******
Peaceable Kingdom: The Manger
Ray was tired, but he could not sleep.
His hand hurt, but it was bandaged and healing, as were all his numerous other wounds. He was jazzed as he always was after a fight, though it hadn’t been much of one. The Witness might have provided some real competition, but he’d been a disappointment. It kind of disturbed Ray when he screamed like a little girl. The trip through what the Brit had called ‘the Short Cut’ had been disturbing as well. Sure, he’d got to put a period to the career of Ti Malice, and that counted for something, but fighting spider-things wasn’t exactly his cup of tea. And although he’d suddenly gotten to know Angel a lot better than he had before, he couldn’t find her. She’d vanished after he’d gotten his hand bandaged, and the Peaceable Kingdom was one damn big place when you were trying to find a single angel in it.
He paced his room. It was usually like this. The adrenaline took forever to leave his system, making him edgy and keeping him awake no matter how much he wanted sleep. He looked out the window of his room. Night had come to the Peaceable Kingdom, and he was back to wishing that he was just about anywhere else in the world.
He started, uncharacteristically, at the tentative tap at his door, a single knock, unrepeated.
“Who is it?” Ray asked.
“The Angel,” she said quietly, barely audible through the door.
He was before it in a moment, and opened it. She stood in the hallway, blinking, her hair mussed, her leathers dirty and sweaty, scuffed and torn, still wearing his shirt. She was beautiful.
“Come in,” he said, and she did.
She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “John Fortune is asleep,” she said. “Fortunato is with him.”
“Good,” Ray said. “He okay?”
Angel shook her head. “We don’t know. He’s frightened, exhausted. The Hand—”
“What’s with all this ‘Hand’ sh—stuff?” he asked.
“That’s his title,” Angel said. “The Hand of God.”
“Jeez,” Ray said. “And to think I knew him when he was only the President of the United States.”
Angel closed her eyes, and Ray could see that suddenly she was on the verge of tears.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked. “I didn’t mean anything. You can call him The Spleen of God for all I care. What’s wrong?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, controlling herself. “Nothing. Nothing. I’m just tired. The job is done. We’ve saved him from the Allumbrados. But...”
“Yeah,” Ray said. “The job is done, but life goes on, doesn’t it?”
Angel looked down at the floor. “I don’t want to be alone,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t be alone, any more.”
“You don’t have to be,” Ray said. He came close, but didn’t touch her. He felt an odd sensation. For a moment he couldn’t identify it, then he realized that it was fear. He was afraid to touch her, he realized. Afraid of how she would react.
“I meant to take a shower, to clean up, but I don’t have any other clothes—”
Ray laid a finger softly against her lips. At the touch of his flesh on hers, his fear was suddenly gone. He smiled, but suppressed a relieved sigh. “You don’t have to apologize.”
She finally looked at him. She had the darkest, largest eyes he had ever seen. They were two sad bruises in the alabaster of her face. “My mother never let me listen to music,” she said, seemingly irreverently, “except in church. She thought that music was the tool of Satan. But sometimes she’d drink, like that night she cut me, and listen to a records she had from when she was young. She’d listen to them over and over again. They were all scratched and hissing so you could barely make out the words. One of them had a song on it that said something like, ‘I’m afraid of the Devil, but I’m drawn to them that ain’t.’ I didn’t understand the words then, but I think I understand now why she listened to that song. I think I know what it means. I think I’m the same way as my mother.”
She looked seriously at him.
“I think you think too much sometimes,” Ray said, bending his head to hers.
Unlike their first kiss, this one began soft, but didn’t stay that way for long. It grew in hunger and passion. Her mouth tasted so good that he wasn’t sure how she got out of her clothes or even whether she or he had taken them off.
She was magnificent. That was all he could think. Her breasts were heavy and dark tipped. Her nipples were already erect. She moaned when he caressed them. Her breath hissed inward when he took one in his mouth. Her hips were wide, her waist narrow and ribbed with muscle. Her thighs were lean and sinewy, the juncture at them dark and inviting. He put a hand there and she shuddered against his body. He trailed his fingers across her flat abdomen, tracing the path of the scar as it twisted upon her stomach.
“It’s so ugly,” she said.
“Nothing about you is ugly, Angel.”
“You’re not just saying that?” she asked in a whisper.
He bit her neck gently where it curved into the ivory strength of her shoulder. “Have I ever lied to you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shivering as his kisses went up the column of her throat, “but you’d better not now.”
They fell on the bed. She was already ready. It seemed like she had been for quite awhile now. She closed her eyes. “Thy will be done,” she said, and gasped when he took her.
It was a wild ride. Ray had never experienced anything like it before. She was strong and eager and he didn’t last as long as he wanted to. He did have the pleasure of bringing her to at least one screaming orgasm before he succumbed himself and shuddered against her in what seemed like an endless stream of pleasure. They lay together, panting, and Ray shook his head.
