Stranger at the Hell Gate (3 page)

Enzo slapped his notepad on the desk. "They asked for you."

"And I'm booked."

"You call this booked?" The agent stomped over to the screen and pointed at it. "Another night of video games?"

"I can't help it that Lydia chick keeps screwing with my quests. That dope walks right into my line of fire every single time."

"You haven't taken a job since she showed up."

"I needed some R and R."

Enzo sighed. "I don't trust her."

"She's a divinity, Enzo. What's not to trust?" Jagger tried very hard to keep a serious expression but he couldn't keep from grinning.
Sick sense of humor but, hey. A laugh is a laugh.

Enzo wasn't laughing. "Other than a natural loathing for demons, not mentioning any names?"

"See? I, too, have a natural loathing for demons. We're like peas in a pod."

"Mmm." Enzo tapped his mouth with a slender finger. "And she's still here…why?"

Jagger shrugged. "She's got some kind of mission."

"Not your problem."

"Maybe it is. She said she had orders to find me. That I'm part of whatever she has to do."

"Big deal, Jag. She's on their side. She's got lots of people that can help her out. In case you forget, you are on a really small team."

"So? I don't play well with others."

"They don't need to play with you. All they need to do is send a legion or two to help with these hell gates."

"Let's not start this again. If they wanted to help, they would.
I
want to help
her
, so I am."

"You know, that's the part I don't get. You work for coin, not charity."

"Yeah. That's the real bite in the ass, innit." Jagger paused the game and dropped the controller on his lap, reaching to rub his face with both palms. "I kinda owe 'em this one."

"You know her? I thought you said—"

"Not her. Never saw her before. But she said a name. And that guy…well, him, I knew."

"And you owed him a favor?" Enzo's voice was heavy with doubt.

Jagger couldn’t blame him.

"I owe him my life." Jagger picked up the controller. "He raised me."

"Oh. That's the guy? But she said
monks
. You grew up in a cult."

Jagger smirked. "Isn't every monastery a little like a cult?"

"Just once, Jag." Enzo sounded out of patience. Again. "I'd like to get the plain truth from you. Just once."

Enzo sighed and leaned to pull a leather-bound book out of his satchel. He flipped through the pages before finding the one he wanted. "Did you get a chance to look at that crystal?"

"Nah." Jagger suddenly pounded on the game controller. "Come-on-come-on-come-on-no! Geez! What do you call that? I hit him eight times, and he didn't budge! What crap!"

"The crystal, Jag?"

"Yeah, what about it? She wears it inside her shirt. It's creepy how it lights up when I come into the room."

"Wonder if we can duplicate it? Would come in handy on those jobs where you disappear for days at a time."

"Only if I'm knocked out. Or bound. Or transported. But other than that, how can you complain? I always call if I'm gonna be late." Jagger stood to stretch, dropping the controller onto the chair. "Anyways, she might be useful."

"Useful, how?"

"I'm not the only one with Tallon's blood."

"Well, I'm not surprised. Archdemons really sow their unholy oats around." Enzo's voice was colored with disgust.

He's only human
, Jagger reminded himself. Sometimes he forgot that Jagger wasn't. Then again, Jagger had worked very hard to keep his demon blood in check, preferring to maintain his human impression. "True, that. But I'm thinking about one oat in particular."

"Acheron?"

Jagger nodded, remembering the troubled expression Sonya wore when he said he had a brother. "She said she got a blip near Jontu about three days ago."

Enzo rocked back, eyes unfocused and falling silent. "Think you can talk her into scouting?"

"Too much of a liability. But maybe we can borrow that crystal of hers."

"Not you. What would be the point?"

"Duh. Ionis, maybe. He's the only one who's ever seen Acheron."

"Uh, he's your twin, Jagger."

Jagger clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth, the words a hiss. "How many times do I have to remind you? He looks nothing like me."

"As long as you insist on that, I won't worry about you." The phone rang and Enzo turned back to the desk. "It's when you stop that means we're in trouble."

