by Lisa Hughey
Rafe marveled at how the simple exchange had brought down the raging tension in the room to a healthier level. For a moment, he thought Uri and Zach might start to beat the crap out of each other.
Rafe tried to get the discussion back on track. “Has anyone consulted with the Powers,” the Keepers of History, “about possibilities?”
“It certainly wouldn’t hurt to ask the Powers but ultimately, we handle problems on Earth.” Michael dismissed the question. “We are the Guardians of Earth. We need to discover the truth for ourselves. Then if need be we can bring in Nora and the Thrones for judgment.”
Rafe thought he was being too protectionist. “You’re the boss.”
“We need boots on the ground for this one,” Michael commanded. “Is the fire completely out?”
“Still smoldering.” Uri raised his chin wearily. “I will continue to monitor the fire and the circumstances around it.”
“Take Zach with you,” Michael ordered.
Uri blanched. Zach bounded out of his chair, fists clenched. Rafe knew neither one of them was thrilled with that command.
Michael waved at Zach. “Your weapon is water.”
Uri opened his mouth to protest and Michael pointed at him. “And you may need the extra help.”
Both Archangels swore.
Samuel, Bringer of Love and Joy, said softly, “When will you two learn that your powers are complimentary?”
Uri groaned. Zach snorted.
“You cannot exist without each other.”
Rafe wondered how the two would ever get along.
Michael broke the tension. “Rafe, heal Uri’s arms before he leaves.” Michael pointed to Jed, who divined the truth. “Jed, go to the Realm Library and look for any text that references how to kill Angels. This is not common knowledge.”
Jed rubbed his hands together at the opportunity to raid the Realm library.
“Sam and Gabe, you two, monitor the general mood of the Earth. Listen for any disturbance or unusual occurrences. Something is happening. We need to figure out what is going on. Fast.”
As one the Archangels stood. Michael put his fist up to his forehead and the brow chakra, then bowed formally. They returned the gesture.
“No one discuss this with your under secretaries until we have more information.” Michael shot an admonishing look at Gabe. “The last thing we need in the Realm is the angel gossip network letting this get out.”
***
“What’s really going on?”
Rafe and Uri were in the Great Hall. The others had dispersed to complete their tasks. Rafe held his hands over the red welts on Uri’s arms and concentrated on healing the deep burns.
“I told you.” Uri hissed as his skin knit back together.
“Yeah, well you left something out.”
“Maybe I was holding off on squealing about you.” Uri watched the deep burn seal before their gazes.
“What?”
“You reek of her,” Uri said simply.
Rafe flushed, his swarthy skin deepened in the bright light of the Great Hall. He fought the impulse to breathe in. If Uri could smell Angelina on him, then he was screwed. All that fire usually left him with a diminished sense of smell. “What could that possibly have to do with what happened in Poland?”
“I don’t know but all things are connected. There has been a shift in the realm.” Uri shrugged. “Surely you’ve felt it.”
Rafe had been so checked out lately, he hadn’t been paying attention. His assistant’s words came back to him. “Nathan mentioned some disturbance. Something off,” Rafe said carefully as he finished healing Uri. “I dismissed it, thinking it was probably just the continued fighting in Afghanistan and Pakistan.”
But what if Nathan had uncovered something.
“Gabriel seemed particularly concerned.”
Rafe had noticed that too. After he’d relaxed enough to realize Uri wouldn’t out him in front of the Council. “He certainly seemed to be taking the matter seriously.”
Rafe’s thoughts kept returning to Angelina and her family. There couldn’t be any sort of connection between the events. It was totally improbable.
“Angelina Guerisse will die today,” Rafe said into the deepening silence.
“You need to get your head in the Council’s problems, not with a human who could be your downfall.”
“I know,” Rafe agreed.
“So it’s done?”
Rafe knew what he meant. “The transfer of power is done but she still needs to learn. Her training is not complete.”
