The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) Page 2

  She was wondering what she could do to help her son when a loud creak reverberated through the room. She’d spent the last month doing all she knew how to fix up this crappy old house, but she was no Bob Villa.

  Her gaze flew about the room as the noise became something akin to an unholy belch.

  “Oh, fudge!” she cried as the pipe under her kitchen sink gave one last shriek for mercy and began spewing ice cold water like it was demon-possessed.

  Chapter 2

  Noble swung open the door to Gentry’s Tattoo Studio with a vengeance. He’d had precious little sleep and he was in a foul mood. His plan tonight: get in, finish his appointments ASAP, get the heck outta Dodge. If Sweet Cheeks’ kid had that damned radio blaring again, he’d introduce it to the not-so-friendly side of his boot.

  “Hey, Noble!” Michael, otherwise known as “The Angel” to his customers, looked up from the young woman’s lower back currently getting inked with one of Michael’s specialties: The über-realistic angel tramp stamp. His three hundred pound girth overflowed the small stool he perched on. His grin and the girly angels he was always tattooing were in complete opposition to his leather-wearing biker dude appearance. Oxymoron was an understatement when it came to Mike. And his eternally grinning mug wasn’t helping Noble’s mood. Luckily, the ever-bubbly Ariel, Michael’s new BFF and the studio’s receptionist and piercing artist, wasn’t in yet for the evening. He couldn’t handle a double-dose of their cheer.

  Noble grunted and made his way to his private stock of cold Cokes hidden in the back. He opened the office and flipped on a light. If the owner of this joint wasn’t also his best and oldest friend—practically his only family in the world, really—he would’ve cussed the bastard. Because he should’ve been here running the show while Noble got to sleep in.

  But, he couldn’t begrudge Jed any of his happiness. The son-of-a-gun deserved it. And plus, he thought with a sly smile, they were all gonna win when Jed’s cute little wifey came back and became the official studio accountant. Sweet deal.

  He sat at Jed’s desk and propped his feet up with a sigh as he popped the top of his soda with a hiss. Yeah, he admitted to himself, he may bitch about the work, yada, yada, yada, but he needed this opportunity to prove himself as a potential business partner. He knew no one, least of all himself, ever considered him to be more than the laidback guy working in the background. Sure, he was cool-headed and mellow most of the time, but he was learning he could flip that switch and run the ship like a friggin’ Nazi dictator if the situation called for it.

  He sighed and stared up at the ceiling as self-doubt ate at his gut. He’d probably never have what it takes to start his own gig. That required a level of finesse and brains that he just didn’t have. But he could buy in, and it was time . . . time to be more than just another tattoo artist working for his friend.

  He flinched as Michael’s laughter boomed through the wall. Big, bald lovable oaf was like a bull in a china shop. Strange thing was, when Jed and Kyle ran off to get married, Michael had left, too. He’d just disappeared. Noble thought he’d hightailed it to work for someone else or start his own shop. Then, one day out of the blue, he showed up again. Good thing, too, because the customers came asking for him in droves. I need The Angel for a portrait of my dead aunt, or I want an angel that looks like Cameron Diaz tattooed across my ass. The requests were as bizarre as they were frequent.

  Noble ran a hand down his face and closed his eyes. It felt like someone had superglued sandpaper behind his eyelids. He really was exhausted. The mosh pit music pumping out of the house next door had seriously interrupted his Z’s. Was this going to be an ongoing occurrence?

  “Noble!”

  He shot up, sloshing Coke onto his jeans when Michael bellowed his name from the front of the studio.

  “Fuck!” He scrambled for a napkin, finding only wadded up Kleenex. “Yeah?” he yelled back.

  “Your appointment’s here!”

  Great. Well, he’d tattooed on less sleep before. He stood and chugged the last of the liquid gold caffeine before making his way out to the main floor.

  Gentry’s was an upscale studio in the hills of West Austin and it catered to the upper echelon of people seeking tattoos and piercings. Those on the music scene, businessmen, the quietly wealthy of all sorts. Sometimes the not-so-quiet.

