by Brian Fuller
At rest, he lost himself in the calm until a light behind his eyelids disrupted the scene. The glow was steady and building, unlike the lightning whose flashing popped for a moment and then was gone. Was it a flashlight? His heart surged with hope. Maybe the Ash Angels had found him, after all. Then a voice.
“Hey, Jarhead.”
His eyes popped open, though he had to squint. His spirit leapt within him. An angel as bright as noonday regarded him mirthfully, a familiar angel with a smirk.
Chapter 23
Fleuramere
Her light? Blinding. Blinding like Rachel’s glory when she had ascended in Deep 7. But the smirking face could only belong to his trainer, Cassandra. She was glorious, like a child of a burning, celestial sun. Light clothed her with brilliance, and he couldn’t be sure if she wore a robe or was wrapped in a glow too bright to allow any detail. Her blonde—almost white—hair hung past her shoulders, and her eyes still held the mirth they always did when she thought him ridiculous. His Ash Angel body seemed to drink it in, resonate with it, fuse with it.
“Cassie!” he exclaimed, broken neck refusing to turn to allow him a better look at her.
She settled into the leaves and rotted wood fragments at his side like someone reclining on her side at a picnic. “It’s not Cassie anymore, Jarhead, but we’ll get to that later.”
“And it’s not Jarhead anymore,” he said, suddenly nostalgic for the days when she refused to call him anything else. She had been in such pain when she was his trainer, and to see her aglow with divine light, eyes devoid of torment, couldn’t help but make him smile. It was everything he had hoped for her.
She grinned. “Well, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here. We usually don’t get to do this sort of thing, but here’s how it went down. We angels were up there doing the watch-over-the-world thing like we do when one of my colleagues says, ‘Hey, look at that moron Ash Angel down there. He keeps doing crazy-stupid stuff. Wonder who trained him?’ Well, it’s really hard to lie up there, but you can sneak off from time to time, so here I am to try to, you know, talk a little sense into you so I don’t have to be embarrassed so much.”
He laughed. “Thanks. Sorry to be such a disappointment.”
She winked and placed a hand on his forehead. His body knit back together, though his heart did not return, the Vexus still infecting him.
“I wasn’t supposed to do that,” she said, turning her eyes to the heavens and mouthing Sorry. “I can’t stand to see you with your limbs all busted up. Your heart you’ll have to get back on your own.”
“Thanks,” he said, sitting cross-legged in front of her.
“Look, Helo, I am here to deliver words of divine wisdom to you in your hour of need. Yes, once you become an angel, you immediately turn into Confucius. So let me plow through this angelic message bit, then we can talk. You ready?”
“Ready,” he said.
“This is the message. Sacrificing your life can mean two things: dying for something you love or finding something you love enough to live for. One requires only the body, the other the soul, but both are holy. There. That’s it.”
Helo thought for a moment. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”
She reached out and cupped his chin, warmth suffusing his body.
“Be still for a moment,” she said.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then touched her forehead with her right hand and then his forehead with the same hand. She then touched her chest over the heart and touched his in the same place.
“Close your eyes.”
He did, her brilliance filtering through his eyelids. Her fingers touched his eyes one at a time.
“Now open them,” she commanded.
Something akin to Rapture washed over him, something that collected celestial light and bonded it to every cell in his body. He felt more solid, stronger. He even glowed a little. But whatever his strength, looking into her eyes was hard, as if she could burn out his soul with a stare.
“What was that?” he asked.
She smiled. “You’ll see when you get your heart back and the Vexus poisoning goes away. Look, Helo, you like puzzles, right? Angelic messages are like puzzle pieces. We hand them to you, and you decide where they fit in the great puzzle of your life. When I first knew you, your life was a one-hundred-piece puzzle. Now it’s a thousand. It’s a lot for a jarhead like you to put together, but find those important edge pieces to create the frame, and the picture in the middle will come together in time. I just gave you a big piece for the frame. You’ll thank me later.”
