Dark Urban Rising Box Set

7. The Love of a Good Woman

7The Love of a Good WomanBilly opened his apartment door to Tazia’s insistent banging at around five am London time. Her agitated knocking devolved into loud rhythmic kicking before he finally pulled open the door, narrowly avoiding a hard blow to his lower body.

With her flight delayed in Turin and then the shuttle train to the city also late, Tazia’s aggravation was further exacerbated once she’d finally gotten to the Docklands district where Billy lived and tried to grab a quick bite to eat. Her meal hadn’t been agreeable. He’d struggled and screamed, causing the neat cut from her feeding knife in his neck to turn into a jagged gash.

In annoyance, she’d punched the middle-aged businessman into unconsciousness so she could feed properly then tried to stem the tide of blood that still squirted from the wound. She’d failed. He’d died within a few minutes.

It hadn’t been an easy day.

Billy’s look of alarm at narrowly avoiding the half-demon’s powerful kick quickly changed to an apologetic grin of greeting.

She softened. He was dressed in nothing but his designer underwear and a shirt that looked like it had been hurriedly pulled on. It was undone, and the lines of muscle on his stomach were well-defined. Despite his beer and nicotine habit, Billy was an athlete. Tall, slim, and gym-toned he moved with easy movements. He gave her a low bow of greeting, sweeping back his arm to encourage her to enter.

From the doorway, she could see Billy’s bedroom door was open. The end of the bed was visible and on it the lower end of a pair of long naked legs stretched out. They looked asleep, red-painted toes occasionally twitching as she watched. “Tiffany?”

“Tracey.” Billy shrugged with an air of resignation the majority of men would not associate with having a hot young woman in their bed.

“Ah, of course. One a day wouldn’t be enough,” Tazia said.

She entered the room and dropped her small duffel bag on the floor where she stood. Billy closed the door and followed her path, repositioning the bag in a place less likely to cause an accident.

“When you’ve got a body like mine, love, it seems unfair not to share.” His bragging was good humored, not at all arrogant. However, the tiredness to his tone was new.

As she walked, Tazia felt Billy’s eyes on her. His energy snaked over to her, curling around her middle and holding on tight. The trails of pink and gold, glittered one moment tickling, the next caressing. It seemed he’d already forgotten the sleeping blonde.

She’d always adored his attention and now milked it for all she could by raising both arms to stretch out her frustration at the difficult trip, and pulling at her hair to reveal the smooth skin on the back of her neck. When she turned around to see how her performance had landed, Billy’s wide smile and shining eyes said it all. The two collapsed into giggles.

They had never been intimate. Tazia insisted on just friendship, arguing that a half-demon girl was not a good match for him. He didn’t agree, but had long since given up debating it with her.

Still smiling, Tazia looked around the place. It had been a good eighteen months since she’d last been here, and nothing much had changed. A few more modern paintings on the walls maybe, from upcoming artists and students who would be worth a mint in a few years. Those shared space with Billy’s own photography, mostly of women’s footwear, oddly angled and back-lit to cast almost animal-shaped shadows. A new black leather sofa sat low to the floor, book-ended by his two old ones. Everything looked the same. His penthouse suited his personality: pristine, immutable, solid, but with a touch of elegance that raised the bar way above average.

The sofas faced the longest wall in the room where a big television screen hung on the old brickwork. Despite his money, Billy was still a lad at heart. Give him a beer, footy, and someone to hold on to at night, and he was happy. Not ecstatic, but happy.

As Tazia looked around, Billy came up behind her, following the energy he’d let loose earlier. He circled his arms around her waist and settled his face into the space between the right side of her neck and shoulder, hugging her tight. She leaned back against him, his scent washing over her, finally relaxing for the first time since she’d climbed from the cave.

“The hug is for your dad, love. So sorry.”

Despite knowing the details of Tazia’s traumatic upbringing, he was sincere. He often queried her devotion to the Abbot, questioning how someone who hurt her so badly could still command her every move. Now, though, he simply offered her comfort and for a moment she let herself accept it.

Billy and Tazia had built their relationship on mutual respect. Sarcastic comments flew between them, jokes and mild insults, sometimes even loud arguments accompanied by ripe profanity, but never judgment. Just understanding and affection.

She extricated herself and collapsed on one of the chairs. “I’m okay. Honest.”

“If you say so.” His raised eyebrows implied he knew she wasn’t. “You look knackered, by the way. And what the bloody hell happened to your skin?”

“Sun got a bit hot. It’s healing. Another twenty-four hours and I’ll be fine. Are you tired? I need some help. It’s urgent, there’s—”

“Any sign of Hux? You didn't tell me why he killed your dad…”

She winced. Billy was digging for information, and it set her teeth on edge. Should she lie or lay herself bare? If she lied, he’d know.

He’d often asked her about her relationship with Soren Huxford. She’d told him it wasn't love, describing it only as “professional” and “complicated.” Knowing he’d never believed those tired lines was crazy-making. He knew her better than she knew herself.

