Black

by Angelina J. Steffort

  “Thanks,” I said and set one foot after the other carefully.

  Together, my friends ushered me to the door and watched with parental care as I ventured out into the traffic flow. I must have convinced them of my recovery because by the time I turned into the next corridor, they were gone and it was Jaden keeping pace with me. A sideways glance at him showed me that he was still wearing the same expression.

  “What’s happening, Jaden?” I asked in a low murmur, but he didn’t answer. The look of anguish he had been wearing smoothed into a guarded mask and then he vanished.

  He didn’t show up for any of our other morning classes and it seemed like an eternity until lunch. Instead of paying attention in class, I spent my time puzzling over why he hadn’t come to my aid. It was so not the Jaden that I knew. But then, did I really know him? Did he feel incapacitated by the presence of the other students? Or was he getting tired of saving me? Did he start to find my pathetic existence ridiculous? I couldn’t blame him if he did.

  When I sat down opposite from Lydia and Greg with my bowl of Thai soup, I spotted Amber and Jaden at the other end of the room. Jaden was looking at her intensely, like he was trying to decipher something. His face was strained.

  Amber looked beautiful as always. I wondered how long it would take before Jaden finally forgot that he had come here to protect me. Maybe what had happened in the morning were the first signs of him changing his mind. I could already see him with Amber, hand in hand, a perfectly happy couple; both extraordinary, both beautiful. Once he recognized this truth, he was going to leave me to my fate.

  I ate my soup in silence and waited for the others to finish.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Greg asked cheerily as we got to our feet and headed for the next class.

  “I’m invited to the Walters’,” Lydia hooted all happy as she beamed at us. “Richard’s parents wanted to have us both over for the weekend.”

  Greg rolled his eyes at me. I warned him off with a meaningful squint. At least one of us was happy. It was great for Lydia that her relationship with Richard was growing into something serious. Ian, Richard’s brother was my sister’s boyfriend. I knew Ian quite well and if Richard was half as sweet to Lydia as Ian was to Sophie, Lydia was one of the luckiest women in the world.

  “And you?” Greg asked me.

  “Nothing special,” I shrugged, “Sophie is leaving for her internship tomorrow,” I quickly explained to them that my sister was going to Indianapolis for a while. “I guess I’ll read a bit, catch up with homework, study, whatever...”

  “You could come over and have lunch with my family on Sunday if you’d like,” Greg offered, with obvious hope in his blue eyes.

  “Uhm—thanks,” I pursed my lips for a second, searching for an excuse, “—but I’m already meeting somebody this Sunday.”

  Greg eyed me suspiciously. “A friend of yours?” His casual tone was completely forced.

  “Almost—” I countered, “—my boss.” This was a lie. And then I realized that maybe this wasn’t too bad an idea. I knew that I needed to talk to Mr. Baker anyway if I wanted to know more about what he knew. Time was rushing by and I needed to learn everything he knew as quickly as possible.

  Greg watched me think and finally shrugged. “Another time then,” he said and led the way through the desks as we reached the classroom.

  I came home from school early. When I opened the door and stepped into the house, Sophie’s things lay strewn across the stairs and living room.

  “Sophie?” I called before I even took off my shoes, tensing for a fight.

  I slowly walked toward the kitchen to look for her. When I was halfway there, I heard her.

  “Up here!” her voice came from her room upstairs.

  I hurried back and up the staircase just to find Sophie in the middle of more clothes, kneeling on the floor next to an open trunk.

  “I honestly don’t know what I should pack and what I shouldn’t,” she said when I poked my head into her room.

  I walked to the corner of the room and started picking up things she had dropped there. When my hands were full, I carried the pile of clothes to her bed and folded them neatly, wordless.

  “You don’t need to help,” Sophie commented on my activities.

  I ignored it. It was the last evening together. I wanted to be around for a while, I wanted her to see that I was alright on my own, that she could leave without a guilty conscience nagging her.

