Angelfire

by Deryn Pittar

He shook his head. “A firearm isn’t the normal way to refuse a dinner-date. Plus, you look as if you’re about to cry. You look frightened. I might be able to help.”

  Her brittle shell of independence crumbled under his concerned gaze. “Would you really help me? It could be life threatening.”

  “I’m sort of used to that. Who’s in danger you or me?”

  She sat on a cushion and ran her hands through her hair and rubbed her face. A breath shook her shoulders. “Both of us if you stay. But only me, if you go.”

  “Sounds like a situation that keeps repeating itself in my line of work. If you feel you can trust me, I’m prepared to help.”

  Doubt sent a chill through her. Two would be better than one to fight them off. Sebastian might bring several friends. Lewis might laugh at her story and leave. What did she have to lose? Only her virginity and her freedom. The decision made she held up a wine glass.

  “I’m going to tell you the truth, but you may not believe me,” she said.

  He twisted off the top of the bottle and filled it smiling. His crooked smile charmed her. He filled her glass and placed the bottle on the floor by her feet.

  “There is another glass in the kitchen,” she said.

  “Good,” said Lewis. “I can drink as I listen.”

  She took a sip and swallowed and waited for him to come back with another glass. The first flush of warmth slid down her throat, easing her chest and loosening her tongue-tied state.

  Emma watched as he poured some wine for himself, then settled on her sofa. “You may not believe it but although I look human, I’m actually an angel.” She waited but he seemed to accept this fact. “I am expecting company tonight; really bad company. And I had intended to be alone for the whole night, except for the unwelcome company of course.”

  He looked up at her. His gray eyes held her gaze. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shook her head. “I’m totally serious.” She pointed to the gun.

  He leaned back, mouth open in mock horror. “I guess that these visitors are not on your list of favourite people.” He took a drink. “Sure, you don’t want me to go?”

  “Only if you want to go after I tell you what’s about to happen.”

  “When I came over the house was so dark, I wondered if you were out trick or treating or something with the neighbour’s kids. I was prepared to sit on your porch and wait for you to come home, if necessary. Somehow, I had this feeling that you might need company. Now, tell me,” he gestured at the circle. “What’s all this about?”

  “Please promise not to interrupt because I may lose my courage.” Could she speak over the pounding in her chest? Uncharted territory for her to unload her problems to a human.

  He nodded.

  “Firstly Lewis… as I said, I’m an angel. No wings, I know, and I look like an ordinary person, but I was born an angel and have a brother who used to be an angel but turned to the dark arts and is now a fallen angel.”

  “Any wings?” Lewis said, and smiled. If she wanted to act out this fantasy, he was more than happy to oblige.

  She shook her head.

  The band around her heart tightened. He didn’t believe her. He was making fun of her. “Not all angels have wings, only the higher order is gifted them, which is one of the reasons my brother turned bad. He always wanted to fly and considered airplanes a poor substitute.”

  “Planes are a lot warmer. I bet it’s cold out there tonight if he’s flying about.”

  “Lewis, please don’t joke. He is out there somewhere, even if he isn’t flying yet.” She wanted to shout her fear at Lewis; to get him to be serious. He spoke as if this were all a big joke.

  “Sorry, I promise not to interrupt again. Go on.”

  “So…tonight is mischief night and tomorrow night is Halloween. Sebastian has told me I’ve been chosen by Satan. Supposedly, I’m to conceive a child. One of the reasons I’m here in Haven Falls is to avoid this, but he’s found me again.

  Lewis shuddered and clenched his fists. His back stiffened and he pushed his legs out straight. “And your brother thinks you will accept this?”

  She nodded.

  “Despite you saying ‘no’ you think he will take you by force?”

  Yes.” She hurried on, “He’ll have supporters with him. I can’t imagine him trying to take me on his own. I decided I would either kill them or be killed.”

  “Shit,” said Lewis, “I need another drink.”

