This chapter is dedicated, with thanks, to Mojave Dragonfly.

Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: I don't own anything you recognize from the book El Club Dumas or the movie, The Ninth Gate, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellent novel, American Gods. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

Chapter Eight

Angels In America

It was the afternoon of the fourth day and they were lunching in a restaurant in Louisville, Kentucky. Corso hadn't been too much of a dick since Baltimore, but Shadow was still uneasy around him. As charming as Corso was when he wanted to be, Shadow knew that underneath the smooth façade, the guy was a bad apple.

They were comparing notes on Germany and discussing the merits of the autobahn versus public transportation. Corso had been pleased to find Shadow was so well-traveled; it gave them safe topics of conversation that didn't have anything to do with gods, devils or the price of books in Baltimore. Hearing Corso commenting on people's auras was also starting to get a little freaky.

Corso winced and rubbed his forehead.

"Headache?" Shadow asked, concerned.

"No more than usual...just a twinge." He looked suddenly tense, though, and Shadow didn't think that was a good sign. "It's probably nothing."

Probably nothing usually meant something somebody didn't want to talk about; okay, he'd go along with that if Corso wanted to be a stubborn putz. A blonde a few tables back had been looking in his direction. Shadow caught her eye and smiled. He could've been agreeing with Corso's observations about Porsches and what he thought of Stuttgart...blondes weren't usually his type; he hadn't inherited that from his old man, but she was attractive in a long-stemmed way and hell, a guy could still look, couldn't he?

"Back in a minute," Corso muttered, and left the table in the direction of the restrooms. The blonde got up and strolled toward him, backpack over her shoulder and a pamphlet in her hand. For a second, Shadow enjoyed a daydream that she was walking over to their table to ask him to leave with her. They'd have wild animal sex for a few hours, and Corso could screw himself. No such luck, she continued on to the cash register.

Their check was face-down on the table. Shadow figured he might as well pay it while waiting for Corso. To his disappointment, the blonde walked out as he was crossing the room, but when Shadow got to the counter, her brochure was resting there. "Angels In America" read the gracefully scripted font on the cover. He glanced through it while the hostess rang up their bill. The Louisville Museum of the Arts was sponsoring an exhibition of angels as depicted by American artists, through June 30th, after which time the exhibition would be traveling the country. There was a quote from the woman who'd organized the thing; she'd gotten the idea from a similar show in Britain several years ago...absorbed in the contents, he started when Corso tapped him on the shoulder.

"What've you got there?"

"Something from a museum, it looks interesting."

Corso riffled through the pages. "We could take a look. It's not like we're pressed for time."

"You up to it?"

"Yes, Mother," said Corso dryly. "Who knows, it might even do me some good."

When they got back to the car, it was with a newly acquired street map of Louisville and the address of the museum. Shadow fed Jinx---he'd ordered a broiled chicken breast to go for her---while Corso went through the tonic ritual. "I keep thinking it's going to get less disgusting, or I'll get used to the taste, but it hasn't happened yet."

Jinx's tail lashed. "Hrrrh!" If that wasn't "tough shit" in Khat, then Shadow didn't have a clue. The Siamese had ceased overt hostilities--she no longer arched and spat at Corso, but her verbal sniping was distinctly that.

The angel exhibition was more extensive than either of them had expected; apparently whoever rounded up the artwork had been flexible about what constituted art. There were paintings--everything from paint-by-number to Grandma Moses--sculpture (one of which was welded together from bicycle parts with chain-driven wings that rattled as they flapped)--and pop culture offerings like syrupy Victorian lithographs of children doing dangerous things while a nearby celestial being smiled benevolently.

"Wow," said Corso, taking it in. "It's certainly a change from the Louvre." Shadow grinned. The guy did have something like a sense of humor. His comment summed up the whole thing perfectly.

They wandered through the galleries amiably. It was pretty incredible, Shadow had to admit. Who knew that there were that many American artists out there creating angels? Some of it was old and probably valuable; some of it Shadow judged a waste of paint. In the background, the mechanical angel clattered its gears repetitively.

He paused before one canvas, titled "Adoration". At first, it looked like a standard Nativity scene...then he realized that the glowing figure kneeling in front of the Holy Family was holding a paintbrush. The "angel" was retouching paint on a statue of the Virgin Mary. Joseph's colors were faded and the paint flaking off. Only the infant Savior was in pristine condition, as if He had been repainted first. How did they get the glow that softly washed the painter? Shadow looked closer. Shiny, pearlized paint...Laura used to have some nail polish like that....

As Shadow walked into the corridor labeled "Fallen Angels", the first thing he saw was the blonde from the restaurant. She wasn't looking in his direction; she was standing just behind Corso, who was absorbed by something on the wall. Shadow was moving in their direction as she reached out and covered Corso's eyes with her hands and said something in his ear. The other man shuddered with pain, and it clicked then, who she was; Shadow bounded the last few yards and yanked her away from Corso by the straps on her backpack. "Leave him alone."

"So, you've found yourself a protector," she said to Corso, sounding amused, but her green-eyed gaze never left Shadow's. Up close, she had bone structure worthy of a supermodel, but her eyes glinted with an inner light that disturbed him. "How fascinating."

"I mean it," he growled, and took a step closer to her. His action had thrown her back a few steps, but she was still standing. The blonde stared back at Shadow, not smiling now. Sizing him up. Three years of prison and three years more of weird shit in strange corners of the world gave him ample confidence when it came to sheer intimidation. She was regarding him uneasily.

(I don't care where you come from, lady. I'll match my old man against yours any day of the week. Especially Wednesday.) He thought it at her as hard as he could. It was a grim joke, and the resultant grin on his face was ugly enough to daunt her.

"Don't worry, Dean" she said, a mocking tone to her voice. "We'll always be able to find you." She touched her forehead suggestively. With that, she took several steps back--without ever turning her back on Shadow, then swiftly left the room.

Shadow took a half-step in pursuit, but his companion groaned. "No, don't...let her go...." Corso was leaning against an unoccupied stretch of wall, the palm of his hand pressed to his forehead. He was perspiring, and his breathing was labored.

"Let's get out of here," said Shadow. The book dealer waved away Shadow's arm. He walked unsteadily, but was determined to make it to the car on his own. They made their way past the clockwork angel, through the galleries and out of the museum. Corso sank into the passenger seat and Jinx gave a cry of alarm, leaping onto the seat back.

"Don't you start," the man groaned. The cat continued her worried interrogation, sniffing at him. Shadow climbed into the driver's seat to find Jinx butting her head against Corso's face, mrrowing anxiously. He wasn't objecting, which was a sign of how out of it he was.

"Let's get the hell out of Dodge," Shadow said grimly, turning the key in the ignition and maneuvering them out of the parking lot. "That was her, huh?"

"That was her."

"What was she saying to you before I got there?"

"She said, 'Hello, Dean, did you miss me?' " Corso was shaking. "As soon as she touched me, I thought my head was going to explode."

"This is my fault," Shadow was disgusted with himself. "I saw her in the restaurant while we were having lunch. She left that program for the exhibit by the cash register. I led you right to her."

Corso shook his head. "It's not your fault. You heard her. She can always find me."