  “It’s alright,” I said and handed her the small pile of folded shirts, “I’m glad to help.” I sat down right above the trunk at the end of Sophie’s bed. The trunk was half full.

  “Do you need any of the things from downstairs?” I asked.

  Sophie looked at me for a while. “Are you sure it’s okay that I leave?” Her face was worried and her young features looked old with the burden of taking care of me. I hated to see her like this. It made me feel like she would give up everything for me—if I needed her here.

  “I’ll be fine,” I nudged her shoulder and gave her a reassuring look. “Don’t you always worry about me. You’ve got a life of your own you need to take care of.”

  Sophie straightened up and hugged me quickly. “I’m gonna miss you, little sister,” she said as she squeezed me for a moment. “Just promise me that you won’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, will you?”

  I nodded into her shoulder and pulled free of her arms. “Don’t worry,” I repeated, “I’ll be alright. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ve got Ja—” I stopped mid-word and coughed to disguise my mistake, “—Amber,” I corrected quickly, “and Lydia and Greg. They are there for me if I need something.” I searched her face looking for signs that she had taken notice of my error.

  “Of course,” she answered with a smile. It made me relax. “You have a bunch of great people as friends.” She bent back down to her trunk and put the pile of shirts I had handed her on top of the other things in there before she looked up again. “Tell them I said they should take good care of you while I’m away.” She smiled at me and winked and I nodded at her, not at all intending to forward her request to anybody.

  Coffee

  The alarm clock rang aggressively on the bedside table.

  “Shut up,” I groaned from somewhere between the pillows and curled more deeply into the blanket; but the noise didn’t stop. So I reluctantly unfolded myself out of the pillows and killed the alarm with one hand.

  It was Sunday morning. Sophie had left for her internship in Indianapolis the night before with Ian and I was alone in our house. Sophie was going to be gone for twelve weeks—if nobody died this time.

  To be honest, I was glad that I had the house to myself. I needed the time and the space to do some research.

  As I had told Jaden, Jenna and Chris, I was determined to help find out what I could about demons until I found something that would help us fight them. Naturally, Jaden had tried to talk me out of it after I had decided to fight with them. It had been exhausting. He had his points, that knowing too much would make me an even more attractive target to them and that whatever I found out, I would still be human and they would still be supernatural, strong and terrible and dangerous.

  Still—I was the one to choose what I wanted to do with my life, and I was decided. I was going to fight.

  I slid out of bed and got myself cleaned up and dressed at record speed. Today was the first day of my research and I wanted to use it as entirely as possible.

  I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed an apple, tucked it between my teeth while I zipped up my jacket and ate it on my way out of the house. Pale sunlight greeted me from behind the houses. My car was standing in the driveway where I had parked it the day before.

  I hurried through the cold March morning, the apple still between my teeth. I let them sever the flesh of the fruit and chewed while one hand fumbled for the keys in my bag. I slid into the car, put the key in the ignition and continued eating. As I turned the apple to take
another bite, my eyes fell on my wrist. A thin silver bracelet with a small purple stone woven into several layers of shiny silver was wound around it. It was Adam’s birthday present. He had given it to me on my nineteenth birthday and I hadn’t taken it off since the day he had died. It made the memory of him somehow tangible. The purple stone glimmered in the morning sun. It looked so pretty that I couldn’t take my eyes off it for a while, losing track of time, lost in memories. It was only when my cell phone rang, that I could tear my gaze off it.

  A text message from Sophie.

  Hi! Everything is fine here. Call me when you can. Sophie

  I stared at the display for a second and decided to call her later. First I would meet Mr. Baker and do my homework on demonology. I was determined to be of use in the little pact with the Gallagers.

  I finished my apple and turned the key to start for the city. There was a low gurgle and the engine fell silent.

  “Oh, come on,” I said to the car. I turned the key again. Another gurgling noise before the engine fell silent again.

  “Not now, please.”