  Emma watched him, hoping he was starting to believe her. “When you rang the doorbell, I wondered if you were him at the door, which is why I didn’t open it at first. I was about to light the fire to keep him out of the chimney. He’s now able to materialize from wisps of cloud. His bad deeds are piling up and he gets stronger after each one.”

  “Sounds like a real dick who likes to show off.” Lewis held her hands in his. “What are we going to do about him tonight?”

  “Do you really mean ‘we’? Things could get nasty.” She gripped his arm. “I don’t want you to die, Lewis, not because of me and my weak, selfish brother.” She whispered in his ear. “You have risked your life so often already, fighting overseas.”

  “I’m not leaving and I’m not having you forced into doing something you don’t want to.” He tilted his glass and drank the rest of his wine.

  Outside the aspen tree’s branches scratched against the roof. She started, and her heart pounded. Fear trickled down her spine like a sliver of ice. The room darkened to a cave-like gloom. The knowledge that he wanted to protect her lit a small spark in her despair.

  Lewis put his glass down on the box, picked up the matches and lit the paper. The smoke trailed around the chimney front as if about to circle the room and find an exit, then the fire flared and the smoke rose, disappearing up the chimney. The fire-starters caught, and the twigs blazed. The gloom hurried back to the corners of the lounge and the candles’ reflections flickered in the wall mirror.

  She shivered.

  “Come here, Emma.”

  She slid off the stool.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

  They sat in companionable silence; their gaze hypnotized by the flames.

  At last she stirred herself and reached behind the stool to find a pie. It might help clear her mind.

  Lewis shook his head at the offered food. “I’ll eat later, when I’ve worked up an appetite.”

  Did he grasp the seriousness of their situation? “This isn’t a joke, Lewis. They could come at any time and they could kill you.”

  “Is that gun loaded?” He reached and pulled the rifle from under the blanket.

  “Not yet.”

  “Honey, it’s only good to club them about the head with unless you put some bullets in.” He reached for the butt and loaded the cartridges then laid it down beside them. He stroked the barrel. It looked like an old one. “How long you had this?”

  “It’s been in the family a while,” she said. “We were told it was designed to shoot from varmints up to elephants. I reckoned it would do.”

  He nodded. “Sure will.” He patted the rifle’s butt. “Now we’re in business. Are fallen angels against the second amendment?”

  “Probably; they prefer to gnaw and slice. Knives are fashionable.”

  “Will bullets kill them?”

  “Not unless you shoot a lot of holes in them. They heal very quickly. It’s not the bullet wounds so much as how much blood they lose, that’s what kills them.” Perhaps she should have bought a shotgun. Too late now.

  “So, do they use guns at all?” Lewis said.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I read somewhere in the Angel Journals that guns often jam when evil angels pick them up.”

  “In that case we have an advantage and I won’t let them come close to you with their knives.” He dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Did I tell you I’m in the army?”

  “You did, and I hop
e you’re a crack shot.” She stroked the back of his hand where it rested around her waist. “But fallen angels are trickier than other enemies.”

  “Can’t be,” he said.

  Shifting around on the cushions eased the pain in his legs for only a short while, and his buttocks ached from the hard floor. The earth and mountain ranges he’d been in recently had been more comfortable than this. He’d collected a few bits of resident shrapnel over three tours of duty and tonight they all decided to make their presence known. Time to move.

  He eased his arm from around Emma and stood. “I’m going outside to check around the house. Must be getting old,” he said on hearing one of his knees creak.

  “Don’t be long.” Her voice sounded sleepy and he watched as she stretched out on the bedding.

  “I’ll only be a few minutes.” He bent to ruffle her hair. “I promise.”

  Night wrapped the neighbourhood in a dark blanket. The wind had dropped, and a zephyr rustled the leaves piled here and there around the house and yard. This sort of sound would have set him on edge if he was on guard duty overseas. Not here though, safe at home.

