Death Takes Wing, page 10
“It wasn’t this crowded in Matt’s car,” she muttered to herself, wedging herself into her seat, against the door, trying to escape the wings that brushed her cheek. Unfortunately, that just mean the arm rest on the door was jammed into her ribs. She sighed, defeated. She resigned herself to being uncomfortable for however long their journey was.
He glanced at her with an apologetic look, “Matt doesn’t drive a two-door coupe, now, does he? Last I knew, he had that damn ugly SUV…plenty of room for the wings and passengers in one of those, but the tradeoff is looks. Not something I’m willing to give up.” He knew that Matt often carried other passengers gladly, but he didn’t himself. He usually preferred to be alone in his Aston Martin Vanquish, although the present company was definitely excluded from that particular desire. He’d made sure not to change the bucket seat out for an angelus friendly one after Sylvie had tried to pester him into letting her drive his car, so his excuse had always been that he never let anyone else drive his car without him in it.
Unsuccessfully, he tried pulling the offending wing back into ‘his’ space, but he knew he could only pull it so tight before the joint got too sore and started to ache.
“And I suppose you wouldn’t give this car up? Not even for a pretty SUV?”
“Not for anything, especially not for a ‘pretty SUV’, considering I’m pretty sure they don’t exist” he teased.
“Besides,” he continued, “Betty wouldn’t want me to get rid of her. Betty’s upset that we’re even talking about replacing her with an UGLY SUV. Poor Betty,” he crooned.
She sputtered, spraying her palm with cold Mountain Dew. “Betty? You named your car Betty?”
“No, I really didn’t. But the look on your face sure was funny,” he grinned at her as he revved the motor.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He pulled into the parking lot and stared up at the row of apartment windows that loomed overhead, blocking the afternoon sun. He pointed towards the second window from the left, “That’s hers.”
“And you could tell that how?” She asked, a bit incredulously.
He looked at her, “Because I can see a poster of a horse in the bedroom.”
She stared up. All she could make out was the glare reflecting down at them. She looked at him. “You can see that from here? I know Matt said you had better eyesight, that but is wicked ridiculous. Besides, how do you know that there isn’t some horse-crazy kid living there? That could have been my room when I was growing up.”
“Not my fault you didn’t ask for clarification,” he said with a grin, “besides, it makes life more exciting that way. Think of it as an adventure. You get to find out all the neat tricks I’ve got up my sleeve. And I get to confuse the hell out of you when I pull one out. Fun for everyone involved! Besides, no bikes outside. No toys on the two balconies to the left. No sign of kids. So, chances are, no kids in this apartment. Probably some partier paradise. More like a dive, actually,” he commented, lips twisting in confusion.
Looking at the surrounding area, she could see what he meant. This wasn’t exactly a kid-friendly neighborhood. He might think it odd that Patricia could own a ridiculously expensive horse, and take part in an expensive sport, but Amalia understood that the reason she could afford to live like that was because she lived in a place like this.
After another long glare up at the window, and seeing nothing more than the reflected sky, Amalia frowned at him, fighting the smirk dancing on her lips and twitching the corners up. “So you have really good vision?”
“Compared to you? Yes, but compared to another angelus, my vision is strictly average,” he grinned, glad to be able to tease her about something. He liked the way she smiled at him, her eyes bright against her hair.
She couldn’t help but smile back at him, her green eyes shining as she stared into his gray eyes. She shook her head, laughing to herself as she climbed out of his car. Great, she thought, just great. Happy being single, remember? She reminded herself as they climbed the stairs to Patricia’s apartment.
She waited outside the apartment door for him to catch up. The wings had serious novelty points, but apparently also came complete with at least one major drawback – being slow in tight spaces would really suck, she thought as she waited for him. She finally saw him, tried the door, and expecting it to be locked, almost fell through it when it opened. He caught her by the arm and righted her. With a small mutter of “thanks”, she entered the apartment.
