by Brian Fuller
The door slid open, and Aclima walked in biting her lip. Helo stared at her defiantly as she approached and stopped, looking down at him.
“Look, Helo,” she said, hands up. “I know you don’t like it, but—”
“Tell me why?” he asked, standing up so he could look her in the eye. He folded his arms. “You know Cain better than anyone, so you have to know this is a trap. He wants you back. I can feel it. You’re playing right into his hands. So give it to me straight. No clever six-thousand-year-old smart-ass remarks. Why?”
“Because Shujaa’s right,” she said. “No more lives lost on my account. Not one more.”
“Oh, come on, Aclima,” he said, pointing his finger at her chest. “You have got to let your guilt go!”
“No, I don’t!” she retorted, pushing him back down into the chair. “Helo, listen to me now and get this into your thick head. You sit there and say I should move on and let my past go like it’s nothing. Well, it’s not. You act like I’ve spent all my Dread years committing petit theft and jaywalking across main street. It’s worse than that. A lot worse!”
He wasn’t that naive. “I know that.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” she said, countenance darkening as she paused for a moment. “I’ve got blood on my hands, Helo. A lot of it, and that kind of blood doesn’t come off just because I lost my red aura nine months ago. So you want it straight? Well, how’s this?
“I am a murderer. I have killed Ash Angels. I have killed people. And I’m not talking about murdering creeps who deserved it, like that pimp in Nevada. I have started wars, wars to avenge myself on Cain for killing my son, wars that resulted in the deaths of hundreds, many of them innocent.”
“Aclima, stop,” Helo said, a sick feeling creeping into his heart. He didn’t like where this was going.
“No,” she pressed on. “You listen really close to this next part. During my debriefing with the Ash Angel leadership, I explained how Shedim are created. You want to know how it works? Well, you take someone innocent, the more innocent the better. The only thing better than a child is an Attuned. You take this innocent victim and you cut them open, careful to keep their heart beating, then you reach in and stop the heart with your hand, pouring the Vexus you’ve collected into it. Slowly, the terrified victim’s body dissolves into a black, nebulous cloud and then re-forms in the image of its victim, a soulless shell of evil. I did that, Helo.”
“Stop,” Helo said. He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to face it.
“Do you know how I chose my victim? Jumelia and Cain had a daughter before they were made into Dreads. Her name was Ueya, my niece. They loved her, and I took her from them out of revenge. I killed her to make a Sheid. I did it while she begged me not to. It’s been millennia, Helo, and I can still see her face. I still hear her screaming, ‘Why, Aclima, why?’ in my ears.”
Aclima’s voice quavered, a tear sliding down her face. Shocked to the core, Helo had nothing to say. How could someone who had done something so horrible ever become an Ash Angel? How could there be that kind of mercy? He couldn’t meet her eye.
“Now you’re starting to understand,” she said, voice unsteady. “I have done every kind of bad thing in this world, and no matter how deep my regret, it isn’t a deep enough hole to bury my guilt in and cover up. So when I say no one is going to lose their life for my sake, I mean it. Not. One. More.
“Know this: no matter how much good I do, I can never be redeemed, but I am damn well going to do whatever good I can with this chance I’ve been given. If my choices bring me to torture and to death, then so be it. I deserve it. I need it. And no one—not you, not the Ash Angels—is going to hold me back. I love everything you’ve done for me, Helo, but if you keep getting in my way, we will have to part ways.” She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be what you thought I was.”
She walked out the door. His voice seemed stuck in his throat. He could hardly move, his mind and heart reeling. He sat for so long and so still that the automatic lights finally flickered out, leaving him in blackness.
Chapter 18
Dinner for Four
Helo punched the button to silence the music. He’d been listening to Tela’s songs again while he drove, always surprised at how her golden voice and thoughtful lyrics pulled him into her world, a world defined by images he knew she had pulled from her cryptic dreams. Since he had first deciphered one of her songs to riddle out Cain’s plans, it seemed as if her music belonged to him or was meant for him in some way.