She nodded. “He found me at the airport, just before takeoff. He wasn't happy, but not a lot he could do at the time. It’s not him, though. There’s… other stuff.” Telling him about the Venus’s proposal in the piazza may distract him.

She could tell Billy didn’t buy the casual dismissal of Soren, but he didn't persist with his questioning. Instead, he passed a hand over his face and then ran both hands vigorously over his hair so that it, once again, was standing to attention.

“Coffee?” he asked.

She shrugged. The new blood in her stomach had revived her enough.

Undeterred, he crossed to the kitchen partitioned off from the warehouse-style living room by a breakfast bar, and started assembling a silver continental coffeepot, screwing the pieces together after filling it with fine ground espresso and filtered water. Expensive-looking shiny black cupboards butted up against stainless steel appliances. There was no trace of a greasy fingerprint anywhere.

While he worked, she paced up and down, telling him about the High Advocate. She didn’t tell him everything, not that the angel had threatened her freedom just that she had to bring down the magical walls around her soul to save her father.

That bombshell made him stop short. “You want him back?”

Billy had held her through the panic attacks, sheltered her through the Abbot's most recent temper outbreaks, and generally been her sounding board when she felt lost or lonely. She knew he'd never understood her loyalty to her father and frequently voiced his disapproval, but she also hadn't told him everything about their life together.

“No!” Her eyes widened, “But I do need to free him, Billy, so he can take his place in Hell. That’s what he died for. That’s always been my purpose.”

She was echoing her father's words.

“Your purpose? What the f**k does that mean? Your dad treated you like s**t. You’re finally free of him. Now it’s his turn to suffer. He deserves every last bit of it.” He spat out the final words and abruptly turned away.

For a while, they both watched the coffee pot steam, the sounds of bubbling water filling the silence.

Billy broke first, as he always did, and walked around the bar to pull her to him. “Sorry, love, I just don’t get it. All I want is to keep you safe. Your dad never wanted that for you and yet you love him.”

“Not love—loyalty. He drilled it into me, and now it’s part of me. There’s nothing he can do to save himself now. It’s down to me.” Pushing him away, she dumped herself onto the middle sofa and crossed her arms over her chest, her back to him. “Do you think I really wanted this? I was ready to start over—to be free of him. But I’m not, am I? And won’t be until this is done!”

As her breath shortened, her voice broke. Sudden sweat beaded on her forehead.

Squashing himself into the gap between her and the hard, square armrest, Billy joined her on the sofa. His hand went around her shoulder and squeezed. “All right, we’ll fix it, okay? Breathe with me...”

Tazia’s rising panic overrode the need to stand her ground, and she melted against him, trying to match the pace of her breath with his own. Eventually, she relaxed.

While Billy finished making the coffee, Tazia drummed a teaspoon against the countertop. Metal met shiny granite with loud spiteful animosity until he grabbed the implement from her. He felt for pits in the surface.

Satisfied, he gave her a cup and led her by the hand to the computer desk where they settled on two wheeled office chairs.

A large monitor sat in front of them. It was networked to three powerful processors standing underneath the desk. This was Billy’s workhorse. Using a little magical boost to overcome a few of the trickier issues, like hacking the secure records of the Catholic Church, Billy pulled up all the references he could find concerning the Angelic Advocates. A few hits stood out, but there weren’t that many of them. Venus had been right when she’d said the Advocates were not well-known.

“This is a good one.” Billy had been scanning with blank eyes and a hand on the screen, little white sparks flying from his fingertips, picking up details far faster than Tazia could read. He paraphrased the relevant information for her while she sat back drinking from her cup, tired legs stretched out, and her head resting on his shoulder in between sips. She'd needed the caffeine after all.

“It seems the Advocates rarely appear on Earth in their true angelic form—which is mainly as some sort of bright light. Instead, they get into your dreams, or be like disembodied voices or hallucinations—even a reflection in a mirror. Or speaking through an inanimate object. Statues, artwork, photos, stuff like that.”

He scanned on. “There’s more about their job here. Like she told you, they represent the souls of those who've died, providing some sort of recommendation whether they should go to Heaven or Hell.” He looked at her, “Like she did for your dad.”

Tazia’s body tensed against his. He put a hand to hers, but she got up and walked away to the large picture window to stare out at the river. The water reflected back the deep gray sky of the spring dawn and she shivered. She wanted sunshine.

“Have all the songbirds gone?” she asked.

Billy got up to stand beside her. “Mostly. I saw a robin in January. That was the last time.”

“So, sad…”

To cheer her up, he started to point out a few things in the cityscape along with stories of comedic s****l encounters he’d had along the side of the river.

The distraction worked and with refilled cups, he continued reading segments of the text out loud. “It sounds like this angel whatsit must have some pretty big mojo going on. Joshua would know more about her.”

They both turned at the same time and looked at the massive metal box that stood by the wall a few feet away from them. The computer was an ancient specimen: four feet tall, two feet wide, and the horrible silver-gray color that all old computers used to be. Tazia almost expected to see tapes turning at the top of it.

“You still have a necromancer in your computer?” she asked.