The air was stale, no breeze moving the dull air. There wasn’t a window open in the place, Amalia thought to herself as she wrinkled her nose. Despite it being nearly winter, the way the apartment smelled, it sure could have used one. Or two, she amended, smelling the faint stench of dirty fish water. She slowly made her way through the small apartment. No fans, either, she noted. The mixed odor of dirty horse equipment and unwashed laundry was rank, but she forced herself to explore the apartment.
She stopped by the bed and glanced at the pictures on the vanity that was across the room. Seeing a picture of the boyfriend, Jeremy, she crossed the room for a better look. She grabbed the picture, took it out of the cheap frame and flipped it over, disappointed that there wasn’t any writing on the reverse. The angelus in the picture was young – probably about Matt’s age, she guessed. His wings were a pale crimson, almost cotton candy pink, no hair, shaved, she guessed, but almost electric blue eyes, as best as she could tell from the small picture.
Gabriel entered the room, his nostrils flared in disgust, and she handed the picture to him. “Is this what you meant when you said some angelus dye their wings?”
He looked at it and nodded. “Definitely. The even color is a dead giveaway that he wasn’t born with wings that shade. All of us have feathers that have at least two colors, most with more. Red isn’t unheard of for the elder angelus, but red that shade, on an angelus that young, and that much of it, is. Looks like it started out much brighter and he tried to wash it out. Or he was just brainless and used a dye that won’t hold with the feathers.”
“There’s dye that can’t dye?”
“Uh-huh, most of them, actually. The oils on the feathers prevent it from taking like it would on hair,” he replied, spreading his wings slightly as he flicked a fly off the left wing with a look of revulsion.
“Good to know. So, was he trying to pass himself off as a bad-boy umbren? Because red, especially that shade, doesn’t strike me as a solan color.”
“Well,” he considered with a chuckle. “Probably not. If anything, it would mark him as a bad-boy solan, as it’s much more common for a solan to dye their wings. The lighter colors take the dyes easier. Most umbren would have to bleach the feathers first, then dye, and let me tell you,” he continued. “If you think bleach and dye ruin hair quick, it ruins feathers even quicker. And yes, I speak from experience. And no, I’m not going to share. Don’t ask.”
She giggled and nodded, remembering when she and Morgan had tried to bleach and then dye their own hair. It had fried hers in less than ten minutes. Amalia’s had turned cookie monster blue, and broken off, while Morgan’s had faired only slightly better, still leaving both of them to get haircuts to rid themselves of the self-inflicted damage. “Fair enough,” she replied, taking in the information as she peeked into the fish tank that held a couple of Dalmatian mollies and an algae eater. Unfortunately, the mollies were a convenient meal for the algae eater. “Wonder if the fish are the reason the door’s unlocked? Maybe a neighbor feeding them?”
He gave her a doubtful glance as he examined the pictures on the vanity himself, “Probably not, but possible. And if that is the reason, then I’m pretty sure we can label that a ‘FAIL’. Complete with bright red font. Because there hasn’t been anyone in here for a very long time.” He looked at the dead fish. “At least a week based on that algae eater’s last meal.”
She paused and stood straight up, staring at him, the corners of her mouth rising in an acknowledgment of his awareness of current popular culture. “So you’re absolutely certain there’s no one else in here?”
He laughed softly, “Darlin’, there’s no one else in here. I’d hear them breathe.”
“You can hear that well?” she questioned as she found a pile of mail and started to leaf through them.
“Sure can. Remember heightened senses? That’s part of the package for being an angelus,” he said as he held out his hand for the mail. She snarled softly at him, but handed over half the stack. He sardonically cocked an eyebrow at her.
She shrugged and kept hold of the other stack. “I found it first. I don’t see why I have to hand it over to you.”
“Aside from the fact that you already did, it’s because I’m in charge here,” he said, putting a twenties-detective accent on.