  Across the yard he could see into his mother’s house. She sat in her chair, her back to the window, the blue of the television screen flickering on the wall. The room’s light reflected through the window to bath the picket fence, throwing bars of shadows onto a bright square on Emma’s lawn. He walked the perimeter, much as he would when on duty. All seemed quiet. A cat hissed and fled over the back fence and a dog barked a moment later, probably as it heard the cat pass. He wished he had the hearing ability of animals but wouldn’t want the ears to go with it. He dragged his mind back to the task at hand. Security. Check the fence-line. Look for intruders, cats excluded. A gust of wind picked up the leaves at his feet and swirled them around his legs. The tree-branch grabbed at the roof and the screech pierced his hearing and threw his brain into combat mode.

  He crouched and scuttled sideways until he leaned against the wall of the house. Footsteps could be heard, an echo on floorboards. Where were they, and where was he? He felt for his gun, checking the presence for security. No gun, his hip bare of his M11 pistol. Where had he left it? His heartbeat increased, and he breathed in shallow gulps trying to be silent.

  A figure appeared from the gloom, wrapped in a light fog. The moon, which seemed ridiculously close, lit the figure from behind, a face lost in shadow and shoulders covered in a shawl. Female? Not wearing an abaya but many women had martyred as suicide bombers. The shawl could hide an explosive belt. Panic rose in his throat.

  Chapter 3

  THEN HE REMEMBERED his knife and slid his hand to his ankle where it should have been; small and deadly, tucked in its sheath. Nothing there. His fingers touched his other ankle. Bare also. How could he have ventured into the field without weapons?

  His fingers searched the ground creeping silently among the leaves against the wall. A touch of wood and he wrapped his fingers around a stick. It would have to do. He couldn’t risk making a sound and stayed his hand, muscles tensed, ready to react at lightning speed.

  Now a woman’s voice called his name. “Lewis,” she whispered.

  This was a new trick. Had the enemy taught their women the names of the soldiers? He wouldn’t answer. He’d wait and watch.

  She stepped closer. He now had the option of whipping her head with the weapon to stun her or breaking her neck from behind after she passed. She drew level. He wondered if she could hear his heart.

  “Lewis.” Her voice now louder, laced with desperation. Was his assailant frightened too?

  His mind faltered. Did he know that voice?

  “Lewis.” This time it was a shout, closer than before. A torch switched on. The circle of light flashed back and forth over grass, Grass? Not sand? The beam moved closer, about to reach his hiding place.

  Something switched in his brain, the mist disappeared, and everything became sharply defined. The ‘moon’ was the streetlight. The shrouded figure beside him became a woman he knew.

  “Emma.”

  He stood, stepped out of the shadow and embraced her. Her warmth confirmed she was real and her tears, wet on his hand as he stroked her face, confirmed his worst fears.

  He’d been immersed in a flashback. They’d returned when he thought he’d beaten them, locked them down tight. Worst of all, he could have killed her. The words of his doctor returned to him. ‘I wouldn’t carry a firearm while you’re stateside, Lewis. Could be very dangerous. Not so much for you, but for others.’

  “What were you doing? Hiding there against the house? You frightened me,” She sobbed against him.

  “I heard footsteps and thought it might be your brother.” He bent down, “Look, I’ve found this stick. It might be useful during the night and if it isn’t we can always burn it.”

  “Poor joke, Lewis.” she sniffed. “You said you’d be a few minutes and you’ve been out here for ages. I was worried.” She screwed up the front of his shirt, her fingers scrabbling at his clothing. “I thought you’d changed your mind and left me alone.”

  “What? Gone home to mother?” He gestured next door. “Hardly. Not when I have a beautiful lady to guard for the night.” He hugged her close until her hands calmed and her back softened in his embrace.

  The tree screeched against the roof.

  “Remind me in the morning to cut off that branch,” he said.

  Emma shone the torch upward. “No, it’s one of this year’s branches. That would be like cutting off one of its fingers.” She ran the beam over the tree’s trunk. “I love this tree. I love the shade in the summer, and it talks to me in the winter.”

