Far From Center Read online

  “Speaking of the Gormand, when are we meeting him?” Terrelle asked.

  “He’s supposed to let us know. We’ll finalize arrangements, then get what we came for in the next three days at the latest. With any luck, you both will be enjoying a consensual sexual partner of your choice directly after while I go on one of those cool dive excursions I read about at the concierge desk.”

  “Three days?” Snip wailed. “I don’t think I can wait three days.”

  “Well then I guess you need to hustle and get your game on,” Nyalla teased. “Start hanging out at the beachfront bars and the casinos. It’s One Happy Island, so someone somewhere is going to want to get naked with you, Snip.”

  “What about you, Nyalla?” Terrelle asked. “You should have sex, too. It’s good for you. Like eating kale and doing Pilates.”

  Sex was better than kale and Pilates. It was better than just about anything. “I’ll have sex once I find the right man.” And hopefully this time he would actually be the right one. There had been a whole string of wrong ones. Maybe if she gave up searching for the right one and begun to just enjoy the wrong ones, she’d be happier.

  Terrelle sighed. “How about we grab a Benjamin and pay the sailboat man? You can go first, and I’ll get sloppy seconds.”

  The information demon’s voice faded into the background as something drifted across her senses. Nyalla opened her eyes and frowned. There it was. Again something right at the edge of her awareness. “Do either of you see anyone nearby?”

  Snip spun around in a circle.

  Terrelle squinted up at the sky. “No. Maybe over near the lighthouse, but that’s a mile or so away.”

  That was too far. She sensed someone, a demon, nearby. Actually she sensed three demons, and there were only two beside her. This was supposed to be an easy assignment, just collect an item from a demon in exchange for another item, but Nyalla had learned never to assume anything involving demons would go as planned. And there definitely were three demons nearby.

  “Can you demons do invisibility?” she asked.

  Snip laughed. “Not without a very expensive magical device created by a sorcerer.”

  Then that would be a ‘yes’. Nyalla sat up, sliding her sunglasses down. It could be their contact, checking up on them as a precaution before their meeting. It could be a rival looking to steal the item from them. It could be some pervert looking to get laid who liked staring at sunbathing women — kind of like Snip.

  Less than two years ago she would have been driven into a panic by the presence of an unknown demon, even a Low like Snip. How things had changed. Being able to see into the hearts of those around her, sensing their motivations, and sometimes their thoughts, gave her confidence. Snip was a pervert, but he was strangely honest for a demon. And Terrelle was far more interested in learning new things, discovering all the world had to offer, than anything else…well, anything except sex evidently.

  This demon…he seemed lonely, isolated, rigidly in control. He was trying to hide what she suspected was an immense power, but he wasn’t projecting anything that might make her fear for her safety. It was the undercurrent of loneliness that hit her hardest — a longing that was so ancient it had become a part of him, hidden deep but always there.

  “Problem?” the Noodle’s voice was casual, but Nyalla was suddenly aware that as bookish as Terrelle was, she was still a demon and capable of defending her if needed.

  “No. At least not yet. I’ll let you know as soon as there’s a problem.” Nyalla’s fingers curled around the stick of wood in her purse. This gave her as much of a feeling of security as the two demons by her side. Her thumb rubbed against the wood, feeling the sharp edge of a gem and the indentation of the carved runes. A human girl needed weapons, and she would have been a fool to sunbathe out here without ensuring that if they were attacked, she could do more than cower behind a rock.

  “We’ll protect you, Nyalla,” Snip announced, puffing his chest out. “Nothing is going to happen to you on our watch.”

  She smiled. As demons went, Snip was pretty awesome.

  Her purse beeped, and with some reluctance, Nyalla let go of the wand and pulled the phone out of the bag instead. It was the text she’d been waiting for.

  “Hey Snip? Can you run up to the lighthouse and meet another Low? He supposedly has the information on our mission.”

  Snip saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” He took off, stubby little legs churning with inhuman speed. In ten minutes he was back, his abnormally long tongue hanging out of his mouth as he panted.

