the jar with a spoon.
“You look like garbage,” he observed.
“Don’t speak,” I said shortly, feeling my way toward the coffeemaker.
“No coffee for you,” he said with way too much cheer in his voice. “You might harm the little biscuit.”
Right. Pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink coffee. I slumped over with my head on the counter. “Can I have anything that makes life worth living?”
“Herbal tea,” Beezle said.
“I said something that makes life worth living.”
“Sorry,” he replied, and he didn’t sound sorry at all.
“Where’s Samiel?” I asked.
Beezle rolled his eyes. “Entertaining Chloe.”
“Entertaining… Chloe?” I asked.
“You heard me right, so there’s no need to stand there blinking those big brown eyes at me,” Beezle said.
“Chloe who works at the Agency?” I asked.
“Do we know any other Chloe?”
“How long has this been going on?” I wondered how this could be happening right under my nose.
Beezle shrugged. “She’s been sniffing around here pretty much since the first time she saw him at the Agency.”
“How could I have missed this?”
“Easily, since you’ve spent most of the last week in a depressive funk.”
“My husband died,” I said. “How else am I supposed to behave?”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t mourn him,” Beezle said hastily. “But you can’t lay around the house in a daze anymore, especially not if the faeries have put a blood price on your head.”
“Been listening at windows again?” I said nastily.
“You don’t have time to cover your head with a pillow.”
“I’ll thank you not to tell me how to deal with my own grief,” I said, storming out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.
I turned on the water for the shower, fuming. It didn’t matter that part of me knew Beezle was right. I didn’t want to be told that my behavior was unacceptable, that it wasn’t okay to feel so sad, so sick with loss that I couldn’t get out of bed. Because if losing your first and only love wasn’t justification for that, then what was?
By the time I’d gotten out of the shower, I’d cooled down. I’d also realized a few things.
One, Beezle was right. (I’d never tell him, though.)
Two, I needed to do something about Nathaniel before Lucifer popped by for a family visit and made the decision for me.
Three, my husband’s killer was still out there and I’d done nothing about it.
I got dressed, combed my hair and wound it into a braid. My face was white and my eyes were rimmed with dark circles. I looked about as sickly as Nathaniel did.
I made a quick phone call to Jude, then marched out of the bedroom loaded for bear. Beezle was nowhere to be seen, which meant that either Samiel was done “entertaining” Chloe and he’d fled downstairs, or the gargoyle was hiding from me so that he wouldn’t have to deal with my wrath. I shoved a granola bar in my mouth and hoped it would suffice for breakfast.
The fancy coat Lucifer had given me hung by the front door. I pulled it on, collected my sword, keys and cell phone and headed downstairs. I peeked through the outside door.
Nathaniel was asleep on the front porch. His back rested against the railing, his eyes were closed and his very long legs stuck out in front of him. His breath rose and fell in an even rhythm. He looked wiped out, and I had to remind myself not to feel sorry for him. Whatever condition he was in now was his own fault. And I still wasn’t sure I could trust him.
I stepped out the front door and kicked him in the ankle to wake him. His eyes opened immediately and he came swiftly to his feet without a sound.
“Some bodyguard,” I said.
He looked chagrined. “I… I have not been sleeping well, or often, of late. I assure you this is not a regular habit.”
I gave him an assessing look. “I’m going to Azazel’s court to see if I can find any clues about where he might have gone and what he’s up to now. You can come with me, and if you don’t annoy me, I’ll let you stay here so that Lucifer doesn’t kill you.”
“Madeline…” he began.
“But you are not my bodyguard. Number one, I don’t need one. Number two, you’ll probably just get in my way. And you’re not sleeping in my apartment.”
“Shall I remain on the porch, then?” he asked coolly.
“No,” I said, thinking fast. “You can sleep in the basement.”
The basement wasn’t in the best of shape, but it was finished and there was an old sofa with a pullout bed down there. It got a little cold in the winter, but since Nathaniel had spent the night on my porch in January in Chicago, he could probably deal with a little chill.
“The basement is quite far from you in the event you need me,” Nathaniel said tentatively. It was a little unnerving to see that expression on his face.
“You’ll be close enough,” I said. Too close, actually, if Nathaniel wanted to sneak up on me in the middle of the night and slit my throat.
He hesitated for a moment, as if he were considering arguing some more, but I’m sure he realized he wasn’t going to get a better offer from me.
“Very well. I look forward to proving my worth to you,” he said, some of his old arrogance returning. “How shall we travel to L… Azazel’s mansion?”
I pretended not to notice that he’d nearly said “Lord Azazel.” I imagined some habits were very difficult to break.
“Portal is fastest, but I don’t want to arrive inside the property.”
He nodded. “That is wise. Even if Azazel has abandoned his home, there may yet be soldiers loyal to him that were left behind.”
“I don’t know why you would bother staying loyal to someone who would ditch you, but whatever. Can you get us close to the house without putting us directly in it?”
“There is a little-used road that runs along the front of Azazel’s property,” he said slowly. “The disadvantage of arriving there is that we will be easily seen by anyone looking out the front of the mansion.”
“Yeah, but that will be a problem no matter which direction we approach from. The house is surrounded by open lawn. There’s no tree cover close to the mansion,” I said, picturing Azazel’s estate in my head. “The road is probably the closest we can get without actually being on the property.”
“The portal will be less conspicuous if we leave from your backyard,” Nathaniel said.
“I’m not sure I should even bother trying to be inconspicuous at this point,” I said, but I followed Nathaniel into the back.
“Hold on a sec,” I said, crossing to the small shed that I used to store gardening supplies.
It was one of those home-supply-store do-it-yourself jobs, and several Chicago winters had taken their toll on it. The doors didn’t quite shut all the way, and the metal sides and roof were dented and rusted. I yanked one of the doors open and gagged at the smell that billowed out.
I covered my nose with my sleeve and peeked inside. The corpse of the Bad Man was propped in the corner. It was decomposing far too rapidly for the frigid temperatures. Chunks of burned flesh and skin had already fallen off bone, and it seemed as though the body had shrunk.
“You may not have to worry about disposing of the corpse,” Nathaniel said. “It will likely be completely gone by tomorrow.”
I shut the door. “Let’s just hope the police don’t show up in the meantime. J.B.’s got enough to deal with already.”
