It was worth a shot.
Holding the pencil like it was chalk, she began to shade. Faint lettering began to shine through. When she was finished, highlighted in the smooth, gray-leaded cloud was a name.
Brandon Cartwright.
“Who?” she asked.
“Finding what you need?”
A squeal escaped Amber’s throat. Cupping a hand over her mouth, she turned around to see who had snuck up on her.
Betty stood behind her, smiling pleasantly. “Did I scare you?”
“You think?”
Amber’s less than subtle reaction made Betty frown. “Remember where you are.” She pointed at a sign on the wall. It read: Do not be unpleasant in the library.
Amber exhaled a deep breath and ran fingers through her hair. A strand fell in her face. Poking her bottom lip out, she blew up a shot of air, to puff the strand back in place.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” said Betty. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.” She eyed the pad Amber had been doctoring. “Interested in Mr. Cartwright, are you?”
“Um–I guess so.” She shrugged. “Who is he?”
“An author from Georgia. He’s written three books, two on demons, and one on…”
“Angels?”
“You guessed it.”
“Do you have that book?”
“Yeah, I believe so.” Betty searched over the stacks of books. Shaking her head, she made a face. “Well, I assumed it would have been here.”
“What?”
“The way that guy wanted any and everything on angels, I thought for sure it would be in the stack.”
“Maybe it’s still on the shelf?”
“It could be. Let’s go check.” Betty darted down the aisle behind them. Before Amber had noticed she was gone, Betty was halfway there. She bolted out of the chair, walking a speedy pace to catch up.
By the time she reached Betty, she was standing halfway down the aisle. With her index finger pointing out, she skimmed over the rows of books.
“Hmmm,” said Betty. “This is odd.”
“What is?”
“It’s not here. I thought it was at one time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure, but not certain.”
The shelves ahead of them were pretty empty. Realizing that most of the stock was sitting back on table nine, Amber asked, “Were all the books in this area on angels?”
“Most of them.” She pointed at the third shelf. “As you can see, a lot of them have to do with afterlife, past lives, and all that other divinity crap.”
Amber snickered. Betty’s lips curved into a slight smirk. “But Brandon Cartwright’s book is not here.”
“That is odd.”
“I agree.”
Amber did not want to admit that David might have stolen the book, but the evidence was all too clear. The name on the pad, the stacks of books, the missing one by Brandon Cartwright, which was the same name David had jotted down on the pad. He had snatched it without Betty’s knowledge. He found the name in one of the other books probably and took it.
But why not just check it out? she wondered.
Perhaps he didn’t want it going on his record. There could be a dozen reasons as to why he’d have done such a thing.
“Unless…” said Betty.
“Unless what?”
“Unless someone put it in the demonology section by mistake.”
“Does that happen?”
“Not often, but we librarians make mistakes too.”
Sure they do. It had happened to Amber while renting movies from the video store. Grabbing a case from behind the empty display box, walking to the front, and having the clerk tell her it was the wrong one. If it can happen there–why not at a library too?
“This way,” said Betty. Amber stayed right on her heels while Betty led her to the back wall and hung a left. In the back corner, as if segregated from the other books, was a small section on the black arts.
Amber’s specialty.
Placing one hand on her side, arching a hip out, Betty searched. It didn’t take her long. “I was right.”
Amber’s heart began to race. “Seriously?”
“Yup, here it is.”
Betty took the hardback book down from the shelf and passed it to Amber. “It’s all yours.”
Amber held the book in front of her, reading the title. The Other Side of Angels, by Brandon Cartwright.
“Wow. Thank you.” Amber said.
“What luck you have.”
“You think so?”
“It’s pretty rare that this happens, but when it does, we usually never find the book. I’d say that’s luck.”
“Maybe someone’s on my side,” said Amber, smiling.
“I think you were meant to have this book.”
Amber felt chills run down her neck and stop halfway down her back. As absurd as it had sounded, Amber believed Betty might be right.
“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to check out.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Walking away, Betty said over her shoulder, “My pleasure.”
I was meant to have this book, she realized. David wanted it, but he didn’t think to check in this other section. His mistake was my gain. What are the odds?
Somehow, Amber knew the book would lead her to some answers. Maybe not all of them, but she would know more than she had previously. Which was always a plus.
David sat in his car, disappointed. Natasha had led him here on a quest to find the book, to find out more about him. David didn’t know the whys or hows, but he was certain that Brandon Cartwright was linked to him.
If he was not already, he would be soon.
Shortly after he’d discovered Amber had left, he got the urge to go to the library. He’d suspected he might find her there. Something way down inside of him, in his gut, told him she would be there. But he’d been wrong about that too. When he found Brandon’s name as a reference in the book Angels: A Guide to the Good and Bad of Heaven’s Creatures, he was certain he’d learn from Cartwright’s book why something had been chewing at him ever since Amber had left.
The library’s computer said the book was in stock, and gave him an item location. After searching for several minutes, he’d found nothing. Finally, he’d given up and left empty handed.
