Case 7 - Ep. 2: Heaven's Blind Spots

Trapped and Bloody by Beki Yopek

The Reaper and I swooped into Hooverville in the early 1930s, and it was prettier than a slumtown tornado, but not by much. Seattle city officials had burned down nine acres of shanties because homeless hobos had erected them on Seattle Port Commission land. The flames had killed the tin-roof shacks better than the residents, and hundreds of men were busy re-building the flimsy walls that went around their moth-eaten mattresses. Odors of burnt wood and b.o. mingled in the air like they did in my home Circle, New Purgatory. Only we had strippers’ perfume and sweet wine scents on the wind to spice up the place. 

I tucked my newly filled Blood Magic folio into the inner pocket of my trench coat and flew in close to The Reaper. “You can smell the death from here. Guess we’ll be busier than we thought.”

The Reaper shouted the way an avalanche does. “Keep your guard up, Avaline. Human death might be natural, or it might be engineered by The Pneuma Coalition.”

Raising a hand to block the sun’s glare off Elliott Bay on my left, I grunted. “Yeah, don’t remind me how powerless the law is. You’d think Heaven would be better on the enforcement end of things.”

“The Volunteer Guardian Angels can only watch so many cities at once. America’s economy is in a recession. Humans have thrown themselves from buildings rather than face reality. Do not forget where I found you last year after firing you.”

My lip zipped itself shut without me asking it to. That made two times The Reaper had worked with me after the biggest screw ups I’d screwed up. It was time to rebuild, not repeat the past.

I checked that the twin stilettos in the holster at my back were there, then touched down at the edge of the bay with The Reaper landing next to me. He gripped Seversoul in one black bony hand, and secured the hood of his robe over his head with the other. The sight of the scythe sent a spike of adrenaline through me and I marched right for Hooverville’s center, intent on finding the Septuplet who’d dodged Heaven Law, caused hundreds of human deaths, and blamed it on The Great Depression.

Mud squished under my boots and I made a mental note not to wear my Aurora flats or Persephone heels to work. Earning my job back with The Reaper meant utter professionalism, including work boots-with something in the toes-and weapons I’d left at home before. This was a trial run, so I paid attention to every fresh soul we passed on the way to Hooverville’s center. Half of them were chockablock full of life force, and the other half were drained husks that barely had any shimmer left to them. Every piece of information I could glean was a piece that could help me keep this job for centuries to come.

Spinning and tripping in the muck, I faced The Reaper and stood straight. “There’s no leadership here. The humans are rebuilding, but it’s like they expect to get burned out again.”

The Reaper swept Seversoul through a dozen souls and the drained ghosts around them. He made sure he didn’t hit the half-built shanties by accident. “Are there demons about?”

“No demon thieves,” I replied, “and no signs of any kind of magic. No Surface Magic, or Brimstone Chemistry, or--”

The Reaper harvested dozens more souls and a cluster of ghosts. “What are The Septuplets known for?”

I put a hand on my hip and watched raggedy men in dust-caked shirts moving in and out of the nearest shanty, carrying sheets of tin and hammers. “White collar super powers. Fourteen beings in existence have super powers, and The Septuplets make up half of them.”

“Can magic cause destruction like this?”

Taking in the burned soil and the plywood the men hauled into town, I said, “Blood Magic could. Or maybe some Heaven brand of magic. I can’t see a sign of it though. No demon’s blood, no pictures, no writings on the tin or in the dirt.”

“Logic should be telling you something important.”

No angel would use Heaven magic to burn a hobo homestead to cinders. Plus, no Septuplet I knew had a power that could immolate nine acres at once. Sure there were hundreds of souls here, but if The Pneuma Coalition was using magic or powers to devastate the homeless here, the SPD or VGA would have seen something by now.

A rolling tenor I recognized spoke from within the nearest shanty. “Thank you, Mayor Jackson. It is an honor to assist the residents of your little conglomerate. Rebuild. It is the best thing for everyone.”

Jack Te-Konos emerged from the shanty with Apathy following along behind him. Jack’s torn-up blazer and ruff flapped in the breeze, and that smug attitude matched his slicked down hair and tar-colored wings. Apathy, the bald careless Septuplet, cracked a smile when he saw me and The Reaper. One wink and Apathy was airborne, flapping toward Elliott Bay where the sun was setting into the rippling waters. 

I snarled and snapped both wings out, ready to stick it to Apathy in a high-speed flight. Jack spoke something in French and a tin wall from a nearby shanty blitzed me like a linebacker. I leapt upward and barrel rolled to avoid the attack, but the fallen angel yelled more French words while I did. A second tin slab sandwiched me against the first one in mid-air. 

Reaching for my Blood Magic folio, I screeched, “You don’t get to screw with me a third time.”

Jack’s shout reverberated against every air molecule around me and The Reaper. “Heaven intervened on your side and that backfired. Now The Coalition has human officials under our claws too." 

Pinned by two heavy slabs of metal, I couldn't even reach the stilettos in their holsters. 

The fallen angel extended a hand and hissed more French spell words. Then he swept his greezy hair back. "I explained you were flying into a hurricane. Not my fault you didn’t listen, Avaline.”

Case 7 - Ep. 1: Heaven's Blind Spots

Trapped and Bloody by Beki Yopek

Nia slid a fresh Moloch and Coke in front of me and leaned in close, the scents of her perfume and feathers rising on the bar’s humid air. “I thought you were supposed to be writing tonight, Ava.”

