“Mom, has it occurred to you that this is my normal self? With the False Angel enchantment wearing off, I don’t feel the need to trick anyone into sex or anything else.”
“Are you saying that you’d rather let the concealment wear off so Eradicators and Destroyers can kill you? I won’t let that happen. I’ve worked too hard to keep you safe. Your father’s death can’t be in vain.”
Blaspheme rolled her eyes. Always the guilt trip with her father. “Do you really think my father would be happy knowing we’d sacrificed the life of an innocent to keep my true identity concealed?”
“Your father was an angel,” Deva growled. “He wouldn’t care if we sacrifice a demon. To angels, a dead demon is a good demon.”
“But he’d want me to be happy, and I can’t be happy if my existence comes at the cost of another person’s life.”
“You didn’t know Rifion,” she snapped. “You don’t know what he’d want.”
Tired of the same old argument, Blas stood. “We’ll talk about this later. You need your rest.” She glanced at her watch. She’d been off duty for hours now.
Her mother jackknifed forward and grasped her wrist. “We will not talk about it later. I’ve set a trap for the False Angel. She’ll be caught at my place tonight, and by the time she bleeds out in the morning, you’ll be safe. I can perform the ritual from here.”
Oh… holy shit. “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Blas practically yelled.
The blood drained from Deva’s face, and although Blas wished her words had caused it, she knew better and eased her mother backward on the bed. “You’re woozy from sitting up so fast.”
“I don’t care,” Deva moaned. “I need you to be safe. You’re all I have. We’re all each other has.”
Blaspheme’s anger diluted a little, but it didn’t change her mind about the ritual. She had to stop Deva’s False Angel from falling into whatever gruesome trap her mother had set.
“I have to go, but I’ll be back soon.” She handed Deva a glass of water. “Drink this and keep yourself calm or I’ll order sedation. Got it?”
Swallowing sourly, Deva nodded.
Blaspheme left the head nurse with orders to sedate Deva anyway and to not allow visitors. Even though angels couldn’t enter the facility – with the exception of Reaver – Blas didn’t want to take any chances. An angel desperate to grab her mother could bribe, bespell, or blackmail a demon into abducting her. The clinic’s Haven spell would prevent an assassination attempt, but once outside the facility, Deva would no longer be protected.
Feeling confident that her mother was in good hands, she left the clinic through the Harrowgate rather than the main exit to the tube station. If angels were watching the hospital and the clinic, they could easily nab anyone exiting into the human world, but there was no way to track people through Harrowgates.
The Harrowgate opened up a few blocks away from Deva’s Key West home, in an alley behind a touristy seafood restaurant and bar. Once more, Blas wished she could use her vyrm powers to flash directly where she needed to be. She did not want to get caught out in the open, blocks away from a Harrowgate.
Cursing her mother’s poor choices, she slipped out of the alley and fell in with a group of rowdy tourists enjoying the last remnants of evening twilight. Key West was one of the few places that had escaped most of the recent apocalyptic mayhem, and because of that, it had become a popular getaway for those seeking temporary asylum from the disaster that was the human realm.
Deva’s pastel green and orange beach house sat at the end of a quiet drive, goofy plastic pink flamingos dotting the manicured lawn like fleas on a dog. As Blas approached, she engaged the False Angel ability to go invisible, one of the False Angel gifts Blaspheme rarely used. But as she slowly opened the front door, an uncomfortable vibration rattled her, and she looked down to see that she was flickering in and out of invisibility.
“Damn,” she breathed. How much longer did she have before she was going to be exposed for what she really was?
She took a deep, bracing breath to keep panic at bay. The door swung open with a squeak, and holy shit, the place was trashed. She’d expected a scene from a battle, and sure enough, furniture was turned over and broken, dishes were shattered, and blood spatter and smears left ugly stains on the once-pristine white walls and bamboo floors.
But what she hadn’t expected was the ransacking. Books had been knocked off shelves, drawers had been emptied, and papers were scattered all over the place. Someone had been looking for something, but what?