Angelus, p.1
Angelus, page 1
ANGELUS
By: Mary C. Moore
Copyright © 2012 Mary C. Moore
Electronic edition.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means now known or to be invented, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Book Design: Mary C. Moore
ISBN 978-0-9856860-0-0 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-9856860-1-7 (e-book)
First Edition: January 2012
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dedicated to my father, who taught me to dream the creative, and to my mother and Pablo, without you, our dreams wouldn’t have the opportunity to be realized.
In memory of Anne McCaffrey; may Connelly follow in Lessa’s footsteps.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I - CHAPTER II - CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV - CHAPTER V - CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII - CHAPTER VIII - CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X - CHAPTER XI - CHAPTER XII
ABOUT THE AUTHOR - ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER I
“CONNELLY!”
The windows of the small office rattled from the force of a door slamming shut. Loud footsteps echoed down the hallway.
I, being the aforementioned Connelly, was lounging in Delilah’s office. Delilah, as usual, was crammed in her too-small chair, monitoring our agency’s activity coming in from the outside. The half-daemon looked more like a chubby, fluffy grandmother than a SITO agent, but she presided over her tiny realm with an iron fist. Anything that needed to be reported on a case was reported to Delilah.
I wasn’t there to report anything, I was just sulking.
“Starks is pissed,” I muttered to Delilah.
The footsteps grew louder, and Delilah peered at me through her square lenses.
“Sounds like he’s pretty worked up, and if I had to guess, you’ve got something to do with that,” she said.
I tried not to look guilty.
“Honey, give the man a break. He’s still settling into the big man position,” she said.
I sunk into my chair as our boss’s footsteps marched past Delilah’s office. I didn’t want to give Starks a break. I had been working with the Santa Rosa Department of Satellite Intelligence Tracking of Others, SITO, for two years before Starks was internally moved up to manager. It wasn’t fair he got a promotion and I didn’t. I wasn’t scared of him.
The phone rang and I jumped. Delilah smirked and pressed the headset snuggled behind a pair of ivory horns that coiled over her frizzy blond rat’s nest of curls. They were long for a half-daemon, something she was annoyingly proud of.
“O’Meara, report,” she barked over the mouthpiece. Her pudgy fingers flew over the keyboard as she logged O’Meara’s account.
Fretfully I fingered the shorter pair of horns that were hidden beneath my own short, dyed-black hair. Damn that O’Meara. Out on the out, doing all kinds of exciting fieldwork. He probably had Shirako with him too. Those two gorillas had been hired alongside me by SITO’s Santa Rosa office, yet here I sat like the younger sister who got left behind while her siblings stayed out past bedtime. I cursed SITO and Starks under my breath for the ninth time that day.
“Damn it,” I said finally. “Guess I’d better go and see what he wants.”
Delilah raised one eyebrow at me and didn’t comment, her fingers still working the keys. I slouched out of her office, feeling like a dog with her tail between her legs and despising myself for it.
Starks was pacing the hallway, crackling with angry energy.
“Yeah Boss?” I asked.
Some people referred to my half-angel boss as handsome; sleek and tall with bronze skin and dainty wings. I suppose he could appeal to some. Personally I didn’t find him attractive: he was skinny, and his wings were ugly. They looked like a sick oversized bat attached to his back.
Starks held up a folder.
“This is a report from our PR guys. Says the local sapien newspaper interviewed witnesses that swear they saw a child on the back of a motorcycle flying down Highway 12,” he said.
“So? It’s not against the law for a kid to be on the back of a bike,” I said, crossing my arms. I knew where this was going. I hadn’t planned for that damn traffic jam that kid and I got stuck in, so the whole world could ogle us.
“Besides the fact that it is incredibly dangerous to have any child, let alone someone else’s kid, on the back of your motorcycle, the part that is unbelievably stupid is that it has been reported people swear they saw a TAIL coming out of the kid’s backside, and that the tail was wrapped around your waist! You had that kid’s identity out in plain view for every dumbass fool to see it.” Starks brandished the folder.
“The poor kid just wanted to ride a motorcycle! You know how stupidly overprotective full breeds are; his parents don’t even let him ride a bicycle.” I shot back. “And it was a lot safer to have his tail wrapped around me. If it hadn’t been for that stupid traffic jam, no one would have even noticed.” It was hard to keep my temper in check when my boss scolded me like a child.
“Connelly, you are just asking for me to suspend your license badge.”
“What, my license to babysit?”
“Goddamn it, Connelly! If you weren’t so goddamn gifted with children and this office wasn’t so goddamn understaffed, I would have suspended you months ago! You know we need you in CPU.” Starks’s tone was severe, but there was a pleading underneath.
I deflated. I hated it when Starks pulled the “good in CPU” bit, because it was true. I was an ideal Child Protection agent. I blended in easily with human nannies, and I was really good working with the families who had lost children or mixed orphans. I growled, pushed past Starks, and marched downstairs.
