by Lisa Hughey
He didn’t look crazy or act crazy but he had to be. And she must have gone temporarily insane to believe for one second that she was somehow an angel. Who in their right mind these days believed in Angels?
No one. It was difficult to remember that he was nuts when with a heated look from his rum gaze and she was melting, her body tingling and on fire from the heat pouring off him.
“Water is my weapon,” he said abruptly.
His weapon. What did that even mean? After all, yeah, she was afraid of drowning. Of large bodies of water. But it’s not like water was a gun or a knife. How could water be a weapon?
“You don’t believe me,” he said.
Was it her imagination or did his voice soften when he spoke to her? Her mind went back to that dream. He looked so much like her dream man.
“Have we met before?” she asked abruptly, her brain still fuzzed. Maybe she had met him before and that’s why she dreamed of him. Her subconscious had somehow imprinted his face and given him a sweetness that he clearly didn’t have in real life.
Zach jolted as if he’d been shot.
“Of course not.” He mimicked the response she’d given him earlier. His face had frozen into a blank mask, no expression whatsoever, but she could feel the panic pulsing from him. “Let’s get to what I need from you.”
For a moment it was as if she’d looked into his soul. And the pain, anguish was like a living breathing fire that writhed within him. God, such pain. It seemed to seep from his bones and wrap around him even though he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even blinked for those long tense moments.
She wanted to ease his suffering. She couldn’t even figure out why. He was abrasive, cold, angry, and somehow she knew that it wasn’t an act. It was habit so deeply ingrained that his reactions were automatic.
She knew she should leave it, him, alone, but…she couldn’t.
“We have met before.” She knew it. The feeling of déjà vu was so strong, she knew she recognized him from somewhere, that it wasn’t just a dream. But if that was the case, why did she have no recollection of him except for in her dreams?
“Why would you think that?” The words grated from his throat.
Suddenly she realized if she told him why she thought she knew him, she would be baring her own vulnerability because the dream didn’t empower her, it just made her sad for what she had lost. But she was oddly compelled to tell him the truth. “I lied before. I dreamed of you.”
Of us. That she wouldn’t say.
She expected a denial. An argument. A brash rejection. What she didn’t expect was fear. He blanched. In a blink it was gone, his face once again a bland mask, his eyes empty, devoid of any emotion.
She felt the loss keenly.
“We don’t have time for this. I need you to tap into the ley lines. I need your senses.”
He wasn’t going to answer. The puzzle of Zach would have to wait. But she wasn’t going to let it go.
As if she was waking from a fog, questions bulleted through her brain. “What do ley lines have to do with water?”
“Water, ley lines, are electromagnetic energy. While I can control water, I cannot divine ley lines. Which is why I need you.”
“And why do you need to tap into ley lines?”
“From the intelligence I have, I believe the Grigori are somehow masking their presence by using the energy found in ley lines.”
She still wasn’t convinced. He believed the Grigori, banished Angels who had escaped, were going to try to wipe out humans. But how in the world could they actually trigger a tsunami? It sounded crazy.
“I don’t see how they can manipulate nature to cause a tsunami.”
As soon as she said the words, a vision flashed in her mind. A wall of angry water blasted toward her. Debris littered the dirty brown and sickly green water. The massive wave bore down on her, making her feel insignificant and vulnerable. The thought was terrifying. Her body began to shake violently as if she were recalling a horrific memory.
The imagined force bore down on her, ready to devour her, smash her body into oblivion, crush her spirit, and swallow her whole. Shasa’s stomach tossed as if she were actually experiencing the vision. Her visceral response was unnervingly real.
Shasa pressed a trembling hand to her belly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can picture it,” she blurted out without thought.
He lay his hand over her shoulder and the feeling left her almost immediately.
But as she imagined the terror, her thoughts were dominated by one question. “You really believe they can do that?”
He pressed his mouth into a flat line. “I know they can.”
“How?” Even as she asked, it occurred to her this whole conversation was crazy.
“Because I have the same capabilities.” The confession was torn from him as if ripped out with sharp claws. “But if I can find them, I can stop them. To do that, I need you.”
Suddenly she believed him. Not because she wanted to but because she could sense the conflict within him. He said he needed her. But he didn’t want to need her.
Somehow that contrast was far more compelling than when he said he was going to use her. Because as if she could see inside his soul, she could sense that her presence hurt him. And she knew what she had to do.
Rain drummed on her mother’s tin roof. The sound lulled her into a false sense of calm. “Okay. But I can’t just leave my mother.”
As if she had heard them, her mother called out, “Shasa?” Her voice trembled with alarm.
“In here, Mama.”
“Where is Zachariel?” Her mother’s voice was getting more frantic.
He pushed to standing, his thick muscular thighs at her eye level as he stretched out his hand.
“We’re coming, Mama,” she called out to calm her mother down. She and Zach went into the living room.
Anna lay groggily on the sofa.
“What’s happening, Mama?”
“The fire,” Anna claimed weakly. “It’s unnatural.”
Zach’s attention shifted to the flicker of flames and smoke filling the television screen. But no sound emanated from the little box. “Can you turn the volume up?”
