Mulvehill just stared.
“You can have the others,” Remy stated. “But I need to take these. This is much bigger than a case of stolen property.”
“Detective?” a voice called from the apartment’s doorway. It was one of the drivers from the medical examiner’s office. “Is everything all right?”
Mulvehill looked briefly from the doorway of the room back to his friend. “Take them,” he said. “Something tells me they’re not something we should have lying around in Evidence anyway.”
Remy bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the images of murder and death that tried to fill his mind.
“You’re right,” the angel said, resisting the urge to throw the daggers away.
Mulvehill stepped into the doorway so that he could be seen by the man at the entrance to the apartment. “I’m just wrapping things up,” he said. “I’ll be right out.”
The detective gave a casual wave and returned to Remy.
“Thank you,” Remy said.
“Are you going to be all right with those?” the detective asked. “You look a little green around the gills.”
“I’ll be fine,” Remy said, “but the sooner I get rid of them, the happier I’ll be.”
He followed the homicide detective through the building, out the front entrance, and down onto the street. The crowds had diminished slightly, many of the gawkers probably tired of waiting for something horrible to see, satisfied to go home and watch it on the evening news instead.
“I’ll let you know what I find out,” Remy whispered in his friend’s ear as he headed in the direction of his car.
Mulvehill was lighting up a cigarette. “Watch your ass,” he muttered, cigarette clamped between his lips. Some of the remaining crowd gave the man talking to himself a sideways glance before turning their attention back to the apartment building.
The die hards will be getting their payoff soon, Remy thought, cutting across to the side street where he’d parked his vehicle. Dougie’s bagged body will soon be coming out on a stretcher, a prize for their endurance.
The Pitiless daggers beneath his arm screamed to be noticed, but he managed to close his mind to the disturbing imagery they tried to force upon him.
Remy got to his car and tossed the wrapped blades down onto the passenger seat. His thoughts raced with what he would need to do next.
He slipped the key in the ignition, deciding that he would continue on to Karnighan’s. The old man had to know more than he was letting on. The engine turned over, and he thought that it might be wise to give Ashley a call to go over and feed and walk Marlowe. Who knew how long the business in Lexington would take, and he didn’t want his four-legged friend back home to suffer.
He was thinking that Francis might need a call as well when the black SUV seemed to appear out of nowhere, cutting him off as he pulled out of the parking space, blocking his exit.
He been around long enough to know that nothing good was about to happen.
The truck’s doors opened and four familiar faces emerged.
This shit never gets any easier, Remy thought, almost sure that he could hear his angelic nature chuckling to itself as the four Denizens who had attacked him at home surrounded his car.
He didn’t have Marlowe to worry about this time, and that was good.
“You told me to call when I had something,” Remy said as he slowly got out of the car, his attention focused on the spokesman from their last meeting. “I don’t have anything yet, but you never know, I might be coming into some information shortly.”
“My employer says that you’re taking too long,” the spokesman said.
There was a barely perceptible nod, and one of the Denizens was coming at him, his hand inside his coat pocket.
Remy didn’t have time to wait to see what it was. He met the fallen angel halfway, moving as quickly as he could, slamming his fist into his attacker’s face.
The Denizen stumbled back, nose spurting blood, a short knife with a blade seemingly made from a polished black stone clattering to the ground.
Remy was glad he hadn’t waited; that particular blade, made from the walls of Tartarus, could have done some serious damage to him.
He knew the name of only one of them, Balam—the one that had pointed a gun at his dog—and decided that he would deal with that one next. The memory of what he had done caused a terrific anger to flare within Remy, and he let the Seraphim inside have a brief taste of freedom.
Balam hadn’t pulled his gun, and Remy figured they probably wanted him alive, but this particular Denizen was large and powerful, moving far more quickly and gracefully than Remy expected. He threw a punch that Remy attempted to avoid, but he moved a tad too slow, and the man’s knuckles grazed the side of his face. It hurt like hell, and for a moment he saw an explosion of stars.
Balam took immediate advantage, gripping him by the back of the coat and pulling Remy toward him. The arc of his fist was a blur as the hit connected with Remy’s stomach, doubling him over with a painful explosion of air from his lungs.
Again with the stomach.
But it had brought him close enough.
Close enough to strike.
Remy allowed Heaven’s power a moment’s freedom, the fires of the divine collecting at the tips of his fingers. He thrust his hand at Balam’s stomach, the burning fingers connecting with the satiny material of the dress shirt he wore, burning through, and into the flesh beneath.
And the fire did not stop there.
Balam screamed as his body began to ignite, the fires of Heaven fueled by his wickedness. He immediately dropped to the ground and began to roll.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the spokesman moaned, rolling his eyes.
There was movement to his left, and Remy whirled, the man who had tried to stab him earlier was charging. Where’s the knife? His thoughts raced as he grappled with the fallen, trying to keep his hands in view. They tumbled to the ground, each of them trying to get the better of the other.
The remaining attacker must have ducked around Remy’s car, coming at him from a blind spot.
Remy wasn’t even aware that he’d been stabbed—in the shoulder—until he felt his entire right side begin to grow numb.
Fists were raining down from above him as he attempted to get up, but one of his legs had become useless, tingling and trembling.
“That’s enough,” he heard the spokesman say, and the two Denizen thugs stepped back.
The leader stood over him, a hate-filled flicker of fire burning in the center of his eyes. “If my employer didn’t think you were valuable to him, I’d have you cut to ribbons and sold to anybody who wanted a piece.”
Remy’s shoulder throbbed with the steady beat of his heart. “Why don’t we cut the bullshit and you just tell me what’s going on,” he grunted as he struggled to stand.
“I will kill him,” a dry hiss of a voice rasped. His buddy Balam tried to get at him but was held back by two of the others. His body still smoldered, the Heavenly fire having badly burned his face and chest as it spread. He had his gun out and was waving it around.
Remy was almost on his feet when the spokesman came forward and, with a kick, knocked him back down to the ground.
“We’ve been watching you, waiting for a chance to talk to you without your Guardian angel friend being around.”
They were afraid of Francis, and he couldn’t blame them. He’d had a scary reputation even before he fell from God’s grace.
“We think you’ve found some things out,” the spokesman said. “Things that my employer would be very anxious to hear about.”
“You first,” Remy said, lying on his back, finding it very difficult to keep the world from spinning. “First tell me why your boss is looking for the Pitiless, and I’ll fill you in on what I know. Who knows, maybe between the two of us this whole mess will start to make some sense.”