He was really confused now, even more than when he’d entered the library.
“Who the hell is Brandon Cartwright?” he muttered.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Knowing Sam was probably starting to get worried, Amber bummed a ride home to get some clothes. Using the spare key she kept hidden under a rock in the flowerbed, she let herself into her house. She was thankful she’d started keeping a spare key there. Too many urgent phone calls to the landlord to let her in had caused an uneasiness between her and Amber. Leslie was nice enough to deal with, but she lived fifteen miles away, so it was not quite a short trip to make when Amber would be buzzing from beer and lose her keys.
One time was too many, and Amber was at number eight.
Once she was inside, she locked the door. Then, for safe measure, she pushed a chair under the door and tilted it, securing the back of the chair under the doorknob. She didn’t feel as if she were in any kind of danger, but it helped alleviate her jumbled nerves.
Book under her arm, she walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. Then she marched to the living room, lit the gas logs in the fireplace, and sat on the couch. The fire crackled and popped as if it were really burning wood. The faint, metallic scent of gas thickened the air. She wanted to read a few pages before calling Sam to come pick her up. Flipping the book over, she again examined the picture of the author on the back.
He was not what she had imagined. She’d pictured Brandon Cartwright as a man in his late fifties, overweight, with white hair and a bushy beard to match. Instead, he actually app
eared to be in his early thirties, well groomed, short brown hair, and dressed casually.
Kind of cute.
She wondered what his reaction would be if he knew how much she was depending on his help. Guidance. To make sense of this awful situation consuming her family.
She turned the book back to the front cover, opened it, and scanned the table of contents for anything interesting. It was a lengthy book. And being the slow reader she was, it would take nearly a week to read all four hundred pages.
She needed to find the helpful parts right away.
All of the chapter headings looked intriguing. No doubt every bit of it was useful in some capacity. Chapter four beckoned to be skimmed through first. Angels that love. Maybe something in there could tell her what kind of love, and if it had consequences.
She found the chapter and placed her index finger on the page. Using it to coast over the words, she figured something would catch her eye, something that would be helpful right away.
She found one word almost immediately. “Jealousy.”
The word reached out from the page and jerked her finger to a halt.
She read. …experience jealousy. As with any loving relationship there will be good times and bad. In some cases, just as in human couples, you may be able to talk things out with your angel using either an angel board, or if you are one of the unlucky ones, you can have this lover’s spat face to face. If you are able to do that, then it may be too late for either one of you. An angel was said to have been created by God to protect and care for the human race that He loved so much. If you believe the Bible, He sacrificed His only son, by blood, to save us.
Legends have it that a flock of angels led by Lucifer grew to be envious of the special treatment we as humans were given. As soon as we were created and given life and a soul, we began to ruin everything God had provided us. He’d given us humans free will, the right to decide for ourselves, never thanking Him, or taking into consideration the love He must have for us. Lucifer tried to convince God we should be nothing more than slaves, doing their bidding, and bearing their children, or being their sex puppets. For such evil ideas, God punished all angels by removing their sexual desires and organs. Lucifer and a small army of renegade angels revolted. A massive war in heaven that slaughtered many of God’s angels was being fought over our heads for centuries, and none of us knew a thing about it.
Lucifer fell to the earth by the hands of God. As a reward to the loyal angels that fought by his side, He removed all of their desires and feelings except for love and devotion…
Amber skipped ahead.
Being unable to trust their own creator, angels often have a hard time trusting you. Jealousy can make them outright mean. There have been cases reported to the churches (which are kept heavily private due to the backlash the religious community would receive if they were to be made public) that angels, especially Guardian Angels, can be possessive, jealous, and violent.
Violent.
“Shit,” muttered Amber.
Guardian angels, provided to each of us individually by God as invisible protectors, have, at times, acted out in violent ways against people who have wronged the person whom they protect. It’s not uncommon, but very unlikely. In other instances, guardians became so obsessed with their human that they adopted parental instinct, and forcefully kept them on a path to what they felt was appropriate for the human–ignoring God’s plan.
Amber raised her head. The words felt like heavy rocks inside her mind.
He was having sex with her, she thought. How is that possible if angels were stripped of their sexual organs and desires?
Amber turned to the back of the book, flipped through the end pages until she came across the “About the Author” paragraph. Reading his list of academic achievements, she found he resided in Macon, Georgia. Not too far of a drive from North Carolina.
Six or seven hours at the most.
Reading on, she found something even better. At the bottom of the page was a phone number.
No way. This can’t be real. Would he actually put his real number in the book?
All ten digits gawked back at her.
Has to be an automated hotline, or maybe his agent.
Taking the book with her, she walked to the end table. A corded phone sat on top. Amber had had it installed in case of an emergency. Her cell phone being unaccounted for at the present moment made this one of those cases.
She dialed.
