raise an eyebrow too. They don't like this kind of overt attack.'
The other side. Heaven. The angels.
Angels…
'Who's your counterpart here?' I asked. 'Among the angels. There must be an archangel here too, right?'
The question caught him off-guard enough that his pissed-off look momentarily lifted. 'Of course. Her name's Isabelle. Why?'
'Well…Evan and the others keep saying they're directed by an angel. All this time you thought they were just worshipping some all-purpose Satanic ideal. But what if a real angel is controlling them? I mean, Jerome's given up the fight with you. If anyone had reason to give you shit, it wouldn't be our side. It'd be theirs.'
Cedric was silent for several moments. 'This isn't their style. It's not Isabelle's either. I've known her for a long time.' When greater immortals said 'a long time,' they usually weren't kidding.
'Is she blond?'
'Yes, but that doesn't mean anything. We can look like anything we want. Someone appearing to this group- and I don't think anyone is-could easily make themselves blond or bald or whatever. I think you're trying to shift the blame off yourself and Jerome.'
'I'm not! Look, I don't want to get mired in any of this. I just want to finish my job and go home. And if you ask me, I think someone's trying to work you over and send you looking in the wrong places.' Good Lord. I sounded like everyone else now. Soon I'd be telling him he was 'getting played.'
'Isabelle wouldn't do it,' he maintained. 'We're friends…well, kind of.'
It was funny that demons lied and betrayed each other all the time, yet he somehow stood by the character of someone who was technically his enemy. I understood it, though. Jerome maintained a similarly bizarre friendship with Seattle's archangel, Carter.
'Can you get me in touch with her?'
Cedric regarded me in amazement. 'You're really going to run with this?'
'I'm not sabotaging you-but I want to find out who is.'
'That's a lot of work just to take the attention off yourself.'
I simply looked at him, maintaining as determined a look as I could in the hopes that he'd believed me. I also hoped the taboo demons maintained about messing with the employees of other demons would hold. Apparently it did because he said at last, 'I'll show you how to contact her, as pointless as that is.'
I exhaled the breath I'd been holding. 'Thank you.'
He shook his head. 'But don't think you're in the clear. I'm still going to be watching you.'
CHAPTER 8
Grace called me that night while I was on my way to talk to Isabelle.
'Hello, Georgina. This is Grace.'
I waited patiently for Mei's complementary greeting. When it didn't come, I asked in surprise, 'It's just you? Not Mei?'
Grace's voice, while as flat as usual, held the tiniest puzzled note in it. 'Why would Mei be here?'
It apparently hadn't occurred to her that I had never received a call or a visit from either of them alone. They always functioned as a unit, kind of giving the impression that the fabric of the universe might rip open if they were ever apart. This was as weird as them nearly accepting coffee the other day.
'Never mind. What's up?'
'Jerome wanted me to tell you that he is…pleased.'
'Over what?'
'Over you successfully embarrassing Cedric.'
'But I didn't-' I bit my lip, suddenly wondering if I should be so quick to deny my involvement. Jerome hadn't been happy with me recently. While the stupid spectacle at Queen Elizabeth Park had put me on Cedric's shit list, it might very well take me off Jerome's and hasten my permanent return to Seattle. I stayed silent.
'He's glad you took his talk to heart,' Grace continued. 'Although, he does wish to remind you that you being sent to Cedric is supposed to be a gesture of good will. So try not to be too efficient. Jerome encourages you to keep up with these small jabs but to remember that you do ultimately want this group undone.'
I sighed. 'Noted.'
Grace disconnected. Great. This was all I needed. Jerome thought I was guilty too-of trying to score extra credit with him.
Cedric had told me I could find Isabelle at a jazz club a few miles from my hotel. It was over on a street lined with clubs and bars, and the excitement and energy in the air as I walked toward Isabelle's hangout was palpable. It was Saturday night, after all, and the streets teemed with humans eager and excited for life and love. I couldn't see their souls or energy the way an imp like Hugh could, but I didn't need to. It was apparent in the way they moved and talked and eyed each other for potential hook-ups. Even after my recent tryst, being in this electric atmosphere made me itch for another conquest. I'd have to cruise these clubs once I'd concluded business with Isabelle.
The jazz club was small and dark, exactly the way you expected such places to be. All the tables were filled, and lots of people stood by the bar or along the wall. I didn't have any trouble finding Isabelle, though. The signature of a greater immortal filled up a place like this. Hers made me think of sunlight shining through crystals, fracturing into sparkles of color.
She sat alone at a corner table. Most obviously single women in there were being hit on-in fact, I got a number of appraising looks as I walked through-but no one other than the wait staff seemed to notice Isabelle. It reminded me of how no one ever noticed Jerome's resemblance to John Cusack. Isabelle wore a long blue dress with spaghetti straps, surprisingly risqué for an angel. Her hair was sunny blond and worn loose to her lower back-not unlike a golden cloak, I thought wryly.
She sensed me, of course, and didn't seem surprised at all when I sat down across from her. With a smile, she glanced up and crooked a finger toward the nearest waiter. He hurried over and took my gimlet order. Once he was gone, Isabelle turned her attention on me.
'So. Jerome's succubus.'
Cedric had called me the same thing when we first met. I kind of resented my identity being based on my association with-or rather, possession by-someone else.
'Yeah,' I said. She watched me pleasantly, neither cold nor friendly. With angels, you never knew which extreme you might get. Mostly, she looked curious, so I figured I could get right down to business. 'So I-'
'Shh.'
'Wh-'
She held up her hand, dark eyes focusing on something beyond me. The band was in the middle of a song, and the trumpet player had just put the instrument to his lips. A long, high note came out, kicking off what turned into a mournful solo. When he finished a minute or so later, I turned back to Isabelle and saw the waiter had brought my gimlet. The angel's face was alight with wonder-and wistfulness.
'Did you hear that?' she asked me. 'Those notes weren't complicated, yet he managed to put so much into them. His heart, his emotions, his soul. A world of sorrow, exquisite agony…all in those few notes.' She took a sip of her wine. 'You can't do that. Not even I can do that-not the way he did.'
Her words surprised me, but I knew exactly what she meant. Part of the reason I was always a little in awe of Seth's books was because he, as a mortal, had a talent that an immortal like me never could possess. 'Only humans have the gift of creation,' I murmured.
Her eyebrows rose slightly, and she smiled. 'Yes, exactly. So tell me, what can I do for you, Jerome's succubus?'
I felt a little weird interrogating her now. There was something a little sad and vulnerable about her that