He followed me, still talking. “Look Connelly, our PR department covered up this mess you made.” His voice was gentler. “They told the press that the tail was a new safety harness being developed by a company down in the Bay. No real exposure happened, so no harm done. Higher ups in SITO won’t get wind of this, so you won’t be on anyone’s radar.”
I sniffed and didn’t stop to look back up the stairwell. His angry footsteps echoed down the stairs after me, as he hurried to catch up.
“You know if you pulled this in the San Francisco office you would be out on your ass, and your name would make it all the way to Dubai. You owe me big for this one,” he said, closing in behind me.
I flinched the old-world agencies were not tolerant of their liberal counterparts in the new world, and if I was blacklisted as a risk to SITO operations on this side, I would never work for any SITO agency ever again. Although I wasn’t exactly happy with my current position, I couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.
We stopped in front of my office. I hated to admit it, but Starks was right, I did owe him one for keeping me off of the radar with Dubai.
“All right fine, I’m sorry,” I said, swallowing my bitter pride. “You should have seen the way the kid’s eyes were sparkling when I dropped him off though.”
Unwavering, Starks pursed his lips and glared at me.
“I can’t help it boss. I just feel so bad for the kids. You know daemon parents are tight asses,” I said, giving him the pleading expression he had just given me.
His mouth relaxed and he shook his head. “Connelly, you’re manipulating me like you sweet talk those kids. Just try to be more careful when you pull those kinds of stunts.” He paced around my office, his wings bouncing uselessly behind him. “What do you have going on this afternoon?”
“I’m picking up my normals from school.”
He winced. “Connelly, you know that is not the proper term for them.”
I knew that of course. It was just another way to get under Starks’s skin; he was just so politically correct it was annoying, and I was annoyed. “Fine, I’m going to pick up my sapiens from school.”
“Are these the same children you used as a cover on the last case?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Do you have these kids with you when you are working?”
“Isn’t that the point of a cover?” I asked, sarcasm creeping into my tone.
“Don’t give me lip. The kids don’t notice anything? Like maybe the strange kid they’re playing with has horns?” Starks’s expression turned troubled.
I shrugged. “They’re good kids, and I keep them happy and out of trouble.” I wasn’t about to tell my boss the five-year old, Johnny, knew I was different and that “different” people existed, and that I trusted him more than I trusted most of my coworkers.
“Okay, well, would it be a problem to take the kids to a certain park today after school?” Starks didn’t look convinced, as he changed the subject.
I perked up. “You gotta case for me?”
“Yeah, half-breed orphan child. He’s adopted by sapiens.”
“He’s adopted by normals?”
“Connelly!”
I hid a grin. “Okay boss, I’ll check in on the kid.” I checked my watch. “Actually going to pick the boys up right now. What’s the case number?” I moved over to my desk and woke up my laptop.
Starks frowned. “The case number is
The laptop was already whirring. Irritated I shut it again. “You should really get a new secretary to take care of this stuff for you.”
“I can’t help it, our budget is tight and we’re understaffed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly.
“You’ve been a little tightly wound since that last secretary flew off with his partner. Just can’t find it in yourself to replace him?” I asked slyly.
“Connelly, do not push your luck with me.” There was murder in his tone.
I had gone too far and knew it. The crush Starks had had on our last secretary had been a painfully obvious secret to everyone except the secretary.
Starks spoke through clenched teeth. “He left because he found a different job. Would you please stop spreading office gossip? I’ve got enough on my plate already dealing with the egos in this place. I already hired a new secretary, Galina something or other, she starts tomorrow. But since she’s not here today, for now just go over to that kids’ park downtown. Subject 342 will be there,” he said. He was getting agitated again. I could see a red flush of anger spreading under his skin.
“What kids’ park?”
“I don’t know Connelly. It’s your job to know this shit. All I know is it’s got a bunch of slides and swings and crap, and it’s by the mall. Our informants told us the kid and his mom will be there today.”
“You mean the Burbank playground?”
“Sure, yeah, probably, whatever. Just get it done!” Starks stormed out, his wings snapping shut in his aggravation.
I left the office and adjusted my backpack as I pulled on my helmet, specially made so my stubby horns slid into pockets of foam. Throwing one leg over my little 250 cc Honda, I threw her into neutral, started her up, and cranked the gas throttle. I didn’t care if I had almost lost my badge giving that Code Green daemon runaway kid a ride. The way his face shone when I brought him back to his parents was worth it.
Code Green assignments meant finding stray angel or daemon children who had somehow escaped their watchful parents to play where the “normals” got to play. Usually they were easy assignments as long as they hadn’t been spotted by sapiens.
I wove through the traffic that always filled the part of the 101 that went through downtown Santa Rosa. The April sun was not strong enough to warm the chill from the wind, so I was glad for my thick leather jacket. As I curved around the cars inching along the highway, I wondered how many of the sapiens who witnessed my little stunt the other day, actually believed what they saw was a human child with a long prehensile tail on the back of my bike. Probably not many; normals tended not to believe non-“normal” people existed.