At the end of the first ring a male voice answered. He sounded pleasant, intelligent, and willing to help. “Hello, this Brandon Cartwright–”
“Hi, my name’s Amber Barker, and I–”
“Sorry I couldn’t be available to take your call. I’m either on another line, or away from my desk. Please, by all means, be sure to leave a detailed message, and a number where I can reach you.”
Damn it.
“And I’ll call you at the earliest and most convenient time. Thank you.”
Beep.
Amber briefly hesitated. Should she leave a message? What should she say? She hadn’t expected the number to be active. But it was actually a direct line to the cute guy on the back of the book. The one with the knowledge. She felt as nervous as a teenage girl daring to call up the all-star quarterback.
“Uh–hi, my name’s Amber Barker. I don’t really know what to say here, but I think my brother has become mixed up in some crazy shit. I saw…something that I can’t explain. You see, he’d gotten an angel board from our mother for Christmas and… It’s complicated. Just give me a call back, I really don’t know why I called to begin with. I guess I’m really desperate for help. I’ve been having these dreams, and my brother is all fucked up now…” She quit unloading the story to his machine and gave her home and cell phone number twice for clarity.
Then she hung up. A rush of heat charged through her. Humiliated by the call, she rued having made it at all. He would certainly call back. It was his job. He’d made a career out of studying and researching these kinds of things, but what if she was wrong? What if he called back in a couple of days and David was fine? Cartwright would definitely want to check out the situation regardless.
Amber decided she would worry about that when or if that time came. He might never call at all. And if not—and in the meantime—what was she going to do? At least there was some kind of hope now, the possibility of having one more person on her side—one who seemed to know his stuff. She felt a little bit of relief the more she thought about it.
He’d call, she was certain of that.
Something fell upstairs. She heard it land on the floor above her with a thump.
Checking the time, Sam confirmed that Amber was late. Thirty minutes, to be exact. She’d been waiting for the phone call informing her to come pick her up, but it hadn’t come yet. Normally, she wouldn’t think anything of it. Amber being late was common. Frequent. But since she was so desperate for Sam’s help, Amber having lost track of time seemed unlikely.
Sam didn’t want to be left alone in the apartment. She’d grown comfortable with Amber’s company, but she’d chosen to stay behind doing some grunt work while waiting for John Stiltson to come by. But he never did. Passing the time, she explored any and every website or blog she could find online for any information that might be useful to them. She glanced at the four hundred plus pages she’d printed and was pretty confident that something in that pile could do them some good. But she also doubted she’d come up with anything that Amber probably didn’t already know herself.
Something was wrong. Amber was in trouble.
Don’t jump the gun just yet; maybe she’s just late because of nothing in particular. Traffic, car trouble. And she didn’t have her cell phone. That was another fact that worried Sam. She had no way of contacting Amber or vice versa until she got back to her house. If something was wrong, Sam would have no way of knowing. Amber would not be able to phone for help.
The angel mig
ht have gotten her.
Don’t think shit like that!
Earlier, Amber had unloaded a story on her that had sounded as if it could be the plot of a Clive Barker novel from the eighties. Sexual lust, dark angels, and deadly desires. She’d told her about the dreams, the three figures, and the warning carved in blood. Amber had lifted her shirt to show Sam where the message was, but Sam saw no signs of anything having been done.
Sam wanted to believe that what Amber had claimed to have seen was only an illusion. Amber had been distressed because of David–much like Sam–but instead of having the dreams like she was having, Amber had whipped up something completely different in her mind.
Bullshit, Sam thought. Amber was more frightened than I’ve ever seen her before. Something happened last night. It scared her enough that she came to me.
And I let her go today, alone.
Where was she now?
Sam feared that when things finally made perfect sense, it would be too late.
She got off the couch and grabbed her shoes. She decided to ride over to Amber’s house and wait for her. It wasn’t far. She finished tying her shoes, stood up, and grabbed her jacket off the coat rack. After zipping it up tight, she also grabbed a hat with earflaps. It was freezing outside, plus with all the fear she had allowed to build up, she needed all the warmth she could get.
Standing on the stairs, Amber listened. Another noise came from down the hall.
Her bedroom.
Her heart pounded against her chest so hard it felt as if it could burst through. She couldn’t swallow. Her throat had tightened. She walked ahead on weak legs.
At the door to her bedroom, she placed her ear against it and listened. It was quiet on the other side. Gripping the knob, she was nearly too terrified to turn it. Building up some courage, she turned the knob. Gently. Avoiding making a sound.
She opened the door.
Amber stepped inside, keeping half her body shielded behind the door, and poked her head around to look. The room looked empty. She scanned the floor and spotted a frame lying face down. Slivers of glass were scattered around it. Tarot cards had been sprinkled across the floor. The wooden case lay broken near the bed. It was her angel deck, one she’d never used, but loved because of the gorgeous paintings on the cards. It seemed appropriate that those were the ones scattered all over the floor. Maybe something was in them that someone didn’t like.
Angel Board Page 16
