Page 26 of Caroled
“Yeah, okay,” Abe said. “But be careful. Collins is no dope, and if something got to him….”
Despite everything, Charles smiled slightly at Abe’s obvious concern. “All right.”
“Call us if you find out anything. And… and call tonight when you get in. No matter how late. Do you want me to come help?”
“Thomas needs you. Stay with him.”
“Yeah.” Abe sighed. “Stupid ashi-magari. I’ll talk to you later.”
Tenrael must have realized something was wrong. He shot to his feet as soon as Charles neared the table but was smart enough to not say anything. They put on their coats, Charles left five dollars on the table—almost twice the cost of his meal—and they hurried outside.
Good fortune was with them, perhaps: a taxi appeared almost as soon as they reached the curb. Charles gave the driver curt directions, and although Tenrael was frowning with concern, he remained silent during the ride.
Charles had the driver drop them off on Beach Street behind the old cannery. The area was dark at this time of night, the tall brick wall hulking beside them. Due to the unnatural stillness, they could hear gentle waves and creaking ropes from the wharf area two blocks away.
“Collins is missing—has been since last night.”
“What do you wish me to do, Master?”
He’d been considering plans during the cab ride. “Undress and take off your ring.”
Tenrael’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise, but Charles also noticed his eager expression. Ten stripped off his coat, button-down, undershirt, shoes, and socks, and then stuffed the ring into his trouser pocket. He extended his wings and gave them a good shake. Since the discarded clothes couldn’t be easily carried by either man, Tenrael tucked them deep into the recess of an arched doorway. Someone might stumble upon them and steal them, but the Bureau would pay for replacements. Besides, it was possible the thief might truly need them.
“I’m going to poke around in the bars,” Charles said. “Might as well start with the Sea Dog, then make my way east and south. Would you like to take to the air?”
“Yes.” Tenrael’s eyes burned like coals. It had been weeks since he last flew.
How beautiful Ten was when he showed such delight. “Will you be safe? I’m sure the Navy keeps a close eye on the wharf. Nobody wants the Bay to become the next Pearl Harbor.”
“I will be visible only if I choose to be.”
That was interesting, and a facet of Tenrael’s powers they’d never discussed. But now wasn’t the time to explore the intricacies of demonology, so Charles simply nodded. “I’ll meet you back here.”
“Take care, Master.”
“You too.” Charles leaned in for a fast, hard kiss and a quick caress of Tenrael’s horns and then started walking toward the water. He heard the faint flap of giant wings as Tenrael passed overhead, but he saw barely a flicker of shadow against the starry sky.
Only a few customers slumped on chairs in the Sea Dog, and the bartender was a different man from the one before. That was too bad, because Charles had no idea whether he could trust this surly-faced guy. But the boy was there—Fish, they’d called him—perched atop his rickety stool in the same sagging gray sweater. He was singing a popular Glenn Miller tune, his Cupid’s-bow mouth producing notes of startling quality.
“Whiskey and water,” Charles said resignedly to the bartender. The water’s only benefit would be to let him draw things out a little longer, giving him the chance for a close look around. He took a seat near the door.
Most of the customers wore rough workmen’s clothing. Locals, Charles figured. Dockworkers drinking away a day’s worth of aches. But two of them were younger, attired in the type of cheap suits a small-town boy might put on for a night on the town. Enlistees in their civvies, perhaps, morose over their final night of freedom. Gazing at them, Charles wondered if they’d return from the war, and if so, whether their eyes would have permanent shadows and their hands would tremble like Thomas Donne’s. Would they come back feeling like heroes, ready to start families and create futures? Or would the killing break them? Would it turn them into monsters?
Fish began a new song. “Over the Rainbow.” A startling choice for this crowd in this location, but he hit the high notes with perfect clarity and reflected all the longing of a lost soul pining for a brighter life. He looked at Charles while he sang.
Charles took the tiniest possible sip of his drink; it was like swallowing burning oil. He silently cursed his father for giving him this particular weakness. What was the point of it anyway? How could angels be too good and pure for alcohol yet find it acceptable to knock up a human woman and abandon her without explanation?
“Strange Fruit” was another odd choice for a young chanteur in a wharfside dive bar. Fish managed it admirably, however, his rendition almost as haunting as Billie Holiday’s. He followed it with a hit from a few years back, “Heart and Soul,” and then, startlingly, a song Charles’s mother had listened to in the weeks before she became ill. “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows.” Jesus. Charles hadn’t heard that song in all the years since, and now the words abruptly took him back to the apartment he and his mother had shared. It had been tiny—his mother occupying the sole bedroom and Charles folded onto the couch at night—and it always smelled of the neighbors’ cooking. But the window looked out on a little garden with oleander and jacaranda trees, and his mother would stand there, gazing outside with a teacup in her hand and the radio playing softly. She’d even sway a little to the music. It was the only time she seemed young to Charles, but in fact he was older now than she’d ever been.
Fish kept his sad eyes on Charles as if he could read his thoughts. As if Fish, too, knew about unhealed loss.
Without realizing it, Charles had finished his drink. But he didn’t feel sick yet, so when the bartender glared, Charles paid for another. He’d just taken his first sip when Fish transitioned to holiday songs. “White Christmas” was first, a new tune that Charles had been hearing on radios everywhere lately, then “Jingle Bells.” Charles vaguely remembered that he was supposed to be doing something. Working. He was looking for Collins, and he wasn’t going to find him like this.
But then Fish began “Silent Night.” He sang it slowly and very quietly, until Charles was sure no one else could hear it but him. Fish sang ittohim,forhim. And Fish’s sad eyes promised that he would understand Charles, would hold him tight and cherish him and never leave him. Charles believed that promise, and it tasted so very sweet.
Fish hopped down from the stool and stepped off the rickety stage. Even as he turned away and strolled slowly toward a narrow door without looking back, he continued to sing.
Then Fish went out the door, leaving it slightly ajar.
