A Terrible Fall of Angels (Zaniel Havelock #1)(119)

“How bad?” I asked, and looked down at myself. I had expected my hand to be in bandages, but it wasn’t. I remembered the fangs biting into me; that shouldn’t have healed in two days.

“The officers who came to try to rescue you and the other policeman said you were on fire, but it gave off no heat and cast no shadows. I’d love to know how you conjured fire to kill the demon without setting the building and yourself ablaze.”

“It was holy fire, and I’ve walked through it before, so I knew I would be fine.”

“Mark Cookson’s body wasn’t fine; the other police saw it burn, but there was nothing left of it.”

“The Infernal can’t survive the touch of holy flame,” I said.

“The dead police officer’s body was intact and unharmed, though the witnesses aren’t sure why it didn’t burn.”

“Stevens was dead; he couldn’t be afraid of the holy flame and its messengers, and he must have been a good person when he was alive,” I said.

“From all accounts he was,” Paulson said. He then proceeded to check me top to bottom to see if there were any lingering effects from what had happened. At the end he said, “You are remarkably well for someone who was attacked by a demon and burned with holy fire.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think it’s me you should be thanking.”

“You’re right,” I said, and sent a prayer of gratitude to God and the angels, though I was careful not to think too hard about the latter. I did not need another visitation.

“Your lieutenant is outside waiting for me to give him permission to see you. Are you up to answering questions about what happened?”

“Yes,” I said.

He shook his head. “I knew you would say that, but talk fast, because you need to rest.”

“I thought I wasn’t hurt?”

“You don’t seem to be, but you were unconscious for almost forty-eight hours, that makes me cautious.”

“I feel fine.”

“All your wounds are healed, even the arm and stomach,” he said.

“Why don’t you look happier about that?” I asked.

“Raise up your hospital gown and look at your right arm,” he said.

It was an odd request, but I did what he asked, because it was simple, and he had that look that you never want to see on your doctor’s face. The one just before they told you something you didn’t want to hear about your health or someone else’s.

I pushed up the sleeve and there was what looked like a tattoo in a band that encircled my arm just below the shoulder. It was pale blue and looked tribal. I touched my skin and it felt like it always felt. I closed my eyes and ran my fingertips over my skin, and there it was, the slightest of texture differences. I opened my eyes and stared at it.

“You didn’t have a tattoo there when I treated you for the demon attack at the hospital,” Dr. Paulson said.

“I don’t have any tattoos,” I said.

He motioned toward my arm. “You do now.”

I stared at it, and he handed me his phone with pictures of the outside of my arm. “I figured you’d want to see them and I’d rather you not rush to the bathroom mirror just yet.”

I stared at the pictures.

“It looks like a stylized tribal monster,” he said.

“It’s a demon,” I said.

“You sound certain, tribal isn’t usually that realistic.”

“I’ve seen it before,” I said.

“Where?”

“One of the instructors at the College of Angels had one exactly like it. He said it was supposed to represent a successful fight and slaying of a demon. I thought it was more metaphorical.”

“I thought what all you Angel Speakers did was carry messages for God. I didn’t think you got on the front lines of the battle between good and evil.”

“It’s not that simple,” I said, still staring at the pictures of my arm—my arm. Master Donel had a shoulder cap above this tattoo and more bands decorating down his arm. They were supposed to represent the path of the Seven Archangels. There was the Archangels pattern in Kali, which was one of the styles that Master Donel taught, part of his Filipino heritage, but staring at the pictures I realized that maybe what I had taken for metaphor in studying the Archangels had been far more real.

Had Donel known this was coming? Is that why he asked Turmiel to reach out to me about finding his sister? I would find her and that would give me an opening to speak with Donel, or at least with Turmiel. I couldn’t go back to the College of Angels, especially not now. The seraphim had come to my aid with Her at their head. She was awake and active after years of being locked in meditation with God, that was how they had put it. She had been meditating and trying to decide if She would repent or fall. Had what happened two days ago already changed Her decision or forced Her to choose? God, I hoped not.

“You look shaken,” Paulson said.

“I’m okay.”

“If it had been a real tattoo it would still be healing and sore,” he said.

“I’ve seen other people heal from them, but never done it myself.” Reggie had tattoos when I met her, and I remembered that the seraphim—no, one seraph in particular—had asked me to come home, and home had been Reggie and Connery. Did I remember Her being sad that I loved someone else, that I had a child? Or had I dreamed that part?