Secrets of the Hanged Man (Icarus Fell #3) (An Icarus Fell Novel) (8 page)

“
You heard her call him the devil,” Dido said.

I lifted the glass of soda water to my lips, took a sip, and immediately longed for the missing flavors of lime and vodka. What’s the point of soda if it doesn’t contain lime and vodka? They were made for each other.

“I heard what she said.”

Normally, even I balked at taking an eight-year-old to a pub but, as a spirit, she was invisible to humans, and my selection of places to take her was limited. I wasn’t hungry, so I mentally crossed my new favorite haunt,
Benny’s BBQ Pit
, off the list.
The Caffeinated Cowboy
closed at six, and I’d declared Denny’s a no-fly zone because it reminded me of Poe. The last thing I needed reminding of as I sat across from a cute adolescent with the endearing quality of being annoying, was how I’d stranded my guardian angel, and how I might have no choice but to do the same to her.

Dido shifted in her chair, searching for comfort the chair wasn’t designed to give, her eyes darting from the big screen TV showing college basketball, to the patrons of Sully’s Tavern engaged in various sports-related discussions, to the over-worked server making her way from table to table.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“
What do you want me to do about the ramblings of a woman shocked by her own death?”

“
Really?” She leaned forward, eyes narrowing, elbows resting on the table. “And you’re an authority on how dead people act?”

“
Yes, I am,” I said, a generous helping of disbelief in my tone. “Dealing with the dead is what I do, in case you haven’t noticed. Why do
you
think you know anything about it?”

“
Because I am one.”

She leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front of her chest, her legs pulled up underneath her bum. Body language that clearly said: ‘so there’.

“I died, too. And I’ve seen others die.”

“
But how long did you spend as a soul with no place to go?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but found no good answer, so shook my head. “A couple of minutes,” I conceded.

“Exactly. And I’ve been in that state for,” she looked at an imaginary watch on her wrist, “days.”

Her gaze held mine, a ‘gotcha’ shimmering in her eyes. I pondered how to counter her argument and came up empty. She smirked, I stewed; we accomplished nothing else for at least a minute.

“What do you suggest we do, Fido?”

“
Don’t call me that.” The self-satisfied smirk left her face.

“
Fine...
Dido.
A dead woman calls her son the devil. What next?”

“
She seemed really scared.”

“
It’s not unusual for the newly dead to be scared. Lots of them make a run for it.”

“
But she wasn’t just scared. Didn’t she also seem...relieved?”

I pictured harvesting the woman’s soul, struggling to remember if she did, but the unappetizing blob of jelly slipping its way down her cold cheek waylaid my thought process. Guess I should have paid closer attention.

“Uh, I guess.”

“
We need to find out who he is,” she said.

I regarded my pathetic glass of soda water, swirled the ice to make it clink against the side of the glass and missed the oil slick of lime juice that should have been floating in it. I’d remember to ask for a slice next time.

When we delivered Meg Medlin-Williams’ spirit to her escort at a laundromat attached to a gas station, I asked the platinum blond angel, who bore a striking resemblance to Draco Malfoy’s father in the Harry Potter movies, to summon Michael for me. Not surprisingly, the angel proved as single-minded and unhelpful as the others I’d met. Or perhaps they were the same angel; they all looked the same to me.

“
Okay,” I said raising my eyes to Dido. Hers flashed and she made a pitiful attempt to keep a satisfied smile off her face. “But there’s someone I have to talk to first.”

***

I dropped Dido off at the motel and made her promise to stay put. Between being burdened with her care, and now this revelation from a dead woman, the flood waters were rising over my head... I was out of my pay grade...snowed under. Pick a cliché, any cliché.

Bottom line: I needed to find Mikey.

An unpleasant tickle annoyed my gut, as though I’d eaten bad shrimp last night. After all that had happened since I woke in a shitty motel room with Michael leering at me like a blond, over-muscled Tony Manero, I’d decided it best to avoid the archangel whenever possible. But with my guardian angel’s position still vacant, no one else came to mind who might have solutions to my issues.

The problem? Mikey always found me.

I hit the streets, not so much searching for the archangel as trying to attract him. Perhaps if I put my mind to things Mikey found offensive, he might pick up on them and pop up to straighten me out. Lame, I know, but I didn’t have anything else to work with.

Up to the time of my death, drumming up sacrilegious thoughts to fit the bill would have been easy, but once you’re dead and brought back, meet four archangels and two guardian angels, and have been to Hell and back a few times, it becomes difficult to find concepts to disbelieve. Only one thing I hadn’t seen yet and could still doubt.

Heaven.

I wandered for a while, allowing my feet to carry me wherever they desired as day became twilight. Since Michael popped up anywhere, anytime, no point choosing a place and hoping, may as well go where I wanted. I stopped at a convenience store and bought a loaf of bread a day past its best before date and headed for the park.

Since Sister Mary-Therese’s death at the hands of a sociopathic dead priest bent on revenge, I’d found myself drawn back to the pond under the ancient willow again and again. This was where the nun found peace often in her life, but also where Father Dominic murdered her. Kind of morbid.

Whatever.

The occasional quacking of the ducks, the gentle splash as they plummeted their heads under the water retrieving food and then resurfaced, even the reek of copious amounts of duck shit spread across the muddy ground beside the pond served to calm me, focus me. It reminded me of her; she might not be pleased knowing duck shit triggered the memories, but maybe she’d be happy to be thought of.

