A Terrible Fall of Angels

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “You really need to get them life jackets, Doris,” I said as I handed the puppy to her.

  “I got them, they have little handles on them and everything. They’re supposed to be napping, not out by the pool, and thank you for getting Charlie out of the pool when he fell in last week.”

  “I’m happy to help, and thank you for letting Connery play with them.”

  “Pugs love kids, and he helped tire these little maniacs out,” she said, laughing as Donald tried to lick her face.

  Jamie offered her the other puppy, and she tucked one under each arm. “Thank you both for catching the little hooligans.”

  “Our pleasure,” Jamie said, and seemed to mean it.

  One puppy started barking. “Charlie, stop that.” He didn’t stop and now it was a duo of puppy barks. “Don’t you start, Donald.”

  “I’m going to take Jam . . . Levi upstairs for some food. We’ll see you later.”

  “Have him make you some of that veggie pasta with the white sauce, it’s delicious,” she said as she turned with the wriggling puppies.

  “I don’t have the ingredients for that right now, Doris, maybe next time he visits.”

  “Invite me next time you make it,” she called back as she used her foot to close the door, and the sound of excited barking grew a little dimmer.

  “That was great,” Jamie said.

  I almost said, But you’re scared of dogs, but I didn’t, because his face was shining with joy, almost like the way Connery’s did after he’d played with the dogs. It was like Jamie was reborn, childlike and happy, like the last thirteen years had been washed away. I said another quick prayer of gratitude and led him toward the only stairs leading up. My apartment was at the top of the stairs; just turn slightly to the right.

  It was the smallest apartment in the building, tucked away on the top floor, but there was a picture window that went from almost ceiling to floor so the living room got a lot of light, and a second smaller window on the other side of the door made the two-seater kitchen table cheerful. The sunlight hit the pool below and bounced even more light up to us, so that it was almost never dark or gloomy. As a cop, I wasn’t happy with the big window right by the front door, but as a person who’d just been kicked out of his home, I’d needed the light. The other apartments I could afford had been like dark holes. Neither my depression or my son would have done well there. Connery liked sitting at the table eating breakfast and watching the water shadows bounce along the roof overhang just outside the kitchen window. There were days when his happiness was everything to me.

  “You always could do that,” Jamie said.

  I turned from the table and realized that I’d totally lost track of things for a second. Jamie seemed okay, better than okay, but bringing a potentially unstable person into my apartment and then zoning out was not a good idea.

  “Do what?” I asked, and tried not to frown or act upset. Jamie could be sensitive to moods.

  “Smile and have it look happy and sad at the same time.”

  “So, I’ve always been a gloomy overthinker, even at seven?” I asked with a smile.

  He grinned. “Maybe not gloomy, but you’ve always been serious and an overthinker.”

  “Hey, I kept us out of trouble more than once, because I thought things through.” I took off my suit jacket and put it on the back of the kitchen chair.

  “I didn’t think you followed sports, Havoc.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He motioned at the shirt.

  I looked down and realized I was wearing a Broncos shirt I’d borrowed from Charleston after my last clean shirt had been cut off me.

  “I forgot I borrowed a shirt from my lieutenant.”

  “Why’d you need the shirt?”

  “It’s long story and I’d rather hear your story while I fix us dinner.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Paninis.”

  “What kind of hot sandwiches?” he asked.

  “Roast beef, three kinds of cheese, and a choice of dill or sweet bread-and-butter pickles. I’ve got mayonnaise, dijonnaise, and stone-ground mustard.”

  “What’s dijonnaise?” he asked.

  “A mix of mayonnaise and mustard in one bottle.”

  He made a face. “No, I don’t want that.”

  “Hey, my kid loves the stuff.”

  “What toddler doesn’t like mayonnaise and ketchup?”

  “He’s three, so don’t call him a toddler to his face. He’s a big boy now.”

  Jamie smiled. “I still can’t believe you have a child, that any of us have a child.”

  I knew he meant Surrie, him, and me. “Yeah, Suriel was surprised, too.”

  “You’ve seen Surrie? Where? When?”

  I mentally cursed myself for just blurting it out. “Tell me how you got better, and I’ll tell you how I ran into Surrie.”

  His face crumpled and I watched an echo of the crazy Jamie in his eyes. “Suriel came to give us her expertise on a demon-related case today, that’s all.” It wasn’t all, but I wanted to chase away that shadow in his eyes. I’d fill in the blanks after I got him talking about something else.

  “So she stayed an Infernalist,” he said, face serious and sad, and his eyes still not good.

  “Yes.”

  “How was she?”

  “She’s third in line of all the Infernalists.”

  “I knew she’d do well at whatever she chose.” It was almost an echo of what I’d thought, but he didn’t look happy about it. He looked sad, worse.

