“Did you honestly expect anything else?” Harlan asked, incredulous. “Belial has been here for centuries. Millenia, even. His agents are resourceful, and no doubt well hidden.”
“You keep saying ‘agents.’ It’s depressing.”
“You know I’m right. It won’t be just one person—or a paranormal whatever—supporting him. Belial will have backup. And besides, what we have is better than nothing. Stop being so negative.”
Jackson ran his hands through his shaggy hair, making it even more messy than usual, and stared at the large world map pinned on the wall of his office in The Retreat, the base of operations for the Paranormal Division that sat beneath Hyde Park and Kensington Palace in London. “But it’s so tenuous! This is like searching for Black Cronos all over again.”
“Well, we found them, and we’ll find these agents. At least Gabe and his team had some success last night. And Barak and Estelle found a damn manifesto! That’s huge!”
“True. I’m just impatient.” He sighed and headed to the shelf where he kept his tiny kitchen area to make a pot of tea. Knowing Harlan hated tea he asked, “Coffee?”
“Please. Strong.”
It was Friday afternoon, and the working week was drawing to a close. Not that it meant anything to him or Harlan. Their hours were erratic, and although he’d take some time off over the weekend, he would continue researching. Both teams had phoned that morning with news of their overnight success. Amato’s death was unfortunate, but at least Jackson could continue to hunt down his connections. Shadow and Gabe had gone straight from the church to Amato’s city flat and searched it, knowing that the police would be notified of his disappearance very soon. Unfortunately, as at Jacobsen’s house, there was little to find.
“I presume,” Harlan said, “they’ll investigate Amato’s country house?”
“Heading there now.” He handed Harlan his mug of coffee. “It will take them a couple of hours to get there, but they should arrive soon.”
“And Belial’s jewels?”
“Safely tucked up in the spelled box. I have a feeling we’ll need one the size of a treasure chest next time.” He dropped into the chair behind his desk, weariness washing over him. “The amount of jewellery there was worrying.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing. Perhaps most of it was there, and now some of it is down a very deep pit, forever.” Harlan grinned. His relentless good humour was exhausting. “I mean, how much bling can an angel have, right? He sounds like a rap star.”
Jackson laughed. “Well, that’s one way to look at it, but I suspect that he has a lot! By the sound of it, the Fallen liked to preen. But we can’t forget the manifesto.” The mere thought of it banished his smile. “It’s big. Organised.”
“Not necessarily. Lone bombers have manifestos, too. If it was really so big, there’d be a lot more crap happening. I’m still convinced it’s a small group who just love to spread unrest.” Harlan sat in the chair opposite him. “We didn’t even know about this until Olivia stumbled upon the reliquary. It’s not great, but it’s not huge, either.”
Jackson sipped his tea. “You’re right, I guess. I need a good sleep to get this in perspective. This place is getting to me again.” He meant the unending corridors of The Retreat. Sometimes it was oppressive. It seemed especially so only a couple of months after Russell’s death, the Deputy Director of the PD. He was killed by Layla Gould of all people, after Russell murdered two PD staff and was about to shoot Maggie Milne, the DI of the Paranormal Policing Team. “It’s still unsettled here.”
“Of course it is. You have new staff, increased security, and people are still grieving. Yourself included. You need to cut yourself some slack. You are still getting over the news about your grandfather too, never mind the scientist and that nice kid, Petra.”
Harlan’s statement depressed Jackson further. Petra was a nice kid. Too young to have been murdered by Russell fucking Blake. “I can’t deny that their deaths haunt me. Petra’s more than anyone's. I’ve convinced myself my grandfather wouldn’t have known anything once Black Cronos changed him. But Petra? That’s shit. I’ve seen the camera footage. She was screaming and terrified, and he shot her like she was nothing. Maggie and Layla are heroes for stopping him.”
“So are you.” Harlan considered him, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You need to get out of here. Maybe out of London. Strictly speaking, you don’t need to be involved in the Belial stuff. Maybe you should pick up a case and work on something completely different.”
“Waylen wants me to stick around. He’s invested in finding Belial now, too. Plus,” he gave Harlan a wry smile, “despite everything, I like it here. It’s in my blood. And I owe Waylen. He needs me here. They all do.”
Working for the government’s Paranormal Division went back years in his family, and he had always worked for them in some capacity. Harlan didn’t know half of it, although he suspected it.
Harlan nodded. “If you’re sure. What’s happening with the Deputy Director’s job?”
“Waylen offered it to Lyn, the scientist and alchemist, but she refused. Said it would take her from the lab too often. Too much management crap that would get in the way of her research. He’s disappointed, but understands her reasoning.”
“Because Russell was a scientist, right?”
“Yes. So then, he offered it to Layla, and she said yes, but only until he has someone long-term. She says she’s too old to deal with managing egos. It leaves Waylen with a dilemma. He doesn’t feel the other scientists are up to the job, but he really wants a scientist who understands the lab and the research. He’s very resistant to bringing in a completely new person for such a role. I mean, we have new staff, obviously, but not in such a senior position. So, he’s considering asking someone else…” Jackson massaged his temple just thinking about it. “JD.”
Harlan spluttered coffee. “You’re kidding! JD? That grumpy bastard, managing people? No!”
“My sentiments exactly. I’ve objected—strongly. I suggested he keep him as some kind of special consultant instead. He could oversee the work, but not manage the staff. He likes that idea, and that has led to another scenario.” It was another reason he didn’t want to abandon Waylen and The Retreat right now. “He asked me to do it.”
“That’s amazing!” Harlan said, shooting upright in his chair. “Congratulations! You said yes?”
Jackson shrugged. “I’m thinking on it.”
“What’s there to think about? You’d be great! You’re friendly, personable, balanced, and you know the PD well! Everyone likes you. This is a fantastic compliment.”
Jackson ran his hand through his hair, feeling awkward. “But is it me? I mean, I’m a bit chaotic. Laid back. Scruffy.” He meant it, too. Management to him meant suits and meetings, performance reports, and other such crap. “I hate evaluations and stuff. Just the thought of it is depressing! But it’s very flattering, too, right?”
“Of course it is. He wouldn’t ask you if he didn’t think you could do it.” Harlan smiled, his expression sympathetic. “I get it, though. You’d be responsible for others. But you know, you kind of do it anyway.”
“I do? How?”
“You liaise with everyone. The analysts, Barak, Estelle, and Lucien. You brought the Nephilim in. You have contacts that Waylen doesn’t. And you’re relentless, my friend. You survived being kidnapped by the count! The more I think about it, the more I think you’re perfect for the job.”
Jackson was momentarily speechless at the unexpected response. “Really? I did not expect you to say that.”
“You thought I’d talk you out if it? No way. Oh, man! Maggie will be so pleased to have the ear of the Deputy Director!” Harlan laughed, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He wiped tears from his eyes.
It set Jackson off, too. “Why am I laughing? It’s not funny. She’ll drive me insane.”
“It’s so brilliant. You’d even be JD’s boss—kind of!”
Despite his initial reluctance, talking to Harlan helped clarify a few things. He did do all those things. “Perhaps I should say yes.”
“Yes, you should! Do it now! Then we can celebrate. It’s approaching beer o-clock!”