I spent fifteen minutes tossing scraps of almost-stale bread to squabbling ducks and doubting Heaven’s existence before I sensed a presence at my elbow. Another minute passed in which I attempted to ignore it, but the heat radiating from the body standing behind me might have tanned my skin if it stayed too long, and the aroma of cinnamon and spices was strong enough to disguise the odor of algae-filled water and duck excrement. I lifted my hand to toss the last scrap to my waiting throng of followers when a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

Its instantaneous shock ran down my arm and up my neck, tickling my ear and making it ring. The sensation excited me and caused me pain, too. Despite its hold, I forced myself into action, turning my head and ratcheting my eyeballs up toward the blond behemoth of the archangel Michael standing over me.

He removed his hand from my shoulder and my body relaxed, both relieved at its absence and yearning for the touch to return at the same time. I reinflated my mood with a heavy sigh, then looked back to the group of ducks milling around the pond and hoping for more bread.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was standing behind me?”

Strangely, the water fowl declined to respond.

“Hello, Icarus,” Mikey said, his voice a baritone rumble with the kiss of a man long removed from the British Isles. “You were expecting me, I believe.”

An instant later, the archangel appeared in front of me, resplendent in a red velvet suit and black shirt reminiscent of an actor in a 1970s porno flick—all he needed was the cheesy mustache. He considered me for a few seconds, as though using the time to show off his choice of attire, then sat beside me; the heat he radiated brushed my arm as surely as if he’d touched me. The aroma of cinnamon and cloves accompanying him like a friendly dog wafted its way to my nostrils and I realized Mikey would suck at hide-and-seek.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“
A very broad question, Icarus Fell. Be more specific.”

“
The woman we harvested; Meg Medlin-Williams. And Dido.” I stopped myself, collecting my thoughts, which is never an easy task in the presence of an archangel. “Dallas, I mean. Dallas Trounce.”

He shook his head. “I do not know these people.”

I narrowed my eyes, not quite believing him, but choosing not to argue the point. I leaned forward, glanced around to ensure the ducks weren’t eavesdropping, and lowered my voice.

“
Yesterday I harvested Meg Medlin-Williams. She told us her son is the devil.”

Silence hung between us for a moment, the ever-present golden glow flickering in Michael’s eyes. He stared back at me and I wished to either look away or stare into his eyes forever. Or poke them out to avoid having to choose.

“And?”

His one-word question broke the spell. I leaned back, shaking my head.

“The kid in Hell. You saw him. Is that who she means? Is he this woman’s child? Is he the devil?”

“
You ask too many questions at once, Icarus Fell. People who request answers in this manner rarely receive the response they desire.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, biceps bulging against the velvet sleeves, and contemplated me with a serious expression. “The child has been called many names through the centuries, so many he claims he no longer has a name. Call him what you will, but he is the child of no man or woman.”

I breathed deep through my nose, inhaling the archangel’s pumpkin pie aroma. It made my stomach gurgle.

What was she talking about, then?

“
So what was she talking about, then?”

The archangel shrugged. “It matters not, Icarus.”

“But can you track her down and find out?”

“
She will not remember.”

I gave him my best doubtful expression. “But I remember my life before I died.”

“As many who come back to your realm remember their previous lives, at least for a while. But do you remember the time between your conception and your birth?”

“
Of course not.”

“
Do you remember your death?”

A memory of two raincoat-clad men, a knife, the oak tree in the churchyard, flashed through my mind. Without thinking, I touched the small of my back where their blade tore my flesh and shredded my innards to pizza cheese.

Thanks for reminding me.

“
Yes.”

“
And do you remember waking up in a motel room with me?”

I nodded.

“What happened in between, Icarus?”

I chewed my bottom lip, racking my brain, and saw vague memories of the hospital, Sister Mary-Therese in the waiting room, and then blank whiteness and a glowing door that struck me as a bit cliché at the time. Nothing after that until the motel.

“Nothing.”

He shook his head. “Because you do not remember. Neither will she.”

“But--”

“
Let it go, Icarus. Do your job.”

I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and let out a loud breath to help him sense my unhappiness with his lack of help, not that I expected he cared. How would I follow-up what Meg said?

“And ‘us’?” Mikey asked.

“
What?”

“
You said the woman told us. Are you now referring to yourself in the manner of the royal we?”

“
No, no.” I shook my head, hardly believing I’d forgotten my biggest problem. “I need to pass a soul along to Heaven.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you not draw me here by doubting Heaven’s existence?”

I let out another sigh. I guess I deserved it. I did open that door, after all.

“
You know what I mean.”

“
Take her to wherever the scroll instructed.”

My gaze fell to my feet, pondering the duck shit on my shoes.

“There was no scroll.”

“
No scroll? Then how did you come by this poor soul?”

A resonance in his tone made me suspect he knew exactly how I came by this poor soul, but I didn’t say so. In my experience, any argument with an archangel, especially this one, may as well be counted a loss before it begins.

“She was an unscheduled death. The bullet that killed her mother killed her, too.”

“
I see,” Mikey said. “Unscheduled.”

I continued my examination of the dirt splashed on the side of my shoe. If I stared hard enough, I saw shapes in it, like cloud watching. A bunny, or someone making a peace sign with their fingers. I raised my head and found Mikey’s glowing golden eyes on me.