Secrets of the Hanged Man (Icarus Fell #3) (An Icarus Fell Novel) by Bruce Blake Page B

only the dank air of a motel room I spent too much time in, not the aroma of Grandma’s fresh baking that often accompanied the higher level angels. Suddenly overcome with the certainty I’d disappointed someone, I looked at my feet.
    “I was going to drink it,” I said, mumbling so even I had difficulty understanding what I said.
    “ What?”
    I looked up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Why? A freaking kid stood in front of me, not the principal who’d called me to the office after being caught jerking off watching the girls’ volleyball team practice. Not that anything like that ever happened.
    “I was going to drink it,” I repeated, louder this time, but still a whisper.
    “ Not anymore.”
    She pushed past me and into the washroom. I spun to follow, gripped by an ache in my gut either caused by the residual pain of a goring by a hellacious bore-thing, or worry over what she’d do to a perfectly good bottle of vodka. I bent at the waist for a second, catching my breath, before shuffling after her. A lot of potatoes gave their lives to relieve my guilt and I didn’t want them to make the ultimate sacrifice for nothing.
    Dallas/Dido kicked aside my pile of dirty towels on her way to the bathtub and twisted off the cap. The seal broke with the familiar crack often responsible for starting my mouth watering, but not this time. Mild panic tightened my throat, preventing me from telling her to stop as she spun into the tub and upended the vodka over the drain, giving it a gentle twirl to expedite the quicker escape of its contents.
    I reached her in time to see the colorless fluid pirouetting away into the sewer like the last remnants of bath time, but it didn’t have the soapy aroma of bubble bath; instead it smelled of a missed opportunity to drown my sorrows and forget my mistakes for a while. She shook the final drops out of the bottle, then handed it to me before storming out of the room. I considered licking the rim, but it wouldn’t be enough, so I set the vessel on the sink with an empty clink that rattled my teeth.
    Dido returned to the bed and laid down, her back to me, so I stared daggers at her. Option number two—ditch her—jumped to the top of the list.
     

Chapter Seven
 
    The scroll sat on the table between us. I stared at it for a few seconds, then moved my gaze away to the golden eyes of the archangel Gabriel. As usual, I struggled to suppress the shiver and lusty thoughts her gingerbread hair and freckled cheeks stirred within me, but they were weaker than normal. This time, wishing Poe sat across the table from me and the nagging presence of an annoying eight-year-old girl’s homeless soul distracted me.
    “I have to do this?”
    She nodded. “You know you do.”
    I sipped my coffee and tore my gaze away to look out the window. The swallows that escorted Gabe everywhere perched on the garbage can outside the coffee shop, the tables and chairs, the bike rack. Their iridescent blue feathers glimmered in the mid-morning sun, their shimmer making it equally as difficult to remove one’s gaze from them as from Gabe’s endearing sprinkle of freckles.
    “ What should I do with her?”
    I nodded toward my unexpected companion seated alone at the coffee bar. No one noticed her, of course; no matter how many times she waved at the busy barista or how much she chatted, she remained drinkless. Sucks not to get a coffee when you want one.
    “Not my department.” Gabe shrugged. “Take her with you, I guess.”
    “ But she’ll get in the way.”
    “ Stop worrying, Icarus. She is a spirit. What could happen? You might find her useful.”
    I doubted it. “So you think I should keep her around?”
    She nodded and smiled, an expression bright enough to alleviate a New York blackout. Usually, it lit me up like a Roman candle, too, but today it lifted my mood marginally more than a helium balloon tethered to a brick. I leaned toward Gabe and inhaled the aroma of baked goods clinging to her that