ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 31: abra-cadaver

      I arrange to meet with Sam, Alkaios and Eryx in Trinity Church Cemetery and Mausoleum whilst Banks creates (yet another) diversion to keep Quade busy. I had Quade drop me off at the Bronze Bull, using the excuse that I had to attend to ‘other business’. He had no objections, but lingered in the parking spot a little longer than necessary.

      Winter has well settled itself upon Manhattan because I scramble around on the salt cleared pavement in my NYPD all-weather jacket and a pair of jeans with my thick boots. I keep my cap on to stop some of the icy wing that threatens to form icicles underneath my nostrils.

      I feel like shit, most likely because I’ve gone into one-too-many near cardiac arrests thanks to seeing my kinda-boyfriends deceased father and have him warn me about the Bureau. On top of that, Quade’s probably suspicious of my activities and I have to go on a dinner date with him which will most likely end up as a trap. But since I’m the good Samaritan of Manhattan, I’m going to put on my poker face and remember how to breathe.  

      I’m worried that if I allow myself to drift off to sleep, my mind will be invaded by some sort of supernatural being and I’ll be dead to the world, or a vegetable like Nikita in the morgue fridge. Perhaps I’ll wake up with Greg standing at the end of the bed, shaking his head that I’m sharing the same sleeping space with his son―that simple thought puts me off sleeping, despite the fact that my eyelids droop at the promise of a snooze.

      When I see Eryx and Alkaios aspirate into the shadowed south-west corner of the cemetery, I try not to turn my nose up at them. Right now at this point in time, my tolerance is non-existent, and if Alkaios says any fancy words in Greek which I understand, I’m going to make him choke on bullets.

      “My omorfiá, you look ill, is everything alright?” Alkaios taps a talon against his thin bottom lip as he makes a face at me.

      I don’t give him a response; I practically collapse in the bench beneath the oak tree and rest my forehead in my hands. I listen as him and Eryx exchange words in Greek before footsteps crunch the frostbitten leaves around us, I flinch back when someone’s warm hand covers mine.

      My immediate thought is Greg, a corpse can touch me, but when I remove my hands from my face, I see Sam crouched in front of me in his black tailored suit, a look of concern evident in the deep crease in his brow.

      “Blue,” he says.

      “Prat,” I say.

      “You okay?” he asks.

      My eyes flit towards Alkaios; the leader of the Vrykokolas looks rather uncomfortable and fixes his muddy gaze on the bell tower across the green. Eryx notices the tension and snickers to himself softly, grinning when Sam presses his lips to my forehead as a gesture of support.

      “Fine,” I clear my throat and stand up. “Banks says she dug up some dirt, did she tell you what it was?”

      “Joseph pulled Quade’s internet records and there were two online banking transactions done for five hundred dollars with two hundred and fifty split between a source in Washington and Manhattan. There were no hits on the IP addresses but when compared with Colville’s accounts, a deposit of two hundred and fifty dollars was made a week before he died,” Sam says.

      “Colville was Helena’s contact on us; do you reckon Colville was stupid enough to cross her?” I began to pace the length of the bench with the two Vrykokolas staring at me curiously.

       “I think Colville knew how to make an easy profit,” Sam shrugs. “That being said, when going through Colville’s internet records, it shows that he accessed six NYPD files that were classified information.”