Misfortune Cookie (11 page)

He smiled. “Believe me, you were tame compared to some of my
Alkhari
counterparts.”

“
Alkhari.
What’s that?”

“My race. We’re a species of the Hereafter.”

“You look human.” I remembered that day in my kitchen. I’d thought the wings were my imagination. Maybe not.

“We are all children of the Higher Power.”

“So you’re an angel?”

“Not exactly. Angels are a mortal construct.” He shifted to face me. Not a dark hair out of place, suit perfect and unwrinkled. Tie perfectly aligned under his throat.

An urge to touch that smooth skin rippled over me, drawing me toward him. Again, that knowing smile appeared on his face.

I flexed my fingers instead, pretending to examine my nails.

“You should not deny how you feel about me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You want to touch me.” He slid across the seat stopping when our thighs touched.

The heat from his limbs seeped into my skin. He moved my hair, tucked the strands behind my ear, exposing the lobe to his touch. I stilled my body so he wouldn’t see me shudder.

“No, I don’t,” I insisted, my voice wispy.

His lips brushed my ear lobe. “Go ahead. I want to feel your hands on my skin.”

Yes. I wanted to straddle his hips and rub against his —

Whoa, whoa, whoa. I ground my teeth, and with effort, put some distance between us as best I could in the confines of the backseat. “You never said where we were going.”

He sighed heavily. “I’m taking you to the one person I know who can provide some guidance.”

“That’s what I like about you, Luca. You are so helpful and informative.” And he told me virtually nothing as usual.

“I aim to please,” he said with a mock grin.

“I bet you do,” I muttered under my breath. For the remainder of the trip, I flicked through the police reports. So far, there had been four murders. Initially, investigators didn’t think the crimes were related, until Mikey’s murder. Where I received a dent in my skull. Aside from the victims’ collective wealth, they had all ordered Chinese take-out. As imagined, the police were hesitant to use food as the common factor. Not that it stopped all the media outlets from making the connection. Real or imagined.

“Why didn’t you want Joanna to know about the fortune cookie?” I set the folder aside and rubbed my bleary eyes.

“She doesn’t need to know everything.” Luca paused as if considering what I needed to know. “The Hereafter runs under different rules. Not everyone is on the same side.”

Great. I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you’re saying that even the good guys can’t be trusted?”

“First off, you need to think about this differently. There is no right or wrong side. There is only balance.”

Gack. “You sound like Yoda! I thought you said I was judging souls. Judging implies a choice between good and evil.”

Luca shook his head like I was the slow kid in the class. And maybe I was, because I wasn’t willing to believe that the bad went unpunished. “All I’m saying is that the universe is not black and white. Those are human . . . mortal constructs. And sadly, politics exist even among those who run the Hereafter.”

I stared out the window, noticing that we were in the seedy underbelly of downtown Jericho. This part of town hadn’t seen clean streets or unbroken windows since the eighties. Block after block of aimless people, grim with a gray air of desperation that seemed to coat everything. Liquor marts and convenience stores were the only businesses that appeared to thrive. Clusters of hoodie-clad youth loitered around them.

“Would you judge these people to be good or bad?” Luca asked in a low voice. Silver light twinkled in his eyes.

“Why? Because they’re impoverished? Or because they didn’t have the same opportunities that I did?” The question rankled me. It reminded me of the super rich’s attitude—fuck the poor. No, scratch that. To some of my grandfather’s contemporaries—the poor didn’t even exist. They were invisible.

“Spoken like a true liberal. What if I told you that some of these people were rapists? Or they neglected their children. Beat them.”

“What is your fucking point? I could say the same thing about my parents! They took what they wanted and didn’t care who they hurt. Economic circumstances don’t automatically make someone more or less virtuous.”

He smiled broadly. “I’m glad we are in agreement then.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “You aren’t making any sense.”

“Remember, think gray, not black and white. Ah. Look. We’ve arrived.”

The limo stopped outside of a run-down multistory brick building, the windows covered in faded posters and advertisements. A lone sign hung above the doorway—SOUL KITCHEN.

“This is the place?” I asked, stepping onto the sidewalk. The air held that thickness that I’d come to associate with the spirit world.

