Free Sons of Angels by Rachel Green Page B

had to go back to the beginning. How far back was that? Was it when the girl bit her last Friday or was it when her grandmother had an affair with an angel? Weren’t angels supposed to be sexless? Or was it earlier than that?
    She sped past a man with an Alsatian, which shrank back against its master’s legs growling, and another problem occurred to her. How were Harold and Mr. Jasfoup going to react to their basement tenant being a mythological killer?
    When she arrived at her flat, using the spare key she hid under the dustbin to get in, she collapsed on the sofa. Those missing hours hadn’t been spent sleeping. She was physically exhausted.
    Felicia set her alarm for mid-day and allowed herself to sleep, drifting into dreams of claws and blood. She awoke to the alarm, slamming her hand down on the clock so hard she crushed it. Felicia rubbed sleep from her eyes, disorientated that the sun was high in the sky already. With a jolt she realized she could see the numbers without her glasses or contact lenses. Her vision had returned to twenty-twenty.
    Her answering machine was blinking with several messages. The first gave her some relief. The manager of the night club had her purse and clothes. She could hear the ripple of amusement in his voice as he asked her to collect it at her earliest opportunity, bringing some identification with her. That meant she wouldn’t have to cancel her bank and credit cards and wouldn’t have to fit new locks on her flat and gallery.
    The second call was designed to make her feel guilty. “Felicia?” Her mother’s voice echoed through the room. “I don’t know what happened yesterday but it was wicked of you to leave me in...that place...with no way of getting home. I had to ask this nice lady to give me a lift. She works for Mr. Raffles, apparently. She said she’d seen Julie and the policy could be released.” There was a long pause, at which Felicia assumed the machine would click to the next message, but her mother’s voice returned. “I think we need to talk.”
    The machine clicked and replaced her mother’s voice with the sonorous tones of Taliel. “Your sister is no longer safe here.” The short message was replaced by the long tone indicating the end of the tape.
    Felicia called the hospital and managed to speak to the matron to arrange a consultation with Julie’s specialist in the morning. That’s as much as she could do, short of forcibly breaking her out. She remembered her car was still there as well.
    She phoned the bookshop.
    Mr. Jasfoup answered in a clipped tone. “Alexandrian Gold.”
    “It’s Felicia here. I’ll be late opening the gallery tomorrow.”
    “Oh? Nothing untoward happened, I trust?”
    “No. Something good, actually. I’m getting Julie released from the hospital. She’s well enough to come home.”
    “Excellent news.” Felicia could hear him chewing something. “I’ll pass that on to Harold for you.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Jasfoup.” Felicia hung up.
    She stared at the phone for a minute and sighed. Her mother’s message had to be answered in person. She called for a taxi to take her first to the night club and then to the hospital to collect her car.
    * * * *
    When Felicia got to her mother’s, Patricia appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs. She was immaculately dressed but still wearing her robe. “Hello, Felicia dear. Have you finished work already?”
    “Mum.” Felicia craned her neck to talk. “You know I don’t open the gallery on a Monday. What did you want to talk to me about?”
    “It’s about yesterday and what you saw.” She looked to her left. “Oh my God!”
    “What?”
    “There’s a fire...” Her mother glanced down at her then back toward the bedrooms. “Darling?”
    Felicia stared in numb horror as her mother took a step backward into the air above the top step and tumbled, almost in slow motion, down the remaining seventeen to the first corner, her arm breaking it with an audible crack on the