  Noble quickly realized this was going to be one of those times. Standing amongst an entourage the size of a tiny country was none other than Kristoff the Crusher—the biggest and most feared name in professional wrestling. He absolutely filled up the waiting area, nearly as tall as the ceiling, with a scantily clad, well-endowed woman draped over each arm.

  As Noble approached the sea of humanity, he was struck by the thought that the Crusher should have been totally out of place in the studio’s delicate Asian inspired interior and honey-colored walls with the meditative Muzak Jed insisted on playing. But, strangely, the giant man seemed right at home.

  Once Noble was closer, the big man peered down and offered him a giant, toothy smile. “Hello,” his Russian-laced voice boomed out. “I am Kris.” He let go of one of his lady friends and extended a hand the size of a baseball mitt as the distinctive scents of peppermint and expensive liquor—Noble couldn’t tell from whom—overwhelmed the incense that usually filled the lobby.

  Noble wasn’t a short man at 6’2, but he had to crane his neck to look up. He allowed his own hand to be engulfed, trusting the guy to not break every bone in it. “I’m Noble. So, you’re Kris Russian?” He smiled at the irony of the pseudonym he’d used to book the appointment. He wasn’t surprised; celebrities had used crazier ones.

  “Yes.” The Crusher laughed heartily. “Is funny, no?” He wrapped his arm around his lady again, engulfing her.

  Noble nodded and glanced around at the stone-faced group surrounding him. It resembled a mini Mafia. Surely the guy didn’t need any bodyguards. What was up with all the muscle? Maybe it was all for show. “So.” He turned back to his client. He thought back to the amount of time booked. Make that his very expensive client. So much for hitting the hay early. “What can I do for you?”

  The Crusher snapped his meaty fingers. One of his Armani-clad, Guido-looking cohorts produced a folded piece of paper. “I hear you are one of the best. I vant this tattooed across my back.” He gave Noble a moment to study the pictures. “Is very impressive, yah?”

  Noble dipped his head as he tried to envision just how in the hell he was going to get the Russian flag, the Hammer and Sickle, and a Russian double-headed eagle to congeal into a seamless tattoo that didn’t look like one hot mess. Especially since potentially millions of people would see his work on this guy’s back every week when he wrestled on national television.

  Fuck.

  Double fuck.

  Noble glanced up with what he hoped was a confident smile. “Tell you what, Kristoff. Can you give me a little bit of time to sketch something up for you?” He glanced down at his watch then back up. “Say about thirty, forty-five minutes? Grab yourselves a coffee or whatever and hopefully I’ll have something really special ready when you get back. Papa Turoni’s next door is great. Is that cool?”

  Crusher offered another huge grin that rivaled one of Michael’s. “Sure. No problem. We get espresso.” He strode out, his entourage behind him.

  Noble shot Michael a look as he made for the solitude of Jed’s office to think through his current Russian dilemma. Michael offered him a commiserating smile as he taped a loose dressing over his client’s finished tattoo.

  Noble hustled and got to work, pulling from everything he’d learned over the years as he’d literally slaved his way to earning his reputation. He wasn’t about to let one Russian wrestler best his art. It was all he had. But, if he was lucky, when Jed came home and saw the value in a partnership, it wouldn’t be that way much longer.

>   If it took all night, this would be the best tat of his life. All hail Mother Russia tonight.

  Michael watched in awe as the Russian guy and his massive crew made their exit. He glanced toward Ariel’s workstation. His petite partner-in-crime, as he liked to think of her, had arrived earlier to pick him up but he was busy, so she was straightening up her area while she waited. She looked over and offered him a small grin.

  He made his way over to her and smiled into her sparkling, ice blue eyes. “Sorry, Ariel.” He plopped his wide girth onto a stool next to her. “That tattoo was a doozy. We’re gonna be late to our AA meeting. We need to go now. They might’ve already sealed the doors.”