But now he needed to put Tela away and think. Rather than take the plane to Chicago with the rest of Sicarius Nox, he had chosen to drive so he could pass through Denver and make his date with Scarlet. It also helped him avoid Aclima. Her confession squirmed inside of him, a worm eating at the angelic image of her he had painted for himself. He had listened to Tela’s music in part to help him focus on anything but Aclima and her uncomfortable past.
But this meeting with Scarlet—something Aclima fully endorsed and hoped would reunite the two of them—was almost as heavy in his chest as his brooding over Aclima. And if Aclima was right, Scarlet wanted him back, wanted the second chance with him that Aclima thought would bring healing. To confirm Aclima’s prediction, Scarlet had invited him to eat at a Red Robin, a restaurant he had loved in life but one she didn’t consider uppity enough. She was deliberately trying to please him, maybe hoping it was a small way to heal the breach.
He just couldn’t picture it. Scarlet the Ash Angel and Terissa the Adulteress hadn’t fully separated in his mind. He couldn’t cherry-pick the good memories and say they were Scarlet and take the bad and toss them out with Terissa. He wasn’t even sure which memories counted as good anymore. All the good memories seemed like fakes and deceptions, all the bad as solid and as heavy as iron.
He had forgiven her, but the trust wasn’t there and the negative memories were. They couldn’t just sit down like nothing had ever happened. A part of him wanted her to understand how deep her infidelity had cut him; the other part—the better one, he thought—wanted to let the whole thing slip away into the past like an unwelcome guest, never to be invited back.
A gust of wind buffeted the car as he pulled off the highway onto the surface streets. An early spring hail had spit pellets for a few minutes earlier that evening, and now that full darkness had fallen, it seemed mother nature might have more in store. Cars packed the Red Robin’s parking lot, but he slipped into a stall close to the doors after a white Acura slipped out of it.
He checked his phone. Scarlet had just messaged him saying she was inside waiting. Tela had texted four times:
You and Angie were a thing. Danny’s gone all :( over here cuz she’s meeting you. He’s got it bad for Angie.
So come clean. I thought maybe you were dating Miss Gorgeous. Angie want you back? You not dating anyone? :)
You suck at texting. You know you’re supposed to text people back when they text you, right?
I’ll forgive you for this not-texting thing if you come see me after your date with Angie. I know you’re in town.
Tela was a persistent one.
It’s not a date, he texted back. Just need to talk over a few things.
He had barely pressed Send when his phone beeped.
There you are! So are you coming to see me after? And do NOT not answer me.
Helo chuckled. I’ll see what I can do.
That does *not* count as an answer.
He shoved the phone into the pocket of his slacks. Low on clothing choices, he’d worn the only suitable outfit he had, the same one he had bought for the movie date he and Dolorem had gone on with Aclima and Magdelene. After a rough exhale, he stepped out of the car. The tempestuous wind gusted through hair he had morphed longer to look less military. By the time he got to the Red Robin’s front door, his phone had beeped three more times. Tela, no doubt. He’d check it later.
He found Scarlet in a booth by a window spattered with rain.
She scanned the drink menu without really looking at it. Her wavy dark hair was down around her shoulders and done to perfection. She wore jeans and a plain, form-fitting T-shirt the color of red wine. Not her style. As if to remind him she wasn’t the woman he once knew, her Ash Angel aura beamed at him, a silent witness of her transformation.
He slipped into the booth. “Hey.”
She startled and then worked up a smile. “Hey, Trace. Thanks for coming.”
Her eyes were tight, her smile uncertain. She was uncomfortable. Well, uncomfortable wasn’t the right word. Helo thought it might be closer to terrified. She was more scared than he was. Her hand trembled slightly as she put the drink menu back in its holder.
“So,” he said. “Red Robin, huh? Thought you hated this place.”
“I didn’t hate it,” she said, looking away for a moment. “So how have you been?”