“So send her to the Realm compound and give her to your under secretary.”
The thought of turning Angelina over to Nathan stirred something primal within him. He didn’t want the man anywhere near her. He didn’t want anyone near her. She was his.
He drew up mentally. Good thing he hadn’t voiced those sentiments out loud. Uri would kick his ass into the Banished Realm before he could blink.
“What do you think?”
“I...can’t do that. Victor was very clear. I have to complete the transition and the training.” Even though finishing her training was going to be pure torture.
“Stupid Virtues,” Uri said in disgust.
Rafe kept going back to Uri’s statement that everything is connected. “There is something...extraordinary about her healing gift.”
“What do you mean?”
“She is extremely powerful. Much more so than her grandmother.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Un ange avec le pouvoir déviant.” Rafe paced the marble floor restlessly. “Everything is connected. What if Angelina’s gift has some higher purpose that we can’t see yet?”
“Perhaps you should consult with the Powers. Find out if there is a precedent for her gifts.”
But if he consulted with the Powers, they might be able to see through his flimsy excuses to the truth behind his dedication to train Angelina. And what if they told him an under-secretary could probably handle the rest. “What if her gift is truly important?”
“What if it isn’t and you destroy yourself in the process?” Uri strapped on a new fire retardant suit.
“I won’t destroy myself,” Rafe insisted. But as he protested, he wondered if perhaps Uri was right. He’d already bent the rules. Rules that had been unbroken for hundreds of years.
Uri advised Rafe, “Do yourself a favor and go find one of Sam’s under-angels and screw her blind.”
Rafe knew Uri was right. Except he didn’t want one of Sam’s under-angels. He wanted what he couldn’t have. And no one else would do.
Forbidden.
Uri took one look at him and knew without a word from Rafe what he was thinking.
“Are you willing to risk everything for her?” Uri asked softly. “Are you willing to risk her?”
“I don’t plan to risk anything,” Rafe replied.
Uri sighed. “It may already be too late.”
NINETEEN
Angelina eased the black suit out of its plastic wrap, the crinkle unnaturally loud in the silence. Dust flew off the plastic as she rolled the clear covering into a ball, then tossed the remnants in the garbage.
Her funeral suit. Suddenly just looking at the damn thing was more than she could deal with. She hung the suit on the door handle and went to check on the kids.
“Hey honey, how’s it coming?”
Lina sat on her bed and frowned at the straight black skirt and plain cap sleeve top. “Why do I have to wear such lame clothes?”
Angelina rested her forehead on the door frame, the edges of the routed wood dug into her skin, the sharp points of pain made her feel just a little more than she wanted. “Please, Lina.”
“They’re lame,” Lina argued.
“They are a sign of respect for your great-grandmother and your mother, who does care what you wear. I am begging you to not argue.” Her breath hitched on the last few words.
“I hate these clothes. But fine.” Lina waited po
intedly, silently insisting Angelina leave before she got dressed.
Angelina straightened and left before any more could come out of her mouth.
She was brittle, like the nests of spun sugar that shattered into a thousand pieces with the wrong touch. Her neck had hardened post straight and her shoulders were stuck in an almost military stiffness.
The fear of what would happen if she inadvertently made contact with someone who needed healing weighed on her. Her sorrow over Grammy’s death and her inability to heal her crushed her. Her Grammy was the one person who Angelina would have gladly suffered through the strange and frightening sensations that happened to her body when she did heal. And Angelina hadn’t been allowed to heal her.
She knocked on Brandt’s door. The knob cold in her hand, she pushed open the door. “How are you?”
Clothes lay strewn all over the floor, the chair, the desk. Papers, candy wrappers, pens, pencils, a few empty Monster cans, various teenage detritus littered the floor. “Your room is disgusting.”
“Do I have to wear this?”
Not Brandt too. “Yes. It’s respectful. Get over it.”
“Don’t get mad at me because your boyfriend disappeared.” He placed the zinger with malice and precision.
