Angel: Private Eye Book One (31 page)

“Mr Marvelous and half of the Hope City PD.
You've been gone for two days, Lizzie.”

I blinked in complete surprise. “Two days?
But I… it couldn't have been more than several hours.”

He shook his head, pressing his lips
together in an unmistakable grim expression. “I'm sorry to say, but
I thought we'd lost you.”

Was it just me, or was there an unmistakable
twinge of fear rippling through his tone? Not the kind of fear
you'd use at the prospect of losing someone contracted to you. But
the kind of fear you’d use at the prospect of losing someone who
meant a little bit more to you.

Just before my stomach could lurch at that
prospect, I realized something rather important – I was still in
Benson’s arms.

Maybe Benson realized it, too, because with
a flash of a flattering smile, he helped me to my feet. With a hand
still locked warmly on my shoulder, he turned to face me. “I take
it you can stand?”

Apparently I could, but that didn't stop my
treacherous body from leaning supportively into his grip. I tried
to remind myself that hey, he was a vampire king and the only thing
I should be doing with his hand was shoving it in handcuffs.

Instead I looked up at him. “What happened
to me?” I asked earnestly.

“Lizzie Luck,” he paused. It was a long,
drawn-out pause. The kind of pause that didn't just get your
attention, but held you in place promising you you were about to
learn the most important fact of your life. “Our contract is now
over.”

I blinked, disconcerted. “What?”

“I now know what you are,” he said.

I stopped breathing.

Part of me realized I didn't really need
Benson to tell me what I was. The evidence was as clear as day. But
I couldn't stop from trembling as my lips split open, “What am I?”
I breathed around my words.

“Lizzie,” he considered me as he shifted his
head to the side, “You are suffering from an angel infection.”

I… blinked.

I'd been expecting it, of course I’d been
expecting it. The wings and light were a dead giveaway. The little
part about having an infection, though, that made no goddamn
sense.

I shifted hard, almost bucking. “Infection?
You mean I'm an angel, don't you? I'm an… angel….” I trailed off as
I started to appreciate what that could mean.

He arched an eyebrow, and it was such an
oddly normal move that it snapped my attention away from the
enormity of the situation. For like half a second, then the truly
impressed look locked in his gaze made me swallow.

“Technically, I think you will find, Lizzie,
it's classed as an infection. Just as vampiriety is.”

I began to shake my head.

I didn't get the chance to finish. Before I
could find out what was happening, a car screeched around the
corner, its sirens blaring on full.

I'd had one hell of a sensory overload
tonight, and I gritted my teeth, jerked my head to the side, and
pretty much hid behind my hands as none other than Detective Cortez
rode his car up the pavement and stopped in a screech of tires and
burning rubber.

He threw himself out of the driver’s seat
and lurched forward. Just when I thought he'd go for his gun, he
locked me in a look. A crazy compassionate look. A crazy worried
look. A crazy relieved look. Exactly the kind of looks Cortez would
give to somebody he cared about. Not little old me.

“You're alive,” he said, undeniable relief
shaking through his voice. “Christ, Lizzie, what happened?” He
jerked his head up and stared to the top of the building, then
shifted his gaze down to look around him. It didn't take long for
his eyes to lock on a relatively inane pile of dirt.

But it wasn’t dirt, was it?

It was Van Edgerton.

I started to lose my balance, and I would
have fallen to my knees had Benson not taken that exact moment to
shift forward and shore up my stance with his ever-reliable
grip.

“You didn't kill him, Lizzie. He is dead,
however, so you have satisfied the terms of your contract. But your
conscience is clear,” he said in the kind of undeniable tone that
could only be used when someone was telling the truth.

My heart, which had been threatening to jerk
from my throat, suddenly stilled.

I made a face.

Detective Cortez ran his fingers through the
remains of Theodore's ashes, dusted his fingers on his pants, and
shook his head. “I can't say I'm sorry. That bastard was
responsible for more crimes than any other vampire in the country.
Hell of a way to go. How did he die exactly?”