“Fine,” he said. “Tela been having a rough time?”
“It’s been better than it was,” she said. “It’s weird, though, all these dreams about you.”
Weird didn’t cover it. “Yeah. So what’s on your mind, um, Angie?”
The server interrupted them. Helo didn’t have to look at the menu. He knew what the beefiest, cheesiest, bacon-iest burger was and ordered it, along with a salted-caramel shake. Scarlet copied his order . . . also weird for her. She was not a burger person, especially not one with two patties, extra cheese, and extra bacon.
She must have caught his look because she whispered, “Don’t have to worry about my figure anymore. You look great, by the way. I always liked that blue color on you.”
He leaned back. “Thanks. So, jeans and a T-shirt. Not your usual. They not paying you enough?” It came out like an accusation, and he tried to tack a smile on the end of it to lighten it up. Her face fell, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, when I was first in the field, I had to shop at all the secondhand stores, and they gave me this total POS of a car called the Roaster. I’m not driving anything much better yet, but Michaels mainly stay around base.”
She sighed and leaned forward. “Look, I know I was a bit of a snob when we were together. Part of this new . . . experience . . . is learning what really matters, you know?”
“Yeah,” he said.
A long silence ensued, and he surveyed the restaurant without really registering anything.
“You don’t want to be here, do you?” she said.
He snapped his eyes back to her. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to wrap my head around this yet. But we’ve gotta start somewhere.”
She reached out and took his hand, eyes intense. “That’s how I feel too. I just want you to know me like I am now, not the old Terissa. I’m not the one who hurt you. I’m different. I’m not the kind of person who would do that. Not anymore.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said, the purpose of her invitation coming clearer.
“I do,” she said, squeezing his hand harder. “From the moment Magdelene woke me up, I’ve been trying to prove I’m not her. I’m not the one who . . .”—her voice caught—“who got my husband killed. Who put him through hell. I just—”
“Hey,” he said, trying to derail her. Scarlet and Aclima had the same problem, the same attraction to their past mistakes. “Look at yourself. You’re an Ash Angel. That’s proof enough. You don’t need me to sign off on anything.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” he said, lifting her face with his free hand. “Look. There are four of us in this booth right now—Trace, Helo, Terissa, and Scarlet. Let’s make it a dinner for two, okay?”
She smiled wanly. “I suppose that means Helo and Scarlet, right?”
He let go of her and smiled back. “You got it.” He still didn’t know if it was possible for him to completely forget Terissa, not really, but he wasn’t going to sit there and let Scarlet dredge up the past all evening. He couldn’t take it.
“So what am I supposed to do?” Scarlet asked, fluffing her hair with her hands. He’d loved her hair when they were married.
“Well,” he said, “pretend we just met. You’ve heard a little about me—”
“I’ve heard a ton about you,” she said.
“So there you have it,” he said. “We just sat down and ordered some burgers. You’re with this Helo guy you’ve heard so much about. And off we go.”
She bit her lip and looked away for a moment. “Okay, so I’ve got to ask. Naked Nazi.”
Unbelievable. What was wrong with everyone? Was it just because the word Nazi was part of it? What happened inside the Tempest was far more important and a way better story. The graveyard battle was cool too, though Corinth and Tela had probably filled her in with all the details about it already.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. It was just typical that the most unangelic thing he had ever done was the one he was known for.
“All of it!” she said. “Is it true? It doesn’t seem like something you would . . . oops. Just, um, what happened?”
He told her the story, her face going through the same contortions everyone’s did when he reviewed it. Curiosity, shock, laughter, and then sober understanding as he moralized about why what he had done was wrong. Beat for beat she followed him, just like she used to do when he told her war stories when they dated.
Their phones buzzed simultaneously. It was Corinth.
Tela’s getting close to a panic attack here. Trying to keep her calm. Can Helo come see her?
He looked up to find Scarlet regarding him softly. “I thought you said she was doing better.”
