Page 2 of Unshakable

Chapter One

Henri Gregory lovedthe simple things in life. After his long years on this mortal plane, nothing tasted as good as a cup of fresh-brewed coffee. Not the kind you get in those green shacks of political correctness. The kind you can drink black and taste all the rich notes.

The kind you can get after midnight inside a New York deli when your son stands you up and is nowhere to be found in a city with a million places to hide.

As Henri settled his tired soul into a corner booth, he sloughed off his scarf and gloves. He wrapped his hands around a steaming cup of joe, inhaling the rich aroma, a small moment of pleasure on a miserable winter night.

An exhausted young waitress appeared at the end of his table, notepad and pen in hand. The stained apron said she’d been there for a good, long while. “Can I getcha anything to go with the coffee?”

“How about a bagel, toasted, cream cheese on the side?” When he smiled at her, her tired face lit up. He should be used to the affect he had on humans, especially women. He’d learned the hard way to use this charm only when absolutely necessary.

She winked. “You got it.”

He pulled on the brim of his hat to hide his eyes, one of only a couple truly visible physical giveaways for those who knew what kind of being he was. While those people were few and far between, the older he got, the less often he risked being identified.

Henri raised his head and scanned the dingy diner, not expecting to see anything out of the ordinary. Still, this was a big city, any kind of creature might be about in the night, and he liked to be aware.

His gaze skimmed transient customers, humans with exhausted or intoxicated auras, then settled on two men huddled at the counter, their hunched backs toward him. They paid him no mind, and they shouldn’t.

They weren’t really men. And they wielded infinitely more power than Henri on his best day.

Their burnished brass auras clouded the space around them as they put their crafty heads together, as if colluding over something evil, because that’s what Fallen Angels did. Generally speaking, they were up to no good. At best, planning a hateful prank. At worst, plotting the end of the world.

A sense of deep foreboding washed over Henri, settling in the pit of his stomach to slosh around with his coffee. He never, ever shook off this feeling as an overactive imagination. No one else in the deli understood malicious beings sat in plain sight, plotting together while imitating men.

Their conversation might be none of his business, but he’d be the best judge of that. Even with his limited wisdom about loftier matters, he could call a supernatural spade a spade.

When the waitress returned with his toasted bagel, Henri asked her, “Do you happen to know those two gentlemen sitting at the counter?”

She turned to look and shook her head, ponytail bobbing while her gaze lingered on them. “No, I don’t usually work the overnight shift, though. They could be regulars.”

“Thank you, I thought one of them looked familiar,” he lied as he reached for his wallet and flashed some cash, another of his tricks. “A business deal gone wrong. An old score. Probably my imagination.”

“They do look shady.” She faltered, her glazed eyes glued to his wallet. “They’re talking about going to Louisiana, if I heard right.”

Henri pulled out a twenty. “Louisiana sounds about right. He might be my guy. Can you do me a favor? When they leave, bring me the pad of paper they’ve been writing on?”

She cocked her head and her hip at the same time as if to ask, ‘What’s in it for me?’, so he pulled more cash from his wallet, and she nodded when she was satisfied.

Everyone had a price.

While he waited, he sipped rich coffee and nibbled a decent toasted, cream cheese bagel. Neither of the beings saw him until they rose from their stools to leave the diner.

Henri met the gaze of a blindingly handsome and fashionable Fallen Angel with a cool raise of his eyebrows and a friendly nod. This one blended in well in NYC, dressed entirely in black. His friend, by comparison, looked homeless and addicted.

Henri’s greeting was not reciprocated and soon, both had gone about their business.

As soon as the pair disappeared, the waitress brought their notepad over for him to inspect, sharing more information. “They were looking for an address, searching the internet on their phones. They finally had to call information, which nobody does anymore, right? Pretty weird.”

“And they wrote everything down?” Henri asked.

“I think so.” To his surprise, she next handed him a sharpened pencil. “I watch true crime dramas on my days off.”

Henri chuckled and skimmed the side of the lead over indentations on the paper, feeling like an old-school private detective. “Ah, here we go. Can you read that? The handwriting is terrible.”

Add penmanship to the unending list of things the Fallen didn’t bother to do well. She squinted and moved the angle of the page under the florescent lights. “Gimme the pencil.”

Henri didn’t blink, just handed her the pencil, and waited while she drew and connected lines on the pad. Soon, she handed him the paper, letters outlined prominently.

A name. More than that, a familiar name. Alarm shot down his spine. Careful not to worry the waitress, he smiled and exclaimed, “Excellent! You have earned your tip tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said as her face flushed pink. Whether she helped him because he was handsome and attentive, because she needed the money, or because she was a good person, he didn’t know. Did these things matter? “Anything else for you?”

“No. You’ve done plenty, and I need to be on my way, too.” He laid the small pile of cash on the table, took a final swig of coffee, and rose from his seat.

His son, whose deviance and neglect needed more attention than he currently had to give, would have to wait for another day. Those Fallen were too dangerous to lead right to Sam’s door, anyway, even if chances were slim those Fallen cared enough about him to follow him.

He now had another destination in mind. New Orleans and a woman he’d heard numerous stories about. Toula Thibodeaux.

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