through even the haziest cataracts.
“How inclusive,” she murmured.
Too bad they’d never have room at the inn for traditions like hers.
She parked around the corner and headed up the sidewalk, heels crunching on the thick layer of salt pellets laid, no doubt, in preparation for the storm warnings that had been playing between the Christmas carols as she drove. The lake effect weather was almost as punishing as an angel.
Although the ache between her legs said punishment didn’t have to be a bad thing.
What a thought to be having on the steps of a nursing home. Santa would definitely be putting her on the naughty list.
She had to be rung into the facility—this wasn’t the time of year for residents to go wandering—but she wasn’t surprised to hear the welcoming voice as the door opened.
“Bella? Hello. What are you doing out on a night like tonight?”
“Hi, Nanette.” Bella had known the angelic-possessed woman would be working the holidays. Of course she would. After her husband had been murdered—collateral damage in the war between the talyan and impenitent djinn-men—Nanette had thrown herself into all sorts of charity work, as if she had something to atone for. Bella had heard through the talyan that Nanette volunteered at the nursing home; they’d steered her that way to keep an eye on her because they blamed themselves as much as Bella did and they knew better than the angel-possessed woman how atonement might never end.
Bella tilted her head, taking in the rumble of the TV— It’s a Wonderful Life from the overwrought sound of it—and the scent of apple cider. She held out the gift in her hand. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring you and your residents some cookies.”
“You made cookies for us? How sweet.”
As Nanette relieved her of the small burden, Bella saw no reason to correct either of the woman’s two mistaken statements.
She followed the soft squeak of Nanette’s shoes. “How are you getting along?”
“Good.” The squeaks stopped. “Okay. Better than before.”
Bella pursed her lips. “You are a terrible liar.”
Nanette sighed. “Even you can tell? Wait, I’m sorry, that was so rude. I didn’t used to be rude.”
“Blame the talyan.”
“Oh, I do.” Nanette’s voice was softer than her shoes and very faintly bitter. “And myself, of course.”
Bella swallowed. “Now it’s my turn to be sorry.”
“Don’t be. You brought cookies. Now what else brought you here?” Nanette thumped her hand. “Have a seat.”
Bella settled into the overstuffed chair. A whiff of old-person smell wreathed her for a moment, and she closed her eyes. Would she ever get to be old?
“I had a visit from Cyril Fane.” She lowered her voice. “He wanted me to get a message to the talyan. I was surprised he didn’t come to you.”
“I don’t see him or the talyan if I can help it,” Nanette said. “Only Sera Littlejohn, since her father lives here. But if you need me to help—”
“I’ll find them at the Coil soon enough.” Bella paused. “But I was wondering about Fane…” To her surprise, her voice trailed off.
“Are you blushing?”
“Blushing? No. It’s just hot in here.” She smoothed the faux fur hem of her parka. She couldn’t very well open it since she wasn’t sure what incriminating evidence might be on her dress. “It just seemed strange he would come to me.” Much less come inside her, although she was thankful he’d proven inclined to temptation.
“Not so strange, since I haven’t been around to take his messages.” Nanette’s tone turned sly, or at least as sly as an angelic possessed could manage. “And not strange he’d find you. Mr. Fane likes nice things.”
“Nice?” Bella infused the word with all her disbelief.
“Well, beautiful things,” Nanette amended, as if even when she was being sly she couldn’t stop herself from being honest.
Bella shook her head. “I just don’t want to get caught in
“How inclusive,” she murmured.
Too bad they’d never have room at the inn for traditions like hers.
She parked around the corner and headed up the sidewalk, heels crunching on the thick layer of salt pellets laid, no doubt, in preparation for the storm warnings that had been playing between the Christmas carols as she drove. The lake effect weather was almost as punishing as an angel.
Although the ache between her legs said punishment didn’t have to be a bad thing.
What a thought to be having on the steps of a nursing home. Santa would definitely be putting her on the naughty list.
She had to be rung into the facility—this wasn’t the time of year for residents to go wandering—but she wasn’t surprised to hear the welcoming voice as the door opened.
“Bella? Hello. What are you doing out on a night like tonight?”
“Hi, Nanette.” Bella had known the angelic-possessed woman would be working the holidays. Of course she would. After her husband had been murdered—collateral damage in the war between the talyan and impenitent djinn-men—Nanette had thrown herself into all sorts of charity work, as if she had something to atone for. Bella had heard through the talyan that Nanette volunteered at the nursing home; they’d steered her that way to keep an eye on her because they blamed themselves as much as Bella did and they knew better than the angel-possessed woman how atonement might never end.
Bella tilted her head, taking in the rumble of the TV— It’s a Wonderful Life from the overwrought sound of it—and the scent of apple cider. She held out the gift in her hand. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring you and your residents some cookies.”
“You made cookies for us? How sweet.”
As Nanette relieved her of the small burden, Bella saw no reason to correct either of the woman’s two mistaken statements.
She followed the soft squeak of Nanette’s shoes. “How are you getting along?”
“Good.” The squeaks stopped. “Okay. Better than before.”
Bella pursed her lips. “You are a terrible liar.”
Nanette sighed. “Even you can tell? Wait, I’m sorry, that was so rude. I didn’t used to be rude.”
“Blame the talyan.”
“Oh, I do.” Nanette’s voice was softer than her shoes and very faintly bitter. “And myself, of course.”
Bella swallowed. “Now it’s my turn to be sorry.”
“Don’t be. You brought cookies. Now what else brought you here?” Nanette thumped her hand. “Have a seat.”
Bella settled into the overstuffed chair. A whiff of old-person smell wreathed her for a moment, and she closed her eyes. Would she ever get to be old?
“I had a visit from Cyril Fane.” She lowered her voice. “He wanted me to get a message to the talyan. I was surprised he didn’t come to you.”
“I don’t see him or the talyan if I can help it,” Nanette said. “Only Sera Littlejohn, since her father lives here. But if you need me to help—”
“I’ll find them at the Coil soon enough.” Bella paused. “But I was wondering about Fane…” To her surprise, her voice trailed off.
“Are you blushing?”
“Blushing? No. It’s just hot in here.” She smoothed the faux fur hem of her parka. She couldn’t very well open it since she wasn’t sure what incriminating evidence might be on her dress. “It just seemed strange he would come to me.” Much less come inside her, although she was thankful he’d proven inclined to temptation.
“Not so strange, since I haven’t been around to take his messages.” Nanette’s tone turned sly, or at least as sly as an angelic possessed could manage. “And not strange he’d find you. Mr. Fane likes nice things.”
“Nice?” Bella infused the word with all her disbelief.
“Well, beautiful things,” Nanette amended, as if even when she was being sly she couldn’t stop herself from being honest.
Bella shook her head. “I just don’t want to get caught in
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