“Sort of,” Scarlet said. “It’s still the same two dreams. They freak her out. What do you think this connection is between the two of you anyway?”
Helo shook his head. “I don’t know. Her visions helped us in the past, but this . . . this is different.”
The server arrived with their food and started moving the plates toward the table.
Helo held him up. “Can we get that to go?”
The Super Sleeper Econo Lodge. They were still staying at the same miserable dump of a hotel. Helo parked beside the Honda Odyssey he had ridden in when he had visited on the night of the Michaels Ball. Scarlet pulled into the parking stall to the left of him in a sleek black sedan that must’ve belonged to either Alan or Corinth since there was no way her pay as a new Ash Angel could afford it.
The weather still hadn’t made up its mind, a restless wind throwing around a few raindrops in the night. He got out of the car and joined Scarlet as she walked toward unit 9. The muffled sound of Tela’s guitar strumming away a tune—“Never Low” by the sound of it—filtered through the door and thin walls he doubted held more than a scrap of insulation.
He reached for the door, and Scarlet touched his shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Helo. It means a lot. I’d really like to try this again sometime.”
He worked up a semblance of a smile, nodded, and then knocked on the door. The song stopped, and footsteps thumped rapidly from inside.
“It’s me,” Scarlet said through the door.
Corinth pulled the door open. Scarlet wouldn’t meet Corinth’s gaze as she slipped by him. It was ugly, then. Corinth followed her, and Helo stepped in and closed the door behind himself. Alan was there in his suit, sitting on the creaky chair by the desk. Tela’s guitar lay discarded on the rumpled bed.
The bathroom door opened a moment later, and Tela—the picture of composure—stepped out dressed like she was the one going on the date in a red shirt, tight black slacks, and four-inch heels. But as she stepped more fully into the yellowy light, the tightness around her eyes betrayed a deep worry her makeup couldn’t quite conceal. Her face was a mask. It was cracking. She needed the hug this time.
He opened his arms, and she dove into his embrace. The mask was gone as she dissolved into tears. Why was this girl so tortured about him? What divine purpose did her terrifying dreams serve other than to scare her o
ut of her wits?
He let her go and turned to the other Ash Angels. “Can I speak with Tela alone?”
Corinth nodded, and he, Alan, and Scarlet filed out of the door. Tela wiped her eyes, smearing her mascara, and sat on the bed, pulling her guitar to her chest like a shield.
Helo extended his to-go box to her. “Brought you something.”
“Thank you!” She put the guitar down, took it, and in moments dove into the food, face relaxing. Helo grabbed the rickety chair, set it next to the bed, and sat on it backward.
She smiled nervously at him between devouring steak fries. “I like that shirt. So how’d it go with Angie?”
“Forget Angie,” he said. “What’s up with you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just . . . I think you’re in some kind of trouble. It makes me all shaky and weepy and stuff. I hate sleeping anymore. I hate seeing all these images of you suffering.”
“I wish I could help you somehow,” he said. What could he possibly do to make the dreams stop?
“There is,” she said, suddenly more lively. “Stay with me. Take over Alan’s job. Then I’ll know you’re safe. Simple, right?”
“I can’t do that,” he said, though he wished he could.
“Because you don’t want to,” she said grumpily. “Too boring babysitting some struggling entertainer in a crappy hotel for days on end.”
“That’s not it,” he said, getting up from the chair and sitting on the bed next to her. “Look. You’re right about me. What I do for a living is dangerous. There are bad people who know who I am and who are gunning for me all the time. If I stay with you, then it’s me bringing all that down on you and putting you in danger. I couldn’t live with that. Do you understand?”
She nodded, a tear escaping and dropping down her cheek.
He took her hand and let his Inspiration flow. “If things were different, I’d be happy to take Alan’s job any day of the week. I could listen to you play all day. I promise you that one day this nightmare will be over. You will get your life back. You’ll see your friends again. You’ll get back on the stage and be famous. Then me and all those dreams will just be some distant memory. Things will get better. Trust me.”
