Angel Tormented (The Louisiangel Series Book 3) (17 page)

I opened the door – thankful that to open
and start Joshua’s car, the key fob (it wasn’t actually a key, as the car had a
start/stop button) only needed to be close to the car, and being in Joshua’s
pocket, this was safely covered – and ushered him in.

I hurried around to the driver’s side and
got in, then, without looking back, peeled away in a smoke of burning rubber,
ignoring Joshua’s glare. “I’ll buy the new tires,” I grunted at him. As soon as
we were far enough away, I pulled over and reached into the back for a bottle
of water I knew was rolling around. It was warm, having been in the baking car
for a couple of hours, but figuring it was probably going to be easier on his
throat than a chilled drink, held it out to Joshua.

It was then I realized my hands were
shaking. Joshua’s hands reached out and clasped mine, his touch just as warm as
the water. He gave me a reassuring smile and took the water bottle from me.
While he sipped at that, I relaxed back into the chair and tried to calm myself
down.

How could she do that? Mama Laveau passed
the platinum test, so she hadn’t fallen, yet she could hurt a human? It took
everything I had not to burst into tears – relief? Anger? Horror? Who the hell
knew anymore…?

Finally, I looked down, spotting the time.
Joshua was supposed to be getting to work. I glanced over and found him
watching me in between taking small sips, wincing as he did so. He couldn’t go
to work today. He needed to see a doctor. I didn’t have Leon’s number, but I
could see that Joshua’s phone had already synced up to the car. While Joshua
watched me questioningly, I fiddled with the system and dialed.

“Detective Roi,” Leon answered.

“Hi Leon, it’s Angel,” I said. “Is it safe
to talk?”

“Yes, I’m in the car, by myself,” Leon
replied, all business.

“Joshua needs to call in sick,” I told
him. There was a pause from Leon as Joshua shook his head and then started
coughing, and I sighed. “Don’t speak,” I hissed at Joshua.

“Is this one of these instances where I
really don’t need to know what my partner and his girlfriend are up to?”

It took me a moment to work out what Leon
was insinuating. “Oh, no!” I exclaimed. Beside me, Joshua started sniggering,
before it turned into another coughing fit. “And this is why I’m calling in
sick for you,” I snapped at him. “Leon, there was a bit of an incident. Joshua
is okay, mostly,” I sighed. “He was choked and now he can’t speak. I need to
get him to a doctor,” I explained, ignoring Joshua who was now vigorously
shaking his head.

“I’ve got you covered,” Leon said, simply.
“Look after him.”

When he hung up, I finally turned to
Joshua, and discovered he was sulking: his arms were folded and he was pouting.
I couldn’t help myself: I laughed. I laughed so hard, the tears were back and
my side ached. “I’m sorry,” I said, sniffing. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I
have never seen you sulk before and you just look so adorable,” I explained,
earning myself a glare.

“Do not,” he just about managed to whisper
at me, before coughing again.

All humor dissipated. “We need to get you
to a doctor,” I muttered.

“No,” he hissed.

“Joshua, you can’t talk, and there are
handprints around your throat,” I told him. His face had quickly gone back to
its normal healthy looking pink, but his throat had clear red handprints, and,
I squinted, nail grooves. “I should go back there and kick her ass,” I
grumbled. At Joshua’s look I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going back. I’m getting
you to a hospital,” I told him impatiently.

“No,” he hissed again, and promptly
started coughing.

“Will you please stop trying to talk?” I
begged. “Your throat is sore, it’s irritating it when you speak, and then you
hurt it further with coughing.”

After another glare, Joshua pulled out his
phone and started typing furiously. Finished, he held it up for me to read:
No
doctors
.

“Handprints and no voice,” I countered.
Joshua continued holding the phone up. “Joshua, you’re hurt,” I said, quietly.
“Why not?”

He brought the phone back and started
typing again.
Don’t need them jumping 2 conclusions
.

