn’t come find me. I was on my own, and not dying had to be at the top of my priority list.

As I walked, I saw dark houses set back from the road, no lights on in any of them, just long drives to reach them. The streetlights were spread farther out than they should have been, even for a rural area, and the pools of darkness I had to walk through made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, because I was not alone.

I could hear things scuttling around in the high grass, caught the sound of claws scraping on the road, and registered faint flapping above me. But when I looked for anything, to see what should have been there, I found nothing. It was the start of a very low-budget horror movie.

Finally, I reached the source of the unmoving lights—a neon sign for the Slaughtered Calf Inn. Of course it had to be something slaughtered, why not? There were older cars parked outside in the dirt lot, all from the fifties and sixties, and I was thinking that if there was a demon inside, perhaps it hadn’t been to the earthly plane in a bit. They were behind the times.

There were no more lights on the road, and somehow it was getting darker by the second—I could barely see my hand in front of my face—so I made the decision to go inside. I jogged over to the entrance and pushed the heavy door open.

It felt like there should have been an Eagles song playing, but before I could give that much thought, I saw a woman leading a massive wolfman by a leash up an enormous stairway. She saw me, her gold eyes narrowed, but she went on her way. The half man, half wolf didn’t even give me a glance. I was thinking that was not a bad thing.

Looking around, I saw the front desk and walked over to it. There was no one there, so I turned to look at the other creatures in the dark lobby.

There was a half man, half horse sitting with five scantily clad women; a group of people in long robes—I couldn’t tell their gender—who appeared to have no faces; and a woman who had her face covered with an oversize mask of the moon.

The door opened and a man entered, wearing a heavy coat that looked like bear fur. He was accompanied by what appeared to be seven enormous Irish wolfhounds, though they were completely white. When two of the pack came racing over to me, I did what I always did when dogs came at me not snarling or growling—I crouched down. They stopped sharply, but then, when I called to them, moved slowly within reach. I petted them and gave them both good scratches, enjoying so much finding something normal in this realm.

“What kind of demon pets dogs?” the man asked as he reached the counter, more of his dogs greeting me, ready for attention.

“I’m not a demon,” I told him, petting all his dogs. “I’m human.”

He scoffed. “In Kur? The land of the dead? What shit.”

I shrugged, and he laughed, just as the clerk suddenly appeared. It was involuntary, but I recoiled from the apparition in front of me. The horned creature had dead rodents, rats and mice, stuck in his long, black matted hair.

“A room, Baz?” the clerk asked the man, the words sounding odd, like he wasn’t used to speaking.

“My regular one,” he answered, “and this man needs one as well.”

“I don’t have any money,” I told the clerk. “Not sure if we can work something out.”

“What is money?”

“It’s blood he wants,” the man told me, pulling a jar from inside his massive coat and putting it on the counter. “That’s from a stag my dogs killed three days ago,” he informed the clerk. “It’s a lot of blood, so get my friend a room as well.”

“Oh no,” I said quickly, smiling. “Not my own. I’d much rather stay with you.”

He scoffed. “There’s only one bed, and I plan to put it to good use.”

“That’s fine,” I assured him. “I can sleep with the dogs.”

He shrugged, then told the clerk, “I need food for myself, my friend, and the dogs. Don’t make me wait.”

“Never shall I make Bazel the hunter wait.”

He grunted and gave the dogs the order of “Up,” and they started to climb a small staircase built into the wall.

Following quickly, I stayed right behind the mountain of a man, ascending steps that curved and dropped, the dogs leaping easily, Baz with his great stride having no trouble, but for me, I did a lot of jumping and climbing. When I looked down, the drop to the floor seemed endless, like we were inside a cavern, but others passed us on the stairs, and no one else seemed to notice.

I was in Kur, I had gotten that at least, and I knew that was the land of the dead. What that meant for me, I had no idea.

The room looked like a Victorian boudoir, with red velvet furniture, red-painted walls, black lace everywhere, gilded mirrors, and an enormous bed—huge, built for orgies. There were several chaises, and by the window, a place to read.

“Listen,” he said, rounding on me. “Whatever you do, don’t go outside once you see the fog. It’s not safe.”