Where the hell was Rafe? He’d left two days ago and she hadn’t seen him since.
So much for the ‘we’ve got to start your training right away’. Nothing like coitus disappearus. She hadn’t had sex in over a year and she’d picked a guy who chose to take a hike right afterwards. And she should not be thinking about sex while she stood in her son’s room.
“He isn’t my boyfriend. And he has a life.” In an Angelic Realm, somewhere far from here.
He’d known her grandmother, and she had known him pretty well too. That had been obvious when they’d gone to visit Grammy. There had been genuine and heartfelt affection between them.
Which meant he was older than he looked. On the surface he only looked about forty. Grammy had been eighty-eight. Which meant....
“Please just get dressed.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Brandt waded through the piles of clothes. He had that sly look on his face, the one that told her he thought he was about to get away with something as he grabbed the white dress shirt.
“It’s okay honey.” She practically ran out of the room, as she remembered the last time he’d hugged her.
“Hey Mom, can I go to Ty’s house after?”
“You’re still grounded.” She hadn’t forgotten. His hope, she could tell.
“Aw, Mom.” Brandt pouted. “Can I at least play with him on xBox?”
“Fine.” She wondered if she should be happy with his negotiation skills or disgusted with the way he’d played her.
Yeah, talking to the kids would get her out of her funk. Every second she spent with them reminded her she didn’t have time to be depressed. She had kids who needed her.
She slid on the skirt of the suit. Remarkably, the button fastened without trouble. Nothing like a diet of stress and grief to fit back into snug clothes. The cream colored cotton top hugged her breasts, and reminded her of the tree house. Not the time to go there.
She slipped on the jacket and fastened a string of very old pearls around her neck. She spritzed White Shoulders perfume at her wrists, rubbed them together and then swiped at both sides of her neck.
The sweet gardenia scent reminded her all over again of her Grammy.
Her eyes watered. The lump of sadness in her throat expanded and grew until she didn’t think she could breathe.
She tugged on the nylons. Grammy would be thrilled. But geez she hated nylons. They sucked.
“Moooommmm,” Lina wailed. She hopped into Angelina’s room on one foot, one nylon up to her calf the other only over her toes. “These things suck.”
“I know.” She giggled. A oddly light sensation floated through her, like helium from a balloon, and filled her with a lightness, a sense of happiness and joy.
“Grammy hated them too.” She had confided in Angelina once when she was getting ready to go out. She wore them every day. For years and years, she had endured the annoyance of panty hose. Remembering Grammy’s strength, her steadfastness, her sheer determination to get the most out of life, buoyed Angelina until she was brimming with the lessons she’d taught her and the example she’d set.
Angelina had been blessed with her presence.
“Then why do we have to wear them?” Lina asked as she tumbled to her bed.
“Because Grammy would have wanted us to.” Even though she knew they’d struggle through the entire day with them on.
Today was not a day for sadness or moping. Today was a day to celebrate the joy of Grammy’s life, to embrace the beauty of her spirit and to honor the lessons she had taught not only Angelina but passed on to her children as well.
An hour later, Angelina paused in the doorway and hoped she could get through her Grammy’s wake. The cherry casket was surrounded by sprays of gardenias, the entire room perfumed with their scent.
A whisper of perspiration gathered at the nape of her neck. She’d thought about wearing gloves but they would have looked out of place. Besides, when Brandt had hugged her, she hadn’t touched skin and she’d still done a face plant.
Janine floated toward her. Her skin was nearly translucent, but the shadows under her eyes would be noticeable to only Angelina. Everyone else would see the perfectly groomed, composed and competent woman.
Janine eighty-sixed the traditional air kiss and clutched her in a hug. She clung a little too long for the action to be perfunctory. A hint of moisture shimmered in her gaze. “How are you?”
And then Angelina realized she was touching Janine and she was fine. No vertigo, no nausea, no sudden loss of consciousness. Tension flowed from her. She had hugged Janine and been fine.