  She flitted about her workstation, organizing her piercing paraphernalia; the very image of the sprite many accused her of being with her gauzy blouse and multi-colored beaded necklace. If only they knew how close they were to the truth.

  “It’s all right, Michael,” she chimed in her pixie voice. “Gabriel will understand.” She lowered her voice. “After all, an angel’s gotta do what an angel’s gotta do. Right?”

  He felt his face flush and looked around to make sure no one had heard her.

  She put a tiny hand on his shoulder. “Our secret is safe.” She shot a glance toward Jed’s back office where Noble currently sat. Noble was Michael’s current assignment on Love Detail and Ariel’s as well, as his sort of cupid intern.

  “This time,” he admonished her gently. “But you must be more careful. We have to maintain our cover. And, more importantly, we have our Commandments. The humans cannot know of our business.” He stole another quick glance. No one was listening. “If Father has to pull us out and our matches are not made, it would be a serious infraction and Love’s loss.”

  She furrowed her delicate black brows. “I’m sorry, Michael. I will do better.”

  “I know you will. Now hurry up. We need to get going.”

  He left her to finish her clean up and went back to his own station to grab his jacket. He didn’t mean to be overly harsh. He’d been tasked with teaching her, not with breaking her spirit. And he’d done his research. He thought he had the perfect idea how to break her in on this case. He’d been doing this job for centuries, and though he’d lost his direction for a while because of his own fearful heart, he’d learned that love was, indeed, the greatest treasure Father gifted to humans and angels. It was an honor to watch the fruits of his labor blossom into the wonder of true love destined by God Himself.

  But, he also knew how hard it could be. He’d been given some real humdinger assignments over the years. Jed and Kyle, most recently, had been nearly impossible. They’d truly tested the might of his ingenuity and had made him pull every trick from under his halo to beat them at their own stubbornness. But, in the end, they had proven that true love conquers all.

  And, Lord Almighty, he would need it all again this time. Because though Michael was not privy to all the intimate details of his human assignment’s histories like Father was, he’d known Noble long enough to know he carried around a wounded heart. Perhaps the heaviest he’d ever had to contend with as a cupid. And that could wreak havoc on an angel’s plans.

  Michael pulled on his black jacket, enjoying the distinct, crisp smell of the leather the same way the humans did. He also put on his thinking cap, because if he knew Noble the way he thought he did, on this assignment, he’d have to find a way to unsink the Titanic.

  Chapter 3

  Okay, so she didn’t live a life of luxury. Braelyn knew she still had a pretty good life somewhere in there as she wiped a runny nose and helped her student, Daisy, keep still while the school nurse unclogged Daisy’s feeding tube.

  Sometimes being a special education teacher was so, so glamorous.

  She wiped some mysterious gunk from her hands on the leg of her pants and offered the children in the classroom around her a smile. “We’ll be done here in a minute. Then we can finish our game.” She aimed pleading eyes at her assistant. “Miss Brittany, will you get everyone settled down?”

  Dear, sweet, darling, Miss Brittany used all the mysterious charm God had given her and got the rowdy group of middle-schoolers into some semblance of order in their seats. Braelyn could never do this job without her.

  Overhead, the industrial, school-issued clock ticked like a giant metronome. It was close to lunchtime and the kids were getting restless. Braelyn looked down. The nurse was nearly done and water was flowing smoothly through the thin plastic tube. Yeah. She offered the tiny girl an encouraging smile and took a fortifying breath for herself. She really did love her job, even with the stresses and occasional hiccups in her days. Most of her kids were pretty easy to handle. Nothing like what she had dealt with before.

  Jeremy, her most mentally challenged student, ambled over and patted Daisy’s arm with a hand that seemed too big for his age. “Hello, Daisy,” he lisped. “I have Oreos for lunch today.” Jeremy had Oreos for lunch every day.

  “I know.” Daisy smiled at him. She never seemed to mind when Jeremy shared this news with her every single day even though she was fed formula through a plastic tube and couldn’t taste the chocolaty wonder of an Oreo. Braelyn wanted to weep for her sometimes.