I raked my hand through my hair, then took
his phone off him. I did a quick internet search, found a site listing hazards
with strangulation, and handed it back. “I’m taking you to a doctor.”

Dr. Miller
.

“Who is that?” I asked, sighing in relief.
When I read his response, I couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at him. “The
coroner? As in, the Angel of Death?” I wasn’t completely certain, but I had a
pretty good hunch that Joshua felt the same about, what he called Grim Reapers,
as I did alligator infested waters. At his nod, I shrugged, and put the car in
drive.

The building which housed the New Orleans
Coroner’s Office had a sign, but it was small enough that the tall, pink
building was pretty non-descript. I had been in it before, yet even as I
entered now, it still surprised me. I guess it’s because I used to watch too
many procedural crime shows with my aunt, but I expected it to be dark and
gloomy, not bright and full of plants.

This time, as we were visiting during
normal working hours, there was a receptionist. The elderly woman regarded us
suspiciously as we walked up. I didn’t blame her: I was in a vest top while
Joshua had pulled his NOPD jacket from the trunk and was wearing it with the
zipper pulled all the way up in an attempt to hide the marks on his neck.

“We’re here to see Dr. Miller,” I told
her.

I don’t know what she was about to say to
us, but whatever it was, when Joshua flashed his badge at her, she sighed and
jabbed her thumb to a door behind her. “I’m sure y’all know where you’re
going,” she muttered, grumpily.

I followed Joshua into the back and found
Henry wheeling an empty gurney. “We need your help,” I told him, before he
could say hello. “Joshua has been injured.”

Henry looked at Joshua and then nodded. He
led us into his office and pushed the door closed behind us. Once he had locked
it, he indicated that Joshua should take a seat. “Where?” he asked. Joshua
unzipped his jacket. The marks were still an alarming shade of red, especially
under the office’s florescent lighting, and I swear his neck looked like it was
swollen. Henry pulled a small bottle of clear liquid from his pocket and
squirted it on his hands, rubbing it in, before stepping closer. He crouched in
front of Joshua to get a better look, his hands reaching out, when Joshua
winced. “I didn’t touch you,” Henry said.

Joshua glanced helplessly over at me. I
gave him my best reassuring smile as I nodded. “I think it’s the whole Angel of
Death, thing,” I told Henry.

Henry looked from me to Joshua, and arched
an eyebrow. “You came to me,” he pointed out.

“Not ready to die,” Joshua forced out.

Henry rubbed at his jaw before folding his
arms. “I don’t take lives: I’m an angel. I take departed souls onto their next
location. You are not dead, although I think you should probably be admitted
into a hospital.”

“What?” I demanded as Joshua’s eyes
widened in alarm.

Henry quickly held his hands up. “I can
already see from here you’ve experienced some trauma to your throat, and you
might be okay now, but the fact that you’re having difficulty speaking tells me
that there is some swelling in there. You need scans, and proper medical
supervision for at least twenty-four hours.”

Joshua, stubbornly, shook his head. “He
doesn’t want to go to hospital,” I explained.

“Well, he’s an idiot,” said Henry, earning
himself a glare.

Joshua reached over and grabbed a pad from
Henry’s desk, before pulling a pen out of his pocket. This amount of injury is
going to result in questions I cannot answer.

Henry looked over at me. “What caused this
trauma?” he asked, slowly.

I opened my mouth to answer, and then
sighed. “I can’t tell you, I made a vow,” I told him. “But let’s just say it
was something angelic.”

Henry’s expression turned to one of
disapproval. “Humans are too fragile to be fighting the Fallen,” he said.
“That’s why they’re supposed to have guardian angels to do that for them.”

“I know,” I ground out through gritted teeth.

“Not her fault,” Joshua hissed at Henry,
before exploding into another coughing fit.