Helo pondered her words for a moment. What was it about the grand scheme of things that made it so divine assistance couldn’t be straightforward? What was he supposed to do? What sacrifice was she talking about?
“I am sorry about your brother,” she continued. “I am sorry for the anger and frustration and heartache Cain has put you through. And I’m really quite mad about not being around to watch your magnificent jarheaddery in the field. Never a dull moment with you. That meditation thing you’re doing is good. Keep it up.”
He did have a question about that. “Why does it bother me so much that one side of the sphere is dark?”
She opened her mouth and then shut it again, turning her gaze to the heavens for a moment. Then she smiled knowingly. “Well, I am allowed to say this. Are you ready? Here it is: Why do you keep staring at the dark part, stupid?”
“I thought angels were supposed to be nice,” he returned, knowing full well she was joking.
“Angels are supposed to speak in a language the recipient of the message will understand.” Her gaze turned upward again and she sighed. “Well, it seems I am overstaying my welcome. Like Rachel the Unascended, I have been given leave to tell you my angel name. It is Fleuramere. Speak it and you will be granted any Bestowal you want. Remember, you will be healed at dawn and appear where your heart is when you do it, so think tactically. That will be five Bestowals for you! Really cranking them out, aren’t you?” She tapped her finger to her lips, eyes teasing. “Wonder why that is?” she finished cryptically.
She stood soundlessly, light gathering around her.
“Wait!” he said, shielding his eyes. He had a hundred questions. What should someone ask an angel? There were so many mysteries in the universe.
“What’s heaven like?”
Her face beamed. “It’s funny that someone actually tried to come up with a word for it. Just dream big, Helo, and prepare to be blown away. Remember my message. Well, both of them. They really will change your life as long as you can keep from doing something incredibly stupid.”
And then the light became too much to bear. He turned away from the glory of her person and a moment later she was gone. The forest returned to a dripping, impenetrable gloom made twice as dark by the memory of her brilliance.
Body whole, he got to his feet, realizing he had been naked through the whole interview. He hadn’t even thought of it while talking to her, though her presence was so powerful it was difficult to think of anything else. The old pang of missing her sparked anew in his heart, but so did the satisfaction of seeing her happy and whole.
But what to do now? Her cryptic messages sank into his brain, little clues he knew would help him if he could puzzle them out. Even better, Cassandra had healed him—apparently against the will of heaven—and now he had an opportunity the crazed Avadan would not expect. He had to get to the road. The Ash Angels were only a phone call away, and while they might not get to him before dawn, he could at least let them know he was still among the living.
For a moment he stood still in the dark, attuning his ears. In the pitch-black, he couldn’t be sure where the road was, but after a moment, the familiar sound of tires humming over the pavement pointed him in the right direction. Across the stream and through the damp, ensnaring undergrowth he pushed, slick leaves slipping over his skin.
The road was just up a little rise, the canopy thinning to reveal bulb
ous clouds crawling slowly by a crescent moon. What time was it? How long had he lain in the woods before Cassandra appeared? And how was he going to get people to stop to help a completely naked man trying to catch a ride on a dark highway in the middle of the night? He could run down the road in search of civilization, but he had no idea where he was or whether going north or south along the road would get him to a town the fastest.
He hid behind a thick tree near the road’s shoulder, reminding himself he didn’t need to contact the Ash Angels. That was just a nice to have. He had to get to Cain. That was his purpose.
If Avadan took him to Cain, there was a chance, and thanks to Cassandra, the odds had improved. Even if the Dreads broke all his bones like they had in the Hammer Bar and Grill, speaking Cassandra’s angel name would provide him with instant healing and a new Bestowal. That would give him just the surprise he needed to crush Cain’s skull and rip his heart out before the man had any idea what had happened. If he got rid of Cain, he really didn’t care much what happened after that, though he hoped he could see Aclima one last time.
