Page 21 of Kiss of Wrath

They talked for some time until Jack had to return for the second show of the day. Mordr declined his invitation to attend. In the end, it was Jack who gave him directions to Crescent Street. Turns out it was right around the corner from Jack’s own home in a new development, which was why Mordr had been having trouble finding it on the GPS, as the policeman had suggested earlier.

By mid-afternoon, Mordr got to Crescent Street. He was surprised to find a residential neighborhood, and 111 Crescent Street, the address Michael had given him, was a two-story home of impressive proportions with a wide lawn being currently pampered by a sprinkler system, which was unusual in the afternoon. Most of these contraptions operated only at night. And wasn’t that another strange thing about modern times? Wasting water to grow weeds, which was what grass was, really. He could just imagine King Olaf telling one of his servants, “Go water the weeds in the courtyard so the horses won’t bruise their hooves on the hard-packed dirt when they come back from battle.”

Not sure what to expect when he came here today, Mordr was armed with a back holster pressed against his white T-shirt, under an unbuttoned black shirt worn over cargo pants with all the appropriate pockets for knives and other specially treated weapons. Normally, he would have worn a cape to hide his armaments, but that would be too obvious in this desert heat.

He walked up the sidewalk to the front door, unsure whether to first circle and study the property to assess any potential danger. There were Bulldog Security notices in various windows, tiny cameras placed in strategic locations, what was probably a motion detector that was operational at nighttime, a numbered panel next to the door frame to bar entry by strangers. Definitely a place in need of protection, for one reason or another. He sniffed the air for the sulfurous scent of Lucies. Nothing. No scent of lemons, either, which would indicate a person hell-bent on . . . well, going to Hell, who might already have been fanged with a Lucie sin taint but not yet crossed over to the dark side. In other words, a human he might be able to save.

While he was pondering his choices, the door flew open and a young girl of no more than ten years took him by the arm and, with surprising strength, yanked him inside. He had only a brief moment to notice her bright red curls and blinking, owlish eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She had water spots on her red blouse, as if she’d just run in from a rain shower. “You’re late,” she accused. “That’s no way to get a job. I may be a kid, but even I know that tardiness is a no-no in job hunting.”

“Late for what?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, as if he were a dunderhead. Which he felt like at the moment. “Oh well. Thank God, you’re here. Finally.”

“No. Thank Michael.”

“Is he the head of the agency?”

“You could say that.” God’s special agent.

“You better come with me. Ben and Sam are about to do something really dumb.”

“Who are Ben and Sam?” Mordr knew of no Ben or Sam.

“My brothers,” she said with decided disgust. “They’re eight-year-old twins who are always in trouble. Idiots! Ben thinks he’s Evel Knievel. One time he tried to roller-skate off the garage roof onto a mattress and almost cracked his fool head open. Sam thinks he’s a born gambler. He’ll probably try to con you into a game of blackjack. Don’t play with him. He cheats.”

All Mordr could think to say was “Huh?”

“This could be dangerous. C’mon. You need to stop them.” She tugged on his arm, trying to move him down the hallway toward what sounded like a party or something in the distance. A crash, like a trash can falling over. Loud voices, like a television set, with screams and shrieks and laughter. Farther away, young voices, human, mixed with screams and shrieks and laughter.

“Laughter? That does not sound like any kind of danger requiring my help.” He was about to warn her that it was dangerous for a young maid to invite a grown man, a stranger, into her house.

Before he could speak, she tapped a foot with impatience. “Ben can’t start the barbecue and he’s looking for gasoline to help him. I hid the can under the patio umbrella in the shed, but he could find it any minute now. Ben thinks that, just because Sam is running the hose, it will put out any explosion. Did I mention that they’re idiots?”

Ah, the water spots. He gave a brief nod of understanding, though he didn’t understand much.

“I told them that they would be in big trouble. I told them gasoline wasn’t the same as lighter fluid, which is also dangerous, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Said they were hungry for hamburgers from the grill and that they knew what they were doing. Boys!” She shook her head as if the entire male race of the younger set were hopeless. Him, too.

Despite himself, he was starting to admire the warrior lass. She had ballocks, trying to rule her brothers.

But wait. Did she say gasoline? The house could be afire soon. “Where’s your mother?” he demanded, quickly scanning the hallway and the living room and dining room off to either side, both of which were empty. He would have something to say to a woman who would neglect her children so.

“Dead.”

Oh! “Your father?”

“In prison.”

That is not good. “Well, who in bloody hell is caring for you?”

“I’m pretty sure ‘bloody hell’ is cursing. You’re going to have to put a quarter in the swear jar.”

“Aaarrgh! Who in bloody hell is caring for you?” he repeated.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk!” she had the nerve to chastise him before explaining, “Aunt Mir cares for us, ever since Mom died, but she got delayed at the casino—”

A casino! A sin palace, for a certainty. Not that I have any room to judge. But what kind of mother, even a foster mother, gambles, leaving her children to fend for themselves? She will probably arrive home drukkinn.

“—and her friend Darla came to watch us ’til she gets home.” The girling was midway down the corridor, continuing to talk as she waited for him to rush to her assistance, while he stood in place by the front door. Shoving her glasses up higher on her little nose, she blinked. “Or ’til you got here.”