I stared at the pictures.
“It looks like a stylized tribal monster,” he said.
“It’s a demon,” I said.
“You sound certain, tribal isn’t usually that realistic.”
“I’ve seen it before,” I said.
“Where?”
“One of the instructors at the College of Angels had one exactly like it. He said it was supposed to represent a successful fight and slaying of a demon. I thought it was more metaphorical.”
“I thought what all you Angel Speakers did was carry messages for God. I didn’t think you got on the front lines of the battle between good and evil.”
“It’s not that simple,” I said, still staring at the pictures of my arm—my arm. Master Donel had a shoulder cap above this tattoo and more bands decorating down his arm. They were supposed to represent the path of the Seven Archangels. There was the Archangels pattern in Kali, which was one of the styles that Master Donel taught, part of his Filipino heritage, but staring at the pictures I realized that maybe what I had taken for metaphor in studying the Archangels had been far more real.
Had Donel known this was coming? Is that why he asked Turmiel to reach out to me about finding his sister? I would find her and that would give me an opening to speak with Donel, or at least with Turmiel. I couldn’t go back to the College of Angels, especially not now. The seraphim had come to my aid with Her at their head. She was awake and active after years of being locked in meditation with God, that was how they had put it. She had been meditating and trying to decide if She would repent or fall. Had what happened two days ago already changed Her decision or forced Her to choose? God, I hoped not.
“You look shaken,” Paulson said.
“I’m okay.”
“If it had been a real tattoo it would still be healing and sore,” he said.
“I’ve seen other people heal from them, but never done it myself.” Reggie had tattoos when I met her, and I remembered that the seraphim—no, one seraph in particular—had asked me to come home, and home had been Reggie and Connery. Did I remember Her being sad that I loved someone else, that I had a child? Or had I dreamed that part?
“I’ll go tell your lieutenant that physically you’re fine. He’s been wanting to ask you some questions about what happened.”
I handed him back his phone. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Are you up to questions, Detective?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t looking at him or even seeing the room. I was trying to remember something that had happened, but it was like the harder I tried to remember all the details once I had taken us into angelic space, the fuzzier it all got. The mind protects us from trauma; if I was meant to remember I would, but if not I needed to believe that it was for the best. No, I didn’t believe it was for the best; I felt like something was being hidden from me.
“I’ll go tell Charleston you’re up for questions if you’re sure?”
I blinked up at him, rubbing my arm, though it didn’t hurt at all. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Paulson looked like he didn’t believe me, but he went to get Charleston.
I answered questions from Charleston and later from Internal Affairs, because there was one dead uniformed officer. Mark Cookson’s body didn’t come back with me. It had burned up in the holy fire, and the demon with it. The fire of God is the only thing that can destroy the “immortal,” even demonic. I was just lucky that the jewelry store security tapes caught it all. The demon killing Stevens, and the fire burning around us. Our bodies had stayed in the store the whole time and looked frozen until the fire started. If the tapes hadn’t proven my story, IA would have been far less forgiving. I mean, who would believe that a cop could call holy fire and burn up a demon. I hadn’t explained the details of what I’d done. Internal Affairs wasn’t big on mysticism; better to keep the answers simple for the report.
The demonically enchanted bottle had vanished on the trip from our unit to the Magical Forensics Section in the Medical Examiner’s office. The containment box had just been sitting open and empty when they opened the back of the enchanted armored car. If it could help one demon climb out of Hell, then it could help another one. The clairvoyants are searching for it, but so far it remains hidden. I suggested he contact Suriel at the College and he already had, but so far no reply. If the College continued to ignore us Charleston made noise about me contacting them directly. Apparently I went pale because he stopped talking about it. Suriel I wanted to see again, and even Turmiel and Harshiel, but the College as a whole—no. Turmiel got access to a phone, because he texted me that the angels had healed Harshiel. When I tried to question Turmiel about the demonic bottle loose in our city he said he’d try to talk to Suriel, but he promised nothing. I tried to text him back, but he wasn’t there. Apparently he’d borrowed the phone of this nice young lady, and that was all she knew. She did mention that Turmiel was so cute, I’d agreed and hung up.
The day I got out of the hospital Reggie came to drive me to my apartment. I’d known she was coming to pick me up, because otherwise I’d have arranged for someone else to drive me home. What I hadn’t expected was that she was wearing one of my favorite outfits. The short, tight black skirt that I hadn’t seen on her in over a year, with the tall black boots that she’d worn to couples therapy last time. I’d wondered then if she had just forgotten how much I loved her in the boots, but now I knew she hadn’t forgotten anything. She turned around and I realized the black top was a halter, showing her tattoo of vines and flowers as the only color in the black outfit. The colors were soft and beautiful against her skin. She hadn’t liked wearing halter tops after her breasts got bigger and stayed bigger after we had Connery. She insisted on wearing a bra all the time now, but here she stood in a halter top, with my favorite boots climbing her long legs, and the skirt she’d stopped wearing because she was a mother now and what if her students saw her out dressed like a hooker? I got to the makeup and red lipstick eventually, but this time she didn’t get mad because I didn’t look at her face first. Her smile let me know that my face showed her everything she’d wanted to see on it. “You missed our lunch and our date,” she said.
“I’m sorry, you don’t know how sorry I am that I missed seeing you.”
She gave me that Valentine’s Day promise smile. “I missed you, too.”
My heart did a flip that if I’d still been hooked up to monitors would have probably brought the medical staff on the run.
“This doesn’t mean we’re back together; I’m sorry but I’m not ready.”
I wasn’t sure if my heart stopped beating for a second or just slid down into my feet. I fought not to look disappointed or to assume based on the outfit she was wearing, but it was hard. She wasn’t a sadist, and to wear that outfit to pick me up and not be back together was definitely sadistic.
“I guess seeing me in the hospital just confirmed a lot of your fears,” I said, and my voice wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t angry either and that was the best I could do.
“I’m still scared of your job, but when I saw you in the bed before the doctors knew if you’d wake up, I realized there was something else I’m more afraid of than losing you because you get hurt on the job.”