The announcer was discussing how the authorities were baffled by the intensity of the flames. The ultra-thin Hispanic woman with perfect hair and a permanent smile on her face, stared directly into the camera. “There is not enough of a cross wind, or even wind, to continue to fan this fire but every time they come close to containing it, some new area surges with hyper-intense flames.”
Zach sat on the cluttered coffee table.
“The firefighters are mystified by the burn patterns,” the woman continued, still smiling.
For some reason that statement struck him. Burn patterns. Uri. The unusual fire. What if that wildfire burning out of control was somehow related to Uri? And if it was, the fact that both the fire and the Grigori’s first potential target were here in the Pacific Northwest was a giant red flag. The human fire investigators had ruled out arson, but the circumstances of the fire’s origination and it’s unexplained continuation were puzzling the fire fighters.
Could Uri somehow be trying to communicate with the Archangels?
Uriel. The lure to investigate the fire and appease his guilt over his role in Uri’s disappearance was tempting. Zach had to consider that he was potentially grasping at nothing, his subconscious creating a link where none existed. So there was an unusual fire, started in a remote area, that so far had not done any damage to structures or people?
It did sound like what he knew of Uri. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking.
Zach would be lying if he didn’t acknowledge that he was jealous of Uri’s power to wield a weapon without hurting anyone. Zach knew firsthand how destructive his own power over water was. Hurricanes, tsunamis, his Angelic powers frequently left humans dead.
The Archangel’s duty was to reign over the dominion of Earth and care for both
the planet and their inhabitants. Unfortunately Zach’s power tended to benefit only the planet. Not the inhabitants. Yes he had the ability to grant forgiveness, but somehow his destructive power dominated his thoughts rather than his positive one.
Zach’s gaze was glued to the pictures of the devastating fire. The urge to go check it out was strong, but damn the Cosmos, he couldn’t investigate the mysterious blaze right now. He had to focus on the Grigori and ley lines.
Shasa’s soft question tore him out of his reverie. “You okay, Mama?”
“I called Duane. He’s coming home.”
Zach noted the irritation on Shasa’s face as she narrowed her eyes at her mother. “I thought he couldn’t come home and that’s why you needed me here.”
Her mother shifted her gaze from Shasa’s accusatory one to the painting hanging over the fireplace.
Zach’s attention was immediately captured by the emotion that bled from the disturbing oil. He stalked to the fireplace to get a closer look at the painting. The violent ocean was dark, angry, frenzied. In the scene, the sea looked like alive. A sailboat perched precariously on the summit of a wave on the cusp of crashing into the angry sea. Beneath the waves there were hints of body parts and broken objects. It was dark, disturbing, tortured.
Zach was less than a foot away. Fear and rage seemed to jump from the canvas to pummel him.
“Who painted this?”
“My Shasa.”
Zach’s eyebrows rose. He gave Shasa an inquisitive look. “You paint pictures of the ocean?” The woman who was terrified of large bodies of water?
She flushed. The dark red spread up her face and brightened her eyes. One shoulder shrugged as if it were no big deal. “It haunts my dreams,” she confessed.
Then Zach was the one to look away.
She dreamed of him. Could she also have nightmares of her death? Did he want to know? He was already consumed with guilt over the circumstances and his role in her death.
The angry sea. Was that what she’d seen last on this Earth? A wave of remorse crashed over him. He hadn’t gotten her out of Port Royal in time to survive the devastating attack. Was this what he had consigned her to? A life of horrifying memories. He wanted to apologize, wanted to beg her forgiveness, and promise to make it all better.
She shouldn’t remember any of it. Souls were not supposed to carry memories from one vessel to another. But based on this picture, at the very least, she had nightmares of her long ago death.
Shasa had no idea that he was likely responsible for her phobia. And he hoped she never found out that he’d played a hand in her fears. Damn the Cosmos, this was why he tried to spend as little time as possible on Earth. The fragility of humans tormented him.
He turned away from her, unwilling to let her see his soul deep sorrow.
“Zachariel,” her mother said softly. She beckoned to him and he was helpless to deny her request. Zach knelt beside his former Angel and waited.
She lay her hand on his and the sense of comfort was instantaneous.
Anna shifted on the sofa, clearly in pain. Zach was thankful that his humans did not fade and die when the power transitioned from generation to generation. He was luckier than most Archangels. The Healers bore the worst of their gift. Once the energy was transferred to the new Angel, the elder faded quickly. But in the case of the Dowsers, they only lost strength, not their very life.
“Is it done?” Anna asked.
Zach nodded solemnly. “Yes.”
“This is a great honor,” her mother said to Shasa. “You have been chosen, Shasa. Please have the joy and compassion to carry out your duties with your whole heart.”
He stood and moved back to the fireplace, stepping away from the moment between the mother and daughter.
Before Shasa could comment, the front door slammed. “Home,” a male voice called out.
A burly man covered in soot, still wearing his turnouts, clomped into the living room. The scents of sulphur, smoke, and fire retardant followed him like a cloud.
“Hey, baby.” He bent over Anna, cupped her head in his large palm, and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Got here as soon as I could.”