  The car didn’t respond. Neither to my attempts to start the engine, nor to my pleas. So, I got back out, my bag tucked under my arm, and slammed the door shut behind me. Luckily my destination wasn’t too far, and I started walking down the street.

  The curtains in the windows of the houses I passed were all drawn closed. It was too early on Sunday morning for anyone to bother getting out of bed. I didn’t see many cars on the street before I reached the crossing into the main road five minutes later. It was quarter to ten. I was late.

  When I hurried across the street, I already saw him standing in front of Noel’s, the small coffee shop across the parking lot behind Aurora High School. He looked taller against the sunlight than he actually was. His old back bent a little and his trench coat swung around his knees with every tiny step he was taking, as he walked up and down in front of the window, waiting for me.

  I hurried up even more and half-jogged along the sidewalk toward the old man.

  “So sorry I’m late, Mr. Baker,” I called as I was close enough for him to hear me. I had called him Friday evening and asked him to meet me. Knowing he would get part of my story, he had agreed to meet me to talk today. I had blocked the entire day for him, so we would have time to talk about the details of our knowledge.

  He lifted a hand and dropped it back to his side as if to say it’s alright, never you mind girl, but he didn’t say a word until I stood in front of him.

  “Good morning, Claire,” he said in a rough voice. It sounded like he had a bad cold.

  “Oh my God, Mr. Baker, you sound sick,” I uttered.

  He held a handkerchief in his hand and continued coughing into the checkered fabric.

  “I’m fine, girl, I’m fine,” he reassured me and blew his nose. “Let’s get inside. It’s still winter out here.”

  He shuffled towards the entrance door of Noel’s and pushed it open with his free hand.

  I hurried to help him hold it open while he entered the small shop.

  “Good morning,” a voice greeted us from behind the counter. It wasn’t old Noel like I had expected. A girl my age was standing next to the coffee maker, a glass in one hand, a dishtowel in the other.

  “Good morning,” Mr. Baker croaked at her and walked past the counter towards the window, where he sank into the nearest armchair.

  I followed him quickly, shooting the waitress an uneasy smile for a greeting and sat down at the table, across from the old man. He peeled himself out of his coat with some difficulty.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” I voiced my worries. He looked older than usual, and the way he continued to cough made me start to think there was something seriously wrong with him. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him and asked him to meet me today. If I had known how sick he was—

  “Fine, Claire,” he repeated. “Just get me some tea and I’ll be perfect.” He smiled at me as he spoke. The way his eyes twinkled reminded me of the gleeful expression he had had the last time we had talked; when he had thought I was a angel. What on earth had made him think that I was?

  The waitress came over to get our orders. She reminded me of a younger version of Sophie. She was pretty and her reddish-brown hair danced around her face as she moved towards us.

  “What can I get you?” she asked in a girlish voice. She couldn’t be much older than me.

  “I’ll have tea and could you bring us some of those great chocolate cookies, my dear?” Mr. Baker said kindly.

  The girl grinned and nodded. “Sure,” she said.

  I was positive that she wasn’t used to seeing many old people around here.

  “Hot chocolate for me, please,” I quickly said and turned to Mr. Baker, while the girl turned and moved back toward the counter where she started handling several pots and jars.

  “Thank you for coming today, Mr. Baker,” I said to him with still split thoughts. I didn’t want to keep him out for too long when he was obviously sick, but I needed every bit of what he knew about our enemies, and I needed it fast. That part of my head, the one greedy for information, won over the commiserative one and I felt the first questions welling up in my throat.

  I bit my tongue hard so I wouldn’t drown him in questions right away. I had also promised to tell him what I knew and how I happened to know so much about angels and demons; I had to save some room for his questions, too.