Rewarded with a smile, he leafed through the section of mail that she had deigned to give up. Mostly bills, it seemed, but one letter from Altrua Lab Corp. He flipped it over. Unopened. Not for long, he thought to himself, as he tore the envelope open.
She stared at him, “Hello, Federal offense? Ready for a boyfriend named ‘Bubba’?”
He flicked a glance at her before tossing the empty envelope back on the table. “Doesn’t apply to us. I don’t think. Anyway, if they catch anyone, it’s going to be you.”
“I’m sure that the neighbors would remember a person with giant wings going in the apartment,” she argued, pointing at the dark appendages.
He gazed at her and rewarded her with a smile, “unfortunately for you, you look nothing like Patricia. Fortunately for me, I have wings.” As if to illustrate his point, he snapped them open and spread the feathers. “And to most humans, all angelus look alike.”
She shook her head with a muttered “show off,” and tried to grab the results from him. He effectively kept them away by raising his arm, which also, expectedly, raised her ire. He grinned and turned his eyes to the sheet of paper.
As he guessed, lab results were contained in the white envelope. He read them through, and handed it to a miffed Amalia for her to read. She glanced at it, not understanding the significance of it. “So what’s this mean?” She started to walk towards the door leading them out of the apartment.
“It means that she took the blood test to find out if she was immune,” he replied, picking his way behind her, through the mismatched furniture and pieces of horse equipment strewn about the room.
“So, I thought we already knew that? I mean, we know that she has at least a brother or sister who’s immune, right?”
He nodded and continued, “we knew, but she probably didn’t. Anyway, the test is saying that she’s immune. But my information from before was that she wasn’t. So how did she develop immunity?”
Amalia hesitated at a saddle sitting close to the door, touching it almost reverently. Gabriel noticed the adoration on her face, and looked at the saddle himself. “CWD?” he asked, confused.
She nodded. “This is like, the Rolls Royce of saddles. Comfortable, gorgeous leather, and really well built. This is so odd.”
Gabriel frowned. “Why?”
She picked up the saddle and turned it over. No wear or tear was evident anywhere on the saddle. She spoke slowly, “this saddle is, oh, $5000 brand new. And this is brand new. No doubt about it. I would be surprised if it’s been used more than a dozen times.”
“So?” he asked, even more confused.
“So this is like a person like me being able to afford a first edition Carrie signed by Stephen King. Not gonna happen,” she continued, “so I want to know how working student who can’t afford a decent apartment could afford a brand new CWD saddle?”
It was a good question, he thought as he considered the few possibilities. “The boyfriend?”
Amalia shrugged and ran a hand over the seat of the saddle, the soft leather sliding under her fingers. “I guess it could be. But I thought he was a new boyfriend. Why would someone spend $5000 on a person they just started dating?”
“Maybe to go with the expensive horse?” Gabriel guessed.
Amalia shook her head. “No, she’s had him for a few years, based on the show pictures posted in the office. Probably a gift from her parents or something. The saddle…the saddle is different. It’s new. Like, new new.”
Gabriel had to admit it was very strange. She sighed gave the leather one last lingering touch before exiting the apartment.
Amalia stopped at the top of the stairs, and Gabriel bumped into her lightly. His breath was warm on her neck, and the warmth quickly spread through her insides. He hesitantly placed a hand on her hip. She leaned into him, and slowly turned her head to gaze at him through her lashes. He brushed his lips against the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine when she felt a hint of fangs. She could feel his heat through her jacket and felt her heart start to race.
A door opened from a floor above them, breaking them out of the moment. Moving out of the way so the rushing brunette could make her way around the couple, Amalia pulled away from Gabriel. Starting back down the stairs, she looked back at Patricia’s door one last time.
“So she wasn’t immune, but now she is. Maybe an acquired immunity? Possibly from a vaccine,” she considered thoughtfully. “She’s definitely part of your missing people?”
Gabriel nodded, “the details of how she went missing fit.”