ANGELS

At the week's end, the agent finally got Jagger to take a job. Sonya suspected her offering to pay for dinner had something to do with his sudden change of heart. Although he was only gone three hours at best, she spent every minute in worry, waiting for his return.

Realizing she wasn't afraid for herself only made the anxiety worse. If anything happened to Jagger, she'd never learn the reason she'd been sent to find him.

To pass the time, she went upstairs and cleaned the apartment, wiping away cobwebs and scrubbing the thick layers of dust off every surface. The busy work occupied her hands and stilled her mind—she'd never been one to sit idly by when there was a task at hand.

There wasn't a lot of furniture in the apartment; only a bed and a heavy wardrobe remained. Perhaps everything that could be carried off and sold had been.

Or destroyed. There were a lot of wood shards up there.

Inside the wardrobe, she'd found extra linens. Their dry dusty smell told her this was where her current bedding had come from. After pounding the mattress clean, she dressed the bed and cracked a window to let the room breathe.

She surveyed her work. Surely he wouldn't mind her staying up here. He probably wanted his couch back.

By the time she'd finished, she heard his boot step on the stoop outside. She nearly tripped on the stairs on her way down. Sonya paused in the doorway. "You're back."

"You're still alive." He glanced at her. "That's good."

She sat down on the couch and watched him draw his sword and lay it on the desk. With a roll of his shoulders, he shrugged off his coat, revealing the scraped leather harness he wore over his bare chest. When he turned to throw his jacket onto the desk, the light slid across his skin, picking out every scar and imperfection.

She couldn't ignore those marks. Her mother had been a healer, and she
was
her mother's daughter.

Jagger dropped onto the cushion next to her and leaned to loosen his boot straps. A long thin ridge arched over his shoulder blade. Without thinking, she traced it with a hesitant finger.

He flinched beneath her touch but didn't move away.

"These scars are like a road map," she whispered. "How many terrible places have you been?"

He straightened but didn't look at her. "All of them."

The darkness in his voice was cold and drowning-deep. It called to her the way a child would cry for help. She wasn't accustomed to hearing him use such a tone.

"And did you go alone?"

"Every step of the way." Jagger pushed to his feet and strode to the desk where his weapons still lay. He pulled each gun free from its holster, flicked open the chamber, and shook out the ammo into a brass goblet. "My line of work doesn't run group rates."

She remained on the couch and watched him through her Seraph eyes. His back was streaked with a myriad of silvered lines, each injury and scar glowing. The glow ranged from pale pink to sullen red depending on its degree of freshness. She'd never seen so much damage on a single living being. "But…you don't work all the time, do you?"

"The day Hell takes a day off, so will I."

"That's a hard way to live."

"It's a hard life. So what? Everyone has their cross to bear. I just tend to do a lot of killing with mine."

His causal blasphemy struck a discord within her but she didn't let it show. She knew he didn't mean to insult her. "Turn around, please?"

He turned his head. "Why?"

"I want to see you." She stood and braced herself, Seraph sight locked on. "Please."

Jagger hung his head, looking very much out of patience. With an exasperated huff, he turned in place, his boots clomping. Cocky stance, head back and eyes daring her to say something. But these things she only partially registered because when he turned to face her, his entire upper body—chest, face, arms—glowed with the marks of past insult and injury. And that sickle shape burned into the skin over his heart—

She whimpered, heart-sick to see him in this way. Her mother's blood cried out at the thought of what agony he must have endured to stand here now, so marred and wounded. Covering her eyes, she dispelled the Seraph sight and fought the tears.

"Hey." He was in front of her within moments, pulling her hands down and leaning to peer at her downturned face. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"You. You've been through so much. Just look at you."

"I'd rather not. I'm not a pretty guy."

"Jagger. These scars. You have countless hurts. I can't see a part of you that isn't injured." She raised her eyes, tears brimming on her lower lashes. "Let me help you."

"What, you're a plastic surgeon?"

She swallowed and regained part of her composure. "Better."

He looked alarmed and rocked back on his heels. "You don't mean—"

"Yes, I do." She held onto his hands and kept him from backing away. This felt right, this decision. It had to be a part of her mission. Her Seraph blood ached for an opportunity to do good work. It stirred inside her, quickening her pulse. "I can fix some of these."