  I thought about telling him that I’d see Harshiel and Turmiel, too, but he’d never been friends with them, and his eyes still didn’t look right. I wanted him well more than I wanted to talk about anyone at the College. I got the cheese out of the fridge, slicing some samples off the three kinds of cheese I had. I handed him a taste of muenster. He took it without thinking about it and ate it the same way. The moment he tasted it his eyes cleared. I’d noticed over the years that sometimes food could bring him back out of whatever trap his mind had become. It never brought him back completely; Gordon Ramsay couldn’t have fixed a meal that would have cured him, but food helped, especially if he hadn’t been eating enough.

  “That’s good, muenster, right.”

  “Yeah,” I said and handed him a piece of the Old Croc cheddar, though it wouldn’t melt well enough for a panini.

  “Okay, that’s amazing, what is it?”

  “Old Croc cheddar, it doesn’t melt well, but I can cut some with crackers for us to snack on while I cook the sandwiches.”

  “Yes, please,” he said, and he looked happy again. His eyes were clearing of that shadow. He was better, so much better, but the broken bits were still inside him. I guess we never really get rid of the broken pieces; we heal, but the scar tissue stays to remind us of what happened.

  I put the cheese and crackers on a small plate. They were supposed to be salad plates, but I’d never seen anyone serve salads on them; desserts yes, salads no. Reggie had explained to me that the tiniest plates in our wedding china were supposed to be the dessert plates.

  “You look sad, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Did you know this is supposed to be a salad plate?” I said.

  He looked down at the cheese and crackers, which were half gone. I almost told him that he was going to ruin his dinner as if he were Connery. Instead I reached for a cracker and a chunk of cheese, before he finished them all. If we shared, then neither of us would ruin our dinners.

  “I thought it was for desserts.”

  “Me, too, but according to my wife they’re salad plates and the really tiny plates are the dessert plates.”

  “You thought about Regina, that’s why you looked sad,” Jamie said. His dark eyes studied my face as if they could see inside my head to every thought, which had been true once, before he lost the gift along with his mind. He’d tested so high on the Methodius scale that teachers had compared him to Bachiel, who staye
d in his high tower and listened to thoughts of the human world. It was a rare gift to be able to see angels and read human thoughts.

  “Did you hear me thinking?” I asked.

  “No, I am thankfully alone inside my head. It is so quiet, so peaceful inside me right now. Blessedly so.” He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh of contentment.

  “I’m glad,” I said, and meant it, but I had so many more questions that I wanted answered; I was just afraid that too many questions would undo the peace inside him.

  “Is that supposed to be smoking?” he asked, pointing back at the stove.

  “Crap!” I grabbed the pan off the heat and flipped the sandwich over. The bread wasn’t black, but it wasn’t the light golden brown I’d been aiming at either.

  “I guess this one is mine,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I’m the cook and I burned it.”

  “I’m not sure I follow your reasoning, but okay.” He took another piece of cheddar, broke it in half and put it on a cracker.

  I put a second sandwich together and lowered the heat before I put it back on the flame. I watched this one more carefully, turning it over when the bread was a golden brown and not burned. By the time I had it finished, the Old Croc cheddar was gone, the plate empty except for two lonely crackers. I’d have offered him more cheese, but the sandwich was done. I plated it and set it down in front of him, trying not to grin as he said, “Smells great, Z.”

  I did grin then, because it had been his nickname for me since we were small. Suriel had never liked it, said it wasn’t dignified. She’d always cared more about stuff like that even at eleven.

  “Thanks, Lev,” I said, using his old nickname.

  He shook his head. “Levi is short enough, Z, maybe someday I’ll earn the other name back, but let’s not jump the gun.”

  “Okay . . . Levi.”

  He gave me a truly dazzling smile as if I’d done something a lot more special than use his new name. His teeth flashed white and I realized he’d cleaned up everything. It wasn’t that he was dirty exactly, but there just weren’t a lot of places to do a lot of personal hygiene when you were homeless. Especially when you wouldn’t stay in a shelter for long. He had said that the voices in his head were louder indoors, or he was closer to God outside. Either way, I’d stopped trying to help him get a bed in some of the better shelters, and halfway houses were out because he wouldn’t stay on the meds that the newest doctor had prescribed. I wanted to ask if he was on meds now, but it wasn’t a safe question. If he was on meds that worked, I didn’t want to do anything to make him question them.

  I put my sandwich on another plate and sat down at the table with him. Sunlight spilled a warm yellow rectangle across the table as we ate. We didn’t talk, but it wasn’t awkward, it felt peaceful. We ate in companionable silence. I normally liked the sandwich, but today it could have been almost anything, and I still would have enjoyed it, because Jamie was there, really there. Not just the shell of his body, but his eyes were lit up, alive and full of humor and joy, and he was enjoying the food in front of him.

  I was hungering for the sight of him sitting happily beside me more than any food. How did I ask the questions I wanted to ask without risking raising the shadows inside him?

  “I’d forgotten that food could taste like this.”

  “Thanks, but it’s just a hot sandwich.”

  “It’s not the sandwich, though that was good. It’s like I can taste food again. I can see color and light. It’s like I was trapped in the valley of death and everything was gray and dark. Now I’m out and it’s so much better.”

  “How did you get out?” I asked; because he’d brought it up, it seemed safer.