“I’ve never screwed like that before. You’re so strong. So hungry.”
“I’ve never screwed before. Period.”
“Well,” Ray said, “that was one Hell of a first try.” He leaned back on one elbow, but couldn’t keep his hands from the silken skin of her breasts. Their nipples puckered again at his first touch. “Did you like it?”
She closed her eyes. “It was glorious.” She opened them and looked seriously at Ray. “When can we do it again?”
He laughed. “With any other guy, it might take awhile. But, lucky you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Don’t you know that one of my powers is regeneration?” he asked.
Her laughter turned to groans of delight as his mouth closed over hers.
The corridor leading from the elevator to Barnett’s sanctum was lousy with Secret Service agents, and the second string—Mushroom Daddy, Digger Downs, and that kid Secret Service agent whose name Jerry kept forgetting—were in the reception room with Sally Lou. She looked as cool and desirable as ever.
Only Barnett and Fortunato were inside. Barnett looked up sourly as Jerry knocked and entered. He was not, Jerry realized, in a good mood. He turned to Fortunato. “You were saying about the boy?”
He must be really worried about something, Jerry thought. It’s actually showing on his face.
Fortunato shook his head. “He finally fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.” Fortunato looked bleakly at Jerry. “He should be dead. I’m afraid that he didn’t draw an ace after all, but a Black Queen.”
Jerry felt Fortunato’s words like a hammer blow to his guts. “That can’t be,” he said. “He was fine—”
“Was fine,” Fortunato said with grim finality. “It seems that his Black Queen is an odd bitch. Slow acting, but progressing geometrically. His body temperature rose well over fifty degrees during the night. I can’t even begin to guess what it is now. I’m not a doctor, but I can recognize death when I see it coming. How high can his temperature go before his body just burns up?”
“Maybe it’s part of his ace metabolism,” Jerry said hopefully. “Maybe his body won’t burn.”
Barnett nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course. He is divine—”
They looked at him and frowned. Fortunato spoke. “Maybe he is,” he said, though his tone indicated his dubiousness, “but his surroundings aren’t. How long until he’s a danger to everything around him?”
“You can’t know for sure that he will be,” Barnett said. He looked like a man who was fighting hard to maintain an unlikely viewpoint.
“He burned Billy Ray by just touching him,” Fortunato said in a leaden voice that lacked all hope. “He would have burned me if I hadn’t shielded myself. And the process seems to be speeding up. He’s getting hotter, faster. If it keeps going at this pace, by evening he’ll consume everything around him. He won’t be able to control it at all.”
A depressed silence settled over Barnett’s office.
“There’s one possibility left,” Jerry said. He and Fortunato looked at each other, and nodded. “The Trump,” they said together.
Years ago, Dr. Tachyon had managed to concoct a cure for the wild card virus, but it was so dangerous in itself that it was only administered when a patient was facing inescapable death.
Barnett frowned. “Isn’t the Trump pretty unsafe?”
“Fifty percent fatality rate,” Fortunato said, looking at no one.
“You can’t...” Barnett began, but his voice ran down to silence.
“We must,” Jerry said, “if we’re sure the kid is going to die. Or pose a danger to his surroundings.” He looked at the ace sitting next to him. “Sorry, Fortunato.”
“No,” Fortunato said heavily. “You’re right. But we have to be sure.”
Jerry nodded. “The Jokertown Clinic has the only supply of the Trump.” He sighed deeply. “I’ll fly back to the city and get a dose. By the time I get back we should know for sure if we’ll have to use it. One way or the other.”
It was hard for Jerry to volunteer to fetch the Trump. Very hard. Over the years John Fortune had become something like the son he’d never had. He’d seen him grow up to be a nice kid. He’d seen him apparently beat all the odds and become an ace. Now death was again panting over his shoulder. It would have been easier, Jerry thought, if he’d just drawn a Black Queen that day in Vegas. But the kid deserved better than that...
“Hang on,” Jerry said, looking at Fortunato. “He almost beat the odds when the virus struck him. He has an even better chance with the Trump.”
Fortunato nodded. He looked at Barnett. “If you believe in the power of prayer,” he told the ex-President, “get down on your knees for the sake of my boy.”
To his vast surprise, Barnett came around his desk, sank down on his knees and bowed his head. “Let us pray,” Barnett said.
Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower
“We don’t know exactly where the boy is,” Nighthawk told the Cardinal, “but we will soon.” He frowned. “There may be something wrong with him, though,” he said.
The Cardinal interrupted angrily. “If we injured him somehow, all the better. The assault teams are in place. Start the attack.”
Nighthawk nodded equitably. “As you say.”