  My eyes crossed the room while I was thinking of a proper way to ask him if he knew how to help an angel get back his wings. We weren’t the only customers in the cafe. At a bigger table, across the room, three women and a boy of maybe two years were sipping hot chocolate and coffee. The boy was playing with his spoon noisily. He looked perfectly happy, the way he smiled at me with his perfect rosy lips as he splattered his chocolate all over the table. It was the smile of a child that had nothing to fear, that was wanted and loved—not alone.

  I noticed Mr. Baker watching me when I turned back to him.

  “Perfectly happy, isn’t he?” the old man asked, obviously not expecting an answer. “When was the last time we could feel that safe?” The tone he used made me think he didn’t want an answer to that one either; and his eyes made me think that it had been a long, long time for him.

  I shuddered as I thought of the reason why we were sitting here; not a fancy Sunday morning coffee, but more serious matters; things we had to talk through to size up our chance of surviving; and Mr. Baker had no idea how very real this was for me.

  “So, how come a young woman like you asks an old man out for coffee on a pretty Sunday morning like this?” Mr. Baker asked, his eyes twinkling at me, intrigued by the topic he was looking forward to discussing.

  When I had called him, I told him it was important that I talked to him; somewhere the supernatural wouldn’t expect us to be. I had been surprised that he had accepted my idea to meet at Noel’s little coffee shop.

  “I haven’t been here in a while,” Mr. Baker said. “Nothing has changed.”

  He watched the waitress set two cups down on the table between us. I waited until she vanished back behind the counter and then leaned forward.

  Mr. Baker mirrored my movement. He took a sip of tea, coughed once as he inhaled the seaming air above the hot liquid, and set the cup back on the table.

  I watched him for a minute as he warmed his hands on the warm surface of the cup before I decided that it was best to come straight out with what I needed.

  “Mr. Baker,” I started, “what do you know about angels that have lost their powers?”

  My words hung in the air between us, their meaning hidden to the rest of the room by the sound of the child’s spoon hitting the china of the cup over and over again.

  Mr. Baker looked at me with wise eyes for a moment before he opened his mouth to answer.

  “I’ve read many pages and I’ve heard many stories about why they lose their wings,” he said.

  I leaned closer so I
wouldn’t miss a word.

  “All of them begin with a demon murdering their mark.”

  The air in my lungs froze solid. The openness of the way he spoke took me by surprise.

  “It’s sort of a depression, I think. The angel becomes unable to use its powers because it cannot feel the connection to the marked person anymore... like they lose the connection to a part of themselves...”

  His words made me think for a moment. Did that mean Chris would never get his abilities back—his wings and his powers?

  “That’s also why they try to use the marked people to apply pressure to gain control over the related angel,” he continued when I didn’t speak. “Angels would do anything to protect their marks from the shadows of the dark—” he looked into his tea, “—even leave them forever... or so I’ve heard.”

  I swallowed down the frozen air in one aching gulp and inhaled greedily. All the pain I had so willingly fought over the last days took control of me; the way Adam had left me a few months ago—to protect me, as he had said. It had felt like he had tortured me purposely. I felt hot liquid searching its way out of my eyes and closed them briefly to hide my moment of weakness.

  This first time hadn’t been the worst, I thought to myself. The worst, the unbearable, had been the second time. The time he hadn’t left me on purpose. The time he had been murdered in front of my eyes and fallen off the edge of a roof, out of my sight and out of my life—forever.

  Frank Sinatra’s voice kept my inner torment at bay. It sang a tune too happy for my mood, too happy for my life.

  “I’ve always known that the time might come for me to get involved into this never-ending story between good and bad,” Mr. Baker said into the oddity of the bizarre discrepancy between my mood and the melody which was tootling perpetually in the background. I looked at the child. He had stopped hitting the cup and settled down to sip what of the content was left.

  “But I’ve stopped believing that it would really happen. It’s so exciting to meet another believer...” Mr. Baker finished his sentence. He looked far less sick when his eyes were all lit up like that. It was like he was in tune with the music. Happy that all the mysterious stories, all the things he had heard and dreamed of, had finally come to life for him.