We both jerked our gazes towards Benson. I
was certain he was going to tell the truth. Admit to Cortez that it
wasn’t a hell of a way to go – that it was the exact opposite.
Heavenly retribution.

But as Benson shifted forward, locked me in
his gaze for a single second, then nodded towards Cortez, I
realized he was going to keep that particular truth to himself.
“Van Edgerton fell off the roof.”

Cortez winced. “You serious? That's what
finally got him? A faulty railing or something?”

“Or something,” Benson agreed.

Suddenly, there was a screech of tires, and
an extremely familiar engine roared down the street. The beast.

Mr Marvelous rode the car up onto the
pavement, almost collecting the three of us.

Benson shifted me back with a firm hand as
he tugged a finger into his collar, loosened it, and shot Mr
Marvelous a pointed look through the window.

Marvelous threw himself out of the car.
Before I had any idea what was happening, he jerked forward,
wrapped a hand around my back, and gave me a quick squeeze of a
hug. “Lizzie, boy am I glad you're alive.” He shifted away, patted
me on the back, and grinned.

I can't say working for Mr Marvelous was
particularly fun. But it was gratifying. I’d solved a murder, and I
knew instinctively Susan Smith could now rest in peace. We could
take the scrap of soul back from Frank, and she would be able to
live everafter.

So I smiled as I nodded. “Thanks for being
concerned about me.”

“Concerned? I was searching the entire city.
Kid, you've been gone for two days, and the shop just isn’t the
same without you.”

I couldn't help but let out a soft laugh.
“I've barely been there a week.”

“Lizzie Luck,” Marvelous spread his hands
wide and gestured like a salesman, “You leave a lasting
impression.”

I blinked. And I made the mistake of
swiveling my gaze first to Cortez and then to Benson.

Both were looking at me in the kind of way
that suggested, yeah, me, simple Lizzie Luck, left an
impression.

Benson cleared his throat. “I suggest it's
time we clear the evidence and leave. The mayor will be quite
displeased if we block up the main artery of the city.”

On the word evidence, my world came crashing
down around me. Because I remembered what had happened. The anger
that had gripped me as I’d burned through the casino, fighting
Theodore and locking Frank in an impenetrable barrier of light.

Instantly I brought my hands up and crammed
them over my mouth.

Benson jerked his gaze towards me. “It's
been a particularly long night for you, Lizzie, I suggest you go
home and get some rest.”

“I can't. The casino—”

Benson stepped in smoothly and cleared his
throat. “While there was an altercation within the casino,” he
appeared to pick his words carefully, “It is vampire business,” he
said, a flash of his canines appearing over his lips.

Cortez frowned. “What exactly happened in
there?”

Benson simply shrugged. “As I said,
unfortunately, it is vampire business.”

Cortez ticked an eyebrow up, but appeared to
have no other option other than to shrug. “Fine, vampire business,”
he agreed. Then almost immediately he returned his attention to me.
“Lizzie, how the hell did you get away from Theodore?”

I gulped. Nervously.

Benson cleared his throat once more.

Mr Marvelous let out an irritated chuckle.
“You can't tell us that was vampire business, too.”

William Benson pushed one hand into his
pocket and smiled. And you guessed it, he showed his teeth again.
“For now, it is vampire business. My agents will have to go in and
see exactly what Theodore was doing.”

Suddenly something slammed into me. A
memory. “What's the 12th rule, or amendment, or regulation, or
something?” I stuttered as I pushed my words out as fast as I
could.

Everybody stopped. They all took stiff
breaths and held them in their chests. “You mean the Regulation
12,” Benson said in a low, unrecognizable tone.

I nodded my head.

“Why would you mention this?”

“Because Frank – one of the vampires in
there,” I spoke around a massive swallow, “He said that Theodore
broke Regulation 12. That's why Susan Smith was killed. She found
out, and Frank killed her on Theodore's orders.”