Zach’s gaze caught on the stylized N symbol nearly covered by soot on the inside of the man’s forearm. Nephilim. Shit. With his Dowser. His former Dowser, but still.
Zach watched the ease with which Anna accepted his caress, and the affection between the two. Was it possible that somehow this fire-fighting Nephilim balanced out Anna’s water abilities? Wasn’t Sam always harping about yin and yang and complementary powers to Zach and Uri?
Duane straightened and nodded. “Shasa.”
She smiled at Duane with unreserved happiness. “Hey.”
Duane jerked when he noted Zach standing by a mantel cluttered with pictures of Shasa and her mother, and her mother and this Nephilim. He strode to Zach.
“Duane.” He thrust out his hand and Zach automatically extended his, introducing himself, waiting to see if Duane was aware of his Archangel status. But the man merely shook his hand and then backed away.
“Duane is a hot shot,” Anna said proudly.
“Captain now.” His voice was gruff and his big hands gnarled and covered in nicks and cuts. “I supervise.”
Zach wanted to know what Duane was doing with Anna. Was he in league with the Grigori? Could he know about the plot to unleash tsunamis on the unsuspecting human population? Was he there to somehow hurt Shasa or Anna?
Zach was the Archangel of Forgiveness. He was supposed to have compassion and tolerance for all humans. But if Duane had put Shasa in danger, Zach would destroy him.
What he said was, “Nice to meet you.”
An uncomfortable silence had descended over the room.
Shasa must have sensed his sudden tension. “Welp. It’s been real. But now that you’re here, we’ll take off.” She grabbed Zach’s hand.
The connection was instantaneous and surreal. A bolt of lust shot straight to his groin. Her surprised gaze darted to his. She felt it too.
“We’ll see you later.” Zach nodded at Duane and Anna. They said a quick goodbye and went out the front door.
The evidence of a Nephilim man in Anna’s life was not a good sign. He had to wonder how many human Angels had contact with Nephilim. More and more it seemed. It was illogical to think all Nephilim were evil. Luci was a perfect example.
Duane was a firefighter. Was it possible that the Nephilim retained powers from their angelic ancestors? Did Anna know she was living with a Nephilim? A look of fear had crossed her face when she’d introduced them. And Duane had subtly protected Anna. He had his answer. They were both aware.
Zach wanted to attack, but that was against the rules. Wasn’t he the one who argued for learning more about the Nephilim? He needed more reconnaissance before he sicced the Angelic Realm on the Nephilim man and went apocalyptic on his ass.
“How did they meet?”
“I don’t know.”
Zach huffed out a breath. That wasn’t helpful.
Shasa stopped dead. “You really want to know about my mother and her boyfriend?” she asked incredulously.
“Would I have asked if I didn’t?” He tried to keep his tone mild.
“I take it in your spare time you’re a matchmaker.” Shasa slung a hobo bag in a deep forest green over her left shoulder, the bag swung around her hips before settling against her curves.
Zach wheezed out a rough, scratchy sound.
“Did you just laugh?”
No one who knew him would believe it. He hadn’t laughed in centuries. “Of course not.”
“Of course not,” she mimicked. She slid a sideways glance at him. “Archangels have no sense of humor?”
Uri did. Just like that Zach’s internal amusement vanished.
“Not me,” he said arrogantly, ignoring her questioning look at his abrupt change. He couldn’t allow emotion to rule him. The cold, bitter shield that he’d used for the past three hundred years ha
d protected his heart, kept him safe. He needed to pull it around him and hold on tight so that no residual softer emotion could seep in. “Let’s go.”
It was time to focus on the coming war.
The parallels of the current world and the circumstances that led up to the horrific destruction in Port Royal hundreds of years ago were too similar to ignore.
He hated that.
Nine
Jeez, his mood swings were worse than hers. What the hell was she doing?
She’d completely lost her mind. She thought she was with her dream man. The man who’d ruined her for other men.
Even though she’d had interest from men, had boyfriends, even had two long term relationships, they’d always been lacking. Now she realized it was because she had subconsciously compared every man she’d dated to the man in her dreams. How fucked up was that?
Very. She knew it and still she couldn’t stop.
Oddly enough, the fact remained that she felt better in his presence. Or maybe the rain really had been the catalyst to her feeling better.
Now they stood on the wooden planks of her mother’s front porch. Two rustic Adirondack chairs with cushions in rust, forest green, and ochre yellow flanked a small end table cluttered with fat, partially-burned white candles in various heights. Potted ferns hung at precise intervals from the low-hanging roof.
The rain was a steady downpour. She had the silly urge to run out into the rain and twirl around like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music, head tilted back, tongue out to catch the liquid, as she soaked up the energy-giving fluids.
Zach towered over her. “How did you choose where you live?”
And wasn’t that about the last thing that she’d imagined would come out of his mouth? And yes, she needed to stop thinking about his mouth. A dark shadow of stubble surrounded his full, dark red lips emphasizing their kissability. His mouth could drive lesser women to fantasize.
Typically Shasa didn’t even notice physical characteristics. She was a take it or leave it kind of girl. So what the hell was she doing obsessing about what he could do with that mouth? “What?”