  “Here. The Low is waiting for your response.” Snip passed her a scroll, sealed with some sticky substance that wasn’t entirely wax. Nyalla flicked it off with a finger and unrolled the parchment, reading it carefully before rolling it up again. It was a letter of introduction, a way of assuring her that the Gormand she was dealing with was legit, and that he did in fact have the item she was sent to retrieve. The scroll included the demon’s sigil, and the one of the angel who was the authenticator of the item. It was real. It had to be real for an angel to sign off on it.

  “Thanks. And the exchange? Will he have the artifact at our meeting tomorrow night?”

  Snip did an odd little dance, hopping from one foot to another while staring a good six inches above the top of her head. He wasn’t looking at her breasts. That’s how she knew that something was wrong.

  “The Gormand won’t discuss that with another demon present. He wants to meet with the ambassador…ambassadoress…yeah, you alone tomorrow night, then after that he’ll make arrangements for the exchange.”

  Nyalla bit back a smile. It wasn’t uncommon for demons to pull rank like this. They were so status conscious. A human wouldn’t rank high in their hierarchy, but a human who was the sort-of adopted daughter of the Iblis, of the Ha-Satan — that was another thing entirely. Even so, there was no way she was going to be there alone. Snip and Terrelle might not be the toughest demons in Hel, but their job was to defend her. She wasn’t a fool. She’d never been a fool, even when she was a slave to the elves in Hel. Staying alive as a human without any innate magical skills had required a lot of passive-aggressive manipulation. As had staying out of the way of fists, claws, and teeth.

  “Where and when do we meet him tomorrow night?”

  “At seven in the evening at the Hooters.”

  Hooters. She was on a beautiful Caribbean island and the guy wanted to meet at Hooters. Demons.

  “Tell him seven at Charlie’s instead.”

  “Carlos and Charlies?” Terrelle asked. “I thought they closed.”

  “No, Charlie’s in San Nicolas.”

  Snip’s brow furrowed, which created a bushy black unibrow across his forehead. “Where?”

  Nyalla stood to pull on her tank top and shorts. “Tell him to Google it.” Snip nodded and took off running to give the other Low her response.

  She’d eventually get what she’d been sent to retrieve. Not that she was in any hurry. Of all the places to do a clandestine meeting with demons, Aruba was the best. If this guy stalled a few more days, she might be able to get in more than a couple of dives and both Terrelle and Snip might be able to complete their quest for sexual encounters.

  “Are we going tomorrow night, too?” Terrelle asked, gathering up her cover-up and bag.

  “Absolutely. I’m not meeting with this Gormand alone, no matter what he says. Besides, this place is on my to-do list of places to go. We’ll get fish or maybe steak, and some beers. You guys can hit on the employees and patrons while I talk with this demon.”

  Terrelle stood, brushing the dirt from her legs. “I’ll score some fun later, once the Gormand leaves. I’m not about to be distracted by jiggly boobs or big cocks while you’re meeting with a greed demon. And I’ll make sure Snip does the same.”

  And that’s why Terrelle was along. She had more common sense than most demons, and Nyalla knew she could count on her. And Snip too, as long as he managed to focus. The pair of them headed ac
ross the rocky beach, and Nyalla looked at Snip up by the lighthouse. As soon as he was done, they’d head back to the hotel.

  Her toes curled around the rocks as she hopped across them barefoot toward the four wheelers. It felt good to be without shoes again. It felt good to be occasionally naked again. It was the one thing she missed about her life in Hel, the casual attitude toward nudity. The rest…well, the rest of those memories she was happy to bury. Who cared how horrible the first eighteen years of her life had been if the remaining sixty or so were like a sunny day in Aruba?

  Gabriel watched from the water, as the human woman and the Noodle walked away, their bodies swaying as they hopped across the rocky shore. It was just as Nils had said, although Gabriel couldn’t imagine why the Iblis would have sent a human to guard the Noodle during the exchange. Perhaps the woman had great magic. Perhaps she was a sorcerer? Although if that were the case, why bother to send that little drooling Low?

