Murder The Light (The Demon Whisperer #2)

Murder the Light: Chapter Two

Simon clambered up the last steps of the fire escape and swung his legs over the low cement wall rimming the roof of the bar. From here, he could see just about all the neighborhood, the lights of Boston Harbor off in the distance, the last signs of life before the blackness of the lightless sea.

Traffic sounds were muted and innocuous. Even sounds of people coming and going on the streets below him were gentled. Laughter, shouts of greeting. The distance and the steady breeze from the water washed out all the hard edges. From up here, it was easy for a guy to be fooled into thinking there was peace on earth.

Not this guy.

Simon sucked down the last of his smoke, grinding the butt beneath his foot. Holding his scrying lens up to his left eye, he peered down over the edge at the people milling around below. Nothing. Further off, the streets nearby. Still nothing. Scanning in an ever-widening sweep, he scrutinized every window, every street, every sidewalk.

Show me that glow. Tell me he's out there. That face he saw in his wand hit-induced vision. He had to be close. A face that Irish had no business being anywhere but Boston.

"Nothing, Simon." A mellow voice sounded from behind him, carried easily through the light wind. "This city is quiet tonight. You'll not find anyone to fight this evening."

"I will, if I look hard enough." Turning, he saw Mack standing a few yards behind him, looking as enigmatic as ever. Then again, he was an angel. "Always someone worth fighting."

"Yes, if you include yourself in the mix. Why do you continue doing this to yourself?"

Simon scowled. "You make it sound like I'm abusing myself."

Lifting an eyebrow, Mack tilted his head, flicking his gaze to Simon's arm. "Are you not?"

"No." Simon crossed his arms. "I'm not. Look, Mack, I know you don't get the whole 'humans and their base needs' thing but this isn't abuse."

"What do you call it?"

"Sustenance," he said firmly, as if he believed it. "A necessity. It keeps me going."

"Like your nicotine?"

"Yep." Simon tugged his pack out of his inside pocket and lifted it in a salute to the angel. "Just like it. This is me. This is my baseline. If I don't keep the baseline stable, I can't function. And I need to function."

He hunched and ducked to block the wind, cupping his hand around the lighter as he lit his smoke. Drawing deep, he relished the scrape of smoke in his throat, the quick buzz in his limbs, the blueish plume he exhaled into the wind. Three cheers for oral fixations. "And I need you to function, too, bro. News?"

"Not since last week's Ladder," Mack said. "There has been no new development."

"And even that wasn't a ton of help. You played a re-run. What good is that?"

The angel looked affronted. "A prophesy from the Metatron is no less important simply by being repeated. If anything, it reinforces the importance of the message."

Simon groaned. Wasn't like the prophesy had been very useful the first time around. "Okay. So. Light's scion, tarnished...Love's betrayer...A crushing blow will deliver to the lone-heart, the mortal savior of souls. Nothing new at all? Not even like maybe a point in the right direction?"

"Point? To where would we point? The answer is inside you."

"Uck. It's really not." Simon sighed, stowing the lens. "If it was, she'd be home."