Fortunato took his son’s hand it. He was prepared. His relaxed, smiling face didn’t change expression. But he was glad that he’d just taken on a load of energy. He built a wall, a buffer, between his flesh and his son’s. Otherwise, caught in the trap of the boy’s hand, his own hand would have cooked, would have burned worse than Ray’s. He released John Fortune’s hand, and together they turned and went through the hotel’s service entrance.
“Are you going to stay in America for awhile?” John Fortune asked. He seemed to be totally unaware of the heat his body was generating. His skin looked normal, except of course for the for the glowing halo. It wasn’t flushed or even sweating.
“Yes,” Fortunato said, the fear again biting his insides like a great viper. “Yes, I am.”
He suddenly realized that his son might not have drawn an ace,
after all.
Peaceable Kingdom: The Manger
Usher went to the suite’s door, peeked through the peephole, and turned back to Nighthawk.
“The gang’s all here,” he said, and opened the door. Contarini came in. His faultless suit had recently been faulted. He had grass stains on his knees. His white shoes were scuffed with dark Mississippi dirt. There was a bad tear in his jacket’s breast, and one sleeve had been partially torn free of its shoulder. His silk shirt was wrinkled, soiled, and sweat stained. He didn’t look happy. “It didn’t go well?” Nighthawk asked.
Contarini shook his head wordlessly, and collapsed into the nearest chair. He scowled at the vinyl upholstery. “They have the luck of the Devil riding with them,” the Cardinal said.
Usher and Nighthawk exchanged glances. “Naturally,” Nighthawk said. “What happened?”
Magda fluttered helplessly about the Cardinal’s as if she couldn’t decide whether to shine his shoes, sew his clothes, or wash and iron his shirt, as he told him in minute and surprisingly profane detail what had happened, pausing to shoo Magda away when she’d finally annoyed him too much.
Nighthawk sighed. “I guess they’ve beaten us now, for the moment. We’ll continue to keep an eye on them. The boy will be easy to spot. Perhaps you should return to return to New York, to rest and consider the next move.”
Dagon and the Witness nodded in agreement. “That would be smart,” Dagon said.
“No.” They all turned to Contarini, whose voice had taken on the chill of doom. “I want this farce ended. Now.”
“Now?” Dagon repeated. “I don’t—”
The Cardinal fixed him with a stare that quailed archbishops. “Not ‘now,’ literally. But as soon as possible. I want this ended. I want this Devil’s spawn in our hands. I want to return him to the Holy See, or, if that is not possible, I want him dead.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Nighthawk asked. This was the first time that the Cardinal had actually called for the boy’s death. The pressure, Nighthawk thought, was finally getting to him. “In this place? After all, Las Vegas is one thing—”
“This place is no different!” the Cardinal blazed at him. “It’s a low class tourist trap for fat, comic book reading Americans. They have no clue as to the strength and tenacity of the Allumbrados!” He turned his bleak gaze onto Nighthawk. “Blood is not far from this… this disgusting fairyland. I want you to supervise him as he brings in all the obsequentes that we have. All armed. We’ll take the Devil spawn as soon as they’re all in place.”
“If you drive Blood too hard,” Nighthawk said, “you’ll kill him.”
“Let him die and be damned,” the Cardinal said. “His only chance at salvation is to die in Christ’s service, anyway. He should welcome the opportunity.”
We’ll see about that, Nighthawk thought. He suppressed a sigh as he stood.
“I guess this means we’ll have to skip supper at Loaves and Fishes,” Usher said.
Nighthawk nodded.
“Pity,” Usher said. “They have great grits.” He looked at the Witness, who scowled back at him. “You can’t really get them outside the South,” he said seriously
Peaceable Kingdom: The Manger
Ray was tired, but he could not sleep.
His hand hurt, but it was bandaged and healing, as were all his numerous other wounds. He was jazzed as he always was after a fight, though it hadn’t been much of one. The Witness might have provided some real competition, but he’d been a disappointment. It kind of disturbed Ray when he screamed like a little girl. The trip through what the Brit had called ‘the Short Cut’ had been disturbing as well. Sure, he’d got to put a period to the career of Ti Malice, and that counted for something, but fighting spider-things wasn’t exactly his cup of tea. And although he’d suddenly gotten to know Angel a lot better than he had before, he couldn’t find her. She’d vanished after he’d gotten his hand bandaged, and the Peaceable Kingdom was one damn big place when you were trying to find a single angel in it.
He paced his room. It was usually like this. The adrenaline took forever to leave his system, making him edgy and keeping him awake no matter how much he wanted sleep. He looked out the window of his room. Night had come to the Peaceable Kingdom, and he was back to wishing that he was just about anywhere else in the world.
He started, uncharacteristically, at the tentative tap at his door, a single knock, unrepeated.
“Who is it?” Ray asked.
“The Angel,” she said quietly, barely audible through the door.
He was before it in a moment, and opened it. She stood in the hallway, blinking, her hair mussed, her leathers dirty and sweaty, scuffed and torn, still wearing his shirt. She was beautiful.
“Come in,” he said, and she did.
She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “John Fortune is asleep,” she said. “Fortunato is with him.”
“Good,” Ray said. “He okay?”
Angel shook her head. “We don’t know. He’s frightened, exhausted. The Hand—”
“What’s with all this ‘Hand’ sh—stuff?” he asked.
“That’s his title,” Angel said. “The Hand of God.”
“Jeez,” Ray said. “And to think I knew him when he was only the President of the United States.”
Angel closed her eyes, and Ray could see that suddenly she was on the verge of tears.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked. “I didn’t mean anything. You can call him The Spleen of God for all I care. What’s wrong?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, controlling herself. “Nothing. Nothing. I’m just tired. The job is done. We’ve saved him from the Allumbrados. But...”
“Yeah,” Ray said. “The job is done, but life goes on, doesn’t it?”
Angel looked down at the floor. “I don’t want to be alone,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t be alone, any more.”
“You don’t have to be,” Ray said. He came close, but didn’t touch her. He felt an odd sensation. For a moment he couldn’t identify it, then he realized that it was fear. He was afraid to touch her, he realized. Afraid of how she would react.
“I meant to take a shower, to clean up, but I don’t have any other clothes—”
Ray laid a finger softly against her lips. At the touch of his flesh on hers, his fear was suddenly gone. He smiled, but suppressed a relieved sigh. “You don’t have to apologize.”
She finally looked at him. She had the darkest, largest eyes he had ever seen. They were two sad bruises in the alabaster of her face. “My mother never let me listen to music,” she said, seemingly irreverently, “except in church. She thought that music was the tool of Satan. But sometimes she’d drink, like that night she cut me, and listen to a records she had from when she was young. She’d listen to them over and over again. They were all scratched and hissing so you could barely make out the words. One of them had a song on it that said something like, ‘I’m afraid of the Devil, but I’m drawn to them that ain’t.’ I didn’t understand the words then, but I think I understand now why she listened to that song. I think I know what it means. I think I’m the same way as my mother.”