“The proprietor and I go way back,” Luca said, dismissing the driver with a wave.

“So you’re friends?”

Luca held open the door. “Not exactly.”

Delicious aromas greeted us: fresh-baked bread, coffee, and that yummy fried food smell. The restaurant was much more spacious on the inside than the outside indicated. And the windows had a clear view of the street outside—the posters gone.

“Table for two?” asked a perky young hostess dressed in Victorian garb.

“We’re here to see Gabriel. If he’s available,” Luca said.

The hostess’s cheeks colored pink. Because of Luca or the mention of her boss was anyone’s guess.

“Excuse me. I’ll let him know.” She walked away, spine straight, all poise, despite the earlier blush.

None of the diners seemed to note our presence. Many were alone. A few sipped their coffees, reading the newspaper. Another stared plaintively out the window as if waiting for someone. And then it struck me. The clothes were all different, as if they had all been ejected from a time machine. I swiveled around the room. One patron dropped his eyes as soon as I looked at him, fear quivering his jaw.

“Luca,” I said quietly, out of the corner of my mouth, “these are all ghosts.”

The kitchen door swung open on squeaky hinges. The man who strode out had “bad ass” imprinted in his swagger. Thick muscular arms, a hint of tattoo peeking out of the white T-shirt sleeve, focused attention, coupled with a ramrod straight back. I’d say military, all the way.

“Luca, this is neutral ground. Why is she in here?”

I glared at the man. Sure, he had a handsome face, nice neat hair and gorgeous blue eyes, but he’d looked less than thrilled to see me.

Luca’s lips curled into a snarl and a low growl vibrated in his throat.

“I’m sorry, sir. Gabriel, is it? I’m Radiance Ashworth.” I offered my hand, moving between him and Luca. “And I’m not here to cause any trouble. Promise.” I flashed him my most innocent smile and tried not think of him as a superhero comic book character. You know the patriotic one who carried a shield for America during World War II?

Gabriel shot Luca a dark look, then firmly shook my hand. “Gabriel Cross. I run Soul Kitchen. My customers are under my protection while they are on the premises.”

“Good to know. I’m really new to this job, so you’ll have to excuse me for not knowing all the rules yet.” Play the newbie card. Why not? Clearly Luca had left out a few major details. Like his friend didn’t like or didn’t want—take your pick—my kind in his restaurant.

“Glad we have that straight then. Where are my manners? Would you like a cup of coffee? Piece of pie? We have the best apple pie in the city.” He flashed his baby blues my way, making him look every inch the American hero. I half-expected to see a gleam sparkle off his perfectly white teeth.

“We were hoping you could help us out today.” Luca reversed our order, moving me to his side. He had to spoil the moment with his dour lawyer focus.

“I’d love to have some pie and coffee,” I said, sidestepping Luca and taking Gabriel’s brawny arm. “You were a soldier, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I was,” he said, the
aw-shucks
grin growing on me.

“Please, no ‘ma’am’. It makes me sound really old. Call me Radiance.”

“Pardon me for asking, but that is an unusual name.” Gabriel led us to a table near the kitchen.

“Yeah, well, my parents were celebrities,” I said, as if that explained everything.

Gabriel blinked in confusion, setting placemats and silverware out. “I don’t understand why that matters.”

“It’s a sign of status. The higher on the A-list you are, the weirder the names you can bestow upon your children. My mother once told me that my sister and I were named in honor of the moon.”

“And her name is Luna then?” He held out a chair for me.

I laughed. Luna like lunatic. “No. Her name is Selene.”

“Ah, also a beautiful name.”

At his plaintive tone, I re-appraised Gabriel. Young, buff, and handsome as hell, he’d be perfect for Selene. Yeah. No. Not happening. There was no way I would drag her into my fucked-up world. Resigned, my career as a matchmaker over as quickly as it started, I sat down.

After some chair jockeying, Luca ended up at my left and Gabriel sat across the table. The collective mood in the joint went from alert tension to alert relaxation once the diners realized we weren’t there to capture them. A fresh-faced waitress approached the table. Gabriel issued quiet orders before sending her on her way.