  It didn’t matter. They were just the trail of food bits that would led him to the Gormand, and from the Gormand to Tura. Watching these three, as incredibly dull as it was, hadn’t been a waste of time. The Low had clearly brought information back to the Noodle and the human in the form of a scroll. If only this dratted side of the island didn’t have loud, pounding surf and high winds that blocked even his angelic ability to hear their speech, then he would have been able to figure out what the scroll said from their conversation. Instead he’d just need to keep following them until they led him to the Gormand.

  Or…maybe not. If he could get his hands on the scroll, he’d be able to arrive at the meeting place ahead of time and grab the Gormand. With a little bit of persuasion, Gabriel was certain he could get the greed demon to give up the location of the rebel angel he was seeking.

  And then Tura would be his. Finally. Well, the rebel would be his to turn over to the Ruling Council for judgement and punishment.

  Waiting in the water, Gabriel watched the Low demon race away, his human form barely masking the repulsive being beneath. The woman and the information demon climbed onto four wheelers and kicked them to life, gunning them along the dirt trail toward the lighthouse where the Low had gone. Gabriel rose from the water and assumed a human form before walking to where the woman had been lying on the rocks. Then he knelt down to retrieve the reddish brown bit of wax, sap, and blood that had sealed the scroll.

  Blood. Blood from a Gormand. He looked up to watch the two ride off, the human’s braid flying behind her as the four-wheeler hopped a hill and vanished down the other side. Something had fallen from the scroll that was sticking out of her bag, something bright that glistened with an unnatural light. Gabriel hurried, breaking into a run.

  It lay on the ground, white and gold as it shimmered in the sunlight. A tiny feather — an angel feather. The feather of a traitor.

  The woman and the demon on the four-wheelers appeared once again in the distance, climbing the hill to the road that circled the lighthouse and led along the ocean to the resorts and high-rise hotels. These three clearly had the information he needed, and with a quick search of their rooms to find the scroll, he’d be one step closer to vengeance.

  Chapter 3

  By all that was holy, this room was a mess. Clothes were draped over chair backs and puddled on the floor. A cup with an inch of cold coffee sat on the dresser next to a crumpled napkin. A large suitcase was sideways on the floor at the end of the bed — which had not been made. Gabriel itched with the urge to clean and organize. How in the world was he supposed to find anything in here?

  Walking into the bedroom with some trepidation, he stepped over a discarded beach bag and opened the top dresser drawer. It held a Bible and some bunched up scraps of clothing. The other drawers revealed a slightly different mix of carelessly placed attire, but nothing that would give him a clue as to where the room’s resident had put the scroll.

  Maybe she’d taken it with her, Gabe thought as he moved the beach bag with his toe and contemplated the horror of searching the rest of the hotel suite. No, that couldn’t be. He’d seen the three come in here, seen the Low and the Noodle leave without their beach bags. The human had had the scroll last, and she’d been the last to leave. The bag she carried in had the scroll sticking out of the top, but it hadn’t been in the one she carried when she left the room. The scroll had to be inside this suite since with the scant clothing they had all been wearing, there would have been no place for them to carry it let alone conceal it from view.

  If he couldn’t find it, perhaps he could bribe the information demon to act as his agent and work to lead him to the angel. Demons were notoriously bribable. What would this one want, though? Human currency? Colorful baubles? Limited immunity?

  Better housekeeping skills? He thought wryly. Whatever the Iblis was paying her, whatever side-deal she hoped to receive from the Gormand, Gabriel was confident he could top it. Although bargaining with demons was so very unsavory. Being anywhere near them was so very unsavory. No, it would be better to find the scroll. Of course, that meant searching this disorganized, filthy room.

  And that was an equally unsavory prospect.