Distant headlights—probably from a semi—bloomed in the darkness. Naked or not, he had to take the chance. An idea popped to mind, and he willed the skin around his nose and eyes to bruise, hoping he could get it to work in time. With a nearby stick, he gouged a cut on the left side of his forehead, letting blood drip down the side of his face. Leaving his hiding place, he stepped out onto the road, covered his crotch with one hand, and waved with the other as the truck bore down on him.
For a moment, he thought the driver might run him down, but the brakes squealed, engine downshifting, and the truck stopped. Helo stepped around the cab, the driver lowering the window. The driver was a middle-aged Latino man with a hint of gray along his temples, visible below the cowboy hat he wore.
Concerned brown eyes looked him over. “What happened to you?” he asked, Spanish accent thick.
“Carjacked,” Helo said. “They took everything. Beat me up a bit.”
“Subete! Get in,” the driver said.
Helo rounded the cab, the driver leaning over and pushing the passenger door open for him. Helo jumped in while his benefactor pulled a blanket out of the sleeper berth behind the seats.
“Thanks a million,” Helo said, wrapping the blanket around himself. “My name’s Jason.”
“Daniel,” the driver said after putting the truck into gear. “You need doctor? Hospital?”
“No, no,” Helo said. “You got a phone I can use?”
“Phone? Sure.” Daniel reached into the console and fished one out.
Helo took it. “Where are we?”
“About twenty miles from Clearfield.”
“Clearfield . . . ?”
“Pennsylvania,” Daniel answered, face concerned. “They hit you in the head?”
“Yeah,” Helo said. It took him a moment to recall the global Ash Angel help number. It wasn’t as easy as 1-800-ASH-ANGL, but a few moments later, he got the expected phone tree and the innocuous-sounding options that were code for various eventualities.
“Thank you for calling AA Holdings. Please listen carefully as options have changed. If there is a problem with your account, please press one now.”
Option one was what he needed. He was definitely having trouble with his “account.”
“Please enter or say your AA Holdings account number now.”
He had gone so long without having an Ash Angel ID he almost got angry before remembering they had assigned him one. He typed in 7717727, and a few moments later a woman came on the line.
“Please confirm your cover name,” she said, voice anticipatory, almost like she was calling a radio station to see if she had won a prize.
“Hey, this is Jason Storm.”
“So it’s Helo, right? The Helo?”
“Yeah, yeah. Look, I’m not sure how much you know, but I . . .”
“. . . switched hearts with Aclima and were taken,” she finished. “Yeah, we know. There’s been quite a manhunt going on. I can’t believe it’s really you!” She settled her voice, and her next words sounded much more businesslike. “My supervisor wants to know where you are.”
“Heading toward Clearfield, Pennsylvania,” he said. “Is there anyone there who could meet me? I won’t be able to stay too long.” How could he explain that his heart had been taken by a wacky Dread Loremaster without Daniel getting suspicious?
“Are you being pursued?” the woman asked.
Helo scratched his head. “No. Um, heart troubles.”
“Oh no,” the woman said.
“Heart trouble?” Daniel said. “You need doctor.”
“Who is with you?” the operator asked.
“Daniel, a trucker. He picked me up. I’m using his phone.”
“Understood. One minute. Hang in there.”
The operator put him on hold, and he was treated to a wonderful prerecorded spiel about the virtues of AA Holdings.
Daniel pointed at the gouge on his head. “Doctor, yes?”
Helo waved him off as the operator returned. “We’ve got no one in Clearfield, but we have someone who can drive up from Altoona. They are leaving now, but you’ll only have about half an hour to speak with him before dawn. Before the driver leaves you, call and let us know where you are. We are tracking the phone now. I’m sure you’ll be okay. My name is Autumn, and I’ll be waiting for your call. We’ll get you back, Helo.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Talk to you soon.”
“You should go to doctor, Jason,” Daniel Ochoa said for the umpteenth time.
“I’m okay,” Helo re-reassured him.