His eyes shifted. "Ah, I don't think it's a good idea, doll. Our kinds don't mix well."

"Oh." She gazed at him, uncertainty playing in her wide eyes. For the first time, she doubted herself. What would happen to a demon once exposed to her divinity? "I didn't think of that."

He extracted himself from her grasp. "Yeah, well. That's my job. Always thinking one step ahead."

Jagger pivoted and walked back to the desk, flipping open his jacket and pulling the vials of holy water out of the inside pockets.

The water was fresh, glowing with pearlescent warmth.

Divinity undiluted.

She noticed he had no qualms about handling holy water and took it as a good sign. Without a word, she walked up behind him, slid her hands around to his chest, and pressed a kiss to his wounded shoulder blade.

Her essence trickled into his skin, flowing along the ridge of scar in a streak of heat. Jagger cried out and arched his back but she held him fast. The scar shimmered, smoothed and faded, until only perfect skin remained. Only once the healing had completed did she let go of him.

Jagger leaned heavily over the desk, palms planted and head bowed. His breath was labored.

Did she cause more pain? Her heart trembled. She never meant for that.

He twisted and sat against the desk, holding onto the edge as if he feared he might tumble off. His eyes were wide, the pupils swelling until the irises were reduced to thin rings. "What did you do to me?"

"I healed that scar on your—" She swallowed hard. "It was so terrible, I couldn't help—please, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You…didn't." He lifted his arm and rolled his shoulder, hunching his back and stretching his arm out in front of him. "It used to catch right there. How deep did that thing go?"

He reached behind him for his blade, hefting it in an arc over his head to slide it down into the scabbard on his back. He flicked his wrists, cracked his neck, then reached to draw the blade free.

And he smiled.

He repeated it twice more, stowing the blade and pulling it out again, before setting it back on the desk. "Wow. I haven't been able to do that since I closed the Anthers portal. Not bad, doll. Not bad at all."

"So…" She eyed him, watching him shrug out of the harness. "It didn't hurt you?"

"Oh, it hurt all right. That shit stings. But, you know, at the end, there was a little…" He rubbed his mouth and unfocused his gaze. "A cool little glow, like peppermint."

"I think it hurts more or less depending on the severity. There was a muscle torn underneath. But this one…" She stepped closer and indicated a thin line on his arm but did not touch him. "This is only on the surface."

She tilted her head. "It wouldn't take much."

"You're not going to kiss me again, are you?"

"Oh." She chewed her lip. "It's how I learned to heal. My mother, she'd kiss a scraped knee or a scratched finger. You know, make the 'boo boo' go away. Her healing was always connected to the deep love she had for me. I never…"

"Never tried just waving a magic finger?"

"I never tried to heal anyone before. A stranger, I mean. I guess I just reacted."

Jagger regarded her for a moment.

"I've lived through worse." He shrugged and lifted his arm. "I'm game."

She cradled his forearm, leaning to press a kiss onto the scar. It warmed like a blush beneath her lips. Pulling back, she inspected the skin. The scar had vanished.

"That tickled," he said.

Something in his eyes made her linger in her touch. There was something unspoken in his gaze. He cleared his throat as if to speak—

A crash sounded on the porch, a stomping that made the floor tremble. Sonya's gaze jerked to the door. The lock rattled and the door opened hard, banging against the wall. The doorway was filled with a mountain of flesh and leather. The biggest man Sonya had ever seen.

She backed away without thinking.

He lifted his arm to partially shield her, chuckling. "Ionis, get your ass in here. You're scaring her."

Sonya remained behind Jagger, peering at the man called Ionis. He was huge. And human. She blinked, mouth agape. She didn't think humans grew so large.

Ionis shut the door with a deep laugh.

"Sorry, miss. Din't know anyone was here." He bowed deeply before her. "I am Ionis, son of Berkhall. At your service."

"My partner." Jagger scratched his head. "I'm sorry, Sunny, I—"