“So, someone is keeping her contained, probably because her sister’s immune, making her a carrier,” Amalia mused over the details, slowly putting them in order. “Using her to find a cure for the renati, or at the least, to create a vaccine. Probably without her consent.”
“It probably started out with her consent, remember the argument with her boyfriend?” Gabriel said, making his way down the stairs, “but, if they’re doing the former, Aleks thinks that they’d have to change her, then work backwards.”
“So at this point, they’re definitely keeping her against her will,” she finished.
He followed her down the stairs, trying to calm his twitching nerves. “All the more reason to find her and Sam, then. As quickly as possible.”
“So, I have a question,” she said trying to ignore the grime on the handrail and the pang in her heart when he mentioned Sam.
“What’s that?” he asked, carefully stepping over a suspicious stain decorating the stair.
“This is going to sound really….cold,” she said, hesitating.
“Okay, so?”
“I am going to be paid for this, right? I mean, unless I get back to my job on Monday, I’m jobless.”
“Ah,” he replied, “Yeah, you can be compensated. That won’t be a problem. I’ll put in the request when we get back.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“And even better,” he said brightly, causing her to turn around and look at him. “If you want, you can keep working with me. Let me tell you, sometimes, like at the stable, with Miranda, it’s hard to work with humans. Being an angelus, and an umbren to boot. So working with you would really benefit me.”
She huffed out a laugh. “As long as I get paid,” she agreed, then started back down the steps.
“Off to see the wizard, now,” he said airily as they climbed in the car, glad to leave the scents behind.
She gave a low chuckle, glad for the distraction. “The wonderful wizard of Altrua Lab Corp?”
“Exactly that one.”
She twisted in her seat, facing him, “will they let us have any information? I mean, what about confidentiality and all that? That’s not a little thing to shrug away, you know.”
He arched a black eyebrow at her before answering, “my dear, I have plan.”
She rolled her eyes at that proclamation, “Sure you do. Hopefully one that doesn’t involve me running for my life while people shoot at me ala Stephanie Plum.”
He gazed at her, a blank look on his striking face. “Stephanie Plum?”
“Lingerie saleswoman turned bounty hunter. Everyone’s planting bombs in her car or shooting at her. Anyway, that’s irrelevant. What’s relevant is that it I really don’t want to get shot at again,” she replied, “although I’d hope that the lab people aren’t the bad guys…although if this were any decent action movie, they’d be in on it. Or, they’d be the ones kidnapping the people for their own experiments. Maybe that’s what’s happening!”
“Wait, back up,” he said, holding his hand up. “Shot at again?”
She giggled at the memory. “Yeah, I’ve been shot at. Sam and I were riding on state land in the middle of summer. I was wearing bright yellow. On a white horse, Ghost. Sam was wearing red, riding her bay mare, Velvet. All of a sudden, my leg started killing me, and when I looked down, it was orange. Some little shit shot me with a paintball. Not to mention, cop, remember? For four years. I was shot at, twice.”
“Twice?”
“Twice,” she confirmed, enjoying the way he shifted in the seat at the uncomfortable subject. “First time it was a supposed-routine traffic stop. Second time it was a burglary gone wrong.”
He closed his eyes, “so, one more question on the ‘you getting shot at’ topic.”
“Shoot,” she started giggling at the unintentional pun, making his stomach twitch in anticipation.
“What’d you do to the kid?” his lips quirked in a smile at the look of humor on her face.
She clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the giggles, “Caught up with him. Took his gun. Emptied the gun of paintballs. On him. He looked like a rainbow Dalmatian by the time we were done with him.”
H threw his head back and howled with laughter. It took him a few minutes to get his mirth under control, but by then, his eyes had teared up and his abs were sore. He hadn’t laughed like that since before he could remember. “That’s the greatest thing I’ve heard, ever,” he chortled, and wiped the tears from his eyes, an idiotic grin still plastered on his face.