  And after going through this mess, he’d need to find and meet with the Gormand. Greedy, insatiable beings. The only gift those monsters ever granted to humans was a desperate hunger that wouldn’t even end with death. He shuddered thinking of the souls trapped inside that demon, starving, needing and never getting more than just a taste. This whole trip would be filled with unpleasant experiences — rooting through this filth, dealing with demons, and even worse, having to be in a human form, surrounded by their perplexing customs and manners.

  And sensation. No matter how he tried distance his spirit-self from the flesh, it was impossible to ignore the intoxicating aroma of flowers in bloom, the warmth of sunlight on his skin, the sound of birdsong in sunset. And the way the clothes in these drawers slipped through his fingers, inviting his touch.

  Gabriel shook his head as he shut the dresser drawers and strolled into the living area of the suite. This room was just as much of a mess as the bedroom with an uncleansed coffee pot, stale pizza crusts on a plate, and an open box of cereal on the counter. His eyes slid over to the deck door where a damp bathing suit hung on the doorknob dripping water onto the carpet. It all made his eyes twitch. But there was no way around it. He’d just need to get over his disgust, get to work, and find that scroll before any of them came back.

  Nyalla stared at the open door, her heart stopping then skittering in a frantic rush. She stretched a hand forward, then halted, carefully reaching into her bag instead. The cleaning crew always propped the entry wide open with one of their carts, not slightly ajar like this. Withdrawing a ring of cold metal, she nudged the door gently with her foot, and shifted to the side of the doorjamb.

  It swung silently open. Nothing came blasting out. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the bright blue trim. Her swimsuit still hung on the doorknob to the porch, although it seemed far more dry than it should have been. The pile of beach reading was still stacked on the glass-topped table. A box of cereal still sat beside the books. But everything was different.

  The cereal box was closed. The books were neatly straightened — and organized by size? The plate that held the remains of her pizza breakfast was no longer on the table. Maybe the maids had come by late to clean and had forgotten to close the door securely. It was a logical assumption, but given she was on the island to meet with a particularly repulsive greed demon, Nyalla wasn’t taking any chances.

  Nearly two decades of living among elves had taught her to move silently. Gripping the metal band in her hand, she crept into the room and slowly picked up the frying pan from last night’s bacon. It was clean — squeaky clean. If this was the maids, she’d need to remember to tip them extra.

  A noise from the bedroom halted her in place. A rustle, and the distinct sound of a dresser drawer opening. If this was the maid, she was going to have words with the management. It was one thing to
clean up her dirty dishes and organize her books, it was another to be going through her dresser drawers. Not that she had anything to steal — yet.

  She tightened her grasp on the fry pan, put the metal circlet back in her bag, then froze. Whoever was in there was grumbling under his breath, something about messy lives, messy souls, and his dislike of such disorganization. The thought of an OCD cleaning guy going through her personal belongings made her raise the frying pan. The sound of his words made her pull the metal band back out of her bag. This cleaning guy wasn’t speaking in English or Spanish, he was speaking Demon — a strangely accented Demon.

  And he was folding her underwear. Folding. Her. Underwear. And now he was holding up one of her bras, turning it this way and that as he examined it. Nyalla clenched her teeth in anger, entered the room, and swung.

  How in all of creation was he supposed to fold this thing? It was all straps, hooks, and little lacy bits. Whatever function this article of clothing held, it was rather pretty…and well-constructed. It also matched some of the tiny pant-like things.

  “Filthy, nasty, perverted demon worm!” a woman shrieked.

  Pain shot through Gabriel’s skull and a very unpleasant ringing sound assaulted his ears. An angel should barely notice such an attack, but he’d been distracted and wasn’t used to being in physical form.

  Liar. You pushed your spirit-self too far into the flesh so you could touch the soft silk, the scratchy lace of these clothes, so you could smell the scent of lotion, soap, and the lavender these items had been washed in. You’re just as bad as your brothers, flirting with sin. And see what happens?

  Gabe felt something cold on his neck, heard the snick of a lock, and spun about. A woman — the woman from the beach — stood in the bedroom doorway, holding a frying pan in a threatening manner. Her disheveled hair reached well past her hips, her eyes sparked like a wind-tossed sea.