Mellow chills slid along my tongue as I downed half the drink. My eyes slid sideways onto The Reaper’s grinning visage. “What does it look like we’re doing?” I indicated the file folders, papers, and the pen on the bar, then waved behind us with a wing. “It’s midnight on a Sunday. You think we came here to shoot darts?”

Behind Nia, The Down South Lounge’s neon liquor shelves and flatscreen TVs backlit her vanilla wings and dark hair. She tilted her halo at me. “You look so bushed I doubt you could throw a joke or a dart.”

I pointed a wing claw at her pink spaghetti strap shirt. “And you look like neapolitan ice cream.”

She slumped in fake disappointment and talked over the wingball game on TV. “Oh, that’s cold.”

Lacking a drum set, I slapped the bar once, twice, then clanged a wing claw against the metal barstool. “You’re a cheeseball angel, you know that?”

“Forgive Avaline,” The Reaper rasped, adjusting his barstool. “We worked three hours of overtime today. There are some things that can only be laid bare over drinks.”

A lascivious grin quirked Nia’s lips. “Ooh, I can’t wait to hear The Reaper’s juicy secrets. The only confessions I get are the tipsy kind that involve more boob contact than eye contact.”

I snorted mid-sip and Moloch and Coke spurted out my nose. Coughing, I said, “You just heard how he fired me back in the day. What else do you want?”

“Nothing,” Nia squeaked with an innocent look up at the ceiling. “Seeing you dribble on yourself in front of The Reaper will make a good bar story.” She glanced toward the arcade section near the back of the Lounge and added, “Shawn won’t believe it when I tell him.”

I sipped the Moloch and Coke more carefully while Reap pointed Seversoul at the lone figure among the plethora of game booths. “You mean that demon there? I have seen him before. We do not need anyone else listening to what Avaline is writing for me.”

One glance at the blue-clad demon pounding on the pinball machine and I blurted, “He’s scared shitless of you, Reap. Ran like a pansy last time you were here.”

“Exactly,” Nia said. “Maybe he’ll open up a little if I can convince him The Reaper’s not terrifying.”

Memories of the day I’d approached Reap after the Voracity incident flashed in my thoughts. “Yeah,” I scoffed. “He was cute and cuddly when he re-hired me too. I had to earn my spot back with his scary self.”

Reap laid Seversoul on the bar and crossed his arm bones. “Niariel, You care about your patrons and employees. That is what makes this difficult. I need a new bodyguard, whether temporary or permanent. I had hoped to borrow your bouncer until we can make more permanent arrangements.”

Nia’s eyes narrowed. “Was it Contressa or Prudence?”

I chugged my drink like it was a painkiller. “Prudy fell this week. Might be working with the Pneuma Coalition now, but we don’t know where she is.”

The Reaper’s whisper was an icicle. “Motes will become scarce until we get a new bodyguard into our rotation. Tell us if you hear anything regarding her and Avarice.”

Nia nodded once, tucked her wings in and stood on her tiptoes. She cupped her hands over her mouth and called, “Hey Hildy. C’mere a second.”

From the glass entrance doors, Hildariel strode in and moved behind the bar. She’d re-dyed her hair to a wispy blonde, and it fell in a ponytail between her butter-yellow wings. “Mister Reaper,” she said. “When did you become a regular here?”

“I’m the regular,” I said, “and he’s the recruiter.”

Reap steepled his fingers, the bones clacking together. “I have need of a temporary bodyguard who knows Heaven Law and is practiced in combat and magic.”

Hildariel brushed her hands down her black and gold track suit, where numerous weapon-shaped bulges stood out. “I wasn’t aware this would be a formal interview. Are you sure you want a demonstration right here?”

Nia snapped her wings up and one of them smacked into the flatscreen behind her. “Outside please. I like my liquor shelves intact and not in pieces.”

“In the morning,” The Reaper said pointedly. If he had eyebrows, I knew they’d be raised. “What Circle do you live in?”

Pointing up with a wing, Hildariel replied, “Heaven. River Gihon, just downwind from that employment agency.”

“Bring your brimstone and your haloxite weaponry. Contressa Vexus will escort you from the Gihon hell divides to my office. Five-thirty.”

The bouncer peered sideways at Nia. “You writing a new schedule for your bouncers, boss?”

Nia eyed her as though over invisible glasses. “That will be easier than training as The Reaper’s bodyguard. And weren’t you looking for an excuse to blow up some crap?”

Hildariel beamed, and it hit me as more sinister than sincere. “Thanks, Nia. I’ll feed my explosion jones while I train, then you’ll see me here nights.”

“Great, now Ava and The Reaper have work to do. Finish your shift outside, please.”

Turning on her heel, the bouncer marched right back out the glass entrance doors and stood sentinel. Odors of sulfur and deep fried food whirled inside and I breathed it deep, then spun on my stool and faced The Reaper. “What case we working on this time?”

He sat straight up and towered over me and Nia, tilting his ram’s horns forward. “Seattle during The Great Depression on Earth.”

I brightened and slid my empty glass toward Nia, then picked up the pen. “Oh, yeah. The easiest time we ever had harvesting souls. I don’t think we ever made more motes than we did during that era.”

The Reaper leveled his dark skull at me. “I was referring to Jack Te-Konos and Apathy.”

Grinding my teeth, I muttered, “Great. That shitstorm.”