Page 19 of Semi-Fallen

Riddick didn’t seem to have noticed any of the heart-warming conversation Lane was having with her parents. He was too busy regarding his own daughter. “How’d you get to be so fucking smart?” he asked her.

Haven grinned at him. “Good genes?”

Harper smiled at them both before turning back to Lucien. “How do we find a reaper? Would one of the clerics you mentioned be able to help without getting you smited—or is it smote?”

He nodded, his brain working through the logistics of a plan that would be challenging at best, deadly at worst. “I might have an idea.”

Benny winced. “Dude, every time those words have been said around here, something shitty happens.”

“Isn’t that the fucking truth?” Riddick grumbled.

Mischa held up a hand to silence them both. “And does this idea of yours include a way to keep Lane safe and off the radar until we get what we need from the clerics or the reapers or whatever other heavenly flunkies we need to shake down to keep her alive long term?”

He swallowed hard under the weight of her glare. She really was a formidable woman. “Yes, but…it won’t be easy.”

Harper threw up her hands. “Well, fuck, is anything around here? If it was easy, I wouldn’t have the first clue what to do.”

CHAPTER 11

Lucien was not prone to exaggeration.

It was a fact Lane found to be somehow comforting and disquieting all at the same time.

When he said something wouldn’t be easy, he damn sure meant it. Lane liked that she could trust him. But, shit, would sugar coating the truth sometimes hurt the guy?

She gnawed on her lower lip as she signed, Are you sure this will work?

He gave her a look like she was the simplest of creatures. “Of course not. This is all new. We’re making it up as we go.”

See? Sugar coating had a time and place, and as far as Lane was concerned, that time was now.

“But in theory,” he added, “this should keep you hidden from lesser angels—soldiers like me.”

Again, “in theory” was not verbiage that inspired confidence.

What about the archangels?

She wasn’t sure, but it looked like he snorted. “Oh, it won’t help keep them away.”

Lane called on all her strength to keep from smacking him, because she couldn’t imagine that slapping the shit out of an angel would do anything good for her karma.

“But they won’t come after you directly,” he went on. “They don’t do grunt work.”

That saved him a slap, she decided. But just barely.

It had taken over an hour to convince her family and friends to stay at Section 8 and not come with them to this shitty tattoo parlor. (And frankly, she wasn’t sure her parents weren’t lurking in the shadows somewhere.) So, she was still a little uncertain why Lucien thought this place was where they needed to be. She gave the building a hard side-eye.

The doorframe was held together by duct tape, flashing ambulance and police car lights from what could have been a drug bust or a murder scene down the street invaded her peripheral vision, and the air around the crumbling building lit up by a neon sign that said “Vinnie’s” smelled like week old garbage and—Lane sniffed delicately—pee. Yep. It was definitely pee.

Please tell me this isn’t the place, she signed.

Lucien glanced at the shop, which looked only a little better than bombed out ruins in a war zone, dispassionately. “Yes. This is the place Riddick recommended. He said they’re the best in the city.”

She completely trusted Riddick’s recommendations for lots of things. Need info about weaponry? Riddick was your guy. Motorcycles? Also Riddick. The best (and worst) shows to watch if you had any hope of keeping up with the steady stream of pop culture references Harper and Haven spewed on a daily basis? Again, Riddick’s knowledge was unparalleled.

But judging by the look of Vinnie’s, Lane wasn’t sure she trusted his tattoo parlor recommendation.

Lucien lacked patience, it would appear, because he gave her a gentle shove through the door.

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