  His smile wilted a little around the edges, and the shadows in his brown eyes were there for a second like a flinching, but then he took a deep breath and shook himself like a dog coming out of water.

  “Can I have some tea, while I try to explain it all?”

  “What kind of tea?” I asked.

  “Hot, sweet, like I liked it before.”

  I got up smiling and went to the cabinet in the narrow galley kitchen. I got to turn around with a box of Bigelow’s Chinese Fortune Oolong. I’d kept a box of it and made sure it was a fresh box, just in case. I’d kept it the way you’d keep your friend’s favorite whiskey waiting for that one last drink together. We hadn’t been allowed strong drink in the College, though we’d both made up for it once we left. I’d never stayed drunk the way that Jamie had, and I’d never done drugs, but I’d tried most of the things the College of Angels had forbidden us. Teenage rebellion, just done a decade late.

  “Real cream, sugar in the raw, right?”

  He gave me a big smile. “You remembered.”

  “You don’t forget how your best friend likes his tea.”

  “I’ve spent so many years drinking and popping and injecting anything, everything, but I could never drink coffee. Even as lost as I was, that still tasted bitter to me.”

  “But tea didn’t taste good?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing tasted good, but things could taste bad.” Again, there was that shadow across his face.

  I put on hot water in a rapid-boil kettle that I’d gotten so I could do tea before I went to work. “I drink coffee at work mostly.”

  “Yuck,” he said.

  “Yuck? I’ve seen you drink liquor, cheap shit that I wouldn’t clean my gun with, and coffee is yuck.”

  “Weird, huh?”

  “Yeah, a little. So how did you get back to this, to you, to here?” I asked.

  He looked down at his hands spread flat on the table in the sunlight. His hands were clean, but they were also the most tanned part of him, because he’d never worn gloves on the street, but he had covered most of the rest of him. I’d come to hate the old trench coat he’d worn over everything else. Not just because it was stained and smelled bad, but because he huddled in it like a security blanket, and because it reminded me of the wings of angels the way it would flap and billow around him when he was walking fast down the street. It was like a double slap in the face, the loss of him and the loss of being with the angels. Wings weren’t necessary for an angel to translocate; nothing was, they could vanish in the blink of an eye. They could travel back to God, or wherever he wanted to send them, instantly. Yet most angels appeared as human forms with large, sweeping wings big enough to carry a human body upward like an eagle, because humans expected them to have wings. We expected them to be beautiful and to have wings. Only two things weren’t humans projecting onto the angelic: halos of light, where the true forms of angels licked out around the edges, and height. Angels were tall; six feet was short for them. It was as if you couldn’t shrink all that power down enough to be short. There were exceptions, there are always exceptions, but most angels couldn’t squash themselves down enough to look truly human.

  “You always were good at that,” Jamie said.

  I blinked and looked at him, realizing that I had been thinking more about angels than about the man sitting in my kitchen. “Good at what?” I asked.

  “Silence, you could always be quiet and wait for me to talk.”

  I wondered how many times in the past my “silence” had been me lost in thoughts like now. I pushed the thought away to look at it later and tried to really be present for my friend. I needed to be here and now.

  The timer on the microwave sounded. “Tea’s ready,” I said, and got up to get it.

  He smiled, but he was staring at his hands on the tabletop, so I wasn’t sure if he was smiling at that or at his own inner thoughts. One of the things that had made us friends was that he was almost as introspective as I was. Surrie was cautious, but even she told us, “You think too much, sometimes you just have to do things.”

  “Whatcha thinking about?” I asked, using the phrase that we’d used when the three of us were younger, before everything went wrong.

  “It feels like Suriel should be her
e to say that, and get us talking instead of just brooding,” he said. His smile somehow was sad now.

  I put the tea bags on the spoon rest and said, “She stopped saying it by the time we were fifteen or sixteen.”

  “When we all finalized our specialties,” he said. He was staring at his hands now, smile gone.

  I added sugar to both teas and real cream to his, and set it down in front of him. “Tea just the way you like it,” I said, smiling, hoping for one in return.

  He warmed his hands over the steam like it was a fire and the day had turned cold. The sunlight was still warm; it was Southern California, it wasn’t cold.

  “Talk to me, Jamie, please.” I sat down at the table not across from him, but in the chair facing the window so I could be closer. We weren’t eating now, so elbow room wasn’t an issue.

  “Levi, my name is Levi now.”

  “Okay, Levi, sorry but it’s going to take me a little bit to get used to the new name.”

  “Like it took for you to finally call me Jamie.”

  “You had been Levanael since we were seven. I didn’t even remember your birth name by the time we were nineteen.”

  “Nor I yours.”

  He was somber again, almost sad.

  “You look great, Jam . . . Levi,” I said, trying to sound cheerful and chase the shadows away.

  “I look a lot better than I did two weeks ago.” He took his first sip of tea and closed his eyes as if he was letting it melt on his tongue like it was his favorite candy.

  “What happened two weeks ago?” I asked, my voice soft, tone neutral like I’d learned in interrogations when the victim was potentially fragile.