  “Well, it’s not doing much for me this evening, even if you reckon it’s trying to talk.” He pulled her hand, “Let’s get back inside. I’ll take one of its fingers,” he said, waving the stick in the air, and trying hard to revert their conversation to normality added, “And tomorrow I’ll climb up and tie the new branch to the one above. That will train it away from your roof. I find its conversation quite unsettling.” He could hardly say the sound gave him flashbacks.

  He sighed as the horror of how close he’d come to killing her faded from his mind to lurk among the memories of battles past, dead friends and mutilated bodies.

  Back within the magic circle he re-stoked the fire and they reclined on the pillows, a blanket over both of them. To ease Emma’s shivering he held her tight, wrapped her against his chest and kissed her neck, her ears and finally her mouth. She yielded. Her lips responded, and their tongues met with a brief touch. She tasted of smoky whisky and toffee apples. No other girl had tasted like that.

  He didn’t really believe her story, but did it matter if she were a little crazy? He was. War could do that to you sometimes. He’d been fighting bad dreams and imagined foes for some time. A couple of fallen angels materialising from smoke didn’t seem frightening compared to his personal nightmares.

  When their lips parted and they came up for air, he asked: “Where are your parents? I presume even angels have parents.”

  Her fingers traced the outline of his mouth. “Of course, I have parents.”

  He waited for her to continue and after a stretched silence she did.

  “At present they live in a retirement village in Sante Fe. They have to move about every ten years because their friends age and die and by then they should also be failing. If they stay people get suspicious of their good health – so they sell up, buy another home somewhere warm and secure and start again, making new friends.”

  “What about other angels. Don’t they know them – or are they the only ones on earth?”

  “There are a lot of us about, but everyone is wide-spread. We know a lot of them, but not all. It wouldn’t be good to have us living together in a community. It would become very obvious that we weren’t ageing like everyone else.

  While it seemed fairly sensible, he wondered about the logistics of it all. “What about the IRS? They will want their share of
house and land taxes. I can’t see them paying out social security to angels either.”

  “Do you still doubt me, Lewis?”

  He didn’t answer. Could he honestly say he believed her? Not wanting to offend her he rocked his hand, palm downward, from side to side. “Still a bit unsure.”

  She gave a sigh of exasperation. “This house and all angels’ houses are all owned by a trust, Celestial Securities. You can look it up. It’s registered, pays taxes, and is properly audited, by a human accountant even.”

  “Who has no idea he is dealing with angels?”

  “Correct. We all receive a living wage for doing charity work and making other people’s lives better.” She leaned on her elbow looking down at him. “I can’t be more honest than I am, Lewis. I’m paid a stipend by the trust to do good works and angel-like things. I pay no tax, the trust does that, yet I can live amongst the community unnoticed, doing good. Being an angel is my career path.” She stroked his head, now resting in her lap. “I’m also a healer, which is why I volunteer on the ambulances. I don’t perform miracles per se; I simply ease people’s pain and help them heal where I can.”

  “A handy skill. I’ll remember the next time I trip over.”

  “It’s not a joke, Lewis. It’s my purpose in life.”

  “I apologise.” He sat up, adjusted the pillows and turned to look at her. “I’m seriously listening. Truly.” He fiddled with a strand of her hair, then lifted it over her shoulder so it rested on her breast. “What about your other work? Is that charitable too?”

  “Of course. Working in a goodwill store means I can recognize the antiques and collectables when they come in. I rescue them from the debris of everyday and either we sell them at their current value, or I take them to dealers and get a good price for them. I recognize them because I’ve lived with them, used them and owned pieces over the years.”

  “Can I ask how old you are?”

  “I’d rather not tell you, yet.” She snuggled into his side. ‘I’m so glad you came home, Lewis.”

  “So am I,” Even if he weren’t quite sure who was the craziest – him or her. But, he’d always sensed her goodness, and now he’d watch over her for as long as she thought she needed his protection.