My bike and I roared down Sonoma Avenue and came to a stop in front of Mrs. Wade’s house on Bishop Drive. Her kids, Quinn and Johnny, had been under my care for almost a year now. I fished the house key out of my backpack, stashed my stuff inside and grabbed the keys to Mrs. Wade’s station wagon. She always left me the beat up old station wagon for emergencies. I could easily walk the half-mile to Doyle Park Elementary, but the Burbank Playground was, oh so conveniently, located much farther away, and I was going to have two children in tow, so station wagon it was.
I maneuvered the junker car through the waiting cars in front of the silent school and cut the engine. The bell rang seconds later, and the sounds of laughter and excitement and running feet exploded into the air. Quinn, as usual, raced out in front with all of the bigger boys, his freckled face red with excitement. He spotted me but spent some time jostling and pushing with his friends before coolly strolling over to where I was waiting.
“Hello Quinn,” I said just as coolly when he opened the back door and threw his backpack on the floor.
He flipped back his stringy red hair that he stubbornly kept long and tangled. “Hi Sarah. Why are you in Mom’s car?”
“Because I’m going to take you guys to a playground!” I said my voice bursting with enthusiasm, while keeping an eye out for little Johnny.
“But there’s a playground here.” Quinn frowned. He was getting to that age where just saying something in an excited tone didn’t work to get him excited.
“I know Buddy, but this one has a tunnel slide.”
His face brightened.
I spotted Johnny, my little grubby boy, walking slowly out of the school doors with two other of the smaller boys. They were among the last in the crowd.
Quinn saw his little brother at the same time. “Johnny c’mon, don’t be such a geek!” he yelled out the window.
“Don’t call your brother names,” I said, but not too sternly. Quinn wasn’t bad as older brothers go. It irked him that Johnny liked school and got better grades than him, but Johnny had confided in me that Quinn: “protected ‘im from the big kids who called ‘im a dork”.
“Hi S’rah!” Johnny smiled exposing the gap where his front tooth was growing in. The same spatter of freckles as his brother’s covered his face, but his hair was light brown. He saw Quinn in the middle back seat and frowned.
“C’mon Grub, we’re going to a special playground!” I said. I saw the hesitation in his face, he was not about to let Quinn get away with this. “You can have the middle seat on the ride home okay?”
Johnny’s nostrils flared, Quinn smirked, and I held my breath. I released it when Johnny fumbled with the door and clambered onto the backseat next to his brother. A fight for the middle seat usually ended with threats that I would take them home, which was something I could not back up today. I wasn’t quite sure why the boys fought over that seat, maybe because whoever sat there liked to hang over my shoulder like a puppy dog, but I had given up trying to convince them the outer seats were better long ago.
I had to park a few blocks away, the playground was popular on this sunny afternoon. Quinn was off in a flash making new friends. Johnny stayed close to me. I spread out a blanket on the grass near the sandpit, and dug into my shoulder bag.
“Grub, guess what I brought you?”
Johnny’s eyes lit up.
“Your shovel!” I pulled out his plastic red pail and blue shovel from the bag. Johnny took digging holes very seriously. Eagerly he grabbed the plastic tools and marched to the sandpit, not too far away from me, to get to work. With my charges happily settled, I was free to observe the rest of the people and look for Subject 342.
The park was filled with the typical after school crowd for Santa Rosa. Teenagers exceedingly aware of their coolness and exceedingly unaware of their awkwardness lingered in a pack by the picnic tables, their black nail polish clashing with their red acne. On the benches encircling the jungle gym, moms and a couple dads sat next to their strollers, flashing their overly-priced engagement rings and designer purses at each other. A few sweaty joggers skirted around the playground, and a not-sweaty man breathed through Tai Chi moves on the lawn. Big kids screamed and laughed throughout the jungle gym, daring each other to do things only young bones could do, as the shy younger kids tried to keep up.
I settled onto the blanket and took stock of the children. There were three or four that could possibly be mixed species and were the right age. I identified each of their parents and narrowed it down to two, a little girl with black hair and dark olive skin, probably a half-angel, and a boy with fair skin and curly blond hair, the coloring of a half-daemon. Both looked happy and healthy to me, so I started to relax and enjoy the afternoon sun.
This isn’t so bad. I wondered if Starks was going to assign the Code Yellow to me permanently. It had been awhile since my last one. They were not as common as Code Greens. Code Yellow assignments meant keeping an eye on the occasional other species orphan that slipped through the system and ended up with normal parents. That was what Subject 342 would be classified, if we had a secretary to classify the case.
Code Yellows were rare, but they did happen, and they were on the rise as adoption became more popular in the United States. It was the agent’s delicate responsibility to screen the sapien parents as well as keep an eye on the adopted kid. If I was permanently assigned to the case, and if I felt the normals were trustworthy and acceptable parents, SITO would allow me to explain to them why their child was growing biblical looking appendages in the middle of kindergarten and how to protect them and their identity.
