Something More Than Night by Tregillis Ian

Author:Tregillis, Ian [Tregillis, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2013-12-02T23:00:00+00:00

13

AN OFFER YOU CAN’T REFUSE

I collected my hat while Uriel stepped outside for a private chat with the Thrones. I was glad they hadn’t tossed me in the cooler; I wanted to owe Uriel bail money about as much as I wanted another hole drilled into my head. Owing favors to a Seraph is a bit like owing a shark dinner: sooner or later, it costs an arm and a leg.

But I was already in dutch. She’d sprung me. As to why, I couldn’t begin to guess. I liked this not very much. As tired as I was of the Thrones’ broken-record act, at least I understood their angle. But I didn’t have a line on Uriel’s play.

They returned. The bulls announced they were letting me go. I could tell this wasn’t their idea, and that they liked it not very much. Lots of that going around recently. But the Seraphim draw a lot of water in this town, so what Uriel wants, Uriel gets. Even if that means a penny-ante keyhole peeper like me.

She looked me over. “You’re looking better already.”

I straightened my collar. “Let’s dust, angel.”

She elbowed past the Thrones on the way out. I gave them a wink. One grabbed me by the arm. “Keep your nose clean, Bayliss. Next time, we don’t play so nice.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sell it to somebody who’s buying.” I shook my arm free, flicked the brim of my hat. “See you in the funny papers.”

Uriel had already passed from the Thrones’ Magisterium and was striding through the between-spaces of the Pleroma. I hurried to catch up. She had quite a pair of pipe stems on her. I waited until we’d put some distance from the hoosegow before saying anything.

“Thanks,” I told her. “I always said you flaming sword types were the real cream.”

“No doubt.”

“You sound skeptical.”

“I’ve been around the block a few times, Bayliss.” She paused, frowned, looked me over. “Why ‘Bayliss’?”

“Why Bayliss what?”

“What sort of name is that?” It’s like I said: we in the Choir are big on proper names.

“It’s a swell name. And besides,” I said, “all the best ones were taken.”

The sun belched. The Earth’s magnetic field lines fluttered like gauzy curtains in an ocean-side bungalow. They cast rippling boreal light across Uriel’s ox muzzle and shone on eyes the color of lukewarm magma. But the glimmer of her wings put that grubby mortal light show to shame. Maybe I stared too hard, maybe she reminded me too much of Gabby, maybe she didn’t like me any more than the Thrones did. When she caught me staring, she flipped the lion pan in my direction and gave a little growl. I backed off; magnetic reconnection sent a stream of high-energy particles tumbling down the Earth’s polar well. Add a random smattering of skin cancer cases to my list of guilty burdens.

“Come on,” she said, “I’ll give you a lift.”

“Generous of you.”

I hadn’t told her where I was going, but she didn’t ask. And it seemed rude to refuse the lady.

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