Nobody moved, shifted, breathed, or in any
other way acted like ordinary human beings, even if two of them
weren’t technically ordinary human beings.

Point was, all three of them were riveted to
the spot in what was unquestionably shock and a smattering of
fear.

“…
What's Regulation 12?”
I asked hesitantly.

“You sure?” Cortez turned on me.” You sure
that's what he said? Regulation 12? Not 11, not 10?”

“That's what she said, then that's what she
heard,” Marvelous crowed as he backed me up.

I cleared my throat carefully. “Is this
serious?”

He nodded.

I deflated.

More than anything, I wanted to go home and
crumple into bed. And then… digest the fact I was technically an
angel. And that, that was technically an infection.

My head started to swim again. Before I
could pitch head-first into the gutter, I felt Benson's light touch
on my shoulder. “Go home now, Lizzie.”

“But there’s too much to do–” I began.

“It will be done in the morning.”

“But I need to… find out what I—”

“I'll tell you in the morning. You have my
word.”

His word.

As he let his gaze rove over me, you guessed
it, he held me in his hands. The ghostly grasp of his eyes wrapped
around me. I felt warm, safe. The horror of the night flitted away
from me as I allowed myself to slip closer into the warm embrace of
his eyes.

“Go to sleep, go home. In the morning, I'll
explain everything.”

I turned. I walked back to the car with
Marvelous.

He chatted my ear off, asking every detail
of what happened.

I answered him with half a mind, careful to
share only certain details. The rest of my mind? Oh, that locked on
Benson. And it locked on tomorrow morning. When, apparently, he'd
tell me everything and this journey would continue….

The end
of
Angel:
Private Eye Book One. Angel: Private Eye Book Two is currently
available.

Odette C. Bell has written over 60 books
from sci-fi adventure to magical realism. Her full catalogue is
available
here.

If you liked this book, you may
also like Witch’s Bell. Read on for an excerpt from the first
book.

Ebony opened the door, her car keys
banging softly against the chipped wood of the frame. She rubbed
gingerly at the scratched paintwork, hoping to smooth out the
imperfections. Instead, all she managed was a splinter.

“You need a paint job,” she told the store
as she walked in, dumping her bag on the counter. She bit her
thumb, removing the shard of wood with little effort and spitting
it onto the ground. “And I need manners,” she replied to herself
with a satisfied laugh.

She didn't have much to do today, in
the way of store business that was. She had to stack some shelves,
move some books out from the back, and post a couple of rare tomes
overseas. Apart from that, this would be a quiet day.

Ebony abruptly stopped short, halfway
through flipping the closed-sign to open. This should be a quiet
day, she corrected herself. You should never tell the universe what
to do. Giving it a categorical order only ever made it
tetchy.

Ebony kicked several dusty books out
of her path as she made her way over to the window. She intended to
yank open her ancient blinds and throw some much-needed morning
light over this shemozzle. As the old wooden slats parted with a
creak, perfect stripes of light moved across her face and into the
room behind. It lit up the dust motes drifting through the air,
like seedpods on the wind, and played against the dark mahogany of
her loose hair.

Ebony took a moment to stare through
the windows, fixing her gaze on the blue skies above. It should be
a beautiful, warm summer's day.

Should be, she repeated to herself as
she turned from the view.

Her long hair trickled over her
shoulder as she turned. Though trickle was not usually a word you
associated with dead, lifeless hair, you had to widen your
vocabulary when it came to Ebony. Not only did her curled strands
store up the light like a handful of diamonds glinting in the sun,
but the hair itself had a mind of its own. It sometimes swayed from
side to side, like wind over long grass. It sometimes danced
between her shoulders, like a bird hopping from branch to branch.
And sometimes it just sat there like a storm: eddying, brewing,
each tassel a wild concentrated wave.

No, Ebony's hair was not every day,
normal, humdrum, or ordinary. Nothing about Ebony was ordinary: not
her appearance, not her life, not her store, not her
job.

Ebony Bell was
–