“Okay, you really need to stop talking,”
Henry instructed him. “Before you make your throat swell up and stop you from
breathing. Then I
will
be fulfilling my duties as an Angel of Death.”
When Joshua clamped his mouth closed, Henry shrugged and moved to a cabinet pulling
something out from it. “This is not a hospital, but I can do an initial
assessment.” The something was a lollipop stick – the tongue depressor things –
or whatever the medical profession called them. He took it out of its
protective wrapping, and, producing a small torch, looked at Joshua. “Open
wide, and
don’t
say ‘ah’,” he said.

Joshua did as he said. After a few minutes
of him looking down his throat, I grew impatient. “Well?”

“There’s enough damage there that I really
think Joshua should be admitted into hospital,” Henry sighed, throwing the
lollipop stick in the trash. When he saw the glower Joshua was giving him, he
shrugged. “If you don’t want to go to hospital, there’s not much I can do to
force you. I will, however, insist, that you do not spend the night alone.” He
looked at me. “You don’t need sleep: make sure you check him every three hours.
Hopefully, I’m being overcautious, but if anything changes, if he has
any
trouble breathing, you get him to an ER. You understand?”

“Hell, yes,” I agreed.

“The petechiae will likely take a few
days, at least, to disappear,” Henry continued. “And the marks on your neck
will almost certainly turn into bruising.” He folded his arms and turned back
to me. “I mean it about keeping an eye on him. The longer it goes, the more
likely he will be fine, but the swelling can sometimes take up to thirty-six
hours to come out.”

Well that settled it – if I couldn’t get
Joshua into a hospital, I was gathering some things and moving in with him for
a few days. “Thank you,” I told him.

Henry moved behind and sat down, wearily.
“I thought you were coming to ask me about the latest victim.”

I looked at Joshua who shrugged. “Latest
victim?” I repeated. “Michael?”

“No,” said Henry, his eyes suddenly
narrowing. “But as you bring it up, how could you not tell me about Michael?”
he demanded.

“I didn’t get chance,” I said. Why was it
all angels suddenly looked so terrifying when they got angry? Henry’s eyes had
darkened, and I could see his muscles tense, even below the lab coat he was
wearing. “He was killed, and then Grace appeared, and then I was at the… at the
Port,” I told him. Then something else dawned on me and Joshua’s injury was
forgotten about. I marched up to the desk and leaned over. “If you want to
start throwing accusations, how the hell could you,” I jabbed his chest with my
finger, “How could you not tell me that the damn police lieutenant was one of
the Fallen?” I demanded.

“Police lieutenant…” Henry repeated
slowly. “What are you talking about?”

“Asmodeus?” I prompted.

“Asmodeus is the police lieutenant?” Henry
asked in disbelief.

“Yes!” I cried. “Are you really trying to
tell me that you didn’t know?”

Henry slowly shook his head. “I’m normally
at the murder scene when a lot of the work has already been done – I rarely see
him there.”

My hands found their way to my hips as I
glared at him. “He hasn’t even bothered to change his name,” I pointed out,
enunciating each word. “I thought you guys could see auras better than we
could.”

“I think it’s probably a good time for you
both to leave,” Henry said, coolly, although I could see his fists were
clenching tightly enough to the plastic arms of his chair that they were
warping under his grip.

There was a tug at my arm, and I looked
down to find Joshua nodding his head at the door. A sense of déjà vu flashed
through me. Why the hell was I getting so angry all the time? I was just
repeating what I had done at Mama Laveau’s and look where that had left us.
“I’m sorry, Henry,” I said as the anger left me in a rush. “I’m just worried.”

There was a moment’s silence and then
Henry stood. “Cold would be better than hot, and I suggest you not eat anything
solid for a couple of days,” he said, addressing Joshua.

* * *

Joshua didn’t say anything until we got
back to his. Or at least, he didn’t find a pad and start writing questions
until I had called in at the convent, told Cupid I needed to spend some time
with Joshua (he was busy with Paddy on a computer so wasn’t really bothered),
grabbed a few sets of clothing, and picked up a couple of milkshakes for us.

You’re angry
.

It wasn’t a question.