The guy really was nice. For the last hour, Daniel had chatted about his four kids, beautiful wife, and the domino table waiting for him and his friends back at a double-wide in Nebraska. The friendly truck driver had flatly refused to drop him off on the side of the road, insisting on staying until his “friend” came to get him. So after Daniel pumped diesel into the tanks, they had pulled off to the side of a Love’s truck stop and waited.
Helo couldn’t blame Daniel for worrying about his head. Daniel just wanted to talk, but Helo’s mind churned so much that half of what the truck driver was saying simply bounced off his ears. During the last sixty minutes, Helo had said “What?”, “Say that again,” and “Ummm” enough times he was sure Daniel thought his roughed-up passenger had something loose inside his skull.
Helo glanced at the time on the dashboard. Less than forty-five minutes until dawn. Would it be his last one? While Daniel was explaining how his company had forced them to fudge their log books, Helo carefully rehearsed what he would say to his Ash Angel contact. Avadan had been on the run with his heart for at least twenty hours. He and his Dread buddies could be halfway across the country in any direction by now, though from what Helo could guess, they had originally been traveling north. That was something, but then again nothing. The road to Clearfield seemed surrounded by miles and miles of trees leading to miles and miles of trackless terrain.
“I mean, what would you do?” Daniel asked.
“Um . . .” What had he been saying? And then a blue Toyota Prius pulled into the gas station, friendly Ash Angel aura beaming at him through the windshield. “My friend,” Helo said, pointing to the car.
Daniel smiled. “Oh! Good!”
Helo reached for the door handle and hesitated, but Daniel seemed to read his mind.
“You keep blanket, Jason,” he said. “Buena suerte! See doctor, okay?”
“Okay,” Helo agreed. Such a good guy. Seeing salt-of-the-earth people was refreshing after the nightmare he’d been living. Before Daniel, the world had started to feel like all Shedim, Dreads, and messed-up dreams.
One hand on the blanket, he worked his way out of the cab, jogged awkwardly to the Prius, and jumped inside. His contact looked like an accountant in his mid-thirties. Thin face. Fake glasses. Pink button-up shirt. Helo shook his hand, and then the Ash Angel put the car in drive and sped out
onto the road.
“I’m Gordon Blevins,” he said. “My Ash Angel name is Haven. I work deep—”
“Look,” Helo interrupted. “No offense, but we can do introductions later. I’ve got to tell you what I know before dawn. You got your Ash Angel phone so you can record this?”
“Yeah.” He fished it out of the pocket of his tan slacks and tapped it a few times. “But the Medius wants to talk to you. Take it. It should be dialing.”
If the Medius was involved, then a multibranch operation was in progress. That was good news—provided the operation was to look for him.
“Medius Operations Center,” a male voice said. “Is this Haven?”
“It’s Helo.”
“Please hold while I connect you through to command. Archus Mars is quarterbacking this operation with assistance from Archus Ramis, and you will be speaking directly with them. One moment.”
After a click and a brief silence, the line went live and the Medius Operations Center operator spoke. “You are connected with Helo now, Archus Mars.”
“How are you doing, son?” Mars said, his familiar voice welcome.
“Good, sir,” Helo answered. “Let me—”
“This is Archus Ramis.” The tone was like frozen lead. “Replacing Aclima’s heart with your own was not your call to make, Helo. This is why you failed the Gabriels and failed Cassandra. Mars, you should—”
“Stow it, Ramis,” Mars said. “He’s a Michael and none of your concern. Helo, tell us what’s going on.”
Ramis. Still hung up on Cassandra’s passing, even though her sacrifice had quite possibly saved the world. Whatever. There were more important matters to attend to. Helo started from the beginning, throwing out every detail he could about where he was, what Avadan had said, and Cassandra’s angelic visit. He’d barely got past the part about her appearing when Ramis piped in again.
“You saw her?” Ramis choked. “As an angel? I don’t believe you. She wouldn’t come to you! Celestial angels almost never come to anyone.”