“I’m fine.” She struggled to figure out this emotional stranger. “You okay?”
Janine stepped back but still grasped Angelina’s shoulders. “I know how close you were.”
This would be okay. “I’m okay. I promise.”
“Excellent.” Janine beamed at Brandt and Lina, the shimmer of tears barely perceptible. “Look at how grown up you two are.”
At that point they squirmed. Lina rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Auntie Janine.”
Angelina surveyed the room. She had drifted through the meetings with the funeral home, and agreed to whatever Janine chose.
Tables, set up along the side of the viewing room, held bite-sized food and glasses for wine and beer. With the exception of the casket, the room looked like a party. Trust her sister to fully plan and accessorize the wake.
Angelina wandered the room, and looked at the pictures of Grammy from various years. She traced her finger along the lines of her face and said her own private goodbye.
The pumps that went with this suit looked great but after a while started to pinch her toes. The lights seemed to buzz brightly and suddenly it occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. But the thought of food roiled her stomach.
Guests began to arrive.
With every clasp of hands, every shake or hug, Angelina braced for a shock of power. But she felt nothing. Rafe’s caution before he’d left had been to guard against healing until he could train her. But his instructions had been vague and just the tiniest bit insubstantial, and yes, a little more freaking direction might have been helpful.
As she continued to greet guests, her tension eased. It seemed as if her worry was unfounded. She hadn’t even had a twinge of the sensations that blindsided her the last two times that she’d inadvertently healed someone. Had she somehow lost the gift?
Mrs. Hooper shuffled up to her, leaning heavily on her cane. She’d been neighbor to her Grammy for years until Grammy had moved to the home. “Angelina, so nice to see you.”
In fact, Mrs. Hooper was ten years younger than Grammy, but right now she wasn’t sure who looked worse, Mrs. Hooper or Grammy.
&nb
sp; “How are you, Mrs. Hooper?” She held out her hand, pleased to see her and dismayed by the deterioration in her physical condition.
“I’m gettin’ along.”
Crisp white gloves hung loosely on the old woman’s fingers as she held out her hand. As they connected, that sense of falling took over. Angelina locked her knees and held on, because if she fell, she would take this sweet old lady with her.
She let go of Mrs. Hooper’s hand as fast as she could without being rude. Where the hell was Rafe when she needed him?
Mrs. Hooper was sick. Angelina could see her constricted blood vessels. The disease was slowly killing her. As far as she knew, Mrs. Hooper wasn’t diabetic.
“How’s your blood sugar these days?”
“Oh, I sneak a sweet now and then, but I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine. But maybe she could get her to go see her doctor. “Make sure you have your doctor check next time you go in.”
“I’m dandy.” Mrs. Hooper patted her shoulder, humoring her like the child she’d been when they first met. Angelina didn’t care as long as she asked the doctor to check her blood sugar.
Angelina searched for a plausible excuse. “I just read a very informative article on the subject and it worried me enough that I made an appointment with my doctor.”
“You’re sweet to worry.” She blew off Angelina.
“Do me a favor and check.” Angelina kept her knees locked against the pain of the constricted blood vessels and struggled to stay upright. “Please.”
Angelina’s plea must have convinced Mrs. Hooper. “I have a doctor’s appointment this week, I’ll be sure to ask.”
She grasped her hand one more time. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Mrs. Hooper hobbled away as fast as her cane could take her.
“Jeez, Mom, what was up with that?” Lina walked up to her from the opposite side and startled her. Angelina let out a little squeak of distress.
“You okay?” Janine flanked her other side.
She took a deep breath. “Fine.” She glanced at her watch. Only two hours and eighteen more minutes to go.
“Sorry I’m late.” Rafe slid up behind her and placed his hand under her elbow. Almost immediately the pain dissipated. Janine’s gasp effectively covered her sigh of relief.