I had taken a seat at Joshua’s small
breakfast counter while he had hunted out a notebook and pen from his bedroom.
When he returned to the open-plan living room, he’d taken a seat on the couch,
stretching out, but still keeping me in his line of sight. He didn’t lower the
notebook until I shrugged, acknowledging I’d read it. “I don’t know why,” I
responded.

I do – you’ve lost someone
.
You don’t get over that overnight
.

Joshua looked so calm when he held that
up, that the guilt suddenly started churning in my stomach. I pushed my milkshake
to one side. “I know.”

It’s OK to be angry and it’s OK to miss
him
.

“He kissed me,” I blurted out.

I thought Michael had a good poker face.
He had nothing on Joshua whose face was blank as he quickly wrote another note.
You cared for him
.

“Yes,” I admitted, aloud. “But not in the
same way he felt about me.” Oh hell, I didn’t want to do this. I should have
just kept my mouth closed and Joshua would have never known. But it was out
there now, and I couldn’t take it back. Time to woman up. I got up and made my
way to the couch. Joshua bent his knees, allowing me space to sit – that was a
good sign, I guess. “He kissed me twice,” I said, making myself look at Joshua
rather than my hands. Not that I could read his expression. “The first time was
before we became a… whatever we are. Then he apologized, said it was a mistake
and it wouldn’t happen again. The other time was the day he was killed, he
kissed me again. I don’t think he really liked me like that – I was just the
first person, human or otherwise, that he could be with – and I told him that.”

That’s what makes you angry?

I slowly shook my head. “What makes me
angry is all the half-truths, all the rules which aren’t rules. Maybe Michael
would be alive. Maybe he wouldn’t. If Mama Laveau had said something, maybe he
would still be here.” I turned myself fully sideways and rested the side of my
face on the back of the couch. “I’m angry because I have to waste my time
trying to get the truth out about
angels
instead of hunting down the
Fallen. I’m angry because Michael thought leaving me in charge of his House was
a great idea when I never even managed to balance my own checkbook. And most of
all, I’m angry at myself for being angry at someone who is dead.” Dave,
Joshua’s enormous fluff ball of a cat, decided that was the best moment to jump
up and curl up on my lap. It took him a few circles to settle himself, and then
he rested his head against my knee and stared up at me. “But the only thing
being angry is doing, is putting you at risk,” I muttered, my attention on
petting Dave.

Joshua didn’t say anything, not that I
expected him to, but instead started scribbling away on his notepad. Just as
Dave had fallen asleep, Joshua handed the pad over.

I’m glad you told me about Michael,
although I’m mad that, if there is an afterlife, I can’t kick his ass for
kissing my girlfriend, because he didn’t know
.
Don’t be angry about Mama Laveau
.
I have no idea how long she’s been in that body, but if it’s
as long as the stories have been around, that woman is more than a few crawfish
short of a boil
.
As for that convent, you’re
doing the best you can. I know it and I
bet
know
Cupid knows it
too
.

Mama Laveau said that the rules existed to
cover the angels in the gray area, and despite her craziness, I think she was
on to something with this one
.
You can’t tell people what you
are – you tell everyone and they’re going to start worshiping you
.
You only need to look at the people
outside the churches to see that would happen
.
A few more of them and it’s going to take a strong angel not
to start thinking they’re better than they are
.
Where you live? Look how that has turned out for you and
your aunt already
.

Relationships, well, that might be a hard
one as I consider you to be my girlfriend and all, although I think it’s probably
a good idea to keep this one to ourselves for a little longer – at least where
Cupid and co are concerned. That no relationships rule is probably because
you’re going to get people who start worshiping angels, although I don’t think
that’s going to be a problem with us, because have you seen me?? Silly question
.
I know you have, and I know you like what
you see
.
I also know you keep putting
me above you, and I know if I tried to treat you like the goddess I think you
are, you’ll tell me to quit flirting in that cute accent of yours and hit me
.