  The phone on the wall buzzed. Brittany shot her a meaningful glance. “You get it. I’ve got this.” In other words: Take a break. She wanted to kiss her.

  Braelyn thanked her and moved to answer the ringing line. On the way, she remembered that during her lunch break she needed to find a plumber to come out to the house and fix her stupid kitchen sink. Her temporary patch job wasn’t holding. If she was lucky, maybe one would come out tonight before she went to the nursing home, her sanctuary in this crazy world.

  She grabbed the phone. “Hello? Miss Campbell’s room.”

  “Miss Campbell, we’ve got a call for you from the high school,” the front secretary’s monotone voice crackled through the line. “Want me to put it through?”

  Well, shoot fire! What now? She took in her classroom; no one seemed to be paying her any mind. All the kids were wrapped up playing with Brittany as they bounced a bright pink balloon around the room. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe it was something innocent. “Sure. Thanks.”

  There was a beep followed by a couple of clicks. “Hello?” she finally said when the line was clear.

  “Miss Campbell?”

  Uh, oh. Principal Lyman’s voice—nasally, like he had an eternal cold. This was not a good call. She tried to steel herself for bad news. “Yes.”

  “Hello. I’m calling about Tristan. I’ve got him here in my office.”

  Her heart rate sped up so fast, it nearly tied her tongue. “Is he all right?”

  “Well, he and another young man were caught fighting on the school grounds this morning. So he has a bit of a bloody lip and a few bruises, but the school nurse took a look at him and otherwise he’s fine.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “A fight?”

  “Yes, Miss Campbell. A fight.” He seemed to be mocking her. Yes, even your perfect little angel can do something bad like get into a fight.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s not clear at this point. It’s a bit of your son’s word against the other boy’s. But Tristan says the other boy called him some vulgar names and pushed him so he defended himself.”

  “Oh.”

  “But,” he interrupted, “either way, we do not tolerate violence of any kind here in our school. We are very clear about the rules in our Student Code of Conduct Handbook. So both boys will be disciplined accordingly.”

  Her heart rate picked up several more beats. “And exactly how will my son be punished for defending himself, Principal Lyman?”

  He cleared his throat. “He’s in ISS for the rest of today, then both boys will be suspended for the next three days.”

 
She didn’t quite know how to respond. She was a teacher in the school district. He was a principal. She owed him due respect. But inside, she was a seething mother who wanted to stand up for her boy. She focused on her bulletin board display of the planets until she had some composure. The blue edging that was beginning to peel. Swirly Jupiter—like a brown gumball. Mars. Saturn’s rings.

  “Fine. Tell Tristan we’ll talk about it after school. Goodbye.” She hung up on the man and his nasally breathing. It made her feel better.

  As Braelyn drove home after school, she tried to mentally prepare herself to deal with Tristan. No easy feat. She was also giving serious thought to Brittany’s suggestion. She’d finally confided in her assistant about her concerns that Tristan’s behavior stemmed from his loser of a father. Scratch that. She was absolutely certain. But she just didn’t know how to help the poor kid. And that’s when Brittany had suggested trying to get him signed up with Big Buddies of Texas for a “big buddy” or male role model.

  “It would be good for him, don’t you think? His dad’s not around at all, right?”

  Brittany’s question had been innocent enough. No, his dad wasn’t around. Punk. And she couldn’t believe she’d never thought of anything like that herself. He seemed to enjoy the company of the older men at the nursing home, as much as he whined to the contrary. And going there was certainly good for her spirits. But, perhaps he needed someone a bit younger who could relate to the issues he was facing?

  Then, in a rebellious frenzy, her mind summoned a vision of the hottie next door. She firmly pushed the thought away. No way, no how was that guy big buddy material. He’d tackled her kid last week, for cryin’ out loud. But, the little devil on her shoulder whispered in her ear, He was trying to protect you. Her soft, girly parts sighed in response. She couldn’t help it. And she’d yelled at him and treated him like he was the bad guy. She cringed at the memory.