Moments later, she reappeared with a pot of coffee and three slices of mile high apple pie adorned with fist-sized scoops of ice cream and puffy whipped cream.

Luca frowned when I gave a squeak of girlish delight. I loved pie. Didn’t matter the flavor, because it was all good. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, not caring if he was embarrassed by my obvious enjoyment. Then again, maybe he thought the pie would go to right to my waistline.

“Gabriel, this is so good. I haven’t had anything like this since my grandmother’s.” The flaky crust melted in my mouth. Tart apples, perfectly tender and coated with cinnamon and spices that exploded with flavor. And the ice cream, so thick and creamy, it had to be homemade.

“I’m pleased you like it. This was my family’s recipe.” A wisp of sadness threaded through the air. He smiled and chewed another bite.

“It’s a wonderful way to honor them. By keeping their memory alive through food,” Luca said, shocking me.

I almost pointed out my surprise at his sentimentality, but the grim line of his mouth made me think twice.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is this place?” Since we’d arrived, the customer demographic had shifted. Not only were there ghosts, but people with their pulses intact had also taken tables, seemingly oblivious to the spirits around them.

“This is a way station. An in-between place where souls with unfinished business mingle with the living. The souls hope to resolve their issues and move on. Maybe apologize to a loved one, make amends or to reassure themselves that their families will survive without them. No vengeful or violent spirits are allowed here.”

No. That’s when Luca and I stepped in, capturing the souls that didn’t go gently into that good night. “Does reconciliation happen very often? Some of these souls seem to be from another place and time. Like they’ve been waiting a long time. Aren’t their contemporaries dead by now?” I watched the Victorian hostess seat an elderly couple. What chance did she have of moving on?

“Time works differently in this place. And sometimes, the soul’s respite comes from helping others in the here and now. Everyone’s road to the Hereafter is different.” Gabriel replenished the coffee cups while the waitress cleared the empty plates. Good thing. It kept me from doing something embarrassing like lick mine clean.

I was about to ask Gabriel what flavor of supernatural he was when Luca’s hand squeezed my knee, his eyes begging me not to ask the question. I assumed it must have been some kind of professional
faux pas
, so I canned the curiosity. Despite his earlier gruffness, I liked Gabriel. I could tell the souls mattered to him and that kind of compassion made him a good guy in my book.

“We’ve been asked to investigate the recent spate of murders.” Luca passed Gabriel the crime-scene photos from the police file.

Gabriel grimaced as he flipped through the set several times. When he remained silent, I remembered what I had in my pocket.

“Does this have any significance?” I placed the fortune cookie on the table. “I tried getting a reading, but there was nothing there.”

“What?” Luca snapped. “You should not have done that. This could be a dangerous object and after what happened with the charm—”

“Okay.” I cut him off. I’d rather Gabriel didn’t know about my total breakdown when I touched Reg’s vile present. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

Gabriel’s gaze assessed the two of us, a smile brightening his face. Whatever his conclusion was he kept it to himself. Luca gave him a withering look, clearly not pleased.

I smiled, enjoying the show. One of these days, I’d find out what the deal was with the two of them. Not quite buddies, but not enemies. Frenemies didn’t fit the bill either since they seemed to respect each other. Maybe a little bromance?

Gabriel turned to me. “Did you say it felt null? How so?”

I shrugged. “It’s like I see a black hole. A void.”

Luca and Gabriel exchanged worried looks.

“Care to fill me in, gentlemen?” I tapped the table. “Could you include me in the meaningful look club too?”

“I don’t know what the void means, Radiance,” Gabriel said. “Whatever this is, you need to find it and contain it quickly.”

“That is the plan,” Luca stated. “Have you ever seen this kind of carnage before?”

Gabriel rubbed his perfect chin, stubble scraping against his fingers. “Yes, but I’ll need to check some things out. See if I can narrow it down for you. What I know for certain, the level of violence will probably increase. Once a soul gets a taste of flesh, it craves more.”

Dessert sat in my stomach like a lead ball. I sealed memories of the gruesome murders in a far corner of my mind. “What about the cookie? Should I open it?”